The Last Spymaster (54 page)

As the elevator doors clanged open, there was the loud clap of an explosion from inside. Ghranditti yelled in surprise. Smoke stung Jay’s nostrils as a second set of feet pelted toward the elevator, this time from the navigation center. It would be al-Hadi. The two men would take only seconds to absorb the fact that the elevator cage was empty.

Jay and Raina hurtled out of the stairwell, firing, raining bullets into the deck, the bulkheads, the elevator—purposefully missing al-Hadi and Ghranditti. The pair plunged to the floor. As the hail of fire continued, Ghranditti covered his head, but al-Hadi was already rising to his elbows, positioning himself.

Jay kicked away al-Hadi’s M-4 and pointed his Browning, while Raina snatched Ghranditti’s Beretta and aimed her SIG Sauer.

Jay scooped up the M-4. “Where’s the software!”

Al-Hadi’s black gaze blazed hatred.
“Khaibar, Khaibar, Ya Yahud, Iaish Muhammad Safayood!”
Khaibar, Khaibar, O Jews, the army of Muhammad is coming for you!

Jay lifted his head, listening again. Gunfire had resumed below. “Your threat is empty, al-Hadi. Your weapon’s gone. Where’s the damn software!”

Al-Hadi seemed to think about it. “All right, I’ll show you.” Slowly, making certain each gesture was seen, the terrorist rose. The youth from Berlin had grown into a good-looking man, with the same high-bridged nose and olive skin, but now a more muscular body. His eyes were intelligent, piercing—and frightening in their certainty.

Ghranditti got cautiously to his feet, too, barrel-chested, his silvered black hair still perfectly arranged. His jowly face was dark with rage. He glared at Jay.

Al-Hadi rotated his hand, showing his palm, where his thumb pressed a wedge-shaped piece of electronics. “Bobbye Johnson is wired with plastique. If I release my thumb, she dies.”

Elaine paused where she had a good view of the cargo crane. With a sinking feeling, she saw the crane’s elevator cage had risen to deck level and the boom was lowering a steel-mesh ramp from the crane to the ship. Ghranditti’s janitors would be aboard in minutes.

Quickly analyzing the supplies she had in her backpack, she hunched low and sped along the railing, alternately scanning the content lists attached to the containers and checking the deck for the plugs that looked like large manhole covers and allowed the crew to check the refrigerated boxes—“reefers”—stored belowdecks. When her brain finally registered the word
propane,
she turned on her heel and doubled back until she found a container isolated from the others. Inside was highly flammable propane.

With the butt of her Walther, she smashed open the strip-and-bolt seal and yanked open the door. Inside, two-pound propane cylinders wrapped in thick buffering material were packed to the ceiling. She slid a cannister out carefully, left it on the deck, and ran again, at last spotting a reefer cover. She opened it, scrambled to the side, and fell next to another. She opened it, too.

“There’s Cunningham!”

She looked up. In the distance, men in guard uniforms were racing toward her. Jerry was in the middle of the pack, his sports jacket falling wide open. As they lifted their weapons, she plunged to her belly. Bullets splintered into the steel deck around her. She rolled, pulled a flash-bang grenade from her backpack, yanked the pin, and heaved it a dozen feet beyond the open reefer holes—just where she wanted it.

Retreating in a fast zigzag, she dove out of sight into a steel chasm just as a loud
bang
smacked the air. Thick ocher-colored smoke billowed past her hiding place. She held her breath and threw herself into it, continuing back toward the deckhouse.

“It’s a just a smoke bomb!” someone yelled.

The feet resumed their pursuit. She scooped up the propane cylinder and pelted onward, tearing off the buffering material. When she was safely away from the container where the rest of the propane was stored, she slowed and looked back. The smoke was thinning into gray.

Four men blasted through. Two dropped from sight feet first down the reefer holes, their eyes wide with surprise. As their angry obscenities rang out, more men appeared, slower, cautiously examining the deck. Elaine smiled to herself.

“Move!” Jerry ordered. “We’ve got to get her. There she is!”

Elaine set the propane in the shadow of a container and sprinted. As the men resumed the chase, she slid into another steel canyon and checked out around the corner. They were closing in. She counted her breaths, keeping herself calm. Jerry, burly and determined, his flat eyes cold with rage, was leading. When he was almost on top of the cylinder, and she could see the sweaty slick on his face, she squeezed her trigger.

