Piranha

24

Lieutenant Pablo Dominguez pulled himself up toward the bridge by a fire hose that conveniently swayed from its open door. If Admiral Ruiz found out that the Ciudad Bolívar was not sunk, it wouldn’t matter if Dominguez got away from the scene of the crime. He’d already failed her once and had been given a second chance to make amends by overseeing this mission. If he failed again, he would be a dead man.

The hails from an approaching helicopter had been an unwelcome surprise. He certainly hadn’t expected one so far from land. It had to mean that a ship was closing on their position, which was why he’d taken the risk of climbing onto the car carrier to find a way to sink it before rescue arrived.

The Piranha sub design had been purchased from a source of Admiral Ruiz, a man Dominguez knew only as the Doctor. He had been part of a top secret U.S. drone program and somehow smuggled the designs away from the Americans. With the Doctor’s expertise, Ruiz had eight of the miniature submarines built.

They were a stealth design, powered by battery-powered impellers that were virtually silent, so a swarm of subs could creep up on a ship without being detected. Once the subs were within range of the target and had spaced themselves out to maximum effect, they moved in and attached themselves to the ship’s hull with powerful magnets and activated their only weapon: a rotating jet that fired a millimeter-wide stream of seawater pressurized to eighty thousand pounds per square inch. Industrial water lasers are used to cut aluminum, marble, and granite without the scorching of a cutting torch or the ripping of a saw. The Piranha’s compact version used seawater itself as its cutting tool and could slice through the inch-thick steel of a ship’s double hulls in seconds. The simultaneous hull breaches caused by the swarm of subs meant ships would go under before they even knew they’d been attacked.

Though effective, the Piranhas had drawbacks. Because they depended on battery power, their range and duration were extremely short. They could be used only once before they needed a full recharge. The fishing trawler had been specially outfitted to carry and charge the eight-foot-long drone subs. The trawler would place the subs in the path of the freighter to be attacked and leave them there to loiter until the ship was spotted by the subs’ onboard cameras. The trawler, having retreated to a position miles away, would be nowhere near the scene of the crime when the ship went down. Dominguez controlled the subs from his handheld tablet, which allowed him to lock onto the target vessel. The subs would intercept the ship, sink it, and the trawler would recover the subs and eliminate any survivors.

The first three attacks went flawlessly. Each ship went down before lifeboats could be launched, and all Dominguez’s men had to do was get rid of the few crewmen who’d made it overboard. But somehow Captain Maria Sandoval had arrested the capsizing of her ship. The Piranha subs were now recharging, but it would be another thirty minutes before they could be used again. If the rescue ship arrived before then, its crew might be able to save the Ciudad Bolívar, and Dominguez could not let that happen.

He knew he couldn’t wait for the subs to charge. He had to find another way to sink the ship, which was why he was climbing toward the bridge. He’d considered setting fire to the ship, but the onboard CO2 fire suppression system would extinguish the flames quickly. Besides, he had a more elegant solution. An experienced sailor himself, Dominguez knew that emptying the port ballast tanks should cause the ship to flip over.

He could have emptied the starboard ballast tanks, but the ship was already listing so far over that it might capsize before he had time to get back to the trawler. Instead, he would set the port tanks to drain in a trickle, giving him and the trawler plenty of time to get to safety.

He reached the bridge and pulled himself up to the computer terminal. He found the ballast tank controls and configured the port tanks to empty. When they did, the high side of the ship would weigh far more than the side in the water. It would roll back onto its keel and then keep on going, flipping over completely. When it did, water would flood into the hold through the air vents. As soon as the loading doors were compromised by the growing internal pressure, the ship would rocket to the ocean floor.

Dominguez smiled at his clever backup plan. Surely he would receive a commendation from the admiral for salvaging the mission.

After he activated the draining procedure, he drew his pistol and fired at each terminal until every one of them was destroyed. Now no one would be able to shut down the draining from here. The engineering station in the engine room was the only other location where the ballast tanks could be controlled. Once the list became less pronounced and the stairs became usable, he planned to send a man there to shoot up those controls in case Maria Sandoval hadn’t been killed by their gunfire.

Dominguez cursed under his breath as the sound of the helicopter became a roar. The rescuers had arrived sooner than he’d expected.

Riding in the front seat of the Oregon’s MD 520N helicopter, Juan couldn’t help but gawk at a sight he’d never before seen. The distress call had prepared him for the Ciudad Bolívar to be capsized, but he didn’t expect the ship to be lying on its side, its keel facing them as they approached from the north. The shipping company’s name, CABIMAS, was spelled out in huge gold letters against a forest green background along the ship’s starboard side. The spectacle brought to mind the Costa Concordia cruise ship resting upon the rocks that had ripped through its hull, but this sight was even more incredible because the car carrier was floating motionless on the open ocean.

“That’s not something you see every day,” Gomez Adams said as he nudged the nose of the chopper down.

“At least we won’t need the welding equipment,” Eddie said from the back, flanked on either side by Linc and MacD. A few months before, they’d come upon a completely capsized mega-yacht whose hull they had to cut into to save the passengers. They were ready to do the same with the car carrier, but the acetylene tank wouldn’t be necessary now that they could see the ship’s interior was accessible. The coils of nylon rope, however, might still come in handy.

The Oregon was behind them and approaching at top speed, but it would be thirty minutes before it arrived.

“Do you think you can land?” Juan asked Gomez.

