out later.
Moving past, Dean and Ghailiani emerged cautiously on the open deck again. By that time, helicopters were arriving, filling the sky in every direction, British Merlin transports and Super Lynx gunships, this time, along with gray U. S. Navy Seahawks off the Eisenhower; British SAS troopers were fast-roping down from the cargo deck of a Merlin hovering above the Queen's smokestack onto the Deck Twelve Terrace. Other soldiers stood on the Atlantean Grotto Pool deck, their weapons aimed at a half-dozen ragged-looking tangos on their knees, their fingers interlaced behind their heads. A pair of Sea Harriers, hovering practically wingtip to wingtip, stood over-watch off to port. Evidently, the last group of tangos had surrendered rather than face those chain guns.
A pair of SAS troopers, anonymous in gas masks and balaclavas, confronted Dean with raised weapons as soon as he limped through the door. Dutifully he surrendered the AK and raised his hands.
'It's okay!' Walters called. He was standing next to a stack of tarp-covered Stinger missiles, along with Brisard and several other Black Cat team members. 'He's American! He's one of ours!'
With his rather unmilitary blend of civilian clothing and combat vest, Dean decided he was lucky the Brits hadn't shot first and checked for ID later. SAS troopers were already shoving past him through the door, returning a moment later with the two newspeople in tow.
To port, the Pacific Sandpiper slowly passed the Queen, moving bow to stern, one of the SEALs standing on the bridge wing, waving. Between the Queen's turn to port and the Sandpiper's slowing and turn to starboard, the oncoming plutonium transport missed the cruise ship by a good eighty yards. Hell, it hadn't been close at all. The Queen's Azipod thrusters were good.
Fuchida was waiting for them in the cabin where poor Moritomi had died.
He'd been able to hear as the commandos stormed through the ship, hunting down the remaining hijackers, alone or in small groups, and killing or capturing them. He suspected that both Inui and Yano were dead by now; they'd both been determined to take as many of the enemy with them as they could, and to die fighting.
Kozo Fuchida, however, had been thinking since Moritomi had taken his own life, had been thinking a lot.
The Kokusaiteki Kakumei Domei had been born from the ashes of the Japanese Red Army, which had sought only to humble the West and to support the Palestinians in their cause against Israel. The reborn KKD, however, had begun with a more foctised cause — the end of Japan's atomic energy program.
There were millions of Japanese who supported that aspect of the KKD's program. Japan and the Japanese people had always been sensitive to that issue, thanks to Hiroshima and Nagasaki. Fuchida had gotten his start demonstrating against nuclear-armed and nuclear-powered warships of the U. S. Navy being based at Sasebo, right across the bay from Tokyo itself. He and Moritomi had sworn an oath to help al-Qaeda carry out its plan for nuclear terror, exploding a dirty bomb in New York Harbor that would poison tens of thousands, perhaps millions, of Americans.
But Fuchida's omi, his burden of obligation, still rested with the leaders of the KKD. By now it was clear that the Americans had stopped Operation Zarqawi — named for a pathetic terrorist captured and killed by the Americans in Iraq. The world would not now see the object lesson of a radioactive dirty bomb exploding in a metropolitan area, would not. learn the dangers inherent in the PNTL shipments.
His choice now was to die with the others:. or to surrender.
Non-Japanese still thought of the Japanese people in light of World War II, of kamikaze and banzai attacks, of ritual seppuku and a disregard for life. What Westerners never seemed to understand was that the Japanese had a very high regard for life; they simply had a higher regard for the requirements of omi.
The cabin door burst open, and a black-clad arm appeared, holding a flash-bang grenade.
'Don't shoot!' Fuchida yelled. 'I surrender!'
There would be a way, somehow, to continue the fight another day.
Almost twenty minutes later, with the sun just rising above the horizon, the OED team and NEST had reported that the explosives in the hold were secure. By that time, Dean was on board a Seahawk medevac chopper, along with an unconscious Llewellyn, a half-conscious Yancey, and several other wounded personnel and Black Cat operators, and on his way back to the Eisenhower.
America was safe. But the debrief, Dean thought, was going to be a bitch.
The hijackers should never have been allowed to get that close to American waters.
He suspected that there would be some policy changes in the very near future.
Chapter 29
'Ladies and gentlemen, this is your captain speaking. Welcome to New York City.'
Captain Phillips hesitated, uncertain as to what to say. He exchanged glances with Charlie Vandergrift, who shrugged and looked away. Behind him, the man in the business suit, a 'Mr. Johnson' of the State Department according to the ID card he'd flashed, stood listening as well.
Outside, the armada of boats and small craft that had descended on the Queen as she made her way north into the mouth of the Hudson River continued to circle and hover; horns, bells, whistles, and a cacophony of noise continued to sound from the fleet. The entire city, it seemed, had shut down in order to welcome the Atlantis Queen to her unexpected berthing at the city's passenger ship docks — Luxury Liner Row, as they were known to the crews of the ships that used them. Nearly all major transatlantic liners had docked here over the years, including the RMS Queen Mary 2 and the MS Freedom of the Seas.
'The nightmare is over,' Phillips said at last. 'As you can tell from all of the commotion outside, we're being given a truly magnificent welcome to the United States. For those of you who wish to debark, our agents ashore will see to it that you make the appropriate travel connections. Those who wish to remain aboard are welcome to do so. We expect to remain in New York City for approximately one week for maintenance and service, before returning to Southampton.
'Arrangements have been made with several major hotels in New York City for those of you who wish to stay. Transportation will be provided at the head of the pier, and your luggage will be sent along to your rooms later.
'I'm sure all of us join together in giving thanks to the brave British commandos who carried off an unprecedented, truly incredible rescue of this ship, and of all of us aboard… while we were hundreds of miles out at sea.' He glanced again at Mr. Johnson, who nodded. 'As I'm sure you all can imagine, the press will be eager to interview anyone who was aboard the Atlantis Queen during the hijacking. Remember that you have the right not to speak with the press. You've all been through an extraordinarily trying week. You don't need to face that particular gauntlet unless you so wish.
'Royal Sky Line deeply regrets the circumstances of this past week. Our representatives will be in contact with you in regard to any and all monetary or legal claims that may have arisen as a result of this… incident.
'Thank you. All of you.'
He hung up the intercom handset. 'Satisfied?' he asked Johnson.
'You did fine, Captain Phillips. Our government thanks you.'
'I do not like lying.'
The man shrugged. 'It's necessary, sometimes. As are oaths of secrecy.'
Phillips hadn't liked that part, either. He and his bridge crew had been required to sign documents promising not to divulge certain pieces of information, under penalty of twenty years in prison and a one-hundred-thousand- dollar fine. He still wasn't sure of the legality of that. Phillips was, after all, a British subject, not a citizen of the United States, and he wasn't sure the U. S. State Department could require him to sign such an oath. A phone call to the British consulate in New York City that morning for clarification had ended with instructions to sign… and that the legal work would all be sorted out later.
