The Pacific Standing almost paralyzed with fear in front of the gun cabinet, deep inside National Oceanic and Atmospheric Administration ship Nautilus, Science Officer Kellerman heard the unmistakable clatter of feet on the stairway leading down from the upper deck. They were coming, those skeletal maniacs with the big guns and the explosive laden body belts. Kellerman felt desperation kick in. She had failed in her task. Captain alvares had been very clear-secure the guns in the L/E cabinet. But without a key, or even an idea as to where she might find one, her mission had failed before it had even begun. Those terrorist sc.u.mbags would capture her for sure, and break open the gun cabinet, helping themselves to a deadly new a.r.s.enal they could use on their prisoners.

Kellerman knew she had to buy time, hide out and avoid capture, for as long as she could. If she stayed hidden, they might not even find her. No doubt they had rounded up or killed the rest of the crew by now, surely she was the only one left. In the confusion there had to be a chance that these ruthless men wouldn't know how many crew- members sailed aboard the Nautilus, if so, she would be free and clear. Alternatively, their inside- man had fed them the names of everyone on board, and they were even now checking off names, to see if they had snagged everyone, in their sneak attack.

Kellerman shrank backwards along the darkened corridor, inching away from the sound of advancing footfalls. She kept her back close to the wall, in order she might keep her footing, as the ship pitched gently in the grip of the ocean. She placed her feet carefully, hardly daring to breathe.

Then she saw him, a dark figure descending the stairs and after this man another, both of them with vicious looking a.s.sault rifles slung about their necks. Her fingers pressing against the wall, Kellerman swallowed down the fear and backed away, into a darkened doorway. They would cover the corridor and work through every single cabin, until they were confident there was no one hiding. Then, they would move on, further down inside the ship until they had searched every conceivable crevice.

Seeking cover in a doorway, Kellerman realized that she was now inside the ships galley. Her heart skipped faster. There were knives in the galley, all sorts of knives, and other utensils that could be used as weapons. But how in the h.e.l.l do you take down a man with an a.s.sault rifle with nothing but a cook's knife as company? Kellerman felt her stomach do a flip, as images of Heung and his broken, gore-splattered head flashed in on her, the sound of the skull cracking wide looping back endlessly as a torturous accompaniment. Only a few short hours ago it would have been unimaginable to even conceive of killing another human being. And now, that past life was gone forever, swept away by a cataclysm so profound it had drawn her to the very edge of a bleak and uncertain future.

Hurrying past the sinks and stoves, Kellerman headed for the butcher's block, at the back of the kitchen and s.n.a.t.c.hed up a wood- handled meat cleaver. She weighed it experimentally in her hand, testing it, imagining what it would be like to wield this instrument of death against another human being. She had killed already, but would she have the strength to do it again and so soon? Raising the cleaver, Kellerman made an experimental pa.s.s, as though she were striking out in anger. She tried the move again, this time backhanded, the whole time images of Heung's sickening injuries swimming before her eyes. The cleaver was heavy, too heavy to be maneuverable. You hit someone with one of those things and you would have to get lucky the first time. If you struck them a glancing blow, or you caught them in the wrong place, they would be on you before you could take another swing. Kellerman put the cleaver down, casting it onto the scarred wood of the block with growing revulsion. Next she s.n.a.t.c.hed up a wide bladed kitchen knife, twelve inches long at least, she held it up before her and the blade caught the light. She felt tempted to touch the edge to test it, but it looked razor sharp, so sharp it would slice through human flesh with ruthless efficiency. Visions of the past rose up again, preparing food for family and friends, Boeuf Bourguignon and Szechwan lamb. Then slow roasted conversations about politics and sports and a gla.s.s or three of wine, before settling down to dinner. She stared at the glittering blade. That distant life was nothing more than history now. If she used this knife as a weapon on another human being, she would have crossed the line forever, drawing down into the netherworld of inhuman beasts. There was no other option. She had to do it, kill or be killed.

The sound of cautious footfalls resounded in the corridor. Soon they would be here-two of them. Kellerman's mind worked quickly. She figured she might catch the first a.s.sailant by surprise, leap out from some hiding place and run him through with the knife before he had time to react; but what about the second? What would he do after seeing his partner in crime run through with a twelve-inch kitchen knife?

Outside the door, dark shadows, elongated and misshapen, crawled across the wall. They had guns-automatic weapons and they were hunting her down. Kellerman's stomach did a double-flip. She moved quickly down the side of the galley work island and clutched the big knife in readiness. She would hide, duck down until the last possible moment, until she no longer had a choice. Then, she would rise up and strike, trust her instincts to place the knife where it would do the most damage. It was her only game plan. No exit strategy, no hope of escape. Just rise up and strike, hope that the blow took her a.s.sailant down.

