Dead Six

and I went aft to clear the engine room. A couple of full-force kicks and the cut-through hatch slammed to the deck in a deafening clatter. The engine room was dark and filled with smoke from my grenade. We switched on our weapon lights, sending bright columns of light piercing into the hazy darkness.

A crewmember was lying on the floor by the hatch with blood leaking out of his ears. He wasn’t moving. I couldn’t tell if he was unconscious or dead.

“Damn,” Byrne said, looking down. “Do you—” BRRRRRRRP! One of Rafael Montalban’s security men appeared from behind a fixture. His MP7 was extended in one hand, like a pistol, while he covered his bleeding ear with the other.

Snapping the shotgun up, I fired. Two loads of buckshot tore into the bodyguard in a splash of blood. As he hit the deck, I caught movement out of the corner of my eye. I swung my weapon around, firing twice again, dropping another crewmember that was running toward me. I quickly scanned the engine room for any more threats. Then I noticed Byrne lying on the floor, staring up at the ceiling, his right eye wide open. What was left of his left eye was hidden under a puddle of blood. A bullet had punched right through his safety glasses and into his head.

Enveloped in the Calm, I didn’t feel anything as I looked down at his lifeless body. No, that would come later.

“Clear!” I shouted. “Man down!” Tailor and Hudson came in a second later. I was crouched by Byrne’s body, thumbing more shells into my shotgun.

“Goddamn it!” Hudson cursed, punching the wall so hard I thought he’d break his hand. He looked down at me. “What are you doing?”

“I’m taking the torch,” I said. “We might need it again.”

Tailor quietly swore to himself. He then squeezed his throat mic. “Alpha Team, this is Bravo, engine room secured, what’s your status?”

“This is Alpha!” Holbrook replied, sounding shaken up. “We’ve got the bridge secured. Commo equipment is trashed. They’re trying to retake it, but we’ll hold ‘em off. Animal is down, KIA.”

“Roger that,” Tailor said flatly. “We’re down one, too. Disabling the engine now. We’re then going after the target.”

“Good luck,” Holbrook said, and the radio went silent.

Our first objective was complete. The Santa Maria was dead in the water. The engine was disabled, the radio was smashed, and the bridge was controlled by Holbrook’s chalk. It was now up to the three of us to find Rafael Montalban and capture him.

The two choppers circling were watching for lifeboats or swimmers. No one had left the yacht. Rafael Montalban was on board somewhere. Tailor figured that he’d be holed up in the security office. It was at the end of a passageway on one of the lower decks, and was defensible. If we didn’t find him there, we were going to head to his stateroom next. If he wasn’t there either it was going to be a room-by-room, deck-by-deck search until we found the son of a bitch.

We encountered almost no resistance as we crossed the yacht. Sporadic gunfire could be heard coming from above us. Holbrook reported that Montalban’s security force made their attempt to retake the bridge, and failed. We expected the remainder of the security contingent to be protecting the man himself.

We were right. We came under fire as soon as we set foot in the passageway that led to the security office. Instead of a few disorganized guys in suits with machine pistols, we were now encountering guards in body armor, armed with G36C carbines and Benelli shotguns. To make matters worse, we were outnumbered.

But they were outgunned. The Santa Maria shuddered with another concussion after Tailor sent a grenade rolling down the passageway. As soon as it detonated, Hudson leaned around the corner and laid down suppressive fire. Tailor and I quickly advanced up the corridor. There were several compartments on either side of the passageway, with a few of Montalban’s remaining bodyguards using the doorways as cover. We were sitting ducks as we moved down the hall. We had to use overwhelming firepower to keep their heads down.

My shotgun wouldn’t penetrate their vests, but a shotgun with a holographic sight on top of it makes for comparatively easy head shots. We brutally cut down the rest of Montalban’s security force in that passageway. When the shooting stopped, six men lay dead on the deck in a mix of spent brass and spilled blood. The air stunk of smoke and burnt powder. Only the three of us remained standing.

I used the brief lull to pull more shells from the bandolier across my chest and thumb them into my shotgun. The weapon was hot to the touch. My cheek was sore from the pounding the stock gave it. Even an autoloader could be rough with three-inch Magnum buckshot.

As expected, the hatch to the security office was sealed from the inside like the engine room had been. According to the ship’s schematics, these were security features in the event the Santa Maria was overrun by pirates. The security office was designed as a sort of panic room where Rafael Montalban and his personal guards could hold out until assistance arrived.

No assistance was coming. Our choppers had impressive electronic warfare suites and were effectively jamming all transmissions that weren’t on select frequencies, like our radios. And your typical pirate didn’t have access to a Broco torch.

My teammates covered me as I fired up the torch and began to cut through the hatch. This one was less substantial than the engine room hatch had been, and the cutting went faster.

It was done. Tailor was ready, Mk 16 carbine shouldered. I dropped the torch, doffed the welder’s goggles, and clicked off the safety on my shotgun. Hudson had just finished loading a fresh hundred-round nutsack into his saw and nodded at us.

Tailor kicked in the hatch. The last three bodyguards were waiting inside, sporting compact assault rifles and body armor. My team swept into the security office all at once. We didn’t use grenades this time. We needed Montalban alive.

The first guard was ducked behind an overturned metal desk. He fired off a burst as we came into the room. Hudson replied with the SAW, tearing through the desk and ventilating the man trying to hide behind it. At the same time, another guard leaned around a corner, G36C shouldered. Tailor and I hit him at the same time. The guard was ripped apart by the barrage of buckshot and 5.56mm rounds and collapsed to the deck.

We didn’t stop. Moving through the office, we turned a corner. A hammer weight slammed into my chest as a loud handgun discharged in front of me. I yelled that I’d been hit and stumbled backward, falling to my butt. The shot was answered with a hail of gunfire that was over in a second.

“Val! You alright?” Tailor asked, crouching beside me.

“I’m fine! I’m fine!” I gasped, looking down at my chest. The bullet had blown open two of the shotgun shells on my bandolier and lodged in my front armor plate. I was okay.

Tailor extended a hand and helped me to my feet. I shook my head and stepped around the corner. Two men had been holed up at the back of the office. One was a big guy in a dark suit, with an ear bud. He was dead on the floor with about a dozen exit wounds in his back. His pistol lay on the deck in a pool of his blood.

The other man was still alive. He was an older gentleman, with graying hair and a neatly trimmed goatee. He had an aristocratic air to him and was wearing what looked to be a very expensive suit. He stood against the wall, eyes wide, with his hands on top of his head. Hudson had the barrel of his SAW practically shoved up the man’s nose.

My eyes narrowed. “Rafael Montalban?”

“Yes,” the man replied. “What is the meaning of this?” I had to give the guy credit. He hadn’t pissed himself or anything. He had some semblance of backbone at least.

“Don’t worry about it,” Tailor said harshly. “You have a computer?”

“I have many,” Montalban replied with an aloof sniff.

“We’re only concerned with the one,” Tailor said. “You know the one I’m talking about.” Tailor was bullshitting the guy. All we’d been told was to get his laptop. We had no idea which laptop or what they were looking for.

Rafael Montalban frowned. “You’ve been well informed. It seems I have a leak in my organization. I’d speak to my head of security about it, but I’m afraid you just killed him.” He nodded to the dead man on the floor.