Echo of War (33 page)

The storm was abating, Tanner realized. The rain had quit altogether and the wind had lessened, now blowing from south to north. The waves, while still running high, had lost their chop and now rolled smoothly along the hull.

Tanner spotted Cahil. Standing to his left and right at the railing were two men. Directly behind Cahil, left hand in his pocket, right hand gripping a black briefcase, was Risto Trpkova.

Tanner stepped back to Salvatori. “You've got a good eye; it's them. You saw the man with the beard?”

“Yes.”

“He's with me.”

“What do we do now?”

“Nothing. Stay here and watch them. If they move, call your captain.”

Tanner returned to the bridge. Wind whistled through the shattered windows and the deck was damp with sea spray. Bartoli stood near the helm console, a pair of binoculars raised to his eyes. He noticed Tanner. “Well?”

“It's him; my friend is there. Captain, do you—”

“Here,” Bartoli said with a smile and handed across the binoculars. “Dead on the bow. You know, I think we may just make it.”

Tanner focused the binoculars on the horizon. A mile distant he could see a dark, jagged hump of land—Susak Island, he assumed. Closer in, he could see the jagged white line of reef and faint wisps of spindrift exploding into the air.

“How are you going to manage the reef?” Tanner asked.

“The water's only a meter deep there. We'll blow over it and drop the ramp in the shallows.” Bartoli grinned. “I don't think anyone will complain about getting their feet a little wet, do you? Ah, here's some help—our trawlers from Ilovik.”

Tanner followed Bartoli's extended finger. To starboard Tanner could make out three sets of red and green running lights. He heard the faint wail of a whistle. From the lead trawler a light blinked out a semaphore code. Bartoli studied it through the binoculars, muttering, “Yes, yes, thank you.” He lowered the binoculars. “They'll arrive shortly after we ground.”

“Good news,” said Tanner. “Captain, do you have any weapons aboard?”

“What? No; no weapons. Don't concern yourself, Mr. Tanner. I've taken care—”

“What?” Tanner said. “What have you done?”

“I alerted the Croatian police about our problem. They're sending a team from Senj.”

“You shouldn't have done that.”

“Nonsense! Don't look so worried. We'll keep an eye on your
criminali,
then let the Croats handle things; they are the experts, after all. I'm sure they'll have questions for you, but—”

“Captain, you don't understand what we're dealing with here. If the police—”

Bartoli gave him a stern look. “Of course I understand. These men, they attacked my ship. Some of my passengers are dead, others injured. Did you think I was going to let them walk away? Of course I am going to call the authorities. Why would I not?”

Tanner realized it was too late. The Croatian police were coming; there was nothing he could do to stop it. As far as he was concerned, they could have Trpkova. Kestrel was another matter. He changed mental gears. He smiled, held up his hands in resignation. “You're right. I'm sorry. Better to let the experts handle it. They'll be coming to Susak?”

“Yes.”

“May I use your ship-to-shore phone? I need to call my family and let them know I'll be a little late for dinner.”

Bartoli laughed and clapped him on the shoulder. “Of course! In the radio room.” He reached for the phone on the bulkhead. “I'll call ahead and let them know to accommodate you.”

The radio operator showed Tanner how to place a call, then stepped out and shut the door. Briggs listened through two minutes of hissing clicks before getting through to the Langley Ops Center, which patched him through to Sylvia.

He brought the group up to speed, from his catching up to the
Barak
at Male Srakane to the present. “They're still aboard,” he concluded. “Cahil's with them; Trpkova must have recognized him.”

“You believe the canisters are in the briefcase?” Dutcher said.

“I do. He would have disguised them somehow before boarding, but they're in there. It was the only piece of luggage the three of them took from their cabin.”

“We have to assume they're armed,” Sylvia said.

“I agree.”

“How long before you reach Susak?” Dutcher asked.

“Another twenty minutes. The Croatian police should arrive shortly after that.”

“What were they told?”

“Just what I told Bartoli, I assume.”

“Hell, they can have Trpkova,” Sylvia replied. “But if Kestrel—”

“I know, I'm working on it. If I can get Bear's attention, we may be able to pull something off. How soon can we expect transportation?”

