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  “Fusas?” Karen said. “No. Bengas?” Karen made a gesture of an explosion with her hands.

  “Si. Bengalas. Bengalas de securo.”

  “Where are they?” said Dulac.

  “I have seen a box in the front, on the deck,” said the chef. “Only officers can open them.” He made a gesture simulating the turning of a key.

  “Great,” said Dulac. “Do you have something to break it open? A crowbar?”

  The chef shrugged again.

  “A, a pala?” said Karen.

  “A palanca? No, we do not have.”

  “What about an axe? In case of fire?” said Dulac.

  “Si, we have. Over there in the corner.” The chef smiled in satisfaction and pointed to the glass-paneled box containing a fire hose and a small hatchet. “We have beeg ones on deck.”

  Dulac went over to the box, opened it and grabbed the hatchet. “This’ll do,” he said.

  * * *

  The Caravan Star’s Luxor amphitheater

  Dressed in officers’ whites and standing in front of the amphitheater’s doors, Omar and Saquil had just finished ticking off the names of the passengers and crew from their manifest lists. Feeling constricted in his too-tight uniform, Omar adjusted the belt of his trousers. As the crowd funneled through the entrance and into the amphitheater, he instructed the passengers and crew to seat themselves amidst the rows of comfortable, padded seats. “To the front. Lots of empty seats there.”

  As the last passengers made their way through, Saquil glanced at Omar’s manifest sheet. “Any missing?”

  “Seven on deck five, including four from the kitchen.”

  Saquil threw a concerned look at Omar: “You’d better round them up before—,”

  “We’ll see what Tariq has to say.”

  “Really? I wouldn’t wait around to find out if I were you.” Saquil drew in a deep breath. He better than anyone knew how irascible and unpredictable Tariq could get if everything didn’t go exactly according to plan.

  “What about the others?” Said Omar.

  “All passengers are accounted for except yours. Nebil and the others are already in the amphitheater.”

  Omar hesitated for a moment, then said: “Guess you’re right. I’ll see what’s happening in the kitchen.”

  At that moment, a passenger in a grey sweat suit, his stomach bulging over the drawstring of his pants, stopped before them. “When do we get breakfast?”

  Saquil looked at his watch. “This should not take long. I’d say in about twenty minutes.”

  The fat man, seemingly reassured, proceeded inside the amphitheater.

  Omar handed the manifest sheet to Saquil, turned and started down the corridor leading to the deck. Saquil turned back towards the front of the amphitheater just as a man in officer’s whites appeared on the stage, a hailer in hand. Hassan. He’s always on time. Hassan brought the hailer to his mouth and waived his right hand in the air to get everyone’s attention: “Please be seated and make yourselves comfortable. The captain will be here shortly.”

  As the last of the passengers and crew made their way through into the theater, Saquil entered and closed the doors. Then, his back to the doors, he discreetly locked them.

  Saquil looked around. Except for Omar, the other hijackers were at their posts, standing in front of three of the four emergency exits. He walked a few steps and sat down in the aisle seat of the center section’s last row. He glanced slowly left, then right. No one else was seated in the row. Saquil took the Glock from his VHF holster, cocked it and rested it on his lap.

  Chapter 15

  Alexandria, Virginia, October 17th, 2.15 am.

  “What was that all about?” said Bob Lombardi to his wife Nancy, as she hung up the phone, got out of bed and put on her beige silk nightgown.

  “That was Jenkins. He says a cruise ship has been hijacked somewhere in the middle of the Atlantic. Gov. Dickinson and Senator Easton and their wives are among the passengers.”

  “Wow!”

  At that moment, their teenage son Matthew walked drowsily into the bedroom.

  “What’s all the noise about?” he said, rubbing his eyes.

  “Just another run-of-the-mill national emergency,” said Nancy. “Matthew, go back to bed.”

  “So you’re not going to tell me what it is?”

  “No, I’m not. Now go back to bed. You have a physics exam in the morning don’t you?”

  “Yeah, yeah, yeah. Everybody ignores me in this house.” Rubbing his eyes, he turned and shuffled slowly out of the bedroom.

