Jaws of the Tiger Page 4
“What’s this one?” Tariq pointed at the dark-blue, radar-like screen with his pistol.
Rhodes turned slightly. “It’s the forward-seeking echo sounder. It detects obstructions at sea level. Things like containers and reefs.” Rhodes brought his knee up discreetly underneath the console, feeling for the SASS button. Nothing. He was standing too far right. He sidled to the left and tried again. Still no luck.
Tariq moved closer to Rhodes, observed the ship’s speed and heading on the GPS chart plotter and smiled approvingly. “Good. That’s very good,” he said smiling. He reached into his vest pocket, pulled out a sheet of paper and handed it to Rhodes. “Read this. When I say so, you’re going to set off the Fire Security Alarm and announce over the PA system exactly what’s written here. One wrong word, one attempt to warn anybody and you’re dead. Understood?”
Chapter 8
US Coast Guard Rescue Coordination Center, Alameda, California
“Just a minute David, I’ll get Dan Hoffman on line.” Sitting in his third story corner office, Operational Commander John Kiefer put down his coffee mug, pressed the hold button on his phone and dialed the number for his counterpart, Operational Commander Dan Hoffman, Atlantic Region, Norfolk, Virginia. After a moment, the familiar, raspy voice came on line.
“Hoffman here.”
“Hey Dan, this is John.”
“Hey John. What’s up?”
“We’ve just received a SASS notification from P & W in Southampton. It was sent about 15 minutes ago by one of their ships, the Caravan Star. I have their Chief Security Officer David Winston on the line. Hang on a second and I’ll put him back on.”
Kiefer pressed the conference call button. “David, you still there?”
“Hello gentlemen, Winston here.”
“Hi David, this is Dan Hoffman. Has the SASS been confirmed?”
“No. We don’t dare call her. If we do, we—”
“Has she changed course?” said Kiefer.
“No. She hasn’t altered from 271 degrees,” said Winston.
“So it could be a false alarm,” said Hoffman.
“Correct,” said Winston, “but if it’s not and we call her, we risk alerting the pirates and lose the element of surprise. They might panic and do something stupid.”
“You’re damned if you do and dammed if you don’t,” said Kiefer.
“What’s her position, David?” said Hoffman.
“Wait a minute,” said Winston. “She just altered course to Northwest, heading 325 degrees.”
“Towards the Azores?” said Kiefer.
“Yes,” said Winston, “there’s definitely something wrong.”
“She could have a mechanical,” said Hoffman.
“She would have notified us by now,” said Winston.
“How many on board?” said Kiefer.
“Her manifest indicates 353 passengers and 154 crew. The Caravan Star is on a repositioning trip from the Mediterranean to the Caribbean via Cancun and Miami.”
Kiefer rose from his chair and walked over to the wall-size map of the Atlantic on the other side of the room. “She’s still far from the US coast, but we sometimes send units into the mid- Atlantic on Search and Rescue. Dan, what have you got in Section 3?”
“Nothing within range,” said Hoffman. “The Dolphin is operating in the St Lawrence, and the Sea Hawk is in Groton for a refit. The Vinalhaven is patrolling off the Florida coast.”
“Do you have anything in the Azores?” said Winston.
“Negative,” said Kiefer. “The last squadron of F-22 raptors was pulled five years ago. The Air Force maintains only a skeleton staff and administrative personnel at Lajes to help refuel their C-130’s.”
“What about the US Navy?” said Winston.
“They usually won’t respond until she’s off the US coast, and only if she poses a clear and present danger to a US city,” said Kiefer. “Anyway, this could be just another false alarm. We’ve had two already this month. To my mind, those SASS buttons are just too damn sensitive. Tell you what David, we’ll try to locate her and keep an eye on her. Let us know if you get confirmation on the SASS. Anything to add, Dan?”
“Yeah. We’ll calibrate with the French satellite command at Lyon and—”
“Gentlemen, I’m going to help you prioritize this,” interrupted Winston.
