The Wrecking Crew

CHAPTER 21

Bettencourt paced behind his desk as his lawyer unsuccessfully hailed the cargo container supercarrier SS Erno Rubik for the fourth time. Still too far away to see from the penthouse, the massive container ship had broken away from course and increased speed to eighteen knots, bearing down on Anconia Island on a high-speed collision course.

“Come in, Erno Rubik,” said the lawyer into the marine radio, his voice betraying fear and urgency. “SS Erno Rubik, please state your intentions.”

From the other end, the radio crackled to life.

“Anconia Island, Anconia Island,” boomed a silky baritone voice. “This is Dalmar Abdi, dread pirate captain of the SS Erno Rubik.”

“Colonel,” said Bettencourt, holding his clenched fist in front of his mouth. “I thought you told me that the pirates couldn’t fucking hijack the supercarriers.”

“We have a security team on that ship,” protested the colonel. “We’ve never had a problem before—”

“I think you’re having a problem now,” Jonah said.

“As my first act as pirate captain,” continued Dalmar. “I am renaming this fine ship the SS Fuck Your Mother.”

There was a brief silence in the glass-roofed office penthouse, wasting precious seconds as the gargantuan ship slowly closed the gap between itself and the immobile island. Bettencourt fished a pair of binoculars out of the desk drawer and handed them to Colonel Westmoreland. The mercenary took station by the window, scanning the distance.

“I’d answer them if I were you,” said Jonah, smirking. “Sounds like it might be important.”

Charles bent over the desk and pressed the transmit button. “SS Erno Rubik,” he began. “This is Anconia Island, Charles Bettencourt speaking.”

Silence greeted him.

“Why won’t he answer?” demanded the CEO.

“I believe he was quite clear about the name of his ship,” said Hassan.

“Goddamn it,” said Bettencourt, stabbing the transmit button again. “SS… Fuck Your Mother… this is Anconia Island, Charles Bettencourt speaking.”

“Hello Charles,” said Dalmar through the radio. “I’ve long admired your shining city upon the sea.”

“I’ve got Jonah Blackwell and Hassan Nassiri with me. At gunpoint. Change course or we’ll kill your friends.”

“Hello Jonah and Hassan!” exclaimed Dalmar. “Is it true you have been captured?”

“Unfortunately yes,” said Jonah, loud enough for the microphone to pick up his voice.

“Glorious!” said Dalmar. “I am so pleased you will die a good death at the hands of our sworn adversary!”

“Whoops,” Jonah said, shaking his head. “We’d be a better bargaining chip if he cared about keeping us alive.”

The colonel slapped Bettencourt’s hand away from the transmit button.

“How well did our last chat with Dalmar go? Pirates don’t bargain for their own,” he hissed as he shoved the binoculars into the CEO’s hands. “Look — the container ship is within visual range.”

Bettencourt hit the transmit button again. “Can we talk to our security team?” he asked.

“Only if you can commune with the dead,” responded Dalmar. “Your five men laid down their arms the moment they were surrounded! I was certain you would be very disappointed at their cowardice, so I executed them on your behalf.”

The lawyer shuddered.

“Mr. Charles Bettencourt,” continued the pirate, “I’ve found our rivalry thrilling, but I’m afraid the game is nearing the end. While you have earned yourself an honorable death by my hand, I have no quarrel with your people. Heed my warning. I give you a chance to evacuate Anconia Island before I strike. You have twelve minutes.”

“Dalmar, buddy, this isn’t a ship,”countered Bettencourt. “This is a city, a city in a really nasty part of the world. You can’t just tell everybody to leave. Where the hell are they going to go?”

He released the transmit button and resumed pacing, while the radio crackled silent, Dalmar unwilling to respond.

“You talk to him,” demanded Bettencourt, pointing at Jonah. “Tell him to divert course, give us more time, anything!”

“Why of course,” shouted Jonah, spitting flecks of blood as he spoke, filled with sudden anger. “Take a mulligan with Dalmar’s 180,000-ton battering ram. He’ll just stuff that ship up your ass on your schedule. How’s your Tuesday? Actually, strike that — I just looked and mine’s terrible.”

