From Russia Without Love

22

The next morning, Young called. “The Binagadi, one of the four ships Xander is tracking in his Marine Finder account, is docked in Baku Bay. Also, we found his IP address, but he’s using a re-router to throw us off his actual physical location. Even so, we installed a keystroke logger in his computer and found he’s searching the web about the Shah Deniz Alpha gas production platform.”

“Why would he search that?” Chris asked.

“If he destroys the Shah Deniz, he’ll kill a lot of crew members and interrupt the flow of gas through the South Caucasus Pipeline,” Young answered.

The pieces of the puzzle were finally coming together. “If the South Caucasus Pipeline shuts down, Europe will have to buy more of their gas from Russia.”

“Right. So Russia will have more money for its occupation of Ukraine and to send its military to expand Russian territory into other countries.”

“We have to figure out Xander’s plan of attack and stop him.” Chris ended the call and informed the others.

They planned on the fly and piled into the SUV outside, hoping to check out the Binagadi in port. Again, they made sure they had enough gear, including assault rifles and ship-boarding gear, like a caving ladder and extension pole, so they were prepared for a variety of contingencies. Mikhail drove out of the parking lot. Shortly after hitting the main road, they saw a white police car marked with a blue stripe on its side. It was parked on the side of the street up ahead. The police appeared to have stopped someone, and an officer was talking with him.

Another officer stood behind the stopped vehicle and directed traffic. As the parked car pulled out, the signaling officer motioned for Mikhail to pull over.

He slowed down. “Police roadblock. Not good.” The SUV came to a halt on the shoulder of the road. Because Mikhail and the SOG trio were carrying loaded pistols on their persons and loaded assault rifles under a blanket in the back of the SUV, Mikhail was right. This was definitely not good. And although the police were authorized to shoot Chris and his crew, they couldn’t shoot the police. Chris hoped their diplomatic passports would be honored by the local law enforcement, helping them to avoid a search. Now was not a good time for an international incident.

“Mikhail, do you have a get-out-of-jail-free card?” Hannah asked.

“I’ll take care of this,” Mikhail said.

The older policeman approached the driver’s side and said something in Azeri. Mikhail replied and pulled out his wallet, but instead of giving the officer a driver’s license or other such documents, Mikhail handed him several manta banknotes, the Azeri currency.

The police officer became indignant, raising his voice and waving the money at him. Mikhail had tried to bribe his way out of a ticket.

Shit.

Mikhail pulled something out of his wallet. More manta!

Damn, Mikhail, don’t make it worse.

The police officer discreetly put the money in his pocket before puffing out his chest and waving his finger.

Mikhail nodded without protest.

After the policeman finished speaking and stepped away, Mikhail shifted into drive, pulled out from the shoulder, and returned to the road. Chris looked back to see the police pull over another car.

“Sorry about that,” Mikhail said. “This has happened before. They just want to shake down drivers for some cash.”

“Thanks for getting us out of it,” Chris said. “I can’t—” Chris’s cell phone rang, interrupting him. “Uh, it’s Young. One sec.” He held up a finger. “Hey,” he answered.

“SIGINT reported an increased volume of unidentified communication out of Baku, but they were only able to decipher a time, 0830, and a name, Binagadi,” Young said, “Pier Three.”

“That’s in six minutes,” Chris said, then thanked Young and hung up.

He told the others, and Mikhail sped up without having to be asked. The four arrived in the harbor parking lot, but the Binagadi wasn’t at the pier.

Then Chris realized what had happened.

“You’re in the wrong parking lot,” he said. “This is for Pier Two. The Binagadi is at Pier Three.” Anxiety washed through him at the idea that Xander was boarding the Binagadi and they were about to miss him.

Mikhail drove them to the next parking lot, where the Binagadi was in view as the crew prepared to get underway. It seemed like a newer ship, probably built within the last five years, and stretched the length of a football field and a half. Judging by its size, it probably weighed around ten thousand tons.

Mikhail drove onto Pier Three, near the ship, and the SOG team dismounted the SUV and moved in. On the pier, there was a gangway security cabin, which normally housed a guard to protect the entrance to the ship. But there was no guard inside. Either the cabin wasn’t manned, or the guard was dead.

Chris scanned the ship’s deck and spotted Animus amidships before he disappeared inside. Near where he’d stood was what looked like the body of a senior crew member lying on the deck. Chris took in the rest of the situation, seeing two seamen working frantically to disconnect the gangway, the only connection between the ship and shore. A crane was already hooked up to the center of the gangway, ready to lift it away, and on the dock, two workers waited to steady it.

Shit. We’re too late.

Two levels above the main deck, near the bridge, Xander appeared, opening a hatch and then vanishing inside, while his thug with the smooth skin and hard eyes — and armed with an AK — remained outside, yelling in English at the two workers on the pier next to the gangplank.

“Untie the ship!” he shouted.