“Say what?” said Kiefer.
“According to the manifest, we have a certain Governor George Dickinson aboard. He and—”
“The Republican presidential candidate?” said Kiefer.
“The very same. He, Senator Durward Easton and their wives are on our Five Star Gold Packages. They’re celebrating the Dickinsons’ 35th wedding anniversary. There are 76 other American passengers on board. Shall I send you the manifest?”
“Christ!” said Kiefer.
Chapter 9
Aboard the Caravan Star, stateroom 507- B
Tucked under the warmth of the duvet comforter, Dulac was enjoying the dreams of deep sleep when suddenly the loud sound of electronic static jolted him awake. Seconds later, the PA system outside their cabin crackled to life.
“Can I have your attention please? This is the Staff Captain speaking. As required by maritime safety law, this is an unscheduled fire drill. All guests and crew are required to report on deck wearing life jackets. Please identify the location of your muster station on the panel in your room and proceed with caution. I repeat, this is a drill only. We apologize for the inconvenience.” The PA system clicked off.
Dulac looked at the bedside clock. 6.55 am. He glanced at Karen, her thick auburn hair covering part of her face in a sensuous swirl. Half awake, she mumbled, “What was that all about?”
“A fire drill.”
“Just as I was getting back to sleep.” She punched her down pillow.
Dulac donned his boxer shorts, turned on the light and went to the window. On the barely discernible horizon, a swath of fog had wedged itself between dawn’s pale blue sky and the grey, roiling sea.
He stretched lazily and caught his reflection in the sliding door’s window pane. He didn’t like what he saw. Must have put on at least five kilos. His face was puffy, his eyes were deep set in their sockets and a pallid, yellowish skin tone had replaced the usual ruddy cheeks. His Interpol colleague Gina Marino had been right when she’d told him he looked like a tired Michael Douglas. Dulac replaced an errant strand of sandy-grey hair and turned towards the bed. “So?” he said, eyeing Karen.
“You go ahead. I’ll pass.”
“Suit yourself, but they’ll be checking all the rooms.” He walked over to the door and studied the small wall chart showing directions to their muster station.
Karen threw away the cover in disgust. “Why now? Can’t they do this at some civilized hour?”
“Wouldn’t be unscheduled, would it?”
“I suppose.” Karen got up and reluctantly donned her olive green nightgown.
“You’re not going on deck wearing only that?”
“Why not? Surely this won’t take long.”
“Looks pretty windy out there.”
Dulac went to the closet, pulled out the life jackets, a two-piece sweat suit and a sweater. “Here, wear this.” He handed her his tan and blue sweater. “With your lifejacket over it, you’ll be okay.”
As Karen took the sweater and slipped it over her nightgown, Dulac couldn’t suppress the thought of how only two layers of nondescript clothing were needed to hide an otherwise beautifully sculpted figure and transform it into matronly shapelessness.
“Not exactly Gucci-coordinated,” she said, noting Dulac’s air of amusement.
Dulac opened the cabin door. “Après vous, madame,” he said, ushering Karen into the hallway.
“Yeah, thanks,” she said, with an air of resigned gloom.
They made their way down the narrow green corridor amid the other passengers of Deck Five. Even with the announcement of fire drill only, Dulac couldn’t help noticing the anxious
looks on some of the passengers’ faces as they exited their rooms and joined the human flow on its way to the deck. At the end of the corridor, two crewmembers dressed in whites were keeping the swinging doors open as Dulac and Karen made their way through onto the deck. Outside, the early sunrays had burned off the fog, leaving only a churning silver sea. The air was raw and the teak deck glistened with a coat of morning dew. Shivering, Karen snuggled up to Dulac as they joined the pushing and shoving crowd of passengers milling about.
“Over here, please. Everybody over here,” said a voice lost in the crowd.
Dulac tried to spot where the voice had come from. He looked about and after a moment saw a man, dark-complexioned, wearing a white cap and uniform, waving the people over to him.
