Sabotage (41 page)

“What happened?”

The seaplane's wings tipped toward the mountain rims.

“Emergency responders pumped enough seawater onto the molten rock to stop its advance from sealing the harbor. Resourceful islanders later generated electricity and hot water using the cooling lava. They were even able to extend their airport's runway using volcanic fallout.”

“How do you know all this?”

“Worldliness and erudition.”

“Or a tourist guidebook you picked up back at the flight shop.”

She shrugged, not the least bit defensive. “You decide.”

They glided over the harbor and continued southwest to circumnavigate the remainder of the archipelago. They admired its topography, the sheer-faced monoliths jutting from the ocean's surface like fingers reaching up to wave at the sky.

“You don't think Deeb or his men will escape the jet, do you?” she asked.

“Victoria, I've never seen that much duct tape used for ducts, let alone people. Besides, he's sheltered in a private hangar. No one's going to find them. They're not going anywhere.”

“I guess you're right. As long as nobody—hey, did you see that?”

“If you're talking about the pyrotechnics show, then yes.”

A bright red light streaked into the air leagues ahead of them, a dense, smoky trail in its wake.

“Someone shot a flare,” she said.

“Could be just the distress signal we're after.”

“Let's have a look-see.”

She angled the plane seaward. They glided for a while and flattened off at an altitude of two hundred feet. Victoria reached into a glove compartment and handed her wingman a pair of binoculars.

“See anything?” she asked.

“Looks like a dinghy,” he said, adjusting the focus. “Wait … there's writing on the side. It's a lifeboat!”

“We must be close to the
Pearl Enchantress
. The ship must be hiding in that fog up ahead.”

Austin studied the tender. “Can't tell if they're pirates or fugitives. One thing I do know for sure is, they've got guns.” They continued their approach, the boat no more than a mile away.

“You think they're dangerous?”

“At second glance, no. I see women and children aboard. They don't look like hostages. Take us down.”

She spiraled downward in wide circles. “Brace yourself. If you thought takeoff was rough, you're in for a surprise. Landing never was my expertise.”

 

FORTY-THREE

“All hands to the lido deck,” Ragnar said through his radio. Within the hour over a hundred Marauders were crowding the topmost level of the cruise ship. He pinched a bar stool between his legs and stood on the crossbeam for elevation. “The Viking has completed his negotiations. He now plans to detonate the explosives. We have one hour to load all ammunitions and set sail.”

“What about the
Baduhenna
?” a soldier asked.

“Unsalvageable. We've lost one corsair. With several of our crew dead, we should manage to fit everyone aboard the four remaining. Now start loading.”

“One moment, sir,” said another. “What do we do with
him
?” The soldier broke rank holding a weathered man by the collar. Malcolm Clare's hands were tied behind his back. “Despite your instructions, we conducted a search anyway.”

The first soldier spoke. “We found the prisoner sleeping in the library lounge beside the ship's movie theater.”

Ragnar did not appear disturbed by his subordinates' failure to observe orders. “The jailbird flies home to roost. Welcome back, Dr. Clare.” The chief grabbed the professor by the arm and flung him into the Seahorse Lagoon. Clare struggled with only two limbs for control. For a good minute he floundered without breaking the surface of the pool, until Ragnar stepped down from the stool and yanked him out. Clare emptied a mouthful of water on the tiled edge.

Ragnar lifted a fist, but the sound of gunfire ruined his moment. His men scattered under a rain of shelling. Leaving Clare bound by the poolside, Ragnar dashed toward the nearest enclosure.

“Where's it coming from?” he shouted.

An underling answered. “Overhead!”

It was Rove, perched atop the cruise ship's smoke tower. He had full cover and an extensive view of the deck. He began picking the Marauders from their hiding places one by one, like a man in a crow's nest with a slingshot.

“The tower has back access,” Ragnar cried out. Only a few dozen heard. “Surround him.”

