Echo of War

50

In the end, the Aurasina’s survival came down to a few degrees of angle. While more a frantic, last-ditch impulse than a considered tactic, Tanner’s cranking of the Barak’s wheel nevertheless made the difference.

As the Barak heeled over, the sudden shift drew the CAPTOR’s nose cone off the Aurasina’s bow by a matter of feet. Instead of striking dead on, the CAPTOR’s warhead struck a glancing blow. The shock wave was diverted up the ferry’s stem and down along her hull. In a gout of flame and roiling smoke, the upper half of her bow ramp disintegrated, while the lower half was cleaved down to forefoot.

Raked by a wave of fire, superheated steam, and shrapnel, the forecastle was virtually peeled back, revealing the forepeak hold and part of the vehicle well. The wall of flame swept over the superstructure and bridge, shattering windows, melting aluminum bulkheads, and charring the white paint black.

The Barak faired better, but not by much. Though largely spent on the Aurasina’s bow and into the air alongside her, a portion of the shock wave bulldozed ahead of her, a roiling ball of compressed water that slammed like a freight train into the Barak’s stern, lifting and spinning her across the surface like a top.

On the flying bridge, Tanner’s hands were torn from the wheel. He felt himself hurled first left, then right, where he lost his balance and tipped over the railing. He reached out, grabbed a ladder rung, and slammed into the superstructure. Stunned, he lost his grip and tumbled to the deck below.

He pushed himself to his knees. Fifty yards off the beam the Aurasina was shuddering to a stop. Her alarm claxon began whooping. Tanner could see water pouring through the gash in her bow ramp. With a wrenching of steel, a ten-foot section of her forecastle tore away and plunged into the water. She began listing to port.

Through her shattered bridge windows, he could see figures running about. A pair of spotlights on each wing glowed to life, bathing the demolished forecastle in bright light. A voice began calling over the loudspeaker, “L’attenzione, l’attenzione … passeggero scialuppa di salvatoaggio …” Attention … passengers to lifeboats …

Tanner staggered into the cabin. Susanna had been thrown from the sofa and lay on her side on the deck. He felt for a pulse. It was there, but very weak. She needed a doctor, and quickly. He repacked towels against her wound, then wrapped her torso in a sheet and cinched it tight.

He sprinted onto the deck, up the port side, and climbed to the flying bridge. In the supply box he found a flare gun. He loaded a round into the chamber and fired it into the sky. Hissing it arced over the Aurasina and burst into a waterfall of red sparks.

He turned the ignition key, heard a dull click. He tried it again. Click. He squeezed his eyes shut. Dammit, please. He turned the key again. There was a brief whine. The starboard engine coughed to life. He throttled up and spun the wheel toward the Aurasina.

He circled her bow and down along her port side. Above, passengers milled around the railing, babbling and calling out to one another. Tanner scanned faces, hoping against hope he would spot Cahil. He was nowhere to be seen. Briggs loaded another flare into the pistol and fired it off. It had the effect he was looking for. Passengers began pointing and shouting. A few moments later a crewman in a white tunic appeared at the railing and shouted in Italian over the din, “Can you help? We’ve—”

“No, no!” Tanner called back. “Il dottore! Lower you ladder!”

“Eh?”

Tanner hesitated, trying to think, his brain muddled. What was the word …? “La scala!” he shouted. “La scala!”

The crewman nodded and hurried off.

Tanner maneuvered the Barak alongside. The crewman returned with another member of the crew and together they rolled a rope ladder over the railing. Tanner hurried into the cabin, scooped up Susanna, went back out. As gently as he could, he draped her over his shoulder in a fireman’s carry and then, timing his movements with the rising and falling of the deck, mounted the ladder. Helped by nearby passengers, the crewmen began hauling them up. At the railing, hands reached for Susanna. They lifted her aboard and laid her on the deck. Tanner followed. He knelt beside her. “Il dottore!” he called.

One of the crewmen stepped forward; his nametag read “Marco.” “Si, si. Medico.”

“Do you speak English?”

“Yes.”

