“What’s the size of your team, Lieutenant?”
“I lead a squad of eight men, well trained to combat piracy operations. If there’s a hijacking attempt, we’ll stop it.”
Plugrad and his men came from a little-known command called the Coast Guard Deployable Operations Group. Essentially a SWAT team at sea, they were trained in counterterrorism, high-risk ship boardings, and explosives detection.
“One question for you, sir,” Plugrad said. “We received a crate from NUMA containing a dozen high-end Hazmat suits. We went ahead and loaded the crate aboard ship.”
“Those are for your men,” Pitt said. “Be sure each is issued a suit when we board the Adelaide. We have a theory that the potential assault may involve the use of a beefed-up microwave system similar to those developed by the Army for crowd control.”
“I’m familiar with that system,” Plugrad said. “We’ll take the necessary precautions.”
Pitt and Giordino boarded the sleek ship, where they were greeted by the Fortitude’s captain, a prematurely gray Navy commander named Jarrett. He led the NUMA men to the bridge, where he outlined their proposed course on a navigation monitor.
“We’ll be looking to rendezvous with the Adelaide here,” Jarrett said, stabbing a finger at an empty expanse of ocean southeast of the Hawaiian Islands. “It’s about eleven hundred miles from Oahu. We’ll zero in on the Adelaide’s course once we get closer, but we should catch her in less than twenty-four hours.”
“Twenty-four hours?” Giordino shook his head. “Do you have jet engines on this thing?”
“No, just four big turbocharged diesels. On a good day, we can run close to forty-five knots. Since we are carrying a light load, we should be able to sail close to that speed.”
“Why fly and miss out on a nice sea breeze?” Giordino said.
“That’s what the Fortitude was designed for. We can transfer a battalion of men across the Atlantic in two days.” Jarrett eyed a nearby chronograph. “If you gentlemen have no objection, we’ll get under way.”
The Fortitude’s diesels started with a rumble. The lines were cast, and the three-hundred-and-thirty-eight-foot ship maneuvered out the narrow entrance of Pearl Harbor and turned southeast. It cruised past Waikiki and the towering face of Diamond Head before cranking up speed. The brick-shaped ship accelerated quickly, rising up on its sharp catamaran hulls. The seas were calm, allowing Jarrett to run at nearly full out. Pitt watched the navigation monitor in awe as the vessel easily eclipsed the forty-knot mark.
In a few hours, the last of the Hawaiian Islands disappeared off the stern horizon as they raced into an empty expanse of the Pacific. Pitt and Giordino joined Plugrad and his team on deck, sharing insights on what they might encounter, as they reviewed defensive boarding measures. After dining in the ship’s cavernous mess hall, they turned in for the night.
Pitt detected the Fortitude’s engines slowing later the next morning while he was exploring the hold with Giordino. The two men climbed to the bridge, where they spotted the Adelaide a mile off the bow.
She was a dry bulk carrier, six hundred feet long, sporting a forest green hull and a gold superstructure. A black-stained funnel and rust around her hawsehole indicated a seasoned career, but she otherwise looked well cared for. She cut through the waves low to the surface, her five holds filled to their hatch covers.
“Her captain has acknowledged our arrival and is prepared to take you on board,” Jarrett reported.
“Thanks for the quick run, Captain,” Pitt said. “You have a gem of a vessel.”
“Sure you boys can’t stick around?” Giordino asked Jarrett. “If the Adelaide’s a dry boat, I may need you to make a beer run.”
“Sorry, but we’re due stateside in thirty-six hours.” Jarrett shook hands with both men. “I’ve ordered our launch deployed for you. Good luck and safe travels.”
Plugrad had his Coast Guard contingent assembled when Pitt and Giordino reached the deck. They climbed into a covered launch and were piloted to the freighter, where an accommodation ladder had been lowered along the Adelaide’s flank. Plugrad’s men leaped onto the platform and bounded up the ladder, seemingly oblivious to the weapons and sixty-pound packs they carried. Pitt waved to the launch’s pilot as he stepped off it and followed Giordino up the ladder.
