From Russia Without Love (15 page)

_______

T
he next morning, Young called. “The
Binagadi
, one of the four ships Xander is tracking in his Marine Finder account, is docked in Baku Bay. Also, we found his IP address, but he’s using a re-router to throw us off his actual physical location. Even so, we installed a keystroke logger in his computer and found he’s searching the web about the Shah Deniz Alpha gas production platform.”

“Why would he search that?” Chris asked.

“If he destroys the Shah Deniz, he’ll kill a lot of crew members and interrupt the flow of gas through the South Caucasus Pipeline,” Young answered.

The pieces of the puzzle were finally coming together. “If the South Caucasus Pipeline shuts down, Europe will have to buy more of their gas from Russia.”

“Right. So Russia will have more money for its occupation of Ukraine and to send its military to expand Russian territory into other countries.”

“We have to figure out Xander’s plan of attack and stop him.” Chris ended the call and informed the others.

They planned on the fly and piled into the SUV outside, hoping to check out the
Binagadi
in port. Again, they made sure they had enough gear, including assault rifles and ship-boarding gear, like a caving ladder and extension pole, so they were prepared for a variety of contingencies. Mikhail drove out of the parking lot. Shortly after hitting the main road, they saw a white police car marked with a blue stripe on its side. It was parked on the side of the street up ahead. The police appeared to have stopped someone, and an officer was talking with him.

Another officer stood behind the stopped vehicle and directed traffic. As the parked car pulled out, the signaling officer motioned for Mikhail to pull over.

He slowed down. “Police roadblock. Not good.” The SUV came to a halt on the shoulder of the road. Because Mikhail and the SOG trio were carrying loaded pistols on their persons and loaded assault rifles under a blanket in the back of the SUV, Mikhail was right. This was definitely not good. And although the police were authorized to shoot Chris and his crew, they couldn’t shoot the police. Chris hoped their diplomatic passports would be honored by the local law enforcement, helping them to avoid a search. Now was not a good time for an international incident.

“Mikhail, do you have a get-out-of-jail-free card?” Hannah asked.

“I’ll take care of this,” Mikhail said.

The older policeman approached the driver’s side and said something in Azeri. Mikhail replied and pulled out his wallet, but instead of giving the officer a driver’s license or other such documents, Mikhail handed him several manta banknotes, the Azeri currency.

The police officer became indignant, raising his voice and waving the money at him. Mikhail had tried to bribe his way out of a ticket.

Shit.

Mikhail pulled something out of his wallet. More manta!

Damn, Mikhail, don’t make it worse.

The police officer discreetly put the money in his pocket before puffing out his chest and waving his finger.

Mikhail nodded without protest.

After the policeman finished speaking and stepped away, Mikhail shifted into
drive
, pulled out from the shoulder, and returned to the road. Chris looked back to see the police pull over another car.

“Sorry about that,” Mikhail said. “This has happened before. They just want to shake down drivers for some cash.”

“Thanks for getting us out of it,” Chris said. “I can’t—” Chris’s cell phone rang, interrupting him. “Uh, it’s Young. One sec.” He held up a finger. “Hey,” he answered.

“SIGINT reported an increased volume of unidentified communication out of Baku, but they were only able to decipher a time, 0830, and a name,
Binagadi
,” Young said, “Pier Three.”

“That’s in six minutes,” Chris said, then thanked Young and hung up.

He told the others, and Mikhail sped up without having to be asked. The four arrived in the harbor parking lot, but the
Binagadi
wasn’t at the pier.

Then Chris realized what had happened.

“You’re in the wrong parking lot,” he said. “This is for Pier Two. The
Binagadi
is at Pier Three.” Anxiety washed through him at the idea that Xander was boarding the
Binagadi
and they were about to miss him.

Mikhail drove them to the next parking lot, where the
Binagadi
was in view as the crew prepared to get underway. It seemed like a newer ship, probably built within the last five years, and stretched the length of a football field and a half. Judging by its size, it probably weighed around ten thousand tons.

Mikhail drove onto Pier Three, near the ship, and the SOG team dismounted the SUV and moved in. On the pier, there was a gangway security cabin, which normally housed a guard to protect the entrance to the ship. But there was no guard inside. Either the cabin wasn’t manned, or the guard was dead.

Chris scanned the ship’s deck and spotted Animus amidships before he disappeared inside. Near where he’d stood was what looked like the body of a senior crew member lying on the deck. Chris took in the rest of the situation, seeing two seamen working frantically to disconnect the gangway, the only connection between the ship and shore. A crane was already hooked up to the center of the gangway, ready to lift it away, and on the dock, two workers waited to steady it.

