Richard Johnson - Deadly Cargo - A Chilling Naval Terrorism Thriller

“Good. I’ve talked to him, as well. He was the one I contacted while you were on your way from Manila. You know the drill. Let the guys backing you up know that you’re looking for one guy in a container and that he might need to be shot dead on your signal. That’s all. Can’t have this info leaking out.”

Josh had his stuff in hand and closed the door to his room. On the run down the hall toward the elevator, he signed off. “Got it. I’m gone.”

“Godspeed,” Curt said.

“Thanks man.” Josh flipped the cell shut and tucked it in his pants pocket, pushed through the lobby door and hailed a cab.

Captain Pfister was at the guard gate when the cab arrived. Josh stepped out, paid the cabbie, then he and Pfister walked quickly toward a Coast Guard staff car that was waiting to take them to the airfield. As they approached, the driver snapped a salute, and Pfister returned it, then ducked through the door that was being held open for him. Josh followed, and the door was shut behind him. Finally he had a chance to ask the questions that were circling his mind like buzzards over a wounded beast since receiving the call half an hour earlier. “How did you find the ship? What condition is it in?”

Pfister held up a hand. “One at a time. First, we didn’t find her. One of the hurricane hunter C-130s passed over her about an hour ago while on routine patrol in the wake of Yolanda. One of the crew was shooting digital aerial photos, and when he reviewed the images, he saw what looked like part of a container ship peeking out from under a cloud band. It was just a corner of the ship, but we had alerted all aircraft to be on the hunt, so he called us immediately.”

A pleased look crossed Josh’s face. “Good work.”

“Sometimes we get it right,” Pfister said. “Anyway, we ordered a fly-by and more photos. This is what I’ve got,” he handed a folder to Josh, “these will help answer your second question about her condition. What you see here is all we know so far.”

Josh opened the folder and pulled out a stack of 8x10 images printed on glossy photo paper. Sent from the computer aboard the C-130 to the computer at the Coast Guard station, they were only minutes older than real-time. “Excellent,” Josh whispered as he flipped through the images. “How far out is she? And how did she get lost from all contact?”

“You are the master of follow-up questions, aren’t you?”

“Sorry. One at a time, I know.”

Pfister chuckled. “Well, I shouldn’t be so hard on you. I need to remember that you’re only a civilian.”

“Oh, that was a nasty dig,” Josh shot back. “I’m only sort of civilian. I’m in the intel business, and I get anxious to have it all at once.”

“I understand. Well, to answer your first question, she’s about 320 miles from here. We’ll need to do a refuel aboard a cutter with a helo platform mid-way. The HH-65A doesn’t have the range for an out and back without a pit-stop going each way.”

Josh tucked the photos back in the folder. “How’d she drop off the chart?”

“From the look of the antenna array on top of the bridge, I’d say she got pretty badly torn up by the storm, which is why we could not make radio contact. Our radar from ground stations doesn’t reach much beyond the horizon, so once the storm hit and we grounded all our airborne radar assets from flying near Yolanda, there was no way we could see the ship.”

“What about the EPIRB?”

“It’s only speculation, but either someone onboard thought it was time to activate the distress signal, so that if the ship went down we would have her GPS coordinates for SAR, or one of the units got knocked overboard. These devices are engineered to float free of a sinking ship, activate itself and then float on the surface so it can keep sending a GPS and ship identification signal to the satellite system. A container ship the size of Desdemonda has several of these in brackets positioned around the outside of the bridge.”

The lengthy explanation made Josh smile. “I know,” he said. “I carry a mini PLB. Same thing, almost. Except it doesn’t float free and turn itself on if I sink.”

The car rolled to a stop. In the background, the sound of rotors and the whine of a jet helicopter engine could be heard. Captain Pfister opened the door. “We’re here.”

Fifty-one miles out of the San Blas Islands

“I’ve got an idea.” Nicole Plover spread a chart of the western Caribbean across the dinette table in front of Cadee and Jacob. “We’re right about here.” She pointed to an empty spot of blue half an inch north of the San Blas Islands. “We’ll be passing by these islands in a couple of days.” Her finger traced an imaginary line between Honduras and some dots of brown surrounded by blue. “Maybe we can visit some of those islands, buy postcards and send them back to Maria Elena and Kirsten. What do you say?”

“You’re just saying that to cheer us up, right?” Jacob, still in his pajamas, had a dour look on his face. After helping hoist anchor at dawn, he’d gone back to bed and slept until now. He didn’t bother to comb his hair before coming to the main salon, and it was the worst that Nicole could remember since they arrived in the San Blas months earlier. Of course, she reminded herself, he never used to comb his hair in the morning until he met Kirsten. The thought made her chuckle.

“No,” – her mind returned from its muse about Jacob’s hair – “I was just thinking that it would be nice to stay in touch with our friends.”

“Did I hear somebody say something about touching?” Dan bounded through the cabin door, the autopilot remote control in his hand and an oversized smile that bordered on being a mischievous grin. He slid into the dinette seat beside Jacob, intentionally crowding his son, swarming over him with a hug. “I’m here to touch someone, and I’m starting with you, little buddy.”

“Ah dad,” Jacob protested, trying unsuccessfully to shove his dad away. “You’re not exactly what I was hoping to hug today.”

Dan jumped back. “Ooh!” He feigned surprise with wide eyes and brows raised. “Not soft enough for you, huh?”

Dan moved on to Cadee, swallowing her up in a bear hug. “And how are you this morning, my little angel?”

“I decided to be happy,” Cadee said. “But I sure do miss Maria Elena.”

“I know, honey,” Dan consoled her, “but you’ve still got me.”

Cadee put her arms around her dad’s neck and kissed his cheek. “I love you, dad. You’re the best.”

“Spread the word,” Dan chirped. “I don’t think this guy over here believes it.”

Jacob sat up, put his elbows on the table and rested his face in his hands. “Yeah, I do. You’re the best dad there ever was. You’re just not much of a girlfriend.”

Dan slid in beside his son. “Man, I’m glad to hear you say that. Girls come and girls go, but of dads you have just one.”

“Hey,” Nicole said. “Watch it. Some girls come and don’t go. Some stick around forever.”

“Yes, and I am lucky for that.” Dan reached across the table and took Nicole by the hand. “Forever sounds good enough for me.”

Jacob took his face out of his hands. “Dad, all I want is to be as lucky as you are.”

For the first time, Dan realized that his son was growing up fast. Too fast. It wouldn’t be long before Jake was looking for the love of his life. He was a thoughtful and tenderhearted young man, and if Kirsten were the right gal for him, who was Dan to throw up roadblocks or to tease his son about it?

He reached for Jacob’s hand and gave it a squeeze. “Sorry, son. Didn’t mean to make light of something so important to you. Will you let me off the hook this time, kind of like catch-and-release fishing?”