“Order a general evacuation.” the CEO said, pointing at his lawyer. “Get everyone out of the buildings and onto anything that floats — do it now!”

Around them, lights flashed and instructions appeared on wall-mounted screens. A public-address system calmly issued pre-programmed evacuation instructions.

“I’m not kidding around, Dalmar,” Bettencourt said, making one last-ditch effort to speak with the pirate. “I’m sorry about the attempts on your life and that of your men. Really, I am. I’ve clearly underestimated you. That’s my mistake. I own that. But you’re making a mistake here, too. Nobody’s done anything yet that we can’t walk away from. I can make this right. But if you do this — if you threaten the lives of my people, your actions will follow you for the rest of your short life. I’m not leaving. I will defend this city with my life.”

“Pish-posh,” interrupted Hassan. “You have no intention of dying on anyone’s behalf, not even your own.”

“I will throw everything, everything I have at you,” shouted Bettencourt into the radio, losing control. “And I swear by everything holy that I will end you this time.”

“You have eleven minutes to try,” said Dalmar. “Good luck. Dread Pirate Dalmar Abdi, Captain of the SS Fuck Your Mother out.”

“He makes a good pirate captain,” said Hassan.

“That he does,” mused Jonah. “He has style. Style is very important for a pirate captain.”

“He needs an eye patch though, don’t you think?”

“And a parrot,” Jonah nodded and squinted out the window, catching his first glimpse of the supertransport through the floor-to-ceiling penthouse windows as the massive ship bore down on Anconia Island.

“Mobilize everything!” Bettencourt shouted at the colonel. “Get all non-combatants to lifeboats and the jetway! Attack that ship!”

Face red and boiling with anger, Bettencourt picked the pearl-handled 1911 from his desk, strode up to Hassan and whipped the doctor across the face with the loaded weapon.

“Stop wasting time,” Colonel Westmoreland barked. “My men will launch drones and our helicopters will assault.”

No sooner had he spoken than a pack of eight triangular drones launched from underneath the island, correcting their trim and altitude with eerie synchronicity as they formed up for an attack run. The gleaming white drones were larger than Jonah had expected, each with wingspans of nearly thirty feet, jet engines whistling as they passed the penthouse at eye level.

Approaching the Erno Rubik fast and low, they simultaneously disgorged their missile bays into the tenstory bridge castle with a ticker-tape of white contrails. The barrage of missiles flew towards the container ship at impossible speed, tumbling out of formation as they impacted the massive bridge castle in a disorganized spread.

Flashes from the bridge castle — small arms fired at the now-retreating drones. The jet engine of a single drone puffed with white smoke and fell from the sky like a wounded bird.

“Out of missiles,” reported the colonel.

“Are you fucking kidding me?” demanded Bettencourt. “That didn’t do shit. Do they have time to rearm?”

“No time,” Westmoreland said. “But we can order the pilots to remotely ram the ship.”

“Do it.” Bettencourt, breathing heavily, wiped sweat off his forehead. A disorganized patch of hair fell over his face.

Orders received, the formation of drones whipped around and lined up for a final kamikaze run at the bridge castle. One after another, they threw themselves into the tombstone-shaped bridge castle from all sides. First burst out of the structure, consuming it in black, billowing clouds of smoke.

“It’s still coming!” shouted the lawyer.

“We’re not done yet,” said the colonel. “Just wait until my trigger-pullers get on board the Erno Rubik. They’re a pack of heartbreakers and life-takers. If I were Dalmar Abdi, I’d be shitting my pants right about now.”

“Certainly,” added Hassan. “It’s not as if your mercenaries have ever gotten their arses handed to them by a few pirates before.”

Three Blackhawk attack helicopters swooped in after the expended drones, preparing to board and take the container ship. Two of the helicopters came in low over the bow, dropping fast-ropes onto the deck. A dozen men slid out of the aircraft, distant and oblivious to the pirate’s intermittent fire into their ranks.

