No Remorse (37 page)

Wiping the salty water off his face, and from his eyes, Khalid turned and opened the door to the bridge. “Is your team ready, Captain Khan?”

“It is, Highness. They are in position. Although some of them suffer from seasickness.”

Khalid growled. “I will hear no excuses from anyone tonight. We will destroy the whore Sheriti and her Zionist dogs.”

“Three miles and closing,” Hareem said.

Although their weaponry was designed to defend
Princess Aliya
against attack, not to assault another vessel, it was yet possible that they might overpower the Israeli boat, and Khalid considered how he might deal with the captured Israelis. He would scuttle their vessel with its male attackers and enjoy his revenge on Sheriti at leisure as they continued to Andaran, denying Ziad his long-awaited delights with the traitorous whore as he treated the rest of the crew to unlimited pleasures with her until they disposed of her corpse, piece by piece, overboard.

“We have the advantage of the night and the weather,” Captain Jergah said, formally taking command of the vessel. Siddiq remained at the wheel.

Khalid grabbed a rail as the ship rolled to starboard. “Tell the crew there will be a generous reward if we capture the Zionist whore alive.”

The intercom blared with Jergah’s order: “All crew to combat positions! Switch off navigation lights. All lights off! His Highness has offered a generous bonus if Sheriti is captured alive.”

There was nothing else to do now but to wait. Captain Khan left the bridge to check on the deployment of his men.

“Two miles and closing.”

Using the international hailing channel, Jergah said, “Unidentified vessel. This is Captain Mahmoud Jergah of the
Princess Aliya
. Please identify yourself and your intentions.”

An eerie static came from the loudspeaker.

“If they have inflatables, they’ll launch them within half a mile,” Jergah said. “Maybe less, in this weather. We’d have two to three minutes after they launch.”

Khalid could feel a discomfort inside his chest, caused as much by the frustration of waiting as the anticipation. He hated waiting, much preferring to take the initiative. They would do the same now and give the Israelis something to remember. “Turn around, Mahmoud. I want you to head straight at them.”

“Half speed. Turn one eighty. Heading due north,” Jergah ordered. Over the intercom he said, “All hands, prepare to turn about.”

They had discussed this tactic. Heading for the other vessel would allow the men on the bow to fire the rocket-propelled grenades. This should give them an initial advantage and possibly disable the other vessel.

As it broached the southerly swell, the
Princess Aliya
listed sharply. Then it surged forward like a gigantic surfboard. The two vessels were on a collision course.

Jergah radioed the vessel twice more to seek identification—once on VHF channel 13, the collision-warning channel, then on channel 16, used for mayday calls, but again received only static. This would, if nothing else, be a record of their efforts to take evasive action.

Captain Jergah spoke, without emotion. “They’re not changing direction, Highness. We will collide in less than two minutes if we hold course.”

“Hold course.”

“You understand that if we collide, the
Princess Aliya
could be holed and sink.”

“They won’t risk a collision when there’s no certainty that it would destroy us. But it would definitely destroy them.”

“Half mile and closing,” Hareem said.

Second Officer Siddiq struggled to maintain steerage as the vessel surfed down a twenty-footer from the following swell.

“Spotlights on! Cameras on!” ordered Jergah.

Dazzling shafts of light reached out into the blackness to scan the ocean ahead. Night-vision goggles would be rendered useless.

“We’re about to hit!” Hareem shouted.

A searchlight beam suddenly illuminated a shape portside of the bow. The enemy vessel looked like a prawn trawler, with two cranes deployed each side at the stern. It thundered across in front of the
Princess Aliya’s
bow as the two vessels almost collided. Yellow flames streaked as men from
Princess Aliya
fired the two RPG launchers. One exploded a few yards behind the rogue vessel, showering a fountain of water. A second RPG also missed, spearing over the vessel’s bridge as a wave jerked the shooter’s aim. Attackers in a Zodiac rubber boat returned fire as they zipped past, cutting down both RPG shooters. Then the
Princess Aliya’s
searchlight exploded in a hail of automatic fire.

The thirty-caliber on the helicopter deck above them opened up with a tremendous roar. Every third round was a tracer, and the gunner laid down short bursts of fire as the Israeli vessel disappeared into the darkness, spitting steel and chunks of wood from its stern.

