the surface. Yusuf looked forward to meeting this scientist and prying the truth out of her personally.
“And she was willing to be hijacked to stop it?”
“Strong woman.”
“That qumayo will need to be. And you, my friend. You are Russian. You would do this to your own land?”
“I am poor Russian. That is different land.”
“So you were willing to be hijacked and bring your entire crew along. For money.”
“Yes.”
“Believe me, I understand what a poor man will do.”
Yusuf set the point of the knife beneath Grisha’s chin. He tilted the officer’s head backward, making him stare down his own cheeks out of scared eyes.
“You will ransom yourself. You will pay me two hundred and fifty thousand dollars.”
Yusuf lifted the tip, putting the officer on tiptoes. A crimson drop ran down the blade.
“Go back inside and sit with the men you’ve deceived. I will let you go for money. I don’t know what they will ask.”
Yusuf lowered the dagger. The officer staggered to the wheel-house.
Suleiman came out of the bridge. Yusuf sent the guard inside. He would speak with his cousin privately.
“The captain,” Suleiman said, “has found his traitor. What did you find?”
Yusuf explained what Grisha had revealed about the passenger Iris Cherlina. Her bribe, the Chechens and Islamists, the intrigues between Iran and the other nations, the drone aircraft and electronics deep in the cargo hold. The strange machine, perhaps a cannon, alone in the forward cargo bay.
Suleiman sucked his gold teeth. “We should find this woman.” He nodded to himself, a private image perhaps of questioning Iris Cherlina.
“I want to speak with her too, cousin. But nothing she’ll tell us will change in the next five hours. Let her hide. Right now, we need everyone on guard.” Yusuf lapped a hand over his cousin’s thin shoulder. “I fear this night.”
Suleiman nodded. “We have their balls. I suppose they will want them back.” He turned to go back to the wheelhouse. “We’ll kill a goat in Qandala.”
Yusuf stayed outside with the stars, admiring the velvet depth of the dark. He gazed south for land and east for the sun. Both lay long hours away. He would trade all the money he had for both right now.
Chapter 23
On board HC-130 Broadway 1
6,000 feet above the Gulf of Aden
The team cheered LB’s call with fist pumps. Just as important as his survival, they all liked their chances better now with him at large under the pirates’ noses. LB was—Wally could describe him only one way—LB.
Wally propped a whiteboard across his lap. He drew a bad facsimile of a cargo ship, resembling a spearhead. He made stick figures for pirates.
Around him in the rumbling bay of the HC-130, Doc put the team through a final op check. Communications were tested, weapons function okayed. He dug into fanny packs and rucks for flotation devices, 228 mm lights, tourniquets, med supplies, flashlights, night-vision goggles. Doc pounded on body armor and counted ammo magazines. The target was ninety minutes out.
Doc shot Wally a thumbs-up. Wally gathered and seated the team. He pulled off his headset to shout the briefing, trusting his own voice more than the team intercom to be sure every word was heard.
He began with the dimensions of the freighter. Two hundred meters long, thirty meters wide. Nine meters in height from the waterline to the rail, twenty-seven meters from the top of the superstructure to the surface. Her max speed was twelve knots because of a busted piston.
He handed out the brochure photos of the Valnea.
“She’s got no containers on deck. Lots of room for the targets to spread out, but expect them to be along these corridors, here at the stern, on the bow, and flanking the bridge. LB’s going to get us better intel on number and location of the guards.”
Jamie shouted, “Any info on the hostages?”
Wally answered quickly, to be definitive. “No.”
The team nodded unhappily.
“Listen up. We are not on a CSAR op. This is search and destroy. I want clarity on this. We’ll do what we can for the hostages. But we’ll follow orders, and we’ll get home. Any questions, ask them now.” No mouths opened. “All right.”
He continued into the mission brief. Weather over the target remained clear. Seas one foot, water temperature 75°F. Winds at sea level seven knots southwest.
The HC-130 would go black sixty minutes out. Zero hour approximately 0110. Chutes on at zero minus thirty. The stack would be Wally at the bottom, then big Quincy, Jamie, Dow, Mouse, and Doc as team leader. Fifteen-second intervals