Deadly Crossing (Tom Dugan 2) (21 page)

“I am sorry, Joe Mason,” Ilya said in Russian, “but I do not have the English words to say to you what I must. But I beg you to listen to
Dyed
and take us in your helicopter without delay. I suppose all families everywhere have a great bond, but I KNOW I feel these things, and if your family is Russian, I suspect you do as well. I think your parents and grandparents and brothers and sisters and cousins and nephews and nieces meet several times each year to eat and drink and laugh and dance and fight and argue. I think you have family members you love without limit and others that piss you off every time you think of them. But I think that when one is in trouble, no matter which one, you will help with your last ruble or ounce of strength if necessary, because this is family,
da
?”

Mason nodded, and Ilya continued.

“I was a teenager when little Karina was born, and I bounced her on my knee and took her to the park and the zoo and all the places children like. When I became a soldier, I knew it was not such a good life for family, and so I have never married, but my sister’s children are like my own. And these scum, these
mafiya
bastards have taken my little Karina and done unspeakable things to her.” The big Russian’s look hardened. “And for this, they will pay, of that I assure you. But first, we must save Karina and the others. So before you say no or take the easy road of referring the matter to your superiors, I ask you to think of your OWN family and what you would do if one of them was in the clutches of these monsters. So the decision is yours Joe Mason, and I have nothing to give you but my gratitude, but I swear to you that if you do this thing, you will be my
tovarishch
— my comrade — for life.”

***

Dugan watched the exchange, clueless as to the meaning of the words, though he sensed it was an appeal. Ilya leaned forward as he spoke, his intensity obvious, and when he finished, he leaned back in the booth as if the speech exhausted him. Dugan watched Mason. The silence grew.

“Okay,” Mason said at last.

“Okay, what?” asked Dugan.

“Okay, I’ll take you maniacs up, though I’m about ninety-nine percent sure I’m going to end up with my ass in a crack.”

“
Spasibo
,” Ilya said.

“
Vsegda pozhaluysta
,” Mason replied. You’re welcome.

“Great,” Dugan said. “Let’s get going.”

“Not so fast. I’m STILL not taking you up tonight. There are way too many variables to attempt a landing or insertion on a hostile ship in the dark without recon. They could have wires strung up to foul us, or if we go in with NV, they could switch on all their lights at the last minute and blind us, and there are about a dozen other reasons a night approach is a bad idea. And apart from Ilya here, I’m guessing none of you have any experience fast-roping out of a chopper, so I may have to land, or at least hover, on top of the containers.”

Ilya was nodding. “Joe is right,
Dyed
. I am eager to get to ship too, but these things he says are true.”

“Besides,” Mason added, “we need to figure out where the hell the ship is first. Do you have her Automatic Identification System number?”

“I do,” Dugan said. “It’s on my laptop in my bag in the car.”

“I’ll go get it,” Nigel said, obviously eager to make a contribution.

Mason nodded and fished his car keys out of his pocket as Nigel stood up. Mason handed the keys to Nigel, and he hurried for the door.

“Any chance the bad guys have disabled their AIS?” Mason asked.

“I doubt it,” Dugan replied. “She’ll still show up on the Vessel Tracking System as an ‘unknown’ when she gets close enough to shore, and disabling the AIS would just be calling attention to herself.”

Mason nodded, and they lapsed into silence until Nigel returned moments later and passed the laptop across the table to Dugan.

“This place got Wi-Fi?” asked Dugan as he booted the computer.

Mason shrugged. “Probably. Just about every place has nowadays.”

The computer whirred to life and went through the boot routine, and Dugan heaved a little sigh of relief as he saw the icon at the bottom of the screen indicating a wireless connection was available. He connected to the internet and logged on to the subscription tracking service, where he’d already entered the
Kapitan Godina
’s AIS number.

“Right there,” he said and centered the cursor over the icon for the
Kapitan Godina
before sliding the open laptop over in front of Mason.

Mason shook his head. “She’s about a hundred miles beyond our maximum range anyway, so we have to wait until she gets closer.” He studied the screen a moment. “Are these course and speed numbers accurate.”

