Critical Mass (28 page)

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Authors: David Hagberg

BOOK: Critical Mass
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MCGARVEY STOOD JUST WITHIN THE HATCHWAY THAT PAPAGOS had disappeared through, and held his breath as he listened for a sound, any sound. But the ship was dead. Nothing moved, not even a whisper of air.
This entire thing had been a setup from the moment he'd shown up in Piraeus looking for a boat to bring him out to Santorini. Spranger had anticipated his every move and had stayed at least one step ahead of him since France.
“Kathleen.” he shouted. “Elizabeth?” He stepped to the opposite side of the corridor, flattening himself against the bulkhead in the darkness.
There was no answer. No cry, no pistol shot, no movement. Nothing. But Papagos could be anywhere. There were a thousand places aboard for him to hide in the darkness. A thousand ambushes.
The question was, were Kathleen and Elizabeth aboard now? Was it Spranger's intentions to let them go down with the ship, knowing that an enraged, out-of-control McGarvey would come after him? Or was this just another of the man's obstacles before the final confrontation?
Straight down the corridor, about midships, a stairway led up to the bridge deck. He was going to have to search the ship for them. Now. Immediately. Which meant he was going to have to start taking chances.
Tightening his grip on his pistol, McGarvey darted down the corridor and took the stairs two at a time. At the top he halted for just a second.
A narrow landing led to an open hatch onto the bridge. No
lights illuminated any of the instruments or gauges, and only a very dim light filtered in from outside. A figure of a man was lying on the deck. He was dead, there was little doubt of it. All the crew would be dead, and the hatches locked in the open position so that when the sand kickers blew out the ship's bottom she'd sink in a couple of minutes, attracting no attention from shore.
Something moved below, on the main deck. McGarvey turned and looked down the stairs, but he couldn't see a thing. He'd heard a noise, lightly, metal against metal, perhaps. But there was nothing now.
Papagos trying to get off the ship?
McGarvey started down the stairs, and halfway to the deck he dropped low so that he could see into the corridor. The figure of a bulky man was outlined against the open hatch, his back to McGarvey. Something outside, on deck or out on the water was apparently holding his interest.
He backed up and turned around as McGarvey came the rest of the way down, and he stopped short. It was Papagos. He held what looked like a Russian Makarov automatic loosely at his side, the muzzle pointed down.
“Your wife and daughter are not aboard,” he said. He was clearly agitated. There was no insolence about him now.
“Who's out there?”
“I don't know. I thought I saw something.”
“Is that why you didn't jump ship?”
“Did you bring someone with you?” Papagos asked, his eyes narrowing. He looked like a cornered rat getting ready to spring.
“I didn't bring anybody. It could be Spranger.”
“He wouldn't come here now.”
“This boat is going to blow up. When?”
“I don't know. I swear to God, I don't know.”
“Where are my wife and daughter, if they're not aboard now?”
“On the island. In the monastery.” Papagos nervously glanced over his shoulder.
“How do I know you're telling the truth?”
“You must believe me,” Papagos pleaded. He came forward a step and McGarvey raised his pistol.
“Put your gun down.”
“Kill me and you'll never see your wife and daughter again. He's crazy. He'll kill them first, and then he'll kill you. He means to do it. He's got the power, even more than Constantine does. But I can help you. I know what he's up to.”
Something bumped against the hull on the portside of the ship. The
Dhodh
ni
, or a distraction? McGarvey, still holding his gun on the Greek, stepped farther back into the darkness.
“What are you doing?” Papagos whispered urgently.
“Put your gun down, and you might come out of this alive,” McGarvey whispered back. If it was Spranger's people out there coming back to the ship for some reason, Papagos would provide a brief delay. Possibly long enough for McGarvey to gain the advantage. It would also mean that this ship wasn't set to blow after all.
“Fuck you,” Papagos snarled, and he spun on his heel, darting for the open hatch as a black-suited figure appeared on deck.
The Greek cried out and got off one shot that staggered the man in the hatchway, but did not knock him down. McGarvey figured he was wearing a bulletproof vest. Then three silenced shots were fired down the length of the thwartships corridor from the starboard side, slamming into Papagos' back and head. He fell forward on his face, dead.
A second later another black-suited figure rushed down the corridor and as he passed, McGarvey reached out and yanked the man back into the shadows, putting the muzzle of his Walther to the man's temple.
“
Tell your people to back off
,” McGarvey said in German. “
Or I will kill you now. Do it
!”
The man McGarvey was holding didn't move a muscle. He was obviously a well-disciplined professional.
