Unlucky 13(67)

Ten feet from the guy, Brady said, “Jackhammer told you I was coming plus two, right? I was there when he called you.”

This guard had a huskier voice and build and was older than the kid on the stairs. Brady thought he might be an actual soldier.

He said, “Jackhammer called me? Because I don’t know nothing about this.”

“Let’s not talk in front of these mutts,” said Brady as he closed in on the guard. “Do you mind? After I stow them, we can talk about it all you want.”

The gunman hesitated.

Then he said, “No fucking way. I’m calling the chief.”

Brady said to the guard, “I’ll save you the call. Jackhammer is on the line with me right now.”

The guard said, “Yeah?”

Coming toward Brady to take the radio, he stretched out his hand. Brady grabbed his wrist with his left hand, jerked him forward, and slashed his throat, slicing through his carotid artery, larynx, and jugular.

The gunman reached up but never got his hand to his neck before he dropped, blood pumping out of him, adrenaline speeding up the flow. He breathed in blood, coughed up more blood, and gurgled his last words as he tried to speak.

Lazaroff got behind the dying man as the blood gushed and held him down until he no longer moved. Then he took the AK away from the dead man while Brady told Lyle to sit on the chair and put his head between his knees.

Lazaroff got up, checked the corridor, and reported back, “All clear. Great job, Brady. They teach you how to do that in the police department?”

“I picked up a few moves along the way.”

He and Lazaroff each took one of the gunman’s arms and dragged him through the blood pool to the side of the corridor. Then Brady took off his mask and turned the wheel on the hatch door.

The hinges squealed as the door to the officers’ quarters swung wide open.





CHAPTER 91


A GROUP OF officers stood in the narrow aisle between two rows of cabins. They were unshaven and rumpled and pale. They stood shifting on their feet and angry, what you’d expect of men who’d been imprisoned in their cabins belowdeck while their ship was under siege.

Brady saw knives and lengths of wood or pipe in their hands. He put out his hands to show that he wasn’t armed, then put his finger to his mouth in the universal signal to be quiet.

He said, “I’m Jackson Brady. I’m a passenger, also a cop. We’re getting you guys out of here.”

Men exhaled, sheathed their knives, and broke into tears. Some rushed forward to shake his hand.

Brady told Lyle to get the lantern and then waved him and Lazaroff through the hatch door. He followed them in and introduced them to the ship’s officers.

One of the officers, a balding older guy in his sixties, had on glasses and grubby whites with captain’s stripes on the shoulders. He held a pistol loosely in one hand and shook Brady’s hand with the other.

“I’m Captain Berlinghoff,” he said. “George. Thanks very much…,” he said, choking back tears. “Mr. Brady. We haven’t seen light. We haven’t spoken with anyone. What’s happening to the ship?”

Brady said, “The terrorists are in charge and executing passengers on the hour.”

He briefed the captain on the terrorists’ demand for payment.

“They’ve killed a lot of people,” Brady said. “I don’t see that they’ve got a viable exit plan whether they’re paid or not. At some point, they might realize that. There’s no telling what they’ll do.”

“What are your thoughts?” the captain asked Brady.

“Got to get control away from them. And that means arming as many people as possible. Are your guys trained on the weapons in your citadel?”

“Who said we had a citadel?” the captain asked.

“I did, sir,” Lyle said.

“And who are you?”

Brady put his arm around Lyle’s shoulders.

“Lyle Davis. Our cabin steward and a very brave young man.”

The captain said, “I don’t know what you’ve heard, Mr. Davis, but there’s no citadel. There’s a lockbox on the Sun Deck marked OPEN IN CASE OF FIRE.

“We have a few handguns in there, some flares, and fire extinguishers. That’s it for our weaponry except for this thing,” he said, lifting his revolver by the trigger guard with a finger. It looked like a souvenir from the Korean War.

“There’s one bullet in it. I’m saving it for Jackhammer. I’ve been waiting by this door since he took over my ship.”

Brady nodded his head, then asked, “These stairs go to the Sun Deck?”

He was thinking of the lockbox with some make-do weapons, the blond kid with the assault rifle sitting on the top landing, and then the pirates up on the track.