McKinney tapped his shoulder. “They wouldn’t know they’re on a ship. It’s just the nest to them. The model wouldn’t make it easy for them to find their home ship if they couldn’t see it.”
“Then they’re single-use. But I guess they have plenty of extras.”
Evans was still looking back at the drones devouring the trawler. “I was standing on solid ground. I could have just gotten out with the pilot, but no . . .”
Odin looked at the map. “The Ebba Maersk came straight through here.”
Ritter shouted, “I’m telling you, we need to turn back. It’s too late to do anything about this!”
Odin drew a .45 tactical pistol and aimed it straight at Ritter’s face. “You want to add something constructive, or do you want to go out the door right now?”
Ritter just stared at the gun barrel, then turned away sullenly toward the wall.
McKinney eyed Odin, but he stowed the pistol and turned back toward the front. “Professor, please think of a way to stop this Frankenstein monster of yours.”
“It’s not my Frankenstein monster—and I don’t know. I’m . . . I’m thinking.”
They traveled for another thirty minutes in deep existential silence, listening only to the white noise of the engines. Then Foxy pointed to the horizon again.
“More smoke ahead.”
Odin nodded. “Two plumes this time.”
Foxy glanced down at the fuel gauge. They had traveled about four hundred miles in two and a half hours, deep into the center of the South China Sea. “Running low on fuel, boss. Probably not more than another thirty minutes’ running time.”
Odin nodded. “We saw the position of the ship. We’re within range of it. Just keep going.”
Ritter groaned in despair.
Soon they were roaring past two more vessels a mile apart, burning and adrift. One was a large pleasure yacht fully engulfed in flames on its way to burning to the waterline. The other was a rusted freighter, guttering plumes of black smoke from the stern, which just now rose up out of the water as the ship slipped beneath the waves—several drones still cutting into its keel with a brief shower of sparks and smoke.
Foxy grimaced. “Don’t see any survivors in the water. Those hovering drones are probably the people killers.”
Odin scanned the horizon with binoculars. He lowered them and pointed. “Up ahead. That’s gotta be it. It’s huge.”
After a few minutes they could see the ship with the naked eye. It was a massive light blue container ship leaving a broad wake. It was easily two hundred feet wide, but they could see what looked to be a dark cloud swirling all around it. And then part of the cloud split away—heading in their direction.
McKinney put on her headphones. “My God. There are thousands of them—there’s no way we’re getting near that ship.”
Ritter shouted, “I’ve been telling you. This is suicide!”
Odin turned to face McKinney. “The crew is probably dead and the ship on autopilot. If we can disable the rudder, we might be able to stop it from reaching the vicinity of the carrier strike group. That’s about two hundred miles south of here.”
Foxy veered the chopper to starboard, curving away from the Ebba Maersk—still only a blue smudge on the horizon. They were still about twenty miles from it at an altitude of five thousand feet, but the indistinct swarm was heading up toward them. “Those things aren’t slow. Best not to stick around.”
McKinney leaned forward to put a hand on Odin’s shoulder. “We have no choice. If we don’t leave their attack perimeter, they’re going to knock us into the sea.”
Odin stared straight ahead but then nodded. “Turn toward Paracel, Foxy. Maybe we can get some resources there.”
“Wilco.”
Odin was deep in thought while Foxy examined the GPS on the console. He pointed at the nav screen map. “With the fuel we have left, even Paracel is going to be dicey.”
McKinney pointed far off to the right, westward. “Is that another ship?”
Odin raised the binoculars to the western horizon. He pondered what he was looking at, then lowered them. “A cargo ship. A big one, headed north—away from the Maersk.” Odin pointed. “Make for it.”
“Maybe we can use their radio to warn away other shipping or contact the navy.”
Odin nodded.
It took several minutes for them to get into the vicinity of the second large ship. It had a sleek, aerodynamic design and was painted in bright orange and white. Despite its smooth shape, it was oddly tall and bulky for a cargo ship—shaped much like a passenger ship or high-speed ferry, but it had no windows along its side—just smooth white-and-orange-painted steel with the words Wallenius Wilhelmsen painted in two-story-tall letters.