The propane exploded in a firestorm of flames, swallowing Jerry Angelides. One arm was visible, the sleeve of his sports jacket a burning torch, the hand in a fist. Men screamed. The deck trembled. The rail melted and sagged.

Elaine nodded soberly to herself.
Distract. Demoralize. Defend.
As a wave of heat rolled past her, she leaped up and raced away again. Some would survive, and they would come after her.

On the bridge level of the deckhouse, Jay and Raina followed al-Hadi and Ghranditti down the corridor. Suddenly a noisy blast sounded from below.

Raina grimaced.
Elaine,
she mouthed.

Jay frowned and nodded. They entered the bridge with its long row of windows that framed a dramatic view of the glittering nighttime port. Two radar screens glowed. Data tracked across monitors. And Bobbye Johnson sat immobilized—duct-taped to the captain’s chair, more tape holding a roll of plastic explosives to her belly. The detonator was visible. Her mouth was taped, too, but her gaze shot lightning bolts at al-Hadi and Ghranditti.

Al-Hadi turned beside her. His lips skinned back in a smile. With his free hand, he opened his shirt, then a black Kevlar vest, showing a black T-shirt with two front pockets. In each was a DVD.

“As promised—your very fine ForeTell software.” Al-Hadi closed the vest and buttoned his shirt.

Ghranditti marched across the room and pushed aside a curtain that concealed a small galley. Inside, Marie Ghranditti was taped to an office chair, her platinum hair tumbling around her shoulders. Her green eyes were wide with horror as she gazed up at her husband.

“Marie, darling, forgive me for keeping you safe.” Ghranditti ripped the tape from her mouth. “That’s better, isn’t it?” He straightened up. “See, Jay? She’s
mine
.” Then to Marie: “This is Jay Tice, darling. I thought you’d enjoy meeting him.”

Marie’s face grew haggard with understanding. She peered at Jay. “I’m sorry.”

“Sorry!”
Ghranditti bellowed at her. “He had everything! He came from a monied family. He had the best education. The government pursued him and handed him a career. But
I
started with
nothing!
I had to fight my way up from the gutter. I had to work like an animal for every penny. For him, respect was automatic. I had to buy it!” He turned on Jay. “Marie was quality. I wanted her, so I figured out what I needed to do, and I took her. She told me about you, where you came from, who you were.
What
you were. She would’ve left you eventually. Instead, you fucked up one of my big deals—
and you wiped Marie!
”

“
You
terminated Marie and our children!” Jay took a menacing step toward the death merchant.

When Raina touched Jay’s sleeve, warning him to control himself, envy at the intimacy flashed in Ghranditti’s eyes. Jay inhaled two deep breaths and gave Raina a stiff nod of acknowledgment. But as Raina squeezed his arm reassuringly and dropped her hand, Ghranditti’s fury seemed only to deepen.

Watching all of them, al-Hadi laughed loudly.

Ghranditti glanced at al-Hadi. Cursing Jay, he exploded off the pads of
his feet and ran across the bridge at him, his arms outstretched. His features were twisted with hate.

“Stop!” Jay warned. Quickly he lifted the Browning, aiming it at Ghranditti’s head while keeping the M-4 on al-Hadi. “If you want to live, get the DVDs from al-Hadi!”

Ghranditti stared at the gun. He slowed, then froze. His gaze shifted to the terrorist.

Al-Hadi laughed louder. “You forget, Ghranditti, I have the trigger for the plastique. If I release it, all of us die. Do you want a martyr’s death? Will you join me at last, my brother?”

Ghranditti’s heavy face sobered. One hand drifted down to his side; the other took out a cigar.

“That’s better.” Al-Hadi considered Jay. “What stupid drama that was, but typical. Put down your weapons or I
will
detonate the plastique.”

“Disarm it,” Jay countered. “If you do, you’ll have a fair trial. You can spout your fundamentalist rhetoric from the witness chair. Think of the press coverage.” He saw Raina adjust her stance, casually move closer to the terrorist while Jay kept him occupied.

Al-Hadi shook his head. “The software and shipment are a far greater prize. Be sensible, Tice. I could’ve ordered your death long ago, but I always planned to take you myself. Now you’ll escape even that—simply give me your guns, the ship will sail, and you can have a lifeboat once we’re on the Chesapeake.”