A dour pair of crewmen in ill-fitting jumpsuits and black boots met them on the deck. “Your quarters are this way,” one of them said, motioning toward the stern superstructure. “The captain will meet with you in twenty minutes in the ship’s mess.”
The two crewmen led the party aft as the Adelaide’s engines rumbled to higher revolutions and the big ship resumed speed. As they were led to their berths on the second level of the superstructure, Giordino glanced back at the Fortitude speeding off to the northeast and he suddenly felt thirsty for a beer.
38
THE MASTER OF THE ADELAIDE WAS NOTHING LIKE Pitt had expected. Rather than the staid, experienced captains that typically commanded large commercial ships, the Adelaide’s master was a young, scrawny man with jittery eyes. He stepped into the mess and regarded Pitt, Giordino, and Plugrad coolly before shaking hands and sitting down with them.
“My name is Gomez. I’m told you are expecting a hijacking attempt.” If he was concerned by the news, it didn’t show on his face.
“We’ve found a pattern of attacks in the Pacific,” Pitt said. “The ships were all carrying rare earth elements, the same as your cargo.”
“You must be misinformed,” Gomez said. “This ship is loaded with manganese ore.”
“Manganese?” Giordino asked. “Didn’t you take on a full shipment of monazite in Perth?”
“We shipped from Perth, but our cargo is manganese.”
“Your corporate headquarters,” Pitt said, “confirmed otherwise.”
Gomez shook his head. “An honest mistake. The electronic manifest record must have been confused with another of the company’s vessels. These things happen. I’ll call your supply ship and have them retrieve you.”
“That won’t be possible,” Pitt said. “The Fortitude has its own schedule to keep.”
“Plus,” Giordino said, “we might not be the only ones who are misinformed.”
“That’s correct,” Plugrad said. “I wouldn’t want to pull my men off, then find out later that you ran into trouble. We’re supposed to remain aboard until you dock in Long Beach, so we’ll stick to the plan.”
“Very well,” Gomez said, his words laced with irritation. “Please confine yourselves to the main deck and the second-level staterooms.”
“Al and I will take shifts on the bridge and act as liaison to the lieutenant should we encounter another vessel.”
Gomez noted Pitt’s determined tone and nodded. “As you wish. But no armed men will be permitted on the bridge.” Gomez stood up from the table. “I must return to my duties. Welcome to the ship. I’m confident you will enjoy a quiet and routine voyage.”
After Gomez left, Giordino looked at Pitt and Plugrad and shook his head. “Well, how do you like them apples? No rare earth, and a cranky punk for a captain to entertain us the rest of the way.”
“Not much we can do about it now,” Pitt said. “And if we’re wrong, quiet and routine isn’t exactly the worst of outcomes.”
The truth was, Pitt’s radar had been on full alert since he stepped aboard the Adelaide. Something about the crew and captain wasn’t right. He’d been aboard enough merchant ships to know that crews came in a variety of flavors and attitudes, and a salty welcome in itself wasn’t anything unusual. But the circumstances made it peculiar. Facing a potentially deadly hazard, the ship’s crew should have been happy for the added insurance—or, at the very least, curious. As they settled onto the ship, Pitt and his men were instead treated as a nuisance. Crew members seemed to watch their every
move, yet refused to engage in even casual conversation.
On the bridge, Pitt and Giordino were shunted aside and ignored, their requests for information falling on deaf ears. Gomez barely acknowledged their existence and refused even to dine with Pitt, holing up in his cabin when not on duty.
During their second night aboard, Pitt paced the bridge, his presence ignored as usual. Shortly before the shift ended at midnight, a crewman appeared and approached Gomez, glancing at Pitt as he spoke in hushed tones.
Surveying the radar screen, Pitt noticed the image of a vessel appear ahead of them, traveling on a similar heading. He stepped closer to the screen to see the ship’s AIS registry. The Automatic Identification System, a satellite-driven program required of all commercial ships over three hundred tons, provided speed and heading data, as well as an identity, for all such ships at sea. But for the ship on the radar now, there was no AIS display.