“She’s been shot.” Tanner opened her coat to reveal the blood-soaked bandage. “She’s lost a lot of blood.”

“I understand.” The crewman examined the wound. “I will take her to the infirmary.”

“Where’s that?”

“Deck three, forward of the dining room.”

“I’ll find you.” Briggs glanced around, spotted the other crewman. “What’s your name?”

“Belio.”

“Take me to the bridge. I need to see your captain.”

They rushed up two flights of ladders to the bridge as Tanner waited in the doorway, Belio ran to an elderly man in a white uniform, whispered to him, then gestured to Tanner. The man strode over. “What is going on?” the man demanded. “Who are—”

“Are you the captain?”

“Yes, dammit! Ettore Bartoli. Who are you? What—”

“You’ve struck a mine—”

“A mine! What are you talking—”

“Shut up and listen. Half your bow ramp is gone and the other half is split down to the keel. You’re sinking. Do you understand me?”

Bartoli blinked, then nodded. “Yes, I—”

“How many cars do you have aboard?”

“Two hundred ninety. Why?”

“We’ve got ten minutes, maybe less, to make you stem heavy or she’s going under. Stack cars on top of one another if you have to, but we have to get your bow out of the water.”

Bartoli began nodding. “Si, si...” He turned and started barking orders. Crewmen began scrambling, calling to one another, relaying messages over the intercom system.

Tanner asked, “Are your pumps running?”

“Of course.”

“Can you transfer the output into the aft bilges?”

“Yes.”

“Do it. Have your crew herd the passengers aft. Every bit of weight counts.”

Bartoli shouted more orders, then turned back to Tanner. “Where did you come from?”

“It’s a long story. What’s the nearest land?”

Bartoli led him to the chart table and tapped a spot. “Susak Island. Four miles to the east.”

“I recommend you head there,” Tanner said. “Ground her if you have to, but get her into shallow water.”

“You think—”

“We won’t be able to stay ahead of the flooding,” Tanner said. “The closer we are to land when she founders, the more of your passengers will survive. What’s the best speed you can manage?”

“If the damage you described is accurate, I don’t dare exceed six or eight knots. Anything more and I’ll swamp her.”

Thirty to forty minutes to Susak, Tanner thought. Not much time to search eight hundred faces. Once the Aurasina grounded, Trpkova would disappear in the commotion, taking Kestrel with him.

“I need a favor,” Tanner said.

“What?”

“I brought a friend aboard; she’s hurt. I left her with one of your crewmen — Marco.”

Bartoli nodded. “Our medical officer, yes.”

“Please see that she’s taken care of. Her name is Susanna.”

“Of course; you have my word. Are you going somewhere?”

“I have another friend to find.”

“Go on, then. When you return, be ready to answer my questions.”

As Bartou brought the Aurasina about and started her limping east toward Susak, Tanner went below. Passengers, their arms full of luggage and personal belongings, clogged the passageways, trying to follow the shouted instructions of crew members standing at intersections and ladder heads. Children cried and called for their parents. Somewhere a dog started yelping. From the vehicle decks Tanner could hear the honking of car horns and the echo of voices calling to one another in Italian.

Cahil had said Trpkova’s stateroom was 3-B-19—third deck, passenger area B, cabin 19. Tanner wasn’t hopeful of finding Trpkova sitting in his cabin as the ferry sunk around him, but it was a starting point he couldn’t afford to ignore. Briggs descended three levels and headed aft, pushing and weaving his way through the crush of bodies.

He paused at a T intersection. Arrows pointed left and right down the adjoining passageways: “La sezione A/B/ C/D.” Tanner turned left. He passed few people, the bulk of the passengers and crew having abandoned the lower decks on their way topside. He started jogging, reading cabin numbers as he went. A crewman coming in the opposite direction tried to grab his arm. “Signore … tornare!” Tanner shrugged him off and kept going.

The cabins flashed past: Eleven … twelve … thirteen. He skidded to a halt outside number nineteen. He stepped forward, put his ear to the door, heard nothing. He stepped back, braced himself against he bulkhead, and charged. The door crashed inward. Tanner rushed through.

