“Abduwali. Did you copy that, Ghost?”
“Copy,” he responded.
“Let’s move it along, Cam,” suggested Gunner, a polite way of saying kill the guy.
“Roger that,” she growled as she slit the pirate’s throat with a deep, slow cut that caused his windpipe to gurgle with each inch the blade opened up.
Gunner shouldered his rifle and assisted Cam in throwing the pirate overboard. “That’s one,” he said through the comms.
Cam was feeling no fear, and she was more fluent in conversational Spanish than Gunner was, so he allowed her to lead the way. They’d studied the layout of the Victory while en route to Corpus Christi. The first level was crew cabins, engineering, and kitchen facilities. It was accessed by freight elevators at both ends of the ship. The second level, known as the first deck, contained the atrium where guests boarded. To the aft was the SportsBook lounge, and the restaurant was located at the bow. The third and fourth levels were devoted to gaming tables and slot machines.
Their plan was to avoid the first level and the second level, where the staterooms were located. Undoubtedly, the pirates had assigned several men to each, but Gunner wanted to avoid engaging in a firefight around civilians. Plus, unless they were able to eliminate their targets completely without detection, their being discovered would likely expose them to the guy running this piracy operation.
Cam led the way, using the external stairwells to make her way up each level of the ship. Gunner covered their back as the two worked in tandem to the second deck, when they heard voices coming from the bow. The men were talking loudly to one another in Spanish. Heel to toe, Cam approached the open-air seating area designed to accommodate smokers.
The wind was beginning to howl, and the boat rocked from the increased waved activity. The ship creaked and cracked as it was battered by the hurricane.
As Cam reached the corner, she suddenly moved backwards toward Gunner and bent her knees to lower her body. Gunner first swung his rifle to check their rear, and then he swung back around and dropped to a knee as well. The men stopped talking.
Gunner held his breath and aimed high. Cam aimed low. The barrel of the pirate’s AK-47 protruded around the corner before his body. As the pirate followed his gun’s lead, both Cam and Gunner’s weapons spit out two rounds each, killing the man instantly.
She sprang out of her crouch and charged the smoking area. Another pirate suddenly appeared and fired wildly in her direction. She sprayed his chest with bullets, sending him backpedaling until he crashed into the railing and fell over the side of the ship.
The quick burst he managed to get off might have ruined their element of surprise had Hurricane Archie not provided them some sound protection. Gunner and Cam took up positions on both access points to the designated smoking deck, but help for the dead pirates never materialized.
Now it was time to move inside the ship.
“That’s three KIA,” Gunner announced into the comms.
“Roger,” replied Ghost. “We believe we’ve identified the leader of this soiree as Abduwali Ali, a Somalian national wanted by Interpol and the Brits for his part in a mass murder during a piracy gone bad.”
“These hostiles are Mexican,” said Gunner. “Did this guy take a wrong turn somewhere?”
Jackal. “I’m checking with my old FBI contacts. He could be a hired gun by the drug cartels. Either Los Zetas or Sinaloa. When I was with the bureau, rumor had it some big money out of Argentina had funded the Los Zetas in their efforts to take back territory lost years ago to their rival cartels. Rumor was the money was legit on the surface but parlayed into ill-gotten gains.”
“Money laundering in reverse,” added Cam, who was still hyped up.
Gunner asked a logical question. “If this guy is a hired gun, can he be reasoned with?”
“Maybe once upon a time,” replied Ghost. “But not today. He appeared unhinged on his last transmission. He plans on killing one male and female passenger at the top of the hour.”
Gunner searched his helmet screen. He shook his head in disbelief.
“That’s nine minutes.”
Chapter Eighteen
September 7, 1944
Institute of Virology
Riems Island, Germany
Dr. Blome knew something out of the ordinary was about to happen when he’d been ordered the day before to cease all work and experimentation on the prisoners. He was told to expect visitors and that his facility needed to be safe and clean without exception.
The next morning, an unseasonably light snow had fallen. The accompanying gray skies and cold wind off the Baltic Sea cast the institute in a macabre, ghostly light. The sound of a ship’s air horn blasted off in the distance as the lighthouse situated on nearby Rügen Island rotated to warn of shallow waters.
Two SS officers entered Dr. Blome’s office and suggested he greet his guests at the boat launch. Generally, he was treated with respect by the brutal SS soldiers, but today they appeared to be on their worst, or best, depending on perspective, behavior.
Dr. Blome dutifully followed them to the boat launch and waited for his unknown guests. The first passengers were escorted off the Schnellboot, or S-boat. The fast attack craft was used often to transport Nazi officials into Norway in order to avoid air travel. They were perilously close to the United Kingdom, who’d stepped up their air patrols in the region.
Himmler was the first to emerge. Dr. Blome greeted two more passengers, whom he immediately recognized—Adolph Eichmann and Josef Mengele. He’d never met the two most dangerous Nazis in the Reich, but he was certainly familiar with their activities at Auschwitz and other torture camps.
The three greeted one another with the signature salute, where each of the men extended their right arm from their neck into the air with a straightened hand.
“Heil Hitler!” shouted Dr. Blome.
“Heil Hitler!” the visitors responded.
The four men made their way through an increasingly damp day in which rain mixed with snow. Riems
