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  “Yes, yes, Mr. Watters, get to the point.” Bolding interrupted impatiently. “How can Mr. Dulac and Mr. Porter slow down the ship?”

  “I’m assuming the hijackers are guarding the engine room’s computers,” said Watters. “That’s the brains of the system. But if they can find their way to the aft section of the engine room, below Deck 1, the cycloconverters are near the stern, away and out of sight of the computer control center. If someone were to knock out the cycloconverter of one bank, that would disconnect the generator from the Azipod, then trip the shutoff valves of the corresponding two diesels, which will then stop.

  “So the ship would be left with only one bank?” said Bolding.

  “Correct. She will slow to about 14 knots.”

  “Assuming Mr. Dulac and Mr. Porter could find their way down to the engine room,” said Bolding, “how would they recognize the cycloconverter?”

  “It’s a green box mounted on a metal frame, about shoulder height, next to the rear of the Wartsila aft diesel. You will see heavy duty pipe housing for the electrical cables, leading to and from it. The box has a transparent plastic window cover,” said Watters.

  “Wait a minute, wait just a damn minute,” said Dulac. “I didn’t say I would do this. I—”

  “Sorry, no you didn’t Mr. Dulac,” said Bolding. “But time is getting short and we really have no one else to turn to.”

  There was a long moment of uneasy silence. Dulac looked at Hank, who nodded in approval. Finally Dulac spoke.

  “Well, I guess you’re right.”

  “Fine,” said Bolding. “Now Mr. Watters, how do we get them to the engine room? Presumably the hijackers have secured it.”

  “Apart from the two main entrances fore and aft, there are three escape ladders,” said Watters. “One is near the bow on Deck Three. Its entrance on the deck is a hatch marked with a red X, stamped “authorized personnel only”. One is amidships, near the entrance to the kitchen. At the stern, there is a ladder in a circular stairwell, next to the life jacket boxes in the pool area. Its entrance is also a hatch marked with a red X. Where are you now, Mr. Dulac?”

  “Near the stern.”

  “Then use that ladder. It’s also nearer the port motor bank,” said Watters.

  “And how do I disable this, this cyclo-whatever?” said Dulac.

  “Cycloconverter. If you have time, open the plastic cover and remove some of the circuits.”

  “And if I don’t?”

  “Hit it. Hard.”

  Chapter 19

  Aboard the USS “Anzio”

  At 52 years of age and with 30 years of naval service under his belt, Captain Ed Donnelly had seen his fair share of action during years when the US Navy, although not officially engaged in major conflicts, had nevertheless been involved in various skirmishes in hotspots across the globe. After numerous escort missions in the Middle East as a lieutenant aboard the USS Stark, he’d seen combat in the Gulf War first as first lieutenant, then as captain of the frigate USS Jensen. Using unusual and bold tactics during the battle of Bubiyan, he’d sunk three Iraqi patrol escorts and helped destroy what was left of the hapless Iraqi navy, all without a single casualty aboard his ship. Thus his obtaining command of the Ticonderoga-class missile cruiser USS Anzio five years earlier had been seen by his contemporaries as a natural progression in his illustrious career, and a just reward for his exceptional leadership skills and intuitive acumen in the heat of conflict.

  In dissimilar yet high-stakes circumstances, some of Donnelly’s qualities were about to be tested once again.

  Donnelly had just finished briefing his officers on the Anzio’s new mission. He dismissed them, left the officers’ mess room and made his way to the port side ladder leading up to the bridge. As he climbed up the steep ladder, he grabbed the steel railing now and then, helping himself upwards and steadying himself as the ship swung onto its new course. Slowly, the Anzio’s side-to-side rolling subsided and was replaced by a pitching motion. Taking a breather on one of the inter deck platforms, he looked out one of the portholes and saw the bow cleaving the waves effortlessly, sending plumes of water over the ship’s flared topsides. He reached the top onto the small metal landing and paused, catching his breath. His 220 pounds over an only 5’ 8” frame were starting to take their toll, confirmed by counts of high blood pressure and bad cholesterol. He tucked in his shirt, opened the door and entered. On the bridge the crew were busy at their various tasks. The helmsman, his eyes glued to the oncoming waves, was making small corrections to the helm in an attempt to reduce the pitching motion of the ship. The navigator, a tall, bald African-American, was plotting waypoints on the chart plotter. The three watch officers were scanning their respective watch horizons with their 7X50 Marine Special Issue Steiner binoculars. They all turned, stood at attention and saluted Donnelly.

