Plague Ship

boarding party, Kovac stepped up to the controls. There was a dial to order more or less speed from the ship’s engines and a simple joystick to turn the rudder. Maneuvering such a massive vessel was as easy as steering a fishing smack.

He cranked the throttle to maximum and veered the ship away from the rusted-out freighter. The Golden Sky was only a few years old, and, while she was built for luxury more than speed, he was supremely confident he could outrun the derelict.

They started to pull ahead, easily outpacing the freighter, but only for a few moments. It, too, put on a burst of speed, and exactly mirrored his turn. Kovac was dismayed that a ship that looked ready to dissolve into a rust stain could move so swiftly. He checked the throttle control and noticed that if he pulled the dial upward, he could draw what was called EMERGENCY POWER.

He did, and watched their speed continue to increase. Looking across the bridge, he saw the freighter slowly falling back. Kovac grunted with satisfaction. It would take an hour or two to put enough distance between the two ships for them to stop so he could lower a lifeboat, but it didn’t matter.

As if the freighter were toying with him, the big merchantman inexorably accelerated to match his speed and once again positioned itself no more that thirty feet off the Golden Sky’s beam. A quick glance confirmed the cruise ship was pounding across the flat sea at thirty-six knots. There was no way the freighter should be able to achieve that speed, let alone maintain it.

Kovac’s frustration quickly morphed into rage. There came a sharp burst of automatic fire from the corridor behind the bridge, followed by a chorus of high-pitched screams. He rushed to the wheelhouse’s sole entrance and threw back the bolt, his pistol at the ready. The ship’s captain lay in a widening pool of blood on the carpeted deck, and four other officers cowered along the passageway. They must have tried to rush Bergman when he returned. Behind them, his assistant had seven women huddled in abject terror.

“Inside! Now!” Kovac snarled, and gestured with his weapon for the women to enter the bridge.

They moved in a tight cluster under Bergman’s watchful eye, tears streaming down their cheeks.

“Stop this at once,” the seniormost officer demanded.

Kovac shot him in the face and closed the bridge’s thick metal door.

He grabbed one of the women, a dark-haired beauty he recognized was a waitress from the dining room, and raced back to the helm. He positioned her between him and the stalking freighter as a human shield, in case they had snipers. He noted that the merchantman had narrowed the gap even more.

“I believe the game is called chicken,” he said to no one in particular, and savagely pushed the rudder control to port.

At this speed, the ship responded nimbly, and her bow came over. It slammed into the side of the freighter with a titanic scream of tearing metal. The impact heeled the ship to starboard, staggering Kovac, who had braced for it. The bow railing was crushed in, and the two ships grated against each other. A dozen balconies for the most expensive cabins were torn away, while, all over the ship, passengers and crew were thrown to the deck. There were injuries throughout the vessel, though nothing more severe than a few broken bones.

Kovac turned the ship away from the scene of impact. The freighter turned with him but kept a much wider separation this time, its captain obviously leery of another collision.

He wasn’t sure what inspired him, but Kovac had a sudden idea to end this quickly. Leaving the helm position, he yanked one of the dead officers from the floor and walked the corpse outside, with one hand on the officer’s belt and the other on the back of his neck so it appeared he was walking on his own.

Kovac paused for a second, to make sure the men on the other ship had a chance to see him, before rushing the flying-bridge rail and heaving the body over.

He ducked behind the rail and couldn’t watch the body fall the hundred feet to the sea, but he was certain his opponents had. Kovac knew they wouldn’t let an innocent man drown, and it would take them at least an hour to rescue him. He liked the irony that they would be forced to give up their pursuit for a dead man.

“DAMAGE REPORT,” Juan called, as soon as the two ships pulled apart.

“Crews are on their way,” Max said straightaway.

When they hadn’t been able to raise the cruise ship on the radio, their plan had been to get the crew’s attention and hail them with loudspeakers. The owner of the Golden Line was most likely complicit in Severance’s plot, but it couldn’t involve all of his officers and crew. If they could get a warning to them about Zelimir Kovac’s real reason for being aboard, they could put an end to this once and for all.

Cabrillo had fully expected the shipmaster to turn away, as he had, but never anticipated being intentionally rammed. No captain on earth would jeopardize his ship and crew with a stunt like that.

There was only one logical conclusion. “Kovac’s taken over the Golden Sky .” Max eyed him and nodded imperceptively. “Only thing that makes sense. How do you want to play it?”

“We’ll lay up alongside again and fire over grappling hooks. I don’t know how many men he has, but I think a dozen of us ought to suffice.”

“I like your Captain Blood style.”

“Avast, ye matey.”

“If he tries to turn in to us again, you boys are going to be in a world of hurt.”

“It’s your job to make certain he doesn’t.” Cabrillo was about to call down to Eddie to prepare a boarding party when Hali suddenly shouted, “Someone was just tossed off the wing bridge!”

“What?” Max and Juan said in unison.

“A guy in a dark windbreaker just threw what looked like an officer off the wing bridge!”

“Helm, full reverse,” Juan snapped on the intercom. “Man overboard. Man overboard. This is not a drill.

Rescue team to the boat garage. Prepare to launch the RIB.”

“He’s playing dirty,” Max said.

“We can play dirtier. Wepps, aim the gun cameras on the Golden Sky’s bridge ASAP and put them up on the main screen.”

A moment later, the images flashed on the monitor. Because the cruise ship was so much taller than the Oregon, the best angle came from the camera mounted on the ship’s mast. When the camera was switched to low-light mode, they could clearly see into the bridge. There were women standing at all the portside windows, hostages placed there so a sharpshooter couldn’t get a clean hit. There was a figure crouched at the helm, possibly Kovac, with another woman pressed tightly against him.

“He’s no dummy, Juan. We can’t risk a shot with him using those folks as human shields.”

“Chairman, it’s Mike. Doors are open and we are ready to launch.” Juan looked to see their speed through the water, waited a moment for them to slow to the maximum safe speed, and ordered Trono and his rescue team to go.

The Rigid Inflatable Boat flew down the Teflon-coated ramp and hit the seas hard. Mike turned the RIB

immediately to port to ease the transition into the swiftly passing water.

“We’re clear.”

Using thermal-detection gear, they should have no problem spotting the officer. Mike Trono had been a pararescue jumper before joining the Corporation, and was cross-trained as a medic. There was no need for the Oregon to stand by.

“Helm, bring us to ninety percent of our former speed. If he turns, match him, and if he slows don’t close the gap. I want him to think we can’t catch up.” Max shot Juan a questioning look. “We need a little time to get a boarding party organized, and I don’t want him pressured into thinking he should keep throwing people overboard.”

Cabrillo was changing in his cabin when he got word from Hali that Mike had found the officer and reported he’d been shot twice in the chest. Juan calmly gave his orders that the RIB should remain deployed in case Kovac tossed someone alive off the bridge. Inside, his emotions distilled down to a burning fury. He didn’t care that they had wasted minutes searching for a corpse. With the Oregon’s massive speed advantage, there was no way they would ever lose the Golden Sky.

The anger was directed at himself. An innocent man was dead because he came charging in like a bull in a china shop. There could have been another way to capture Kovac and rescue his people. He should have come up with a better plan.

His phone rang and he snatched it up, barking, “Cabrillo.”

“Knock it off right now,” Dr. Huxley said.