* * *
Dulac grabbed Karen’s elbow and led her through a group of passengers. “That must be our muster station.”
“Ladies and gentlemen,” said the man, “can I have your attention, please?” The group tightened around him. “First I’d like to remind you that this is a drill only. As far as the staff is concerned, even if you’ve gone through this before, bear with me, as it does no harm to refresh your memory. We at P& W Lines take safety very seriously. Today, ladies and gentlemen, I’m going to show you the main fire exit locations on board and—”
“Excuse me,” interrupted an elderly woman with a white- powdered face, “why can’t we do this later during the day?”
Mutterings of approval ran through the group.
“Ma’am, I don’t set the schedule,” said the man, totally unapologetic. “I only follow orders. As I was saying, we want you to know the main exits. We’ll start from the front of the ship and work our way to the back. Right now, I’ll take a quick roll call.” He grabbed his pencil and started down his list. “Adams—?”
Moments later, having gone through the list to his satisfaction, he said, “Now if you’ll follow me, we’ll go the front of the ship. Before we start the drill, the captain has a few words he’d like to say to you at the amphitheater.”
Something grated in Dulac’s ears. He couldn’t quite identify it, but the annoyance was there.
“Terrific,” said Karen. She turned to Dulac, “Do we get a refund for their ruining my night and probably the rest of my day?”
“Good luck.”
They joined the crowd of passengers and staff and started towards the bow of the ship. As they walked along, Dulac glanced slightly to his right. “Strange,” he said.
“What’s strange?” replied Karen, annoyance in her voice.
“The sun is to our right.”
“So?”
“We should be heading west. The sun should be rising directly behind us.”
Chapter 10
On the bridge, 7.05 am. Ship’s time
As he stood next to Tariq at the console, Rhodes glanced at the other hijacker, who was busy tying the other officers’ hands behind their backs with plastic tie wraps and forcing them to sit on the floor. Rhodes thought of his antiterrorist training seminars in Southampton two years ago. Rule three—Never, never challenge their authority, the instructor had said. Then why had Peterson ignored this basic principle? Was it because he’d simply lost it? Odd for a man like Peterson, with his 20 years of service. Had he set off the SASS before being shot? If so, was Southampton acting upon it? His mind raced in different directions when suddenly Tariq spoke.
“You. Tate is it?” He pointed his pistol at the Chief Radio Operator, sitting next to Lanctot.
“Yes.”
“When is your next report to headquarters?”
“At 7.30 am. Ship’s time. I text them basic information.”
Tariq looked at the ship’s clock: 7.15 am. “And what is in your report?”
“I give a weather summary, wave size and direction, confirm the ship’s position and speed, our Estimated Time of Arrival and any problems since the last report. I—”
“The people in Southampton are monitoring the ship’s direction and speed, yes?”
“Yes.”
“Surely by now they’ve noticed the change of course.” Tariq waved his pistol in front of Tate.
“Perhaps.”
Tariq pressed the gun barrel to Tate’s left temple. “Perhaps or surely?”
“Su...surely,” said Tate, his face red.
“What are you going to tell them about the change of course?”
Tate hesitated for a moment, then said, “We’re encountering heavy seas. We’ve rerouted temporarily for the comfort of the passengers. We do that sometimes.”
“Good. You’re a quick learner, Tate. I like that.” Tariq walked over towards the far end of the console where the surveillance monitors showed their dull gray pictures of the different areas of the ship. He looked more closely at the deck monitors and watched as the passengers and crew proceeded towards the bow of the ship. Tariq brought his VHF radio closer to his mouth. “Deck Three, this is Bridge, do you copy, over?”
“This is Deck Three.”
“Everything under control?”
“Everything okay.”
“Deck Four?”
“All is okay. We are going to the front.”
“Deck Five?”
“Okay.”
“Good. Very good,” said Tariq. “Proceed as planned.”
