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Gerritt Maas could hardly believe what he heard.
“I say again,” Pope advised, “the ship is secure.”
The captain exchanged disbelieving glances with Cohen and Langevin. “That was quick,” Langevin exclaimed. “I thought sure it would take longer.”
Maas puffed aggressively on his pipe, as if seeking an explanation from it. “Well, maybe they saw how things were going and did the smart thing. But I guess you gentlemen will want to see for yourself.”
“Yes, sir,” Cohen responded. “Can we get close enough to jump deck to deck again?”
“Yeah, it’ll take a few minutes though. I think that Captain Harvey will want to lay to.”
Langevin was headed for the exit when he pulled up. “Captain, what about your man? The one who was shot.”
Maas removed his pipe and blew a smoke ring. “Oh, he’s probably going to be okay. Dr. Faith is still with him.”
Langevin stalked up to Pope on the bridge and offered congratulations. “That was good work, Commander. Faster than I expected.”
“Yeah, I’m still wondering about that, Doctor. We’re searching the engine room and will look everywhere else once we get time. Right now we’re still securing the prisoners and Cap’n Harvey’s prize crew is learning about this ship.”
“Well, they have their job and I have mine. I’d like to look at the cargo.” Pope nodded toward the bow. “Apparently the yellow cake is in the forward hold. But all the hatches are secured and it’ll take a while to open them.”
Malten’s voice crackled over Pope’s radio headset. “Vic, this is Jeff. Come back.”
“Yes, Jeff. Go.”
“You better come down here again.”
“On the way.”
“What’s up?” Langevin asked.
“Something in the engineering spaces. You’re welcome to come along.”
Malten met Pope at the hatchway. The junior SEAL extended a hand with an unwelcome sight. Pope’s eyes widened. “Command detonation?”
“Affirm. We’re looking for more.”
Pope took the Yugoslavian made device and turned it over. “How much of a charge?”
“Semtex. About twelve or fifteen pounds.”
“Where was it?”
Malten turned and walked aft. “Down here, under one of the mounts.”
“Where’s the initiator?” Pope asked.
“Haven’t found it.”
Pope glanced around, noting the myriad of possible hiding places. “I’ll get you more guys to search. Meanwhile, I’m going to have a word with Mr. Hurtubise.”
In the galley where the crew and surviving mercs were held, Marcel Hurtubise saw Pope coming. Both knew what to expect.
Pope laid the detonator on the table where the Frenchman sat, hands cuffed behind him.
Hurtubise pretended to examine it. Then he looked up. “Most interesting.”
Leaning forward, Pope braced himself with both hands on the table. He positioned his face eight inches from Hurtubise’s. “Where are the others?”
“Whatever do you mean?”
Pope’s hands shot out, grasping Hurtubise by the collar and pulling him off the bench. The American took a nylon line off his tactical vest, looped it around the prisoner’s throat, and hauled him thirty feet across the deck. Other prisoners scrambled to get out of the way.
“Talk to me,” Pope said. His voice was low, calm, chilling.
Hurtubise gasped for air. “I… cannot… breathe…”
Pope loosened the line slightly. “Well?”
“I am… a prisoner. You cannot…”
The former SEAL snugged up the line, hefted it over one shoulder, and proceeded to drag the bound man another twenty feet. Hurtubise’s face was turning a bluish hue.
Pope leaned over the prostrate Frenchman. “I don’t think you’re in a position to tell me what I can’t do!” He delivered a swift kick to the man’s ribs. “I can hang you from the overhead,
Hurtubise realized that he had sustained a cracked rib. After some gasps and croaks, he managed, “One more.”
“Where?”
“Behind… the main… control panel.”
Pope dropped the line and walked toward the exit. He adjusted his lip mike. “Jeff, Vic here.”
“Yeah. Go.”
“Look behind the main control panel.”
Less than one minute later Malten’s voice was back. “Got it. But what about the initiator?”
“Stand by one.”
Hurtubise was still on one side, gasping for breath. Pope had not loosened the nylon line more than a fraction of an inch.
“Where’s the remote detonator?”
The victim gagged and coughed. “One in my cabin. The other beneath the chart table.”
Pope ran a finger between the line and Hurtubise’s chafed neck. Then he stood erect and called Malten again. “Jeff, I’m sending somebody to get the remotes. But keep looking.” He glanced down at the exhausted mercenary. “I don’t trust this bastard.”
“Will do, Boss.”
Pope looked around. The ship’s original crew and the remaining mercenaries regarded the tall American with unblinking interest. An idea stirred inside Victor Pope’s bald head.
“Bridge, this is Pope.”
“Bridge, aye.” It was Harvey, the British captain now conning the vessel.
“Cap’n, we’re removing two explosive charges from the engineering spaces but I think there might be more. I recommend that we evacuate to
After a pause, Harvey came back. “That’s prudent, Commander. But we still haven’t opened the holds. I’m told that will take some time because they’re welded.”
“It’s your call, Skipper. But we may not have much time. Over.”
Harvey took a moment to ponder the situation. “Stand by, please. I’ll consult with Captain Maas on the ship- to-ship frequency.”
Pope looked around again. Nearly twenty captives were guarded by Bosco and Breezy, who had run out of decks to watch.
“You two,” Pope said. “Start these people topside along the starboard rail. We can save some time by getting them up there now.”
Bosco grinned. “Right, Boss. But, uh, what about him?” He indicated Hurtubise.
Pope looked down and registered mild surprise, as if just noticing the supine prisoner. “Him? Well, he’s going