  “At ease, gentlemen,” he said, and they resumed their tasks. He went to the port side of the bridge and looked aft. The Anzio’s propellers were churning a 50 foot wide undulating snake of bubbling froth, its twin 90,000 HP GE LM 2500 Gas turbine engines pushing her effortlessly at 29 knots. He turned towards the portside watch officer.

  “Mind if I borrow these?” asked Donnelly, eyeing the officer’s binoculars.

  “Yes sir, I mean no sir.” The young blond-haired man handed his binoculars to Donnelly. He brought them to his eyes and looked off the bow. The driving rain and low clouds were making the horizon almost impossible to detect amongst the oncoming waves. Donnelly knew that when they neared the Azores the waves, due to the ocean’s shallow bottom, would become as powerful and tightly packed as a herd of charging elephants.

  “Not good.” Donnelly handed the binoculars back to the watch officer, turned and walked over towards the navigation station, where Ensign John Eaves was busy looking at the latest radar weather picture.

  “What do you have, Eaves?” Donnelly’s anxiety mounted when he saw the young ensign’s preoccupied look.

  “The depression is moving quickly across the Azores. These are the isobar charts of two hours ago.” Eaves handed Donnelly two faxes. “And here’s what we received 10 minutes ago.”

  “Christ!” Donnelly looked at the latest fax. “Those isobars are packed steeper than a cliff off Everest.”

  “There’s a 20 point pressure drop from this one to—”

  “I can read, Eaves.”

  “Sorry, sir.”

  Donnelly walked back to the helmsman. “Give her a couple more knots, to 31.”

  “Yes sir.” The young helmsman nudged the throttle lever slightly forward.

  Donnelly leaned into the radio operator’s cubicle. “Get me Admiral West on the line, Ensign.”

  “Yes sir.”

  Chapter 20

  Caravan Star’s Deck Five

  After the call with Bolding, Dulac, Karen and Hank conferred in a sheltering nook of the deck, trying to figure out a place to hide.

  “We’ve got to keep out of range of those cameras.” Dulac pointed to a camera on the top of the metal support beam. “As far as I can make out, there’s one at every fifth column along the deck.”

  “Where are we going?” Karen asked.

  Dulac pointed to the row of life boats, hanging on their davits along the side deck. “You guys are going in one of those. As good a place to hide as any. Besides, you’ll have a head start on everybody else if we hit that reef.”

  “Fantastic. Your confidence is just, well, contagious.”

  “What about you?” Hank looked at Dulac.

  “I’m going below to the engine room. Here, take this.” He handed Hank the sat phone. “It’s no use to me below deck.”

  “I’m coming with you, Thierry,” Karen said.

  “Forget it. You’ll only be in the way. Besides—”

  “I can’t just sit here and wait.”

  “I’m coming too. Besides, we’d be sitting ducks in one of those.” Hank pointed to the lifeboats.

  “Karen, I’m going to have a hard
enough time avoiding those cameras alone. If—”

  “We’re coming.”

  * * *

  Luxor amphitheater

  Except for an occasional subdued exchange between passengers, the amphitheater was relatively quiet. People were trying to comfort each other, trying to guess what the hijackers would do next. Dickinson, for want of anything else to do, had meticulously begun to remove all bits of glass from his clothes and seat.

  Easton, holding his wife Sandra’s both hands in his, leaned over and whispered to Dickinson. “They can’t keep us here forever.”

  “These scumbags want money,” said Dickinson from the corner of his mouth. “They’re probably negotiating with the cruise line right now. P & W has got to have insurance for this kind of situation. They’ll have to pay.”

  “I hope you’re right, George.” Easton looked a bit doubtful. “In the meantime, there’s not much we can do except wait and see.”