Rove's ambush wasn't the only thing that challenged his calm. Ragnar cupped his ears and listened. A faint buzzing noise, stemming from somewhere close, was growing louder. He concentrated, trying to determine what it was over the shelling. He peeked out of his alcove and surveyed his surroundings, careful not to enter the line of gunfire. He saw nothing but fog. A cloud had descended upon the
Pearl Enchantress
and obscured all view. Something was approaching. He was sure of it …

Four rounds hammered the wall shielding him. He ducked, still listening.

A winged body materialized. His attention leapt to the sky in the northeast, and he gawked at the sight of a black-circled pattern he at once recognized as belonging to a Spitfire. A specter in the fog, the plane banked in a sharp loop over the deck. What was a British WWII fighter doing in the high seas off the Icelandic coast?

*   *   *

“I'm ditching the canopy,” Austin said.

The clear shell broke away. Air whooshed against them, wickedly cold even at low altitude, the nips and prickles lasting until the gale's icy needles had administered their anesthetic. Austin could have sworn his face was lodged in a mold of ice. Victoria didn't slow.

“Sounds like gunfire on deck,” she said. “Hear it?”

“I don't just hear it. I see it. Right now I'm trying to sort the good guys from the bad. Bring her down closer, but not too close. I don't know how much shelling the
King Otter
can tolerate.”

“What do you see?”

“They all seem to be shooting at the smokestack.… That's why. There's someone there, outnumbered but holding his own.” Austin leaned over the side for a better look. “Not for long, though. Several men are advancing from behind, climbing rope ladders. Soon they'll have him surrounded.”

“I'm circling back. How much ammo did the lifeboat passengers give you?”

“An automatic rifle for each of us and five spare clips. Should be plenty.”

“Ever fired a gun before?”

“There's a first for everything.”

“I'll do a flyby while you strafe the stern. Make it count.”

*   *   *

The plane veered over an iceberg for another run. When it leveled, Ragnar realized the aircraft was no Supermarine, but a rickety floatplane with a professional paint job. He spoke into his radio. “All soldiers: Fire at the aircraft. Shoot it out of the sky.”

His fingers trembled as he tried to refasten the device to his belt. He dropped it, and it fell to the ground, crossing the line of fire. A bullet smashed the transceiver. Angrily, he snatched it up and tried speaking. Nothing came through, not even static. He deep-sixed the radio and noticed Clare crawling for cover. He couldn't let that happen. He needed his hostage. Clutching his rifle, he sprinted toward the professor. A bullet grazed his calf but failed to impede his momentum.

From the tower, Rove watched as the red-haired juggernaut caught Clare between chambers. He reloaded quickly.

Ragnar lunged at Clare and got him in a headlock. Ragnar's other hand jabbed Clare's side with the tip of his AK-47. Rove wondered why the man even bothered with his weapon. He could snap the professor's neck in an instant.

“Cease fire, Jake!” Ragnar bellowed.

*   *   *

The Marauders had nearly reached deck sixteen. Any higher, and they'd have a direct shot at Rove.

“You ready?” Victoria asked.

“Aye, Captain,” came his reply. “Just don't try any loops, rolls, or corkscrews.”

She forced the yoke toward her knees. They entered a nosedive and gained speed. Austin centered his aim on the moving targets. When they eased into a horizontal, he opened fire on the advancing front. Two Marauders dropped free of the rope ladder. Their own craft suffered minimal damage in the face of a skyward volley.

“Nice work,” Victoria said.

“Loop back. Let's do it again.”

“Controlling this baby is so awkward. If it weren't for the weight of the pontoons, I could maneuver better.”

“You're doing fine.”

She tried a new tack. Rather than fly parallel with the plane of the ocean, she came up at an angle. From nearly skimming the swells she climbed aloft and gave Austin a head-on view. It was a straight course to the ship.

“Not a good idea, Victoria,” he said tentatively. “You won't be able to turn away in time. We'd best stay astern. Don't give them an easy shot from the main deck.”

“I can pull away in time.”

“Maybe with a real dogfighter. Not this poker.”

“Then duck!”

They came within range, and Austin could already see there was no turning back. He fired over Victoria's head and knocked another three into the water. Practice had helped. A few others had reached the gunwales.
One more good strafe …

Victoria remained hunched after Austin had finished firing. They'd entered dangerous territory.

