Operation Sea Ghost (19 page)

Nolan put two Senegals behind the starboard lifeboat station, which was now empty but still gave them adequate cover. The two other Senegals Nolan positioned atop the aft power shack, a five-foot-high hump located right behind Gunner’s location.

Once they were set, Nolan climbed up to the second work railing—a sort of crow’s nest where the ship’s crane could be operated. It was about twenty feet off the rear deck. From here he could see everything from midships back.

Everyone had his nightscope goggles on and working. They could clearly see the pirates creeping up on them. Everyone knew to hold fire until they could determine exactly how the Bom-Kats were going to attack.

The pirates’ speedboats finally passed through the ship’s weak wake. There were four of them this time. Nolan counted six men in each, three times the strength of the pirates’ first attack. As before, the majority of the Bom-Kats fleet stayed off about a quarter mile away.

Alpha Squad allowed the pirates to throw hook ladders up to the aft railing. The hooks were large and three-prong; the ladders were made of reinforced clothesline. Four of the ladders quickly latched on. The pirates were ready to climb.

Nolan did one last check of the squad. Each man was ready, weapon up, just waiting for his order to fire.

The pirates began climbing; this was their most vulnerable position. Alpha Squad was well hidden in the dark, aiming right down at them. Few things in combat came this tidy, Nolan thought.

But he didn’t hesitate for more than a second.

He cried out: “Now!”

The resulting explosion of gunfire was so bright, it lit up the entire back of the ship. The five M4s plus Gunner’s Streetsweeper tore into the pirates, killing most of them instantly. As before, those not killed outright were thrown back into the sea, most of them horribly wounded, to be swept away by the current.

It all took just ten seconds. Two dozen pirates were dead, and none of them had come within six feet of getting aboard the
Taiwan Song
.

So, what was the point of this?

No sooner had Nolan called out ceasefire than he knew something was wrong.

Pirates weren’t soldiers. They weren’t in the business of doing massive armed assaults on ships. And certainly not a ship as worthless, yet heavily defended as the
Taiwan Song
.

Something wasn’t right here.

He yelled for the rest of the squad to stay in position. Then he ran full tilt away from the aft section, past the cargo bay, past the bridge, up to the bow. He looked over the edge—and saw six pirates, dressed in black, climbing up a rope ladder. Each one was armed with an M-16. Each was also carrying a camera and a strap around his neck. Weird …

It was clear the attack on the aft section had been a diversion.
This
was the main raiding party.

Nolan opened up on them. Two of the pirates didn’t even see him standing above them. He killed them immediately then shot two more as they became entangled in the rope ladder. The fifth and sixth men fell into the water. He shot them as well—two short barrages each—finishing them off.

But with the last squeeze of his trigger, Nolan heard a disturbing click!

Damn …

He was out of ammo.

15

Monte Carlo

THE FOUR BIKINI models had been a fixture in the Grand Maison penthouse since Beta Squad’s arrival.

They’d tried valiantly to get Twitch’s laptop connected online via Wi-Fi. They’d kept the penthouse’s bar well-stocked. They’d made the luxurious surroundings that much more luxurious just by lounging around and looking gorgeous. They’d also used a lot of towels.

But now, almost two hours had passed since Maurice’s visit and yet the girls never returned from their swim.

But that was OK with Batman and Twitch. Maurice’s last instruction to them was to sit tight, stay low, and await further information on the time and place of the grand gagnant.

And that’s what they were doing, without the girls distracting them.

*   *   *

THEY WERE OUT on the balcony again when they heard the penthouse elevator coming up.

Batman was waiting when the door swished open and a thirtyish somewhat world-weary man stepped out. He was dressed informally for Monte Carlo—jeans and a t-shirt—but because he looked like someone who made a living working with his hands, Batman’s first thought was that he might be the real technician, really here to fix the Wi-Fi.

Then the guy said: “Maurice sent me. I have some information for you.”

Batman and Twitch led the visitor out to the balcony and had him sit down. Batman poured him a Portuguese Sagres beer.

“So, what can you tell us?” Batman asked him. “You have the details on the grand gagnant?

