Gitmo getaway, p.21
Gitmo Getaway, page 21
Will was the small boat expert, and he gazed along the long lines of moored craft until he fixed his gaze on a sleek craft, lying two hundred meters from where they were standing.
"She's an Avanti, twin high-performance diesels. They call them 'cigarette boats' in some parts. Smugglers use 'em for bringing in tobacco, places like Spain and parts of North Africa. Some of the South Americans use them as well. They can pick up a cargo offshore and run it into the beach before the Coasties get a look in."
"Exactly what the terrorists are planning," Nolan added, "They could even be using one of those."
"It's possible," Will acknowledged, "I'll go out and look it over. You'd better keep an eye out for security guards. There's sure to be someone watching several billion dollars worth of small craft."
He ran out on the pontoon and pulled off the canvas cover. He disappeared inside for a few minutes and then waved to them. They had a boat. Vega picked up the canvas holdall with their assault rifles, and they joined him in the cockpit where he was checking out the controls and fuel systems.
"How does it look?" Nolan asked him, "Will it do?"
He smiled. "Oh yeah, it'll do. This baby'll hit fifty knots, maybe more. Fuel tanks are full, and I've removed the immobilizer. As soon as we're ready to go, I reckon she'll start on the button."
He checked his wristwatch. 0430, too early, but they had to clear the harbor before dawn when someone may notice the boat was missing. Then again, the decks were smeared with grime and bird shit, so the boat hadn't been moved for some time. There was a good chance it would go unreported.
"Start her up. We'll cast off and head out to sea. We've plenty of time, so we can tool around in international waters, and who knows, we might hit lucky and see this Iranian ship sooner rather than later. That would give us time to prepare, and you never know; we might even be able to hit them as they are putting the powerboat in the water. A few clips from the AKs should do it."
Will punched the start buttons, and the big turbo diesels rumbled into life. Vega and Eva cast off the bow and stern lines, and they eased away from the pontoon. They passed Floyd Bennett Field, and the streamlined craft began to pitch and roll in the waves as they neared open sea. He picked up speed. They passed Breezy Point Tip and headed out into the ocean.
The storm that had devastated the Gulf of Mexico and the Caribbean hadn't reached the North East shore, and the stiff breeze was well inside the limits of the vessel. Will opened up the throttles, and soon they were skimming the waves, heading east to start the search.
It was full daylight by 0600, and he throttled back to conserve fuel. It was a simple task of cruising up and down as if they were on a pleasure trip, while keeping their eyes skinned for the Iranian. Vega took out his binoculars and began quartering the horizon, searching for the ship.
At 1000, he started to calculate the likely timescale. The President was due to step onto the island at midday, 1200 hours. It was likely the attack would begin sometime after 1145. They wouldn't want to arouse suspicions until the last moment, which meant they had a little more than an hour and a half to locate the target. Any more would be too late. He turned to Will, who was looking closely at the gages.
"We don't have too much time, ninety minutes maximum. If we haven't found them by then, it's a bust."
The other man considered for a few moments. "Chief, there is another possibility. You could use the satphone, and try and get someone to listen."
"Like who? Remember, we're wanted men. Who is going to take any notice of anything we say?"
The big black Petty Officer nodded. "Yeah, that's right. What about Brooks? I know he's under arrest, but he may be able to do something."
Nolan started to reply when the satphone began to chirp. As he went to answer it, he said, "That could be Evers. Maybe he has some news."
He looked at the calling number display and to his astonishment it was Brooks. He grinned at Will. "I reckon you must be psychic."
He hit the button, and the call connected. "Nolan, nice to hear from you, Admiral. Any news?"
"That's why I called, Chief. Any progress."
He gave Brooks a quick rundown of where they were and what they planned. As he was speaking, he didn't need Brooks to point out the weaknesses.
"If you miss this ship, you're done for. It's all for nothing."
"Yes, Sir, but I'm sure we won't miss it."
"You have radar?"
"We do, but all it shows is how many ships there are in the vicinity. We can't check them all, only the vessels closest to the mouth of the Hudson River."
