Running Dark (6 page)

KARL TARRANT WALKED INTO A SMALL PATHWAY BETWEEN TWO
ramshackle houses close to Capitol Hill in Washington, D.C. It was eleven o’clock at night, and the working crowd, what little existed in this neighborhood, was long gone. The seasonal spring day had faded into a crisp evening. Cars whizzed down the street, each one hitting a metal square in the middle that covered a pothole. The repeated clanging sound frayed Tarrant’s already jangled nerves. His teeth chattered in response to a chill that was not from the night air but from within. He hadn’t had a hit in over thirty-six hours. His hands shook and his head ached as he waited for the one thing that would make all his pains go away.

The African in the overcoat strolled toward him as if he hadn’t a care in the world. Tarrant felt a mixture of relief and disgust. Relief because his physical troubles were at an end, disgust because the man had botched the job Tarrant had hired him to do. The man stopped before him.

“Here.” He handed Tarrant a bottle marked
IBUPROFEN
. The bottle actually contained black-market OxyContin.

Tarrant was outraged. “One bottle? That’s it? What the hell am I going to do with one bottle, eh? Won’t last a week.”

“Relax. I put ten more in a bag and left them in our usual spot. I just figured you’d be hurting by now and thought I’d bring you some relief.”

Tarrant snorted. He shook out two capsules and swallowed them. They stuck a little on the way down, but he didn’t care. He needed
them, not water. “Glad you’re so thoughtful. I only wish you’d done what I asked you to do.”

The African shrugged. “We got her with the pen, didn’t we?”

“What about the bomb? Who the hell did that?”

The man grinned. “I set that up. A little one, really. Took out the area around the track. Was a well-controlled explosion. I am good.” The man’s white teeth glowed against his dark skin, and his eyes gleamed with the touch of madness that afflicted all true arsonists. Tarrant thought killing the guy wouldn’t have been the worst thing that could happen, except for the fact that he’d have to find another dealer.

“I don’t know how a simple stick could turn into such a disaster. We could have stuck her anywhere,” he said.

“But now they think it’s tied to the bombing. Worked out well, don’t you think?”

A man emerged from the shadows thrown by the trees lining the sidewalk. Streetlight beams traversed his body at an angle from shoulder to ankle, illuminating the muted silk tie, soft blue shirt, and dark suit that looked custom. Tarrant noticed that the African quieted in respect as the man approached. The newcomer stopped just short of the pathway’s entrance, his face shrouded in the shadow of an overhanging eave. Tarrant felt his stomach turn. He thought the nickname of Vulture fit the man’s thin, hardened features. The Vulture paid handsomely, but Tarrant detested him. He was evil incarnate.

“It did work well. I have to compliment you.” The European-accented voice held no trace of sarcasm. The African exhaled softly, as if he’d been holding his breath. The Vulture turned to Tarrant. “And we could
not
stick her anywhere. It had to be at the peak of the race in order to assess the chemical’s effect on the human body during extreme exertion. A little human clinical trial minus the federal oversight. And what about the chemical
you
love so much? I trust you’ll be feeling better soon?”

Tarrant nodded. His throat was dry.

The Vulture held up two thick white envelopes. “Here’s another five thousand for each of you and detailed information on the next job. I need you to persuade a certain gentleman to halt his operations in the Red Sea. Or, more specifically, in the trade route through the Gulf of Aden.” Tarrant took one of the envelopes and shoved it into his pocket without looking at it. The Vulture had never shorted him.

“Dead persuaded? Or just hammered-into-the-pavement persuaded?” Tarrant said.

The Vulture shrugged. “Beaten first. Homicides draw too much attention. Of course, if the beating doesn’t work, you can escalate the force. I’m aware that you have a reputation for killing people by accident.”

Tarrant snorted. “Once my temper gets away from me, I have a hard time pulling back.”

“If you end up killing him, be certain that his vice president gets the message, too.”

“Is it true that you want us to stick the runner again?” the African asked.

“I understand that she got up and finished the race.”

The African nodded. “She ran away, fast. Real fast. Is that what she was supposed to do?”

“Yes. But we also expected much more erratic behavior as well. No one seems able to confirm that aspect. If she was behaving within the bounds of normal, then the dose may not be enough.”

The African frowned. “I hit her hard. Gave her every last drop. I thought the drug works better on fit people. Enters their system faster. If that’s true, she should have turned into a lunatic.”

The Vulture shook his head. “She did not. Not at all. Dose her again.” He looked at Tarrant.

“Whatever. We’ll get it done,” Tarrant said.