“Mr. McGarvey,” someone called in English from the darkness above on the stairs. “I am pointing my pistol at your head. I want you to release Frank, and step away from him.”
“Who are you?”
“My name is Ed Lipton. I'm a U.S. Navy lieutenant. We're SEALS here to rescue your wife and daughter.”
Spranger? the thought immediately occurred. McGarvey wouldn't put this past the man.
“How did you find me?” he called.
“The walkie-talkie you were given in Paris was modified to include an EPIRB. Do you know what this device is?”
“Yes,” McGarvey said. “Who gave it to me?”
“Mr. Littel on Mr. Lynch's instructions,” Lipton answered.
“What else have you been told about me?”
“That you're one tenacious son of a bitch,” the man McGarvey was holding said. “My name is Tyrell, and if you don't mind I'd like to be set free. My back is killing me.”
McGarvey moved the gun away from Tyrell's head, released his grip around the man's neck and stepped out into the middle of the corridor. He was covered from the hatches at both ends of the corridor, as well as from Lipton on the stairs.
“Any sign of your wife and daughter,” Tyrell asked.
“No, but I didn't have the chance to look,” McGarvey said. “I think this ship is about to blow.”
“Then we'd better hurry,” Lipton said, coming down the stairs. “Frank, take Bryan, Tony and Bob, and start with the bilges and engine room. Jules and McGarvey will come with me on this deck and above.”
 
“Everything is set here,” Dürenmatt said, laying the remote control detonator on the table.
Spranger had been looking out to sea in the direction he knew the
Thaxos
was lying, although in the darkness he could not actually see the ship. He turned.
“Very well. Who is watching the landing area?”
“Bruno.”
“Take Walther and Otto with you and join him. Once the ship blows we'll watch with the starlight scopes.”
“How long do you want to wait before we get out of here?” Dürenmatt asked. He was a very large bear of a man. His specialty with the STASI had been killing men with his bare hands, slowly and with great relish.
“However long it takes for Mr. McGarvey to come to us,” Spranger said turning back to the open window.
“He's probably dead out there, or else he will be soon.”
“I don't think so, Peter. No, I think Mr. McGarvey is more resourceful than that.”
“We can stand off, and when he comes up here … if he comes up here … we can blow this place.”
“No,” Spranger said with finality. “I want to see his face when he knows he's lost.”
“Insanity,” Dürenmatt said, half under his breath.
Spranger looked at the man, his left eyebrow slightly arched, his lips pursed. “Peter,” he said softly. “If you ever talk to me like that again, I shall have you nailed to a post and skinned alive. Is that clear?”
“
Jawohl, Herr General,”
Dürenmatt said, chastised. Even he realized that he had gone too far. “I am sorry.”
“See to your duties, then.”
“Yes, sir,” the bigger man said. He clicked his heels and left.
Liese came in from the adjacent room that had once been a small chapel. She had overheard everything, and she was smiling.
“What if he doesn't lose, Ernst?” she asked. “Perhaps he's coming here not only to free his women, but also to see the look on your face when you know that you've lost.”
Spranger didn't bother rising to her bait.
After a moment or two she chuckled, the sound low and soft. “How long before the ship explodes?”
“Less than three minutes,” Spranger said, and he glanced back at Liese headed for the door. “Where are you going?”
“I want to see the look on Elizabeth's face. She's more interesting to me.”
“Stay away from them.”
“No,” Liese said flatly. “We're going to kill them in any event. Perhaps I'll do the mother now. I'd like to see the little girl's reaction.”
A slight flush had come to Liese's cheeks.
“You're disgusting.”
She laughed out loud. “Yes, I am, aren't I?”
“I COUNT SIX DEAD SO FAR,” LIPTON SAID COMING OUT OF THE crew's dining area. “Every one of them has been shot in the back of the head at close range. This STASI outfit are a bunch of bastards.”
McGarvey was at the end of the corridor at the stairwell which led to the lower decks and engine room. “There's at least one more on the bridge. I think you'd better get your people off this ship before it's too late.”
“They know what they're doing,” Lipton said crossing the corridor and poking his head into the galley.
“So does Spranger.”
Chief Petty Officer Jules Joslow came around the corner. “All clear in the crews' quarters,” he reported.
“Any sign of the hostages?” Lipton asked.
“Negative. If they were ever aboard they left no traces that I could see.”
“They're on the island,” McGarvey said, one ear cocked at the stairway.
“You get that from the one we neutralized?”
“He said they'd been taken to the monastery where Spranger's waiting for me to show up. I think he was telling the truth.”
