David Bruns - Weapons of Mass Deception

The green blip faded from the screen.

The captain and his bridge team were hustled onto the mess deck where the rest of the crew was already waiting. The pirate leader poked Captain Kim with his rifle muzzle. “Crew all here, Captain?”

Kim did a quick head count and nodded.

“Good. In there. Now.” He motioned toward the dry stores area. The space was just large enough to hold all twenty of his crew members. The pirate leader pushed the last North Korean into the room. “Two guards outside. No problems.” The designated guards raised their weapons.

The pirate leader snapped off the light and slammed the door shut.

Kim felt the ship turning. Toward the mysterious blip on the radar.

Please, let it be a warship. Please.

The man next to him shifted out of the way and someone else took his place. “Captain?” It was his first mate. Kim grunted.

“You miscounted. We’re missing Lee.”

Kim cursed to himself. He’d forgotten about the mess cook they’d brought on just before leaving port. He hadn’t even seen the kid once since they’d left North Korea.

The ship steadied on its new course.

Please let it be a warship.

The Arleigh Burke — class destroyer ran silent and dark through the humid night. Two RHIBs hung over the water on davits, rocking gently.

“Standby, sir,” the chief petty officer operating the winch said to Brendan.

“Very well, Chief.” Brendan adjusted his bulletproof vest and took a deep breath to still the butterflies that always crept up on him before a mission.

The sailor on the sound-powered phones acknowledged an order and said to the chief, “From the bridge. Launch both boats.”

“Launch both boats, aye.” The chief’s smile was visible in the night. “Happy hunting, sir. Go get some bad guys.” He activated the winch and Brendan’s team dropped toward the dark water. The SEALs fore and aft unclipped the lines, and the driver gunned the engine.

“Boat one away,” Brendan said into his mike.

“Boat two away,” came the reply.

“On me, Starkie,” Brendan said, switching to the secure channel.

“Aye, sir.”

The RHIBs, rigid hulled inflatable boats, rocketed across the water at thirty knots, blowing humid wind in Brendan’s face. They overtook the North Korean ship quickly. The merchant vessel was well lit and he could make out the name on the fantail: BE GAE BONG. He wondered what that meant in English.

Their attack plan was to come at the ship from behind and launch the assault from both sides. When they were about a hundred yards out, Brendan keyed his mike. “Break and engage, Team Bravo.”

“Break and engage, Bravo, aye.” The boat behind them slewed to the right and made for the starboard side of the North Korean freighter. Brendan’s team took the port side. The driver cut the engine to half-speed when they passed the fantail.

“Standby for boarding,” Brendan called. The other two SEALs stood in the centerline of the RHIB. They rapidly extended long telescoping poles with rope ladders affixed to the ends.

“Now,” Brendan said.

The driver threw the engine into reverse, and the SEALs raised their poles up the side of the freighter. Brendan heard a quiet thud as the rubber-coated hooks on the end of the rope ladder made contact with the railing. The man nearest to him disappeared up the side of the ship, Brendan close on his heels. As he threw an arm over the railing, he found himself looking right into the face of one of the pirates.

The man pulled his bandana down, revealing a wide grin. “Little slow, sir. Bravo’s already all onboard.”

“Bite me, Martinez,” Brendan replied. “We’re all secure?”

“Tighter than my little sister on prom night, sir. I’ve got them locked in the dry storage area with the lights out. They pretty much shit themselves when we showed up.”

Brendan nodded and changed the channel on his radio. “Control, this is Alpha. Ship secure. Commencing phase two.”

“Acknowledged.” The reply had a tiny bit of distortion that came with secure satellite comms.

The SEALs from his boat had already pulled up two black Pelican cases and were standing by. They followed Martinez through the nearest watertight door. Brendan tried to keep a sense of direction, but he always found it difficult to do onboard ship. Martinez slid down yet another ladder and hauled open a steel hatch.

“Your patient awaits, gentlemen,” he said in a mocking tone.

Three TELs were lashed to the steel deck of the hold under the glare of floodlights. The vehicles were about forty-five feet long and at least twelve feet high. The launchers stood empty, just giant curved rails the size of a waterpark slide, waiting for a missile — maybe even a nuclear-tipped one.

His two men ran to the front of the nearest vehicle and climbed on top of the cab. Brendan passed them the Pelican cases. “You’re on the clock, guys,” he said, setting his watch to fifteen minutes.

He could hear one of the men knocking on the top of the vehicle, looking for the hollow space the intel guys told them was there between the cab and the engine compartment. The body of the TEL was made of some kind of composite material that Brendan supposed was designed to reduce the radar signature of the vehicle. Somehow, the intel geeks had figured out there was a void between the two compartments which would be ideal for their purposes.

The sound of power tools echoed in the hold. The second team arrived with cameras and began to document all aspects of the TELs.

The men on top of the first launcher called down to Brendan. “Boss, we’re ready to close her up.”

Brendan hoisted himself to the top of the vehicle. They had opened a hole about as big as his hand. One of the SEALs shined his flashlight into the hole. The sensor was glued to the wall of the void, as close to the top as possible. Below it, a battery pack was glued in place. “Run the self-test yet?”

The SEAL nodded. “Self-test sat, sir. Ready for the sat comm check.”

Brendan keyed his mike. “Control, Alpha. Standby for sat comm check.”

“Ready,” came the reply.

The SEAL slipped the dip switch into the up position. A green light on the sensor glowed once, then went out.

A full minute went by before Brendan got a response from the radio. “Test sat. Standing by for nuclear detector check.”

“Let’s do it,” Brendan said to the second SEAL.

The man blew out his breath. “If I end up being sterile from carrying this shit around, I’m gonna sue the Navy.” He pulled a small lead tube out of the case and stepped back to the launcher rails. “About here?”

Brendan nodded. The SEAL snapped open the lid of the tube and counted: “One-Mississippi, two-Mississippi, three-Mississippi.” He snapped the lid shut and hurriedly replaced the lead tube in the case.

Brendan tapped his foot and keyed the mike to make sure it was still working.

“Nuclear detector test sat.”

“Alright, let’s close it up,” Brendan said. He checked his watch. “We’re a minute behind schedule, so let’s get a move on.”

“You can’t rush art, sir,” one of the SEALs muttered. He fitted the piece they’d cut out of the truck body back into place and glued it. Then he filled the gap with quick-drying epoxy resin and dried it with a heat gun. The second man was standing by with a Dremel sanding tool. He smoothed out the epoxied piece, stopping to put his face next to the cab and look for any remaining ridges in the light.

The SEAL with the sander sat back. “That’s good. Give it a quick paint job, Ricky.”