On the bridge a cheer went up. Khalid remained silent.

It wasn’t over yet.

“Speed fifteen knots. Starboard, ninety degrees.”

The southeasterly heading would angle
Princess Aliya
away from the other boat and keep the thirty-caliber in position. As they turned, a rogue wave sidewalled the
Princess Aliya
, rolling it almost thirty degrees. Khalid fell to the floor, an ashtray full of cigarette butts toppling onto him. Captain Jergah helped him up.

Automatic fire was coming from all directions. It raked the women’s quarters and the helicopter deck. Fortunately, the helicopter was mostly protected by bulletproof screens. The thirty-caliber fell silent. More fire, this time hitting the bridge from both sides. The bulletproof glass chipped and crackled, but remained intact.

The door swung open and Khan appeared, holding a pistol. “Men are boarding at the stern!”

“Hide in the panic room where we’ve restrained the spy, Tally,” Khalid said. “If Sheriti is among them, she may decide to kill you. They wouldn’t dare harm me, whoever they are. And we cannot afford to let them find the woman and take her.”

Ziad hurried out.

On the CCTV monitors, they watched the black-suited intruders climb aboard, throwing flash-bangs and shooting anyone that resisted. Captain Jergah drew his weapon, but Khalid shook his head.

“No, Mahmoud. Order the men to put their weapons down. We will let the Zionist fools take what they came for.”

Before Captain Jergah could announce that order, a series of bright flashes and loud explosions stunned them. They fell to the floor, unconscious.

The Israelis wore balaclavas and their wet suits bore no insignia, but Khalid had to admit they were disciplined and professional. Their leader ordered the
Princess Aliya
slowed to five knots and all the lights switched on. Everyone except Captain Jergah and the radar operator was herded to the cinema room, where Dr. Gammal was treating the injured as eight commandos guarded them. The commando leader ordered Khalid to take him and two of his men to the hold.

As he led the way down, Khalid said, “Is the offer of your man Cohen still open?”

The Israeli ignored him. Perhaps there was a glimmer of amusement in his eyes, but the balaclava was like a burqa, concealing any expression or identification.

I’ll soon wipe that smirk off, arrogant Jew.

“Sheriti made it safely, I assume? She has a talent, that one. But you probably already know. Most of my men know this very well.”

The leader pushed him forward. They reached the hold, where the Geiger counter was clicking. The leader squatted to read the meter. “Show me the canisters.”

“What canisters?”

The commando moved around, holding the device against each crate. “You’ll save us all time if you tell me which crates the canisters are in. We will find them anyway.”

“Did Sheriti tell you they were here? They’re not. Sheriti has been played for a fool. Here, let me show you.” He took the Geiger counter and removed the luminous watch face he’d taped to the detection probe. Moving the watch face away slowed the clicking. “My grandfather’s watch.” He smirked.

If the leader was irritated, he didn’t show it. He turned to one of his men. “Use our detector. Check every crate. If we have to, we’ll search every orifice on this boat.”

After a few minutes of holding the device against each crate, the other commando gave an excited cry. “Got them!”

“Five?”

“Four.”

“Four? There’s supposed to be five. Check all of the crates.”

Khalid had a grim expression. “Haven’t you been watching the news?”

The commando ignored him and spoke into the radio mike on his wrist. “Double checking. Five canisters. Right? Over.”

“What did the whore say?”

The leader ignored him and addressed his team member. “Four now. Apparently he’s already exploded one in Saudi.”

They opened the crates. It took two men to haul out each stainless steel cylinder from the straw packing. A black circle with three propeller blades on a yellow background was stamped on each canister. They had arranged for the decoy canisters of medical cesium to be delivered while the
Princess Aliya
was docked in Karachi.

“Check them,” the leader said to the other man.

Khalid stepped back. “Allow me to leave before you do. I wish to father more children.”

The Israelis glanced at each other.

“They can check them back on the boat,” the leader said. “You two check the rest of the vessel. Throw any weapons overboard.” Addressing Khalid, he barked, “Your quarters. Let’s go!”