"Give me a half hour. I'll see what I can do."
He ended the call, and Nolan was listening to an empty line. He hung up.
"Brooks is going to see if he can locate it. I guess he has plenty of contacts in the US Coastguards. They're sure to be watching an Iranian flagged vessel lying just outside US waters."
"You'd better hope so. We don't have a great deal of gas."
"Gas? I thought the tanks were full."
"They were when we left the dock, but we've used most of our fuel. If it comes to a chase, we’ll be running on fumes. We need to keep our speed down, at least for now."
"Which means we won't be able to widen the search area."
Will shrugged. "If we do, we'll be paddling back to the shore."
"Roger that. Do your best, and make sure we have enough reserve to go after them when we find them."
As he turned away, he heard Will mutter, "If we find them."
A few minutes later, it started to rain, and the wind picked up. Visibility was reduced to a few hundred meters, and with no canopy on the Avanti, they were soon soaking wet and cold. The time was 1100, and still no sign of the Iranian, and no call from Brooks. He looked at Will.
"I'm wondering if we should head inshore and stake out the mouth of the Hudson. Somewhere near the Verrazano-Narrows Bridge."
"They'll be putting every vessel in that area under the microscope. While they stop us to check our IDs, the enemy could come straight past, and there'd be no way of stopping them."
He nodded. "Keep looking. Any of you men see anything yet?"
"Nothing."
John-Wesley was silent and morose.
I guess he's thinking about wading through the blood of the enemy.
For the fiftieth time, he checked his wristwatch, 1105.
If we don't get a lead in the next few minutes, it'll be too late. We've lost.
The satphone chirped. His spirits leapt, and he hit the connect button.
"Admiral?"
"No, this is Evers. We're in Battery Park. The place is so crowded you wouldn't believe it. There's nothing to report, how about you?"
"We're still looking. Clear the line, Danny. I'm waiting for a call from Admiral Brooks."
"Roger that."
At 1120, another call came in. This time it was Brooks.
"I found them. Copy these coordinates. She's four miles offshore, directly opposite the mouth of the Hudson."
He memorized the location of the Iranian vessel. "One moment, Admiral. I'll pass it to Will." He read of the numbers, and Will punched them into the navigational system.
"How's everything going with you?"
"Ask me in an hour, when it's all over. If everything goes wrong, you'll see it on CNN."
"The hell with that, I'll see it live. I managed to persuade them to let me come out to the United States Coast Guard Station on Staten Island."
"You're in New York?"
"Damn right. They used the computers in here to track that ship. That's how I was able to get the location. I'm still trying to find someone who'll listen to me about the likelihood of a terrorist attack. So far, it's a no go. No one believes it. They say the Hudson has been cleared of all traffic, and the possibility of a seaborne attack is zero. Their experts predict the only possibility of attacking Liberty Island is by air, and they have just about every fighter interceptor and missile battery on full alert."
"Which is damn useless for the kind of attack we're facing."
"I know that, you know that. The problem is convincing them. It's down to you, Chief Nolan. You have the location of that ship. Go there, and the moment you see those terrorists, you know what to do."
The call ended, and for some reason, he felt a whole lot better knowing Brooks was in the vicinity. Will was already speeding toward the coordinates he'd given them.
"About three minutes, no more. You want me to stand-off until we see something going down?"
"Right. We can't attack a cargo vessel, so we have to wait until they launch the powerboat. Try and look innocent, guys, until we see it in the water."
They skimmed through the waves, making thirty knots, not so fast as to attract attention. Soon, the vessel came into view. Vega surveyed her through his binoculars.
"She's named the MV Rezam, out of Bandar Imam Khomeini. I can see activity on the deck. They're stripping the canvas cover off something. It's a powerboat. This is it!"
As they watched, crewmen snapped cables from a derrick to the craft, and a bunch of men climbed aboard. Then they raised it from the deck, over the side, and lowered it down to the waterline. The boat was long, very long, and looked very fast. It was packed with men. They counted seven or eight of them, and two of them edged forward to disconnect the cables. Another man was at the helm, waiting to start the engines.
