Inside the cargo hold, Tanner could hear the muffle chatter of gunfire and boots pounding on the deck above. Al-Baz tore his gaze off the ceiling and glanced at his watch. “Four minutes,” he said. “Four minutes, and we will be close enough. My men will give us time.”
Tanner glanced at the trigger man. One shot, he thought. One shot was all he would get, and it would have to be the right kind of shot Bridge of the nose….
“You!” al-Baz yelled at Tanner. “What are you looking at?”
Azhar turned and backhanded Tanner across the face. Briggs stumbled into the bulkhead. Azhar drew his pistol, put the barrel against his forehead and hissed, “Do not even think about interfering!” Then, under his breath: “I will take the two guards, you take the trigger man. Wait for me.”
Azhar turned and walked over to al-Baz. “Mustafa, a word in private?”
As al-Baz leaned forward to listen, Azhar lashed out with his elbow. It smashed into al-Baz’s face, sending him crashing into the bulkhead. Azhar spun. Guard two turned to-ward him, his own rifle coming up. Azhar shot him twice, then spun toward the guard nearest the bomb. Tanner raised himself to one knee and drew his pistol. Azhar fired. His shot tore into the guard’s chest, shoving him backward.
Tanner focused on the trigger man. One shot…. He fired.
The bullet found its mark, striking the man between the eyes. Like a puppet whose strings had been cut, he crumpled to the deck. The trigger box fell from his hand and clattered across the deck.
Movement….
Briggs looked right and saw al-Baz reach for his AK. Tanner spun. Too slow, too slow…. Al-Baz raised himself to his knees, rifle turning….
“Abu get down!”
Tanner fired. Even as his three rounds caught al-Baz in the side, flame burst from the AK’s barrel. As if in slow motion, Briggs watched the flame lick outward and touch Azhar’s chest Azhar stumbled backward, crashed into the bomb housing, and slumped down the bulkhead.
Cordite smoke filled the air. Shell casings tinkled on the deck. Briggs stared at Azhar. Beneath him, blood was spreading across the deck like a pair of black wings. “Abu,” he called. “Abu—”
“He’s dead.” A few feet away, al-Baz lay propped against the bulkhead. He grinned sleepily and rolled his head toward Tanner. “You’re too late. It’s done.”
“What?”
“We’ve done it.”
Briggs felt a chill. What—? He’d assumed if triggered, the bomb would detonate immediately. He cast his eyes around for the trigger box, saw it, scrambled over, and snatched it up.
On the faceplate, the LED read 04:52
71
Tanner watched the readout change to 04:51… 04:50… He looked at al-Baz; face bloody, his head lolled from side to side. “How do I stop it?” Tanner asked.
“You don’t. You can’t.”
“How do I stop it!” Briggs yelled. Teeth gritted against the pain, he pushed himself to his knees and pointed the gun at him. “Tell me!”
Al-Baz grinned, then his eyes fluttered, his chest heaved, and he went still.
“There’s got to be a—” Briggs stopped.
Someone was moaning.
As the firefight between the commandos and al-Baz’s crew raged inside the ship, Cahil, Stucky, and Camille finished hooking the derrick’s cable to the hatch, then stood back. Hovering above them, the helicopters’s gun went silent. The pilothouse was destroyed, its windows shattered and superstructure shredded. The helo crabbed aft and stopped in a hover above the pilothouse; the door gun began tracking back and forth, looking for targets.
Tsumago was still doing twenty knots but lurching against the drag of the anchor chain trailing beneath her. Gouts of black smoke spewed from the smokestack, and the engines whined in protest.
“Okay, back away!” Cahil yelled, stepping off the hatch. He signaled to the Israeli captain at the derrick’s controls. The cable went taut. The hatch’s hydraulic arms groaned. “Keep going! Go!”
The captain shoved the lever forward. Slowly, the cover began lifting.
Six miles from Tsumago and twelve seconds behind the lead Harpoon, the radar seekers inside Harpoons 3 and 4 had gone into continuous search mode, scanning their ever-contracting sectors for the target Having no way of knowing Tsumago had slowed, both missiles were searching empty patches of ocean two miles ahead of the ship. They scanned without success for another twenty seconds and then, having reached the limit of their flight plan, shut down and plunged into the ocean.
Two miles ahead of them, Harpoons 1 and 2 were also in continuous search mode. However, having acquired the target early and made the necessary corrections, both showed Tsumago dead on their zero points. Satisfied they were on target, the computer brains in each missile sent two signals, one to the radar seeker, which switched to rapid pulse, and another to the 500-pound warhead, which armed itself.
Tanner heard the wrenching of steel above him. Sunlight streamed into the compartment. He ignored it and kept crawling toward Azhar. Abu’s eyes fluttered open and he saw Tanner. “Briggs….”
“Hang on, Abu.” Briggs felt tears fill his eyes. The AK’s bullets had shredded Azhar’s stomach; intestines jutted from his shirt. “Don’t move.”
With a shriek of steel, the hatch came free. Tanner looked up. Silhouetted by the sunlight, three figures stood on the combing. His vision cleared and he saw Cahil’s grinning face. Bear!
Standing beside him were Stucky and Camille. Doesn’t make sense, he thought dully. Why are—
“Briggs!” Cahil called.
Tanner raised his hand against the glare. Blackness crept into the edge of vision. God, he hurt. He levered himself to his knees and focused on Camille.
“It was you,” he murmured. “It was you from the start”
As designed, both harpoon’ seekers homed in on the strongest radar return, in this case, the corner where Tsumago’s superstructure met the forward arch, a confluence of right angles that created an electromagnetic bull’s-eye. Also by design, each Harpoon’s computer brain paused exactly &OB:; of a second to let the nose cone burrow into the ship, then detonated the warhead.
Tsumago rocked to starboard as though shoved by a giant, invisible hand. Flames and black smoke gushed from the wound and rolled up the superstructure. A cloud of shrapnel shot skyward. Fragments peppered the pilothouse like hail.
On the main deck, Cahil was knocked to his knees. He looked aft.
Hovering over the pilothouse, its rotors vainly clawing at the air, the Israeli helicopter was rolling onto its side. The blades slammed into the windows, sending shards of glass and red-hot steel onto the foredeck. The helo flipped onto its back and tumbled toward the forecastle.
Cahil shoved Camille toward the hatch, then he and Stucky leapt after her.
They landed hard inside the hold and lay stunned for a moment.
Teetering on his knees, Tanner stared at them, his gun dangling from his hand. He could feel the deck slanting beneath him. “Bear,” he muttered.
“Here, buddy.” Bear crawled to him.
“Its running, Bear. They hit the button.”
Cahil started toward the bomb but was stopped short.
“Don’t move!”
Tanner and Cahil turned. Stucky was on his feet, rifle pointed at them. To their left, Camille struggled to her feet.