There were handshakes all around as the tug crew congratulated each other for a job well done.
“They’ll be battering each other all night,” Hunter said, watching the flames of the battle still visible fifteen miles away.
“And they’ll probably never figure out who got the first shot in,” Yaz said, the glee evident in his voice.
Hunter craned his neck and looked up to where the face of Lucifer was. Just as he spotted it, he noticed it was losing some of its glimmer. Then he watched as it slowly faded away …
Chapter 32
Their jubilation didn’t last very long …
As soon as they touched down on the deck of the Saratoga, they saw Heath was waiting for them, an extremely worried look on his face.
“Don’t tell me,” Hunter said, holding up his hand. “More bad news?” He knew something was up because the Saratoga was barely moving.
“I’m afraid so,” Heath said, nodding. “While you were gone, we were attacked by two submarines.”
“What?!” They all said in unison. Hunter couldn’t believe it.
“They got three of your tugs, I’m afraid,” Heath said to O’Brien.
“Mother of God.” The Irishman’s face went crimson. “How about my men?”
“Only one lost,” Heath said, brightening a little. “The choppers got into a running gunfight with the subs so the Commodore’s boys went in and plucked your guys out.”
“What kind of subs?” Hunter asked as the Norwegian chopper took off and headed back to its frigate.
“That’s the even worse news,” Heath said. “They were Soviets.”
“Soviet-built?” Yaz asked.
Heath shook his head. “No, I mean, Soviet-manned.”
“How can you be sure?” Hunter asked.
Heath nodded his head grimly. “Because the chopper guys managed to nail one with a depth charge while it was close to the surface. We fished two of its crew members out. They’re as Russian as borsch.”
“Are they in any shape to talk?” Hunter wanted to know.
“Yes, one is,” Heath said. “They’re both up in sick bay.”
“Well,” Hunter said, his voice angry. “Let’s go see what he has to say … ”
Ten minutes later, Hunter was sitting in the Soviet crewman’s room, staring down at the man. He had resisted bringing in a whole gang of people, though he was tempted to scare the man rightfully out of his wits. But for now, he decided on a different tactic.
The man, an oldster about fifty, opened his eyes and was startled to see Hunter hovering over him.
“Dobriy vyehchyeer, comrade,” Hunter said. “Understand any English?”
The man looked at him suspiciously, then slowly nodded his bandaged head.
“Understand good?” Hunter asked.
The man shrugged.
Hunter clapped his hands twice. The cabin door opened and one of the call girls — a friend of Emma’s named Beatrice — walked in. She was lovely. Blonde, well-proportioned, and very alluring, she was the youngest of the group except for Emma herself.
“Okay, Boris,” Hunter said to the Soviet sailor. “This is how we’ll work it. Tell me what I want to know and you not only go free, you get to get acquainted with Beatrice.”
Now a look of complete surprise came across the Soviet’s face. Hunter’s statement begged the question. “What if I no talk?” the Soviet asked.
Hunter slowly drew out a borrowed .45 Colt automatic. In a half-second it had found itself just a quarter-inch away from the Russian’s nose. “We either shoot you or you go overboard.”
The man gulped. Hunter turned to Beatrice and nodded. She smiled and slowly undid her blouse. Five buttons later, she revealed her see-through black-lace bra.
The Soviet began to sweat.
“Where’s your base?” Hunter asked.
The man shook his head. “They kill me if I tell.”
“There is no more ‘they,’” Hunter told him. “Your ship is gone. Except for another guy who is busted up in the next room, you are the only one left. Face it, champ. They think you’re dead.”
Hunter nodded once again to Beatrice. She seductively removed her miniskirt and shoes, then walked to the other side of the Russian’s bed.
“Okay, where’s your base?” Hunter asked.
The Russian’s eyes were fixed on Beatrice’s well-rounded breasts. She did her best to further inflame him, slowly shaking and stretching her beautiful body.
“I cannot tell,” the Soviet said, though never taking his eyes off Beatrice.
Hunter winked at her. She smiled and slowly removed her bra. The man’s face turned five shades of red. These sub guys, Hunter thought. Always horny and always deprived.
Beatrice moved in very close to the man, so much so her nipples wound up just inches from his face.
“Listen, pal,” Hunter said. “There’s an Englishman out there that would just as soon cut you up and feed you to the fishes. Then there’s an Irishman who is very pissed off that you and your buddies sank his tugboats. He’s taking it very personally. He’d as soon drag your ass around on a fish hook until you fall apart into little pieces. And I won’t even mention what the Moroccans would do to you.
“But you see, you’re lucky. You’re dealing with an American here, okay? All I want is information. Once you’re done, we chopper you to the nearest land and you can walk back to Moscow for all I care.”
While Hunter was talking, Beatrice had moved her breasts right into the man’s face. It was clear that he was breaking down.
“Now,” Hunter said a third time. “Where’s your base?”
“Alexandria,” the Soviet answered.
“Very good,” Hunter said, watching as Beatrice rewarded the man by sticking her lovely right nipple into his mouth. The man made a half-hearted attempt to suck it briefly, before Beatrice teasingly withdrew.
“Okay, how many subs?” Hunter continued, as Beatrice zoomed in with her left breast.
“Two squadrons, ten boats in each,” the Russian said, gasping. Beatrice inserted her left nipple into his mouth and left it there. The man, a little more greedy this time, sucked it for a good three seconds, before Beatrice again moved away.
“Why are you stationed in Egypt?” Hunter asked.
“That I cannot tell you,” the man answered, his eyes never leaving Beatrice’s chest.
Hunter again nodded to her. In a second, her hand was resting on top of the blankets right above the man’s crotch.
“Why are you in Egypt?” Hunter asked, calmly.
The man gasped. “We are protecting the pyramid.”
“A pyramid?” Hunter said. The answer surprised him. Subs protecting a pyramid? “Which pyramid?” He watched as Beatrice’s hand began to feel its way around and under the blankets. It soon found its mark.
“The Great Pyramid … ” the man burst out. “The Great Pyramid of Cheops … ”
“Besides your subs, who else is protecting the pyramid?” Hunter asked.
“Two helicopter squadrons,” the man answered quickly, anticipating Beatrice’s next move. “Also ten each. Plus soldiers on the ground.”
He fell back onto his pillow as Beatrice snuggled in closer. Hunter could see a jerking movement begin under the man’s covers.
He drew close. He had to ask the all-important question. “Why are you guarding the Great Pyramid?”
Hunter nodded to Beatrice and she suddenly stopped all movement. The man, who had settled back onto his pillow with his eyes closed, was suddenly up again, eyes wide open. He looked at Hunter.
“Why are you guarding the pyramid?” the pilot asked again.
The man looked confused. At first he shook his head, but a slight tickle by Beatrice delivered an unmistakable message. Finally the man broke down.
“It’s part of an agreement,” he said in broken but understandable English.