Perhaps the attack would give pause to the second man, before he opened up with his rifle, perhaps not. Kellerman hoped that the bullets when they tore into her body wouldn't hurt very much, but she knew that they would. Too bad they didn't prepare cadets for these kind of scenario's. At the Academy, unarmed combat was precisely that. As for fire arms training, none of it was close quarters and a couple of days a month popping high-caliber rounds down range hardly counted for anything, not when you were trapped two thousand miles from land and with no hope of rescue.

Kellerman heard more furtive movements.

Outside in the corridor, the two thugs were working their way down the hall, checking every cabin as they came. In a few short minutes, they would be upon her. She looked frantically around the small galley for some kind of hiding place where she might evade capture. As the desperate seconds sped by, her eyes settled on a small gap in the work surface that looked like it was meant to house a trashcan, or some kind of appliance that had been removed for maintenance. In the semi- darkness the snug little gap was hard to see- almost too small to fit a human inside, but she had to make it work, any other point in the room, they would catch her just as soon as they snapped the lights on.

Kellerman dipped down to a low crouch and inched backwards into the hole. The fit was real tight, so close she almost couldn't move. But that didn't matter. This tight little box might give her the edge she was looking for. She crouched back in her hiding place, with the kitchen knife poised ready, locked now in a close quarters game of hide and seek with survival as the prize. The darkness was disorientating Kellerman felt the unbearable tension pounding through her, every sense on high alert.

A sudden draft made her freeze-was she imagining it? The sound of soft footfalls and the unmistakable pa.s.sage of a heavy-set figure confirmed her fears. The dark figure swept past so quickly and silently there was no time to respond.

Instead, Kellerman sucked in a slow breath, and held it silently, not daring to exhale for fear she would be discovered before she had chance to execute her ambush.

The dark figure halted, as though surveying the room, then swept away, just as quickly and as silently as it had arrived, and with its pa.s.sing, Kellerman felt a sudden wave of euphoria rise within her. They had tried to trick her, by moving in a scout ahead of the main party. They wanted to draw her out of her hiding place, so they could move in quick and s.n.a.t.c.h her with a minimum of resistance. Well, they had failed and if she could foil their plans once, she could certainly do it again- she was in with a chance of coming through this, no matter how slim that chance might be. A new hope had risen. Kellerman breathed again, holding the kitchen knife two handed now, getting ready to run through the next person who came looking for her.

As soon as the silent a.s.sa.s.sin had pa.s.sed, the main party stood at the door, whispering conspiracies in an unintelligible tongue. They knew she was here all right, they just couldn't figure where. Kellerman froze once again, her fingers pressing hard on the handle of the big knife. She could feel the rivets standing out of the wood, feel the hard, cold, steel rising up like a coffin nail poised ready for death.

Dark shadows flickered in the doorway. The first man was in the galley now, his shadow rising across the floor, the thin barrel of his a.s.sault rifle moving ever watchful, as he came forwards with careful steps.

The lights flashed on, harsh and

unrelenting.

Kellerman shrank back in her hiding place.

She could smell them now-sour cabbage and fish, mixed with body odor and the heavy smell of tobacco. The first man moved cautiously down the opposite side of the galley. Soon he would see her-packed tight into her little hidey-hole. Strike first-it was her only chance. She had to move quick-get the drop on the guy before he had time to swing his gun. Kellerman counted down the footfalls figuring she would wait until he was almost upon her, before she made her move.

A sudden disturbance and a m.u.f.fled curse-like the second man had stumbled in the doorway. It was the perfect distraction. Kellerman rose up out of her hiding place and swung the knife with all her force. But the strike was badly mistimed. The dark figure before her stepped quickly backwards, almost like he had been forewarned.

A soft metallic noise echoed out Phut-phut. Kellerman had no time to think. Off balance now, she launched a second strike at her would be attacker, but instead of catching him centre ma.s.s, she caught him in the upper thigh. The knife sank deep, glancing off something that might have been bone. The effect was sudden and instantaneous.

The dark figure sank forwards, pulling the knife free of her enfeebled fingers, then toppled down, like a slow falling tree.

Kellerman had no time to pull clear, the man fell on top of her, his lifeless arms releasing his weapon as he fell. Sprawling on the floor Kellerman watched him come, struggling to escape, as his lifeless drooling face came level with hers. How could a stab wound to the leg cause such a dramatic result? As the puzzle flashed through her mind, Kellerman stared into the lifeless eyes of her would be a.s.sailant and the cause of her miraculous reprieve became apparent. The hideous emaciated face had a bullet hole bindi, blooming wide like a third eye, right in the middle of his forehead.

31.

