Facing the Storm (Brice Bannon Seacoast Adventure Book 1) Read online

  Nichols held a gun on him. A shiny Kimber .45 automatic. His grip was firm and steady.

  “What gave us away?” Bannon asked.

  “Let me count the ways. The three of you are in remarkably good physical shape for having been adrift for seven days on a boat rented for only a few hours. No sunburns, no signs of dehydration or sudden loss of weight. And your yacht is in amazingly pristine condition. No refuse strewed about. No maintenance manuals or grease or grime around the engine compartment hatches. No smell of old smoke, no soot, no spilled diesel fuel from blown engines. And I noticed Mr. McMurphy’s tattoo. It is a Naval Aviator Insignia. If I’m not mistaken, it means he’s a qualified pilot in three U.S. military branches: Navy; the Marine Corps; and the Coast Guard.”

  “Very observant of you, Captain.”

  “A ship’s command demands a vigilant eye these days. So, I’ll ask you again, what are you up to, Mr. Bannon? If that’s even your real name.”

  “It is.” Bannon took a step away from the crate, nodded his head toward it, indicating Nichols should take a look. “Take a gander for yourself.”

  Giving Bannon a wide berth, Nichols stepped forward. He glanced down at the missile launchers. The surprise was plain in his expression. “Are you responsible for bringing those things onto my ship?”

  “No.”

  Nichols pointed at the crate with his gun. “That crate contained pottery and other relics discovered in an archeological dig in Morocco, bound for a museum in Boston.”

  “They look like ancient artifacts to you?”

  It was Nichols’ turn. Glum, he said, “No. These weapons why you and your friends are here? Why you tricked your way onboard my ship.”

  “They are.”

  “For what purpose?”

  “As I told you, my name is Brice Bannon. Lieutenant Commander Brice Bannon. United States Coast Guard, Reserves, on special assignment. May I put my hands down?”

  Nichols didn’t say either way, so Bannon kept them up.

  “And those other two?”

  “Chief Warrant Officer Jack McMurphy.”

  “And the girl?”

  “Works for me, let’s just leave it at that.”

  Nichols took a moment to absorb all he was hearing. After a minute, he said, “Last I knew U.S. Coast Guard vessels came with red, white, and blue racing stripe decals and a cross anchor seal.”

  “The yacht’s a confiscated boat, seized from a drug cartel operating out of Miami. We use it for undercover work such as this.”

  Nichols nodded. “Obviously you came onboard knowing exactly what you were looking for, Commander. So I’m telling you flat out, I had nothing to do with those weapons being on board my ship. Believe me or not.”

  “Oh, I believe you. May I please put my arms down?”

  Nichols lowered his weapon and nodded.

  “In fact, Captain. We know exactly where the weapons came from. They were flown out of Russia and into Nigeria six weeks ago, sold to an Islamic terror cell there who trucked them overland to Morocco, where they were smuggled onboard the CALEB using forged documents and bribes.

  “What we don’t know is how the terrorists plan to get them past TSA and port security in Boston once you arrive in the States. I’m here to confirm the presence of the weapons onboard, which I’ve done, and to prevent them from reaching U.S. soil. By any means necessary.”

  As Bannon spoke, Nichols’ face flushed beet red. Angry at being duped and angrier still that terrorists would attempt yet another attack on the U.S., Nichols said, “Well you can damn well rest assured they won’t reach America. I’ll dismantle them myself right here and toss the pieces overboard. I’ll scatter them across a hundred miles of ocean floor.”

  Bannon smiled. “I appreciate your indignation, Captain, but I don’t believe—”

  A loud explosion thumped from somewhere midship, interrupting Bannon. Alarm klaxons blared, followed quickly by the shriek of sirens.

  Nichols blurted, “What the hell…”

  “Some-thing I was afraid of.”

  “What?” Nichols demanded.

  Calmly, Bannon explained. “Unlike drug smugglers, who anticipate losing a percentage of their product to random Custom’s inspections, a cost of doing business if you will, terrorists can’t afford to take that chance. They used the CALEB to get the weapons this far—”

  Another explosion vibrated the deck under their feet. Muted shouts of crewmen could be heard, rushing in response to the assault on the ship.

