The Emperor's Revenge

SIXTY-TWO

Juan had his phone on speaker while he quickly donned his wetsuit and slung a Heckler & Koch MP5 over his shoulder. Next to the Oregon’s moon pool, Eric, MacD, and Gretchen were doing the same.

“I’ve got the Achilles in sight,” Max said over the phone. “We’re two minutes out.”

“Take your time,” Juan said.

“Not up to me. Hali’s got Murph on the line for you.”

“Chairman, we’ve got a big problem,” Murph said. “The Control Hub’s system is locked up. Ivana Semova, aka ShadowFoe, designed a program that is the only way to unlock it quickly, but her laptop with the program was destroyed. They’ve got calls in to reset the breakers manually at each station, but that could take hours.”

“Where is she?”

“Dead, along with the rest of her accomplices. And here’s something we didn’t know. She’s Sergey Golov’s daughter.”

That information might be useful, Juan thought. “Tell Max to share that news with Golov when the time is right. He’ll know the moment. What about Antonovich? Is he dead, too?”

“No, he’s alive and mostly well. According to him, he’s a victim in all this. We’re inclined to believe him because Ivana tried to kill him. He says the only other existing copy of the program we need is on his yacht in Ivana’s cabin.”

Juan shot a look at Gretchen. “We might be able to help you out, then. We’re about to board the Achilles. Which one is her cabin?” He had memorized the layout of the Achilles, thanks to the blueprints they’d obtained in Vladivostok.

There was a pause before Murph responded. “He says it’s on deck four, the same level as the main lounge. Third door on the right as you exit the lounge toward the bow.”

Eric, who’d been listening to the conversation, said, “But even if we get there, she’ll have it password-protected, won’t she? I’m good, but I can’t crack it that fast.”

“You don’t need to,” Murph said. “Eddie retrieved her phone and unlocked it with her thumbprint. It has a password manager on it. It’s got to be one of those passwords. If you can get into her computer and send the program to me, I can load it onto a computer here and reactivate the circuit breakers.”

“We’ll call you when we’ve got it,” Juan said.

“Okay.” Murph was gone.

Juan could feel the Oregon slowing as it approached the Achilles. Eric had just a minute to instruct Juan, MacD, and Gretchen on the use of the Jetlev-Flyers. If they were going to get onto the Achilles to find ShadowFoe’s circuit breaker program and disable its railgun, they’d have to be fast. Climbing up a conventional rope ladder wouldn’t work. They’d be picked off long before they could get aboard. The water-powered jetpacks gave them their only chance.

Like the gas-powered jetpack Juan had used once on a mission in China, the Jetlev-Flyers were mounted on a backpack with two nozzles pointed downward. Arm braces controlled the angle of the water jets, and a motorcycle-style throttle at the right hand determined how much pressure shot from the nozzles.

For recreational use, the pressurized water for the jets was supplied by a small surface vessel with a four-stroke marine engine, which would follow them around while they performed aerial maneuvers. But for this mission, technicians had linked together as much fire hose as they could so that the water could be pumped directly from inside the moon pool chamber.

They put on the jetpacks and climbed into the pool. Each of them did a brief test to make sure they could propel themselves both in and above the water.

There was no room to wear scuba tanks along with the jetpacks, so they had to use miniature tanks connected to regulator mouthpieces, rigs that were normally used in emergencies by divers and kayakers.

“Remember,” Juan said to the others, “we’ll only get about thirty breaths once we go under, which gives us three minutes at most.”

They all nodded. Gretchen was the least experienced diver among them, but Juan detected no apprehension in her face, only nervous energy.

They donned their masks as they bobbed in the moon pool waiting for the signal from Max that the ship was in position. After a short delay, a technician said, “We’re a go.”

Juan clamped his teeth over the mouthpiece and submerged, making sure that his hose, which was now fully pressurized, didn’t get fouled in the massive doors in the Oregon’s keel. Once he was in the open, he could see the white double hull of the Achilles.

He checked with Eric, MacD, and Gretchen and they all gave him the OK sign. He oriented himself into a horizontal position, throttled up his jetpack, and shot toward the massive yacht.