The leader demanded that he open the safe. Ignoring the bundles of cash, the man took out a laptop computer and a USB memory stick, which he inserted into a micro-computer carried by one of his men. Apparently satisfied, the leader placed them in a waterproof bag that he zipped inside his wet suit.

Khalid didn’t find it difficult to express his outrage at this defilement by the Israelis. “No! You can’t take them! I have no other copies of that information!” Another lie. Before they left Paris, he had made several copies of the memory sticks and left one in the BNP safe deposit box. The other was with Ziad in the panic room, along with his computer and other valuables. The laptop taken by the commando leader was an old spare. Khalid had also changed the numbers of the bank accounts on the memory stick. The Jews would not be able to get their hands on his money.

“Well, that was a bit stupid, wasn’t it? Take it up with your lawyer,” the leader said. He put the radio to his mouth. “Have you found Ziad?” A pause. He turned to Khalid. “Where’s Ziad?”

“I had him thrown overboard last night. Was he one of your Zionist spies?”

But the leader was listening to his radio. He swore, and turned to Khalid. “The women’s quarters. Now!”

“Ziad would not be there. It is not permitted,” Khalid said as he led the way down the stairs, glimpsing the thirty-caliber gun as it toppled over the side, then plunged into the deep, trailing its brass scarf.

The women’s quarters were not bulletproof as Khalid's quarters were, and had taken fire. Broken glass crunched underfoot, and when Khalid opened the door, Fez the cat meowed loudly and ran outside. Dr. Gammal was crouched down, attending to someone, assisted by Rubi, who glanced up, and when she saw him, her eyes flooded tears.

“Jamila!” Khalid cried out. What was she doing here? She was supposed to have stayed in his bulletproofed quarters.

“Saleh, what happened? Is Jamila all right?”

Dr. Gammal didn’t look up. “She is sedated. She will live, Highness, if we can get her to Andaran and Dr. Xi in time. But she has lost the baby. I am sorry. I cannot be certain if she will be able to carry another.”

Rubi stroked Jamila’s hair as she spoke. “We were in your quarters but Jamila came down looking for Fez just before the shooting began.”

Khalid turned on the commando leader. “Look what you’ve done, you incompetent Zionist fool. We radioed you but you refused to respond and board us in an orderly manner. You chose to shoot at my women and kill my unborn child! I promise you this, I will make sure the international media knows all about your Israeli brutality.”

The commando leader appeared unfazed. “I don’t think your credibility will be enhanced once we reveal that you were carrying uranium on board. And I’m sure the Saudis and the Americans will be interested to know that you were behind the recent bombing in Saudi Arabia. If you had accepted our offer in Paris, this action would not have been necessary.”

He barked some words into his radio, then gestured to his men. They followed him out and disappeared from view. A short time later, the commandos took to their Zodiacs and returned to their mother ship, which turned away and headed north.

Once they were underway, Khalid gave new orders and in high spirits returned to his quarters. He opened the panel that concealed the panic room. “The Zionist pirates fell for the decoys,” he said, smiling. “And I was right, Ziad. The commandos had orders to kill you.”

“Sheriti had me targeted all along.”

“So it would appear. As it stands, I should kill you myself. You told me that you had checked her out thoroughly. I have only just avoided a public relations disaster.”

“Egyptian Intelligence is not the same since Mubarak was deposed.”

“Arrange for the guns in the panic room to be distributed among the senior officers. And take the woman Tally back to her cell. They didn’t even ask about her, so she’s obviously not Israeli. Must be American, after all. And since you spoke to this man McCloud, we will have to assume now that the Americans know I have the nuclear canisters.”

“But they would not know where, Highness. I assume they are safe inside the fortress?”

Khalid smiled grimly. “My bomb-maker should be working on my second bomb. This time the target is Mecca—the Holy City itself! I will rid the world of the Wahhabi mullahs who sentenced my Muna to death. Ha! The House of Saud will not be able to survive this attack, which will contaminate the Holy City for thousands of years. And Al Qaeda will be blamed, because the bomb will be identical to the other one. In a few short weeks I shall return to Riyadh, cheered as Arabia’s exiled hero! Go and tell the pilot Assad I want the helicopter ready for takeoff in fifteen minutes. We must get Jamila to Andaran.”