The cabin was empty.

He hurried back to the bridge, to find Bartou in conference with another officer, the chief engineer, Tanner guessed, by his lapel pin. “How are we doing?” Tanner asked.

“We’ve moved a quarter of the cars. The bow is up by a meter, but the pumps are falling behind. The gash in the bow is too big, I fear.”

“How far to Susak?”

“Two miles. Three fishing trawlers off Ilovik heard our distress calls; they’re on their way. Others from Rijeka and Pula are going to meet us at Susak, but won’t arrive for another hour.”

“And the passengers?”

“So far we’ve moved roughly three-quarters of them aft.”

“What’s your plan for getting them off?”

“The bow ramp is out of the question. When we get nearer to the shore, I’ll bring her about and back her into the shallows. With some luck and prayer, we’ll try to drop the stern ramp right on the beach.” Bartoli offered a weak grin. “They can march off like Noah’s Ark. Tell me: What is your name?”

“Briggs Tanner.”

Bartoli extended his hand. “Ettore. You’ve been a great help. Now: Tell me what is going on. What happened to my ship? Who are you? You’re American, your accent tells me that. Are you some kind of police officer?”

“Your last two questions are complicated. As for your first, the boat I was on belonged to another man. He’s been shadowing your ferry. He laid a torpedo mine in your path.”

“My god, why?”

How to answer that? Clearly he couldn’t tell Bartoli the whole convoluted story; doing so would only raise more questions he didn’t dare answer. “Captain, we’ve got a bigger problem: I think he may have had accomplices aboard your ferry. The other friend I mentioned was looking for three men.”

“These men — they are still aboard?”

“I believe so.”

“Are they armed?” Tanner nodded and Bartoli said, “Give me their names and descriptions. We’ll search for them.”

“I only have a description of the leader.” Tanner gave him Trpkova’s description. “If any of your people spot him, tell them not to approach him,” Briggs said.

“Why not grab him immediately?” Bartoli asked. “Surely we could overpower—”

“No,” Tanner said. “Let him get ashore.”

Though unlikely to make any difference if Kestrel were released, Tanner wanted to let Trpkova get away from the bulk of the Aurasina’s passengers before taking him. If the worst happened, there was a chance Dutcher and the others could step in and get Susak quarantined. Still, Tanner wasn’t hopeful — not with eight hundred passengers and an army of rescue vessels and personnel descending on the island.

“Let him get ashore?” Bartoli said with a frown. “He is that dangerous?”

Tanner nodded. “He’s that dangerous.”

Ten minutes later Bartou got a call from one of his crew: A man matching Trpkova’s description had been spotted on the main deck, aft. Bartoli arranged a meeting place with the crewman — a purser named Salvatori — and gave Tanner directions. Briggs found Salvatori near the rear stack overlooking the afterdeck. Tanner pulled him away from the rail.

“They’re down there,” Salvatori said. “I spotted him five minutes ago. There are four men in all.”

Four? Cahil, perhaps? “Describe them.” Salvatori did so; the fourth man matched Bear’s description. “You’re sure they’re together?”

“Yes. I saw them all talking.”

Trpkova must have spotted and recognized Cahil. “Here’s what I want you to do: Very casually, go to the railing and find them again. Directly ahead of you will be twelve — like on a clock. Come back and tell me where they’re standing.”

Salvatori did so and then strolled back. “Three o’clock. They are standing together in a group at the railing.”

Tanner stepped forward until he could see the edge of the railing below. Hundreds of passengers milled about the deck, some standing at the railing staring out at the passing sea or craning their necks forward to get a glimpse of the damage at the bow, others seated on deck, their backs pressed against the superstructure. Spotlights mounted every few feet on the superstructure cast the deck in stark light. The air was filled with the din of nearly a thousand overlapping voices.

The storm was abating, Tanner realized. The rain had quit altogether and the wind had lessened, now blowing from south to north. The waves, while still running high, had lost their chop and now rolled smoothly along the hull.

Tanner spotted Cahil. Standing to his left and right at the railing were two men. Directly behind Cahil, left hand in his pocket, right hand gripping a black briefcase, was Risto Trpkova.