The third helicopter broke off from providing overwatch cover and charged the bridge. The Blackhawk turned to the side, exposing the side door gunner to strafe. The gunner fired a long staccato salvo into the bridge until the tail rotor caught a strand of nearly invisible high-tensile steel monofilament strung between bridge and the midship crane. The rear rotor blades sheared off, sending the out-of-control helicopter spinning downwards, knocking a tall stack of containers off the side of the Erno as it tumbled into the sea.

“Ouch,” said Jonah. “That looked expensive.”

“It’s insured,” replied Bettencourt, with a far-away look in his eyes.

“Your premiums might be going up in the near future,” cracked Jonah.

The remaining two helicopters retreated from the bridge of the Erno Rubik, firing continuously as they strafed, hanging back and away from the wires. Heavy gunship rounds impacted the structure until the helicopters broke off the attack, out of ammunition.

The SS Erno Rubik was now close, too close to stop the impact.

Far below the bird’s-eye view of the penthouse, the mercenary mothership made a desperate attempt to ram the cargo ship against the port side bow, frantically trying to push the cargo supertransport off course. It hit with a crushing blow, sinking her angular bow deep into the hull of the Erno like a prison shank. Hopelessly outclassed and disabled, the damaged ship scraped and bashed along the entire length of the Erno Rubik without so much as nudging the massive cargo ship an inch.

“Brace for impact!” Colonel Westmoreland shouted.

The SS Erno Rubik slammed into Anconia Island with the deafening impact of a tsunami. The penthouse rocked, knocking Charles Bettencourt to his knees while Colonel Westmoreland fell off his feet and onto the marble floor, glass shattering and raining down around them.

With the sound of a thousand diesel locomotives dropped into a chasm, the Erno Rubik drove deep into the heart of the city, splitting the fault line between platforms. The smaller office buildings on either side crumbled, joined by an avalanche of shipping containers. From the high vantage point, Jonah watched as the Erno Rubik cleaved the entire artificial island in half. The container ship wallowed, covered by collapsed stacks of shipping containers and demolished buildings, weighing down on the supporting structure of Anconia itself. On the jetway far below, dazed and disoriented masses stared up, forced to witness the destruction as the very ground buckled beneath their island.

“Well,” said Charles Bettencourt as he surveyed the chaos from the penthouse windows, arms crossed. “I really don’t see what else I can do here. Colonel, it’s been a pleasure.”

With a curt nod, the spry executive walked towards the sliding glass doors to the helicopter landing pad.

“Where do you think you’re going?” demanded Colonel Westmoreland, resting his bloody palm on a holstered pistol. “You are going to stay and defend this fucking position.”

“Am I?” shouted the CEO, waving Jonah’s pearlhandled pistol in the air. “Because I thought that’s what I’ve been paying you for.”

The colonel didn’t respond, and simply flicked the leather catch off his holster, ready to draw.

Without waiting, Charles thrust his pistol towards the colonel and fired three times. The mercenary grunted and stepped back as the bullets hit him in the unprotected abdomen just below his body armor, his customized pistol slipping from his slashed palm. Wobbling on his feet, the massive soldier slowly tipped forward like a felled tree, landing face-first on the ground with a bone-rattling crash. Blood flowed out of his stomach wound, collecting in the seams between the marble tiles.

“I think I’ll be leaving now,” said the CEO, throwing the now-empty 1911 to the ground.

“What about me?” asked the lawyer. “Take me to the helicopter, goddammit!”

“What about you?” mimicked the CEO as he walked towards the glass doors. “I don’t see a handicapped ramp.”

Colonel Westmoreland rose to his knees, animated by pure rage alone. The hulking man lurched forward towards his employer, blood gushing out of his belly unstaunched and dripping down to his crotch, teeth gritted in pain and fury, fists clenched and muscles bulging. He stood transfixed as Charles Bettencourt boarded the helicopter without so much as a wayward look back to his ruined island, his betrayed men.