Dugan shrugged. “Mostly, I think. I believe they’re projections calculated from the ship’s previous positions over time, so I suspect they’re always a bit behind. I’m not sure how often they refresh. What’s her course and speed,” he asked, leaning over to have a look himself.

“She’s headed due west, right toward us. And this shows a speed of eighteen knots.”

Mason looked at his watch. “It’s almost eleven now. At her current speed, she’ll be at the extreme edge of our range about daylight. If we leave at six or so, that should be about right.”

“Why not earlier?” Dugan said. “Let’s hit her at first light.”

“Because I’m assuming that you’d like us to have enough fuel to stay over her long enough to do some good. Unless you just want to get close and wave at her in the distance before we turn back. One way trips in multimillion dollar helicopters are not exactly career-enhancing events.”

“Can we, I don’t know, get another chopper with longer range… or something,” Dugan offered, knowing it sounded somewhat lame as soon as he said it.

Mason shook his head. “Not at this point and not with me. We fly the MH-65C at HITRON, and that’s what you’ve got. Understand, Dugan, we normally operate as one element of a team and in concert with one of the flight-deck-equipped cutters. In fact, USCGC
Legare
was supposed to be our launch platform and home base for this little ‘training exercise,’ but then no one knew you had a specific target in mind.”

“Can’t she head in the direction of our target?” Dugan asked.

“Sure, but not on MY say so, and not without a good reason. I suppose I can say that our British guests have requested a change to the planned area of operations. Her skipper will be pissed, but he’ll probably comply. After all, this is all supposed to be a dog and pony show for you ‘Brits’ anyway.”

Dugan nodded. “Good idea. Put it on us. Tell’em we’re pushy assholes that threatened to create all sorts of waves, and you were just trying to satisfy us.”

Mason grinned. “Well, you are sort of a pushy asshole now that you mention it. And I hope you and Ilya here can perfect your British accents before you have to talk to anyone above me. Otherwise you’ll have to let Havelock do all the talking.”

“Don’t worry. We appreciate what you’re doing, and we’ll back you 100%.”

“Okay,” Mason said. “I’ll get on the horn to
Legare
with the change of plan, but understand it probably won’t do any good anyway. I think she’s a bit too far south to do us much good on this accelerated timetable.”

Cecil Field
Jacksonville, Florida

Dugan sat in the chopper and struggled to conceal his impatience as he looked out over the tarmac, watching in the predawn light as helicopters and fixed-wing aircraft took shape around him. He glanced over at Ilya seated in the web seat across from him, the borrowed assault rifle across his lap and the coveralls Mason had provided stretched tight across the big Russian’s massive chest and bulging biceps. The Coasties inventory of flight coveralls for visitors seemed to be very much based on a ‘one size fits all policy,’ and sitting beside Ilya, Nigel was swallowed in his, the slight Brit looking for all the world like a kid in his father’s clothing — except for the grip of the Glock protruding from his pocket. Only Dugan’s coveralls fit reasonably well, as he was apparently what the US Coast Guard considered average.

The other three Coasties in the crew displayed no overt curiosity about the strangely armed multinational trio of ‘observers,’ leading Dugan to surmise that Mason had briefed them on the somewhat extralegal nature of their mission. If they had any qualms, they hid them well, and each had shaken hands and seemed friendly enough when Mason made the introductions. After settling their visitors as far out of the way as possible, they’d methodically worked their way through the preflight checklists.

When the checks seemed complete and nothing happened, Dugan risked breaking the silence.

“Uh… what are we waiting for?” he asked into his mike.

Ahead of him, he saw Mason swivel a bit in his seat and tilt his head back toward him.

“AIS shows the target still at 225 miles out, a bit beyond the edge of our range.”

“Yeah, but she’s closing on us,” Dugan said, “and it’ll take us time to get to her, so by that time she’ll be within range, right?”

“Negative. Looks like she’s slowed down considerably. She may have increased speed again, but we can’t tell exactly how much until the next time the satellite data refreshes. If we leave now, we might not be able to stay over her very long — or maybe at all. I figure we sit tight another half hour to be on the safe side.”