Odin pointed down. “Car carrier. Bring us down.”
“You want me to land on that?”
Odin examined it with the binoculars. “It’s got a helipad right there in the center.”
“Yeah, meant for something like a Bell or an MD 520. This is a goddamned Sikorsky.”
Odin tapped the dash fuel gauge, which was already into the red. “We don’t have a choice.”
Foxy looked below again. “Oh, hell . . . aye, aye, skipper.”
They descended toward the fast-moving ship. As they came up on it, several of the crew on deck waved—obviously thinking the chopper was just doing a flyby.
Foxy leaned down to examine the equipment-and-ventilator-shaft-studded deck. “Should I try to hail them on the radio first?”
Odin shook his head. “No. Signal an emergency with your landing lights and get this bird down, Foxy.” Odin checked the safety on his stolen MP5 submachine gun, which he then slid into a satchel bag. He looked back to the others. “We are going to commandeer this vessel. Control must be established rapidly and with as little violence as possible.”
“As little violence . . . ?” McKinney leaned forward. “My God, what are you doing?”
“Improvising. We’re going to ram the Ebba Maersk, Professor. This vessel’s clearly faster than that container ship.”
The faces of the others registered varying degrees of shock.
Foxy chuckled. “All those years in counterterrorism, and here I am hijacking a ship.”
Ritter stared in unbelieving amazement. “You can’t be serious? That swarm is designed to kill ships. That’s what they do.”
“We’ll see how long it takes them to do it.” Odin turned around in his seat. “I know you’ll try to warn the crew, Ritter. But in reality, you’re gonna help us.”
“The hell I am.”
Odin gestured to Smokey with a choking motion. Smokey immediately grabbed Ritter from behind in a chokehold. The man kicked and clawed at Smokey, but he was no match for the muscular commando.
McKinney shouted, “David, what are you doing! This isn’t right!”
“We’re not killing anyone. Just making sure he doesn’t mess up the plan.”
Even now she could see Ritter’s eyes rolling upward as Smokey’s chokehold blacked him out. “Mooch.”
Mooch had already opened his medical bag and was test-squirting a needle he’d prepared during the melee. “Roll up his sleeve.”
Ripper quickly did so, and Mooch delivered the injection. “I don’t know his health history, Odin, so this isn’t a big dose. You’ve probably got twenty minutes or so until he wakes up.”
“Good enough. If they ask, this is a medical emergency. He’s an oil executive returning from an offshore platform.” Odin tossed a container-yard hard hat into the backseat. “We think he had a stroke, and we need to see their ship’s doctor. The doctor’s cabin is usually close to the captain’s quarters, and the captain’s quarters are always next to any weapons.”
Foxy frowned. “It’s a commercial vessel, and this isn’t the Indian Ocean. They probably won’t have any weapons.”
“Mooch, you can speak the most convincing medical bullshit—you play the role of personal aide. Ripper, you’re his panicked wife.”
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Ripper started peeling off her tactical harness. “Haven’t got a ring.”
“Evans!”
Evans tried to conceal his ring-covered hands. “Goddammit, are you for real?”
“Cough up one of those pinky rings for Ripper, and put another one on our disabled husband here.” Odin locked eyes with his team. “It’s a modern car carrier, so we’re probably looking at a crew of twenty to twenty-four people. We only need to gain control of the helm, engine room, and any weapons. Nonlethal force only. No knives—that means you, Ripper. No guns. Disable with hand-to-hand or lachrimatory agents only. Gear up.”
They were stowing their rifle cases, shedding military gear, and concealing pistols beneath their shirts as Foxy brought the chopper down to within a hundred feet above the moving ship. Wind turbulence buffeted them about. McKinney just now realized how perilous landing on the ship would be. Her nervousness about the imminent hijacking and drones faded in importance as the chopper lurched, dropped, and yawed to the side.