“Good. I’ll be in touch.” The Vulture sketched a wave with his hand, walked to the curb, and reached a hand into the air, as if he was
hailing a cab. Tarrant was just about to inform him that there were no cabs willing to risk this particular neighborhood at that hour of the evening when a large black sedan pulled up and halted. The Vulture swung open the door and disappeared inside. The car drove off.

“That man is a psychopath in a suit,” the African said. “I won’t be crossing him.”

The drug was in full flower now, giving Tarrant a feeling of bravado. “He’s just a rich guy in good clothes who’s afraid to do his own dirty work,” he said.

The African scoffed. “I’d like to hear you tell him that to his face.”

Tarrant shrugged. “He’s gone now.”

“But he’ll be back. Let’s just be sure we get this Gulf of Aden guy good. I don’t want to fail the Vulture. He’d start his testing on me. I wouldn’t make it a week.”

“We’ll get him, don’t you worry.” Tarrant grinned like a fool all the way back to his car.

SUMNER TOOK THE FIRST WATCH, TEAMED WITH JANKLOW. THEY
walked the deck, moving in opposite directions. Every twenty minutes or so, they’d pass each other. Sumner’s watch showed three o’clock in the morning. He met Janklow in the middle.

“You know, taking this shift means that we’re most likely to see some action, right?” Janklow said.

“If we don’t fall asleep first,” Sumner said. A thought occurred to him. “If these guys come back and actually board us, what can they get? Besides the hostages and the money in the casino, I mean.”

Janklow leaned against the railing for a moment. He pulled out a pack of cigarettes and offered it to Sumner.

“I don’t smoke,” Sumner said. He watched Janklow light up, take a deep drag, and blow out the smoke before answering.

“We’re carrying some cargo as well. It’s unusual, we don’t often do it, but it’s for a charity. Our hold contains vaccines and pharmaceutical products that we were to deliver to Mombasa when we docked there.”

“Is it worth anything?” Sumner said.

Janklow shook his head. “Invaluable to the kids who need it, but not worth a thing to the pirates. The whole idea is a bit of a boondoggle anyway, because some African countries are highly suspicious of vaccines to begin with. They think the medicine is really a way for the U.S. to poison their children. Sometimes we deliver the products and they end up rotting on the dock.”

“So we won’t be able to use the cargo as barter to get us out of the situation.”

Janklow took another puff. “Not at all. Our best bet is the money in the casino. But I doubt they’ll settle for it. They’ll want to ransom the passengers as well. Last month the Danes paid over a million dollars for five of their own. That’s big business for these guys.”

Sumner thought about the four men in the cigarette boats. They had looked like Somali fishermen: skinny and underfed. He’d be amazed if they had fifty bucks between them.

“Who’s getting the money? It sure as hell isn’t those four losers in the boats.”

“The warlords. They finance the boats, guns, you name it. The guys actually doing the attacking barely make a living wage.”

“I wish I could speak to them. I could tell them that the U.S. won’t pay. I know this from personal experience.”

Janklow looked at Sumner with a measured gaze. “I heard that you were held hostage in Colombia. The U.S. didn’t ransom you?”

Sumner watched the ocean for a moment before answering. “Not a penny. But I ended up costing the kidnappers a lot more than they cost the U.S.”

Janklow looked intrigued. “If I may ask, how did you get out of there?”

Sumner thought about Emma Caldridge. He caught himself smiling, which was something he didn’t do too much of, before and especially after Colombia. He hoisted the gun higher on his shoulder. “I was saved by a beautiful mad scientist.”

Janklow grunted in surprise. “Can you bring her here? We could use her help.”

Sumner shook his head. “I want her to stay as far away from here as possible.”

Janklow finished his smoke, ground out the butt, and tossed it into a nearby cigarette bin. “I don’t blame you for that.”

Sumner started walking again.

Janklow moved out in the opposite direction. “See you on the next turn.”

Halfway around the deck, Sumner bumped into Block. “Out for a stroll?”

“I wish,” Block replied. “Wainwright wants me to take over for Janklow. Something’s going on with the damage, and he’s needed there.” He turned and fell into step with Sumner. “Anything happen so far?”

“No, but this is the ‘hot’ shift. You know that, right?”

Block sighed. “I told you, I used to hunt. Lots of animals come out at night. Don’t see how these are any different.”

Sumner couldn’t argue with that. They met up with Janklow at the midpoint. He eyed Block with a sour expression that was even worse than his usual one. Sumner watched him manage a cordial nod.

“Mr. Block, what brings you on deck this late?” Janklow asked.

