Choke Point

THIRTEEN

‘Back in Vietnam, you know what they called this?’ 30K asked Kozak, and without waiting for the man’s reply, he added, ‘Screwing the pooch.’

‘Just focus, man.’

‘Popeye the Sailor has just run aground.’

‘I don’t think so.’

‘He’ll need the Colombian Marines to interdict the sub. We’re out of this fight.’

‘Not yet.’

‘We’ll see …’ 30K shook his head and watched as Delgado was shoved down the pier.

The two guards helped him up, into the hatch, and he almost slipped and fell overboard while trying to get down the ladder, a man from inside trying to help.

If 30K could’ve had his way, he would’ve leveled his Stoner on these rebels and ‘Los Chuckleheads’ and muttered, ‘For those about to rock, I salute you.’ Then he would’ve hammered them until the barrel of his machine gun melted off. The proper application of overwhelming firepower was the first step toward spiritual enlightenment. This was a law of physics that Newton had invented back in the day, when he was playing with guns in the schoolyard with Leonardo da Vinci. This was the eleventh commandment, written right there in the Constitution near the signatures of John Wayne and Charlton Heston.

Everyone knew that.

For now, though, their fearless captain wanted them to lie on their bellies with their bras undone so they could work on their tans during a tropical storm.

Was 30K frustrated? Nah. His damned suntan was coming along nicely …

He balled one hand into a fist. Shit. He had to do something.

And then he saw it, an opportunity sitting there like a Ferrari with the keys in it.

A sudden gale-force wind ripped into the jungle and had the men lifting their arms to shield their eyes. At that second, 30K fished out a sensor grenade from his web gear and hurled it across the river, the device thumping into the mud on the opposite shoreline.

Bingo. His Cross-Com’s HUD turned into the bridge of a starship, targets identified, marked, tracked, ready to die. ‘Please come shoot me,’ they begged.

He lifted his Stoner. ‘Sensor out, marking,’ he reported.

And then he saw them, Ross and Pepper, rushing from the dry dock, then stopping to allow their camouflage to catch up with their movements — but the rain was giving up their position, and 30K cried, ‘Ghost Lead, 30K, they can see you, man! They can see you!’

‘Easy, buddy,’ said Ross. ‘They don’t see us yet.’

The captain was right. Some of the men were running back toward the SUVs, while the cocaine loaders jogged in a group toward the dry docks.

‘Roger that.’

‘Everybody, keep holding.’

30K cursed under his breath and glanced over at Kozak. ‘So how much longer do we sit on our asses?’

‘Not long,’ answered Kozak. ‘I know what he’s doing.’

‘Well, that’s amazing, General Schwarzkopf, you mind filling me in, because as far as I’m concerned, not only are we letting the package escape, but these FARC losers and Rastamen dudes will be out of here in a second. Lose-lose for everybody.’

‘Rastamen? You mean Rastrojos.’

‘Whatever.’

‘Okay, okay, here we go,’ Kozak said, pointing toward the river. ‘Watch. And learn.’

Ross left Pepper hidden beneath the dock while he swam up behind the submarine, just as the twin screws were beginning to turn. He maneuvered himself along the hull, to where the shaft passed through the thrust-bearing seal. He attached one charge there, the magnet holding fast, then he did likewise on the second shaft, both charges in place.

During his long tenure in the Navy, Ross had been taught how to expertly disable vessels, including submarines. He’d learned that the thrust-bearing flange and seal were pressurized from inside on subs because there was no way to make a watertight seal and allow enough room for the shaft to rotate. All submarines controlled the pressure on the thrust-bearing seal, ensuring the pressure inside the sub was greater than that of the sea pressure pushing in from the outside to, of course, prevent flooding.

In theory, Ross’s C-4 charges would damage the watertight integrity of the thrust-bearing seals and distort the shafts. The sub couldn’t submerge because the thrust bearings could no longer be pressurized, and the sub couldn’t move because the shafts would not turn, or if they did turn, within a few spins they’d tear the ass end out of the sub.

Ross swam hard and away, back toward the riverbank, the timers set for twenty seconds. He paddled around, reached into his holster, and produced a 9mm Glock with star-patterned maritime spring cups on the firing pin. The cups allowed water inside to equalize the pressure, which in turn made the weapon more reliable in wet conditions. He could even fire it while submerged.

He’d been counting the seconds till detonation. And three, two, one …

The muffled explosions were followed by a pair of fountains behind the sub, and as the craft began to slow and the blast wave struck Ross, he gave the long-awaited order: ‘The sub’s disabled. Pepper and I are on the package. 30K? You and Kozak suppress any fire coming at us near the sub. The rest of you — do it! Open fire!’

Even before 30K could respond, the AFEUR troops took out the warehouse guards and began moving up. 30K’s own Stoner beat a vicious rhythm, the entire riverbank now flickering with gunfire, the fronds spitting as they split apart, the Rastrojos troops near the SUVs dropping behind the cars to return fire.

At the same time, Kozak put the drone back up, wheeling in a steady pattern above the submarine, the drone’s rotors coughing up rain.

‘Got you covered, Ghost Lead,’ he said.

Ross grinned to himself as Pepper swam out from beneath the dock and joined him at the sub, just as the hatch flipped open and a man emerged, bringing his rifle to bear.

Pepper had his own modified Glock in his fist, and the submariner, probably the captain, barely caught a glimpse of Pepper before two rounds drilled into his chest. He slumped in the sail as Ross climbed up and — before dragging the man’s body out of the way — he popped a smoke grenade and dropped it down the hatch. As the canister rattled somewhere inside the sub, Ross tugged the dead guy out of the sail, let him collapse into the water, then slipped back along the deck, covering with his own pistol.

‘Here they come,’ cried Pepper.

One by one they emerged, three more crew members gasping and coughing, their eyes burning, hands raised in the air. They appeared unarmed, just straining to see Ross.

‘Get in the water, right now!’ Ross shouted in Spanish. ‘Right now!’

However, as they obeyed, Ross caught movement from the corner of his eye. He craned his head and suddenly lost his breath.

Two guys up on the shore broke from behind the SUVs, and before 30K could adjust his fire, the Rastrojos troops cut loose with a barrage.

‘Get back!’ Ross shouted to Pepper.

They rolled off the deck, into the water, while the still-disoriented crew members were left there, swimming right into the maw of fire.

As Ross went under then came around, putting the hull between himself and the gunman, the sub began listing badly, the sail coming straight down at him, with smoke still billowing from the hatch.

He kicked to get out of its path, but it was too late, and all he could do was raise his hands, steal a breath, and let the creaking sail crash on top of him, driving him down toward the river bottom with a rush of bubbling water.