Screaming, the lawyer pulled himself out of the chair, dragging two cast-encased legs behind him as he pulled himself up the stairs towards the landing pad. The blades of the executive helicopter spun faster, cutting through the air, until the entire vehicle lifted off the pad and soared through the air, away from Anconia Island for the last time.

The blood-soaked colonel fixed his pain-deadened, glazed-over eyes on Jonah and Hassan. He drew a knife out of the front of his chest armor and crawled towards them. Too beaten and exhausted to fight, Jonah grimaced and thrust his zip tied hands out in a desperate act of self-protection, all the while waiting for the mercenary’s knife to sink into his chest. He felt a fumbling on his zip ties, heard a snap, and the pressure around his wrists came free. Having cut him loose, Colonel Westmoreland turned his attention to the doctor to do the same.

Incredulous, Jonah and Hassan stared, rubbing their raw, bruised wrists as the colonel wobbled on his feet, face pale from blood loss. He collapsed forward onto his knees.

“Help me carry him to the elevator!” shouted Hassan.

“Give me a minute,” protested Jonah as he dragged himself to his feet. Picking up his pearl-handled pistol from the ground, he half-limped, half-crawled over to the mahogany desk. Jonah threw open the top drawer, pocketing a pair of Tibaldi fountain pens, a single Mont Blanc, and a Patek Philippe wristwatch.

“What the hell are you doing?” demanded Hassan.

“I’m stealing shit, goddammit!” Jonah shouted. “Just give me just one fucking minute!”

Grunting as he carried himself over to the nearest free-standing glass slab display, Jonah kick it free of the mountings. The display tilted over, slowly at first, but then picked up speed as it fell and shattered against the marble floor. Jonah leaned over and brushed the glass off an ornately tattooed yakuza skin, rolled up the human leather and tucked it under an armpit.

“Now we can go,” said Jonah. “These are worth a shitload on the black market.”

Jonah shoved himself underneath the mercenary’s other massive arm. Between the two of them, they managed to drag the colonel to the elevator. Westmoreland’s head lolled as he struggled to move his feet, to somehow assist with his own evacuation.

Jonah and Hassan collapsed, dropping Westmoreland to the elevator floor. The doctor stripped away the colonel’s shirt, revealing an ugly pattern of blood and bullet wounds, trying to find a place to apply pressure as Jonah punched the button for the lobby before slumping beside him.

“Don’t leave me here!” screamed the lawyer as the door slid shut.

“Is he going to make it?” asked Jonah, turning his attention to the colonel.

“The big man will outlive us all,” said Hassan, patting the man on the chest. The doctor then shook his head at Jonah — comforting words aside, the wounded soldier had little time.

“This island’s going to fall,” Westmoreland whispered with a wistful, far-away baritone. “You can hear the metal fatigue. It’s all snapping like so many twigs. Her spine is severed — nothing is holding her together.”

“If you don’t make it, do you have anybody we should talk to on your behalf?” asked Jonah, reaching underneath the mercenary’s shaved head with a hand to support his thick neck.

“Not anymore.” Blood dripped out of the corner of his mouth. “Any man worth seeing, I’ll meet again in the next few minutes.” The bleeding man coughed, his breath ragged and rattling. “Maybe I’ll see my wife,” he wheezed. “She was a good woman, so maybe not. It’s okay; I got women in the other place, too.”

“I can get him to the Scorpion,” offered Hassan, desperately trying to think of a solution. “My facilities there are rudimentary — but he might have a chance.”

“Don’t bother,” rasped the colonel. “This is as good a place to die as any.”

With that, his eyes rolled back into his massive head and his ragged breath grew short and stopped. Hassan rolled the mercenary’s eyelids shut as the elevator doors opened. Jonah and the doctor exited the elevator, leaving the inert body abandoned behind them.

The pair wove their way into the grassy courtyard, taking cover as the remaining few soldiers dashed across the field, trying to find some way off Anconia before it slipped beneath the waves. The island moaned a deep, pain-filled rumble. Driven into the fissure between the platforms, the superstructure of the SS Erno Rubik slipped from view, the behemoth slowly sinking into the ocean.