  “In these situations, it’s best to try and stay unnoticed, or so I’ve been told,” said Dickinson.

  “Yeah, sort of stay under their radar.”

  Saquil stood motionless on the stage with his loudspeaker slung over his shoulder. Hassan, his UZI at the ready, paced nervously back and forth on the stage, sometimes crossing in front of Saquil, sometimes behind him.

  Suddenly Tariq burst onto the stage, pistol in hand, and, limping slightly, rushed up to Hassan. “Where is Omar?” said Tariq, his face inches from Hassan’s.

  “He… He still doesn’t answer. I tried just—”

  “Where was he going?” said Tariq.

  “To Deck Five, I think,” said Hassan.

  Tariq handed Hassan the Glock and grabbed his UZI. “Here, take this. Start on Deck Five and work your way up to the bridge. Find him.”

  “Yes Tariq.” Hassan hurried off the stage and disappeared.

  Tariq slung the UZI over his shoulder and turned to Saquil.

  “Give me that hailer.” Tariq grabbed the loudspeaker from a bewildered Saquil. Tariq turned, walked to the front of the stage brought the hailer to his mouth.

  “Listen to me. Listen carefully. I want Governor George Dickinson, Senator Durward Easton and their wives up here now.”

  “Stay low.” Dickinson whispered to Mary from the side of his mouth. “They don’t know who we are.”

  Tariq looked left and right, then up and down the rows of hostages from front to rear. Nobody moved.

  “No? Oh, I see. I’m sooo sorry. My fault. I guess I didn’t make myself clear.” He slammed the loudspeaker down onto the stage, and in a quick, fluid motion unslung the UZI from his shoulder and squeezed a spurt of automatic gunfire just above the heads of the hostages.

  Muted cries of terror sprang from the amphitheater below.

  Tariq grabbed the hailer. “Last chance,” he yelled. “Next time I shoot low.”

  “Damn.” Dickinson turned and shot a side glance at Easton. “Durward, unless we go up there, this maniac is going to slaughter a whole bunch of people, and we’re just as likely as not to be in that bunch.”

  Dickinson, his bodyguard, Easton and their wives rose slowly from their seats in the middle section of the theater and made their way towards the aisle.

  “Ah, that’s better.” Nothing like a bit of friendly persuasion to get things going.” Tariq put down the hailer and broke into syncopated bursts of laughter.

  Dickinson’s bodyguard in the lead, they walked up the stairs onto the stage, where Saquil led Dickinson to the center. Once there, the bodyguard stood between Dickinson and Saquil.

  Tariq took two steps towards the bodyguard, cocked his UZI and pointed at the man’s head. “Off the stage. You have three seconds.”

  The bodyguard backed away, his face controrted by anger and frustration. He turned slowly and walked down the steps off the stage.

  “The rest of you, over here.” With his UZI, Tariq waved the others over to stand next to Dickinson.

  “That’s better. Much better.” Tariq brought the lapel VHF close to his mouth. “Bridge, this is Tariq. Everything okay?”

  “Everything is under control.”

  “Get me the ship’s radio operator on the VHF.”

  “Yes Tariq.”

  Moments later, Tariq heard a voice on his VHF: “Tate here.”

  “Tate. Yes, that was the name. Listen to me very carefully, Tate. First you are going to switch on the stage camera on the amphitheater and link it to the bridge Inmarsat image hook-up. Got that?”

  “Yes sir. You want the stage to be visible on the bridge monitor.”

  “Correct. Then you are going to turn on the Inmarsat system, and contact P & W’s offices in Southampton. Have them get Adrian Bolding on the other end for a videoconference hook up. Is that clear?”

  “Yes sir. Very clear.”

  “Call me on my VHF when you have him online.”

  “Yes sir.”

  Tariq turned to Dickinson, Easton and their wives and led them to a spot to the left of center stage, “Stand here. Then he eyed Saquil. “Get the board and easel.”

  “Yes Tariq.” Saquil turned and started off the stage.

  Tariq, his UZI cradled in his left arm, reached into his pocket with his right hand and took out the bottle. With difficulty, he opened the lid and poured two pills into his left palm, grabbed them and downed them. Then he turned to Dickinson and broke into another burst of laughter. “So Governor, as you say in America, it’s show time.”

