Текст книги "Treasure"

Автор книги: Clive Cussler

сообщить о нарушении

Текущая страница: 21 (всего у книги 32 страниц)

"So Yazid has yet to make a triumphal takeover."

Ibn nodded and his expression turned grave. "There is another news item. Yazid has announced that the cruise ships crew and passengers still live, and he will personally negotiate with the terrorists and arrange for the release of everyone. He has gone so far as to offer his life in exchange for Senator George Pitt to impress the Americans."

A numbing, paralyzing rage swelled within Ammar, sharpening his senses and opening his thoughts like envelopes inside his mind. After a few moments, he looked at Ibn.

"By Allah, the Judas goat has led us to slaughter," he said incredulously. "Yazid has sold out the mission."

Ibn nodded in agreement. "Yazid has used and betrayed you. "

"That explains why he stalled off ordering me to kill Hasan, Kamil and the rest. He wanted them unharmed until Machado and his scum could remove you and me and our people."

"What do Yazid and Topiltzin gain by keeping the hostages alive?" asked Ibn.

"By playing the saviors of two presidents, the SecretaryGeneral of the United Nations and an important United States politician, Yazid and Topiltzin will gain the admiration of international leaders. They automatically become stronger while their opponents lose ground. They are then free to assume the reigns of their governments in peaceful takeovers, widening their power base and increasing their benevolent images in the eyes of the world."

Ibn bent his head in resignation. "So we've been thrown to the vultures."

Ammar nodded. "Yazid meant for us to die from the beginning to guarantee our silence on this and other missions we've performed for him,"

"What of Captain Machado and his Mexican crew? What happens to them after they've eliminated us?"

"Topiltzin would see to it they vanished after their return to Mexico."

"They would have to escape the ship and island first."

"Yes," Annnar replied thoughtfully. He paced the communications room angrily. "It seems I badly underestimated Yazid's cunning. I was smug in thinking Machado was impotent because he knew nothing of our arrangements for escaping to a safe airfield in Argentina. But thanks to Yazid, our Mexican comrade has implemented his own departure plans."

"Then why hasn't he murdered us by now?"

"Because Yazid and Topiltzin won't give him the order until they're ready to act out their sham negotiations for the hostage release."

Suddenly Ammar turned and gripped the shoulder of the radio man, who quickly removed his headphones. "Have you'received any unusual messages directed to the ship?"

The Egyptian communications expert looked curious. "Strange you should ask. Our Latin friends have been in and out of here every ten minutes, asking the same question. I thought they must be stupid. any acknowledgment to a direct transmission would be intercepted by American-European intelligence listening facilities. They'd fix our position within seconds."

"So you've intercepted nothing suspicious."

The Arab communications man shook his head. "Even if I did, any message would certainly be in code."

"Shut down the equipment. Make the Mexicans think you're still listening for something. Whenever they ask about an incoming message, play dumb and keep saying you've heard nothing."

Ibn stared at him expectantly. "My instructions, Sideiman?"

"Keep a sharp watch on Machado's crew. Get them off balance by acting friendly. Open the lounge bar and invite them to drink. Give the worst guard duty to our men, so the Latins can relax. This will lower their defenses."

"Shall we kill them before they kill us?"

"No," said Ammar, a flicker of sadistic pleasure in his eyes.

"We'll leave that job to the glacier."

"Can't be less than a million icebergs down there," said Gior dino bleakly. "Be easier picking a midget headwaiter out of a colony of penguins. This could take days."

Colonel Hollis was in the same mood. "There has to be one matching the Lady Flamborough's contour and dimensions.

Keep looking."

"Bear in mind," said Gunn, "Antarctic bergs tend to be flat.

The superstructure under the plastic shroud will give the ship a multipinnacle shape."

Dillenger's eye was enlarged four times its size through a magnifying glass. "The definition is amazing," he muttered.

"Be even better when we see what's on the other side of those clouds."

They were all grouped around a small table in the communications compartment of the Sounder, examining a huge color photo from the Casper. The aerial reconnaissance film had been processed and sent through the survey ship's laser receiver less than forty minutes after the aircraft landed.

The well-defined detail showed a sea of bergs broken away from the Larsen Ice Shelf on the eastern side of the peninsula, while hundreds more could be distinguished near glaciers off Graham Land to the west.

Pitts concentration was aimed elsewhere. He sat off to one side, studying a large nautical chart draped across his lap. Once in a while he looked up, listening, but did not contribute to the conversation.

