So when five motorboats powered through the canal, making for the port hull of the Halsey, Savile could do nothing but keep watch and hope they were just trying to get a good look at one of the world's most powerful ships. When the five boats passed through the invisi ible border that marked the point where they could normally open fire, he became worried. Even more so when, despite his warnings via a loudspeaker, the boats continued in a straight line. They nearly sank the USS Cole with one boat. This was five. Savile shook his head, realizing what was about to happen, but then someone shouted "Look in the sky!" like some scene right out of a Superman movie.
Savile stepped out of the bridge and saw five black specks flying in at a sharp angle, one behind each of the approaching motorboats. Looking through a pair of binoculars he saw that the five figures were dressed, head to toe, in black and bore no insignias or flags. They swept in, with fabric stretched tight between their outstretched arms and legs, gliding more than falling. At first he feared they were part of a two-pronged attack, but quickly realized that even the most well-funded terrorist organization could never pull off a stunt like that. His suspicions were confirmed when, just ahead of the five approaching boats, the five-man team popped their chutes and immediately opened fire with silenced weapons. In under thirty seconds the five motor-boats were disabled and taking on water. The attack had been averted in near silence, leaving only a few pissed-off terrorists trying to tread water as evidence. The five-man team hit the water, disappeared from view with their chutes, and never resurfaced.
"Hate to break up the reunion," Rook said, "but where is ourboat?"
Savile pointed to a small black zodiac tied to the Grant. Rook glanced at the small boat, which looked beyond insignificant next to the Grant and Mercury, then back at the yacht, then at King and Queen. "Bastids."
Twenty minutes later, Rook clung to the side of the zodiac as a stream of muttered curses flew from his mouth with every lurch up and over a wave. From the deck of the USS Grant, the ocean had looked calm, but upon launching they had discovered six-foot swells and a stiff breeze brought on by the cooling night air. Bishop piloted the eight-foot inflatable boat while Rook provided a counterbalance to Bishop at the bow. Knight, whose smaller stature made him the most likely to be catapulted from the inflatable, sat low at the center, gripping a plastic handhold.
Darkness had consumed the ocean as they rounded Inaccessible Island and made a straight shot for the back side of Tristan da Cunha. This helped conceal their approach, but also made each wave a nasty surprise.
The zodiac bounced, catching air as Bishop kept the throttle opened up, and careened into the next wave head on. Frigid water cascaded over the front of the boat, soaking Rook and spraying the other two.
Though the circumstances were uncomfortable and the ride perilous, all three maintained calm. As they approached the island, even Rook's muttering ceased. The mission had commenced and each man knew the life and death of the others depended on their professionalism.
The zodiac sprung up again, but not from a wave. The contact was solid and dead center. Knight bounced into the air as though he'd just landed on a trampoline. He landed next to the now immobile boat. If not for the ocean floor being five feet beneath he would have had to shed his gear or drown. Without a word he began slogging toward shore as waves pounded his back and threatened to smash his body against the rocky coastline.
Rook and Bishop slid out of the ruined boat into the cold water.
"On three," Rook said.
Bishop nodded as Rook began counting. On three they hefted the zodiac off the rock and let it sink beneath the waves, erasing all trace of their incursion to Tristan da Cunha.
"All clear," Knight said from shore. They met on a rocky crag.
Bishop motioned to Knight. "Took a heavy hit. Any damage?"
Knight shook his head. "It'll bruise. I'll be fine."
After shedding their wet suits and changing into dry, jet black fatigues, they donned night vision goggles and, though exhausted and beaten from their oversea insertion, began the long rocky trek toward the small forest that lined the base of Tristan da Cunha's volcano. After setting up camp, their mission would begin in earnest.
TWENTY-THREE
The ride aboard the Mercury felt closer to a pleasure cruise, which was the intention of the double-hulled catamaran's designers. It cut through the surface, completely stable. Moving at a steady, casual pace propelled by the ships two outboard engines, King steered toward the small harbor of Cow Bay, the only official and safe way to land at the island. With the surrounding waters lit by four halogen bulbs, he easily avoided the rocky shoreline and made a swooping arc around and between two jetties that protected the harbor from the constant assault of ocean waves.
"Looks harmless enough," Queen said as she stood next to King. Without the pounding surf soaking them to the bone, she remained in her skimpy outfit, absorbing the cooling yet still eighty-degree air.
The settlement of Edinburgh emerged from the darkness, lit by a combination of moonlight and a few streetlights. Most of the buildings, both home and official, were stark white, while their roofs were brightly colored with reds, yellows, greens, and blues. King's attention drifted to the hill just beyond town where a strong glow illuminated the misty air and side of the volcano. He thought it strange that the Manifold facility would be so wide out in the open and glowing like a beacon for all to see. But with two thousand miles in every direction separating them from the outside world, who would be looking?
They cruised past several docked sailboats and fishing vessels. All seemed in good repair but not one looked like it had been built within the past twenty years. Steering toward an open spot on the dock, King saw an old man with a scraggly beard hobbling toward them. "Here comes the welcome wagon."
The old man gave a feeble wave as the Mercuryslid up to the dock. He seemed slow and ungainly, but deftly caught the tie line as Queen threw it to him. He tied them off quickly, then repeated the process at the catamaran's stern.
"What brings ya to Edinburgh," the man asked.
King recognized the accent as coming from Massachusetts. By the looks of him, the man had spent a lifetime at sea. Probably a fisherman or lobsterman. He laid on his phony French accent and said, "We are traveling the world. Seeing the… ehh, sights. And my sweetheart… she wanted to see the world's most remote locale."
"Well, you've found it," the man said, scratching his long, thick beard. "And you'd be wise to leave it."
King raised an eyebrow. "And why is that, monsieur?"
He nodded toward Queen, "This one's going to cause a ruckus."
"Oh?"
"There are two hundred and seventy-one people on this island. Almost two hundred of them are men. And the women here are either married or too young, though that doesn't stop most from marrying at sixteen. You're the first visitors we've had in six months. And there ain't anyone here who's going anywhere fast. You catching my drift?"