Клайв Касслер - Marauder

Instead, he continued to regularly phone and text his wife. She hadn’t responded since her last voicemail to him, and now he was beyond worried. All contact with the Marauder had ceased. He feared some kind of catastrophic accident with the plasma cannon.

Polk considered calling off the rocket launch, but he would feel foolish for aborting the mission if he found out later that the trimaran had a simple communications malfunction. He trusted that Jin would be true to her word and arrive before dawn to celebrate their newfound riches with him.

It was nearing 11:30 p.m. Time to prep for the launch. He pressed the buttons that activated the huge doors that covered cargo bays three and four, the ones closest to the bridge. They folded up to reveal two cavernous openings. From this vantage point, he couldn’t see the holds’ contents, but he knew what was inside.

Each bay held one hundred and forty-nine rockets loaded into vertical tubes. The individual rockets would be guided by inertial navigation systems and GPS signals to their detonation points over Sydney. They were spaced out to cover the maximum area when they exploded, dispersing the Enervum into the air. There was almost no wind tonight, so the gas would achieve its maximum effectiveness. Only the most outlying suburbs of the city would be spared.

Since the Centaurus would be at the epicenter of the attack, Polk and his men would need protection from the gas. A full-face mask dangled at Polk’s waist, as it did for each of the mercenaries on the ship.

Sydney’s vessel tracking system cameras would record the launch from the Centaurus , leaving no doubt about the origin of the attack. Thanks to some anonymous tips from Jin and Polk, news sites around the world would have the basic story by January first, providing the key words they needed to unlock their money.

He just wished he could share this moment with his wife. The lack of contact with Jin continued to gnaw at him. He looked at the security chief.

“Make sure everyone is armed at all times,” Polk said. “We can’t take any chances from this point forward. If any boats approach between now and midnight, kill everyone aboard.”

“Yes, sir.”

Polk picked up a thick metal case, set it on the console, and opened it. Inside was the control panel, with buttons and switches labeled in both Swedish and English. Embedded in the case’s lid was a large touch screen. Above it was “MR-76 Launch System.”

The case controlled the Swedish-made rockets, wirelessly connected to the launch system hidden in the cargo bay.

Polk removed a key from the chain around his neck. He inserted it into a keyhole marked with three settings. OFF, TIMER, and ACTIVE. OFF meant the rockets were inert, TIMER was for a countdown launch, and ACTIVE allowed him to press the red LAUNCH button, firing the rockets immediately.

He turned the key to TIMER. The touch screen lit up. He tapped on the screen to enter the countdown, synchronizing the timer with his watch so that the rockets would ignite at exactly midnight. Then he selected LOCK OUT ALL CHANGES. Now only the countdown timer appeared.

Thirty minutes to go.

He withdrew the key. At this point, the only way to stop the launch was to reinsert the key and switch it to OFF. Even if someone threw the entire control case into the harbor, the countdown would continue.

Polk didn’t completely trust Lu’s mercenaries, even though they were all set to get a share of the profits if the attack was successful. There was always the possibility that one of them was a saboteur.

He walked out to the bridge wing and chucked the key in the harbor. Nobody was going to stop the launch now.

“Bring five men and come with me,” he said to the chief mercenary.

He took them down to cargo bay four. The rockets were arrayed in black tubes pointing straight into the sky. They’d already been uncovered and checked over earlier in the day.

At least Rathman had done his job to keep the cargo undamaged.

The seas between Nhulunbuy to Sydney could be rough, so each of the rockets had a safety pin to prevent accidental ignition. The pins were attached to red cloth ribbons marked REMOVE TO ARM.

“Take out of each one of these carefully,” Polk said to the men, holding up one of the ribbons. “Then bring them to me and I will dispose of them.” He planned to throw them overboard for the same reason he tossed the key.

In a ceremonial manner, Polk removed a ribbon, activating the first of the two hundred and ninety-eight rockets. He felt a tinge of excitement, knowing he was about to launch a New Year’s Eve party no one would ever forget.

SIXTY-SEVEN

At 11:31 p.m., Juan, dressed in black and carrying a suppressed Heckler & Koch MP5 submachine gun, pulled himself over the railing of the Centaurus . The ship’s lights were on, but he couldn’t feel the main engines idling through the metal deck.

Two of the ship’s four cargo bays were open. That could only mean that the rockets were being prepped for launch.

As Raven’s head peeked over the deck, he heard some footsteps coming from around the corner. He hissed into his molar mic the signal to halt. She stopped moving.

Juan unsheathed his KA-BAR knife and crouched behind a rope capstan. One of the mercenaries came around the corner, casually carrying a Chinese-made QCW-05 submachine gun with its own suppressor. He didn’t seem too concerned about a possible intrusion. Juan grabbed him from behind, putting his hand over the man’s mouth to silence him, and plunged the knife into his back. The mercenary struggled for a moment and went limp.

Juan hissed twice to give the all-clear. Raven finished her climb, followed by Eddie, Eric, Linc, and Sylvia.

Throwing the body overboard would cause too much noise, so Eddie dragged the body behind the capstan where they piled coils of loose rope over it.

Juan led them to the outer door of the superstructure. The accommodation block was five stories high. They would clear each floor one by one as they went up to the bridge.

On the first two stories, they quietly took out three men, one by Raven’s crossbow, two by knives, hiding the bodies as they went. On the third level, a mercenary munching on a bag of chips came out of the mess and stumbled into Sylvia. Juan was surprised to see her kick the man in the groin before he could react. Linc finished him by bashing his head against the doorframe.

Despite the ruckus, no alarm was sounded.

They dragged him into the empty galley next to the mess. This was their first shot at finding the antidote. They all had packable nylon duffels to transport the amount they needed for Murph and the rest of the paralyzed people. Six hundred and fifty doses would be enough.

The walk-in refrigerator would be the best place to stow the antidote. Juan opened the fridge and didn’t see any container that could have held a large supply of serum. Instead, he found a dead man with a bullet hole in his chest.

“Somebody made Polk mad,” Eddie said.

“Too bad it isn’t Polk himself,” Juan said. “Let’s keep going.”

They continued up the accommodation block, killing two more hostiles before they reached the bridge. One man was there. He scrambled to pick up his rifle, but Raven put him down silently.

Eric and Sylvia rushed over to the console where an open metal case was sitting on top. Juan sent Raven and Linc to search the captain’s cabin for the antidote.

“This is the rocket control panel,” Sylvia said. “It’s already been activated. Twenty minutes to launch.”

“Can you disarm it?”

Eric shook his head. “There’s no key.”

Linc came over, his gun raised like he was ready to bring the butt down on the panel. “What about smashing it?”