  “It sounds like we’re being attacked.”

  “If I’m right, you are. My guess is that was the opening salvo of a boarding party. Here to get these weapons.”

  “A boarding party. You mean pirates?”

  “I do.”

  “I need to get up there.” Nichols spun and headed for the exit. At the open hatch, he stopped, realizing Bannon had not moved to join him. He gave Bannon a quizzical look. “You coming?”

  “I need to secure these weapons first.”

  “Suit yourself. But you’re wasting your time. No terrorist will board the CALEB. Of that I assure you.” Nichols charged through the open hatch and disappeared down the gangway.

  -----

  TWENTY MINUTES LATER, Bannon carefully made his way topside. He came out into the hot, bright sunlight, blinking after his time spent in the dark holds below. When the sun spots in his vision had cleared he slipped on his sunglasses and moved along the starboard gangway, past the crew quarters, toward the stern, inching his way past the engine room. As he did, his blood ran cold.

  Conspicuous by their absence, he noticed the CALEB’s lifeboats were gone!

  Near the rear of the accommodation section, he caught wind of men shouting orders, followed by the rushed shuffle of running feet and clanging of buckle straps against metal gun barrels.

  Bannon eased to the edge of the crew quarters. With his back pressed to the bulkhead he took a quick glance around. Gathered on the deck near the port boom, Captain Nichols stood with McMurphy, Tara, and others of the CALEB’s crew.

  They were surrounded by a rag-tag group of mercenary pirates.

  At the center of the group stood a tall, dark-skinned man, his head wrapped in a soiled turban. He wore frayed cargo pants, a T-shirt, and over it, a plaid work shirt with its tails hanging out, all worn under a leather vest that had once been a jacket.

  Bannon wondered if the sleeves had been cut off or if the stitching had worn out to the point they’d simply fallen off. He watched as the man held a brick-sized radio clutched in one large hand and a pistol in the other, the weapon aimed at his captives.

  “Save me time and yourself much trouble, Captain. Tell me where my cargo is?”

  “I told you before. I have no idea what you’re talking about.”

  McMurphy stepped forward, as tall as their armed captor, but much, much wider. “What aren’t you understanding, Aziza Faaid. He. Don’t. Know.”

  He said it overly loud, in the hope Bannon would hear. So he would know who their enemy was.

  Bannon winced as the gun butt smashed viciously across McMurphy’s jaw. His friend spun and fell to his knees, clutching at his face with his hand and staring murderous daggers up at his attacker.

  Tara drew a sharp breath and rushed to comfort McMurphy.

  Bannon fisted his hands but didn’t break cover. Message received. And here’s one back, Aziza Faaid will pay for his cheap shot. You have my word.

  “Stand back, woman,” Faaid said.

  Tara ignored him.

  Faaid took a moment to consider her defiance. Surprisingly, he decided to let it go. He snapped his attention back toward Nichols. “Again, Captain, the location?”

  “Go eat a pig.”

  Faaid raised his pistol. He aimed it at the chest of one of Nichols’ men. Without a moment’s hesitation Faaid shot him.

  The gunshot cracked loud and crisp in the air.

  Nichols lurched forward. “You goat-fu—”

  Faaid’s
men grabbed Nichols, quickly and effectively halting his charge.

  Faaid stuck his pistol into his waistband and approached Nichols. “I am not a patient man, Captain.”

  While his men held him, Faaid gut-punched Nichols. Then grabbed a fistful of his hair and yanked his head up.

  Nichols winced.

  Faaid drew back his fist, about to smash in Nichols’ face, but stopped when one of his pirate crew approached him. He spoke quickly to Faaid in a hushed voice. Faaid listened, furrowed his dark brow. Then he nodded and waved the man away. To Nichols, he said, “There was a third man with these…” he waved at McMurphy and Tara, “…refugees you picked up. Where is he?”

  Nichols shrugged.

  To his man, Faaid said, “Find him.” But thinking better of it, he said, “Wait.”

  He stepped over to where Tara remained beside McMurphy, stroking his sweaty and blood-streaked face. Faaid grabbed her by the hair and pulled her away and to her feet.

  She shrieked and struggled in his grasp.

  McMurphy roared to his feet, but was quickly put down by several savage rifle butt jabs.

