Kill Decision(136)
“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.”