Shit. We’re too late.

Two levels above the main deck, near the bridge, Xander appeared, opening a hatch and then vanishing inside, while his thug with the smooth skin and hard eyes—and armed with an AK—remained outside, yelling in English at the two workers on the pier next to the gangplank.

“Untie the ship!” he shouted.

Sitting in the backseat of the SUV, Chris and Sonny grabbed assault rifles and other gear and distributed it. They put on their inflatable assault vests, comms, and other kit. Then the four of them jumped out of the SUV and ran toward the ship.

“Must remove gangway first!” one of the workers called out in broken English.

Smooth Skin fired his AK in the worker’s direction. “Untie the ship!”

The workers scattered away from the gangway and hurried to the lines.

Smooth Skin turned his head and faced the foursome running toward the ship. Because Chris led as point man, the front was Chris’s area of responsibility, and it was his job to protect his team by taking out the threat. Chris stopped, planted his feet in a shooting stance, placed the butt of his rifle firmly in the hollow of his shoulder and aimed. Smooth Skin brought his rifle up, too. But Chris got off the first shot. The bullet ripped into Smooth Skin’s upper body, disturbing his balance and slowing him. As Smooth Skin tried to bring his weapon up into firing position, Chris shot again, tearing a new hole near the first one and knocking Smooth Skin back a step. But he was still standing. Chris squeezed the trigger again. This time, Smooth Skin toppled over. Chris aimed at Smooth Skin’s body on the deck and took another shot. The jerk of movement under Smooth Skin’s shirt indicated another hit.

Chris turned to say something to Hannah, but he’d been so mentally focused on Smooth Skin he’d fallen into tunnel vision, losing sight of her and the others. As he mentally opened up his field of view, he spotted Hannah, Sonny, and Mikhail on the gangway, which had already risen a foot off the pier. The weight of their bodies caused the gangway to dip on their end, smacking the pier with a loud
whack
. To keep from falling backward, they released their grips on their rifles, letting their weapons dangle by their slings, and grabbed the railing on the side with both hands. The shift of their weight caused the gangway to tilt, and they struggled not to fall onto the pier below.

Another of Xander’s armed thugs emerged from the superstructure near the bridge. As he brought his weapon to bear on Hannah and the others, Chris popped him until he dropped.

A tugboat pulled the
Binagadi
away from the dock as the crane lowered the gangway and Chris’s clinging teammates to the pier. Sonny shouted and motioned wildly at the crane operator to set them down on the ship, not the pier, but it was too late. The tugboat pulled the
Binagadi
out of reach, leaving them behind.

“Sonny, if you and Mikhail can retrieve the ship-boarding gear from the SUV, Hannah and I will find a boat to borrow,” Chris said.

Sonny and Mikhail ran back to the SUV while Chris searched the area. He spotted a small, narrow boat with a deep V-shaped hull—a go-fast, popular with smugglers and SEALs because of its stealth, speed, seaworthiness, and attitude. It was also known as a cigarette boat. It was tied to a nearby pier, and he pointed to it, showing Hannah. Chris waved to Sonny, and when he flagged him down, Chris gestured to where he’d discovered the boat. Then Chris and Hannah hurried over to the go-fast and boarded.

Chris took out his Swiss Army pocketknife and used the Phillips head screwdriver to remove the screws from the hard plastic panel covering the steering column. Then he located the battery wires, stripped an inch of insulation off each, and twisted them together. Finally, he connected the ignition wire to the battery wires, causing a spark, and the go-fast’s engine growled to life.

Sonny and Mikhail joined them, bringing the caving ladder and extension pole. Sonny helped Hannah cast off the boat lines and push away from the pier before they took their seats. Chris stood as he drove. He eased the throttle forward, and the engine hummed as the vessel advanced. He turned the wheel, aiming them southeast in the direction of the
Binagadi
.

The wind pulled at Chris and grabbed at the water’s surface, creating whitecaps. Occasionally, the wind grasped harder, upsetting his stance and turning those whitecaps into waves.

“Hang on!” he called above the noise of the rushing wind. He pushed the throttle further, and the go-fast accelerated.

The boat hit the whitecaps like a race car hitting speed bumps—the impact traveled from the metal deck up to his leg bones and rose through his spine until his jaws vibrated. He pressed the throttle to its max nonetheless, making the boat whine and shudder. After he hit the first sizeable wave, the go-fast caught air and they flew like riding the wings of an angel. When the boat came down, it felt like being stomped under the foot of the devil. Although he bent his knees to protect them, they still absorbed most of the shock. He glanced over his shoulder to make sure the others were still with him. They were. And holding on tightly.

