Brown, Dale - Independent 02 (12 page)

 
          
“All
right,
” Ehrlich said. The prospect
of a protracted chase and a forced boarding in international waters with an
uncooperative— and likely hostile—crew did not sit too well with Ehrlich. The
iob would be much easier with the freighter stopped. “The guy turned his lights
on, too—he must have just realized we weren’t going to let him go.”

 
          
Meanwhile
the reported: “Skipper, the 3-incher and both .50 cals mounted on the starboard
side, manned and ready. Chief Morrison and Patrol Team One boarding crew
standing by.”

 
          
“Have
the boarding crew ready to go on the starboard side. Helm, move us alongside
about fifty yards.” Into the ship’s intercom he ordered, “Stand by on the
3-incher. I want it to stay on the lubber line but ready to go at any time.
Stand by on the fifty cals.” The cannon on the foredeck of the
Resolute
remained still, but Ehrlich
could hear footsteps just behind the bridge as crewmen mounted and manned the
.50 caliber machine guns on their swivel turrets.

 
          
As
spotlights on the
Resolute
now
illuminated the freighter
Numestra
Ehrlich saw a vessel a bit longer than the
Resolute,
possibly twice the cutter’s age and in the worst condition he had ever seen a
large sea-going vessel. Rust seemed to cover every inch of her, paint peeled
off the parts that had paint, windows were smashed and whole sections of steel
were missing from her sides. The deck was covered with containers of all sizes,
some small, others the size of tractor-trailers—but it was obvious the
Numestra
's broken-down cargo-lading
equipment did not load those huge crates onto the deck.

 
          
“Would
you look at that rust-bucket?” cartel said, scanning the vessel with his
binoculars. “Who in their right mind would put their cargo on that thing?”

 
          
“Depends
on the cargo,” Ehrlich mumbled. “She may look like a garbage scow but she was
maintaining nearly fifteen knots for an hour—she’s obviously got some horses
under the hood. This thing is a lot more than meets the eye.” Ehrlich picked up
the microphone and switched his comm panel to the LOUDSPEAKER position.
“Attention on the
Numestra del Oro.
This is the United States Coast Guard. Heave-to and prepare for boarding and
inspection.” He turned to McConahay. “Position, Mr. McConahay?”

 
          
“Twenty
miles out, sir. Technically in international waters . . .”

 
          
“Plot
our position and mark it for the log as the intercept point,” Ehrlich ordered.
“Mr. Applegate, see to it that comm radios our position and situation to
District. Tell them to get another cutter out here ASAP.” He thought a moment,
then added, “I want permission from Headquarters to release batteries as well.
Inform them I may need a SNO from
Panama
.”

 
          
“Yes,
sir.” Applegate put a headset up to his ears and began relaying the message.
The SNO, Statement of No Objection, was standard for such intercepts—it was
permission from the country of registry to allow the Coast Guard to board a
foreign vessel in international waters or, for stateless vessels, a declaration
from the Coast Guard commandant that the vessel was under Coast Guard
jurisdiction. The release-batteries request was not as standard—it was permission
from the commandant to open fire on a vessel attempting to escape.

 
          
The
port rail of the
Numestra
was
beginning to swell with crewmen shading their eyes from the glare of the
searchlights and swearing in Spanish. Ehrlich could see a few heavy tools and
ropes in the crewmen’s hands but so far no weapons. Moments later most of those
crewmen were chased away by a fat bearded man in a white shirt carrying a
bullhorn who stood on the port rail near amidships and glared at the
approaching Coast Guard vessel.

 
          
The
man raised the bullhorn to his lips: “You Coast Guard, we do not like you to
board,” he said in broken, accented English. “Why you stop?”

 
          
Ehrlich
made no reply but gave orders to his own men as the
Resolute
glided in toward the freighter. With Ehrlich on the
starboard catwalk giving instructions to the helm, the cutter drifted in to a
dozen yards from the rusty sides of the
Numestra.
Thick rubber fenders were attached to chocks, and the crew unstowed boathooks
and ropes, ready to lash the two boats together.

 
          
Ehrlich
put on his lifejacket and grabbed his bullhorn. “McConahay, have comm radio our
position and situation again.” And to Applegate: “Dick, you have the con. I’m
going over to talk to the skipper.”

           
“Shouldn’t you wait for another cutter?”

 
          
“The
way it’s going, that could be all night,” he said as he began pulling on a
bullet-proof vest, life jacket and utility belt containing a flashlight,
walkie-talkie, handcuffs and a steel whip “impact device”—fancy name for a
high-tech billyclub. “I’ll get the captain’s name and the master copy of his
manifest and be back on board in a few minutes. We'll wait for the inspection
until we get some more help. Hang tight.” He turned toward the starboard
catwalk exit.

 
          
“Skipper?”

 
          
Ehrlich
turned. Applegate opened a locked bin on the aft bulkhead of the bridge and
removed a .45 caliber Colt 1911A2 pistol along with a pouch containing two
extra seven-round clips. “Don’t go aboarding without it,” Applegate deadpanned.

 
          
“Just
checking to see if you were awake.” Ehrlich loaded and chambered a round in the
big .45, holstered it, checked the radio and left.

