Tortugas Rising (20 page)

The guard waved the helicopter closer. He had never met Baxter; he had only heard the talk amongst the men. Creepy. Old. But he was the man with the money. Hundreds of millions. He wanted to make sure he made it on board safely.

Savage approached the helicopter. He shouted to be heard over the roar of the rotors. “What’s he doing here?”

“Not sure sir. We’re still jamming the radios.”

Savage peered into the dark of the helicopter. He couldn’t see anything through the sliding door. He caught the eye of another guard and waved him over.

“Be ready for anything.”

The guards drew their weapons.

The helicopter door slid open, and two men opened fire.

The guard in front was struck in the chest and fell backwards. Savage grabbed him. He held the wounded man as a shield as he reached for his own gun.

The shots kept coming as the now-dead guard collapsed on top of Savage. He dropped the gun from his hand as he tried to break his fall. He hit the deck hard and struggled with his one good arm to push his way from under the guard.

A second guard collapsed next to him, dead.

# # #

Steve and Paul stopped firing and dropped to the deck. They had barely cleared the skids, when the helicopter began to climb and head toward shore.

Steve felt the drop in his injured leg, but managed to stay on his feet as he landed on top of the ship’s bridge. Paul hit the floor next to him and lost his balance. He careened into Steve, pushing them both towards the edge of the three-story structure. They both collapsed inches from the edge.

“Get off me!”

Paul stood and grabbed Steve’s hand. “I got one.”

“Was it Savage?”

“I don’t know. But I really hope so.”

“I think I got mine. It happened pretty quick.”

The return fire started. It was coming from the deck below. The pair scrambled low to the cover of a large piece of equipment.

“Jefferson should be here soon. Did you see any ladders? Ropes or anything?”

Paul shook his head.

“We’ve got to find a way to get him on the boat.” Steve risked a glance around the edge of the pipe. A whistling trail of bullets filled the air. Ricochets filled the early morning light with sparks.

He turned to Paul, “At the bow of the ship. Do you see the ropes hanging from the booms?”

Paul risked a quick glance.

“Okay.”

“If we can get the boom arms extended it might give Jefferson and his men a chance at getting on board.” Steve looked again.

“Should we split up?”

“Didn’t you learn anything from Scooby-Doo? You never split up.” Paul pulled the clip from the USP that he had taken off one of the dead guards. It was full. He had a second clip in his back pocket and Jefferson’s .45 tucked in his waistband. “I’ll go. Then you go. Me. You. Me. You. Me…”

“I get it!” Steve turned and fired several shots into the deck of the ship. Paul fell more than he ran down the steps of the bridge, and began to fire. Steve followed and they leap-frogged their way down to the deck.

They duplicated this maneuver three more times before they came back into view of the men on the deck. Machine guns chattered as they dove for cover.

They returned fire sporadically. It had little effect in keeping the gunfire at bay.

“This sucks!” Paul slammed the butt of the gun into the deck in frustration. A shot fired and struck the bulkhead next to Steve.

“Dammit, Paul!”

“Sorry. Hey,” he pointed to where the bullet had struck. The door to the bridge was open. “The controls are probably in there.”

“Go.” Steve stood and emptied the clip from his gun. Paul dove through the open door.

The suppressing fire returned, and Steve found himself pinned behind a piece of the steel superstructure. He yelled to Paul. “Get the booms in the water.”

“Here,” Paul threw the USP and two clips to his friend and drew the .45 from his waistband. The cargo shorts fell slack and he tightened the string that served as a belt. “Stupid hippie pants.” He chambered a round in the .45 and stepped into the bridge.

# # #

Savage wrestled himself free from the dead weight of the guard on top of him, and found himself having a more difficult time moving to the bridge than he’d expected.

There was no way for the men on deck to know that only two intruders had jumped from the helicopter. He was as much of a target as Steve and Paul.

It had taken a moment to find his gun; the tear in his side protested as he bent over to reach it. A quick touch confirmed popped stitches. He pulled his fingers away; they were crimson.

He made his way slowly down the rear access ladder to the deck below. The troublesome pair had disappeared down the starboard staircase; the rear ladder gave him the distance he needed to come up on them from behind without being too much of a target himself.

He approached the corner of the superstructure and risked a glance around the side.

Bennett was crouched behind one of the many routing pipes. He was doing his best to return fire, but could only risk a few unaimed shots at a time.

Savage sensed a lull in the fire and dove to the ship’s rail. He lay low and crawled quickly to Steve’s position. Bennett was trying to clear a jam. Savage leapt.

# # #

An empty shell stood upright in the ejector of the USP. Steve’s desperate shots had become more measured. The large pipe provided more than adequate cover, and he only fired to stall the approach of the men. This would give Paul time to deploy the booms. Now if only Jefferson would arrive.

He cleared the empty casing and pulled the slide back, planning to wait a beat before he fired again. Half a beat in, the gun was struck from his hand. He turned to catch Savage’s gun across his face.

His eyes rolled and things blurred before him. He fought the urge to pass out.

He fell back into the line of fire. Sparks lit his face as the bullets bounced off of the diamond plate deck.

Steve rolled back to his place behind the pipe, and kicked at the gun in the security chief’s hand.