The go-fast soared off another sizeable wave. The boat landed before Chris’s feet did, and gravity pushed down on him from above. The unforgiving metal deck greeted him from below, the impact of both forces meeting at his knees, bone-bashing. He glanced back at his crew—shaken but still hanging on.

He closed in on the
Binagadi
and slowed almost to half speed so he wouldn’t rocket past her. It still felt like they were riding over speed bumps but not as fast or intense as before.

“Mikhail, I need you to take over at the helm while I try to hook the
Binagadi
. Sonny, if any AKs poke out at us, waste ’em. And Hannah, I need you to help steady me while I hook the ship.”

Here goes.

_______

C
hris pulled up to the port side of the fantail before slowing to match the ship’s speed. Then he signaled Mikhail to take the wheel. Sonny trained his weapon on the ship, ready to wax the first boogeyman who appeared. Chris picked up the caving ladder and extension pole and carried them to the bow. Hannah was right behind. Both the
Binagadi
and the go-fast rose and fell with the sea as they sailed forward.

While Sonny trained his weapon on the ship and Hannah steadied Chris, he attached the caving ladder and its hook to the pole. In the Teams, it was usually another guy’s responsibility to hook the ship, but Chris had done it before. Normally, he did the deed with four boatloads of SEALs, two boats on each side of the ship. If one boat failed to hook on, the boat behind would move in and complete the task. Even if three boats failed and one succeeded, all the SEALs could climb up the one ladder that hooked on. Chris double-checked to make sure the hook was securely attached to the ladder. If he attached the hook to the ship and the ladder fell away, they’d be in a shit state, or worse; if he climbed the ladder and it separated from the hook and he fell thirty feet and landed on the go-fast, the fall would likely kill him.

“Just hold on to my belt from behind and steady me,” he said quietly to Hannah. Normally, two SEALs would do the job of steadying him, but one Hannah would have to do.

He extended the hook above the edge of the hull, and he tried to hook it on to metal, but with both boats moving with the waves, it was tough to keep his balance. Hannah did a good job of preventing him from landing on his ass, though. His first attempt to hook on to the ship failed. His second attempt lined up perfectly, but Mikhail veered too close to the ship and bumped it, causing both Chris and Hannah to lose their balance. He silently cursed the man, hoping the noise of hull against hull didn’t alert Xander and his gang.

On the third attempt, Chris successfully hooked on to a rail. Then he pulled down on the pole, causing the caving ladder to unroll like toilet paper until it reached his feet with ladder to spare. He collapsed the telescopic pole.

“Wait ’til I signal that it’s clear to climb,” Chris said. “I’ll go up first, followed by Hannah, and then Sonny. Mikhail, once we’re on board, you can back off and follow from a distance. After we get the ship stopped, we’ll radio you in.”

They nodded.

Chris mounted the ladder and climbed. With the wind and the movement of the ship, each step he took felt like a blessing. While at sea, he’d seen more than one Teammate thrown from a caving ladder. He climbed with his legs and used his arms for balance, rather than climbing with his arms and burning his muscles out quickly. Because it was daytime, it was much easier to see the steps of the ladder, but because it was daytime, it would also be much easier to be seen by Xander and his men.

When Chris reached the deck of the ship, he scanned the area for trouble. He saw none, so he went to work on the ladder. Once it was securely fastened, he looked around again for enemy signs. No one was on the main deck, but a man stood up on the superstructure. He was looking down at something in his hands, but it wasn’t immediately clear what. As he lifted the object to his shoulder, it became apparent. He had a rocket-propelled grenade.

“RPG,” Chris whisper-shouted into his comm.

There was nothing to hide behind to avoid the inevitable blast.
My only chance is to take him out before he takes me out.

Chris aimed his rifle and squeezed the trigger, cutting down the enemy—but not before he could fire his RPG.

Swoosh.
After the rocket took flight, it hit the deck next to Chris with a loud crack and knocked off the caving ladder. The time it took for the resulting explosion was interminable.

The RPG didn’t explode, and his human instinct was
Don’t pick up an unexploded bomb
, but the longer he waited, the higher the likelihood it would blow up in his face. He picked it up and threw it over the stern, away from Hannah, Sonny, and Mikhail. It vanished from view without a sound.

Thank you, Lord.