  Lombardi put on her slippers, went down to her mahogany-paneled office on the main floor, closed the door and sat down at her large desk. She turned on the light, picked up the phone and dialed the President’s triple firewall protected encrypted number, to be used only in extreme emergency. After three rings, the familiar voice came on line.

  “Mr. President, Nancy Lombardi. Sorry to bother you at this hour but…”

  The President began issuing orders the second Secretary Lombardi finished her briefing.

  “… And get West and Peters on board and tell them I said you’ll take the lead. Keep me posted.”

  “Yes Mr. President,” said Lombardi.

  She hung up and phoned CIA Director Don Peters, Admiral Doug West, and her secretary Melissa Downs, instructing them to meet her at her office at Department of Homeland Security headquarters. Next she called her chauffeur Bill Evans to bring the Navigator out front. Lombardi went back upstairs, changed into her two piece blue suit, kissed her husband on the cheek, then went downstairs and out the front door. The Navigator was there, wisps of white fumes emanating from its exhaust.

  Ten minutes later, Nancy Lombardi stepped out, looked into the automated iris recognition system at DHSHQ, and walked thru the two sets of glass doors into the large circular hallway.

  “Morning Keith,” she said to the older, familiar night guard on duty.

  “Morning Ms. Lombardi. A bit early today?” He said with a broad smile.

  “That it is. Is Melissa in yet?”

  “Yes ma’am. She arrived five minutes ago.”

  Lombardi walked past the security station to the elevators and pressed the up button. Moments later she made her way through the open office room of the fifth floor, past the empty cubicles to her corner office. Lombardi had convinced the President that she was in the best position to coordinate parameters and information between Homeland Security, the Navy and the CIA and she was lead of the Caravan Star case, at least for the present. She knew she had to establish her authority quickly, and the first opportunity presented itself now through protocol.

  From the window of her office in the old naval compound taken over by DHS, saw the lights of the navy-flagged limousine as it approached the security post, the sole entrance through the barbed wire and walled perimeter surrounding the complex. Lombardi smiled.Ten minutes later, her inter-office phone rang. “Yes Melissa.”

  “Admirals West, Turner and Mr. Peters have arrived. I’ve shown them to the conference room. Coffee is brewing. I’ve also ordered rolls and muffins.”

  “Great.”

  Lombardi got up, walked by the black-and-tan Western saddle mounted on a wooden buck given to her by George W. Bush, through the corridor to the conference room and entered.

  The three men stood up in unison.

  “Gentlemen. Sorry to get you up so early but the situation is critical.”

  “Evening Nancy, or should I say good morning,” said CIA Director Don Peters, a tall, lean man in his mid-fifties, perfectly at ease in his impeccably cut single-breasted dark grey suit.

  To Peters’ left stood Admiral Douglas West, Chief of Naval Operations, a four-star admiral in his early sixties in his blue blazer Service Dress uniform. Lombardi couldn’t help thinking the man’s curved, hawkish nose, jutting chin and incisive, intelligent eyes befitted perfectly the head of the world’s most powerful navy. Next to West stood Admiral Paul Turner, his face screwed up in
a permanent scowl, head of Atlantic Region Fleet Forces Command.

  “Grab yourself some coffee, gentlemen. I have a feeling it’s going to be a long day.” Lombardi’s secretary walked in with a tray and deposited it on the small buffet along the wall. Lombardi took a mug of coffee, black, then sat down at the head of the oval walnut table, the distinctive crest of the Department Of Homeland Security boldly inlaid in gold letters in its center.

  “So everyone knows where I’m coming from,” she said, “I just got off the phone with the President. He’s asked me to give protection to the families of the American passengers, as we can’t rule out a homeland attack on those folks. I’ve instructed my people to implement that order immediately. In parallel, the President wants us to and I quote ‘Use all necessary means and forces to resolve this situation discreetly and quickly’.”