* * *
“These damn fire drills, why don’t they do them before we leave port?” said the middle-aged man with crew-cut, light brown hair, walking next to Dulac.
“My first cruise,” said Dulac, as they ambled forward amidst the drowsy and reluctant crowd.
Beside them to their left, rows of neatly stacked green recliner chairs lined the wall of the deck. To the right, some of the passengers were using the metal hand rail for support.
“First time I’ve had one this early,” said the man, a disgruntled look on his face.
“Kind of a rude awakening,” said Dulac.
“I guess P & W is playing it safe.”
Dulac shot a side glance at him. “What do you mean?”
“Their security officers are armed. Our guy has a short stock Glock in his VHF holder.”
Dulac froze in mid stride, looking at the man in bewilderment. “You saw a pistol on this guy?”
“Yup. With that short stock, it’s gotta be a Glock. When I was stationed in Iraq, some of the officers in my unit used them. More compact, lighter than the Colts, they said. Anything wrong?”
“Damn right there’s something wrong,” said Dulac. “Before we left, I did an Internet search on P & W’s safety protocol. It says they follow IMO’s recommendation against onboard personnel being armed. This is supposed to be a gun-free ship.”
Chapter 11
USCG offices, Alameda, California
With 40 years of active service in the US Navy under his belt, Captain John Kiefer had not adapted easily to retirement. In fact, he hadn’t adapted at all. Like many men used to the responsibilities and perks of command, he’d found the routine of walking the dog, mowing the lawn, doing the dishes and taking out the garbage mind numbing and stultifying. He felt still fully capable, yet so useless. Not a day would pass when he didn’t relive, at least in part, some of his many missions commanding his last ship, the missile-equipped Arleigh-Burke Class destroyer Appomattox. That was all history now, but he’d let it be known among circles of his Navy buddies that he’d take anything short of kitchen patrol to get out of the house and feel useful again.
So when his friend Vice-Admiral Neil Wilkins had pulled a few strings and offered him a post as Operational Coordinator in the Coast Guard, Kiefer had jumped at the opportunity.
Even if the job didn’t have the heavy responsibilities of his previous post, he found comfort in being part of one of his country’s essential organizations, giving his life a renewed sense of purpose. Yet when times were quiet, which was often, he wondered if ever he would face any of the excitement of his old job. On that score, Kiefer was about to be more than pleasingly surprised.
“Hello sir. John Kiefer here. We have a problem.”
Jenkins emitted a small guffaw. “Hey John. You sound just like the movie.”
“Sir, there’s a strong possibility we have a hijack situation on the Caravan Star. She’s a cruise ship bound for Miami via Cancun. Govenor George Dickinson, Senator Durward Easton and 76 other US citizens are among the passengers.”
“Jesus. What do you mean a strong possibility?” said Jenkins, his voice now dead serious.
“She sent out a SASS about an hour ago. Since then she’s altered course towards the Azores.”
“Any other contact from her?”
“The last message from her was at 7.30 am. Ship’s time. Her radio operator sent a text that the ship altered course temporarily to avoid heavy seas. According to our weather data, the waves are only two feet now at the ship’s lat/long coordinates.”
There was a moment of silence, while Kiefer waited for his boss’s reaction.
“Good enough for me. We’ll call Nancy.”
* * *
As Secretary of the Department of Homeland Security, overseeing inter alia the US Coast Guard, Nancy Lombardi was arguably the second most powerful woman in Washington after Jane Winney, the Secretary of State. A Summa Cum Laude graduate from Yale Law School with an IQ in the high 150’s on a bad day, Lombardi was the first woman to hold such a high US cabinet posting under both a Republican and a Democratic president. A fervent and tireless worker, the diminutive fireball of a woman headed the biggest US cabinet after Defense and Veterans’ Affairs. Known in Washington’s upper stratosphere of power for her long memory and short temper, one didn’t disturb Nancy Lombardi without a compelling reason to do so, especially in the middle of the night.