"Jesus, look at that thing," Eva exclaimed, "It looks like it could go into orbit."
"I've got bad news," Will murmured, "That boat. She's an H&Z. She's fast."
"How fast?"
He pondered. "Eighty knots, maybe ninety."
"Shit! This bucket is good for no more than fifty, is that right?"
"Correct. We only have one factor in our favor. Can they drive that boat? The crosswinds and currents off the headland are a bitch. If this wind picks up any more, they'll find it a struggle to keep on an even keel, but only until they reach the Hudson. In sheltered waters, they can open her up and go like a bat out of hell."
"Our best shot is to go in and sink her right now." He looked around at his team. Will, waiting for the order to zoom in to attack, one hand on the wheel, the other on the throttles, waiting to jam them forward to the stops. Vega clutched his AK-47, his expression calm and watchful. Eva had her Tokarev in her right hand and the assault rifle held low.
It's now or never. One shot, once chance to finish it.
"Boss, what's going on over there? It looks like they having a disagreement. One of them's pulled a gun. No wait, two more are holding pistols. What do you think it means?"
"I don't have a clue, and I don't care. If they kill a couple of their own people, it'll save us the trouble. Let's go kick their sorry asses."
* * *
Nasriri climbed to his feet. They'd completed their final prayers and dedicated the remaining minutes of their lives to Allah. He'd noticed Hakim was lukewarm in his responses and wondered if he was having second thoughts.
He felt a flush of anger. Their odyssey had taken them from Guantanamo Bay, across Cuba, Mexico, and the United States. They were almost there, about to strike a blow for Islam that would reverberate around the world. There was no way he'd allow a creep like Baba to interfere. Hakim was looking away from him, so he checked the butt of his pistol, tucked inside his waistband. There was an easy way to deal with traitors.
They shook hands with each other, wishing themselves good fortune in Paradise. All except Hakim, who ignored the proffered hand. Instead, he glared at Nasriri.
You fool. If you're planning something, you shouldn't be so obvious.
It was the Chinese philosopher who stated, 'keep your friends close keep your enemies close.' Sage advice, but sadly too late for Hakim. He pretended to ignore the other man's hostility.
"My brothers, it is time to go."
They walked up on deck and watched the crew uncover the powerboat, and then connect the cables to the deck cranes.
Nasriri indicated they should board the craft before it went into the water. He held up his hand, smiling almost like a tour guide. "Please, go aboard."
They crouched inside the crowded cockpit of the strange craft, and Abu Bakr pressed the button to start the engines. They came to life immediately and throbbed with a throaty roar. The exhausts gurgled beneath the waterline, and the men looked at the vehicle that would carry them to their deaths and to the glories of Paradise. A waterborne, motorized coffin.
He watched Hakim carefully. He'd seen the brief flicker of hate in his eyes and was waiting for him to make his move. The hand dived underneath his coat, and Nasriri moved like a striking snake. It was too crowded, too difficult to reach his knife, but he had an assault rifle in his hands, the only one in the boat. He'd arranged it that way. Nasriri raised the AK-47, squeezed the trigger, and fired in one swift, smooth, practiced movement. He kept his finger on the trigger, and his fellow martyrs dived to the deck for cover from the hail of lead that spewed out of his smoking barrel.
Hakim squeezed off a shot, and it split the windshield of the boat, leaving it cracked and starred, but it missed its target. Nasriri didn't miss, couldn't miss, not when he'd emptied most of a thirty-round magazine into his attacker. Hakim's body jerked and shook as the heavy slugs smashed into his body. The lead tore through vital organs and limbs. Two bullets impacted his head, tearing it to bloody mush. His body slumped over the side of the boat, lifeless. The other men finally looked up as the firing stopped.
"Omar, what happened?" Abu had twisted round from the wheel to stare in astonishment at the carnage.
"The bastard tried to kill me," he shouted, his body fired up with adrenaline, as it always was after a near brush with death, "He went the way of all enemies of Islam."
"And Wasef? Him too?"
Nasriri lowered his gaze and saw the body lying in the bottom of the boat. Wasef Bakhtari, one of their older fighters, a taxi driver from Jalalabad, lay dead.
