Chapters (96)
- Cover
- Berkley titles by David Ricciardi
- Dedication
- Epigraph
- CHARACTER LIST
- PROLOGUE
- ONE
- TWO
- THREE
- FOUR
- FIVE
- SIX
- SEVEN
- EIGHT
- NINE
- TEN
- ELEVEN
- TWELVE
- THIRTEEN
- FOURTEEN
- FIFTEEN
- SIXTEEN
- SEVENTEEN
- EIGHTEEN
- NINETEEN
- TWENTY
- TWENTY-ONE
- TWENTY-TWO
- TWENTY-THREE
- TWENTY-FOUR
- TWENTY-FIVE
- TWENTY-SIX
- TWENTY-SEVEN
- TWENTY-EIGHT
- TWENTY-NINE
- THIRTY
- THIRTY-ONE
- THIRTY-TWO
- THIRTY-THREE
- THIRTY-FOUR
- THIRTY-FIVE
- THIRTY-SIX
- THIRTY-SEVEN
- THIRTY-EIGHT
- THIRTY-NINE
- FORTY
- FORTY-ONE
- FORTY-TWO
- FORTY-THREE
- FORTY-FOUR
- FORTY-FIVE
- FORTY-SIX
- FORTY-SEVEN
- FORTY-EIGHT
- FORTY-NINE
- FIFTY
- FIFTY-ONE
- FIFTY-TWO
- FIFTY-THREE
- FIFTY-FOUR
- FIFTY-FIVE
- FIFTY-SIX
- FIFTY-SEVEN
- FIFTY-EIGHT
- FIFTY-NINE
- SIXTY
- SIXTY-ONE
- SIXTY-TWO
- SIXTY-THREE
- SIXTY-FOUR
- SIXTY-FIVE
- SIXTY-SIX
- SIXTY-SEVEN
- SIXTY-EIGHT
- SIXTY-NINE
- SEVENTY
- SEVENTY-ONE
- SEVENTY-TWO
- SEVENTY-THREE
- SEVENTY-FOUR
- SEVENTY-FIVE
- SEVENTY-SIX
- SEVENTY-SEVEN
- SEVENTY-EIGHT
- SEVENTY-NINE
- EIGHTY
- EIGHTY-ONE
- EIGHTY-TWO
- EIGHTY-THREE
- EIGHTY-FOUR
- EIGHTY-FIVE
- EIGHTY-SIX
- EIGHTY-SEVEN
- Children of Fallen Patriots Foundation
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Both marksmen fired a second time.
Two hits, and the crewman didn’t get up.
From first to final shot, the entire engagement had taken eleven seconds. The helo turned away and took up station half a mile behind the tanker, where the Amjad’s crew was less likely to notice it, but its electronic-warfare equipment would still isolate the ship.
The semisubmersibles converged on opposite sides of the tanker. On board Boat-1, the Turk shouldered a pneumatic cannon and fired a grappling hook over the ship’s gunwale. Standing next to him, the Italian was already in a climbing harness and hooked into the line. He used an electrically powered ascender to haul him up the sixty-foot side of the tanker in just five seconds. He attached two webbed climbing ladders to the railing and dropped them into Boat-1 so the rest of the team could climb aboard.
The first two men over the rail linked up and went forward.
It was four hundred feet to the bow. The pirates advanced steadily, their rifles up, their rubber-soled boots silent as they stayed in the shadows of the thick cargo pipes that ran the length of the ship.
The remaining lookout was on the starboard bow, about twenty feet back from the front of the ship. It was a warm night, and he was leaning against the railing, with his arms folded over the side. With the ship’s bow wake churning steadily below him, he hadn’t heard the helicopter or the suppressed gunshots.
The first pirate aimed for the center of the man’s back, but his teammate waved him off. He was concerned the body might tumble forward and fall overboard, and the pirate didn’t want to risk that a dead crewman with bullet holes in his back might be spotted floating in a busy shipping lane.
The steady churn of the ship slicing through the ocean grew louder as the second pirate slung his rifle behind his back and silently approached the bow. With his left hand, he reached around the sentry and grabbed the man’s chin. With his right hand, the pirate drew a nine-inch knife across the man’s throat and hauled him backward onto the deck.
Ten and a half minutes later, the last living member of the Amjad’s crew took his final breath, and the bodies were transferred to the ship’s walk-in freezer. Once the oil was offloaded, the ship would be scuttled and the crew would undertake their final voyage—to the bottom of the Java Trench, twenty-four thousand feet deep in the waters off Indonesia.
FORTY-FOUR
FIVE DAYS HAD passed since the Amjad disappeared.