The Devil's Waters

CHAPTER 33





From the cargo deck, LB monitored the short exchanges between Wally and Jamie. Doc and the others surrounding the bridge would be listening too.

“Clear.” Jamie had just arrived at the next landing down, checked it, found it empty.

“Go.” Wally moved on his tail, watching their backsides.

As he’d done an hour earlier, LB slipped in and out of the companionway, forging his way toward the stern. He dropped down off the cargo deck, lay flat, then crept in shadow below the level of the steel rail. LB gained as much distance as he could, then scurried up another dark ladder until the next guard had passed or turned away.

He reached the aft corner of the cargo deck, ducking behind the last lashing bridge to catch his breath. The gray face of the superstructure seemed a giant tombstone. The radio buzzed in his ear.

“LB. In position?”

“Roger.”

“Hold.”

Moments later, Jamie spoke.

“Target down.”

LB hustled to the ladder. Landing on the deck, he spun the Zastava across his back. Jamie had detached the magazine from the dead man’s Kalashnikov to drop it overboard. He dug hands under the pirate’s armpits. LB hurried to take hold of the sandaled feet. Hefting the body, he noted the callused heels. The Somali’s blouse bore twin punctures in the chest. Black blood seeped into the linen.

“Over here,” LB whispered. They lugged the body to a gloomy corner. No need to risk dumping it overboard. The corpse didn’t have to stay hidden for long. It was going to be one of many very shortly.

LB shook hands with Jamie. “Sorry about this.”

“Me, too. Later. Hey, did the engineer move his legs?”

“A couple of toes.”

“Nice.”

“Hey, kid. Next time I say I got it by myself, kick me.”

“I’ll let Wally do it.”

LB didn’t follow the reference. It didn’t matter. Wally crouched, waiting in the companionway. LB and Jamie took knees beside him.

“Which way?” Wally asked.

“Good to see you, too.”

“I know. Which way?”

“Hit the stern first. Lock down our six. Three targets. The wind’ll carry the sound backward.”

Wally tapped the Serb’s unsuppressed weapon hanging off LB’s shoulder. “Keep that quiet as long as you can. Jamie, take point.”

The young PJ entered the narrow passage to the stern, coiled and athletic, holding the M4 ready. Wally gestured LB to the center, then took the rear.

They moved quickly, keeping close and low. Nearing the corner of the stern, Wally whispered to LB, “Hold.”

LB stopped. Wally edged past in the narrow corridor.

Jamie eased the final distance to the corner, Wally tight behind him. Jamie dropped his NVGs over his eyes and lay flat. He edged his face forward. Directly over him, Wally hugged the wall, ready to step out and fire. Jamie murmured into the radio, “I got the far one. You take the close one. We’ll both get the middle.”

Jamie skittered back. He gathered to a knee, night goggles down to rely on the IR beam of his weapon.

Gun barrels tilted up, Wally said, “Now.” The two whirled around the corner, Wally high, Jamie bent low, M4s leveled into the open. They found their targets fast. Both guns jerked in tandem. The suppression tubes cloaked any flashes; reports were dulled to pops and the clacks of chambering rounds. The wind blew most of the sound out over the water. Jamie fired three times, Wally four. Without lowering their carbines, the two slipped around the corner. LB scurried behind them in support.

Wally and Jamie hastened along the stern rail, the only two silhouettes in motion. Wan moonlight dusted the three downed pirates. Wally leaned over them to fire once into each. He heaved two AKs and an RPG overboard. Three towed skiffs bounded on the Valnea’s wake, attached to grappling hooks over the rail. Jamie trained his M4 on the starboard corner while Wally mopped up. LB pivoted away to do his part and guard the starboard passage.

Six pirates were dead so far. One Serb. More to come. No one and nothing could stop the tempest of this night. Jamie, the youngest of the PJs, was handling himself well in close combat. This underscored how foolish LB had been to separate from him. There was no such thing as a milk run.

Wally and Jamie moved beside LB. Wally checked his watch. Even in the poor light, blood dotted the rim of the suppression tube on his M4.

LB asked, “Something you said before. On the radio.”

“What?”

“You said Doc assaults the bridge if we run out of time. What’d you mean?”

“I should’ve told you earlier.”

“Told me what?”

“We got forty-four minutes. At oh-two-one-oh, a Reaper’s going to sink us if we haven’t secured the ship.”

“Us? You mean, like, us?”

“Hostages, pirates, us. Presidential order. It’s got to be done in deep water and before we get in range of the coast. They’ll blame the pirates for blowing up the ship. All very neat.”

That it was. With a drone locked and loaded, invisibly high, the PJs had no choice down here on the ship. They were locked in, too, along with the Somalis. Neither side had any way out but to kill the other. This was worse than combat. It was gladiatorial.

Jamie asked LB, “You know what’s on this ship?”

“Yeah. I do.”

“Don’t tell me. But does this make sense to you? To blow it up rather than let the Somalis keep it?”

“Yeah.”

“Well,” the young PJ said, “at least that’s something.”

Jamie flipped the NVGs over his eyes. He crouched, facing the bow, instantly ready. “Where’s the next one?”