Hollis turned to Captain Stewart, who stood next to the receiver, wearing a headset with attached microphone. "When can we expect the Casper's infrared photo?"

Stewart raised a hand as a signal not to interrupt. He pressed the headset against his ears, listening to a voice at CIA headquarters in Washington. Then he nodded toward Hollis. "The photo lab at Langley says they'll begin transmitting in half a minute."

Hollis paced the small compartment like a cat listening for the sound of a can opener. He paused and stared curiously at Pitt, who was unconcernedly measuring distances with a pair of dividers.

The Colonel had learned a great deal about the man from NUMA in the past few hours, not from Pitt himself, but from the men on the ship. They talked of him as though he were some kind of walking legend.

"Coming through now," announced Stewart. He removed the headset and waited patiently for the newspaper-size photo to emerge from the receiver. As soon as it rolled free, he carried it over and placed it on the table. Then everyone began scrutinizing the shoreline around the upper end of the peninsula.

"The technicians at the CIA photo lab have computer-converted the specially sensitive film to a thermogram," explained Stewart. "The differences of infrared radiation are revealed in various colors. Black represents the coldest temperatures. Dark blue, light blue, green, yellow and red form an increasingly warmer scale to white, the hottest."

"What reading can we expect from the Lady Flamborough?" asked Dillenger.

"Somewhere in the upper end between yellow and red."

"Closer to a dark blue," Pitt broke in.

Everyone turned and glared at him as though he'd sneezed during a chess match.

"That being the case she won't stand out," Hollis protested. "We'd never find her."

"Heat radiation from the engines and generators will show as plain as a golf ball on a green," Gunn argued.

"Not if the engineering room was shut down."

"You can't mean a dead ship?" Dillenger asked in disbelief.

Pitt nodded. He stared at the others with a passing casual gaze that was more disturbing than if he had thrown a wet blanket over the enthusiasm of a breakthrough.

He smiled and said, "What we have here is a persistent urge to underrate the coach on the other team."

The five men looked at each other and then back at Pitt, waiting for some kind of explanation.

Pitt laid his nautical charts aside and rose from his chair. He walked to the table, picked up the infrared photo and folded it in half, revealing only the lower tip of Chile.

"Now then," Pitt continued, "haven't you noticed that every time the ship went through a change of appearance or altered course, it came immediately after one of our satellites passed overhead."

"Another example of precise planning," said Gunn. "The orbits of scientific data-gathering satellites are tracked by half the countries of the world. The information is as readily attainable as phases of the moon."

"Okay, so the hijack leader knew the orbiting schedules and guessed when the satellite cameras were aimed in his direction," said Hollis. "So what?"

"So he covered all avenues and shut down power to prevent detection by infrared photography. And, most important, to keep the warmth from melting the thin layer of ice coating the plastic shroud."

Four out of five found Pitts theory quite plausible. The holdout was Gunn. He was the fastest intellect in the bunch. He saw the flaw before anyone else.

"You're forgetting the subzero temperatures around the peninsula," said Gunn. "No power, no heat. Everyone on the ship would freeze to death in a few hours. You might say the hijackers were committing suicide at the same time they murdered their prisoners."

"Rudi makes good sense," Giordino said. "They couldn't survive without some degree of warmth and protective clothing."

Pitt smiled like a lottery winner. "I agree with Rudi one hundred percent."

"You're driving in circles," said Hollis in aggravation. "Make sense."

"Nothing complicated: The Lady Flamborough didn't enter the Antarctic."

"Didn't enter the Antarctic," repeated Hollis mechanically. "Face the facts, man. The last satellite photo of the ship showed her halfway between Cape Horn and the tip of the peninsula, steaming hell-bent to the south."

"She had no place else to go," protested Dillenger.

Pitt tapped a finger on the ragged mass of islands scattered around the Straits of Magellan. "Want to bet?"

Hollis stood frowning, baffled for a moment. And then he caught on. His confusion vanished and total understanding beamed in his eyes. "She doubled back," he said flatly.

"Rudi had the key," Pitt acknowledged. "The hijackers weren't about to commit suicide, nor were they going to risk detection by infrared photos. They never had any intention of heading into the ice pack.

Instead, they cut northwest and skirted the barren islands above Cape Horn."

Gunn looked relieved. "The temperatures are not nearly as severe around Tierra del Fuego. Everyone on board would be damned uncomfortable without warmth, but they'd survive."

"Then why the iceberg scam?" queried Giordino.

"To appear as if they calved from a glacier."