He looked over the port side. Hannah, Sonny, and Mikhail were fine. Hannah and Mikhail fished the caving ladder out of the water, but one of the hooks had snapped off. Sonny held up the ladder with the missing piece and asked over the comm, “Now what?”

There was strength in numbers, and Chris didn’t want to go the mission alone. “I’ll figure something out.”

Up on the ship’s superstructure, the RPG man was laid out on the deck, but now he rose to his knees. Before he could cause more trouble, Chris shot him again, flattening him.

Chris checked the port side for a boatswain’s locker with some rope in it to secure the broken caving ladder. He found a hatch, and as a matter of routine, he aimed his weapon at it before opening it. Expecting to find rope inside, it startled him to see a man with long sideburns armed with an AK.

This is a passageway, not a boatswain’s locker.

Both men jumped with surprise at the same time. Sideburns pulled the trigger first, but he hadn’t aimed yet.
Clank clank
, the bullet ricocheted in the narrow passageway, hitting Sideburns in his own thigh. Chris was slower to pull the trigger, but his weapon was already aimed. He pumped two rounds into the man.

Sideburns dropped his weapon and clutched his chest. Frothy crimson spilled between his fingertips his lung was punctured and he was having trouble breathing. Sideburns dropped to his knees, and a smile appeared on his face.

“What’s so damn funny?” Chris asked.

“You can’t stop Mr. Metaxas,” Sideburns wheezed.

Chris aimed his weapon at Sideburns’s head. “Stop him from what?”

“Eat shit.” Sideburns’s smile broadened, and he closed his eyes.

Chris ended the conversation with a bullet. “Boring conversation, anyway.”

Then he frisked Sideburns for intel and confiscated a cell phone, keys, and a wallet. He used the cell phone to call the automated number that Young ran 24-7. After the call went through, Young or one of his assistants would hack the phone and download its data and Young would begin analysis.

Chris maneuvered around to the starboard side to look for rope. With the disappearance of two men, Xander might be sending out a search party, and Chris wanted his crew at his side before the party started.

While looking for a boatswain’s locker, he located a Jacob’s ladder, bound by a strap and a metal latch. Chris spoke via his throat mic and used Mikhail’s call sign. “Jirtdan, bring the go-fast around to the starboard side. I’m going to drop a Jacob’s ladder for Infidel and Sunshine to climb aboard.”

“Roger, wilco,” Mikhail answered.

After scanning for possible threats and spotting none, Chris took a knee on the deck and undid the latch. Then he unrolled the Jacob’s ladder over the starboard side. “Infidel and Sunshine, the starboard ladder is ready for boarding. I’ll cover you from here.”

“Roger,” Hannah said, “Starboard ladder ready for boarding. You’re covering.”

“About damn time,” Sonny said.

From Chris’s current position, he had to look three ways to cover all possible approaches from Xander and his men: forward, aft, and up. “I’m moving aft for a better tactical view.”

After shifting locations, he had most of the ship in front of him without having to bend his neck back and forth, up and down and risk missing something.

“Infidel boarding,” Hannah said.

Chris hoped Hannah made it on board before Xander and his men appeared. Suddenly, there was movement. Whiteface, carrying an AK, appeared on the port side of the bridge. Chris covered him. It was the same guy who was with Animus in London.

Whiteface looked down at the port side of the ship and the sea and then returned back inside the bridge. Soon, Whiteface stepped outside on the starboard side. Chris placed the red dot of his scope on the profile of Whiteface’s upper body while simultaneously placing his finger snugly on the trigger. As Whiteface walked toward the edge of the ship, Chris followed with his red dot, tracking the side of his upper body. Chris held his breath to stop his lungs from moving, reducing the wobble of the red dot. Whiteface bent over the rails and looked down at the water, near where Hannah and Sonny were.

Chris squeezed the trigger slowly. He tried not to anticipate the quiet pop from the sound-suppressed barrel or the recoil of the butt into his shoulder. He tried not to think about when the shot would fire. It was best to be surprised.
Pop.
The sound was no louder than a kid’s BB gun. Whiteface jerked, and he twisted toward the bow as if to see who hit him, but he was facing the opposite direction of where the shot had come from, and he seemed confused.
Pop
. Chris shot him in the back.

Whiteface’s back arched before he dropped to the deck, crying out in Russian for help. “
Po-masch!
” He dropped his weapon and crawled for the bridge, but Chris covered him with the red dot and fired again, this time hitting him on his uninjured side. He stopped crawling.

“Ivan!” Animus’s voice called out.

Ivan is no more.