“She doesn’t have her AIS turned on,” Pitt said to Gomez. “That seems a bit suspicious out here.”
“Sometimes the signal is lost,” Gomez said. “Or she could be a military vessel. It means nothing.”
The captain stepped close to the helmsman, whispered something in his ear, and then moved to the opposite end of the bridge. Pitt ignored the captain and kept tracking the Adelaide’s speed and heading. He wasn’t surprised when the mystery vessel slowed a knot or two until it vanished from the radar screen.
Forty minutes of silent tension passed before Giordino entered the bridge to relieve Pitt. “Are we sailing happy seas tonight?”
“Cruising on waves of hysteria.”
Pitt, preparing to leave, quietly reported the earlier encounter with the ship. A new helmsman arrived to relieve the one on duty, but Gomez remained on watch. As Pitt turned to depart the bridge, he glanced once more at the radar screen. Something caught his eye, and he hesitated, studying the numbers. It was the course heading. The ship had suddenly changed from an east-northeast heading to east-southeast.
“Why are we running southeast?” Pitt asked.
“There is a strong head current at this latitude,” Gomez said. “We will drop below it for a day or two to maintain speed, then readjust our heading to Long Beach.”
Pitt’s recollection was that the north equatorial current ran some distance south of their position, but he didn’t argue. He turned and gave Giordino a skeptical look. “Guess I’ll turn in. See you on the next shift.”
Pitt finally exited the bridge and climbed down the companionway. Rather than exit on the second level to go to his stateroom, he continued down to the main deck to get some fresh air. Reaching it, he ran into Plugrad racing up the companionway. The Coast Guard lieutenant had an agitated look.
“You’re up early,” Pitt said.
“Trying to find two of my men who didn’t report for their watch. You didn’t see them up on the bridge?”
“No. I’d suggest the mess. They probably went for some coffee to stay awake.”
Plugrad grumbled an acknowledgment and trodded off toward the mess.
Out on deck, Pitt found the night cool, with a fresh breeze rippling over the port beam. After several hours on the unfriendly bridge, the air felt refreshing. Pitt stretched his legs by hiking across the long, open deck, stopping at the prow and gazing over the rail. A faint light appeared briefly ahead on the horizon, vanishing and reappearing as the Adelaide rose and fell with the sea. The mystery ship was still there, directly ahead, at the edge of visibility for both eye and radar.
Pitt watched for several minutes, confirming the other vessel was holding position, then ambled toward the deckhouse. He stopped as he passed the forward hold, noticing some debris on the deck. Part of the cargo of manganese had spilled near the hatch cover during loading. Pitt picked up a fist-sized chunk and held it under a nearby deck light. Silver in color, the ore appeared to be identical to the monazite he had found in Chile on board the Tasmanian Star.
Gomez was lying about the manganese, but why? Why also was the crew acting so strange? And what of the ship steaming ahead of them? An uneasy feeling suddenly struck Pitt square in the gut.
Plugrad. He had to alert Plugrad.
Pitt started aft but froze when several figures emerged from the deckhouse. Pitt ducked alongside the nearest hatch cover and watched two men drag a third man between them. They crossed the deck laterally, passing under a bright light. For a second, Pitt could see the two men walking were armed crewmen. The limp body between them was Plugrad, with a splatter of blood glistening on his forehead.
They dragged Plugrad to the port side of the deckhouse, where they unlocked a door and hauled him inside. Once they disappeared from view, Pitt crossed the deck and sprinted aft to the superstructure’s opposite side. Racing up the companionway, he exited onto the second level and rushed to the four cabins that housed the Coast Guard team.
He knocked on the first door and flung it open but found no one inside. When he found the second cabin empty, he began to fear the worst. The third and fourth cabins were also empty. The entire Coast Guard team had quietly been neutralized. Pitt was exiting the fourth cabin when he heard whispers in the corridor. He stepped back into the cabin and slipped behind its open door.