Golov was pleased to see that the Oregon had eased to a stop next to the Achilles on her starboard side. Still, he made sure that the yacht kept yawing in place to maintain a railgun lock on the cruise ship, which was still ten miles away. The Oregon matched his turn so that it remained parallel.

The faux cargo ship’s deck was deserted and no weapons were visible. The Ka-226 helicopter hovered above them with its missiles trained on the Oregon.

Golov called Marie Marceau’s phone again.

“Very good seamanship, Captain Cabrillo. Now we will discuss your method of surrendering your ship to me.”

“This isn’t Cabrillo,” another voice said. “My name is Max Hanley.”

“Where is Cabrillo?”

“He’s on his way up to the deck, just like you asked. But first, we want assurances that no one will be harmed.”

“I only want your ship. Once we have attached a towline, you will abandon ship in your lifeboats.”

“How do we know you won’t kill us, once we’re in the water?”

“Remember, Mr. Hanley, I know the specifications on those lifeboats. They’re armed, armored, and fast. You’ll be out of range of the Achilles in minutes, once you find the shelter of the islands.”

Of course, he was lying. He had no intention of letting them get that far. The helicopter would track them and take out both lifeboats before they reached the islands.

Hanley sighed. “I suppose we don’t have any choice.”

“You don’t.”

“We’ll move the Oregon close enough for you to shoot over a towline.”

“Slowly, Mr. Hanley.”

Golov ordered some men onto the Achilles deck with a towline as the Oregon nudged into range to receive it.

“Now show me Mr. Cabrillo,” he said.

“Actually, Mr. Cabrillo just received a phone call. He said it relates to you.”

“What do you mean?”

“Look at your phone.”

Look at my phone? What kind of message was that?

His phone rang. It was Ivana’s number.

“Better get that,” Hanley said.

Confused, Golov switched over to her call.

“Ivana? Where are you, my dear? On your way to Rotterdam, I hope.”

He was stunned to hear a man reply and it wasn’t Sirkal.

“Captain Golov, this is Eddie Seng. I’m a crew member on the Oregon, and Juan Cabrillo asked me to give a message to you. Your daughter is dead.”

Then four things happened simultaneously.

On Golov’s phone, a photo appeared in his text messages. He started shaking in rage and grief when he saw an image of his lifeless daughter, lying in the grass.

On the port side of the Achilles, four people shot up out of the water, each balanced on a pair of water jets shooting from contraptions on their backs, before each of them landed on the deck. They unlatched their jetpacks, spit tiny air tanks from their mouths, and disappeared into the yacht’s interior.

On the deck of the Oregon, an air-to-air missile rocketed from a hidden canister toward the stationary Ka-226 helicopter. The chopper pilot banked abruptly but couldn’t escape the warhead. The helicopter and its anti-ship missiles exploded in a huge fireball.

And on the starboard side, the Oregon suddenly lurched sideways toward the Achilles.

Thrown off by the anguishing news about his beloved daughter and distracted by the sudden appearance of the odd commando raiders, Golov hesitated before he realized what he had to do. He yelled, “Fire!” just as the Oregon smacked into the Achilles’s starboard hull.

The entire bridge crew was knocked off their feet. The weapons officer recovered first and punched the button to fire the railgun.

A round blasted from the barrel. Golov got to his feet and watched the cruise ship as he shouted for them to load another shell.

He counted down the seconds until the cruise ship erupted in fire.

Instead, the hypersonic round plunged into the water a hundred feet off the big liner’s stern, spewing a gigantic fountain of water into the air.

The Oregon continued to push, preventing them from turning to aim the railgun. They had no shot at the cruise ship now.

If they could get free of the Oregon, they could once again target the transformer station and finish the mission that he and his daughter had started.

“All engines full speed ahead!” he commanded, before wheeling on Kravchuk.

He pierced his XO with a venomous glare. “Secure the bridge and all critical areas of the ship. I want every available person searching for that boarding party. If they aren’t dead in the next five minutes, I will personally see to it that no one gets off the Achilles alive.”