  Chapter 21

  Department of Homeland Security Headquarters

  Admiral West sat next to Rear-Admiral Turner across from the head of the conference table. He looked at the clock on the opposing wall, then glanced at his watch as if to check its accuracy. “She’s not going to like this,” he said.

  At that moment, Lombardi, her short build accentuated by her two piece suit, walked briskly into the room and sat down at the head of the table.

  “So gentlemen, what have you got?” She crossed her arms on her ample, low-slung bosom and reclined in her swivel chair.

  West cleared his throat. “Well Nancy, first the bad news. The weather has deteriorated around the Azores and with the Star’s current speed, it’s going to be difficult for the Anzio to get there in time.”

  “Difficult, or impossible? Call it straight, Admiral.” Lombardi leaned forward against the table with her elbows, hands clasped.

  West took in a deep breath. “I’ll stick with difficult.”

  “And the good news?”

  “We had a call from the British,” said West. “They’re in contact with someone, a passenger onboard the Star.”

  “So?”

  “He’s going to try to slow down the ship.”

  Lombardi reclined in her chair again, crossed her arms on her chest and looked askance at West. “Really? How the hell is he going to do that?”

  West pursed his lips. “The plan is he’ll break into the engine room and sabotage two of the four diesels.”

  There was a moment of silence. Lombardi uncrossed her arms, set her hands down flat on the table, and raised her head slightly. She shot West a doubtful glance.

  “So you’re telling me, Admiral, that your plan, the Navy’s plan, is resting on one passenger? On his attempt to slow down the ship?”

  “Well, yes, but not exactly—”

  “Exactly what?”

  “We were going to send a C-130 to drop some heavy-duty fishing nets in front of the Star but that option is out now.”

  “Why?”

  “According to her position and the isobar chart, the Star must already be into some pretty heavy seas. We can’t stop her altogether. If we do, she’ll lose steerage and, well, these cruise ships aren’t the most seaworthy of vessels.”

  “I’m reading between the lines, here, Admiral,” said Lombardi. “Are you saying she could capsize?”

  West eyed Turner. “It’s happened before,” Turner admitted.

  Lombardi pushed herself away from the table, got up an
d started pacing slowly back and forth, her hands clasped behind her back. She shot an occasional glance at the seated officers.

  “So here we are, with a bunch of hijackers whose demands we don’t know, aiming a cruise ship onto a reef, and we don’t dare stop the ship for fear she’ll capsize.” Lombardi stopped and banged her right fist on the conference table. “Any other good news, gentlemen?”

  “I understand your frustration, Nancy” said West. “Believe me, we’re doing everything we can. We contacted the Portuguese authorities in Lajes and they promised to send help if the Caravan Star should—”

  Lombardi stopped and threw a baleful glare at West. “Whoa, just hold on. This is really not good, Admiral. Not good at all. Here we are, the biggest, most powerful navy in the world, and you’re telling me we can only sit by the sidelines and hope that one lucky passenger stops a ship from running aground. I’m sure the President will be thrilled to hear this. In the meantime, gentlemen, I recommend that you come up with some other, more productive alternatives. We reconvene in an hour.”

  Lombardi turned and was halfway to the door when Turner started to speak. “Nancy, we have—”

  West grabbed Turner’s right forearm and squeezed it hard. “Not now,” West whispered out of the side of his mouth.

  Lombardi stopped in mid stride and turned towards the seated admirals. “Yes?”

  “Ah, we, we fully sympathize with you, Nancy,” said Turner. “We’ll keep you posted as the situation evolves.”

  Chapter 22

  Caravan Star’s Deck Three

  The rain had gone from a drizzle to a downpour, and because of the wind’s angle, Dulac, Karen and Porter were soaked to the bone. To make matters worse, the seas had become confused and jerky, escalating the ship’s rolling motion. The wind howled eerily around the ship’s deck columns and lifeboat davits as they made their way carefully along the deck towards the stern, trying to avoid the video cameras on the columns. At last, they reached the stern and stopped under the metal overhang of the steps leading to the sky deck.