 
          
The
boarding crew was arranged in standard ready-and-cover formation, with two
handlers on the bow and stern lines and two fender handlers, each with sidearms.
They were backed up with three riflemen in semi-cover on the port side with
weapons at port arms, visible enough for the freighter crew to know they were
there but still well covered behind the steel forecastle. Ehrlich glanced up
and checked the .50 cal gunner and his mate, both ready with the machine gun
barrels pointing toward the freighter but raised high overhead. Two riflemen,
one of them Chief Petty Officer Eddie Morrison, Chief of the Boat and head of
the boarding and security details, flanked the main starboard gangway just
below the bridge, armed with sidearms and slung M-16s.

 
          
Ehrlich
moved down the side of the forecastle and stepped between Morrison and the
other riflemen at the gangway. The two vessels were still separated by about
ten feet, with the line tenders holding ropes and hooks ready to catch the
freighter’s horn cleats. The rusty, scummy sides of the freighter loomed over
the polished white hull of the
Resolute.
Crewmen on the freighter hovered in and around the cargo lashed onto the
freighter’s deck, visible only as long as the searchlights weren’t aimed at
them.

 
          
Ehrlich
took up his loudspeakers to his lips: “I am Commander Ehrlich, captain of the
United States Coast Guard cutter
Resolute.
I want to speak with your captain.”

 
          
“I
am Captain Martinez,” the burly man in the white shirt and wild black beard
shouted back. Then he remembered he had his own bullhorn and used it. “We are
in international waters on peaceful business. Why you stop my ship?”

 
          
“You
did not obey a lawful order to heave-to while you were in American waters,
Captain Martinez. You failed to respond on any area or emergency frequencies.
That is a violation of safe navigation laws for commercial vessels. I request
permission to come aboard your ship and inspect your documents and your cargo.”

 
          
“You
have no right to search! You cannot come aboard this ship—”

           
“I am authorized to inspect any
vessel transiting American waters if I find they are violating the safe
navigation laws of the
United States
. That includes your logbooks and manifests.
If your manifests show you are carrying cargo destined for the
United States
, I am authorized to inspect that cargo. And
according to your port requests of three days ago you are carrying such cargo.
Now, you are ordered to heave-to and prepare for inspection—”

 
          
“I
will not! Not without permission from my owner—”

 
          
“I
don’t need permission from your owner or your government,” Ehrlich said,
bluffing. “If you have a protest you may file it with my government on reaching
port. Heave-to immediately.”

 
          
“You
cannot force me to stop in international waters! This is piracy!”

 
          
Ehrlich
pulled a walkie-talkie from his holster and keyed the mike. “Mr. Applegate,
swing the 3-incher across the freighter’s bow and load one black round. Get
Boarding Team Two armed and on deck. Have all hands on deck stay sharp.”

 
          
A
moment later the loudspeaker on the
Resolute
clicked on and Applegate’s voice rang out: “Team One, cover!” The riflemen at
port arms behind the line handlers disappeared into cover positions behind the
superstructure, the line-handlers dropped to the deck behind the steel gunwale
coaming and drew their sidearms, the riflemen at the gangway moved quickly to
port arms and chambered rounds in their M-16s. The turret of the foredeck
3-inch cannon swung to the right, pointing just ahead of the freighter’s bow.
While the captain of the
Numestra
looked on, six more armed men ran out on deck and took up cover positions,
rifles aimed at the freighter.

 
          
“Once
more, Captain Martinez,” Ehrlich said on the bullhorn, “stop your ship or we
will force you to stop.”

 
          
Martinez
raised his hands, holding his palms towards
Ehrlich. “We will stop. Hold your men.” Just then a second man in a gray silk
suit came out from between some crates on the freighter’s deck, stepped up
behind
Martinez
and spoke to him. They appeared to have a
brief argument.

 
          
“What
do you make of that, Chief?” Ehrlich asked Morrison. “Looks like the real
driver of the boat has just been heard from,” the security chief said. “We
should see who’s really running the show now.”

 
          
The
man in the silk suit disappeared behind a crate. The freighter’s captain moved
up a ladder back to his wheelhouse, and soon after that the rumble of the
freighter’s engines subsided to a low grumble and
Martinez
walked out to the catwalk, raised the
bullhorn to his lips. “Permission to board granted.” His English had suddenly
improved.

 
          
“Assemble
your deck crew on the fantail, Captain Martinez,” Ehrlich ordered. He had to
repeat it several times before
Martinez
finally ordered his men away from the rail
and back toward the freighter’s stern.

 
          
Things
looked like they might be defusing, Ehrlich thought himself as he watched the
Numestra s
crewmen move away. “Prepare
to board,” he now radioed to his men on the starboard rail, who began to
holster pistols, sling rifles and pick up their mooring gear. He was about to
order the helmsman to move closer when the radio suddenly came to life:

 
          
“Skipper!”
Judging by the background
noise, the speaker was probably someone on board the Dolphin helicopter, which
had been moving around the
Numestra
during the intercept, shining its searchlight across the freighter’s decks. “I
see men carrying heavy weapons, moving to the port side of the freighter. Six
of them, fore and aft. Disengage—”

 
          
“
Take cover,
” Ehrlich shouted, waving
his arms, then turned and called to Applegate on the bridge, “Vector! Flank
speed!
Move
. . . ”

 
          
Ehrlich
had taken about five steps when he heard the raspy, thudding pop-pop-pop of
gunfire—even though he knew they were M-16s, they sounded like cheap kid’s
toys. And then the night erupted into a sheet of fire.