  Lombardi paused and looked at Peters, then West. “Gentlemen, I don’t have to remind you that since we have American lives at risk in international waters, we have complete and unequivocal jurisdiction.” She took a sip of her coffee. “Before we discuss options, I’ve asked Coast Guard Operation Command John Kiefer to join in by video conference.” She pressed the monitor button and the screen on the wall facing her flickered to life.

  “Good morning John,” said Lombardi.

  “‘Morning Nancy, gentlemen,” said Kiefer.

  “John, give us an update, will you? Where do things stand?” said Lombardi.

  “Sure. Hang on a minute. I’ll try to link my computer to your screen.” Kiefer opened his computer, clicked on some keys and a few seconds later, the map of the North Atlantic showed up on the far wall across the conference room.

  “Can you see the map?” said Kiefer.

  “Perfectly,” said Lombardi.

  “I’ll focus in on the ship’s location.”

  Kiefer zoomed in and pointed with the cursor to a spot on the ocean. “The Caravan Star is approximately here,” he said, “about 90 nautical miles southeast of the Azores, traveling at 24 knots, direction north by northwest 335 degrees. We’ve tried repeatedly to reach her and since she’s not responding, we have to assume she’s under the hijackers’ control. We have no idea who they are or what they want.”

  “So we can’t rule out a suicide mission,” said Lombardi. She turned and eyed Peters. “Don, have you had time to gather any intel on this?”

  Shoulders hunched, Peters leaned forward, resting his elbows on the table’s edge. “Not much, but after I got your call, we did some research on files we have on the International Maritime Organization. According to what we could dig up on such short notice, apparently many cruise ship operators, including P & W Cruise Lines, have been caught out by the IMO doing insufficient background checks on their lower-end personnel. With the recession affecting the industry and reduced passenger flow-thru, virtually all cruise ship operators have been under pressure to keep costs down in order to lower prices. Some of them have chosen to cut corners at the lower end. So this could mean these hijackers were on board from the beginning, before the ship left Southampton, disguised as maintenance personnel, dishwashers, whatever. They may also have come on board at Gibraltar when the ship called port there yesterday.”

  “Anything more specific?” said Lombardi, reclining slightly in her swivel chair.

  “Not yet, but if they have weapons, and we have every indication they do since they control the ship, they must have had inside help to get those weapons past the safety checks and scanners of the Caravan Star,” said Peters. “We’ll be coordinating with the Yard in London to find out exactly who’s on that ship, and how and when they got on. That’s going to take time.”

  Admiral West turned to Admiral Turner. “In the meantime, Paul, what have you got within range of the Star?”

  “I’ll need the video screen,” said Turner.

  “Yes of course,” said Lombardi. She glanced at the monitor: “John, if there is nothing else at your end, we’ll have Admirals West and Turner take over from here. They can fill you in later.”

  “Not for the moment, Nancy,” said Kiefer.

  Seconds later the screen went blank.

  Admiral Paul Turner opened up his laptop, pressed a button and the video screen came to life again. Turner scrolled down and a map of the Atlantic filled the screen. “The Caravan Star is approximately here,” he said, pointing with his right hand to the small red icon. The British have a couple of ships that are at least 9 hours away, one here and the other over there.” He pointed to two yellow icons. “Our missile cruiser USS Anzio is approximately here.” He pointed to the green icon. “She’s on her way to Toulon for NATO exercises with the French. We can divert her and providing the weather holds, she can intercept the Star in about three and a half hours. But we don’t have a lot of leeway.”

  Lombardi eyed Turner. “Meaning?”

  “Meaning that if the weather worsens, or if the Star increases her speed, the Anzio won’t be able to make the intercept before she reaches Torrais Rreef.”

  “Thinking positively and assuming the Anzio makes it in time, what then?” said Lombardi.

  “We have a couple of options,” said Turner. “We can have the Anzio drag one of her Kevlar towing cables in front of the Star in an attempt to snag her propellers. The timing has to be perfect, otherwise the cable sinks ineffectively. We also risk a collision when the Anzio crosses the Star’s bow. We need a speed differential of 10 knots or more between the—”

  “The other option?” interrupted Nancy.

