"What the hell's that?" he said, in a low voice so as not to alarm the Munros, although he saw Admiral Barkley's head turn. The senator had gone down to the hangar deck to work the crowd, and Admiral Matson had gone with him.
The XO cocked his head. "It sounds like the 76mm."
"That's what I thought."
They looked at each other. "XO, I don't think even the gunnies would think shooting off the 76mm during a space shuttle launch was a good thing."
"No," the XO said decidedly.
"Not to mention which, GMC and almost all of the gunnies are on liberty."
"There's that, too," the XO said.
They both drifted back inside the bridge. "OOD, did you hear that?"
Gilmartin was on the phone. "Yes, Captain, I'm calling CIC to find out what's going on but I'm getting no answer."
"Call the armory."
"I did, sir. No answer there, either."
"Get the BMOW down on the gun deck right now and find out what the hell is going on."
"Yes, sir." Gilmartin jerked his chin at Myers, who reached for the IMC.
He didn't live to make the pipe. The silenced bullet took him in the back and he fell forward with barely a cry.
They all stared at the body on the deck, the red stain spreading beneath him, uncomprehending.
"If everyone will please remain calm until we are through, we will leave and no one else will have to be hurt."
A man in casual clothes stepped into the bridge. He was holding a small automatic pistol in each hand, and at first Cal thought stupidly of John Wayne. It was so dark on the bridge Cal couldn't make out the man's features. His voice was young, with an edge of excitement for all his apparent composure.
He stood aside and a second man shepherded the Munros into the bridge at gunpoint. In the dim light Cal could see that Doreen was white and shaking. Nick looked angry. He thought he caught a glimpse of a body sprawled on the bridge wing. Admiral Barkley. Christ.
On the bridge were Gilmartin, the XO, and himself, along with the Munros. He couldn't tell how many pirates there were, if indeed these were pirates. Somehow he didn't think so.
He himself was standing a little in back of the XO. It was dark on the bridge. He might be out of range of the glow from the radar screens. He put his hand in the small of the XO's back and pressed.
After a moment of hesitation, the XO took a step forward. "What the hell's going on here?"
"Who are you?"
"Captain Schuyler, I'm in command here," Taffy said. "And you are?"
Instead of answering the first pirate took a step forward to peer into Taffy's face. "You look like a Muslim, friend."
"And you look like a pirate, asshole. What's going on?" The XO took another step forward. "What do you want with my ship?"
"Yeah." Gilmartin had somehow intuited what Cal wanted, attention diverted from whatever it was he was going to do. He rose to his feet from where he'd been trying unsuccessfully to revive Myers. "Good question, sir. Just what the hell is going on?"
As BMC and the XO stepped forward Cal took a step back, until he could feel the air coming through the starboard side door.
"Stay back!" the pirate said. As small as the pistol was, he'd already killed Myers with it. They froze. "All of you, back behind navigation." He snapped a phrase in what Cal thought must be Arabic, and the second man herded the Munros, Gilmartin, and the XO behind the nav table. No one betrayed his presence by so much as a glance and Cal took advantage of it to duck down on all fours and peer out the door.
He couldn't hear anything, and he couldn't see anything. He slipped outside, duckwalked aft, and pulled himself hand over hand headfirst down the flight of stairs to the small deck that gave off his quarters. He got the door open and ran for the phone.
He cursed and slammed the receiver down. "Dead." He keyed his radio. Dead. He went for the computer. Access denied.
Hijacked two miles off the coast of goddamn Florida. What the hell did they want? What justified this big an operation?
He felt a sudden chill. The space shuttle.
The 76mm. They were going to use it to bring down the shuttle.
They must have been on board that freighter. They took the small boat when Mun 1 did the ROA. He spared an agonized thought for the boat crew, but he knew there was nothing he could do for them right now. The pirates, no, these weren't pirates, they were terrorists. Call the sons of bitches what they were. The terrorists had pretended the radio went bust and brought the small boat back to the cutter.
"Son of a bitch," he said out loud. "We actually brought them on board."
They had the bridge, CIC, and the 76mm for sure. Probably Main Control. They had to have Main Control if they wanted to maneuver the ship. They'd want control of the ship so he couldn't take it back and screw with their aim.
The gun locker. Forward of the hangar deck, just off the boat deck. One deck down from his cabin.
He cracked open his door and listened. The interior of the ship was as quiet as he'd ever heard it, the online diesel muted. He slipped into the passageway and moved quickly into Chief's Country. He opened every door he came to. No one was home, they were all out on deck watching the launch, on duty, or on liberty.
He kept moving.
CIC
"How far offshore are we?" Two miles.
"Range is what, six miles?"
"About."
"Good."
OS2 Riley's hands worked the controls nimbly, although they were shaking. "There. Target is acquired, and the automatic tracking is engaged."
When Akil didn't reply, Riley said more insistently, "We're done here. So long as your guys got the ammunition in the right holes, it's all up to the machines."
"Yes," Akil said, "it is. Stand away from the controls, please."
Riley rose to his feet, a sickly expression on his face. "I've done everything you want, everything you asked me to do."
"And you were well paid for your efforts," Akil said. "At least your family will suffer no needless privation from your death," and he shot him, once. A third eye appeared between Riley's eyebrows. He fell back without another sound, eyes wide open and staring at the bulkhead above.
"I'm sorry, but I never trust a traitor," Akil told him, and left CIC without haste, disabling the lock before he pulled the door shut behind him.
MIAMI
Patrick was almost weeping. "Sir, I am telling you. Isa is at this moment attempting to hijack a United States Coast Guard cutter off the coast of Florida."
It had taken an interminable half an hour to track down Kallendorf's location, and another ten minutes to pry the phone number out of directory assistance. For a spy agency, Patrick thought bitterly, we're just not very damn good, are we?
Melanie was a warm presence against his side, her hand cupping the back of his neck, her eyes loving and concerned. While he'd been waiting on Kallendorf, he'd used the hotel phone to call the local authorities. The problem was he didn't have a working relationship with anyone in Miami, except for a bored third-class detective down at Metro Dade who had long since packed it in for the night. He'd called the Pentagon. They'd promised to call him back right away. He was still waiting.
He'd woken Melanie in the mad scrabble for his cell phone. He couldn't use the hotel phone, not for something like this, it wasn't secure. He'd finally found his cell behind the nightstand when he called the number on the hotel phone and it went off. He must have kicked it there when he and Melanie-
"Patrick, what have you been smoking? I haven't heard of anything like this in the wind, and you just admitted, neither have you. Do you really think even your pet terrorist could pull something like this off without leaking a whisper of it to someone?"