Dugan thought about that a minute. “Why the hell would she slow down that far from shore? You think maybe she’s meeting another vessel? Christ, if that happens we could lose the girls completely.”

“I hadn’t thought of that,” Mason said. “I guess we better get into the air.” And with that he called the control tower and requested immediate clearance.

Ten minutes later, Dugan looked down through the open door as Jacksonville flashed by below them.

Chapter Twenty Five

Kapitan Godina
Due east of Jacksonville, Florida

The chief engineer grunted as he helped the first engineer drag the heavy rubber bladder up the deck. The damn things were cumbersome, even uninflated, and he didn’t look forward to wrestling two of them into the small gap between the ‘special container’ and the one below it. As the two engineers approached, they saw the chief mate in the early morning light, directing sailors releasing the twist locks at each corner of the container. Soon only the weight of the container itself held it in place.

The sky was clear and the sea calm, with only a slight following wind that matched the speed of the ship, with the result that there seemed to be no wind at all over the deck. The chief engineer wondered again how in hell the Old Man was going to convince anyone they’d encountered heavy weather, and was glad it wasn’t his problem.

As they neared the container, the chief engineer wrinkled his nose in disgust.

“Christ! What’s that smell? It’s like a mixture of rotten meat and shit.”

The chief mate shrugged. “I don’t know, but I think it’s coming from this container. Some of the guys mentioned it a few days ago, but with the wind, it was only an occasional whiff, and we couldn’t tell for sure where it was coming from.”

“What do you think it is?” the chief engineer asked, his unease obvious.

“None of your business or mine,” the chief mate growled. “Now let’s get this fucking thing over the side, and we won’t have to worry about it.”

He turned from the engineers and barked orders to the sailors, who grabbed some loose staging planks and set about rigging a scaffold on each end of the short container stack.

***

“She’s gone, Cassie,” Karina said as she reached down into Cassie’s lap and closed Tanya’s sightless eyes. “We did all we could, but she’s gone.”

Cassie said nothing, but in the dim morning light leaking through the holes in the container, Karina saw her shake her head in wordless denial as she reached down and hugged Tanya’s lifeless body.

“Sh … she can’t be dead. It was only a tiny cut.”

“But it got infected,” Karina said as she eased Tanya’s head off Cassie’s lap and pulled Cassie to her in a comforting embrace. “We did all we could, but she’s gone,” Karina said again, and this time she felt Cassie nod against her chest, and she stroked the girl’s hair and pulled her closer.

They both jumped as something struck the outside of the container with a metallic clang, and then they heard more thumps and muted voices. They had heard an occasional voice before, but always at a distance — and though they couldn’t quite make out what was being said, these voices seemed to be right outside the container.

“Wh-what should we do?” Cassie asked.

“I’m not sure. Nothing for the moment, I think,” Karina said. “Let’s see what happens.”

***

The two engineers connected the air hose to the second bladder and climbed down from the scaffold at the aft end of the container. The chief engineer surveyed their work and nodded to the chief mate.

“Both bladders are positioned and the air hoses are connected. Tell the Old Man we’re ready,” the chief engineer said. The chief mate, nodded and relayed the news to the bridge via his walkie-talkie.

“Go,” came the captain’s voice over the radio, and the chief engineer nodded to the first engineer to open the air valve.

Air hissed through the hoses, and the group watched as the bladders swelled, slowly at first, then faster. The container shuddered, and the inboard edge began to rise, lifted by the bladders and tilting the steel box toward the side of the ship — and the ocean beyond.

Then they heard muted thumps and the sound of movement inside the container, and the sailors looked at each other as the edge of the box continued to rise.

“What the hell is that?” the chief engineer asked.

“Nothing. Just something shifting in the box. Keep going,” said the chief mate, just as an unmistakable human cry sounded above the air hissing through the hose.

“Help us! Please!”

The first engineer closed the air valve without asking permission.

“There’s someone in there!” he said, and the chief mate raised the walkie-talkie.

“Captain,” he said, “I think you should join us on deck.”