Tanner stepped back to Salvatori. “You’ve got a good eye; it’s them. You saw the man with the beard?”

“Yes.”

“He’s with me.”

“What do we do now?”

“Nothing. Stay here and watch them. If they move, call your captain.”

Tanner returned to the bridge. Wind whistled through the shattered windows and the deck was damp with sea spray. Bartoli stood near the helm console, a pair of binoculars raised to his eyes. He noticed Tanner. “Well?”

“It’s him; my friend is there. Captain, do you—”

“Here,” Bartoli said with a smile and handed across the binoculars. “Dead on the bow. You know, I think we may just make it.”

Tanner focused the binoculars on the horizon. A mile distant he could see a dark, jagged hump of land — Susak Island, he assumed. Closer in, he could see the jagged white line of reef and faint wisps of spindrift exploding into the air.

“How are you going to manage the reef?” Tanner asked.

“The water’s only a meter deep there. We’ll blow over it and drop the ramp in the shallows.” Bartoli grinned. “I don’t think anyone will complain about getting their feet a little wet, do you? Ah, here’s some help — our trawlers from Ilovik.”

Tanner followed Bartoli’s extended finger. To starboard Tanner could make out three sets of red and green running lights. He heard the faint wail of a whistle. From the lead trawler a light blinked out a semaphore code. Bartoli studied it through the binoculars, muttering, “Yes, yes, thank you.” He lowered the binoculars. “They’ll arrive shortly after we ground.”

“Good news,” said Tanner. “Captain, do you have any weapons aboard?”

“What? No; no weapons. Don’t concern yourself, Mr. Tanner. I’ve taken care—”

“What?” Tanner said. “What have you done?”

“I alerted the Croatian police about our problem. They’re sending a team from Senj.”

“You shouldn’t have done that.”

“Nonsense! Don’t look so worried. We’ll keep an eye on your criminali, then let the Croats handle things; they are the experts, after all. I’m sure they’ll have questions for you, but—”

“Captain, you don’t understand what we’re dealing with here. If the police—”

Bartoli gave him a stern look. “Of course I understand. These men, they attacked my ship. Some of my passengers are dead, others injured. Did you think I was going to let them walk away? Of course I am going to call the authorities. Why would I not?”

Tanner realized it was too late. The Croatian police were coming; there was nothing he could do to stop it. As far as he was concerned, they could have Trpkova. Kestrel was another matter. He changed mental gears. He smiled, held up his hands in resignation. “You’re right. I’m sorry. Better to let the experts handle it. They’ll be coming to Susak?”

“Yes.”

“May I use your ship-to-shore phone? I need to call my family and let them know I’ll be a little late for dinner.”

Bartoli laughed and clapped him on the shoulder. “Of course! In the radio room.” He reached for the phone on the bulkhead. “I’ll call ahead and let them know to accommodate you.”

The radio operator showed Tanner how to place a call, then stepped out and shut the door. Briggs listened through two minutes of hissing clicks before getting through to the Langley Ops Center, which patched him through to Sylvia.

He brought the group up to speed, from his catching up to the Barak at Male Srakane to the present. “They’re still aboard,” he concluded. “Cahil’s with them; Trpkova must have recognized him.”

“You believe the canisters are in the briefcase?” Dutcher said.

“I do. He would have disguised them somehow before boarding, but they’re in there. It was the only piece of luggage the three of them took from their cabin.”

“We have to assume they’re armed,” Sylvia said.

“I agree.”

“How long before you reach Susak?” Dutcher asked.

“Another twenty minutes. The Croatian police should arrive shortly after that.”

“What were they told?”

“Just what I told Bartoli, I assume.”

“Hell, they can have Trpkova,” Sylvia replied. “But if Kestrel—”

“I know, I’m working on it. If I can get Bear’s attention, we may be able to pull something off. How soon can we expect transportation?”

“There’s a Blackhawk waiting on the pad at Remini as we speak,” said Dutcher. “We’ll get it airborne and headed your way. Ninety minutes, give or take.”