“Even better,” the man replied—like Maurice, he was an American. “I have details about the Z-box itself. What’s in it, what it’s all about.”

“You’re joking,” Twitch said.

The guy shook his head no. “I’ve seen it myself, just recently,” he said. “Maurice had me flown in just to brief you guys.”

Batman and Twitch were suddenly paying rapt attention.

“Tell us everything,” Batman urged him.

“I work the docks on Little Nicobar Island,” the guy began. “Ever hear of it?”

Batman and Twitch nodded yes. Little Nicobar, aka “Little Nicky,” was part of an archipelago off the northwest coast of Sumatra. Though physically closer to Indonesia, it was claimed as part of India. It was a weird little place, a real tropical paradise but also notorious as a smuggling center for everything from drugs and weapons to stolen luxury cars and jewels. A lot of human trafficking also took place there. Extremely high Acapulco-style cliffs made up its northern coastline and many of the natives spent their time diving off these peaks into the ocean below, near suicidal behavior for anyone less than an expert. It was said anyone who lived there was wacky because Little Nicky seemed to be hit by tsunamis, typhoons and/or major earthquakes on almost a monthly basis.

“I was in the U.S. Navy until a few years ago,” the visitor went on. “We stopped at Little Nicky on a tsunami relief mission and I fell in love with the place. It’s really paradise. When I mustered out, I went back to visit and decided to stay.

“But as you must know, there’s also a lot of illegal activity happening there. Drugs, stolen merchandise, forced prostitution—weapons. Lots of weapons. The Indian police do very little because the place is so far away from the mainland.

“I was there about a year when the Agency contacted me and asked if I could keep an eye out for anything terrorist-related transiting through Little Nicky’s port. They said they’d pay me a couple hundred bucks a month, so I signed on.”

He took a long swig of his beer.

“Fast forward to just a few days ago. These guys come to us; they’re pirates, Indonesian types, though they’re sailing a Vietnamese eel boat. They had some rifles they wanted to put in storage. That sort of thing is done a lot on Little Nicky, too. My boss on the docks asked me to help unload these things. They were crates that looked pretty old; I’m not sure any rifle inside them would even work.

“Once everything was off loaded, I saw these guys had this other thing, something they were keeping with them. It looked like a little metal coffin. It had a large ‘Z’ carved into it and a weird locking device that looked like it needed a special key to open it.

“Three of these guys were just grunts fooling around with this box while their boss was helping store their weapons. One of them had a battery-powered screwdriver and wanted to use it to open the box. They argued for a while about whether they should try to break the lock, to see if the box would open.

“They finally decided to do it. But as soon as they did, as soon as that lid opened, this green glow came out, and seconds later these three guys standing closest to it all dropped dead.”

Batman and Twitch were stunned.
“Dead?”
Twitch asked. “As in no-longer-breathing dead?”

The guy nodded emphatically. “I don’t know if it was radiation, or some kind of biohazard? Or something chemical? Maybe a combination of all three,” he said. “But they were DOA, just like that.”

“Son of a bitch,” Twitch groaned. “So, it
is
a weapon.”

“How close were you to this box?” Batman asked the informant.

The guy sipped his beer. “I’m not sure,” he replied. “Maybe ten feet or so.”

“And the inside of this box—you said it was glowing?”

He nodded. “Like something from a horror movie.”

“Pretty powerful stuff,” Batman said.

The guy nodded again.

“Who finally closed the box?” Batman asked him.

“I did,” he said. “Shielded my eyes. Tried not to look at it. Just kicked it closed.”

Batman glanced over at Twitch. His expression told him he was beginning to smell a rat, as was Batman.

Twitch then asked: “So you got pretty close to it.”

“I did…”

“Then how come
you
weren’t killed? Or affected at all?”

The man suddenly tensed up.

“I don’t know,” he sputtered. “Beats me.”

Batman came nose to nose with the man.

“You want to tell us why you’re
really
here?” he growled at him.

The guy half smiled.

“You wouldn’t believe me if I did,” he replied.