“We don’t have long,” said Jonah, surveying the destruction as an empty office building crumbled in a cloud of concrete, steel members and dust.

“What do we do?” asked the doctor as he shielded his face from the sudden blast of wind and debris.

Without a word, Jonah lead the way over to the edge of the island, a simple glass railing overlooking a three-hundred foot drop into the ocean below.

“We jump,” said Jonah. He swung both legs over the side of the railing, surveying the stomach-churning drop below. Hassan mirrored his movements, and the two men sat at the edge of the precipice.

“On three?” asked Hassan.

“Maybe next time,” said Jonah, pushing the doctor off the railing. The surgeon screamed, wheeling his arms and legs through the air as he fell, ending with a massive splash into the waves far below.

Jonah leapt into space. The water rushed up to meet him with incredible speed, air swooshing past his ears, while holding onto the rolled-up human leather as tightly as he could.

Clinch those buttcheeks shut, thought Jonah a split second before impact. Tumbling through the frothy water, he stared up at the surface nearly fifteen feet above him, white foam and dark sediment surrounding him. Everything was dark and cloudy, he couldn’t see, couldn’t think, couldn’t breathe. Despite his twisted ankles, he managed two hard kicks to the surface, popping up beside the doctor. Too stunned to be angry, the doctor treaded water beside him.

A lone lifeboat from the Erno Rubik approached from the side, slowing as it reached them. Inside, Dalmar Abdi stood at the bow, bare-chested with a rocket-propelled grenade strapped to his back. Behind him, several more lifeboats fled towards the distant shores of Somalia, abandoning the fight.

“My friend Jonah Blackwell!” Dalmar reached down to pluck both men out of the water. “And my brother Hassan the Butcher! I am so pleased you have lived. Jonah — I believe this makes three times I have saved your life.”

“But who’s counting?” said Jonah as he slumped into the bottom of the fiberglass boat.

“I am counting!” said Dalmar. “You shall name your firstborn child after me!”

“What if it’s a girl?” asked Hassan, collapsing next to Jonah.

“Ha!” shouted Dalmar with a frighteningly gregarious laugh. “Then Jonah must name her Dread Pirate Dalmar Abdi! A good name for a woman, she will bear many grandsons!”

With that, the pirate commander kicked the lifeboat into gear, speeding towards the Scorpion as she lay surfaced several hundred yards away from the mortally wounded island. Behind them, the smallest of the three platforms collapsed into the sea, sending out a massive tidal wave through the floating debris and oil. Fires broke out in the other abandoned platforms, sending columns of inky-black smoke skyward as thousands of survivors watched from the still-floating runway.

Alexis waited on the forward deck of the submarine, weapon slung behind her back, waving the lifeboat in. Dalmar beached the craft against the deck and helped Jonah and Hassan out, one after another.

“I knew you were alive!” Alexis shouted, throwing her arms around the doctor. Hassan smiled and embraced her back despite the pain in his battered body.

“Let’s get you inside,” said Alexis. “Vitaly says a US Navy carrier group is inbound to rescue survivors.”

“I should not be here when they arrive,” said Dalmar. “My men are returning home, but—” he turned to Jonah. “May I join your crew, Captain Jonah?”

“Welcome aboard,” said Jonah. “I could always use another potato-peeler. Doc — let’s go. We have to move.”

Arm encircling Alexis’s waist, Hassan ignored him, staring at the stricken city like Lot’s wife lamenting the destruction of Sodom. “I’m going to watch,” he said, his voice far away. “I believe I’ve earned the right.”

Jonah turned to see Anconia Island, still gleaming in the morning sun. The remaining two platforms failed in sequence, both halves of the city collapsing into the water with the roar of an earthquake, spilling into the sea as the floating runway detached with the sound of snapping steel cables, setting the crowded platform adrift. The debris settled, slipping beneath the waves. And within moments, it was as if the glittering island had never graced the face of the earth.