“There's a Blackhawk waiting on the pad at Remini as we speak,” said Dutcher. “We'll get it airborne and headed your way. Ninety minutes, give or take.”

“Send it loaded,” Tanner replied. ‘Trpkova's not going to give it up without a fight.”

As Tanner disconnected, the PA loudspeaker crackled to life. The Italian was rapid-fire, so he caught only snippets:
“Brace for shock
…
crew
…
stations
…”

Tanner sprinted down the passageway toward the bridge ladder. The deck suddenly canted beneath his feet. He stumbled, regained his balance, but was thrown forward into the bulkhead. The
Aurasina
had either slowed suddenly, or had struck something. He pulled himself up the ladder to the bridge.

“What happened?” Tanner called to Bartoli.

“An outer reef! It wasn't on the charts! We're still five hundred meters out.”

“Depth?”

“Eighteen meters!”

Almost sixty feet,
Tanner thought.
And a quarter mile from the beach.
The distances didn't sound menacing, but Tanner knew better. If they lost steerageway and foundered, a lot of people were going to die. Of those that didn't reach the lifeboats before the
Aurasina
went under, he doubted half would make it to shore.

The deck lurched again and began trembling as the engines struggled to push the ferry forward. From outside came the first tentative screams of panic.

The phone buzzed. Bartoli grabbed it, listened for a moment, hung up. “The keel is holed. We're taking on water.”

“Engines?

“Still on line, but we're too heavy,” Bartoli answered.

The helmsman called, “Six knots … we're slowing. Depth beneath the keel, fifteen meters.”

Tanner glanced at Bartoli, who shook his head. “Still too deep. The main deck is only ten meters off the surface.”

“How far to the inner reef?” Tanner asked.

“Two hundred meters.”

The helmsman called, “Three knots.”

Walking speed.

Bartoli said, “Our best chance is to ground her there. If we can at least keep the main deck above water, we should be able to last until the Croatian Navy arrives.”

Tanner nodded and extended his hand. “Good luck.”

Bartoli shook it. “And you.”

Tanner hurried aft to where he'd left Salvatori; surprisingly, he was still there. “Shouldn't you be at your emergency station?”

“Captain's orders—Stay here, watch the
criminali.
”

“You're a good man. They're still there?”

“Si.
”

Tanner peeked over the railing, spotted Cahil and Trpkova, then pulled back.

The first rescue vessels were arriving. Off the port beam the trawlers from Hovik had slipped through the gap cut by the
Aurasina's
passage through the reef and were paralleling the ferry's course toward Susak. Crewmen stood on their decks, watching and calling out to passengers. Off the starboard quarter was a red speedboat with a young couple standing in the cockpit. They saw him, and started waving. The man waved a coil of rope, obviously offering the only help he could think of.

The loudspeaker blared to life. Tanner recognized Bartoli's voice, but again caught only a few words. Salvatori said, “Brace for shock,
signore.
We're approaching the reef.”

Tanner gripped the railing with both hands and dropped to crouch on the balls of his feet. Salvatori did the same. He offered Tanner a wan smile. “Not so much fun, eh?”

“No, not so much fun. Can you swim?”

“Not so well.”

Tanner took his hand off the railing and patted his shoulder. “Don't worry, you won't need it. Your
capitano
is a magician.”

“Si,
si
…
”

The deck lurched forward, then back, then began trembling. The engines groaned. Black smoke belched from the stack. From the bow came a low-pitched scraping sound that quickly rose to the shriek of metal on rock. The
Aurasina
gave one more forward heave and went still.

Salvatori stood up, raced to the side, and looked down the hull. “We're on the reef! I can see the bottom!”

Tanner joined him, glanced around for Cahil. At that moment—Tanner would never know why—Trpkova turned and looked up. Their eyes met. Off guard, Briggs followed his first impulse: He quickly looked away.
Too fast,
too fast
… He could feel Trpkova's eyes on him. Had he seen something in Tanner's eyes, a too curious gaze, a split second of suspicious hesitation?

“Stati
!”
came a shout from below. It was one of the few Bosnian words Tanner knew: Stop!