Odin shook his head. “Jesus, Foxy, you still remember how to fly this thing?”
“That helipad wasn’t meant for a chopper this size—and they’re going full steam.”
“Well, land this goddamned thing. We don’t have the fuel to mess around.”
Several crew members waved them away frantically as the large chopper continued its rapid descent, bucking against the turbulence.
McKinney felt her heart go into her throat as the Sikorsky quickly dropped half the distance to the helipad and slowed only ten feet or so off the deck. There was a bang as some part of the chopper hit a light mast or any of a number of objects crowding the helipad. Moments later the helicopter thumped down on the helipad, bounced slightly, and then finally came to a rest.
“Wow, you almost got part of the chopper onto the helipad.”
Foxy was busy shutting off the engines, which began to wind down. “I deserve a goddamned medal for getting it on the ship with all that turbulence.”
Odin noticed a half-dozen Caucasian men racing up a staircase toward the chopper, but they hesitated to be certain it had stopped moving. “Showtime, people.” He opened the copilot door, rapidly followed by Mooch and Smokey carrying the unconscious Ritter from the larger passenger door. Everyone else piled out, sincerely relieved to have landed.
The lead ship crew member was a bearded, husky blond man in a neat khaki uniform and captain’s hat. He didn’t look at all happy as he noticed the unconscious Ritter being carried toward him. He shouted to be heard over chopper wash and decreasing turbofan engine noise. His English had a slight Nordic accent. “What’s wrong with him?”
Odin leaned close, pointing to the stricken man. “Medical emergency. We think it’s a stroke. Big oil executive. His wife ordered us to land.”
“She could have gotten you all killed, not to mention my crew.”
“Do you have a doctor on board?”
The captain nodded, still looking annoyed. “The second mate is a paramedic. Follow me.” He turned to the other crew members. “Get that chopper tied down before it rolls off the pad. And deploy fire hoses.”
The crewmen launched into action as Odin pulled McKinney along, following Smokey, Mooch, the inconsolable Ripper, and the ship’s captain. Ripper shrieked, grabbing for Ritter’s suit sleeve and blurting out exclamations in some language McKinney didn’t recognize—possibly Dutch or German. It amazed her how quickly Ripper could transform herself.
In a few moments the captain brought them through a hatchway into the relative quiet and calm of the ship. As they moved down a stairwell, still more crewmen of various ethnicities—Asian, Caucasian, Latino, and Filipino—crowded the hall below and helped lower the unconscious Ritter down a narrow metal gangway.
They reached a pipe- and conduit-lined corridor below, and Foxy called after Odin, “You need us or should we wait, or . . . ?”
Odin gestured to Foxy, Evans, and now Smokey, who had fallen behind. “Is there somewhere where they can make a call to shore?”
The bearded captain called out to another, younger, clean-shaven blond man in a green jumpsuit. “Valentin, ta dem till allrummet.” The captain turned to Odin. “He’ll take them.”
Odin motioned for the remainder of his team to follow the younger seaman, and they continued carrying Ritter forward with the captain. After a few turns they arrived in a more comfortably appointed section, where the corridors were wider and better lit. There was even a room with a skylight, cabinets, and dining tables with chairs. This area was also painted in brighter colors and had wooden doors with names printed on them in English on black stenciled plaques.
A third Nordic man in a khaki uniform intercepted them. He was athletically built with dark hair, splotchy skin, and old acne scars.
The captain barked, “Jöran, they think he had a stroke.”
The man became agitated. “Varför fortsatte de inte till fastlandet?”
“Just help them.”
The second mate came alongside Mooch. “You should have kept going to the mainland. I don’t have real medical facilities here.”
The captain pushed forward. “The wife insisted they land. Jöran, please!” He motioned for them to follow toward a nearby open door.
Odin was already scanning the corridor, surreptitiously inserting his earplug radios. McKinney felt her anxiety build as she noticed there were only three crew members present: the captain, the second mate, and another crewman helping to carry Ritter.