"Calved, like in cow?"

"Calving is the breaking away of an ice mass from an ice front or wall,"

Gunn clarified.

Giordino stared down at the infrared photo. "Glaciers this far north?"

"Several flow down the mountains and meet the sea within eight hundred kilometers from where we're docked here in Punta Arenas," replied Pitt.

"Where do you'reckon she is?" Hollis asked.

Pitt took a chart showing the desolate fringe islands west of Tierra del Fuego. "Two possibilities within the Lady Flamborough's sailing range since she was last spotted by satellite." He paused to place an X beside two names on the chart. "Directly south of here, glaciers flow from Mounts Italia and S ento."

Hollis said, "They're off the beaten track all right."

"But too close to the oil fields," said Pitt. "A low-flying oil-company survey plane might notice the phony ice cover.

Me, if I was calling the plays for the hijackers, I'd head another hundred and sixty kilometers northwest. Which would put them near a glacier on Santa Inez Island."

Dillenger studied the small island's irregular shoreline on the chart for a moment. He glanced at the colored photograph, but the southern foot of Chile was blotted by clouds. He pushed it aside and peered through the magnifying glass at the upper half of the infrared image Pitt had folded to condense the search region.

After a few seconds he looked up in wonder and delight. "Unless Mother Nature makes icebergs with a pointed bow and a rounded stern, I think we've found our phantom ship."

Hollis took the glass from his subordinate and examined the tiny oblong shape. "It's the right contour all right. And as Pitt said, there's no sign of heat radiation. She's reading almost as cold as the glacier.

Not quite pure black, but a very dark blue."

Gunn leaned in. "Yes, I see. The glacier flows into a fjord that empties in a bay crowded with small islands. One or two medium-size bergs, broken from the glacial wall. No more. The water is reasonably free of ice." He paused, a curious expression in the eyes behind the glasses. "I wonder how they moored the Lady Flamborough directly under the glacier's forward wall."

Pitts eyes narrowed. "Let me have a look." He squeezed between Dillenger and Gunn, bent over and gazed through the powerful glass.

After a time he straightened, his face clouded with a rising anger.

"What do you see?" asked Captain Stewart.

"They mean for every one to die."

Stewart looked at the others, puzzled. "How does he know?"

"When an ice slab fractures off the glacier and falls on the ship,"

Giordino said stonily, "she'll be shoved under the water and mashed into the bottom. No trace of her would ever be found."

Dillenger gave Pitt a hard look. "After all the lost opportunities, do you think they finally intend to murder the crew and passengers?"

"I do."

"Why not before now?"

"The myriad of deceptions was a stall for time. Whoever ordered the hijacking had reasons for keeping Presidents Hasan and De Lorenzo alive.

I can't tell you why-"

"I can," said Hollis. "Akhmad Yazid is the instigator. He planned to take control of Egypt soon after it was announced that President Hasan and U.N. SecretaryGeneral Hala Kamil were abducted and presumed killed by unknown terrorists at sea. After he and his close supporters established a solid power base, he would claim his agents had found the ship, and then act the benevolent man of God and negotiate the hostages'

release."

"Crafty bastard," murmured Giordino. "A Nobel Peace Prize candidate for sure if he saved President De Lorenzo and Senator Pitt as a bonus."

"Naturally, Yazid would see that Hasan and Kamil met with an unfortunate accident on their return to Egypt."

"And he'd still come out pure as the driven snow," Giordino grunted.

"A grand sting," admitted Pitt. "Yet, according to the latest news reports, the military has remained neutral, and Hasan's cabinet has refused to resign and fold the present government.

Hollis nodded. "Yes, throwing Yazid's carefully calculated schedule out the window."

"So he's plotted himself into a corner," said Pitt. "End of stalling tactics, end of masquerades; this time around he has to send the Lady Flamborough into oblivion, or face the very real threat of intelligence sources ferreting out his role in the operation. "

"A theory with no leaks," agreed Hollis.

"So while we stand here the hijack leader is playing Russian Roulette with the glacier," said Gunn in a low voice. "He and his terrorist tewn may have already abandoned the ship and escaped by boat or helicopter, leaving the crew and passengers confined below, helpless."

"Could be we've missed the boat," Dillenger speculated somberly.

Hollis didn't see it that way. He scribbled a number on a slip of paper and handed it to Stewart. "Captain, please signal my communications officer on this frequency. Tell him the Major and I are returning to the airfield and to assemble the men for an immediate briefing."

