Primary Target

48

Frantic to salvage his mission, Massoud Ramazani fired another volley at the helicopter and ran for the ladder leading to the pilothouse. He wiped the blood from the flesh wound on his forearm as his frightened crew of four gathered on the sundeck.

Topping the ladder, Ramazani almost ran into the captain. “Head straight for the Mayport Naval Station,” he said breathlessly. “I want full power from the engines!”

“The engines are showing signs of strain.”

“Full power,” Ramazani bellowed.

Following the skipper to the bridge, Ramazani grabbed the other AK-47 and impatiently waited for the yacht to reach full speed. He picked up a pair of binoculars and scanned the coast, then stopped when he saw the top of the mast of the aircraft carrier John F. Kennedy.

He studied the chart-plotting GPS receiver and the radar, then turned to the captain. “Set a course straight for the channel leading to the naval station,” Ramazani ordered. “From there, program the autopilot to head straight for the carrier.”

While the frightened man was entering the way points into the autopilot, Ramazani briefly considered the possibility of navigating the yacht through the St. Johns River to the heart of downtown Jacksonville, then quickly discarded the notion.

Time was his enemy. Besides, Kennedy was a much more tempting target.

If the yacht could ram “Big John” just prior to the detonation of the nuclear bomb, it would sink the giant warship and destroy the naval station and most of Jacksonville. It might not be Washington, D.C., but it will be a tremendous blow to the infidels.

When the yacht was vibrating from maximum power, Ramazani rechecked the chart-plotting GPS. At their current speed, Sweet Life would plow into the supercarrier in fourteen minutes.

He went below and walked through the mahogany-paneled formal dining room to the master stateroom, stepped over the open crate of AK-47s, then opened the double doors leading to the sitting room. Working rapidly but carefully, Ramazani unlocked and removed the top of the heavy metal container. He set the timer on the nuclear bomb to thirteen minutes, then activated the master arming switch and relocked the large metal container. Now it’s just a matter of time.

While Jackie smoothly hovered the helo inches above the water, Scott waited for the right moment, then pulled the exposed lanyard on the life raft and shoved it out the door. The raft automatically ejected from its carrying case and fully inflated within three yards of the panicked women.

“Let’s go,” Scott exclaimed as Jackie banked and climbed away from the raft. “We’ll give the Coast Guard their position.”

The rotor wash from the LongRanger shoved the raft toward the women and they quickly scrambled into it.

“They’ve changed course,” Jackie said as she chased the yacht. “It looks like they’re headed for Mayport, and there’s a carrier in port.”

“That figures.” Scott kicked out the rest of the shattered passenger window. “Toss me the sat-phone.” If they have a nuke onboard, we can write Jacksonville off the map. “I hope Hartwell is in his office.”

“I’m sure he can be reached,” Jackie said as she handed him the phone, then gave the Coast Guard the position of the raft. After she explained the situation, she contacted Jacksonville approach control and asked them to notify the FBI and the Navy. They immediately relayed the information to the proper authorities, then had a short conversation with the tower controllers at Jacksonville International Airport. All airplanes and helicopters on the ground would be held in their places while incoming flights would be diverted to other airports.

Scott was off the phone in less than a minute. “Hartwell is pushing all the buttons at his end. He wants us to keep the terrorists in sight and slow them down if we can.”

“We aren’t flying a gunship,” Jackie said as she glanced over her shoulder. “How are we supposed to slow them down?”

Scott took a seat by the open window. “Let’s get out in front of the yacht, then make a low, head-on pass and I’ll see if I can take out the people in the wheelhouse.”

Jackie slowly shook her head, then belatedly turned to Scott. “I think you need to double up on your Xanax,” she said as she positioned the helo for a high-speed strafing run.

Ramazani watched the helicopter pass Sweet Life high to the port side. He studied the horizon for 360 degrees around the ship, then went inside the bridge to check the chart-plotting GPS. When the captain suddenly pointed up to the left, Ramazani turned to take a look. The LongRanger was diving to gain speed and headed straight down the center line of the yacht.

In one quick motion, Ramazani grabbed the AK-47 and hurried out to the sundeck. He raised the weapon and began firing short bursts at the rapidly approaching helicopter.

“There’s someone with a—” Jackie flinched as a round came through the windshield and shattered the left earcup on her headset.

“Jesus,” she exclaimed as another round tore a hole in the instrument panel. “He’s ripping us apart!”

Leaning out the passenger window, Scott held his Sig Sauer with both hands and squeezed off five rounds. He was astonished when two sections of the bridge’s windshield imploded. As Jackie pulled up, Scott fired his last rounds at Ramazani and ducked back into the cabin.

She took off her mangled headset and reached for Scott’s headset in the left seat. “He’s going to blow us out of the air if we aren’t careful.”

Scott looked down at the speeding yacht. “Jackie, if you can make a steady descent directly over the bridge, I can keep them pinned down until I can jump on the roof.”

“Are you crazy?”

“Can you do it?”

“Yes, but this is insane.”

Scott stuffed his Sig Sauer into the crevice of a passenger seat. “I’m going to need your weapon.”

She handed him her Glock and banked toward the motor-yacht.

“Do you have another clip?” he asked.

“No,” Jackie said as she slowed to match the speed of Sweet Life. “I hadn’t planned to start a war today.”

Traveling at the same speed as the motoryacht, Jackie flew the LongRanger directly over the bridge and then began a rapid descent. As she slowed the rate of descent, Ramazani stepped out and looked up, fired a quick burst from the AK-47, then ducked back into the pilothouse.