  Faaid placed the barrel of his pistol under Tara’s chin.

  She winced and squeezed her eyes shut.

  Nichols shouted, “Don’t!”

  “Tell me! Where is my cargo?”

  “I. Don’t. Know!”

  “Liar!” Faaid thumbed the pistol’s hammer back. “Tell me!” He began to count. “Three…two…one.”

  “No!” Bannon shouted, stepping out from where he hid behind the super structure.

  Faaid whirled. He relaxed his grip on the gun, but only marginally. He smiled “Ah, good. You must be our missing refugee.”

  Several of Faaid’s men grabbed Bannon. They quickly frisked him, roughly, but found no weapons, only a pocket full of change, a wallet, a key ring with two keys and key fob on it. The men placed the items on a barrel strapped to the bulwark and dragged Bannon over to Faaid.

  Faaid looked him up and down. His expression told Bannon he wasn’t impressed. “Tell me, what does a pampered American yachter need with car keys, so far out here in the Atlantic Ocean?”

  “I didn’t want to leave them on my boat. In case something happened. Where is it by the way?”

  “Cast adrift, I’m afraid.”

  “See?” Bannon said glancing at the keys. “Prudent on my part, wouldn’t you say?”

  Faaid stepped closer, face to face, invading Bannon’s space. “Tell me your name?”

  “Brice Bannon, Lt. Commander, United States Coast Guard.”

  “What the hell are you doing, Bannon?” Nichols blurted out. He renewed his efforts to escape his captors, but they held on tight.

  Faaid ignored the distraction. “Can I assume then, Commander, you are here to prevent me from acquiring my cargo?”

  “That is my mission, yes.”

  “Then you have failed.”

  Bannon nodded. “So it would seem.”

  “Where are my missile launchers, Commander? Tell me and I will let you live. You have my word.”

  Captain Nichols, still squirming, snorted.

  Faaid tightened his grip on his pistol, held it tighter to Tara’s head.

  “Cargo hold three, midship, aisle seven, level one.”

  “Bannon!” Nichols was anything but happy. “Are you crazy?”

  Bannon ignored him. To Faaid, he said, “I told you, now let her go.”

  He shoved her over to McMurphy, who was back on his feet, but his face was a bloody mess. He caught Tara in his arms.

  Faaid kept the gun trained on them as he ordered his men to get the missile launchers.

  To McMurphy and Tara, Bannon said, “Are you two okay?”

  McMurphy looked like an enraged bull. His hands were balled into massive fists. He nodded.

  “We’re fine,” Tara said.

  Two men remained by Faaid’s side.

  Four against three, Bannon thought, sure the Captain was up for a fight. Normally, he’d have liked those odds. If it weren’t for the automatic weapons pointed at their heads.

  So they waited.

  As more minutes passed, a warm, briny breeze blew across the deck. The sea remained calmed. The sun blazed yellow and hot overhead. All the things about the ocean Bannon loved. He closed his eyes, imagining he was on his 40-foot Hunter sailboat, without a care in the world.

  But, the serenity of the moment was lost when Faaid’s radio crackled with static which was followed by the scratchy, heavily-accented voice of Faaid’s man: We have the cargo accounted for and safely loaded.

  Faaid squeezed the radio call button. “Very good. If the others are done, have them return to the boat. We will be there momentarily.”

  His man clicked off without verbal acknowledgement.

  Faaid smiled. Two of his back teeth were missing, the rest were stained the color of coffee. “It would seem our time together has come to an end.”

  Brannon took a defiant step forward. “What are you going to do with us?”

  In spite of the radical extremist’s promise, Bannon knew Faaid wouldn’t let them live.

  “I am not going to kill you, if that is what you fear. I gave you my word.”

  “The word of a terrorist?” Nichols quipped. “What’s that worth?”

  “Watch your mouth! We are not terrorists. We fight in Allah’s name. A holy war.”

  “You murder to further your own perverted religious agenda. Kill innocent men, women, and children,” Bannon said.

  Faaid smiled, but it held only contempt. “I am sorry, but we do not have the time to argue ideology this day. We have disabled your communications and your ship’s engines. We have lowered and released your lifeboats.”

