Running Dark

19

THE CIGARETTE BOAT REMAINED SILENT. SUMNER STRAINED TO see through the darkness. He would have killed for some night-vision goggles. As it was, he tried to empty his mind of any thoughts and focus on his sense of hearing. He directed his eyes toward where he’d last heard the engine and was rewarded by the metallic clang of steel hitting steel. Definitely not a sound heard in nature. He attempted to see movement in the dark, but there was none. He waited. In order to heft the gun, the pirates were going to have to reveal their position with more noise. When they did, he’d shoot in that direction. Block sidled up behind him.

“Any idea where they are?” Block whispered.

“Directly in front and a little to the left of me.”

“Close enough to shoot?”

“Impossible to say. They could be out of range.”

Clutch moved to Sumner’s left. “How’d you get that gun on board? It’s illegal.” Clutch spoke in normal tones. Block shushed him.

“Keep your voice down.” Block sounded irritated. “Why the hell do you care if it’s illegal? That gun just might be the thing that keeps us alive.”

“I care because I’m in charge of security. It’s my neck if the authorities decide that I was negligent.” Clutch’s voice held a surly note.

Clutch had been lax. Sumner had simply carried the gun on board in its case affixed with a decal inscribed with the name of a famous fishing-rod manufacturer along with the words “fishing gear.” Neither Clutch nor anyone else had bothered to inspect the luggage. In fact, Sumner was surprised at the lack of security on the ship. It was well stocked with life rafts, vests, flare guns, and the other accoutrements needed should the ship flounder and sink, but other than the LRAD it was completely unprepared for an attack of a hostile nature. Given the waters it cruised, Sumner found this lack of preparedness puzzling.

“So we broke one rule.” Block’s tone was dismissive.

“Not one rule—lots of rules. Running dark like this is also against the law.” Now Clutch sounded belligerent. Sumner thought his concern for proper procedure was too little too late, and ridiculous under the circumstances. He could only assume that the man’s ever-present anger made it impossible for him to cooperate with anyone.

“Me, I’d like to live, thank you very much. The rules be damned,” Block said.

Sumner heard another unusual clatter somewhere out in the darkness. “Hear that?”

“I did,” Block said.

“Forty-five degrees to the left.”

A whooshing came from that angle. Like the fizzing of a bottle rocket spiraling up. Sumner traced its progress with his ears, not his eyes, although there was a small light trail created by the lit fuse. His heart picked up a faster rhythm.

“What the hell is that? A grenade?” Block’s voice was strained.

“Too quiet,” Sumner said. “And it sounds like it’s moving upward, not toward us.” He put his rifle to his shoulder and tensed, waiting for the explosion. The blast came with a beautiful fireworks display. White bits of light shot heavenward, then tumbled down in an umbrella shape, brightening the sky all around. In the resulting glow, Sumner made out the shape of the cigarette boat as well as those of its occupants. There were four. They were just gray silhouettes in the distance, perhaps too far to be hit. Sumner aimed and fired anyway.

The rifle shot cracked through the night. He heard a yell, and then the air filled with the roar of an engine. The walkie-talkie on Sumner’s belt crackled.

“Heard that.” It was Wainwright. “I’ve got enough power for half an hour. Use it now?”

“Go,” Sumner said.

The ship shuddered with the vibration of the huge turbines coming to life. The electricity flickered back on, bathing the entire deck with light. Clutch cursed from his position to Sumner’s left.

“We can’t see them, but we might as well have targets on our chests,” he said. Sumner felt completely exposed. He hunched lower behind the railing.

Block appeared at his right. “See anything?”

Sumner didn’t bother to respond. Instead he aimed again at the pirates’ last location. He concentrated on listening. They were moving closer. He targeted only blackness but fired anyway. He heard a yell, which gave him a great deal of satisfaction. He most likely hadn’t hit anyone, but they knew he was there.

“You’re keeping them on their toes,” Block said.

The Kaiser Franz started to move. Below Sumner came the swish of rushing water as the boat cut through it.

“Cover your ears.” Wainwright’s voice came from the walkie-talkies and echoed on the deck. The LRAD blasted.

“He get them?” It was Clutch.

Sumner shook his head. “Have no idea. They’ve got to be moving. Probably zigzagging to avoid us. See anything?”

“Not a thing,” Clutch said. “And it’s worse with the deck lights on. They’re killing my night vision.” He pulled his transmitter off his belt. “Douse the lights!”

“We’ve got a spotlight,” Wainwright said. “We’ll use the LRAD on them as long as we can see them.”

The cruise ship picked up speed. Now Sumner could hear the pirates as they opened the throttle on their boat. The spotlight danced around the water, searching. Sumner still couldn’t see them, but he heard them just out of the searchlight’s range. Whoever was manning the acoustic weapon had heard the pirate boat as well. It bellowed again at the exact moment the floodlight caught them. The decibels bounced off the pirate ship.

“That was good,” Block said. His words were swallowed by the boom of a grenade being fired.

Sumner flung himself back against the wall, away from the railing. He threw down the rifle and curled into a ball, protecting his head with his arms and presenting his back to the ocean. The grenade shot over his head, high. He heard it hit something before it exploded. This hit was close. So close that Sumner felt the heat and the pulsing wave of air that came after. Bits of shrapnel peppered the water. Thank God they’re such piss-poor shots, Sumner thought. Had they even a modicum of skill, the deck would have been blown to pieces.

“That one sheared off the satellite dish. There goes our contact to the outside world,” said Wainwright’s voice through Clutch’s receiver.

Sumner was bathed in sweat. He wiped his hands on his pants before retrieving his gun, then returned to the railing. The deck lights blinked off, plunging them into darkness once again. Even the searchlight was gone.

This time Sumner’s hearing was useless. The air around him was a cacophony of sound. The LRAD blasted, leaving a ringing in his ears and rendering him functionally deaf. The water pounded against the hull as they carved through it, and in the distance came the screams of the passengers somewhere deep inside the ship’s bowels.

“Block, shoot a flare,” he said.

Block was flattened against the deck wall behind him. He rolled up next to Sumner. “I don’t have a flare gun. I’ve got a Taser. Clutch has the flare.”

Sumner heard the pirates. Another grenade shot could be only seconds away.

“Clutch, shoot a flare, now.” Sumner snapped out the order in the general direction of where he thought Clutch was. He could hear the cigarette boat revving, first far out, then maintaining the same volume, then becoming louder. In his mind’s eye, Sumner pictured the vessel making an arc away before returning to home in on the ship. The deck stayed dark.

“Clutch, the flare, now!” Sumner shouted.

“Where the hell is he?” Block said.

Before Sumner could answer, a flare shot out into the darkness to Sumner’s left. The flaming projectile rose into the sky. While it didn’t throw a lot of illumination, it was enough to once again expose the pirates’ position. He heard them give a yell. He lay on his stomach, aimed, and fired. The flare died out before he could determine if he’d hit. To his relief, he heard the pirate ship veer away.

“Bastards are moving back again,” Block said. He turned toward the spot where the flare had fired. “Good shot, Clutch. I was just starting to wonder where you were. What the hell took you so long?”

Out of the darkness came a woman’s voice. “I am sorry, sir. My English is not so good, and it took me a moment to find the flare gun.”

Sumner and Block both turned to look. The lights on the deck sprang to life again, and there stood the German girl, holding a spent flare gun.