Langley, Virginia Inside the lead lined operations room at CIA Langley, the Admiral relaxed back in his chair and said, "Golf is a good walk ruined, according to that pinko son of a b.i.t.c.h Mark Twain, but what the h.e.l.l would he know, he was from Missouri for chrissake and by my reckoning, there isn't a course worth mentioning in the entire state." The Admiral was wearing golf clothes and a navy colored ball cap emblazoned with the legend HMFIC. As he spoke, he gesticulated freely, underlining each point with an emphatic flourish.

"We got ourselves a problem," said Jack Senegar.

"Too right we got a problem Laddie; it is almost five o'clock and this d.a.m.n golf course of yours doesn't have a bar. You call that hospitality?" "We got coffee Bill, I am guessing you take it straight up?"

"What in the wild-tarnation are you thinking Senegar. Did you bring me here to poison me or something?" the Admiral regarded Jack Senegar with narrow eyes, then patted the breast pocket of his golfing jacket and said, "I knew you spineless land-lubbers wouldn't have any grog in this G.o.d-forsaken puzzle palace of yours, so I took the liberty of bringing my own supply."

Senegar gave the Admiral a level look and said, "We are having communications issues with the Islands. Power outages and surge interference across the board. There has been a knock on to the telecoms hub. Which means satcoms in the area are overloaded. Local word is a relay station outage caused the problems. But our a.n.a.lysts say no."

The Admiral nodded, his face suddenly grim. "So it has started, Laddie, the organized interference you predicted."

"I am afraid so."

"The girl is on station?"

"Indeed. There have been deaths already.

Local police are saying there is no pattern. I think we can safely say that local law enforcement is entirely compromised.

"So it spreads."

"Like a virus."

"Then we must move quickly. No doubt these conspirators will have eyes on our affairs. I take it you are watching our friends in the Bureau?" "And they are watching us-a battle of wits as ever, but the stakes are rising with each pa.s.sing hour," said Senegar.

"Then it will no doubt be a matter of time before our subterfuge is discovered, which is a shame, because thus far this golfing break of ours has proved most enjoyable. I suggest we go live on this operation, effective immediately."

"The a.s.sets are in place?" "We have RQ-4 coverage online now, are the Predators in the air?"

"Full operational coverage."

The Admiral nodded, "Carrier strike group nine is moving on station as we speak, they will be in full operational range of the target in twelve hours forty-three minutes and counting,"

"This won't go unnoticed, our enemies are everywhere, including Government."

"No need to worry about that Laddie CSG-9 are on active duty, I have simply brought forward plans that have already been made, with the full operational approval of Special Operations Command, so there is no need to concern yourself about congressional oversight. Those spineless traitors in Washington will get to read about this operation of ours in the morning papers, so far after the fact it will be a matter of history, not a cause for debate."

"So no blowback."

"Don't concern yourself Laddie. Better to come ready for a shooting war and not be needed, than be needed and not ready. If we deploy, it will simply be a happy coincidence that our forces were in the area."

"What about the SEALS?"

"DEVGRU have been briefed. They are working towards an all points intervention." The Admiral sat back in his chair and breathed deep, "Have no fear Laddie the elements involved in this little conspiracy are about to find out just exactly why the United States Navy is the most feared fighting force in the world."

"No collateral damage."

"Collateral damage is my business Laddie. If any sniveling civilians want to sit ringside for this, they better close their eyes, put their fingers in their ears and prey to the Lord G.o.d Almighty for deliverance, because anyone or anything that stands between us and the freedom of the United States of America is about to get hit by fifty-million tons of kick a.s.s."

32.

The Pacific In the galley of the Nautilus, Frank Buchanan squeezed down on the thin-faced attacker with a punishing neck lock. The hijacker writhed and twisted, his hands clawing desperately. But he was no match for Buchanan's heavy-set ferocity. Holding his prey tight from behind, Buchanan kept squeezing and twisting and lifting, until the raggedy little killer was hanging above the floor, his face bulging purple. Still Buchanan held on, pulling a final twist with his tattooed bicep until a sickening fractured crunch sounded out. Then he let the corpse fall.

Kellerman watched the incident from the floor, as the man Buchanan had just shot dead oozed blood on top of her. Finally, as she caught her breath and pushed the lifeless corpse away, Buchanan looked down at her and said, "You don't look too good. You hurt or something Princess?"

"Don't call me that you b.a.s.t.a.r.d, I hate it when you call me that."

Buchanan flinched slightly, gave her a tight look and said, "Welcome to the high seas Kellerman. You just landed yourself a place in the major league. So, what are you going to do, lay there on your sweet little a.s.s all day, or get up and make a play?"

"I think I am going to puke, if you want to know, so don't feed me those bulls.h.i.t lines of yours, or I might just hurl on you."

Buchanan grinned. "Figures you would say that, but don't think for a moment that you are going to light-weight your way out of this one. You are going to have to step up, like it or not. Are we clear?" Buchanan held out his hand.