The yacht suddenly heeled over in a tight port turn, forcing Jackie to make large corrections to stay in place. Thirty degrees into the turn, the ship rolled out on its original course.

“I’m going for it,” Scott shouted as he stepped out on the helicopter’s right landing skid and braced himself. When Ramazani appeared again, Scott fired two rounds through the roof of the wheelhouse. The terrorist darted inside and retaliated by firing a long burst straight up through the roof. Scott heard rounds puncturing the belly of the helicopter.

“Take it up,” he yelled. “Get outta here!”

“What do you think I’m doing?” Jackie shouted as she pulled every ounce of power she could from the straining engine.

As they climbed away, Scott stepped forward to the cockpit. “If you’ll make an approach straight at the stern, I think I can keep him pinned down until I can jump on the transom.”

“Scott,” she said in an even, calm voice. “That’s over-the-top. What are you going to do if you get aboard?”

“I’ll figure that out after I get there,” he said with a slow smile.

She frowned, then checked the engine instruments. “This is not a good idea, believe me.”

“If you have a better idea, I’m willing to listen.”

Without uttering another word, Jackie flew a wide arc to approach the yacht from the rear.

While the captain of Sweet Life wiped blood from his face and neck, Ramazani looked around the shattered pilothouse. There were holes in the overhead and glass and debris scattered everywhere. He turned to the first mate. “Get below and secure the hatch to the engine room!”

Without saying a word, the hollow-eyed man ran to the companionway leading to the main deck.

Ramazani checked the time and distance to the impact point with the supercarrier. Eight minutes and twenty seconds. If I could just knock that helicopter out of the air.

Jackie flew low and fast as she approached the yacht. Scott kept the Glock trained on the aft opening to the wheelhouse. When Ramazani suddenly appeared, Scott fired four rounds as the terrorist fired a short burst at the helicopter and ducked inside.

“Keep it coming,” Scott said as he stepped out on the landing skid. “We’re almost there.”

Nearing the transom, Jackie rapidly slowed the LongRanger while Scott kept firing rounds through the opening to the bridge. At the last second he leaped off the skid and landed on the sundeck, then slid off the aft end of the deck and fell on the transom.

Seeing Ramazani reappear, Jackie quickly banked the helicopter to make a 180-degree turn as a round ricocheted off the copilot’s door. A second later two more rounds penetrated the engine compartment. Completing the turn, she cringed when another round ripped through the cabin.

Scott entered the main salon and came face-to-face with a man brandishing a rifle. Both men fired at the same instant and the Iranian slumped backward and fell over an L-shaped lounge. He was dead before he hit the carpet.

With a rivulet of blood running down the outside of his thigh, Scott raced forward through the mahogany-paneled dining room. He was about to climb the ladder leading to the pilothouse when a fusillade of rounds ripped into the bulkhead next to him. Scott dashed into an elegant king-size master stateroom and froze when he saw an open crate of AK-47s.

He grabbed one of the rifles and stuck the Glock down the small of his back, then opened the double doors leading to a teakwood trimmed sitting room. Scott stopped and stared when he recognized the Russian nuclear symbol on the large steel container. They do have a nuke.

“Give it up,” Ramazani ordered from the master stateroom. “Your friend crashed the helicopter and you’re trapped.”

He’s lying, Dalton told himself as his heart stuck in his throat. He could feel his pulse pounding. I hope he’s lying.

“There is no way out,” Ramazani declared with confidence in his voice. “It’s time for you to make peace with your God.”

Scott spied a carpet-covered hatch.

“You and this boat,” Ramazani said contemptuously, “are going to be vaporized in six minutes.”

With no other way out of the sitting room, Scott fired a few rounds into the stateroom and opened the hatch. He dropped into a narrow, softly lighted passageway leading to the engine room. If I can disable the engines, the detonation isn’t going to obliterate Jacksonville.

When he reached the T in the passageway under the main deck, he stopped and silently cursed. The hatch leading to the engine room was chained shut with two interlocking chains and three heavy-duty padlocks. This son of a bitch is clever.

A second later Ramazani sprayed the access space with rifle fire. “Drop your rifle and come out.”

“I don’t think so,” Scott said as he held the AK-47 out in the main passageway and fired a burst in return.

“Don’t be a fool,” Ramazani cautioned. “If you toss down your weapon, you can swim for your life.”

“I don’t trust cowards,” Scott said sarcastically as he frantically looked around. He saw two things that gave him hope — a hatch directly above his head and a bronze underwater through-hull fitting. Moving swiftly, he checked to see if the small overhead hatch would open. He shoved it up a couple of inches and discovered an aft stateroom.

“You are trying my patience,” Ramazani said in a threatening voice. “You cannot escape from here, unless I allow you to leave. Surely you would like to leave before the ship explodes, wouldn’t you?”

“Massoud, that’s a stupid question,” Scott said as he squeezed off another few rounds down the passageway, then opened the full-flow seacock. Seawater gushed into the yacht as he used the butt of the assault rifle to break the handle off the seacock. I hope we’re taking on water faster than the bilge pumps can pump it overboard.

Scott turned and shoved the rifle up through the hatch, then scrambled into the stateroom. He cautiously opened the door and spotted a deckhand carrying an AK-47.

“Take a hike,” Scott growled as the startled man dropped his weapon and ran toward the aft deck. Dalton fired a few parting shots as the terrorist jumped over the transom and disappeared in the churning wake.

Without warning, Ramazani stepped out of the master stateroom. Scott pulled the trigger and nothing happened.