“Wainwright needs you in Stateroom A to inspect the damage. He wants me to spell you.” Block waved toward the pistol holstered at Janklow’s waist. “That little gun all you got?”

Janklow sighed and pulled the gun, holster and all, off his waist. He handed it to Block. “This is it.”

Block scrutinized the pistol. “What the hell is this?”

“A stun gun.”

The gun was bright yellow and had a square muzzle instead of a round one. Slightly thicker than an actual pistol, it came with its own holster in fluorescent neon.

“Why the hell is it so bright? This thing glows. I might as well be carrying a sign that says ‘I’m over here, shoot me.’” Block waved the holster around. The reflective material left streaks of green light as it moved through the dark.

“It’s considered rescue equipment. All rescue equipment is designed so that it can be located in the dark.”

“How does it work?” Block asked.

“It takes a few seconds to charge. You flick this on”—Janklow
showed Block a switch—“and when it’s ready, you aim and shoot.”

“Do I need to touch the guy? ’Cause let me tell you right now, I don’t want to get that close.”

Janklow shook his head. “It has two darts that shoot out on fishing lines with a range of twenty-one feet.”

Block smiled. “That’ll do for distance.”

“But there’s a hitch with the fishing lines. They both have to hit the target to work. Guy manages to avoid one and you won’t complete a circuit. Nothing will happen except you’ll be standing there trying to reload while he’s madder than he was before. The extra charges are attached to the holster’s belt.”

“Great.” Block sounded disgusted. “Anything else I should know?”

“Certain materials will stop the electrical charge.”

“Like what?”

“Like a wet suit,” Sumner said.

Janklow hid a smile, while Block gave them both a long look.

“Sumner, give me your rifle,” Block demanded.

Sumner shook his head. “The Dragunov stays with me.”

Block pointed a finger at him. “Probably every one of those pirates will be wearing a wet suit as he climbs over the railing. You can’t keep that state-of-the-art weapon while you give your passengers these pieces of crap.”

Janklow knocked out another smoke. Before he lit it, he aimed it at Block. “Have you ever even shot a sniper rifle?”

Block looked outraged. “I can shoot anything you want to hand me, and that’s a fact.”

Janklow gave an incredulous laugh. “Texans. You guys are the biggest exaggerators in the world.”

Sumner started pacing again. Behind him he heard Janklow instructing Block on his patrol duties. Sumner turned a corner, and the only sound was the swell of the waves on the side of the boat.

But in the distance came the roar of a cigarette boat’s engine.

THE ASSISTANT TO THE UNDERSECRETARY FOR INTERNATIONAL
security policy and procedure called Banner at one o’clock in the morning. Banner noted the caller ID before he snatched the phone off his nightstand.

“Mr. Banner, we need you at Department of Defense headquarters immediately. There’s been a problem in—”

Banner interrupted her. “Don’t say it. My phones are tapped.”

The woman began coughing. While she did, Banner pulled an image of her up from memory. She was a mousy woman, about thirty years old. Nondescript brown hair, ill-fitting dark suits with button-down shirts and flat shoes. She was new, one of the few who had lasted longer than a quarter of a year, and for the life of him he couldn’t remember her name. She got hold of herself, and he heard her take a deep breath.

“Who’s tapping you?”

“Probably the FBI, but I can’t be positive.”

“Oh.” The woman sounded relieved. “The FBI is on our side.”

“You would think, but I’m not so sure. Best you wait to fill me in until I get there.”

“I’m using a secure phone and calling your secure line. A tap is unlikely. Are you always this cautious?”

Banner was up and rummaging through his dresser drawers, using his ear to hold the phone to his shoulder. “Yes. And really, aren’t you just a little bit impressed that I am?”

His joke was rewarded with a small laugh. “I guess I am. We’ll see you soon, then. And could you bring Major Stromeyer?”

Banner glanced again at the clock. He hated to bother Stromeyer unless it was urgent. No need for both of their nights to be ruined.

“Is it necessary? I could handle the meeting and let her sleep a little longer.”

The woman coughed again. Banner thought it was a nervous reaction. He rushed to reassure her.

“Is there a particular reason you want her there?” he asked.

“No, no, it’s just…” The woman trailed off.

“Go on.”

“It’s just that Major Stromeyer is so good at requisitions.”

Banner slid on a pair of pants and sat on the bed to put on his socks. “Major Stromeyer is
great
at requisitions,” he said. “I’ve often thought that Major Stromeyer could requisition a trip to the moon and do it in a way so that no one in the government would complain.”

The nervous assistant heaved a sigh. “I always get my paperwork wrong.”