***

The captain stood looking up at the tilted container, then shifted his gaze to the men grouped around him. He did his best to ignore the stench, and thankfully, the muted cries from within the container had stopped, its occupant or occupants apparently mollified by the fact the container was no longer moving. But those were minor concerns at the moment, as he studied the uneasy faces of his officers.

“What should we do?” the chief mate asked.

“What the hell do you mean, ‘what should we do?’ There’s someone in there. A woman by the sound of it, maybe more than one. We must let them out,” the first engineer said.

“How many voices did you hear?” the captain asked.

No one spoke at first. “Only one that I could tell,” the chief engineer said at last.

The Captain nodded, as if considering that, and the silence grew.

“What does it matter if there is one or ten or a hundred?” the first engineer said. “We must help them, no matter how many there are.”

“To what end?” the captain asked. “All of us have families. Even you, Ivan,” he said, looking at the first engineer. “You are young and do not have a wife and kids, but what of your parents and grandparents? What if we save whoever is in the container? What do you think will become of us and our families? Do you have any doubt that we would pay dearly? It is a case of a life, or maybe a few lives, against many, and the many lives in question are those of our loved ones.”

“We can go to the authorities when we dock in Jacksonville.”

“And tell them what, exactly? Here are some people we rescued from a container? We think the Russian mob put them there, and oh, by the way, we know that because we are smugglers for the Russian
mafiya
, but never mind because we are all really good fellows. And, because we are all really good fellows, perhaps you could protect our families, who are thousands of miles away in Russia and Ukraine. Oh, I almost forgot to tell you, please do not notify the Russian authorities because they have ties to the
mafiya
and will most assuredly inform the mob and then look the other way while the bastards murder our families.” The captain paused. “Is that what you would like us to do, Ivan?”

The first engineer shook his head. “If it were your wife or daughter in that fucking box, you would feel differently.”

“Sadly, Ivan,” the captain said, “if we don’t finish this terrible business, it likely will be my wife and daughter in a box like that, perhaps with the rest of our loved ones with them, while we all rot in unmarked graves.”

The captain turned to the chief engineer. “Finish the job. How long before you get it over the side.”

The chief engineer swallowed. “I can get it a bit higher, but I don’t think I can tip it with one inflation. We’ll have to shore it up and reposition the bladders for another lift. Maybe another thirty minutes.”

The captain nodded. “Get busy. The more quickly this is finished, the better for everyone.”

“Okay,” the chief engineer said, and as the captain walked back toward the deck house, he turned to the first engineer.

“Turn the air back on, Ivan,” the chief engineer said.

“Fuck you. Do it yourself,” the first engineer said, and stomped off after the captain.

USCG MH-65C Helicopter
75 miles due west of Kapitan Godina

“We’ve got a problem,” said Mason’s voice in Dugan’s headphones. “I just got an update from the VTS guys ashore. We’ll be over the target in less than thirty minutes, but she’s still at the very edge of our range.”

“Why is that a problem? We can reach her, right?”

“Yeah, just in time to maybe circle her twice and head for the barn.”

Dugan was quiet a moment. “Okay, what’s your plan?”

“What’s MY plan? Christ, Dugan, I’m the taxi driver here! I don’t HAVE a plan. I agreed to HELP, but none of this is by the book.”

“How about the cutter, is she close enough for you to hang around a bit and still make it back to her?”

“Negative. When we reach the target we’ll be about equidistant from both Cecil Field and the
Legare
, and both will be on the hairy edge of our range. She’s closing on us, and another hour might make a difference, but we don’t have an hour.”

“But you CAN get us aboard?”

“Probably, one way or another,” Mason said. “But that’s what I’m trying to tell you. We normally stop the bad guys, then circle and wait for the fast-pursuit boat. But I can’t do that, and I can’t just set down on a potentially hostile vessel. That violates so many rules I couldn’t even list them all. I assumed I was going to drop you aboard and hover to support you and intimidate the bad guys, but if I drop you at this range, I’ll have to haul ass. And I’m sure as hell not leaving any of my guys in that situation. You’ll be totally on your own for at least three hours.”

Dugan glanced over at Ilya and Nigel, both of whom had been listening on their headphones. Both nodded.

