Authors: Jeremy Robinson
BENEATH - A Novel (53 page)
3
Gulf of Aden -
A stark white motorboat bearing no national symbols, name or markings of any kind rose up over a wave, catching air for a beat. The motor buzzed as it left the baby blue water before being muffled once more as the boat descended and the blades bit into the sea. The fifteen foot craft leapt from wave to wave, dancing over the ocean as fast that the old engine could push it, and its five occupants.
Dressed in loose clothing, ski masks and head wraps, only the eyes of the five passengers could be seen. Four sets of eyes were locked onto a single target—the Volgaeft, a Russian cargo ship. The only one of the five not looking at the cargo ship sat at the back, guiding the flat-hulled boat through the maze of five foot swells. The seas were rough for such a small craft, but as they closed in on the cargo vessel, none on board thought about the threat of capsizing; their thoughts were on the violence that would soon begin.
The Volgaeft was at full speed in a bid to outrun the band of pirates, and had no doubt issued a call for help, but the pirates knew they could catch the sluggish, heavily laden vessel. And with some newly acquired technology, would easily board it before help arrived. And help would arrive. After a short period of successful pirating which brought in an estimated 30 million dollars, the international community had cracked down. Warships from
The pirates' sources put the nearest warship, a Chinese destroyer, roughly thirty minutes away. But with the Volgaeft now making a beeline for the destroyer and the destroyer for the Volgaeft, that half hour would be cut in half. And it had taken five minutes to pull up alongside the freighter.
Ten minutes left.
Typically, once a cargo vessel was boarded and the crew rounded up, there was nothing a destroyer could do. The ransom would be paid. And after returning to port with hostages, the ship and crew would be free to go. But this was no ordinary pirate raid. They were after something specific, and they needed to be gone by the time the Chinese arrived.
As the freighter crew watched the small pirate ship far below, preparing to cut grappling hook lines, they saw something they'd never seen a pirate do before. All five of the pirates raised, what looked like hand guns, but tipped with solid black cylinders. Pirates typically fired warning shots at the crew, forcing them away from the rail while they scaled the side, but these devices weren't weapons at all. All five fired as one. The black cylinders arced up over the rail trailing thin black wires. They landed atop a large metal container and snapped up into standing positions as their magnetic bases engaged.
One of the men armed with a machete tried to cut through the thin black wires, which were already taut with weight, but his blade could do no more to the wire than a plastic knife. Before the crew could discuss what to do next, the pirates were pulled up and over the rail, landing on their feet and drawing pistols. The stunned crew stared for a moment. Then ran.
Ignoring the fleeing crew, the pirates entered the maze of metal containers covering the deck of the massive ship. They were looking for one container in particular. Its contents were worth more than the bounty received from all previous pirate attacks in the last year combined.
They wove their way through isles created by the looming towers of containers, scanning the variety of labels, serial numbers and ID codes. They knew what they were looking for. ID-432 out of
Three minutes later, they found it.
A pair of bolt cutters emerged from beneath one of the loose robes worn by the pirates. The lock fell to the deck a moment later and the large metal doors opened. Flashlights rose to meet the darkness within, illuminating a single metal carrying case.
"Over there," one of the large men said, his English perfect, though tinged with a
"I'm on it," the shortest replied, her voice feminine. The cheap black ski mask she wore covered her face and the black face paint beneath concealed her skin color. The only aberration in her pirate disguise was her indigo eyes.
The man, Stanly Tremblay, callsign: Rook stepped inside the container, flashlight up, followed by the woman, Zelda Baker, callsign: Queen.
Queen knelt down by silver case and inspected the area around it. "No traps. Looks clear, King."
Jack Sigler, callsign: King stepped around Rook and unwrapped his facemask. His hard jaw was covered in stubble. His eyes glimmered with what his mother called mischief, but what the
Outside the container, the last two "pirates" kept watch. Erik Somers, callsign: Bishop, brimming with muscles and the smaller man, Shin Dae-jung, callsign: Knight, kept their silenced pistols aimed down either end of the shipping container walled hallway.
King pulled the case free from the bungee cords that held it secure to the back wall of the container. A digital touch-screen and ten numbered buttons, zero through nine, were inlaid on the side of the case. Low tech travel and storage, meet high-tech security. The case could not be opened without the correct code, and though there were no traps guarding the case itself, no one wanted to test a last recourse defense mechanism by opening the case without the right code. "Deep Blue, you there?"
"Right beside you." In fact, the Delta team's handler, Deep Blue, was half a world away, watching them via satellite. Named for the chess playing super computer that trounced world champion Garry Kasparov in 1997, Deep Blue was the only member of the team whose identity was unknown. The man was an enigma, but he had access to U.S. Military resources that were unparalleled, an impressive strategic thought process and an understanding of military tactics that only someone who had previously seen combat could have. "I can see Bishop and Knight outside the container. Are you in?"