Banner felt sorry for the young woman. Especially since she probably wouldn’t survive another month in the job.

“I’ll bring Major Stromeyer.” He rang off and called Stromeyer. When she answered in a voice filled with sleep, he almost regretted his promise. “Meeting at the DOD as soon as you can.”

She gave a small groan. “Is my presence required?”

“The assistant asked for you specifically. I forget her name. The mousy one.”

“Susan Plower.”

By now Banner had his shoes on, and one sleeve of his shirt. He headed to the door with the rest of the shirt hanging off him. He snagged his car keys from a leather tray that sat on a credenza near the front door of his town house.

“She says she’s bad at paperwork.”

“She’s terrible at paperwork. We’ll finish the meeting, and she’ll
get it wrong, and then Darkview won’t get paid for an additional six months while I straighten it all out. I’ll see you in twenty-five minutes.”

Banner walked into a DOD conference room populated with various personnel. They all looked relieved to see him, which should have made him feel good about himself but somehow only made him wary. Since Darkview specialized in missions to “hot” spots around the world, he wished someone would tell him which area had blown up. He didn’t have long to wait. He watched Stromeyer enter the room and, directly behind her, the new undersecretary for international security policy and procedure, Jonathan Rickell.

Banner didn’t know much about Rickell except that he’d been hired when the new administration took office and that he had a degree in international studies from the same Ivy League school the president had attended. About fifty years old, fit and balding, with shrewd eyes and a reputation for having an explosive temper, Rickell had been polite but distant the few times Banner had met him. Banner couldn’t get a handle on him.

Rickell waved them all into their seats. The Plower woman sat at his right. She glanced at Stromeyer before giving Banner a look filled with gratitude.

Rickell cleared his throat. “We’ve learned that the situation in Somalia has taken a sudden turn for the worse.”

Banner wanted to groan out loud. He hated Somalia. He currently had ten security contracts for shipping companies plying the Gulf of Aden trade route, but none for security within Somalia. It was one of the few places he tried to avoid sending Darkview personnel, despite the fact that Somali operations allowed for premium pricing based upon the extreme danger. There were two other companies in the contract security business that routinely handled matters there and made great profits doing so. Banner wondered why they weren’t represented at this meeting.

“Banner, I understand that you’ve been hired to protect some of
the ships using the trade route and may have an operative in the Indian Ocean as we speak.”

Stromeyer gave a little jerk next to Banner, revealing her surprise. Banner held still, but he felt the dread rising in him. No one, not even Rickell, should have known that Sumner was in the Indian Ocean. Whoever was tapping them must have leaked the information.

“I’m surprised to hear you say that. Where did you hear this?” Banner responded.

Rickell shrugged and turned to Plower. “Who told us that?”

Plower’s face took on a frantic look while she shuffled through a stack of papers in front of her. After an awkward silence, when it became clear to everyone in the room that she was unable to divine the answer from the documentation, Stromeyer reached across the table.

“Ms. Plower, why don’t you hand me the forms and I’ll look for the information while Secretary Rickell continues with the meeting.” Plower gave Stromeyer a relieved nod and shoved the papers at her.

“Well? Do you have an operative there?” Rickell asked.

“I may.” Banner wasn’t prepared to tell Rickell everything until he knew what had occurred.

“You may? If you don’t, I’ll use Synocorp. Your company is far too controversial at the moment. Last thing I need is Cooley questioning my choices.”

Banner kept his voice neutral. “Why don’t you tell me what’s happening, and I’ll tell you if Darkview can help.”

Rickell looked annoyed. “Here’s what’s happening: Three hours ago the USS
Redoubtable
answered a distress signal from a cruise ship headed to the Seychelles Islands. Seems they were under attack by pirates. While we are of course concerned about people on this ship, we are also deeply concerned about the international ramifications of intercepting the pirates without proper authority. As you know, the insurgents control most of Somalia as of last month, and they have instituted patrols along the edge of Somali territorial waters.”

“Who owns the ship?” Banner asked.

“It’s registered in Liberia, flies the Liberian flag, is operated by a German shipping conglomerate, and is owned by the Bermudan subsidiary of an American holding company. The passengers are tourists from ten different countries, including the U.S.”

“So who’s the lucky country that gets to intercept?”

Rickell shrugged. “None, or all of the above. The UN coalition forces have taken over patrolling the Gulf of Aden trade route, so the UN is first in line.”

“What have they done?”

Ms. Plower spoke up. “They’ve sent a strongly worded letter demanding the pirates cease and desist.”

“That’ll work.” Banner’s voice was dry.