"I wasn't aiming at him."
"It was a ricochet," Hosni Sadat said, his voice bitter, "He was just in the wrong place at the wrong time."
There was silence in the cockpit as they considered the tragedy. It was a disaster for Wasef. He'd been one of the dedicated soldiers of Allah, determined to demonstrate his faith by becoming a shaheed.
"His body must go back aboard the ship for a proper burial," Abu said quietly, "It is the least we can do for him."
"No!" Nasriri glared at them, "There is no time. Toss the bodies into the sea. It is time to go to our martyrdom. We cannot wait any longer."
"But..."
"Over the side. Now!"
They hesitated a few moments and then obeyed. Both bodies slid into the water. Hakim's disappeared almost immediately, but Wasef's floated close to the boat, like an accusation, a stark reminder to them all of what they faced. Abu stared at it for a few moments, appalled by the enormity of leaving a comrade in such an undignified way. It was contrary to all the laws of Islam.
Yet what can we do?
He gazed beyond the body, looking further inshore, and it was then he saw the boat.
"Omar! There is a boat there. I don't like the look of it."
Nasriri followed his pointing finger. It looked fast, and he could see the men on board. Yet it wasn't a coastguard or police vessel.
Is it coincidence it is out here? Maybe they are just fishing, but it's a lot of boat just to catch your dinner.
He nodded to Bakr. "Start moving toward the shore, and keep an eye on it. If it follows us, lose it. They told us there is no boat can catch us, so if they look to be a threat, use the speed and lose them."
"Yes, Omar."
He engaged the forward gear and pushed the throttles forward. The boat moved away in a surge of power that caught them by surprise and threw them backward.
"Careful," he snarled.
"Sorry, Omar. I'm not used to it."
He looked at the speed indicator. They were moving at twenty knots, skimming across the surface. It was exhilarating, yet at the same time precarious, as if at any time they could hit a wave and tip over. He throttled back to fifteen knots and looked across at the other boat. It was moving toward them.
"Faster, you damn fool!" Nasriri cursed, "Don't slow down. You must go faster! Quickly, head straight to the Hudson River. It is time for our martyrdom. The moment is here, my brothers. Nothing can stop us."
They held on grimly as Bakr pushed the throttle forward, and the boat picked up speed. It was like riding a rollercoaster; the digital indicator hit twenty, thirty, forty, and then fifty knots. He gripped the wheel, knowing both fear and excitement. Nothing could stop them, nothing!
They were on their way to Paradise.
Chapter Twelve
She smiled at Clay. He was staring at Liberty Island through binoculars. The President's yacht was approaching, and the crowds buzzed with excitement. He took his eyes from them and looked at her.
"You want to take a look?"
"Gee, thanks, Clay."
"No sweat. I'm going to the hot dog stand. I'm starving. You want one?"
"No, I'm okay, thanks."
They exchanged smiles, and she put the glasses to her eyes. President Anderson came into view. He was steering the slow-moving yacht toward the dock. He was about five hundred yards away; a few minutes and he'd step ashore. Even though she wasn't an American, she felt proud of this moment, proud of what it stood for, freedom, the rule of law and democracy. She could only pray they'd grant her citizenship so she could become a part of this. In addition, that she'd live long enough to enjoy it.
Her purse was heavy on her shoulder, but the knowledge the tiny .357 H&K automatic was inside reassured her. She started to pan the binoculars around, enjoying the color and excitement of the crowd. Balloon sellers, ice creams, hot dogs, and then her blood ran cold.
Hidalgo. He’s here. He must be following me. I have to get away. Where’s Clay?
She moved the glasses again, but then she saw him and felt alarmed. He was moving toward Hidalgo. Did the Colombian assassin know who he was? Then she felt her legs buckle. Clay walked straight up to Montez's hit man, and they shook hands. She was shaking and lost the image as the binoculars moved in her hands. She nearly dropped them but recovered. She found them again, and as she watched the two men, she had a blaze of realization. They looked similar, so similar they could even be related.
