The Ghost of Flight 666

CHAPTER 34: Taking the Plunge

Colonel Nikahd opened the bathroom door. It was dark. He turned on the light. That showed him what the captain had been hiding. Shaking his head, the colonel reached across the small space and picked up the Glock 9mm sitting on the counter next to the sink.

He lifted it, pointing it at Captain Fletcher’s forehead. The huge man dwarfed the wiry Iranian. He didn’t move, and Nikahd asked him, “What were you going to do with this captain; did you really think you could take over the ship with a pistol?”

“No,” Fletcher said soberly. “But when the time comes I can keep my wife from being tortured by you bastards!”

The two Iranians with Nikahd stepped forward in anger, but the colonel shouted at them with surprising fury, “Stand down! I did not give you permission to move!”

They stepped back, smoldering, but not daring to cross the most feared man in the Iranian Army. Nikahd cocked the slide, spitting out the bullets in the pistol until there was only one left. Then he handed the gun back to Fletcher. “There, when the time comes, you will have to decide whether to use that last bullet on me or your lovely wife.” He smiled, adding, “I can understand a man like you, Captain Fletcher.”

Then they left.

Fletcher and Eva rushed into the bathroom. Slade was nowhere to be seen. The captain threw open the shower curtain — nothing. “Where the Hell did he go?”

A black shape dropped from the ceiling above the shower, surprising them both. It was Slade.

“Holy! You scared the crap out of me!” the big man said. He turned to Eva, and said, “He didn’t do that to you did he?”

She blushed and said, “No, and a good thing to!”

Slade exhaled sharply, “Playing Spiderman doesn’t get any easier with age, I’ll tell you!” He took out a couple of clips from his belt and handed them to Fletcher. “Here, you may need more than one; just in case.”

“Don’t you want it back?” he said, taking the clips and inserting a full one into the pistol.

Slade shook his head. “If I need something I’ll get it from the Iranians; they brought enough for all of us.” He went to the port hole and looked out. Turning back to the couple he pointed to the door.

“Lock that. Only open it if Nikahd announces himself. Then be polite. I have to get the crew out now. The lifeboat is the obvious solution. But we have to wait until tonight to go, I’m looking at about 2 am Tehran time; they’re circadian rhythm will be low, and we’re going to need all the advantages we can get. I’ll come and get you, but if I don’t then you two just head to the lifeboat — got it?”

“We can’t go without the crew,” Fletcher told him emphatically.

“Captain Fletcher if I don’t show up then you are going to be all that’s left of the crew. Get off the ship. There’s an LA class attack sub off our starboard side, the Key West. They will see you; they’ll take it from there.” Without another word Slade opened the hatch and slipped out the back.

Fletcher and Eva followed close behind but when they stepped out on the deck Slade was gone.

As the day progressed the coast of Iran fell away to the north and the coast of Oman fell away to the southwest; the Galaxus entered the Arabian Sea. Their course turned to starboard at midafternoon, heading into the open water between the Arabian Peninsula and the subcontinent of India. Slade napped part of the day, staying out of sight and out of mind in the lifeboat. He wasn’t looking to make trouble, at least not until he got the crew safely off the Galaxus.

When evening finally fell he waited patiently until he had complete darkness. Then he crept out of the lifeboat and scouted out his route. The aft hold where the crew was being kept was a catch all for the ship. It was specifically for dry goods, but it wasn’t designed for enormous containers — or people for that matter — but often the ship would store a quantity of spare parts, even spare engines when necessary. It was the primary way for accessing the engine room from the outside. This gave Slade a way in other than the above deck entrance which was guarded.

He worked his way down to the engine room, looking specifically at where the Iranians had their men. It didn’t take long to map out his route and the impediments in his way. After that it was simply a matter of waiting.

At 1:30 am, an hour-and-a-half after the guard changed, at about the point where the guards were starting to get sleepy and complacent through inactivity, Slade crept into the engine room. Three men were on duty there, monitoring the engines, the fuel levels, environmental control systems and the like. Two were at a small table playing cards. A third was making the rounds.

Slade waited until the man turned the corner, putting the loud, hulking, green painted starboard diesel between his fellow terrorists and himself. The terrorist walked by, his eyes on the diesel gauges. He never heard Slade creep up behind him. The black shadow wrapped an iron muscled arm around the terrorist’s throat and plunged his blade in between the ribs, pricking the heart from behind.

The terrorist lost consciousness almost instantly. He was stone dead before Slade dragged him between the engine blocks and secreted his body beneath the catwalk. Disarming the Iranian gave Slade a P90 submachine gun with a red dot sight — a nice little gun — as well as a Glock 9mm.

His silencer fit both the P90 and the Glock. That made the two card players an afterthought. After sighting them from behind and using four bullets on them, Slade hid their bodies and secured the engine room, locking the hatch and chaining it shut.

There were two entrances into the aft hold. One was a large set of double doors. That was intended for bulk equipment. However, there was also a normal hatch. Slade listened with his ear against the steel before cracking the hatch and peering within. The first thing that hit him was the smell. After a few days the stench of sweat, shit and piss was almost unbearable. The Iranians didn’t furnish the crew with access to latrines. There was no reason for it. They were to be slaughtered anyway. The crew had no choice but to pick an area for their latrine and make the best of it.

It took some effort to get the men moving. They were dazed and confused by lack of food, water and air. Once they were moving, however, they were motivated. Slade armed four of them and led them through the now deserted engine room. Up the stairs they went. He stopped them outside an exterior door.

Turning off the lights, he opened the door and scanned the deck. There was an armed patrol that did the circuit of the ship, completing it in fourteen minutes. By his calculations they should be on the other side of the superstructure and just completing their circuit. Looking toward the bow he lowered the lenses of his Night Vision Goggles — nothing.

“We’re going to the lifeboat!” he said. Word went down the line. A renewed sense of hope infused the sailors with desperate energy. Leading the forty-one men along the deck was easy; they knew where they were and where they were heading. They followed Slade at a quick trot.

They reached the freefall lifeboat at the same time Eva and Captain Fletcher reached it. The men didn’t wait but piled into the boat through the aft hatch.

“Once you get in the water head away from the ship as fast as you can. The Key West should be out there; they should see your launch and be there to pick you up.”

“What about you?” Fletcher asked. “You sound as if you’re not coming.”

“I’m not, my job is to make sure this Uranium doesn’t get used by terrorists,” he said. “Now get going.”

Eva stopped by him and kissed him on the cheek again, “Take care of yourself Slade. I won’t forget this; my father won’t forget this.”

Captain Fletcher held out his hand. Slade took it. “Good luck!” the captain told him.

“Skol!” Slade said, giving the secret Vikings farewell.

“Skol!” Fletcher smiled.

Slade closed the hatch and stepped away from the lifeboat. Seconds later the latch released and the lifeboat plunged down the forty-five degree incline and into the water. The ocean completely swallowed the craft, but it bobbed to the surface fifty yards from where it entered the water with the engine running.

The orange lifeboat disappeared into the darkness.

Every light on the freighter came on. Colonel Nikahd’s strident voice sounded over the ship’s speakers, calling out, “All hands on deck! All hands on Deck! Alarm!”