Nelson Demille - Radiant Angel

I said to Conte, “Let’s check this out.”

“Right.” He fired up both engines and reminded us, “We are relying on choppers in the harbor, and almost all the security vessels on this operation are blocking The Narrows or are on the Hudson and East Rivers — so it appears on radar that we are the only sea vessel in this immediate area.”

“Our lucky day.” I pictured in my mind the Google Earth image and said, “Buttermilk Channel is the most direct route from the Thirtieth Street Pier to the tip of Manhattan.”

Conte turned the SAFE boat and headed for the mouth of Buttermilk Channel, which ran between Governors Island and the Brooklyn waterfront. If the radar blip was The Hana , Petrov would be heading toward us from the opposite direction.

As we approached the mouth of Buttermilk Channel, Conte called out to us, “I see it on radar — target is gaining speed... on a course for Buttermilk.”

Tess knelt on the bow of the SAFE boat, staring straight ahead. She glanced at me and I put my hand on her shoulder. “If this is him,” I said, “he won’t detonate in this enclosed channel.”

She nodded.

The SAFE boat continued at about twenty knots through the channel, which was widening as it neared the end of Governors Island.

Ahead was a gray wall of fog spanning the thousand-foot opening to the channel, and as we approached, the huge bow of a gleaming white ship suddenly cleaved through the fog bank, followed by the rest of the towering ship, coming straight at us.

We had found The Hana .

We were on a collision course with the ship and Conte cut hard to starboard. Tess and I flattened ourselves on the bow and clung to the rail as the SAFE boat heeled sharply to the right. I yelled into the cabin, “Come around!”

Conte continued his turn and within a minute we were behind The Hana , which was making about ten knots as it continued through the channel toward Manhattan Island. We closed the distance quickly, though we were now riding in the big ship’s wake and bouncing badly.

I shouted to Conte and Andersson, “I’m going to board!”

They both acknowledged and Conte increased his speed.

Tess said, “ We are going to board.”

Right.

We were less than twenty feet from The Hana ’s stern and I got up on one knee, holding on to the rail and calculating my jump from the bow to The Hana ’s swimming platform. My float coat was heavy, but it might come in handy if I misjudged.

As we got closer, I could see the glass doors at the far side of the swimming platform, which I assumed were locked. Every police vehicle carries a Halligan tool — a multi-purpose crowbar to pry open doors and smash glass — and I called into the cabin, “You got a Halligan?”

“Right here!” said Andersson, and she passed me the tool through the open windshield.

She also grabbed a bulletproof vest and an MP5 submachine gun with an extra magazine and passed them to me. I flung the vest to Tess and aimed the MP5 at The Hana . I fully expected hostile fire from the yacht, but I couldn’t see anyone on the darkened ship. I wanted to think that Petrov and his pals didn’t know they were about to be boarded, but whoever was captaining this ship must be watching us on their rear video camera.

The bow of the SAFE boat was a few feet from the swimming platform, and as I waited for the bow to drop, I called to Tess, “Cover me!”

“No, you cover me .” She stood, flung the Kevlar vest onto the swimming platform, then jumped.

I called into the cabin, “When I jump, get out of here!”

Conte called back, “Good luck!”

I slung the MP5 over my shoulder, and as the bow dropped again I saw Tess kneeling on the platform, gun drawn, facing the doors. My turn. I might get shot, but I wouldn’t drown. I jumped and hit the wooden platform and shoulder-rolled toward the glass doors, then sprang to my feet and swung the Halligan tool at the door, but the security glass didn’t shatter. I thrust the tapered end of the Halligan between the double doors, rotated the tool inward, and the door popped open. I drew my Glock and dropped to one knee, then glanced over my shoulder and saw the SAFE boat heading south, out of the harbor. We were on our own.

Tess came up beside me carrying the bulletproof vest and I said, “Put it on.”

“Swap you the vest for the MP5.”

“Put it on !”

She slipped off her float coat and put on the vest, and we scanned the interior of the ship.

This was the float-in tender garage and I saw that it was indeed flooded, and it took me a second to realize that the source of the illumination was underwater lights. To the left and right were staircases that rose to the main deck, and also to the left was a catwalk running along the hull connecting the two docks. At the closest dock I could see the amphibious craft that I last saw heading out to sea with Petrov and his friends. Well, we were on the right boat.

We moved in a crouch farther into the ship. Across the flooded garage, near the opposite dock, I noticed something dark under the water, and as my eyes adjusted to the light I recognized it as a submerged boat. I whispered to Tess, “You got that PRD?” She took the radiation detector from her pocket and I could hear a faint beep, followed by another, and I saw the red light flash intermittently, indicating a weak reading, which I’d expect if the nuke was submerged and had a lead shield. So there was little doubt in my mind that we were in the presence of a radiant angel.

Tess said, “That’s got to be it. But how do we—?”

“Get down!”

We dropped into a prone position and I pointed my Glock at where I’d seen movement on the opposite dock.

A man was sitting on the dock with his legs dangling over the side, and even in the dim light I recognized him as Arkady Urmanov.

Tess and I exchanged glances, but before we could decide on our next move, Urmanov called out, “Help me!”

That wasn’t what I expected to hear, but I replied, “Okay. Where—?”

“I am tied. You must free me.”

So if I could figure this out, Urmanov had done his job of arming the device and he was now one witness too many, and for some sick reason Petrov decided that Urmanov should die by his own creation. Petrov was a tough boss.

“You must pump out the water! To your left. On the walkway. The switches for the pump.”

I looked at the catwalk and I could see control panels on the hull.

“Untie me!”

One thing at a time, pal. I said to Tess, “Stay here and cover.”

She got into a kneeling position, and I rose to one knee and was about to make a dash for the catwalk, but another movement caught my eye. The door on the far side of the tender garage had swung open, and I saw a figure crouched in front of the door. But before I could swing my Glock toward the figure, I saw muzzle flashes, but heard no sound. Well, I know a silenced weapon when I don’t hear one, and I hit the deck and shouted to Tess, “Down!”

Arkady Urmanov let out a loud cry, followed by a moan.

I aimed my Glock at the place where I’d seen the flash of the automatic weapon and popped off five rounds, which echoed in the huge space.

Tess did the same, and we rolled away from our firing positions and popped off the rest of our magazines, then rolled again as we reloaded.

There was no flash of return fire, so whoever was shooting was not giving away his position. Or maybe we hit him. I glanced at Urmanov across the flooded garage, and I could see that he was slumped forward. I was pretty sure he was dead, and so were my chances of Urmanov disarming the bomb.

Tess was about twenty feet away, flat against the deck, pointing her Glock downrange, but maintaining fire discipline until a target presented itself, as was the guy who shot at us. Petrov? Gorsky? In either case, they were both trained killers, and killers know when to play dead. Meanwhile, the nuke was sitting about thirty feet away in a sunken boat that I could see but couldn’t get to. And I was sure the timer was no longer set for 8:46 A.M.