“Spranger has got to know that you came out here …” Lipton said, but then he realized that he and his men had probably walked into the middle of a trap that had been set for McGarvey. A trap that McGarvey was expected to escape from. And for the first time Lipton began to get the feeling that he and his people might be out of their league here.
“Lieutenant,” McGarvey prompted.
“Right,” Lipton said. “I think it's time we get the hell out of here. There's no one left alive.” He turned to Joslow. “Get our raft away from this ship. I'll pull Frank and the others out.”
“Aye, aye, sir,” Joslow said.
“Cut the fishing boat loose too,” McGarvey said. “I'm going to need her.”
Lipton hesitated for just an instant, but McGarvey disappeared down the stairwell. “Do it,” he told Joslow, and he hurried after McGarvey, a sinking feeling in his stomach that somebody was about to get hurt.
It was pitch-black below. Lipton pulled out his flashlight and switched it on, just catching a glimpse of McGarvey's back rounding a corner on the stairs one deck below. The man was fifteen years older than the oldest SEAL on his team, but he was just as quick, if not quicker, than any of them.
Lipton followed him, nearly stumbling over another body at the foot of the stairs. Like the others this one too had been shot in the head at close range. He wore greasy coveralls. He'd probably been one of the engine room crew.
A flashlight beam bobbed from an open hatch aft at the end of a corridor. Lipton started back when a series of four quick explosions from somewhere below rocked the ship, sending him sprawling.
When he scrambled back to his feet the light he'd seen in the open hatch was gone, and he could hear water rushing into the ship. A lot of water!
“Mission red! Mission red!” he shouted the emergency recall signal as he headed in a dead run for the open hatch.
Already the
Thaxos
was beginning to list hard to port. It would only be a matter of minutes, perhaps less, before she rolled over. They'd all be trapped down here with little or no chance for survival.
Bryan Wasley and Tony Reid, soaked with seawater and diesel oil, clambered through the open hatch just as Lipton reached it.
“The bottom's gone,” Wasley gasped. He was shook up, but neither of them appeared to be injured.
“Get out of here,” Lipton ordered, shoving them aside.
“Frank is down there with McGarvey.”
“What about Bob?” Lipton demanded.
“He just disappeared,” Wasley answered.
“Go,” Lipton shouted and he braced himself against the list and shined the beam of his flashlight down into the big engine room.
Water was pouring in from the port and starboard bulkheads and from somewhere aft. Whoever had placed the charges knew what they were doing. There was no possibility of saving the ship.
Frank Tyrell was hanging on the ladder about eight feet below the open hatch. Already the water had risen to the rung he was standing on, and it was coming up fast.
“Frank,” Lipton shouted down to him over the waterfall roar.
Tyrell, who was covered in diesel fuel and engine oil, looked up. “Get away!” he hollered.
“Where's Bob?”
“He got caught on the way up. McGarvey has gone down for him.”
“Christ,” Lipton swore, and was starting to swing out onto the ladder when Tyrell shouted.
“Here! He's got him!”
Lipton shined his light on the water as McGarvey surfaced with a sputtering Bob Schade. Tyrell grabbed the man by the arm but Schade shook it off.
“I'm okay,” he shouted, coughing. “Get the hell out of here. Go, go, go!”
Already the water was up to Tyrell's waist and rising even faster. The ship would go in less than a minute.
He scrambled up the ladder and at the top Lipton hauled him through the hatch. “Jules is off with the raft and the fishing vessel. Don't hang around.”
“Aye, aye,” Tyrell said, and he headed down the corridor for the stairwell.
A moment later Schade hauled himself up, and Lipton helped him through.
“Come on,” Lipton shouted, but Schade turned back.
“Mr. McGarvey is coming,” he answered, and McGarvey's bulky form appeared in the hatchway. Schade helped him the rest of the way up.
“Is that everybody?” McGarvey asked.
“Yes, sir,” Schade said. He was a solidly built twenty-seven-year-old.
“Then what the hell are we waiting for? I don't want to go swimming down here again.”
“Aye, aye, sir,” Schade said, and Lipton led the way back up as the ship continued to list to port.
At the top, the angle of the list was so severe they couldn't make it to the high side to starboard. Instead they slid down the corridor and had to dive under the water in order to clear the hatch to the outside, and then swim another thirty yards or so to make sure they would be well clear of the ship's superstructure when she rolled.
Lipton broke the surface and turned back in time to see the ship roll completely over and immediately start down by the stern. McGarvey had already surfaced and he was watching the distant shoreline of the island, not the ship, although it was nearly impossible to see much of anything. The weather had completely closed in over the past few minutes and a light drizzle had begun to fall.
Tyrell and the others were treading water a dozen yards away, and Schade remained a few feet behind and to McGarvey's left.