“Send it loaded,” Tanner replied. ‘Trpkova’s not going to give it up without a fight.”

As Tanner disconnected, the PA loudspeaker crackled to life. The Italian was rapid-fire, so he caught only snippets: “Brace for shock … crew … stations …”

Tanner sprinted down the passageway toward the bridge ladder. The deck suddenly canted beneath his feet. He stumbled, regained his balance, but was thrown forward into the bulkhead. The Aurasina had either slowed suddenly, or had struck something. He pulled himself up the ladder to the bridge.

“What happened?” Tanner called to Bartoli.

“An outer reef! It wasn’t on the charts! We’re still five hundred meters out.”

“Depth?”

“Eighteen meters!”

Almost sixty feet, Tanner thought. And a quarter mile from the beach. The distances didn’t sound menacing, but Tanner knew better. If they lost steerageway and foundered, a lot of people were going to die. Of those that didn’t reach the lifeboats before the Aurasina went under, he doubted half would make it to shore.

The deck lurched again and began trembling as the engines struggled to push the ferry forward. From outside came the first tentative screams of panic.

The phone buzzed. Bartoli grabbed it, listened for a moment, hung up. “The keel is holed. We’re taking on water.”

“Engines?

“Still on line, but we’re too heavy,” Bartoli answered.

The helmsman called, “Six knots … we’re slowing. Depth beneath the keel, fifteen meters.”

Tanner glanced at Bartoli, who shook his head. “Still too deep. The main deck is only ten meters off the surface.”

“How far to the inner reef?” Tanner asked.

“Two hundred meters.”

The helmsman called, “Three knots.”

Walking speed.

Bartoli said, “Our best chance is to ground her there. If we can at least keep the main deck above water, we should be able to last until the Croatian Navy arrives.”

Tanner nodded and extended his hand. “Good luck.”

Bartoli shook it. “And you.”

Tanner hurried aft to where he’d left Salvatori; surprisingly, he was still there. “Shouldn’t you be at your emergency station?”

“Captain’s orders — Stay here, watch the criminali.”

“You’re a good man. They’re still there?”

“Si.”

Tanner peeked over the railing, spotted Cahil and Trpkova, then pulled back.

The first rescue vessels were arriving. Off the port beam the trawlers from Hovik had slipped through the gap cut by the Aurasina’s passage through the reef and were paralleling the ferry’s course toward Susak. Crewmen stood on their decks, watching and calling out to passengers. Off the starboard quarter was a red speedboat with a young couple standing in the cockpit. They saw him, and started waving. The man waved a coil of rope, obviously offering the only help he could think of.

The loudspeaker blared to life. Tanner recognized Bartoli’s voice, but again caught only a few words. Salvatori said, “Brace for shock, signore. We’re approaching the reef.”

Tanner gripped the railing with both hands and dropped to crouch on the balls of his feet. Salvatori did the same. He offered Tanner a wan smile. “Not so much fun, eh?”

“No, not so much fun. Can you swim?”

“Not so well.”

Tanner took his hand off the railing and patted his shoulder. “Don’t worry, you won’t need it. Your capitano is a magician.”

“Si, si …”

The deck lurched forward, then back, then began trembling. The engines groaned. Black smoke belched from the stack. From the bow came a low-pitched scraping sound that quickly rose to the shriek of metal on rock. The Aurasina gave one more forward heave and went still.

Salvatori stood up, raced to the side, and looked down the hull. “We’re on the reef! I can see the bottom!”

Tanner joined him, glanced around for Cahil. At that moment — Tanner would never know why — Trpkova turned and looked up. Their eyes met. Off guard, Briggs followed his first impulse: He quickly looked away. Too fast, too fast … He could feel Trpkova’s eyes on him. Had he seen something in Tanner’s eyes, a too curious gaze, a split second of suspicious hesitation?

“Stati!” came a shout from below. It was one of the few Bosnian words Tanner knew: Stop!

Tanner looked down. Whether he, too, had seen Tanner or had simply decided the time was right, Cahil was making his move.

