OUTCAST Ops: The Poseidon Initiative

FORTY-EIGHT

The barge wheelhouse was unnervingly small. There were no labyrinthine passageways or stairwells leading up and down — nothing like that. Just a single wall partitioning the space into two distinct areas. The forward area, in which Tanner and Liam now found themselves, housed the barge’s steering controls and navigation equipment. A simple wooden door, slightly ajar, divided the two spaces.

They weren’t yet sure what the second area contained, because to get to it they would first have to defeat the man standing at the helm of the barge, eyes open in surprise at the sudden entrance of the two spooks.

Liam knew he had to take the opponent down before he could scream and alert his associates in the other room. The former SEAL was already crouched low, his eyes at knee level with the barge driver. Not wanting to use his gun, which was not sound suppressed to avoid raising suspicions during travel, he reached up and grabbed the hand of the terrorist, yanking him down, hard. At the same time he lashed out and jammed a foot down on the Hofstad man’s shoe, preventing him from backing away while he was pulled to the deck.

The foe managed to get off a garbled yelp before Liam slammed his forehead into the deck, knocking him out instantly. The impact was so brutal he wondered if the sound of his head hitting the deck might be heard in the next room, and he and Tanner braced themselves for a shootout.

But no one came, and they could hear normal conversational voices carrying on from beyond the partition. Tanner searched the unconscious man and relieved him of his weapons — a Sig Sauer pistol and a folding knife. Liam took point and crouched at the inner door. Tanner positioned himself behind and to the right, weapon drawn.

He gave Liam the signal.

Go!

Liam opted for stealth mode, easing the door open slowly with his left hand rather than barging in gun blazing. What he saw stopped him in his tracks.

The interior of the space was decked out more like some futuristic command center than a rusty old barge. A bank of LCD monitors lined either side of the room, which was carpeted and overlain with plastic to allow the workstation chairs to roll about with ease. Red LED lighting illuminated the space. No less than four men occupied this area. Fortunately, all of them were intensely occupied operating the micro-drones — one to each of four tightly spaced control stations.

Although there were no windows in this dimly lit area, Tanner and Liam could see on the monitors the drone controllers stared at that the MUAVs were rapidly closing the gap to the Lincoln. The drone operators conversed in short, clipped bursts of both Dutch and an Arabic dialect. But their intent was clear enough. When these drones were over Carmichael’s vessel, they would release their deadly payloads of aerosolized STX, killing all who breathed it in, including the POTUS.

Tanner was not about to let that happen.

He tapped his own chest and then held two fingers out toward the two operators on the right. Then he pointed at Liam and held two fingers at the two on the left. Liam nodded his understanding. They would each be responsible for eliminating the two men on their respective sides of the room.

They sprung at the same time. Tanner put a hand on each of the terrorists’ heads and slammed their foreheads together, mashing both of their noses into a single, pulpy mass. They both slumped to the deck without a fight. One thing Tanner hadn’t anticipated, however was that the two drones, which had been in forward motion, didn’t drop into the sea but instead continued their forward course toward the yacht. He didn’t know if the STX sprayers were programmed to automatically trigger when they reached the ship or if they had to be manually activated. Regardless, he would do his best to keep them away from the Lincoln.

He heard the sound-suppressed pffft of one of the terrorists’ guns discharging and whirled around in time to see Liam grappling with one of them, the other already unconscious on the ground with blood running out of one ear. Aware that the four MUAVs were still airborne, Tanner moved to expediently dispatch their remaining active foe. Liam had the man from behind, a hand on each arm, including the one with the gun. He turned so that the abdomen of the terrorist faced Tanner, and the ex-Counter-terror operative slugged the opponent in the gut. The Hofstad gun went flying.

“Get it, Alpha 2, I got him!” OUTCAST usually made it a point to refer to themselves in the presence of enemies using code names, in order to protect their identities. On this op, Tanner was Alpha 1 and Liam Alpha 2.

Liam scrambled for the loose firearm while Tanner put the terror operative into a control hold. Liam picked up the gun and tucked it into his waistband, keeping his own weapon aimed at their adversary.

Tanner flipped the gun in his hand so that he held it by the barrel, about to deliver a knock-out pistol whip to the man’s temple, when he checked himself. This was the last member of the terror organization aboard. Tanner looked around the cabin. He didn’t see the big vat of STX that Jasmijn had described. The amount that even all four mini-drones could carry was miniscule compared to that. Not that it wasn’t deadly, but it meant that most of the STX that was stolen was still unaccounted for. So where was it? He lowered his arm. He might need this man alive.

“Alpha 2, tie this guy up.” Liam removed his belt, which was actually a braided length of 550 paracord (“Don’t leave home without it,” was his motto). He unraveled a suitable length and used the folding knife Tanner had confiscated from his enemy to cut it. Then he quickly but effectively bound the prisoner’s hands behind him and his legs at the ankles.

Tanner pointed to the screens that showed a drone’s eye view of the president’s mega-yacht across the water. “Handle these two drones! I’ll take the two on the other side.”

“I don’t know how to—”

“Neither do I. Figure it out. Unless Mr. Jihad down there wants to help us out?” He eyed the trussed jihadist, who had no reaction. He could try to threaten him with torture into controlling the drones, but that could easily backfire. Knowing he was about to die, the terrorist could decide to crash them into the ship, or even the barge.

Tanner jumped up and went to the drone station on his side of the space, and Liam to his. Tanner eyeballed the two joysticks, one beneath each monitor. One man had been at each station, and now he would have to control two of the MUAVs simultaneously, as would Liam from the opposite side. Tanner looked up at the monitors. In each he could see a landing skid of the drone in the foreground, and then some water with the Lincoln looming larger by the second. It was coming up alarmingly fast. He estimated he had about ten seconds before the micro-drones reached the port side rail.

“A few seconds! Drop ‘em in the water!” Tanner pulled the joystick down on the right-side drone, to see if it would work before doing the same thing with both. It did, and that MUAV nose-dived into the harbor with a tiny splash. But now the other was nearly to the target. He swiped at the joystick without taking his eyes off the monitor and felt his hand slip off into mid-air.

Missed!

He tried again, this time slamming the micro-copter into the hull of the Lincoln, down low by the waterline. He was terrified to see a plume of mist eject from the craft as it slid into the water. At least it was far from the boat’s deck and below the concave hull shape, but it was a close call that chilled him to his core. He called out to Liam.

“How’re you doing?”

“One down.” Liam moved to the second of his twin drone stations. Tanner turned in time to see the video feed of the remaining drone. This one was running at higher altitude than its dispatched squadron-mates, perhaps twenty feet above the level of the yacht’s main deck. Tanner saw that this presented a huge problem, since the cocktail party was presently underway there. He saw men dressed in tuxedos dancing with women in evening gowns as servers circulated with trays of champagne and hors d’oeuvres.

“Liam!” He forgot all about using the code name in the urgency of the moment. “Crash it. Crash it!”

On screen, the view of the deck grew more expansive. He watched as Liam jammed his thumb down on the joystick.

“It’s not working!” He pulled the stick in different directions but still the drone headed toward the yacht.

Tanner looked up at the monitor. “Target coordinates must be locked into an onboard chip.”

The quadracopter’s video feed now showed that it was above the yacht’s party deck. A couple of the guests apparently noticed it as their heads tipped skyward. Liam worked the station’s controls to no avail. In frustration he stamped his foot on the deck.

The prisoner started to laugh. Liam drew his foot back to kick him but Tanner stopped him.

Then, to Liam: “Stay here, watch him and keep trying the controls.”

He headed for the exit.

“What’s your plan?”

“Damage control.”