Dana Stabenow - Prepared For Rage

He kept moving.

CIC

"How far offshore are we?" Two miles.

"Range is what, six miles?"

"About."

"Good."

OS2 Riley's hands worked the controls nimbly, although they were shaking. "There. Target is acquired, and the automatic tracking is engaged."

When Akil didn't reply, Riley said more insistently, "We're done here. So long as your guys got the ammunition in the right holes, it's all up to the machines."

"Yes," Akil said, "it is. Stand away from the controls, please."

Riley rose to his feet, a sickly expression on his face. "I've done everything you want, everything you asked me to do."

"And you were well paid for your efforts," Akil said. "At least your family will suffer no needless privation from your death," and he shot him, once. A third eye appeared between Riley's eyebrows. He fell back without another sound, eyes wide open and staring at the bulkhead above.

"I'm sorry, but I never trust a traitor," Akil told him, and left CIC without haste, disabling the lock before he pulled the door shut behind him.

MIAMI

Patrick was almost weeping. "Sir, I am telling you. Isa is at this moment attempting to hijack a United States Coast Guard cutter off the coast of Florida."

It had taken an interminable half an hour to track down Kallendorf's location, and another ten minutes to pry the phone number out of directory assistance. For a spy agency, Patrick thought bitterly, we're just not very damn good, are we?

Melanie was a warm presence against his side, her hand cupping the back of his neck, her eyes loving and concerned. While he'd been waiting on Kallendorf, he'd used the hotel phone to call the local authorities. The problem was he didn't have a working relationship with anyone in Miami, except for a bored third-class detective down at Metro Dade who had long since packed it in for the night. He'd called the Pentagon. They'd promised to call him back right away. He was still waiting.

He'd woken Melanie in the mad scrabble for his cell phone. He couldn't use the hotel phone, not for something like this, it wasn't secure. He'd finally found his cell behind the nightstand when he called the number on the hotel phone and it went off. He must have kicked it there when he and Melanie-

"Patrick, what have you been smoking? I haven't heard of anything like this in the wind, and you just admitted, neither have you. Do you really think even your pet terrorist could pull something like this off without leaking a whisper of it to someone?"

"If anyone could, Isa could, sir."

"Patrick, look, I think maybe you've been working a little too hard. Why don't you take some time, catch some sun and sand and-"

"Goddammit!" Patrick said, surging to his feet.

Melanie flinched away from the bellow, crouched on the bed, staring up at him in alarm and not a little wonder.

"Why, Patrick," Kallendorf said, "I didn't know you had it in you."

"Sir, this is no time for your adolescent jokes. If you don't call the Coast Guard right now, I swear to God I'm calling the White House! I'll go over your head, sir, I sure as hell will! I'm telling you Isa is hijacking a Coast Guard cutter even as we speak, so he can use one of its weapons to take down the space shuttle! They're minutes away from launching, sir, minutes! Do you really want to go down in history as the CIA director who fiddled while the enemy blew up the most iconic symbol of American might and power ever? Do you?"

ON BOARD SHUTTLE ENDEAVOUR

"T minus ten."

Ten minutes to launch. Still wearing dry pants. Still with her heart beating faster than any human heart ever had. In twenty minutes she could be in space. Correction. In twenty minutes she would be in space.

ON BOARD USCG CUTTER MUNRO

There couldn't be that many of them if they'd all fit into Mun 1 on the way over. He could raise a hue and cry and alert his crew.

But none of his crew were at present armed. He thought of Myers. The terrorists were.

He looked at his watch. Ten minutes to launch. Nine.

He swung around the foot of the stairs and diverted momentarily to put his head into the chief's mess. No one there, either. He wanted GMC and he wanted him now, but GMC was on liberty. He stepped back and turned to head for the door to the main deck and crashed into someone coming from the opposite direction.

There was a clang of metal dropped on metal followed by a curse not spoken in English. Going on instinct Cal hit out blindly, his right hand connecting with someone's belly. He shoved him out of the way and went scrabbling about the floor looking for what the man had dropped. A foot connected solidly with his side and he grunted. His hand touched the butt of a pistol and he snatched it up and brought it to bear. His finger was squeezing the trigger when the same foot came out of nowhere and kicked it out of his hand.

His hand went instantly numb. He dropped the weapon.

The pistol clanged off down the passageway. The other man went after it. Cal went for the door, got it open in record time, and tumbled out on the main deck. He hotfooted it to the forward stairs and pelted up to the boat deck. Behind him he heard running footsteps. They hit the stairs. He ran aft, making sure his own footsteps hit the deck loudly enough to be heard, ducking out of the way of the Darwin sorter.

As he had hoped, his pursuer was not so lucky. He hit the Darwin sorter at full throttle and from the sound of it laid himself flat out on the deck. Cal didn't stop to check, didn't try to find the pistol in the dark, he kept going until he got to the forward door of the hangar, worked the lever, and got inside, pulling it shut behind him.

"Captain?"

He jumped about a foot. "Jesus!" he said, peering through the dark. "Who's that?"

"Noyes."

The aviator. "What are you doing here?"

"I was in the av shack, getting another pair of binoculars. I heard some funny noises and I came to check. What's going on?"

"We got some bad guys on board, trying to shoot down the space shut-tie, I think."

There was a startled silence.

"No, I'm not kidding," Cal said fiercely, "and this is not a drill."

Recovering, Noyes said, "How the hell did they get on board?"

"There was a freighter-never mind that now. I don't know how many of them there are, ten or twelve, I think, but they've got the bridge and CIC and I'd guess Main Control, too. All our communications are out, I can't yell for help."

He spun around and felt for the door to the gun locker. "Is there anyone else in the av shack?"

"No. Captain, why don't we just stick our heads out the door and yell for the crew?"

"Because the crew can't shoot back. Yet." Cal 's fingers felt for the lock.

"Do you want me to turn on a light, Captain?"

"No! No." He found the lock and delved in his pocket for the massive ring of keys he always carried.

It wasn't there.

He felt the other pocket.

The key ring wasn't there, either. "Goddamn son of a bitch." They must have fallen out of his pocket during the fight.

"Captain, hold up a minute. We've got the radios in the helo."

Cal 's hands stilled. He hadn't even thought of the helo's radios.

AKIL GAINED THE BRIDGE TO FIND ALL QUIET UNDER THE WATCHFUL EYE of Yussuf, who greeted him with a triumphant smile. On the gun deck forward, the barrel of the 76mm had been trained on the sky over the shuttle.

They could have destroyed it on the ground, but Akil wanted to hit it in flight. According to Bayzani and to Riley, with the automated tracking gear installed during the ship's last refit, it shouldn't be a problem.

The shuttle's destruction would produce the maximum amount of shock and horror in the viewers. Millions would be watching; online, on television, later on the news channels over and over and over again.