Lipton swam over to them. “Let's go.”
The
Dhodhóni
was a hundred yards off to the northeast, the rubber raft in tow, and she was beginning to swing around toward them.
“Just a second, sir,” Schade answered. He too was watching the shoreline.
Lipton followed their gaze, but he couldn't make out much of anything, except that the island seemed to be a darker mass that rose up out of the near-blackness of the sea.
“There,” McGarvey said softly. He studied the shoreline for another moment or two, then turned around.
“What is it?” Lipton asked. “I didn't see a thing.”
“There was a light showing high up on one of the cliffs.”
“So?”
“It went out,” McGarvey said.
Lipton shook his head, not understanding, but then his attention was diverted back to the ship. The bows were rising very fast now, up out of the water. For a long second or two the
Thaxos
seemed to hang on her tail, until she slipped quietly beneath the sea, the waves and eddy currents washing past the men, bouncing them in the water.
For a very long time, it seemed, the night was absolutely still, until they began to hear the hiss of the falling rain and in the distance the faint burble of the
Dhodhóni's
engine turning over at idle speed as she headed toward them.
 
On McGarvey's insistence they kept the
Dhodhóni
between them and the island as they boarded her, which further puzzled Lipton. But for the moment he was willing to go along with almost anything. His respect was growing by leaps and bounds. He'd been told about McGarvey, but nothing he'd heard had prepared him for the actual man. Besides, they owed him.
“No lights,” McGarvey whispered. “And keep out of sight.”
“What are you talking about?” Lipton asked.
“Spranger's people on the island were waiting for the
Thaxos
to go down, and now they're watching us through starlight scopes.”
“Shit,” Lipton swore half under his breath. He should have seen it earlier. “The lights on the monastery went out so that they could use the night optics. It proved that they were watching.”
“That's what I figure,” McGarvey said. “But they couldn't have seen you or your people dressed the way you are, and so long as they don't spot a lot of movement aboard this boat they'll never suspect that you're here.”
“But they'll know that someone survived. Why not the one we neutralized?”
“There were two of them,” McGarvey said. “And by now they would have radioed their mission accomplished.”
“So Spranger knows that you're alive.”
McGarvey nodded.
Lipton and Tyrell exchanged glances. They, along with McGarvey and Schade, were huddled on the bridge, Joslow still at the wheel. The engine was at dead idle, and they were barely moving against the swells.
“It doesn't look as if we'll be able to do much for you in that case, Mr. McGarvey,” Lipton said. “My orders specifically forbid me to engage in any action on Greek soil. We cannot go ashore. And considering what has already happened, and the fact the Spranger has set a trap for you, I would suggest you go no further. Washington can handle it diplomatically.”
“It's my wife and daughter on that island, Lieutenant,” McGarvey said mildly, but the expression on his face, in his eyes, made Lipton shiver involuntarily.
“I understand, but I won't be able to help you.”
“Can you communicate with Washington via your ship? Or did you come in from a base on the mainland?”
“We're off the
Nimitz
group just southwest of Crete.”
“Have they got a LAMPS III up for you?”
Again Lipton and Tyrell exchanged glances. The man knew a lot for someone no longer on the regular payroll. But then to survive as long as he had, McGarvey would have to have the knowledge.
“Yes, sir.”
“Get a message to Langley that Spranger and K-1 are holding my wife and daughter on the island in the monastery … give them map coordinates if you would. Tell them I'm returning to the port of Thira, and from there overland to the monastery.”
“Sir?” Schade asked, but Lipton motioned him off.
“What can we do?” Lipton asked.
“Stand by out here in case they try to make a run for it.”
Lipton thought it out for a second or two. They'd have to stay on station probably until dawn. In the rain they would be wet and miserable. But he nodded.
“It's going to take me a couple hours to get ashore, and maybe that long to make it back to the monastery. In the meantime your people can give you updates on my position. I'll carry the walkie-talkie with me.”
“As soon as you're in position we'll start looking for the fireworks.”
“Something like that,” McGarvey replied, smiling wryly.
“I'd like to come with you, sir,” Schade said.
“Negative,” Lipton said immediately.
“Sir, Mr. McGarvey will have big odds against him on the island. I'll leave my ID, and go as a civilian. I'll take full responsibility.”
“Goddammit, Bobby. I've got my orders.”
“I'll go AWOL if necessary, sir.”
“I'll do it alone,” McGarvey cut him off. “It's my fight, not yours.”
“You heard the man,” Lipton said. He stuck out his hand and McGarvey took it. “Good luck.”
“Thanks, Lieutenant, but I prefer to make my own.”

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