"We'd like to go along," said Pitt with quiet determination. Hollis shook his head. "No way. You're civilians. You've had no assault training. Your request is out of line."

"My father is on that ship."

"I'm sorry," he said, but didn't sound it. "WMark it off to tough luck."

Pitt looked at Hollis, and his eyes were very cold. "One call to Washington and I could queer your entire service career."

Hollis's mouth tightened. "You get your kicks making threats, Mr.

Pitt?" He took a step forward. "We're not playing touch football here.

A lot of bodies are going to mess the decks of that ship in the next twelve hours. If my men and I do our jobs the way we've been trained, a thousand phone calls to the White House and Congress won't make a damn."

He took another step toward Pitt. "I know more rotten tricks than you'd learn in a lifetime. I could tear you to shreds with my bare hands '

No one in the room saw the movement, saw where it came from. One instant Pitt was standing casually with his arms at his sides, the next he was pressing the muzzle of a Colt forty-five-caliber automatic into Hollis's groin.

Dillenger crouched as if ready to spring. That was as far as he got.

Giordino came from behind and pinned the Major's arms to his sides in a bear hug that clamped like a steel trap.

"I won't bore you with our credentials," Pitt said calmly. "Take my word. Rudi, Al and I have enough experience to hold our own in a shooting war. I promise we won't interfere. I presume you'll lead your Special Operations Forces against the Lady Flamborough in a combined air and sea assault. We'll stay out of your way and follow from the land side."

Hollis was far from frightened, but he was dazed. He couldn't begin to imagine how Pitt produced a large-caliber weapon with such lightning speed.

"Dirk is asking little of you, Colonel," said Gunn in a patient tone. "I suggest you demonstrate a small degree of mature logic and go along."

"I don't believe for a second you'd murder me," growled Hollis at Pitt.

"No, but I can guarantee you won't have a very productive sex life."

"Who are you people? Are you with the company?"

"The CIA?" said Giordino. "No, we didn't qualify. So we enlisted with NUMA instead,"

Hollis shook his head. "I don't understand any of this."

"You don't have to," said Pitt. "Is it a deal?"

Hollis considered for half a second. Then he leaned forward until his nose was only a few millimeters from Pitts and spoke as would a drill instructor to a raw recruit. "I'll see you weirdos are airlifted by an Osprey to within ten kilometers of the ship. No closer, or we'll lose the element of surprise. from there you can damn well hike in. If I'm lucky, you won't arrive until it's all over."

"Fair enough," Pitt agreed.

Hollis backed off then. He looked at Giordino and snapped, "I'd be grateful if you'd release my second in command."

Then he refaced Pitt. "We're shoving off, now. In fact, if you don't leave with Major Dillenger and me, you ain't going. Because, five minutes after boarding my command aircraft, our entire assault team will be airborne. "

Pitt eased the automatic from Hollis's groin. "We'll be right behind you."

"I'll tag along with the Major," said Giordino, giving Dillenger a friendly pat on the back. "Great minds run in the same channels."

Dillenger gave him a sour look indeed. "Yours might run in a gutter but mine don't."

The room cleared out in fifteen seconds. Pitt hurried to his cabin and snatched up a tote bag. He made a quick trip to the bridge and conversed with Captain Stewart.

"How long for the Sounder to reach Santa Inez?"

Stewart stepped into the chart room and made a quick calculation.

"Pushing throttles to the stops, our diesels should put us off the glacier in nine or ten hours."

"Do it," Pitt ordered. "We'll look for you around dawn."

Stewart shook Pitts hand. "You take care, you hear?"

"I'll try not to get my feet wet."

One of the ship's scientists stepped over from the bridge counter. He was black, medium height, and wore a stern expression that looked as if it was chiseled there. His name Clayton Findley, and he spoke in a deep, rich bass voice.

"Excuse me for eavesdropping, gentlemen, but I could have sworn you mentioned Santa Inez Island."

Pitt nodded. "Yes, that's right."

"There's an old zinc mine near the glacier. Closed down when Chile halted government-subsidized production."

"You're familiar with the island?" Pitt asked in surprise.

Findley nodded. "I was chief geologist of an Arizona mining company who thought they might make the army pay through efficient, cost-cutting operations. They sent me down along with a couple of engineers to make a survey. Spent three months in that hell hole. We found the ore grade about played out. Soon after, the mine was shuttered and the equipment abandoned."

:'How are you with a rifle?"

'I've hunted some."

Pitt took him by the arm. "Clayton, my friend, you are a gift from the gods."