“CTG 600 is in the area but under attack by another pirate cell, so it will be at least eighteen hours before they can address the problem.”

“Who insures the ship?” Stromeyer said.

“A Bermudan insurance company. They’ve indicated that they will pay a ransom immediately should the pirates successfully take the ship and passengers. They feel quite strongly that the pirates should not be provoked into escalating violence. Deaths would only result in lawsuits. But we need to mount some action, because we’re concerned about the cargo they’re carrying.”

“I thought you said it was a cruise ship, not a cargo ship,” Banner said.

“It’s both at the moment. It’s carrying both tourists and cargo.”

Rickell hesitated. Banner could see that he was weighing how much to tell about the incident. Banner decided to nudge him along.

“So what’s the cargo?”

Rickell sighed. “It’s carrying pharmaceutical supplies and vaccines.”

Stromeyer looked up from the paper in front of her. “Sounds harmless enough.”

Rickell shook his head. “We just received an intelligence report
claiming that hidden within the boxes marked ‘vaccines’ are two vials of ricin.”

Banner watched Plower’s mouth drop open.

“Is that a bomb?” she asked.

“It’s poison derived from the beans of a castor plant. Introduce it into the food supply and thousands could die.”

“And the boxes marked ‘pharmaceuticals’?” Stromeyer’s voice was shocked.

Rickell shifted in his seat. “We’re told they contain something more dangerous than ricin, but we were not informed of the exact nature of what’s inside. Seems no one, not even our source, is sure what’s in there.”

“Which company manufactured the vaccines?”

“Price Pharmaceuticals,” Plower said.

“Can they get us any closer? Is it chemical, mineral, explosive?” Banner asked.

“We think chemical. After all, chemical weapons are the future—everybody knows this.”

Banner was already planning the rescue. “You said the
Redoubtable
received the call. Can they intervene?”

Rickell shook his head. “They’re under attack from a small group of militants. I say small, but they’re well armed. The
Redoubtable
is holding its own, of course, but there’s no time to fight this battle and then get to the cruise ship.”

“Don’t you have some military in Djibouti? Why not have a guy parachute onto the ship?” Banner said.

“Our Djibouti team is training the African Union forces. When training’s done, it’s our hope that they will secure Mogadishu for the transitional government there.”

“How much of Mogadishu does the transitional government control? I thought it was quite small,” Stromeyer said.

“Three blocks,” Rickell replied. He sighed. “I know it sounds like an impossible task.”

Stromeyer shook her head. “Three blocks is more than most have been able to accomplish. Somalia’s government was too failed for even bin Laden to control. He left within a month. And that guy thinks living out of a cave is normal.”

“Where’s the cruise liner?” Banner said.

“Their radar is out. We’re not able to pinpoint their current location, but we think they were driven into Somali waters one hour ago, so we can’t fly into that area.”

Stromeyer’s head snapped up from the documentation in front of her. “Oh, yes, we can. We have a UN resolution that allows any rescue ship to continue pursuit into territorial waters. Somalia welcomed the help.”

Banner kept quiet and let Stromeyer handle the conversation. His men on Gulf of Aden security details were ordered to apprehend any crews that attempted to take one of his clients’ ships no matter where they were. They relied on the resolution when they chased pirates into the zone. Banner wasn’t about to let the criminals off simply because they crossed some invisible line.

Plower spoke up. “That was last month. Now the insurgents control entire swaths of Somalia. They just sent us a demand that the resolution be suspended. They’ve informed us that any ships crossing into their territory will be considered to be trespassers and fired upon.”

Banner snorted. “Tell them to go to hell. Make them back off long enough to get us to the cruise liner. If they knew what’s on it…”

“Under no circumstances must anyone in Somalia know what’s on that ship!” Rickell said. “If they did, it would be overrun with criminals all looking to get at the ricin. We must maintain complete silence on this and continue on as we would in any other similar situation. Follow usual channels.”

“And if the pirates successfully take the ship hostage?”

“Then we must guard the secret even more closely.”

Banner saw Rickell’s point. There was a good chance that even if
the pirates were successful, they might never give the vaccines a second look. Generally when attacking a ship, they took it to a nearby port, docked it, and offloaded the passengers. If the ship was still functioning, they used it until a ransom was paid. If not, they stripped it for parts and left it to rot. “What’s the name of the ship?” Banner slid a notepad closer to take the information. He’d break radio silence and let Sumner know to keep as far away as possible.

“It’s the
Kaiser Franz
out of Hamburg.”

This time Stromeyer stayed absolutely still. It was Banner who jerked in surprise.