Typhoon Fury

31

The Gator pulled alongside the rear quarter of the Magellan Sun with just a whisper of its electric motors, so silent that even someone standing on deck thirty feet directly above the submarine wouldn’t have heard it. Eddie opened the hatch and climbed out, hefting his MP5 submachine gun, equipped with a noise and flash suppressor. MacD and Murph followed, closing the hatch behind them. In their black clothing, they were nearly invisible. MacD notched the bolt with the rubberized grappling claw into his crossbow and nodded at Eddie.

“We’re ready, Gomez,” Eddie said quietly.

“Hold on,” replied Gomez, who was watching the ship on his monitor back on the Oregon. “I’ve got one guard coming toward you. Man, he’s a big boy. I can practically see the veins popping out of his muscles from here.”

Eddie looked up, prepared to take the guard out if he peered over the side. If that happened, they might still be able to salvage the mission by getting up top fast enough to hide the body, but it would definitely make for a riskier operation.

After a minute, Gomez said, “Okay, he’s passed you and turned the corner around a container. The supply ship has just left with a load, and the rest of the crew seems to be getting the next batch of crates ready for another transfer. No one else is close to you.”

“How many guards in all?”

“I count ten Schwarzenegger types on deck. The rest of the crew look like they’re not Typhoon users.”

“Ten-to-three,” MacD said with a raised eyebrow. “I say we keep out of their hair.”

Murph nodded his agreement with that sentiment. “I love having our eye in the sky.”

“They don’t mess with us, we don’t mess with them,” Eddie said and turned to MacD. “Our elevator cable, please.”

MacD aimed the crossbow and fired. The bolt went between the tubular steel railings and hit the container behind it with a dull clang. The prongs snapped out, and MacD reeled in the nylon line until the claw was snug against the railing tubes.

He handed the rope to Eddie, who clamped on a miniature motorized winch, then attached it to his climbing harness and pressed the switch. The tiny gears inside pulled him up with a soft whine until he was able to grab the bottom railing. He checked for hostiles, pulled himself over, unhitched the winch, and put it in his pack before shouldering his MP5.

Gomez would be able to see anyone already on deck, but there was still the danger that someone inside could make a sudden appearance through a door. They’d specifically chosen this spot fifty feet from the superstructure because the nearest door was far away.

Satisfied that they were alone, Eddie motioned for MacD to join him, then Murph, both of them using their own winches. When the three of them were on deck, MacD retrieved the rope and claw so it wouldn’t be seen by a patrolling guard.

“We’re on deck,” Eddie said to Linda.

“Roger that,” Linda said. “Submerging. Let me know when you want a pickup.” Although the Gator was virtually undetectable on the surface, her orders were to take no chances. She would take the Gator down ten feet so that only the radio antenna jutted out of the water and wait for Eddie’s signal.

“Let’s go,” he said.

While the portion of the deck where they were standing was relatively dark, the area around the crane was awash in floodlights, reflecting off the top of the white superstructure.

The three of them crept along the deck in the opposite direction, guided by Gomez. The equipment room was located two decks up, right under the bridge and next to the captain’s quarters. Once they were indoors they’d be on their own, out of Gomez’s view. The door closest to the stairway they needed was right beside the ship’s orange free-fall lifeboat, a bullet-shaped craft locked into a downward-facing cradle for quick escapes in an emergency.

The door had a thick glass window inset into it. Eddie poked a tiny camera above the sill and watched the wireless feed on a handheld screen. The hallway was empty.

He went inside and listened for footsteps or voices. Hearing nothing, he waved for Murph and MacD to follow him. They moved to the stairs quickly, knowing the longer they were out in the open, the likelier it was that they’d be discovered.

They went up two flights of stairs and found the equipment room underneath the bridge. They would have walked right in except for one small problem — the sturdy metal door was padlocked.

“Looks like someone ain’t too trusting,” MacD said, examining the brand-new combination lock.

“It’s just supposed to be electrical and fiber-optic trunk lines and some control equipment,” Murph said. “Why would they lock it?”

“Only one way to find out,” Eddie said. He dug into his pack and removed a collapsible bolt cutter. He extended the titanium-reinforced handles.

“Guys,” Gomez said, “two guards just walked into the superstructure. They didn’t look like they were in a hurry, but they could be headed your way.”

To punctuate Gomez’s warning, the sound of two guards talking rose from the stairwell and was getting closer.

As Eddie clamped the bolt cutters around the hasp of the padlock, MacD said quietly, “If they notice the lock is gone, we’re gonna have some party crashers.”

The voices got louder. Eddie knew they were committed, and he pressed the strong bolt cutter’s handles together. The hasp of the combination lock snipped in half as if it were made of plastic. Eddie removed it and pocketed the pieces.

They hustled inside the dark room, and Eddie shut the door behind him.

Using a flashlight to guide him, Murph stuck a thick, square panel with a screen the size of a small tablet computer against the inside of the door, held in place by magnets at the corners. He pressed a button, and the screen on the panel came to life. The door was thick, so the voices outside were muffled as they approached, and the footsteps were impossible to hear.

The two guards didn’t slow down. They ambled by, still talking. Soon, even the muted voices were no longer audible.

“Turn on the lights,” Eddie said.

Murph found the switch and flicked it on.

The ten-foot-by-ten-foot room was unassuming, just a collection of conduits and LCD control panels on the walls around them. No stacks of dollars or euros, no poor souls being trafficked, no piles of smuggled Uzis and AK-47s. Just the equipment room they were expecting.

At least that’s what Eddie thought until Murph said, “Some things are different here.”

“What things?” Eddie asked while MacD kept an eye on the door.

“There are more conduits than the CIA schematics showed.”

“Conduits for what?”

“I don’t know.”

Eddie was curious about what was locked in there, but it wasn’t important to their mission. “It doesn’t matter. Let’s get the navigational data and leave.”

“In a jiffy,” Murph said. He cut into one of the conduits and exposed the cables inside. He attached clips to the wires and connected the leads to his tablet computer, immersing himself in the task as his fingers danced across the screen.

“Someone else just walked inside,” Gomez said over the radio.

“More guards?” Eddie asked.

“No, this guy looks like one of the crew.”

“All right, we’ll keep an eye out for him.” Eddie turned and saw Murph peering at his screen in confusion. “What’s wrong? You can’t find the data?”

“No, that’s not it. I’m sure it’s here somewhere.”

“Then what?”

“It’s just strange,” Murph said and looked up at Eddie, his brows knitted together like he was about to deliver bad news. “I think this ship has a fire control system.”

At first, Eddie thought he was talking about a fire suppression system, but then he realized Murph would never confuse the terms control and suppression.

He meant the Magellan Sun was armed.