“Pull away,” he said. “Do it now.”

She uncurled herself and manned the yoke. They came within yards of actually striking the mast. She tilted toward the ship's starboard side and swooped low over the lido deck.

Bullets hailed them from all angles, and they heard sounds like sleet flogging a tin shack. A small, rectangular piece of their wing flew off and splashed into the ocean. Another stream of bullets ripped seven holes in the rear fuselage.

“We're hit,” Austin said. “Pull away, now!”

The volley didn't cease. The drone of their arthritic engine became a violent, percussive rattle. The craft sputtered and stalled.

“We're pouring smoke,” she said, dipping below the apex of the ship. They finally left the fire zone. “We have to land.”

“Not yet. If we don't go back, they'll close in on him. One more flyby.”

“They've ruptured the fuel tank. If they hit the fuel system in the engine compartment, the whole thing could blow.”

“Victoria…”

He spoke no more. From a near dive she pulled up and rammed the twin throttles to full. She positioned herself as she had for the first strike, lining up for a sidelong strafe. When she reached an altitude of two hundred feet, the engine died.

The
King Otter
glided serenely alongside the neighboring cruise ship, her smoky tail contrasting sharply with the gray of the fog. Austin loaded another clip, poked his upper torso out of the open cabin, and held down the trigger. The automatic quivered against his shoulder until the magazine had emptied. His final target collapsed, half dangling over the gunwale. A belt of wind whipped down from the brewing clouds and flung the corpse over the edge.

*   *   *

Fire had ceased on deck. Ragnar's headlock tightened around Malcolm Clare.

“Drop it!” he shouted. “You have three seconds!”

Rove had no choice. He stood erect at the top of the tower in plain view and threw his rifle on the ground.

“Come down here,” Ragnar ordered. “Take the port stairs. Try anything clever, and I'll kill him. It will be easy.”

Approximately one hundred automatics were pinned to Rove. He descended the stairs with his hands raised. They were too many. His hour of bravado was over.

“You shouldn't have, Jake,” Clare reprimanded. “Now they'll kill us both.”

Ragnar's lips puckered. “Come closer,” he said.

After a glimpse at his watch, Rove obeyed, turning each second into three with his unhurried pace. He wondered how long his delay tactics would work before Ragnar grew dangerously impatient. Five minutes. He figured that was all he needed before the nameless aviators would show. But even if they did, he thought, what chance would they stand against scores of armed men?

“Come closer,” the chief repeated.

Rove looked at Clare, who showed no appreciation; he was pleading for Rove to stop, to do something to save his own life. Rove's smile read,
I couldn't take the chance.

“Stop there,” Ragnar said. “On the ground.”

Rove dropped to his knees and bowed his head only slightly. Could he buy any more time? Where were the aviators?
Who
were they? Judging by their flybys behind the smokestacks, he knew one thing: They were on his side.

“All the way down,” Ragnar demanded. “Cheek to the tile.”

Rove said nothing. He folded his arms behind his back and lay flat. Ragnar beckoned three of his men, who surrounded him with readied guns.

His carotid artery pinched, Clare was beginning to lose circulation. Relishing complete control, Ragnar let the silence last. There was only the gentle creaking and an occasional whistle as winds blustered across the deck.

*   *   *

The
King Otter
steepened its angle of descent and plowed toward a drifting iceberg. Deprived of power, the amphibian barreled into a plunge. Closing the remaining fifty feet to impact, Austin and Victoria curled their arms around their knees.

A shaft of water ejected from the ocean and became a lunging white cloud of a splash. The tail whiplashed when a front pontoon struck water. Before any part of the hull could strike the wall of ice, the seaplane spun out and nearly inverted when the elevator caught in a swell. The yoke jumped out at Victoria in a painful jab that knocked the wind from her stomach. Smells of smoke and avgas filled the cabin. If it weren't for their firm wedges in their seats, the first collision might have catapulted them forward. Drenched in sweat and seawater, they held strong.