“Already on it. I’ll keep you posted. You sure about this plan?”
“Yes.” It’d be a hell of a gamble, given that they didn’t know for sure that Papa was on board, but she had to try.
“Thea’s right,” said Rif. “Information like the existence of the watch could be leaked, traded, or sold, and this could be a copycat or phantom kidnapper. Hell, the actual kidnapper could even have hired these men to act as a decoy while he transports Christos somewhere else. Taking the offensive is the only way to get answers.”
“It’s your call to make. I’ll arrange for the sketch artist, so we can try to find the messenger boy. The team will arrive with full gear. Anything else you need, let me know.” Hakan’s tone was committed.
If all went well, they’d recover Papa and the funds, but when was the last time anything went according to plan? She signed off with Hakan.
Honor, reputation, dignity—they were Christos Paris’s mantras. He even had a public relations firm on speed dial to manage his image. He wanted to be seen as the angel of world energy; Paris Industries, the clean, caring company that stood out from the others. He had also taken great pride in the company’s reputation as a philanthropic giant, setting up grants, scholarships, and charities, all showcasing him as someone who gave back. No way would he want to cause harm to the environment or others.
Her gaze met Rif’s. “Tell me I’m not making a huge mistake.”
“I can’t, but your father would be proud of you.”
“A lot of good that’ll do if I get him killed.” She straightened her shoulders. “Okay, time to plan the mission.”
Chapter Twenty
Blackness cloaked Thea’s team as they torpedoed through the water in two modified cigarette boats, each harnessing over one thousand horsepower. Stealthy and seaworthy, the racers had deep-V hulls that sliced through the swells like hot knives through butter. The inky depths of the Mediterranean and the muffled engines masked their approach to the Damocles. The VLCC—very large crude carrier—rode low on the water, bloated with several cathedral-size tanks, and was slow-moving, which worked to Thea’s team’s advantage. Dressed all in black down to face paint, they blended into the night. She captained one cigarette, Rif the other.
She adjusted her earpiece, waiting for the pilot’s command. The low-flying Cessna was about to drop ten million euros in unmarked bills onto the deck of the Damocles in large waterproof containers. Timing was key. The ransom drop offered the perfect distraction for her seven-man team to board the supertanker undetected.
All of Paris Industries’ crews had been trained to deal with piracy, but supertankers were especially vulnerable. Mostly automated, the bulky, slow-moving vessels had small crews. A crash-stop maneuver, taking the ship from full speed to full reverse, required fourteen minutes and nearly two nautical miles. And international law prevented the tankers from carrying weapons, so the men on board were sitting ducks, the perfect prey.
But Thea’s team was ready to help the Damocles eject its hijackers. Brown and Stewart were responsible for eliminating the kidnappers’ ability to leak oil into the Mediterranean Sea—Brown had a background in engineering, a useful skill set for this type of operation. Rif and Jean-Luc were assigned to disable the kidnappers’ helicopter, leaving the two cigarettes guarded by Neil. Thea and Johansson were tasked with finding her father, if he was even on board.
She double-checked her blood sugar levels on her smartphone. All good.
“Operation Drop Zone initiated,” the Cessna pilot rasped in her earpiece. She accelerated the speedboat toward the Damocles, headed straight for the rudder. The ship’s curved hull blocked the kidnappers from spotting them. Somali pirates had perfected the use of this natural blind spot for boarding vessels undetected.
As the boats approached the expansive stern, they slowed to match the tanker’s speed. Johansson crawled up the cigarette’s deck and attached a powerful magnet to the Damocles’s hull, tossing a rope to Brown to hook onto the speedboat. Jean-Luc completed the same maneuver for Rif’s boat.
The rattle and hum of the approaching Cessna masked their sounds.
Almost time for the drop.
Johansson, an avid mountain climber, scaled the hull using specially designed suction cups, the kind used by art thieves. A few minutes later, he dropped two rope ladders for the others to use. Neil stayed with the boats while the rest of the team slipped over the transom. With the bridge positioned at the stern, they needed to stay dark.
Crouched low, Thea and Johansson quickly scouted the area for any sentries, sound-suppressed MP5s slung over their shoulders. Light glowed from the bridge, and a lone silhouette stood inside. As expected, the arriving ransom was occupying the kidnappers’ attention.