Jamie Freveletti - Running Dark

“We’re going to make a chemical weapon.”

Sumner gave Emma a considering look. “Mix them?”

Cindy started, her eyes wide. “You can’t mix ammonia and bleach. My mother told me that when I was little. You mix them and you get—”

“Chlorine gas,” Emma replied.

“—dead,” Cindy said.

“You’ll need an enclosed area.” Sumner was looking upward, toward the bridge.

Emma pointed to the stairway. “When they board”—she shook her head—“ if they board, we retreat up that way. They should follow us. We set the bucket at the top. Is there a second exit?”

Sumner nodded. “At the far end of the bridge room. It leads to the ship’s interior stairwells.”

“Last person in mixes the cleaners, retreats through the stairwell into the bridge, and slams the door behind himself. Or herself.”

Sumner turned to Emma. “I’ll fill everyone in here about the chlorine idea, but where’s Clutch? Could you and Janklow go find him? Maybe do a quick sweep of his room. I’d feel a whole lot better if I knew where he was. I’ll take Block, Hassim, and Stark to the bridge to watch for the pirates’ approach.”

Emma jogged next to Janklow, who moved through the halls with the alacrity of someone familiar with every nook and cranny. They reached Clutch’s door five minutes later. Janklow banged on it, and they waited. They were met with silence. Janklow slid a master pass-key into the electronic door lock and pushed the handle. The door swung open. They stepped inside.

Light streamed through a porthole, illuminating the small crew quarters, accompanied by the sickly sweet smell of decaying flesh. Clutch lay on the bed, one arm flung outward. His eyes were open, his face immobile in death. In his hand was a white EpiPen.

Janklow jerked backward. “Jesus!” he said.

Emma stepped closer. She peered at two puncture holes in Clutch’s arm, right above the wrist. At his feet lay two more open boxes filled with EpiPens. They looked unused.

“He stuck himself, I think,” Emma said. “He must have liked the initial dopamine surge and wanted to try it again.” She went over to the porthole and closed the covering. The room descended into gloom.

Janklow shook his head. “This is creepy. Let’s get out of here. I’ll tell Wainwright.”

Emma bent down to pick up one of the boxes. “We’ll bring these with us. You never know when we may need them.”

Janklow took the second. “I hope not. I don’t want to get close enough to those guys to be able to use these.”

They closed the door and left Clutch there. Emma hoped he was happier in the next life. She also hoped she wouldn’t be joining him anytime soon.

52

MUNGABE SAT IN THE LEAD SKIFF ROARING TOWARD THE KAISER Franz. He wanted to show his crew that he was determined to take the ship. While the other attempts had proved futile, this one would succeed. Talek rode with him. He held an RPG that contained a loaded grenade and had a red scarf attached to the tube. He thought the scarf, given to him by a woman three years before, was good luck, and so he carried it everywhere. Abdul and the American Somali made up the rest of the boat.

The tiny craft bounced along the ocean in a constant banging rhythm. Mungabe jumped along with it, keeping his eyes forward. He determined not to show any weakness before his men. He hefted an AK-47 onto his right shoulder, his intention being to kill the sniper who was causing them trouble. Mungabe thought himself a very good shot. No Westerner would beat him. Not when he had a Kalashnikov in his hand.

As they neared the boat, he gazed at it with the pride of someone who already believed he owned it. It was magnificent. Small by oil-tanker standards, but still large enough to be imposing, sleek enough to be elegant. Mungabe could now understand why the Vulture wanted the vessel. But Mungabe had already decided to take it for himself. The Vulture hadn’t fulfilled their deal, and so neither would Mungabe. This much he knew.

The ship floated in the ocean, still. Mungabe’s men had managed to disable it. It was like the large bulls he had seen on his one visit to India. They were considered sacred and so had lost any instinct to fight. No longer smart enough to move when something bigger, more ferocious was approaching them, and too stupid to care.

Mungabe gave an order to stop when his men came within four hundred meters of the boat. He wouldn’t risk an RPG attack until everything was prepared. He leaned toward Talek.

“Tell the rest to surround it.” He watched as his crews separated, forming a circle with the cruise liner in the middle as the target. The satellite phone rang. Mungabe waved an aggravated hand at the device. A crew member grabbed the receiver and handed it to him.

“It’s me,” the Vulture said. “Do you have control of the ship?”

“Have you destroyed Darkview?”

“Yes.”

Mungabe felt his anger erupt. “You lie! I’m taking the ship, the passengers, and the poison. If you value your life, you won’t come to this part of the world again.”

Mungabe heard fast breathing over the line, as if the Vulture were running a race.

“You cross me and you won’t live to see the next month,” the Vulture warned.

Mungabe laughed. “Come and get me, Vulture. But don’t wear those fancy suits when you do, because you had better be prepared to fight.” He hung up the phone. He’d deal with the Vulture later.

He waited while his men gained their positions. The large craft hadn’t moved.

“Hand me some binoculars,” Mungabe said. A crew member dropped a set into his hand. Mungabe peered at the Kaiser Franz. There was no movement on any decks. The satellite dish and the spinning dish that operated the radar were gone. They were off the grid, then. He skimmed the glasses over the boat’s windows, looking for passengers, crew, anyone. He saw nothing. Talek moved up next to him.

“Where’s the crew?” Talek said.

“It’s a trick. They’re on that boat, you can be sure.”

Talek lowered his own binoculars to look at Mungabe. “It’s a foolish decision. Better to fight us off with grenades.” Talek eyed the ship. “Perhaps they don’t have any? It’s against the law for such a ship to carry heavy arms.”

Mungabe doubted that the ship had no weapons. Darkview fought without honor, ignoring the laws of its country in favor of winning. “Darkview ignores international law whenever they decide to. They have grenades, you can be sure.”

“They have never shot them before.”

Mungabe pondered that. It was true. In all the prior skirmishes, the cruise liner had yet to fire a grenade. Only the sniper had shot at them. Mungabe shook his head. No, that was wrong. Darkview had grenades. He wouldn’t allow them to lure him in with such a trick.

“Are the men in place?”

Talek nodded.

“Then let’s move. Tell them we fire the first grenades in unison. After that may the best boat win. The first crew over the side gets a bonus.”

Talek grinned. He put his RPG on his shoulder, its red scarf hanging down his back. “That will be me. I could use a bonus.”

Mungabe laughed. He picked up the walkie-talkie, depressed the button, and said, “Go!”

EMMA WATCHED THE PIRATESmass around them from her hidden position behind a deck door. There were almost thirty boats, each with a crew of four. She couldn’t see the men’s faces that clearly through the small crack she allowed herself to peer through, but she didn’t have to. That they were vastly outnumbered was apparent. Emma’s tiny gun, Sumner’s Dragunov, Hassim’s RPG and few grenades—these were not going to be enough to win this battle. Emma patted the leg pocket of her cargo pants. She held ten EpiPens. Stark had made it clear that although someone would die from two sticks, it would take too long for death to occur for the pens to be of any help. In fact, Stark thought that using the pens would work against them, due to their tendency to heighten the fight-or-flight response.