Then without another word, he stood up, climbed onto the balcony’s railing and to the astonishment of Batman and Twitch, did a perfect dive off the railing and into the huge pool, six stories below.

“What the fuck?”
Batman yelled.

The man expertly hit the water, swam a bit under the surface and then got out of the pool at the opposite end. He took a gracious bow to the delight of those people sunning themselves poolside. Then he saluted Batman and Twitch up on the balcony and ran off.

“Fucking guy?” Twitch cried out. “He was a
disinformation
agent? A ‘disinformant?’”

The wholly invented word, created right then and there, just tumbled out of Twitch’s mouth. But it applied.

Batman repeated the word. “A disinformant … trying to punk us.”

“But why us?” Twitch asked, scratching his head. “We’re bit players in this. Unless one of Maurice’s guys just went nuts or something.…”

Batman thought a moment, then said: “Let’s find out.…”

“Find out how?” Twitch asked him. “I’m not jumping off here.”

Batman retrieved his Glock 9 from his travel bag, and said, “Maybe it won’t be so hard to find the only soaking wet guy running around Monte Carlo.”

*   *   *

THEY WENT DOWN the elevator, Twitch also grabbing his handgun as they were leaving.

They arrived in the hallway just off the casino’s main lobby. As before, the lobby was mobbed with guests and dignitaries in town for the Grand Prix.

The repair sign was still on the elevator’s door and the hallway leading to the lobby was even further blocked off by yellow tape and scaffolds and what now appeared to be equipment belonging to plasterers. All this conveniently separated Batman and Twitch from the rest of the casino.

They went out the side door and ran around to the main entrance. The area in front of the casino was just as busy, just as hectic, as the inside. Many Rolls taxis were coming and going. Some were carrying celebrities traveling with large entourages and dozens of pieces of luggage; others were full of models and model wannabes. But everyone they saw was well dressed—and absolutely dry.

They made their way through the crowd, finally locating the attendant in charge of retrieving guests’ cars. They tried to explain that a car had been reserved for them, a Maserati. But the man did not speak English.

They used sign language to urge him to call over a nearby coworker. This man understood some English. Batman showed him the gold key. The man then asked them in a thick accent: “Which color Maserati would you prefer?”

“Any color is good,” Batman told him hurriedly.

“Convertible or hardtop?” the coworker asked. “It’s a bit hot today, but it might rain, so…”

But Batman cut him off by growling: “Whatever—just get us a car!”

Chastened, the man ran off, returning a minute later with a solid gold Maserati GranTurismo Stradale hardtop. It looked like a car from twenty years in the future.

But then … another problem.

Batman started to climb into the driver’s seat, but stopped. He could fly a helicopter with one hand—but how was he going to drive this ultraexpensive car? He had to shift with his right hand, meaning he’d have to steer with his mechanical hook? It wasn’t going to work.

Yet the thought of Twitch driving the $250,000 beauty was downright scary. It was just not in his skill set.

But they had no other choice.

“I guess I go shotgun,” Batman said. He’d been high as a kite—still intoxicated on life itself—until the guy went off the balcony. Now his buzz was long gone.

Twitch happily switched places and jumped behind the wheel. He took off with a screech, startling everyone huddled around the casino’s main entrance. Some even hit the ground.

No surprise, Twitch was a maniac behind the wheel. Batman was soon holding on for his life as they rocketed through the narrow, winding streets of Monte Carlo. The noise, the faces, everything started going by in a blur.

“How
the fuck
do people
race
on these streets?” Batman cried out.

“You should try it in Shanghai,” Twitch yelled back, laughing crazily.

Batman finally got his shit together and began navigating. He got Twitch going around the immense block that housed the Grand Maison Casino. The disinformant had disappeared to the rear of the casino’s concourse, heading west. So, they had to go west too.

This necessitated a right onto Avenue des Beaux-Arts and then a very sharp left onto Avenue Albert I. They made both turns and stayed in one piece—and then, almost immediately, Batman spotted their quarry.

He was walking on Avenue Albert I, hurrying away from the casino grounds, trying to look inconspicuous, though he was still dripping wet.

“There’s the asshole—right there!” Batman yelled, pointing.