Still lying on her back, Kellerman scowled up from the floor. I just bashed some dude's head in with a fire extinguisher, and stabbed another in the groin, so be advised on those points if you think you are going to feed me Marine Corps witticisms for the rest of the day."

"Take my hand and get on your feet. You keep up with that whining little sob story voice of yours and it's me who is going to puke. Now get up, or I will pop a bullet in you too, just to put you out of your G.o.dd.a.m.n misery."

"alvares told me to decommission the gun cabinet," said Kellerman. "Right before he caught a bullet in the leg. Heung was involved. He pulled a gun on the bridge. Tried to take over. The Captain wasn't ready to let that happen, so Heung started shooting."

Buchanan nodded grimly. "Figures. I never liked that little weasel. He figured he was something special. Turns out he was wrong." He paused, regarded Kellerman carefully and said, "Please, tell me Heung was the worthless little punk you cracked in the head?"

"It all happened so quick-I just flipped, I wasn't going to let him attack the Captain like that."

"You did good Kellerman, real good. But this little pool party we got going on ain't over yet, not by a long shot. So, if we want to see the other side of this, we are going to have to use our smarts and beat down the rest of these raggedy a.s.s creeps, then float 'em back to the land of Kim-Jong-Wrong."

"There are a dozen of them at least, and they all have AK-47s, and other stuff too, like explosive belts. You think they are going to blow the ship?"

"If those creeps had wanted to sink us, they wouldn't have taken the trouble to hop on board. They would have rammed that rust bucket trawler of theirs into our engine room. You ask me, they got some other kind of nutso motive to pull this little stunt, but that doesn't concern me. Whatever they want, we are going to spoil their plans and make them wish they had never heard of the good ship Nautilus."

Kellerman frowned, a question hanging on her lips. "None of this makes sense, it's not like we have a cargo, or even anything of value on board- maybe they think that they can send a message to the government, we are on a Federally mandated mission after all."

"Hey, forget about the government Kellerman. This thing is personal. These sons of b.i.t.c.hes hunted us down, and now that they have hopped on board with their little pop-guns they think they are running things. Well, I am here to tell you that ain't so and here is why-we are going to chisel them down into bite-sized pieces, make them realize the picked the wrong ship to mess with."

"Are you kidding? We will need guns, and in case you hadn't noticed, the gun cabinet has a giant padlock strapped over it. We will never break that off without explosives."

"We don't need to break it off."

"We don't? What are you talking about?" "I have the key."

"Are you nuts? You have the key to the G.o.dd.a.m.n gun cabinet and we are standing here shooting the breeze, like time doesn't matter a d.a.m.n. Open the d.a.m.n thing up already and break out the munitions."

"Hey, no need to pop a gasket Kellerman. I already broke out the weapons."

"Why didn't you say something?"

"Quit your bellyaching and open the oven would you? While you were popping our little friend on the bridge, I figured I would take the liberty of stashing the contents of the gun cabinet to prevent our noodle noshing pals from getting their nasty little maws on them."

Kellerman shot Buchanan a look, "Pretty slick move for a grease monkey. What kind of shooters are we talking about?"

Buchanan sighed, then popped open the front of the industrial oven, revealing dozens of shotguns and rifles and a bunch of handguns too, along with dozens of boxes of ammunition."

Kellerman grinned. "We should split the ammo, hide it in a different place, and pop the bolts on the guns we don't use, just in case our friends upstairs have a yen to make pizza."

"So what are you waiting for? The clock is ticking. Break them down. We have got to take control of this thing before out friends above decks figure out their environment and make themselves at home. While they are figuring out the layout of the boat, we got ourselves an edge."

Kellerman looked at him now, his dark- lined face etched with a thousand or more untold stories, his dark eyes burning with an unswerving commitment to the mission in hand. This was a new side of Frank Buchanan that Kellerman had never seen before. Before the dawn of this h.e.l.lish morning, she had always thought of him as a dirty and rude-a greasy tattooed sailor, the grizzled survivor of a dying breed. But there was more to Frank Buchanan, much more. He was steadfast and resilient in the face of adversity. He was a man of strength and honor, a man who could be relied upon. Yes, he was part of a dying breed all right, a warrior and fool wrapped up inside one hardheaded package. But now, as his dark eyes stared into hers, earnest and fearless, Kellerman felt the sick-headed world of violence and insanity fall away, revealing a new hope of deliverance. Buchanan was on her side-after these long months of confrontation, he was with her and they were working together against a common enemy.

He saw her looking and frowned, "Something on your mind?"

"Just wondering."

"Spit it out for Christ's sake, we got work to do."

"That story about you getting married to a Korean girl in Gw.a.n.gju-was that real, or was it just another one of your bulls.h.i.t stories?"

Buchanan raised his 1911 and jacked a cartridge into the breech. "That information is on a need to know basis Kellerman."

33.