It flew free. Steve struck again at the wounded Savage. Savage caught his kick and dragged him back behind the pipe. The blows were fierce. Steve covered his head and struck with his elbows when he had the chance. The strikes pounded his chest and shoulders. He couldn’t tell if the restricted position was causing Savage to miss or if the man was trying to break him all over.

“You. Are. Going. To. Die.” The words measured against each blow. Steve felt a rib crack. Breathing caused him pain.

The gunfire had stopped at the far end of the ship. Certain of a kill, the men arose from their cover.

Savage yelled, “He’s mine.”

Before he knew it, Steve was dragged to his feet and thrust against the wall. He felt the broken rib shift and cried out.

“Cease fire!”

The order was echoed across the deck from more than a dozen voices. Savage continued to beat Steve as he checked him for weapons, the crimson scar glowing as rage filled the mercenary and LSA Secretary of Defense. He threw Steve forward, tripping him at the same time.

Steve rolled, hoping to land on his good ribs. The jarring still brought pain.

“What are you doing here Bennett?” He kicked him in the stomach.

Steve gasped. The gasp brought more pain.

Savage lifted him by his hair. “Where’s Nelson?”

# # #

The bridge was unguarded with the exception of one man and the new captain. The first had his back to the doorway. Paul fired. The guard fell. The captain reacted quickly to the report of the .45 and spun to face Paul, a gun in his hand.

They fired simultaneously. Their first reports sounded as one. The captain’s shot grazed Paul’s left temple. Paul fired three more rounds.

The captain slumped over the console, and Paul stormed into the bridge.

He looked desperately for a button labeled “boom controls” and soon realized that his vision was off. He blinked and felt his left eyelid stick for a moment. Blood filled his eye. He wiped at it and was relieved to find the eyeball still intact. He felt his head and found the bullet wound.

He tried to staunch the flow of blood with his fingers while he continued to look for the magic button, but it ran through his fingers, and clouded his vision again.

He almost tripped over the body of the first guard. His feet still twitched. Paul tore a sleeve from the guard’s pale blue shirt, tied it over his wound and wiped the rest of the blood away. It seemed like it would hold.

Beyond the guard’s body, he spotted a cockpit. This had to be it. Cockpits didn’t belong in boats. He fell into the seat and noted the two joystick controls on the end of either arm of the chair. In front of him was a lit computer screen; beyond the windshield he had a clear view of the deck.

The firing had stopped. Not good. He leaned forward to search for Steve. He bumped one of the joysticks and the port side boom jerked.

Steve came into view with Savage right behind him. He grabbed the controls and thrust them both out. He had to hurry. He had to save Steve.

# # #

The launch roared into the wake of the dredge.

“Any ideas yet?” Jefferson wished for an answer.

He received none.

“Head up the side of this bitch. I’ll shoot myself a ladder if I have to.”

The dredge was huge, the largest cutter suction dredge that could fit in the Intracoastal Waterway. From a distance, it looked like a mass of pipes sitting on the water. The deck was flooded with work lights and the engine churned rhythmically.

The Homeland Security agent waved to the boat behind him, directing them to approach on the port side. He had no plan. He had no hope. But there had to be something they could do.

“Sir,” the agent at the wheel pointed at the ship.

He saw it. The dredge arms began to stretch from both sides of the ship. The answer dangled under each arm – a series of evenly spaced ropes hanging just above the water.

“Get me to those ropes!”

# # #

Savage turned at the groaning sound of the boom arms. The massive pipes broke from their cradles and stretched over the passing ocean below.

Savage spied Paul through the glass. “What the hell is he doing up there?” One of his men raised his gun to fire.

Savage raised his hand to stop him, “We can’t show up in port with bullet holes. Go and get him.”

# # #

Paul scrambled over the seat back, kicking the port controller as he went.

The port boom dove into the Gulf of Mexico and Paul dropped to the floor as the ship reacted.

# # #

The sudden drag shook the ship. Savage fought for balance, but Steve had seen it coming. He worked with the roll of the ship and dove at Savage. His rib protested. He ignored it.

He caught the security chief off his guard and off-balance. The two fell to the diamond plate deck.

Steve held nothing back. He came down on the mercenary’s back and jabbed his fists into kidneys. He found the back of the man’s head and dragged it across the grated surface. He kneeled on fingers and threw elbows.

Savage wailed. His men were still gaining their footing and could not fire for risk of hitting the signature on their paycheck.

Savage’s elbow caught Steve in the throat, and he fell back from the attack, choking. He struggled to his feet in time to be tackled by Savage.

Steve landed on his back and rolled the man under him. He couldn’t free his arms to strike so he dug instead. His fingers worked deep into muscles and flesh. He pulled, he tore, he twisted.

Savage rolled and ended up on top. Steve was face down overlooking the hopper.

He stared into the frothing mixture of mud and water. The port side cutter had been engaged and water poured into the bin.

He remembered the pilot’s warning, and fought to stay out of the hopper. He knew that the water, soil and rock would kill him, but the thought of landing on a rusty H-bomb scared him even more.

Savage shifted back and began to lift Steve’s legs from the ground. Bennett struggled to grab the rail behind and above his head. His arms flailed. His broken rib fought every movement.