  Horrified, Tara said, “You’re going to leave us out here…adrift?”

  It was Bannon who answered. “No, he isn’t.”

  “He’s going to scuttle the CALEB,” McMurphy concluded. “Send us straight to the ocean floor.”

  “Charges have been planted in the bilge keel, yes,” Faaid confirmed. “Set to go off in…” He checked his watch. A gold Rolex. “Less than twenty minutes.”

  Tara tried to reason with him. “You said you weren’t going to kill us.”

  “And I will not. It will be the drowning seas that cause your demise. Not I.”

  Captain Nichols again surged forward. “Why? Damn you! We’re no threat to you, left out here.”

  Faaid raised his gun, aimed it at Nichols forehead. His finger on the trigger, squeezing.

  McMurphy grabbed Nichols and pulled him back.

  Bannon understood the captain’s outrage. He was responsible for this ship and his crew and he was powerless to protect them. In his eyes, he had failed them. When he was sure McMurphy had a good grip on Nichols, he stepped in front of Faaid, facing down the weapon in his hand.

  The three men still with Faaid adjusted the aim of their own weapons, zeroing squarely in on Bannon.

  He ignored them, getting into Faaid’s face, blocking him from leaving.

  “You’re a dead man, Aziza Faaid.”

  “I am pleased you know my name. Soon the whole world will know it.”

  Faaid sidestepped Bannon, but Bannon hooked his arm, yanking it hard enough to stop the terrorist again. “Tell me, what do you plan to do with those weapons?”

  Faaid considered him for a minute. He smiled. “Is this where the villain spills his guts, tells the hero of the story his dastardly plans.” He shook his head. “Very well. As a military man, you know what those launchers are capable of. Yes?”

  Bannon nodded. “I do.”

  “Then, let me ask you. How many commercial airplanes are in the skies over America on any given day?”

  A shiver trickled down Bannon’s spine. “Thousands”

  “And in each plane,” Faaid mused, clearly enjoying himself. “What, two, three hundred passengers and crew? Imagine then if twelve of your passenger airlines were shot down, in twelve different locations throug
hout your precious American airspace.” He spread his arms wide. “All at the same time.”

  Tara gasped.

  “You’re a monster,” Nichols blurted out.

  Faaid said, “I am a soldier. In a war…Captain. Determined to do whatever must be done to win.” He cast Bannon with a pitiful stare. “Unlike the weak American military, who surrenders when just one life is threatened,” he added with disgust, “Commander.”

  Unfazed by the insult, Bannon straightened, threw his shoulders back and actually puffed up with confidence. “It’s not going to happen, Faaid.”

  Put off by his American arrogance, Faaid leaned forward. “Who is to stop me? You? How? You cannot call anyone. Warn them. You are trapped on this rusting, iron tomb. In less than fifteen minutes, you will be drowned corpses on your way to the ocean floor.”

  Faaid strolled to the deck railing. There, where a ladder had been thrown over the side, he paused when Bannon called out to him.

  “You’re a dead man,” Bannon told him again.

  “We are all dead men, Commander. Some sooner than others is all. Goodbye.”

  He climbed over the railing, followed by his three men.

  No one made a move to stop them.

  “That’s it?” Nichols said, incredulously. “You’re just going to let them get away?”

  Bannon asked, “What would you have me do, Captain?”

  Nichols sputtered. He started several times, but was unable to finish a single sentence. He could offer no plan of action, good, bad, or otherwise. Finally, disgusted, he spit out. “You’re a disgrace to the uniform you say you wear. Just because a girl got roughed up, you come out of hiding and give up. Just like that. What happened to completing the mission, Commander?” He said it with the same disgusted tone Faaid had used.

  “Prevent those weapons from reaching American soil. ‘Any means necessary,’ you said.”

  McMurphy stepped between him and Bannon. He loomed over the ship’s captain. “That’s enough, Nichols. Your ignorance is getting the better of you so hold your tongue or I’ll hold it for you.”

  Tara strolled to the rail and glanced over to watch Faaid in a black inflatable skimming across the ocean surface to a waiting boat.

  Bannon said, “Fifteen minutes. That enough time?”

  Tara smiled. “What you mean to ask is what will I do with the spare twelve minutes he gave me.”