Odin spoke softly. “Execute, execute, execute.”
In an instant Ripper slipped a device from her sleeve into her palm and sprayed something in the second mate’s face, dropping the man as he screamed. Mooch twisted the captain’s arm back while he and Odin shoved him against the wall. Odin rapidly secured the man’s wrists with zip-ties. By the time McKinney was able to look over to Ritter, she could see that Smokey had likewise subdued the crew member there with chemical spray. Both he and Ripper were zip-tying their prisoners, who were groaning pitiably.
Odin pulled the captain forward, as the bearded, barrel-chested Swede shouted, “You scum! Du borde skämmas! Taking advantage of our mercy—”
Odin produced the machine gun from his bag. He chambered a round. “Captain! What is your name?”
He stared daggers. “I am Birghir Jönsson, senior captain for W and W.”
“Captain Jönsson, where is your weapons locker?”
“We don’t have weapons on board this ship. We are civilized people.”
Mooch nodded. “If it’s a Swedish ship, I don’t doubt him. Owners don’t want the crew trying to resist pirates. They’d be outgunned.”
The captain stared in rage toward his second mate, who was still coughing and gagging on the floor under Ripper’s knee. “You’re animals. . . .”
“He’ll be fine in a few minutes. How many others aboard?”
The captain spoke through clenched teeth. “Twenty-two crew.” McKinney noticed Odin listening to his earphone radio. “Okay . . . affirmative.” Odin focused back on the Swede. “Captain, your helm and engine room are now under my control. No one has been hurt, and I don’t want anyone hurt. Just order your crew to abandon ship.”
He eyed Odin with growing rage. “You think you’re going to just sail away with two thousand BMWs? You won’t get far. I promise you that.”
“We aren’t planning on getting far.”
Mooch raised his eyebrows. “Did he say two thousand BMWs?”
The captain was on a rant. “You’ll have no way of unloading the cars from the ship before they track you down. You’ll not reach land.”
“Right on both counts.” He pulled the bound captain toward his quarters and opened the door. “Get on the PA and order your crew to abandon ship. Time is a factor.”
“You are an imbecile, if you think you can get away with this.”
“The safest thing is for you and your crew to abandon ship. Without any hostages on board, the authorities can sweep down on us w
ithout innocent people getting hurt.”
The captain just glared at him for several moments.
Odin leaned in toward him. “I saw that free-fall emergency boat. You and the crew get inside and launch. The sooner you evacuate, the sooner you can radio for help.”
Jönsson narrowed his eyes. “There is something else going on here.”
“Get on the PA, Captain.”
“What are you planning on doing with my ship?”
“If I told you, you wouldn’t believe me.”
“I don’t believe you now.”
“Very well. This ship is about to be attacked by thousands of military drones that will kill everyone on board as they cut it to pieces.”
The captain’s face went slack.
“Now, you can either stick around for that or bail out now with your crew and call for help. Which is it?”
He was weighing the matter. “Are you the group causing the distress calls we’ve been hearing?”
“What distress calls?”
“An Indonesian freighter said they were under aerial attack. We haven’t heard from them in the last twenty minutes. Search planes have been dispatched from the mainland.”
“That’s just going to wind up getting more people killed.”
“Killed?”
“We passed that freighter just as it was going under. Did any of their broadcasts make sense to you, Captain?”
The captain struggled to find words, then finally settled for “No. They said dozens of small planes were attacking them.”
“It’s a new class of autonomous combat drone, Captain—ship-cutters. And they’ve gotten loose.”
“You must be joking. Robot aircraft attacking ships?”
Odin grabbed the PA handset from the wall and shoved it in front of his face. “Get talking, Captain Jönsson. The longer you wait, the more likely it is that your entire crew will wind up dead.”
“But we are under way at twenty knots.”
Odin pounded the wall next to the man’s head. “I’m finished negotiating with you. We both know damn well that boat can be launched while under way.”
“It’s not safe.”
“Safe is a relative term. Inside an hour there will be ten thousand killer drones on top of us.”