Clayton Findley did indeed prove to be a godsend.

While Hollis bnefed his men inside an unused warehouse, Pitt, Gunn and Giordino helped Findley sculpt a diorama of Santa Inez Island from mud scooped beside the airport's runway on an old Ping-Pong table. He refreshed his memory of what he'd forgottened from Pitts nautical chart.

He hardened the miniature landscape with a portable heater and highlighted the features with cans of spray paint scrounged by one of Hollis's men. Gray for the rocky terrain, white for the snow and ice of the glacier. He even molded a scale model of the Lady Flamborough and set it at the foot of the glacier. At last he stood back and admired his handiwork.

"That," he said confidently, "is Santa Inez."

Hollis interrupted his briefing and gathered his men around the table.

Everyone stared at the diorama in thoughtful silence for a few moments.

The island was shaped like the center piece of a jigsaw puzzle produced by a drunken cutter. The ragged shoreline was a mine of spurs and hooks, gashed by barbed fjords and gnarled bays. It backed on the Straits of MageUan to the east and faced the Pacific Ocean to the west.

It was dead ground, not fit for a graveyard, 65 kilometers wide by 95

kilometers in length and peaked by Mount Wharton 1,320 meters high.

Beaches and flat ground were virtually nonexistent. The lowlying mountains rose like rockbound ships, their steep slopes falling in forlorn agony to meet the cold sea.

The ancient glacier sat like a saddle on the island. It was the result of cold and overcast summers that did not melt the ice. Barren escarpments of solid rock flanked the frigid mass, standing in sullen silence as the glacier gouged its irresistible passage toward the water where it calved section after section the way a butcher slices sausage.

Few areas of the world were more hostile to man. The entire island chain of the Magellans was uninhabited by permanent settlers. Through the centuries, men had come and gone leaving behind wrathful names like Break Neck Peninsula, Deceit Island, Calamity Bay, Desolation Isle and Port Famine. It was a hard place. The only vegetation that survived was stunted, twisted evergreens that merged with kind of a scrubby heath.

Findley swept a hand over the model. "Imagine a barren landscape with snow at the higher altitudes, and you pretty much get a picture of the real thing."

Hollis nodded. "Thank you, Mr. Findley. We're much obliged."

"Glad to help."

"All right, let's get down to the hard facts. Major Dillenger will lead the air-drop force, while I'll be in command of the dive team."

Hollis paused briefly to scan the faces of his men. They were lean, hard, purposeful-looking men dressed entirely in black. They were a tough breed of fighters who had survived torturous survival training to earn the distinction of serving with the elite Special Operations Force.

A hell of a team, Hollis thought proudly to himself. The best in the world.

"We've trained long and hard for ship seizures at night," he continued.

"But none where we've given away so many advantages to the enemy. We lack critical intelligence information, the weather conditions are miserable, and we're faced with a glacier that can shatter at any minute. Perplexing problems, tough problems that stand in the way of success. Before we launch our assault in a few hours, we want as many answers as possible. If you see a grave flaw in the operation, sing out. So let's begin."

"Island inhabitants?" Dillenger asked Findley straight away.

"None after we closed the mine."

"Weather conditions?"

"Rains almost constantly It's one of the most heavily watered regions on the continent. You rarely see the sun. Temperatures this time of year run a few degrees below freezing. winds are constant and can get violent at times. The willdchill factor is a bitch, and it's almost certain to be raining."

Dillenger gave Hollis a grave look. "We don't stand a prayer of a pinpoint air drop at night."

Hollis appeared grim. "We'll have to go in with the minichoppers and scale down with ropes."

"You brought helicopters?" asked Gunn incredulously. "I didn't think they had the speed and range-2'

–To fly this far so fast," Hollis finished. "Their military designation has too many letters and digits to memorize. We call them Carrier Pigeons. Small, compact, they carry a pilot in an enclosed cockpit and two men on the outside. Comes equipped with an infrared dome and silenced tail rotors. They can be broken down or assembled in fifteen minutes. One of our C-140s can transport six of them."

"You have another problem," said Pitt.

"Go ahead."

"The Lady Flamborough's navigation radar can be tuned for aircraft. Your Carrier Pigeons may have low profiles, but they can be read on a screen in time for the hijackers to prepare a nasty reception party."

"So much for surprise from the air," said Dillenger morosely.

Hollis looked at Findley. "any adverse conditions we should know about for an assault from the fjord?"

Findley smiled faintly. "You should have an easier time than the Major.