Sitting in the backseat of the SUV, Chris and Sonny grabbed assault rifles and other gear and distributed it. They put on their inflatable assault vests, comms, and other kit. Then the four of them jumped out of the SUV and ran toward the ship.

“Must remove gangway first!” one of the workers called out in broken English.

Smooth Skin fired his AK in the worker’s direction. “Untie the ship!”

The workers scattered away from the gangway and hurried to the lines.

Smooth Skin turned his head and faced the foursome running toward the ship. Because Chris led as point man, the front was Chris’s area of responsibility, and it was his job to protect his team by taking out the threat. Chris stopped, planted his feet in a shooting stance, placed the butt of his rifle firmly in the hollow of his shoulder and aimed. Smooth Skin brought his rifle up, too. But Chris got off the first shot. The bullet ripped into Smooth Skin’s upper body, disturbing his balance and slowing him. As Smooth Skin tried to bring his weapon up into firing position, Chris shot again, tearing a new hole near the first one and knocking Smooth Skin back a step. But he was still standing. Chris squeezed the trigger again. This time, Smooth Skin toppled over. Chris aimed at Smooth Skin’s body on the deck and took another shot. The jerk of movement under Smooth Skin’s shirt indicated another hit.

Chris turned to say something to Hannah, but he’d been so mentally focused on Smooth Skin he’d fallen into tunnel vision, losing sight of her and the others. As he mentally opened up his field of view, he spotted Hannah, Sonny, and Mikhail on the gangway, which had already risen a foot off the pier. The weight of their bodies caused the gangway to dip on their end, smacking the pier with a loud whack. To keep from falling backward, they released their grips on their rifles, letting their weapons dangle by their slings, and grabbed the railing on the side with both hands. The shift of their weight caused the gangway to tilt, and they struggled not to fall onto the pier below.

Another of Xander’s armed thugs emerged from the superstructure near the bridge. As he brought his weapon to bear on Hannah and the others, Chris popped him until he dropped.

A tugboat pulled the Binagadi away from the dock as the crane lowered the gangway and Chris’s clinging teammates to the pier. Sonny shouted and motioned wildly at the crane operator to set them down on the ship, not the pier, but it was too late. The tugboat pulled the Binagadi out of reach, leaving them behind.

“Sonny, if you and Mikhail can retrieve the ship-boarding gear from the SUV, Hannah and I will find a boat to borrow,” Chris said.

Sonny and Mikhail ran back to the SUV while Chris searched the area. He spotted a small, narrow boat with a deep V-shaped hull — a go-fast, popular with smugglers and SEALs because of its stealth, speed, seaworthiness, and attitude. It was also known as a cigarette boat. It was tied to a nearby pier, and he pointed to it, showing Hannah. Chris waved to Sonny, and when he flagged him down, Chris gestured to where he’d discovered the boat. Then Chris and Hannah hurried over to the go-fast and boarded.

Chris took out his Swiss Army pocketknife and used the Phillips head screwdriver to remove the screws from the hard plastic panel covering the steering column. Then he located the battery wires, stripped an inch of insulation off each, and twisted them together. Finally, he connected the ignition wire to the battery wires, causing a spark, and the go-fast’s engine growled to life.

Sonny and Mikhail joined them, bringing the caving ladder and extension pole. Sonny helped Hannah cast off the boat lines and push away from the pier before they took their seats. Chris stood as he drove. He eased the throttle forward, and the engine hummed as the vessel advanced. He turned the wheel, aiming them southeast in the direction of the Binagadi.

The wind pulled at Chris and grabbed at the water’s surface, creating whitecaps. Occasionally, the wind grasped harder, upsetting his stance and turning those whitecaps into waves.

“Hang on!” he called above the noise of the rushing wind. He pushed the throttle further, and the go-fast accelerated.

The boat hit the whitecaps like a race car hitting speed bumps — the impact traveled from the metal deck up to his leg bones and rose through his spine until his jaws vibrated. He pressed the throttle to its max nonetheless, making the boat whine and shudder. After he hit the first sizeable wave, the go-fast caught air and they flew like riding the wings of an angel. When the boat came down, it felt like being stomped under the foot of the devil. Although he bent his knees to protect them, they still absorbed most of the shock. He glanced over his shoulder to make sure the others were still with him. They were. And holding on tightly.

The go-fast soared off another sizeable wave. The boat landed before Chris’s feet did, and gravity pushed down on him from above. The unforgiving metal deck greeted him from below, the impact of both forces meeting at his knees, bone-bashing. He glanced back at his crew — shaken but still hanging on.

He closed in on the Binagadi and slowed almost to half speed so he wouldn’t rocket past her. It still felt like they were riding over speed bumps but not as fast or intense as before.

“Mikhail, I need you to take over at the helm while I try to hook the Binagadi. Sonny, if any AKs poke out at us, waste ’em. And Hannah, I need you to help steady me while I hook the ship.”

Here goes.