With the number of civilians aboard the ship, Cabrillo ordered half loads for their ammunition to avoid overpenetration killing someone beyond their target. He carried a Glock instead of his usual FNs, since even a half charge of powder would send the smaller bullets through a man.
Their grappling hooks were launched by a shotgun-type weapon. The lines they trailed were incredibly strong and light, which made climbing difficult. For that, each wore special gloves with mechanical pincers to grip the monofilament.
“Max, you read?” Juan said into his throat mike.
“You’re live.”
“Okay, take us in flank speed, and don’t forget to tell Mike.” The acceleration was almost instantaneous. Juan slit his eyes against the brutal wind. The Golden Sky lay four miles ahead, her gleaming upperworks making her look like a jewel on the dark waters, while her wake glowed with an ethereal trail of phosphorescence.
The Oregon was moving some twenty-odd knots faster than the cruise ship, so they quickly cut the distance.
“Kovac must be going nuts,” Eddie remarked. “We keep showing up like the proverbial bad penny.”
“Chairman, he tossed another,” Hali shouted over the radio. “It was a woman this time, and she was definitely alive.”
“Alert Mike. Wepps, give ’em a squirt with the Gatling as close to the wing bridge as you can. Let Kovac know the next time he sets foot out there, we’re going to shred him.” The armored plate covering the starboard-side Gatling gun folded back and the weapon peeked from its redoubt, as the motor spun up its six rotating barrels. When it fired, the sound was like a mechanical buzz saw tearing itself to pieces. A tongue of flame shot twenty feet from the Oregon’s flank and a stream of two hundred depleted uranium rounds arced across the sky. They passed so close to the flying bridge that paint blistered off the metal railing. The bullets peppered the sea ahead of the ship in a multitude of tiny eruptions.
The Golden Sky immediately turned away from the attack.
“That rattled his cage.” Eddie was grinning.
Max kept the Oregon a hundred feet off the other ship as they came abeam and when Kovac tried to turn into them again Max kept just out of reach, using the bow thrusters to keep the Oregon turning tighter than the Golden Sky.
“Max, get ready,” Juan said, “Wepps, prepare to fire again on my mark, but don’t hit the ship.” He waited for his men to get in position on the Oregon’s rail, their grappling-hook guns at their shoulders.
“Aim for the main deck. Max, go!”
The Oregon carved in on the liner, cutting the gap in half in just a few seconds.
“Fire,” Juan said, and the Gatling shrieked again, as he and the assault team launched their grappling hooks.
All twelve hooks sailed across the gap, and when they heaved back on the lines all had caught firmly.
The Oregon came in even tighter, almost brushing the cruise ship, so the men wouldn’t injure themselves when they arced across, while the Gatling continued to spit a continuous stream of fire across the Sky’s bridge.
“Go.”
Juan gripped the line tightly and leapt over the railing, swinging across the gap at an ever-accelerating pace. The Oregon cut away sharply behind him. He had intentionally aimed above a large row of windows and had judged the distance perfectly. His feet hit the glass, and he exploded into the deserted dining room, saving himself the tedious task of climbing up the line. His team knew to hook up outside the bridge if they got separated.
He unslung the MP-5 from across his back. Moving cautiously, the weapon tucked high on his shoulder so he had a constant sight picture, he weaved through the tables toward the exit.
He came out on the mezzanine level of the atrium. Passengers were milling around, still dazed after the impact with the Oregon . A man was lying at the bottom of a flight of stairs being attended to by a pair of women. An elderly lady screamed when she spotted him.
Juan raised the submachine gun’s barrel in a nonthreatening manner. “Ladies and gentlemen, this ship has been hijacked,” he said. “I am part of a United Nations hostage-rescue team. Return to your cabins immediately. Tell passengers you see that they must stay in their cabins until we have secured this ship.” A man in civilian attire with the aura of authority approached him. “I’m Greg Turner, second assistant engineer. Is there anything I can do to help?”
“Tell me the fastest way to the bridge, and see that these people get to their rooms.”
“How bad is it?” Turner asked.
“Have you ever heard of a good hijacking?”
“Sorry. Dumb question.”
“Don’t sweat it.”
Turner gave Juan the directions, as well as a magnetic pass card to get him into the off-limits spaces, and Cabrillo took off at a trot. When he reached the door marked NO ADMITTANCE, he swiped the card through the reader and propped the door open with a nearby potted fern for the rest of his team. By his estimates, they should be only a minute behind him.
He jogged past countless cabins and raced up two flights of stairs before emerging in the hallway that gave access to the bridge. He activated his laser sight as he slowly approached the door. Cabrillo paused when he heard voices muttering in a cabin a few doors back from the bridge entrance.
“Captain?” he called softly.
The voices stopped, and someone peered around the doorjamb. The single eye he saw widened in horror at his appearance.
“It’s okay,” Juan said softly. “I’m here to stop him. Can I speak to your captain?” The person came fully around the corner. She was wearing a uniform, and, judging by the stripes on her shoulder boards, she was the Golden Sky’s first officer. She had jaw-length dark hair and perfectly tanned skin that set off her honey brown eyes. “That butcher killed the captain and our third purser. I am Leah Voorhees, first officer.”
“Let’s talk in there,” Juan said, pointing to the cabin behind her.
He followed her inside. There were two man-size lumps on the bed with a sheet pulled over them both.
Dark blood stained the chest of one and the head of the other.
Leah Voorhees tried to introduce him to the rest of the officers, but Juan cut her off. “Later. Tell me what you know about what’s happening on the bridge.”
“There are two of them,” she said at once. “One named Kovac, the other I’m not sure. There is a third barricaded in the engine room.”
“You’re sure there’s just one down there?” When she nodded, Juan radioed this piece of information to Eddie. “Go on.”
“They came aboard by chopper not long after we left Istanbul. We were given orders from our head office to do whatever Kovac asked of us. They were supposedly looking for two stowaways who might have murdered a passenger.”
“Those stowaways are part of my team,” Juan assured her. “They didn’t murder anyone. Do you know where they are?”
Given the circumstances, she accepted Juan’s statement without question. “They were found a short while ago and are locked in the captain’s day office directly behind the bridge.”
“Okay. What else?”
“There were two ordinary seamen on duty, as well as two officers, when he took over. They also have female passengers as hostages. Who are you? Where did you come from?”
“This is a United Nations mission. We have been shadowing this terrorist cell for some time. Kovac shook us when he boarded your ship, so we had to act fast. I am sorry that you couldn’t be informed, and I am sorry for the danger you’ve been put in. It was our intention to grab Kovac earlier, but, well, the UN’s a bureaucracy like any other.”
The rest of Juan’s squad suddenly appeared, throwing dots of laser light around the room as they checked it.
“It’s okay, boys,” Juan called, and the weapons were lowered. While he filled them in on what he knew, he asked Leah to draw a diagram of the bridge, and called Max. “Give me a sit-rep.”