You'll enjoy the advantage of frost smoke."

"Frost smoke?"

"Foglike clouds formed from the contact of cold air with warmer water near the glacial wall. It can rise anywhere from two to ten meters.

Combined with the certain rain, your dive team should be cloaked from the time they begin their approach until they climb onto the decks."

"One of us gets a bit of luck after all," said Dillenger.

Hollis nabbed his chin thoughtfully. "We're not dealing with a textbook operation here. It could Turn real messy if the air drop is a foul-up.

All surprise would be lost, and without it the twenty-man dive team isn't strong enough to engage forty armed hijackers without support."

"Since it's suicidal for your men to parachute onto the ship," said Pitt, "why not drop them farther up the glacier?

from there they can make their way to the edge, and then rappel down ropes onto the main deck."

"We'd be looking at an easy descent," agreed Dillenger. The ice wall is above the ship's superstructure and near enough for us to clear the gap."

Hollis nodded and said, "The thought crossed my mind. any one see an obstacle with this tactict'

"Your biggest danger, as I see it," said Gunn, "is the glacier itself.

It can have an endless labyrinth of crevasses and treacherous snow crusts that give way under a man's weight. You'll have to take it slow and damned careful crossing it."

"any other comment?" There was none. Hollis gave a side glance to Dillenger. "How much time will you'require from air drop to attack readiness?"

"It would help if I knew wind velocity and direction."

"Nine days out of ten it blows from the southeast," answered Findley.

"Average velocity is about ten kilometers an hour, but it can easily gust to a hundred."

Dillenger stared pensively for a few moments at the small mountains rising behind the glacier. He tried to visualize the scene at night, sense the severity of the wind. He ticked off the time inside his head.

Then he looked up.

"Forty to forty-five minutes from air drop to ship assault."

"Pardon me for telling you your job, Major," said Pitt. "But you're cutting it too fine."

Findley nodded. "I agree. I've hiked the glacier on many occasions.

The ice ridges make it slow going."

In a smooth, greased movement, Dillenger pulled a long, wicked-looking Bowie knife, angled between hilt and blade, from a sheath behind his back and used the spiked tip as a pointer. 'The way I see it, we'll make our jump on the backside of the mountain to the right of the glacier. This should hide our C-140 transport from the ship's radar.

Using the preveiling winds, which hopefully will run true to pattern, we'll glide our 'stealth parachutes' around the mountain for seven kilometers, landing within one kilometer from the glacier's forward wall.

Time from jump until we regroup on the ice, I'd judge eighteen minutes.

Time to walk to glacier's edge; another twenty minutes. Six more minutes to prepare repel operation. Total time; forty-four minutes."

"I'd double it if I were you," said Giordino disapprovingly. "You'll have a hell of a time meeting a deadline if some of your men fall in a crevasse. The dive team won't be aware of the delay."

Hollis shot Al a look he usually reserved for war protesters. "This isn't World War One, Mr. Giordino. We don't have to synchronize watches before we go over the top. Each man is custom-fitted with a miniaturized radio receiver in his ear and a microphone inside his ski mask. No matter whether Major Dillenger and his team are late or mine is early, so long as we are in constant communication, we can coordinate a joint assault-"

"One other thing," Pitt broke in. "I assume your weapons are silenced."

"They are," Hollis assured him. "Why?"

"One burst from an unsilenced machine gun could bring down the wall of the glacier."

"I can't speak for the hijackers."

"Then you better kill them quick," muttered Giordino.

"We don't train to take terrorists as prisoners," Hollis said with a cold, ominous grin. "Now then, if our visitors can restrain their criticisms, are there any questions?"

Dive-team leader Richard Banning raised his hand. "Sir?"

"Henning?"

"Will we be approaching the ship underwater or on the surface?"

Hollis simply used a ballpoint pen as a pointer. He tapped it on a small island in the fjord that was behind a point of land and out of sight from the ship. "Our team will be ferried by Pigeon Carrier to this island. Distance to the Lady Flamborough is about three kilometers. The water is too cold for a swim that far, so we'll stay dry and move in by rubber boats. If Mr. Findley is correct about the frost smoke, we should be able to approach without detection. If it's dissipated, we'll enter the water two hundred meters away and dive until we reach the hull."

"A lot of balls will be iced if we have to wait very long for Major Dillenger's team to get in place."

A small wave of laughter echoed from the eighty men gathered around the table.

Hollis sighed and gave a broad smile. "I don't intend to freeze mine.