Yabaal's eyes narrowed. "You are cutting it close, Colonel.”
"I felt it was prudent to leave this until the last minute."
Yabaal's hand darted out, grabbing the barrel of his AK-47. But Riyad raised the APB and blasted a three-shot burst into Yabaal's chest. As the warlord rocked back in his chair, Riyad pivoted in time to aim his weapon at the door as it opened. Two of Yabaal’s bodyguards charged into the room, reaching for their sidearms. Behind them, Ilshu grappled with a third. The last two guards were already down, blood spreading across their bodies.
Riyad fired a long salvo in a figure-eight pattern into the first two Somalis into the room, and those two dropped hard.
As the guard behind them broke free from Ilshu’s grasp, he whirled around and tripped over his dead comrades. Ilshu swiped at him with his knife but missed. Then Riyad spun back to the left and thrust the end of the suppressor into the voice box of the fallen Somali, the vulgar sound reminiscent of a can being crushed under foot.
With a quick, practiced motion, Riyad exchanged the machine pistol's magazine for a fresh one. He looked back at Yabaal, whose shirt was stained red with blood. The warlord's eyes were still fixed on Riyad.
"Why?" he rasped.
"You are a loose end." Riyad placed a single shot between Yabaal's eyes.
Ilshu wiped the blade of his knife on the pant leg of a dead guard. Outside, gunfire erupted as the rest of Riyad's team killed the other guards.
"We had better get moving, sir," Ilshu said. "There's no telling when Abada is going to launch his attack."
Riyad glanced at his watch. "Assuming he keeps his word, Abada will attack in twenty-seven minutes. By then, we will be onboard the Saad el Melik and underway."
The MI-8MT (NATO designation, "Hip") helicopter had been first developed and built in the 1960s for use by the Communist Bloc states. While outdated by modern standards, the Hip, like a lot of Soviet equipment, was basically sound and cheap enough to be bought by client countries. Designed to be a general purpose craft, the Hip was a common sight in Africa.
But not usually at night.
In the cockpit, Axiam flew the bird only a hundred feet of the ground. Normally, this would have been near impossible, as the Hip wasn't usually equipped with night vision gear. But not only had Axiam been a helicopter pilot in the Marines, he had acquired enough equipment over the years to allow him to fly at night, though he had admitted he hadn't done so for several years.
The Somali-born CIA agent hadn't been happy with the idea of using his helicopter to ferry the team out to the ships, but he had been furious when Tanner told him the truth about the nuclear warheads. It took Stephen several minutes to calm Axiam down, pointing out that operational security was the only reason the team hadn't been able to fill him in on the complete story. Finally, Axiam was placated somewhat and he agreed to pilot the helicopter to the ships.
In the co-pilot's seat, Tanner watched Axiam fly. He was wearing his own night-vision goggles, but the ground below them passed by too quickly to see much detail.
"How far to the coast?"
"Ten minutes at most. I'm flying farther north to make sure we stay away from Eyl."
Tanner nodded. They had seen several explosions to the south, artillery trading fire according to Liam. Any aircraft in the vicinity would be targeted by both sides.
Tanner craned his neck to look back in the cargo compartment. Besides the rest of OUTCAST, both Geedi and Madar were there, each cousin manning a door-mounted heavy machine gun. In addition, a rocket pod was mounted on each side of the fuselage, though Tanner did notice that neither pod contained a full load of rockets.
Axiam started humming something under his breath, and Tanner finally recognized it as the Marine Corps Hymn. He looked out through the cockpit glass and saw the coastline ahead of them, looming quickly.
"All right, boys and girls," Axiam said briskly, we are about to go 'feet wet.'"
He said something in Somali, and both cousins acknowledged him with short replies, also in Somali.
The land below them vanished and there was the ocean. The sea rolled and heaved, forcing Tanner to look away.
Axiam banked the Hip to the right. "We should be thirty miles north of Eyl," he said.
"Can they see us on radar?" Tanner wanted to know.
"Probably. We should have eyes on them in about ten minutes."
"Assuming they haven't already gotten underway."
Seven minutes came and went. There were a few more flashes of light to Tanner's right front, getting closer. Axiam shifted the helicopter’s course, taking it farther out into the ocean and away from possible anti-aircraft fire. After another minute, Tanner could make out features along the coast.
"I can see buildings.”
"That's Eyl," Axiam confirmed, “but I don’t see any ships at anchor."
Tanner scoped it out but saw nothing but ocean. "They're off and running."
"We’ll find them. I have enough fuel for another two and a half hours of flight, and this bird is four times faster than either ship. We can use the radar to select our targets."
"Dani," Tanner said, turning around, "What's the max speed of the Northstar Venture?"
"Twenty-five knots, or about twenty-nine miles an hour."
"When did the window for no satellites overhead begin?"
"Forty-seven minutes ago. Last satellite photo I got shows both ships there two hours ago."
"So we can eliminate all ships farther out than eighty miles from the coast," Tanner said.
"In this neck of the woods, not many ships will be within a couple of hundred miles, even at night," Liam pointed out.
Tanner checked the radar screen. "I've got two ships on radar. Both to the northeast. One is fifty miles away, the other one is thirty."
"Can you tell which one is the Northstar?" Liam asked.
"Not at this range…Axiam, steer a course between the two ships. We can get a better idea of who's who once we're close enough."
"Assuming they don't blow us out of the air first.”
CHAPTER THIRTY-TWO
The buzz of the radio on Bakir Riyad's belt cut into the Colonel's thoughts. The bridge of the freighter, a rusting and tired old ship acquired from a Bangladesh ship-breaking yard, was cramped and reeked from years of body odor, food, and the sea. He unclipped the radio from his belt and spoke into it. "Riyad here."
"Narsai, sir. Are you picking up a contact on your radar? We’re getting something, but it's intermittent."
Riyad turned toward the Saad el Melik's captain. "Check the radar.”
Kashgari studied the radar screen. At length, he nodded. "Radar contact. Aircraft, probably a helicopter. It's coming from the northwest."
Riyad frowned. "What is its course?"
"Roughly between us and the Northstar Venture."
"Where are the enemy warships?"
"Three are two hundred kilometers to the southeast, one a hundred kilometers to the north, and five three hundred and fifty kilometers to the east. They're— Wait!"
Kashgari's tone became more strident. "The three warships to the southeast have changed course, moving onto an intercept heading with the Northstar Venture! The helicopter has also altered direction toward the ship."
"Nationality?"
"American."
The colonel's frown became a scowl as he spoke into the transmitter. "Narsai, go to full alert and prepare to repel borders. We are increasing speed to come to your aid. Tell Dr. Masood to prepare the missiles for launch."