In a jumble of bodies at the railing, Tanner saw one of Trpkova’s men stumble backward, his face bloody, hands clutched around his throat. The second man rushed Cahil. Bear lashed out with a straight jab, thumb extended. The man screamed and went down, both hands over his eye.

Screaming passengers began scattering. An open space opened on deck, with Cahil and Trpkova at its center. Cahil spun toward Trpkova, who backpedaled, right hand clutching the briefcase to his chest, left hand fumbling at his side pocket.

Tanner swung his leg over the rail, lowered himself until he was hanging, then let himself drop. He hit the deck, rolled, and got up. Ten feet away, Trpkova’s hand emerged from his pocket holding a semiautomatic pistol. Cahil was already charging. They collided and stumbled backward.

There was a muffled pop. Tanner saw Cahil convulse, then slump down. Trpkova backed away. Cahil pitched forward onto the deck and lay still.

Oh, Christ, Bear …

Trpkova spun toward Tanner, gun raised.

“Stati!”

Tanner froze. The semicircle of passengers went silent. Briggs glanced at Cahil, then Trpkova. “Risto, I know what’s in the case. Root told me everything. You don’t want it; trust me.”

“No!” he yelled in English.

“Put it down on the deck and go on your way. I won’t try to stop you.”

“Shut up!” Trpkova’s eyes darted left, then right. His face shined with sweat. “On your knees … get on your knees!”

Heart pounding, Tanner did as he was told.

“Cross your legs! Hands out to your sides.”

Tanner complied.

Trpkova jerked his gun around and pointed it at a man in the crowd; beside him stood a little girl of five or six. “You! Girl! Come here!”

Tanner said, “Don’t—”

“Shut up!” Trpkova sidestepped, grabbed the girl’s arm, and jerked toward him.

“Don’t do this,” Tanner said.

“Down on your belly.”

Briggs gauged the distance between them. Twelve feet. Too far.

“Do it!” Trpkova shouted.

Tanner lowered himself to the deck and lay down.

“Don’t look at me!” Trpkova cried. “Turn your face.”

Tanner did so.

There was a long ten seconds of silence, then he heard the little girl scream, followed by footsteps pounding away. He lifted his head. Trpkova was gone. Half the assembled passengers were gaping at him, the other half craning their necks for a better view of the port side deck — staring after Trpkova, Tanner assumed.

There came three gunshots from somewhere forward. A woman screamed.

On hands and knees Tanner scrambled over to Cahil. The deck beneath him was stained red. Using his fingertip, Briggs found the carotid artery; there was a pulse.

“Bear, can you here me?”

Cahil groaned, then murmured something. Tanner leaned closer. “What?”

“… can hear you. Wasn’t shot in the damned ear. Turn me over.” Tanner did so. Cahil’s shirtfront was drenched in blood. “Shoulder,” Cahil rasped. Tanner found the wound. The bullet had shattered his collarbone; Briggs could see the white of bone jutting from the wound.

“Where is he?” Cahil asked.

“Running.”

“Get him, Briggs. I’m okay.”

Tanner glanced around him, pointed at the closest three passengers, and gestured them over. “Aiuto … per favore.” Two women rushed over, followed by a man. They knelt beside Cahil.

“Go,” Cahil commanded.

“Susanna’s aboard.”

“I’ll watch after her. Go!”

Tanner got up and started running.

Halfway up the deck Tanner came across one of the crew — the one he’d met earlier named Belio — lying at the center of a circle of passengers. He’d been shot in the forehead. A woman near the railing pointed forward.

Tanner kept running. Where the deck broadened into the forecastle, he skidded to a stop. Sitting against the railing was the little girl Trpkova had taken. Tanner rushed forward, knelt down. She was sobbing, but appeared unhurt. He picked her up.

He heard shouting, calls for help, followed by the growl of an outboard motor. Tanner stepped to the rail. Treading water alongside the hull were a man and a woman. A hundred yards away, trailing a rooster tail of foam, was their red speedboat. Standing in the cockpit was Trpkova.

As Tanner watched, the boat slipped through a gap in the reef, banked left, and disappeared from view.