Jay kept his face expressionless. No matter what he promised, al-Hadi would erase all of them as soon as they lowered their weapons. Their one chance was to use the man’s self-serving beliefs against him—if Raina could move swiftly enough, and al-Hadi would move his hand away from his body. From his peripheral vision, he saw her inch closer and her free hand slide into her pocket. He hoped like hell she was within striking distance.

“Remember Imam Husayn?” Jay began evenly, “He said it right— ‘Death with dignity is better than a life of humiliation.’ ” Husayn had died bravely with a sword in one hand, a Koran in the other, when he was ambushed
in the desert. As al-Hadi’s anthracite gaze on him intensified, Jay put a sneer in his voice: “If you’re a true believer, Sheik al-Hadi, how could you have lived two long decades with the humiliation of knowing you took freedom that day on Glienicke Bridge rather than execute a world-famous Jew? You’re nothing but a coward and a traitor to your people!”

Al-Hadi’s eyes blanked from a thunderstorm of emotions. His body trembled. He raised his hand, slowly unfurling his fingers, showing his thumb massaging the trigger button.

“Death to you!” he shouted. He extended his hand.

Instantly Raina whipped a thin cord with a special adhesive end across the open space, lassoing al-Hadi’s fingers tight around the trigger button.

As al-Hadi tried to jerk free, Raina ran at him. At the same time, Jay threw himself at Bobbye Johnson, yanked the detonator from the roll of plastic explosives, and hurled it away.

Al-Hadi turned to flee, but Raina kicked his right leg. He staggered, grabbing for Bobbye Johnson’s chair. Jay shoved a shoulder into his chest. Al-Hadi fell, and Jay landed on top, wrestling to hold him down while trying to yank open his white jacket.

As Raina tore at the duct tape on Bobbye’s chest, al-Hadi slammed a fist at Jay’s cheek and rolled away. Jay shook his head, fighting dizziness, and slowly lunged for the terrorist. Al-Hadi was already on his feet and rushing toward the glass door that led onto the starboard wing. Ghranditti was right behind.

As Bobbye leaned over, tearing the tape from her legs, Marie nodded frantically and shouted, “They’re escaping!”

The terrorist yanked open a drawer and snapped up an M-4 and slammed out through the door.

Ghranditti grabbed an Uzi and whirled to face the room.

The cool deliberation in Ghranditti’s thick face was chilling. Intelligence had returned, and so had competence. He pointed the Uzi at Jay. “You’ve ruined me!”

Jay ducked and aimed his pistol. Their weapons fired.

As Ghranditti’s bullets whined into the galley inches above Marie’s
head, a black hole appeared between his eyes. Blood spurted out. He staggered back. The Uzi clattered to the deck. He dropped onto his knees beside it. His gaze lifted, and he glared accusingly at Jay. Abruptly, the light vanished from his eyes, and he pitched forward, motionless.

“Get that bastard al-Hadi!” Bobbye Johnson ordered as she jumped off her chair and ran to free Marie. More gunfire sounded from below, louder through the open door. “I’ll hold the damn thugs off. I’m going to enjoy this.”

“Call in the paramilitary first!” Jay left the M-4 for her on the chair.

“I already have!” Bobbye snapped.

Jay and Raina rushed out onto the balcony and down the outside staircase, following al-Hadi, whose feet seemed to have grown wings.

Elaine was pinned at the corner of the tall stack of containers nearest the deckhouse. Blood dripped from wounds to her scalp. More blood pooled on the top of her firing hand. She hurt in places she had no idea could hurt. But when she leaned out to shoot, she spotted another load of men pouring from the cargo crane across the steel-mesh ramp onto the ship.

She ducked back as more bullets struck the steel container and deck. She could hear men running quietly down the canyons among the stacks, circling, closing in. With her free hand, she shakily wiped sweat from her face.

The propane tank’s fiery explosion had killed or removed from action eight in the first pack of twelve. The two who fell into the reefers had crawled out but had not rejoined the firelight. She was certain her bullets had injured an additional two, and there was a possibility she had hit another one. But she had not permanently downed anyone since she detonated the propane. With the addition of the new group, that meant fourteen were out there far more healthy than she liked.