Chris had focused so tightly on the bridge that he had to open his field of view again to possible enemy combatants on the rest of the starboard side. Hannah’s head rose above the Jacob’s ladder, and he assumed Sonny was directly below her.

An armed man hopped out of the starboard hatch of the bridge, stoking Chris’s pulse and breathing rates. “Armed man, bridge, starboard wing,” Chris reported over his radio.

Chris aimed at him, but he ducked before Chris could pull the trigger or Hannah could acquire him. Chris’s heart and breathing sped up. Then more appeared.

“More armed men, same location. No Xander yet,” Chris said into his mic.

He tried to figure who was the most senior of the men present in order to take him out first and weaken the remaining members, but it wasn’t clear who was senior. Adrenaline dumped into Chris’s system as he decided to take out the greatest threat first. But they all seemed equally threatening. While his mind raced trying to pick out the best target, the armed men spotted Chris.

Hannah, who was on deck by now, took a shot and missed as Sonny crawled up onto the ship.

Chris’s panic rose. He had wasted precious time choosing a target, and now he wanted to shoot any and all threats. The darkness of warfare covered more and more of his light as a pastor. Gunfire erupted from the starboard wing of the bridge, and the heat of the rounds clapped the air near him. With his mind hazy and his vision blurred, it became a Herculean effort to focus on target. He knew his life and the lives of his teammates were in danger, so he jerked the trigger, hoping to hit one of the enemy combatants, but he missed.

“Take cover,” he warned the others. The SOG trio ran toward the bulkhead and took refuge from the shit storm that rained down.

“How many?” Sonny asked.

“Five or six,” Chris answered.

“Xander is still the prize,” Hannah reminded them. As if they could forget.

Chris took a slow breath. He had failed to take an effective shot so far, but he shook off the discouragement. It was history, and there was nothing he could accomplish now by dwelling on it. The only thing he had any control over was the here and now.

“Xander and his men have less room up there to maneuver than we do down here,” Chris said, getting his focus back. “We can whittle them down from where we are before making an assault.”

Sonny nodded. “Smoke ’em.”

“Let’s do it,” Hannah said.

“If Hannah can stay here and keep an eye on this hatch and the main deck,” Sonny said, “it’ll free up you and me to home in on the bastards near the bridge.”

Hannah grinned. “My pleasure

It was a wise move, and it could help Chris ensure he followed the advice of his veteran SEAL mentor, a shooting guru named Ron Hickok.
Don’t show your face twice in the same spot unless you want to get it shot off.
Because Chris had already been spotted aft, he moved forward. Sonny moved forward, too. Chris covered port and Sonny took starboard.

Thick black pipes ran along the length of the deck, and Chris lay down beside them, using them to provide partial cover and concealment. He slithered into a better position while watching the bridge and its starboard and port wings. More than anything, he hoped to spot Xander and take him out.

A spiky-haired man with an AK neared the rail and looked around. He seemed to have spotted Sonny, but Sonny’s rifle spit twice and Spike dropped.

Hannah’s rifle sounded. “Good night,” she said quietly, as if to herself, but her voice transmitted over the radio, and then a man yelped.

Chris settled into a stable position, an advantage of being prone, which would aid his accuracy. Several people were inside the pilothouse on the bridge, but the windows were tinted and it was difficult to see who was inside. Outside, on the starboard side, someone hung his AK out and sprayed below. None of the shots zipped anywhere close to Sonny—yet. Chris put his red dot on the man’s shoulder and squeezed. The shooter’s shirt quivered slightly, showing Chris where he’d struck his target. The shooter almost released his weapon as he pulled away, back into the bridge.

Sonny reached the port side and went aft.

An aggressive gunman came out the port side then, aiming his weapon toward the bow, looking for trouble but failing to notice Chris lying down between the pipes. Chris’s red dot aligned over the man’s chest, and his finger applied pressure to the trigger. The recoil of the rifle pushed his shoulder, signaling the deed was done. The aggressive shooter sank out of sight.

Sonny aimed at a target near the bridge. Chris couldn’t see who Sonny was shooting at, but he heard the
pop
.

Someone on the port side backed into Chris’s view. Chris plugged him between the shoulder blades, and the man dropped.

Then the shooting stopped. Everything became quiet—too quiet.

Chris slithered toward the superstructure, and a bullet punched through the glass of the pilothouse window.
Tang!
The projectile struck a metal pipe next to Chris, the surprise of the shot jolting him. He dispensed with the slithering, hopped to his feet, and sprinted out of the line of fire. His body tilted as he ran, and he realized the ship was turning.
Tang!
A second bullet just missed his foot.