  “With the Anzio’s power, we can bring her alongside the Star and literally shove the Star off course. We’ve done it before off the coast of Somalia.”

  “With a ship the size of the Star?” said Peters.

  “As cruise ships go, the Caravan Star is on the small side at 720 feet long and 45,000 gross tons,” said Turner. “A lightweight compared to the 200,000 GT behemoths of today. Besides, it really boils down to who has the greatest amount of horsepower. The Anzio has a bit of an edge over the Star on that score.”

  “A bit of an edge. If the weather holds. If the Star slows down. This sounds like far from a sure thing, Admiral. Anything else?” said Lombardi.

  “Any other options are aggressive,” said Turner.

  “Such as?”

  “Assuming the Anzio can reach the Star in time for an intercept, the Anzio carries some torpedoes that could be deactivated and aimed at the Star’s stern, onto her propellers,” said Turner. “With the deactivation, there would be no risk of breaching her hull.”

  “What kind of accuracy are we talking about?” said Lombardi.

  “Depending how close the Anzio can get, I’d say at best about 40%.”

  “Is that all?”

  “Yes.”

  “So it’s pretty much hit-or-miss,” said Lombardi.” And correct me if I’m wrong, but you have no way of predicting how any torpedo hit will affect the Caravan Star’s course.”

  “You could say that,” said Turner, his scowl replaced by a look of embarrassment.

  Lombardi leaned forward and clasped her hands, resting he elbows on the table. “I don’t like what I’m hearing, Admiral. Not one damn bit.” She eyed West.

  “Admiral, get the Anzio on the Star’s tail. In the meantime, I want you to give me some more options before I phone the President.”

  “We’re doing our best, Nancy,” said West.

  Lombardi felt a surge of blood to her temples. “Your best? Admiral, I want to present the President with a credible, achievable solution to get control of this situation. Not some seat-of-the-pants ideas that might or might not work. The President will ask me what we’re doing to save those 80 Americans and other passengers and we’d better have something more solid than what I’ve heard so far.”

  “We’ll see what we can do,” said West.

  “By the way,” said Lombardi, “something has been nagging at me since we began this meeting. If these guys are terrorists on a suicide mission as might be the case, why wa
it till the ship hits the reef? Why not just blow her up right now?”

  Turner’s scowl had returned. He pushed back his glasses further up the bridge of his nose. “It’s not that easy, Nancy. Like most modern cruise ships, the Caravan Star has a double bottom and watertight compartments. The hijackers would have to have detailed knowledge of her construction and place bombs at strategic locations to sink her. Even then, it’s far from a sure thing. On the other hand, if they run her aground on a reef, the reef will act like a giant can-opener and the ship will sink quickly. We all saw that with the sinking of the Costa Concordia. The hijackers know that too.”

  There was a moment of uneasy silence as everyone absorbed Turner’s words.

  “Anything else?” said Lombardi.

  No one spoke.

  Lombardi pushed back from the table and got up, then looked at her watch. “That’ll be all, gentlemen. We reconvene here in an hour.”

  Chapter 16

  Aboard the Caravan Star, 8.18 am. Ship’s time

  “So what’s your plan?” Karen asked Dulac.

  “They’re going to check the manifests and realize some passengers are missing, namely us.” Dulac eyed the chef and his assistant. “You—”

  “My name is Alfonso. And he is Stephano, he is Peter, and that’s Samir.” He pointed to his assistants. “We come with you.” Alfonso looked anxiously at Dulac.

  “Not a good idea, Alfonso,” said Dulac. “We’d just make a bigger target. Don’t worry, they won’t harm you since they have to eat eventually. You’d best stay here and play dumb, make as if you don’t know. We’re going to the stern to try to contact P & W. If we’re lucky we’ll get a hold of some flare guns on the way. Once we’ve contacted them we’ll come back and check things here.” Dulac eyed Karen and Hank. “Any suggestions?”

  They looked at each other and shook their heads in silence.

  “Let’s go.” Dulac started across the kitchen towards the entrance of the dining room, hatchet in hand.