“I can get the skids in contact with the hull so you won’t have to rope down, but I can’t see anything flat enough to keep us stable.”

“How long can you loiter?”

“I can stick around until the Oregon gets here.”

The Oregon’s helicopter, which was stowed in the aftmost hold, could be raised and lowered on an elevator platform for launch and recovery. The MD 520N was an unusual design because it lacked a tail rotor. Instead, exhaust vented from the turbine was used to turn the chopper and maintain rotational stability. It was so maneuverable that Gomez boasted he could outfly a hummingbird. He was a skilled enough pilot that Juan almost believed him.

They had launched the helicopter as soon as they’d received the distress call. The Oregon had been steaming south from Jamaica ever since Juan had realized the Ciudad Bolívar was in danger. Repeated calls to the shipping company warning them of the impending danger were met with wariness about their motives, and Juan couldn’t blame them. Without a more concrete analysis of the threat, all the company could do was issue a vague caution to the ship’s captain. By the time they were within range to radio the ship directly, the distress call was already being broadcast. When the Maydays abruptly ceased, no ship besides the Oregon was within five hours of the Ciudad Bolívar.

Juan had ordered the helicopter launched so they could get to the ship as fast as possible. Despite repeatedly hailing the ship during their flight, there had been no response. Although they didn’t know if piracy factored into the equation, the fact that there hadn’t been any survivors in the previous sinkings made Juan cautious. All four of the landing party were armed, and Juan had donned his combat leg.

“Let’s find out where the lifeboat is before we set down,” Juan said. “It couldn’t have gone far.” The unspoken concern was that if the lifeboat had launched, they should have heard from someone on its radio by now.

“I’ll give us a good look all around her,” Gomez said.

He came in low, and details of the hull were now visible. The stern and starboard vehicle loading ramps seemed intact and in place. Juan examined the bottom, and his eyes settled on a six-inch-diameter hole in the red paint just above the waterline near the bow. It was the only obvious damage.

“Looks like they’ve got a gopher problem,” Linc said.

“Or someone was drilling for oil in the bottom of the ship,” MacD suggested.

Juan was the most experienced sailor on the chopper, but he couldn’t come up with anything more realistic than their jokes. “Get some pictures of that, Linc.”

Gomez paused for the snaps and then continued back and around the stern. It was only after they reached the port side that they saw a fishing trawler nestled against the car carrier near the bridge at the bow end.

Juan was surprised to see a boat, given the lack of a response to their hails. There was no sign of the lifeboat, but it could be under the water still attached to its davits. Juan’s first thought was that the fishing trawler had come alongside to take the crew off, but as Gomez edged closer Juan knew that was the wrong conclusion.

Cables snaked into the water next to the trawler, eight of them, connected to objects floating on the surface, but Juan couldn’t make out what they were. Ten men stood on the trawler’s deck. One of them was belaying another, who gripped a rope on the ship’s canted deck. Instead of a crewman dressed in work clothes disembarking the ship, the man was clad in black and scaling the rope toward the bridge.

As Gomez got closer, Juan could see that the man on the ship had an automatic weapon slung across his back and was balancing himself on a railing. He was facing the helicopter and speaking into a headset microphone. Juan recognized him instantly.

It was Lieutenant Dominguez from the warehouse in Venezuela.

“Those don’t look like rescuers to me,” Eddie said.

As if in response to Eddie’s observation, the men on the trawler snatched up their own assault rifles and opened fire. Rounds pocked the helicopter’s fuselage before Gomez was able to swing the chopper over the car carrier and out of view.

Juan checked the backseat. “Anyone hit?”

“We’re fine,” Eddie replied for them.

“That was the Navy lieutenant we tied up in Venezuela,” Juan told Linc.

“I know. I think he recognized me.”

“If they’re trying to sink her,” MacD said, “why is he climbing on board?”

“Their original plan must not have worked,” Juan said. “Our hails spooked Dominguez because he didn’t expect to see anyone out here. He could be looking for another way to send her to the bottom and get rid of the evidence.”

“And witnesses,” Linc added. “There could be crew still on board.”

Gomez tapped the gas gauge. “We’ve got a new problem, Chairman. One of the rounds hit our gas tank. We’re losing fuel. What do you want me to do?”

“Can you make it back to the Oregon?”

“I think so, but I’ll have to leave right now.”

“Is everyone up for an excursion?” Juan asked.

“Seems wrong to come all this way and turn tail,” Linc said. Eddie and MacD nodded solemnly. They knew what they were signing up for.

“All right. Gomez, put us down on the stern right behind the funnel to give us some cover. Once they know we’re on board, Dominguez will bring as many men as he can with him onto the ship. They’ll probably post some men on the deck, so we’ll have to go through the interior to get to the bow.”

Gomez hovered over the fantail, making sure to keep the funnel between him and the trawler. He gently rested the helicopter’s skids on the ship’s railing, and MacD popped open the door, climbing down to the railing in one fluid move. Eddie tossed him several loops of rope and then he and Linc followed just as gracefully.

Before Juan could exit, Gomez said, “Take my life raft.”

“You’ll need it if you can’t make it back to the Oregon,” Juan replied.

“You’ll need it if they sink this ship.”

“No we won’t. If this ship goes down, Dominguez isn’t going to leave behind survivors. This mission is all or nothing. See you soon.”

Without waiting for an argument, Juan took off his headset, climbed out, and slammed the door behind him. By the time he reached the nearest hatch to join the others, the helicopter was beating a hasty retreat toward the northern horizon.