Gunner stood from his chair. “That’s all I need to hear. Let’s figure this thing out.”
Ghost agreed and the group exited into the operations center. Cam was the first to lay out the potential problems with a hostage rescue.
“I’m gonna make some assumptions,” she began. “We don’t know how many pirates have commandeered the ship, correct?”
“In part,” replied Jackal as she motioned for the group to follow her to her workstation. She was positioned in the center of the room at a U-shaped desk. There were two computers attached to six monitors wrapping their way from one end of the desk to the other. At the moment, all screens revealed one aspect or another of her monitoring efforts. “We’ve gone back to monitor radar and satellite footage of the time leading up to the ship issuing its Mayday calls. We can confirm that two powerboats approached the Victory from the south simultaneously. However, we cannot confirm how many pirates are involved in the attack.”
Gunner turned to Bear. “Whadya think, a dozen?”
“If even,” he replied. “If those fast boats are anything like your Donzi, seating six might be a stretch. They’re a hundred miles from the coast. That’s a long haul sitting on the aft sundeck, you know what I mean?”
“I agree,” replied Gunner. He turned to Cam. “They’re gonna see us comin’.”
“No doubt about it. The bridge will have radar to spot any approaching surface craft. We could try to come from below, but the moment we pop our heads out of the water, they’ll put a bullet in them.”
Gunner rolled his head around his neck. He wandered away from Jackal’s desk among the support team.
“Sir?” said one of the analysts as he spun in his chair to address Ghost. “The internet connection to the ship was cut off in the middle of the latest live feed from the Larkin girl. There was the sound of gunfire and shouting in Spanish. Then the feed abruptly ended.”
“Shit!” exclaimed Ghost.
Gunner continued to think. As he walked behind the chairs of the support team, he stopped behind one of the analysts and pointed at one of her monitors. “What’s that?”
The attractive young woman turned and smiled at Gunner. “Oh, hello, sir,” she said in a soft voice.
Cam lowered her eyes and elbowed Bear, who was standing next to her. She nodded toward Gunner and the analyst.
Gunner blushed and he stood a little taller. “Um, hi. Is that the weather radar for the tropical storm?”
“Former tropical storm, sir. Now it’s been upgraded to a category one and is expected to be a two when it makes landfall in Brownsville.”
Gunner leaned over the woman’s chair to get a closer look at her monitor. His tee shirt brushed against her shoulder. “Can you provide me the storm’s projected track?”
She tapped on her keyboard and revealed the new coordinates. The sustained winds were one hundred ten miles per hour, indicating a strong category two hurricane. Gusts were reaching one-forty.
“Sir, a high-pressure system caused the storm to stall in the gulf. And it steered it away from the Louisiana coastline on a due west path towards Brownsville.” She pointed to her monitor as she spoke.
Gunner stood and smiled. “What’s your name?”
“Kimmie.”
Gunner gently patted her on the shoulder. “Great job, Kimmie.”
He turned back toward Jackal’s desk, where Cam and Bear stood side by side, big grins smeared on their faces, their heads shaking in unison like a couple of choreographed bobblehead dolls.
As Gunner reached them, Cam leaned into him. “Great job, Kimmie,” she mockingly whispered, repeating his words to the attractive analyst. Then her tone of voice changed. “You wish, pal.”
“Wait? What? No,” Gunner began to protest. “I was simply complimenting her, um, tracking of the storm.”
“Yo, no judgment from me,” said Bear with a laugh as he held both hands in the air.
“Thanks, Bear,” said Gunner.
“I mean, that’s how these things start,” Bear continued, taking away all the goodwill he’d just established. “First, it’s a casual encounter. A compliment here and an accidental touch there. The next thing you know, boom-boom.” He raised his eyebrows and quietly pounded his fist into the palm of his left hand.
“Come on, man. Not you too,” groaned Gunner. He turned toward Cam, who was now grinning like the Cheshire cat. “As for you, I have something that’ll wipe that smile right off your face.”
“What’s that, sir?” she replied sarcastically but with her grin bigger than ever.
His reply was simple, yet confusing.
“Eye diving.”
Chapter Eleven
August 1944
Institute of Virology
Riems Island, Germany
Throughout Hitler’s reign as Führer of the Third Reich, German scientists were experimenting with chemical weapons on a tiny Baltic Sea island. Access to Riems Island was highly restricted. Its scientists, who wore personal protective equipment considered state of the art for the time, were required to have disinfectant showers upon entry and exit. Visitors underwent highly scrutinized security measures. In reality, the work of the scientists was so secretive and frightening, that no one, including high-ranking Nazi party officials, dared to request entry.
After the war, the Riems facility became a global center for the study of pathogens, ranging from African swine fever to Ebola. The biosafety level four laboratories there today were the highest level in Germany. Even the stables containing the infected animals, including alpacas, boars, cows, and sheep, the subject of the virologists’ study, were managed within a BSL-4 laboratory setting.
Very few people outside of those who continued to work on Riems Island were aware of the history of the facility. Few knew the detailed work undertaken by Dr. Kurt Blome and Erich Traub, two high-ranking Nazi scientists. And what remained an unspoken subject to this day was the fact that the stables containing animals once contained human subjects.
The virology institute supervised by Dr. Blome consisted of a single building together with the stables. It was expanded to accommodate Dr. Blome’s work on Project Tabun. As part of the
