Richard Johnson - Deadly Cargo - A Chilling Naval Terrorism Thriller

An ugly groan, deep and low, like the warning growl of a predatory beast about to attack, echoed from the trembling pile. Something shifted, but at first, Josh couldn’t tell if it was just the movement of the ship, or if the pile was edging sideways. He tugged at the rope, but it wouldn’t budge. “Slack!” he yelled, but the roar of the next wave sweeping over the bow drowned out his words. He tugged again, but the rope was tight as a steel bar. With daylight just a few feet ahead, he didn’t want to have to back forty feet through the tight tunnel to retrace his steps. His fingers whipped at the knot around his waist, tugging at the loop and the running end, and in a matter of seconds he had it undone. The ship rolled again, and the containers groaned, louder and closer this time.

Throwing himself forward, Josh scrambled for the daylight and caught his fingers around a door latch bar that was a perfect handhold. With all his strength, he pulled himself out of the tunnel and was instantly inundated as the next swell sent seawater exploding over the bow. With a sickening growl, the unstable pile of containers shifted under the weight of the flood, knocking him off his feet, and the tunnel he had just escaped from slammed shut like a giant trash compactor.

The containers were shifting, and steel walls pressed toward him. An open slot offered itself, and he dodged into its protective airspace. A sliding cargo box narrowly missed him as it gained speed and thundered into the box behind him. Together, the two containers shifted toward the edge of the ship, then stopped as the ship rolled to port on the crest of a swell as it passed beneath the hull.

Seconds later, Josh felt his feet going out from under him again as the ship dropped into the next trough, and the container behind him disappeared into the sea. Two more of the huge metal boxes rushed toward him, but then the ship rose on the next swell, and their momentum stopped.

I’ve got to get out of here!

There was nothing behind him now but air and the open sea, and the wind clutched at his clothes, tearing at him, dragging him toward the edge. Over his shoulder, he saw nothing but an endless series of foam-topped waves lining up to punish the ship. On the next roll of the ship, a container knocked free from the pile shoved its way toward him, and he had no place to go but to grab the latching handle and hang on. The hull rose on the next swell and the box stopped, but not until the end of it was cantilevered over the open sea, with Josh dangling by his fingers.

Below him, swells reached up to snatch at his legs. Into the next trough and over the following swell he held on, but his hands were weakening. He knew it was only a matter of time before he was swept away, plummeting along with the falling container. To his left, he spotted a container that was jammed tight in the stack, like a stuck puzzle piece. It was now or never. He jammed his toes onto a tiny ledge and heaved himself upward, throwing his left hand out to catch a knobby door hinge.

One inch at a time, he edged up and sideways until he could grip the corner of the cargo box with his left hand, then he waited for just the right moment. At the peak of the next crest, as the ship momentarily paused before falling off into the next trough, he let go his right hand, braced both against the corner and then threw himself out into space, hoping to come down on something solid.

From somewhere that sounded like the bowels of hell, the horrible noise of metal grinding against metal split the air. The containers shifted again, this time violently, and the one Josh had been clinging to moments before, slid over the edge and fell into the sea.

Regaining his feet, he clambered to the next container aft and to port, as far away from the starboard edge as he could move. Ahead of him, the rope dangled, and above it Romero stood watching.

“On belay!” Josh shouted as he grabbed the rope. “Haul me up!”

Romero grabbed rope, backed away, and the line shot upward. Josh gripped the rope with both hands, leaned back slightly, planted his feet and started climbing. When he reached the edge, he flattened his palms on the surface and pushed himself up and over. For a moment he lay on the platform breathing heavily, then he rolled over and looked at Romero.

“Did you find what you were looking for?” the crewman asked.

Josh grinned. “I found a whole new meaning to the concept of living on the edge. Other than that, no, I didn’t. Thanks for being here for me. Got kind of rough down there.”

Half an hour later, as the chopper lifted off, Josh placed a secure satellite call to Delamo. “It’s not onboard the Desdemonda. I went into the jaws of the monster looking for it, but it’s gone. What’s the news about Susan?”

“She’s out of surgery and in stable condition. There is hope that her eye will recover.” Delamo didn’t say anything more for a few seconds, giving Josh a moment to digest the good news.

Josh pressed back against the chopper’s seat, relieved to hear the positive prognosis “That’s the best thing I’ve heard all day. The rest of my life is in kind of a mess. Desdemonda lost a lot of containers over the past thirty hours or so; I’m thinking nine at least, but we’re not sure exactly how many yet. It’s going to take some crane work to straighten it all out so they can take inventory. These things could be spread out over a couple hundred thousand square miles of the southwest Caribbean. It’s going to take a major search effort.”

“It’s likely that some of them will sink, and we’ll never find them.”

“I know, but statistically some will stay afloat. And, personally, I’m not willing to bet the future of the United States on whether or not bravo, alpha, one, one, mike is going to be a sinker or a floater.”

“I agree. I’ll get some CIA assets in the air to augment the search already underway by the Coast Guard. You sound a little exhausted. I suggest you take a couple days off in exotic Colon. I’ll keep you posted about the search as it gets underway.”

“And about Susan?”

“Of course.”

Josh flipped the satphone antenna down, crossed his arms and laid his head back against the webbing of the seatback. His eyes drifted shut, and a moment later he was asleep, rocked comfortably by the movement of the helicopter, and droned into unconsciousness by the rhythm of engine and rotors. It wasn’t until they landed on the cutter, and he had to get off the chopper to follow safe refueling procedure, that he realized just how exhausted he was as he dragged himself up to the nav station.

The physical requirements of his work, he could handle. But the emotional stress of hearing about Susan’s injuries had knocked him down. He loved her, and he was sure she loved him. There was something in the way she looked at him, and he wanted to see that again. As he stood gazing out over the fueling platform and drinking a cup of coffee, he thought how ridiculous it was for them to play this silly game. When I see her again, I’m going to tell her what I’ve been meaning to say all these years.

He finished the drink and reached to toss the foam cup in the trash bin when he heard the first low whump . “Get down,” someone yelled, and he instinctively hit the floor just as a yellow ball of flame filled the windows and he heard the distinctive sound of a ship’s siren.

When he came to, Husam al Din couldn’t tell exactly where he was, except that it was dark and he was pinned under something heavy and soft. Gradually his head cleared, and he backtracked through his mind, trying to figure things out. He wasn’t sure how long he had been unconscious, but the lights inside his brain were only slowly coming back on. The last memory he came up with was of being inside a trailer, sealed in a cargo container on a ship named Desdemonda, on his way to Miami to deploy a biological weapon of mass destruction.