"Is the owner of this vessel aboard?"
"No. He was kind enough to give this cruise as a wedding present."
"Wow. That is one hell of a wedding present."
"I agree."
"If I might inquire, what is the relationship between the owner and who he gave the boat to?"
"His brother-in-law; he was married two weeks ago."
"How long is this cruise to last?"
"I've been instructed to take up to two months. They have a list of locations they would like to visit."
"Where have you been prior?"
"We spent five days in the Bahamas. This is our second stop. From here, we are to depart for Miami."
Two couples entered the salon holding passports. The captain directed them to sit on one of the three large leather sofas. With three glass walls encompassing the salon, the view was magnificent. A wet bar, large flat-screen television mounted on the front wall, a computer station: it was lacking for nothing.
"Have everyone hold on to their passports until everyone arrives. We'll check them one at a time," Starr ordered.
"As you wish."
Over the next fifteen minutes, all but one arrived.
"Captain, Roberto is down in the engine room performing some maintenance task. He said he would be up in twenty minutes," the first officer reported.
Starr looked at Styles and nodded and then looked at the first officer and stated, "Take him to this Roberto. Get his ass up here right now!"
"Yes, sir," Styles responded with Phillips hiding a grin. Styles followed the first officer out of the room.
"I apologize for the inconvenience; however, under the present circumstances, all foreign-registered vessels are being double-checked. We'll get this over with as quickly as possible," Starr stated.
Walking over to the far-left person sitting on the left side sofa, Phillips stared hard at the woman and commanded, "Passport." The woman handed it over. Phillips studied it intently, particularly the photograph, made some notes on the clipboard she was carrying, and then returned it. One at a time, she went to each individual and repeated the process. She had slung her AR-15 across her back.
Phillips, after studying the passport of one man, walked over to Starr. "Remember the video we captured of two guys helping a third out of the water?"
"Yeah."
"This is definitely one of the two guys."
Starr grabbed the passport and walked over to him. Looking intently at the passport and then back at the man it belonged to, Starr ordered, "Stand up and turn around."
The man pretended not to understand.
"Rifles at ready," Starr ordered, and in an instant, he and Phillips had their ARs at the ready. "Captain, tell this man to stand up and turn around, or I'll shoot him where he sits. Do it."
Captain Madid spoke to the man in an Arabic language.
Slowly, the sitting man stood, glaring angrily at Starr, and turned around.
Starr took a long wire tie and secured the man's hands behind his back, turned him around, and pushed him back on the sofa. "Don't move!" Starr ordered.
Captain Madid spoke to the man in Arabic.
Phillips drew down on Captain Madid. "Starr, there's a knife under the cushion behind him."
Starr cracked the man in the side of the head with the butt of his rifle, grabbed him by his shirt, and threw him on the floor. He reached in between the cushions and came out with a sheathed knife. He turned to Captain Madid.
"Turn around." Starr immediately secured him, as well.
Christman, still on the Coast Guard boat, spotted another one headed toward him. He picked up his binoculars and was able to clearly make out yet another CG vessel.
"Starr," he said over the comm set they were all wearing. "We've got company — more Coast Guard guys."
"Roger," he replied to J. C. Addressing Phillips, he instructed, "Hold up at the ready." She placed the clipboard aside and unslung her AR, holding it across her chest, finger on the trigger. She didn't bother to look at him. Starr proceeded outside and walked to the rail as the second vessel was coming up to Christman. This boat contained two seamen, an obvious commanding officer, and two men dressed in civilian clothing, which Christman thought odd.
The commanding officer on board yelled over to Christman, "Surprised to see you! This boat is on our list to check!"
Thinking fast, Christman responded, "We have a computer guru with us. Someone wants this boat's computers checked. We just got word about three hours ago. Guess the paperwork didn't catch up with you yet."
"My, what a surprise," the second boat's commander joked. "Well, no sense in both of us here, so have fun; we'll be on our way to the next one." Looking up at the rail, he saw Starr and saluted, receiving one in return. The second vessel turned and headed away with the two civilians looking hard at him.
"Good answer, J. C.," Starr said, and he returned to the salon. "We're all set; keep going," he instructed Phillips.
"Starr, who do you think the two guys in street clothes were?" asked J. C.
Phillips cut in. "I can answer that. The feds are going to have their people on board to try to find something that the Coast Guard guys might have overlooked the first time. No doubt that's who they were."
"Guess that explains why they were staring daggers at me as they left," Christman retorted.
"J. C., keep a sharp eye out for them. If they return, we don't want to be surprised," instructed Starr.
"Copy that."
Styles was following the first officer down to the engine room. He was impressed with the cleanliness of the yacht. There did not appear to be a spot anywhere on anything. The bright work of chrome and brass absolutely shimmered. He was led down some stairs and to a large metal door.
"In there," pointed the first officer.
"After you," instructed Styles.
With a shrug, the man opened the door and stepped inside. There was no obvious response to his entrance.
"Now down on the floor, face-first, legs spread, and interlock your fingers behind your head," commanded Styles.
The man was reluctant to do so.
Styles, who had not yet entered the room, stated calmly, "I have no problem whatsoever shooting you. Down on the floor."
The first officer complied quickly.
Styles quickly stood over the man and secured him with plastic wire ties, binding his arms and feet. He stuffed a rag in his mouth to silence him.
Styles moved quickly throughout the entire engine compartment. Checking everywhere, Roberto was not to be found. Then a thought hit him, hard.
Over their earbuds, Styles warned, "Starr, nobody's home. I think he might be headed for the fuel tanks. Put Phillips on guard, and you start making your way downstairs. The tanks should be on the lowest level, amidships or slightly rearward. If you spot him, unless he's actively trying to blow us up, let me know where he is. If you have to shoot, try not to kill him, and don't hit the damn tanks."
"Gotcha."
Styles moved as quickly as he dared to where he thought the tanks would be without putting himself at risk. There was no doubt in his mind that the man he sought was none other than Nazir al-Hadid, who would be more than willing to blow himself and everyone else up. He also knew he probably had very little time. Up ahead, he saw a trapdoor. That should be it.
"Starr, there's a trapdoor in a hallway, probably directly below you, two flights down. I'm going in." Styles had developed a knack for walking in virtual silence, which he employed now. Reaching the entrance in the floor, he put his ear to the steel floor and could make out noises below him. In a low voice, he told Starr, "I'm leaving my AR on the floor. Make sure it's secure." He had his Beretta in one hand as he slowly opened the door in the floor. No response. He looked inside and did not see anyone within a fifteen-foot circle. There were two large metal cabinets just to his right with a four-foot space between them, both full of gauges. In one motion, he dropped through the opening to the floor seven feet below and then tucked and rolled between the two cabinets.