The music seemed to change the mood of the terrorists. He hoped it might make them a touch complacent. Dance fever covered low conversation.
Brady said to Yuki, “What a mindfucker that guy is. He could write a book on it. Don’t believe a word he said.”
Brady knew that crowd control was one of the terrorists’ biggest problems. The nineteen shooters were overwhelmingly outnumbered by the combined thousand passengers and crew. But Jackhammer’s brutal, successive, random killings had created paranoia, enforced compliance, and put thoughts of rebellion down cold. He’d overwhelmed their ability to fight back. He’d undermined their sanity.
Brady wrapped both his arms around his wife and held her tightly. Yuki was a strong person, but the direct threat to her life had shaken her hard and he wasn’t sure how much more mind control and terror she could take.
A lot of pictures came into his mind, and not the kind of thoughts he usually had. He thought about grabbing one of those AK-47s and just going Rambo.
Yuki squeezed his hand.
“I’m okay,” he said.
No, he wasn’t. He was a cop. He couldn’t let these guys keep shooting people while he just hoped that the accountants and bankers would come through for a bunch of people they didn’t know.
Brady had to do something about this. He was fatter now. Years of smoking had cut his wind. But he still had a strategic mind and the will to kill. He would protect Yuki.
What he had to do was stay focused, look for an opportunity, have a workable plan ready to go. And pray for the physical strength and the reflexes to carry it out.
CHAPTER 79
BRADY WAS TRYING on ideas about how to take back the FinStar when there was a light tug on his sleeve. He started, almost lashing out with the edge of his hand, but he paused long enough to see the face of the man who had crawled over to him on his elbows.
It was Lyle, their cabin steward, and he was wearing a blue spa robe over his whites.
Lyle was overheated, breathing through his mouth. He dropped to his stomach, turned his head so that his cheek was flat on the deck, and spoke through the raucous Latin beat.
“Mr. Brady. You’re military?”
“No. I’m a homicide cop. What do you know, Lyle?”
“There’s a citadel amidships. Somewhere near the officers’ quarters.”
“A citadel. You mean there are guns?”
“I heard there were guns and maybe a radio.”
“And the officers? They’re alive?”
With one of the gunmen close by, Lyle didn’t reply. He dropped his head and wept into the inside elbow of his robed arm. Yuki also cried softly, but none of the pirates noticed. So many people were crying.
Yuki hugged Brady from behind and he patted her little hand. The first time she’d taken his big rough hand in both of hers, her touch had gone all the way through him. He’d felt sure of her. He’d known that he was in the presence of good.
It had been his idea to take this cruise. He’d never been much of a romantic, but this trip had seemed like a really good idea—the sea, magnificent scenery, a luxury liner taking care of everything so they could start their marriage in a beautiful way.
Now fucking this.
Brady waited until the masked goon with the running shoes had finished padding between and around the passengers and run up the metal stairs to the track.
When Brady was sure the gunman was out of earshot, he said, “Lyle, what about the officers?”
Eventually Lyle said, “These guys killed everyone on the bridge when they boarded. That’s what I heard. It wasn’t the captain’s watch. He was sleeping in his quarters. He made an announcement after that, so he could still be alive.
“And the third mate. He was asleep in the officers’ quarters across from the captain. He’s probably alive. Chief Engineer. Master of the hotel. They’re also alive as far as I know. So a few of the senior men are in their quarters. Probably. I can’t speak for the hundreds of waiters and cabin boys and laundry crew, guys like that. I think they’re locked in the hold.”
Brady said, “But the citadel is near the officers’ quarters. You could take me there.”
“There are guys with guns in front of the door, don’t you get it? I’m not a fighter,” Lyle said. He plucked at his robe. “I put this on so they wouldn’t know I was crew.”
“You found a way to survive,” said Brady. “We need the officers and we have to get weapons. You have to want that, too, right? You’ve heard the expression ‘like shooting fish in a barrel’? Christ! That’s what this is. That’s what we are. You like being a fish, Lyle?”
The cabin steward shook his head madly, desperately.