Through the crack, he watched as two armed crewmen crept down the hall and stopped in front of Pitt’s door. They readied their weapons, then one twisted the handle and both charged in. Finding the cabin empty, they returned to the corridor, speaking quietly to each other in Spanish. One stomped off toward the companionway while his partner lingered. Moving slowly, he stepped to the opposite end of the corridor and cautiously entered Giordino’s cabin. Finding no one there, he began working his way back, checking the other cabins.
Pitt held his breath when the gunman approached where he was hiding. The barrel of an assault rifle poked past the door as he took a step into the cabin. Pitt waited a second, then burst from his spot. Shoving the door with all his strength, he crushed the gunman against the bulkhead. Still clutching the chunk of ore, he clubbed the man in the side of the head with it. The man lost consciousness and collapsed to the deck before he could find the trigger on his weapon.
Pitt pulled the gunman all the way inside the cabin and listened for his partner. Hearing nothing, he took the man’s AK-47 and stepped into the hall, closing the door behind him. He reached the companionway and was about to move down the steps to release Plugrad when he heard a gunshot.
The shot seemed to come from above. If it had been fired from the bridge, then it meant one thing. Giordino.
Pitt reversed course and raced up the steps as silently as he could. At the bridge, he stopped and peered around the door. The lights had been dimmed for nighttime running, darkening the bridge except for the glow of a few monitors. A nearby console obstructed much of his view, but all seemed quiet. Perhaps the shot had originated elsewhere. Spotting only the helmsman, he quietly advanced into the bay.
“Mr. Pitt,” hailed the voice of Gomez. “I thought you would come for your friend.” The captain rose from a crouched position, firmly holding an outstretched pistol. It wasn’t aimed at Pitt, however, but at the floor. Pitt took a step closer to see that Gomez was aiming the weapon at Giordino, who lay on the floor, clutching his leg.
“Put down your weapon,” Gomez said, “or you both shall die.”
Pitt caught a movement out of the corner of his eye. The earlier gunman had materialized from behind another console, his AK-47 aimed at Pitt’s back.
As Pitt looked from his wounded friend to Gomez, his eyes flared with anger. Without a word, he let the gun fall to the deck.
39
THE PRESIDENT ROLLED AN UNLIT CIGAR BETWEEN his thumb and forefinger. “Why?” he asked in an irritated tone. “Why would the Chinese suddenly halt all exports of rare earth elements?”
An uncomfortable silence filled the Oval Office.
r /> “I can only suspect it’s for leverage,” the Secretary of State said. “Something they can use as a bargaining chip to counter our pressure on their support of trade with Iran or their refusal to float the yuan.”
“Have they told you as much?”
“No, the Foreign Ministry has only indicated it was done out of ‘strategic necessity.’”
“Sure,” said Vice President Sandecker. “The necessity to torpedo our economy.” A cigar aficionado himself, he eyed the President’s stogie with envy.
“It is quite a bold move,” the Secretary of State said. “I would have expected some hint of negotiation over the matter, but the Chinese are playing it close to the vest.”
The President turned to his national security advisor, a raven-haired woman named Dietrich. “How bad is it going to hurt us?”
“Over ninety percent of our rare earth imports come from China,” she said. “Commercially, it will devastate a number of industries, particularly electronics and the alternative energy fields. Almost every high-tech industry in the country will be affected.”
“Are we just talking higher prices?” asked Tom Cerny.
“Skyrocketing prices will be just the first impact. Until work-arounds can be developed, products will be in short supply—or simply unaffordable. Either way, demand will evaporate, and jobs along with it. It could easily drive the economy back into a serious recession.”
“What about other sources of rare earth?” the President asked. “I know we’ve got that mine in California. Tell me the Chinese aren’t the only game in town.”
“The Mountain Pass Mine came on line a few years ago and was just ramping up their production,” Dietrich said, “but a recent fire at the facility destroyed the mine’s extraction operations. It’s effectively closed for an indeterminate period, probably two years. That was our only domestic source.”
“Has anyone looked into the cause of the fire?” Sandecker asked.