SEAL Team 666

20

Hoover sniffed at the body next to the gangway and gave Walker a look. For a dog, she had a pretty remarkable ability to render readable expressions.

Walker shouldered his Stoner and, working with Hoover, pulled both bodies to the edge of the wharf and shoved them over. After they hit the South China Sea with a satisfactory splash, he turned, got the Stoner back in hand, and followed the dog up the gangplank.

He’d been listening to the operation in the hold over the MBITR. He wondered what the man looked like. By the comments from his teammates, things had entered crazy town on a freight train. He remembered listening to some of the tales of ship boardings the SEALs had conducted in the Red Sea against Somali pirates. His father had talked about when he was a kid and how he’d sneak the radio to bed at night and listen to faraway broadcasts of Mystery Theater and Science Fiction Theater, the words painting pictures as big and bold as any multiplex screen. That was how the tactical radio broadcasts were to Walker. He could imagine, based on his training, where the SEALs stood in relation to the crazy man.

A square of light from the hatch punched away the darkness in front of him. It was the hold, and the closer he got, the more electric his body began to feel. He shook it off as pins and needles from lying in a prone position too long.

He found what he’d spied from his previous position—an air vent. The cowling was about two meters off the ground and a perfect place for him to keep overwatch and see through the hatch into the hold. It was positioned in such a manner that the communications mast next to it would block him from surveillance from anyone other than the partygoers on the cruise ship far out to sea.

As he climbed into place, he heard all hell break loose as the man drew a knife. He got into place just in time to see him raise it over his head.