Tanner looked down. Whether he, too, had seen Tanner or had simply decided the time was right, Cahil was making his move.

In a jumble of bodies at the railing, Tanner saw one of Trpkova's men stumble backward, his face bloody, hands clutched around his throat. The second man rushed Cahil. Bear lashed out with a straight jab, thumb extended. The man screamed and went down, both hands over his eye.

Screaming passengers began scattering. An open space opened on deck, with Cahil and Trpkova at its center. Cahil spun toward Trpkova, who backpedaled, right hand clutching the briefcase to his chest, left hand fumbling at his side pocket.

Tanner swung his leg over the rail, lowered himself until he was hanging, then let himself drop. He hit the deck, rolled, and got up. Ten feet away, Trpkova's hand emerged from his pocket holding a semiautomatic pistol. Cahil was already charging. They collided and stumbled backward.

There was a muffled
pop.
Tanner saw Cahil convulse, then slump down. Trpkova backed away. Cahil pitched forward onto the deck and lay still.

Oh,
Christ,
Bear
…

Trpkova spun toward Tanner, gun raised.

“
Stati
!”

Tanner froze. The semicircle of passengers went silent. Briggs glanced at Cahil, then Trpkova. “Risto, I know what's in the case. Root told me everything. You don't want it; trust me.”

“No!” he yelled in English.

“Put it down on the deck and go on your way. I won't try to stop you.”

“Shut up!” Trpkova's eyes darted left, then right. His face shined with sweat. “On your knees … get on your knees!”

Heart pounding, Tanner did as he was told.

“Cross your legs! Hands out to your sides.”

Tanner complied.

Trpkova jerked his gun around and pointed it at a man in the crowd; beside him stood a little girl of five or six. “You! Girl! Come here!”

Tanner said, “Don't—”

“Shut up!” Trpkova sidestepped, grabbed the girl's arm, and jerked toward him.

“Don't do this,” Tanner said.

“Down on your belly.”

Briggs gauged the distance between them. Twelve feet. Too far.

“Do it!” Trpkova shouted.

Tanner lowered himself to the deck and lay down.

“Don't look at me!” Trpkova cried. “Turn your face.”

Tanner did so.

There was a long ten seconds of silence, then he heard the little girl scream, followed by footsteps pounding away. He lifted his head. Trpkova was gone. Half the assembled passengers were gaping at him, the other half craning their necks for a better view of the port side deck—staring after Trpkova, Tanner assumed.

There came three gunshots from somewhere forward. A woman screamed.

On hands and knees Tanner scrambled over to Cahil. The deck beneath him was stained red. Using his fingertip, Briggs found the carotid artery; there was a pulse.

“Bear, can you here me?”

Cahil groaned, then murmured something. Tanner leaned closer. “What?”

“… can hear you. Wasn't shot in the damned ear. Turn me over.” Tanner did so. Cahil's shirtfront was drenched in blood. “Shoulder,” Cahil rasped. Tanner found the wound. The bullet had shattered his collarbone; Briggs could see the white of bone jutting from the wound.

“Where is he?” Cahil asked.

“Running.”

“Get him, Briggs. I'm okay.”

Tanner glanced around him, pointed at the closest three passengers, and gestured them over.
“Aiuto
…
per favore.
”
Two women rushed over, followed by a man. They knelt beside Cahil.

“Go,” Cahil commanded.

“Susanna's aboard.”

“I'll watch after her. Go!”

Tanner got up and started running.

Halfway up the deck Tanner came across one of the crew—the one he'd met earlier named Belio—lying at the center of a circle of passengers. He'd been shot in the forehead. A woman near the railing pointed forward.

Tanner kept running. Where the deck broadened into the forecastle, he skidded to a stop. Sitting against the railing was the little girl Trpkova had taken. Tanner rushed forward, knelt down. She was sobbing, but appeared unhurt. He picked her up.

He heard shouting, calls for help, followed by the growl of an outboard motor. Tanner stepped to the rail. Treading water alongside the hull were a man and a woman. A hundred yards away, trailing a rooster tail of foam, was their red speedboat. Standing in the cockpit was Trpkova.