“Let’s do it,” Dugan said.

USCG MH-65C Helicopter
In sight of Kapitan Godina

“Got her,” Mason said, and Dugan craned his neck to peer forward through the windshield at a ship in the far distance.

“I’m going to circle wide and high and slow, so as not to alarm them. We’ll look them over from a distance as we pass, and then I’ll fall in behind them and overtake her fast from dead astern. I’ll flare and drop straight down in front of the bridge onto the top of the container stack. Everyone copy?”

Through the headset, Dugan listened as each crewman confirmed their understanding and Mason continued.

“Landry,” he said to the gunner, “I want you in the open door facing the bridge windows with the M240. Don’t fire, but try to look threatening as hell. Sinclair,” he said to the fourth crewman, “I want you at the other open door, ready to help our guests disembark. I’ll have the skids within a foot of the containers, so they won’t have to fast rope. Just get‘em out the door so we can get out of here. Got it?”

Again the crew acknowledged the orders.

“Dugan,” Mason said, “Landry and his machine gun will probably be all the intimidation you need, but we can’t hang around long. You guys have to bail out, go around the chopper and haul ass for the bridge. From what I see from here there’s some sort of platform running across the front of the bridge you can climb up on from the top of the container stack. As soon as you reach the bridge, you’re on your own. Got it?”

“Affirmative. Anything else?”

“Yeah,” Mason said. “Make sure you keep your heads down and circle around in front of the bird so I can be sure none of you run into the tail rotor.”

“Thanks for the tip.”

“Think nothing of it,” Mason said. “It’s hard to take off with a fucked-up tail rotor. You guys go ahead and move over by the door. This is going to happen fast.”

Dugan and his companions complied, crouching near the door as the chopper veered starboard as it approached the ship, passing down the vessel’s port side at a distance.

“There looks like there’s some activity over on the starboard side near the bow,” Dugan said, “but I can’t make out what it is.”

“We’ll probably get a better look from astern,” Mason said. “I’ll drift out a bit to starboard and give you a look through the side door before I start to close.”

Dugan said nothing as the chopper completed its run and circled to steady up on the same heading as the
Kapitan Godina
. He waited impatiently, unable to see anything from his position until Mason changed the orientation of the chopper to give Dugan a view through the side door.

“What the hell are they doing?” Dugan asked aloud, as he saw a container on the short stack near the starboard bow tilted at a crazy angle. Then as he watched, the container began to move almost in slow motion as it tipped over the side and tumbled into the water with a great splash.

“Mason! They must be onto us, and they’re dumping the girls. Forget the ship and get us over that container. Now!” Dugan screamed.

Seconds later the chopper hovered over the floating container, the downdraft from the rotor sending ripples across the water in all directions as Dugan and the others peered down at it through the open door.

“How long will it float?” Mason asked in Dugan’s ear.

“How the hell should I know? A while at least, assuming the door seals are tight. But I’m not worried about that as much as what shape the girls are in. That wasn’t any gentle drop, more like a car crash. If they’re alive in there, they’re probably injured. How long before that cutter can get here?”

“Five or six hours at least. I’ll get on the horn and…”

“I think it’s sinking!” Nigel said, and Dugan saw he was right. The container was sitting deeper in the water than it was when they arrived moments before.

“Shit! The bastards must have drilled—”

Nigel was out the open door and falling feet first toward the water twenty feet below, and before Dugan could stop him, Ilya stripped off his own headset and was out the door after Nigel.

Dugan watched helplessly as his friends swam toward the container, knowing there was no way they could open it in its present condition.

“Do you have any duct tape?” he asked into the mike.

“What the hell are…” Mason began and then stopped himself. “Actually we may have something better. Landry, you got any of that 100-mile-an-hour tape around?”

“Never leave home without it,” replied the gunner, as he dug around in a bag at his feet and emerged with a roll of what looked like black duct tape. “This is the best shit I ever used. It’ll stick to anything, wet, dry, oily—”

Dugan snatched the tape and slipped his hand through the roll, pushing it tight on his left wrist like a bracelet. Without another word, he ripped off his headset and jumped out of the chopper feet first.