"Affirmative. I'm about to access the locking mechanism," King said as he used his K-BAR knife to pry off the touch-screen. He plucked the cable free from the back of the screen, removed a small touchscreen of his own, and attached it. Once connected the screen lit up, a similar light blue to the ocean outside, and scrolled through a series of numbers. Unlike other mechanisms that tried a myriad of codes, looking for the right one, this device actually rewrote the software so that a new code could be added.
"Once you confirm the contents, you need to bug out," Deep Blue said. "The Chinese destroyer will be at your doorstep in five minutes and it looks like they're warming up a chopper."
King shook his head. It was never easy. "Armed or transport?"
"Gunship."
"Shit."
"Bishop, Knight, the crew is getting brave," Deep Blue added. "Looks like they're armed."
"Just let us know where to aim," Knight said.
Bishop, as usual, remained silent at his post. Watching and waiting. Unlike the others, he had nothing to fear from bullets, not physically anyway. Thanks to an unrefined serum created by Manifold Genetics, Bishop's body could regenerate from almost any physical injury short of decapitation. The downside was that every injury, from a paper cut to a bullet wound pushed his mind further to the brink. The test subjects before him all became what the team called "regens"—mindless killing machines. It was only Bishop's history of anger management and a regimen of mood enhancing drugs that kept him stable. It had been almost a year since their run in with Manifold and the regenerated mythical Hydra, but this mission was Bishop's return to active duty. He'd been deemed fit for duty only a week ago.
The numbers on the display stopped, and a blank screen with ten empty spaces appeared.
"Ready for the code," King said.
"Hey guys, Lew here." The new voice in their ear belonged to Lewis Aleman, their tech-wizard who was not only hardened on the digital battlefield, but also on the physical battlefield as a Delta operator. "The legendary CD Key for Office 97 is the code."
"Lew," King said, "This really isn't a time for—"
"All zeros," Rook said.
"And the winner is..."
King didn't hear the rest. He was already typing in the ten zeros. Upon finishing the code, the screen went black. "Uh, Lew..."
The locks clicked open. They were in.
"Knight, now would be a good time for a warning shot." Deep Blue's voice was cool, but the speed with which he spoke conveyed urgency. The crew of more than thirty men were closing in on what they believed were five Somali pirates.
Hoping the noise would intimidate, Knight removed his silencer from his .45 caliber Sig Sauer 220 handgun and fired off a round. It pinged off the deck where a crewman's shoe was poking out from behind a container. The man shouted and the sounds of shuffling feet could be heard moving away.
"That did it," Deep Blue said. "But they haven't given up. Chinese heli is in the air. ETA, two minutes. The destroyer will be right behind it."
King ignored the timeline. It would only make him nervous and slow him down. He opened the case. Steam hissed from inside, rolling over the edge and out across the floor of the roiling hot container. When the steam cleared, twenty small vials were exposed. King removed a small kit from his cargo pants, which were hidden beneath his robe, and opened it. Moving with extreme care, he then untwisted the cap of one of the vials, inserted a Q-tip, and soaked up a small amount of the clear liquid within. He rolled the Q-tip across the white surface of a small device that absorbed an analyzed the liquid. Normally, to identify a mystery liquid would require more processing power and equipment, but they were looking for one specific liquid, or rather, what was contained within the liquid medium. A small light on the device flashed green.
"Confirmed," King said. "We've got ourselves enough Russian made smallpox to wipe out the populations of ten major cities."
"Great," Rook said, "All headed for our buddies in
Cases of smallpox could be traced back two thousand years in human history, emerging in
"So much for Putin's assurance that their smallpox cache was secure," Queen said.
"I believe that as much as I believe Putin saved a film crew from a Siberian Tiger," Rook said. "If the guy had been born and raised in the
"Human nature," Queen replied. "We've been dousing the world in chemical and bio-warfare for thousands of years before we even understood what the stuff was. And the
"Amen to that." King nodded as he placed the Q-tip and small device on the floor. He took out a long cylinder that had been strapped to his leg, opened it and doused the Q-tip and device with Thermate-TH3, a ruddy-brown powder made from an iron oxide variant of thermite, barium nitrate, sulfur and PBAN as a binder. The powder would burn at 2500 °C, incinerating all traces of the smallpox and melting a hole in the container and a portion of the decks beneath. He closed the case as another shot rang out from outside the container.
"Another warning shot," Knight said. "No worries. Scratch that. Big worries, incoming."
The whup, whup. whup of an approaching helicopter rose in volume. The Chinese had arrived. King stood, and shook the remaining Thermate onto the open case. Though more than a few science boys in the
