Ghost Ship by Clive Cussler
For their part, Kurt and Joe had wondered if they would survive the drop itself. It felt as if the plane was maneuvering desperately the last thirty seconds or so. As the light went green, Connors had pressed a red deploy button and shouted “Go,” or something along those lines.
Neither Kurt nor Joe truly heard him as the sound of the drogue chutes deploying and the sudden whiplash of being pulled backward out of the aircraft snapped their heads forward and commanded all their attention.
The Humvee was yanked out of the aircraft and in free fall for all of two seconds. Kurt distinctly remembered the sight of the aircraft pulling up and banking to the right as the vehicle skidded across the dirt on the pallet like a toboggan out of control on an icy slope. The first sensation was like skipping like a stone on a lake. And then they decelerated as the pallet maintained contact with the packed dirt of the runway. The last forty or fifty feet seemed smoother. And then suddenly they lurched to a stop.
Up ahead the C-17 just barely cleared the trees, and Kurt was certain he saw brief fires in the treetops where the heat of the engines singed them.
At that moment just being alive was a thrill. Kurt looked over at Joe and saw him grinning from ear to ear. “Okay, I’d do that again,” he said giddily. “I’d even pay for another ride.”
Kurt had to agree, but duty called. He opened the door and released the lock that connected them to the parachute and another lock that held them to the pallet. Joe performed the same task on the driver’s side and then climbed back inside, turned the key, and brought the Humvee’s 6.2-liter fuel-injected diesel to life.
In a moment they were speeding across the last hundred yards of the runway and onto a dirt road that led them south.
“Hope you’ve got the map ready,” Joe said, “ ’cause I’m not from around here.”
“Just stay on this road,” Kurt said. “We’ve got seven miles to go.”
With their infiltration suits switched off and well-worn robes covering them, Kurt and Joe raced along the dirt road in the Humvee. The landscape flying past in the dark was hard to see, but this section of Madagascar was made up of wide grassy fields, occasional copses of small trees, and plenty of sky.
So far, they hadn’t passed a single hut or another vehicle. Joe let off the gas to negotiate a bend in the dirt road and they began to drift sideways as the rutted ground gave way beneath them. But with a slight punch of the throttle, the knobby tires bit a little deeper into the soil and the four-wheeldrive Humvee snapped back into a straight line and continued forward.
Kurt was in the passenger’s seat, holding on to the roll bar with one hand and checking the GPS with his other. “You always drive like this?”
“You should see me at rush hour.”
“Something tells me I’d rather not.”
“First time I’ve ever been late for a meeting and not ended up in traffic,” Joe said.
“This section of Madagascar is pretty sparsely populated,” Kurt said. “According to the map, the biggest town in a fiftymile radius is a place called Masoarivo and it’s only eight thousand people.”
“Lucky for us,” Joe said. “Doubt we’ll see another car out here.”
Kurt agreed, but livestock was another story. In sections where the rainwater had pooled, they’d passed grazing cattle and sheep. “Watch out for cows,” he said. “As I recall, you hit one in the Azores and had to fight for the town’s honor as part of your community service.”
“I was exonerated,” Joe insisted. “A court inquiry ruled the cow to be at fault and fined her for grazing without a license.”
“We don’t have time to go to court,” Kurt replied, laughing at the memory, “nor do we have a replacement front end handy. So just be careful.”
Joe promised he would do just that as they raced onto a straightaway and he stomped the gas pedal to the floor once again.
A mile and a half from the Brèvard property they slowed. In place of blazing headlights, Joe and Kurt pulled on their night vision goggles. The Humvee became a growling beast of the night, hidden in the darkness.
“I can see the fence up ahead,” Kurt said. “Pull off the road here. We can hide the vehicle behind those trees.”
Joe allowed the Hummer to slow on its own, he manhandled the wheel and took them off the dirt road and onto the soft ground with its waist-high grasses.
They came to a stop behind some low-lying brush and the wide trunk of a strange-looking tree that grew straight up like a concrete pillar. The only branches on the tree sprouted seventy feet above at the very top. It looked more like a giant stalk of broccoli than a tree. Several more of the odd trees grew close by.
“I feel like I’m in a Dr. Seuss book,” Joe said.
“Baobab trees,” Kurt said.
“Trees like this won’t give us a lot of cover.”
“We shouldn’t need it with the suits,” Kurt replied as he pulled off the oversize cotton tunic and rolled it into a ball.
As Joe did the same, Kurt removed the night vision goggles and clipped the breathing regulator onto a notch at the shoulder. The small tank of compressed air that would be used to cool his breath was strapped to his side.
He scanned the fence. It was rusted old barbwire, already broken in places. There was no sign of anything more modern protecting the land at this point, but Kurt didn’t want to chance it.
“According to the GPS, it’s about half a mile from here to the compound, over this low dirge and then up a long slope,” Kurt said. “We need to cover that ground in no more than ten minutes. That’ll give us fifteen minutes of thermal invisibility once we reach the compound walls.”
Joe nodded and slipped the satphone into a zippered pocket of the infiltration suit. Into another pocket he slid the extra clip for the railgun. “I figure we travel as light as possible and leave the rest of this stuff behind.”
“Couldn’t agree more,” Kurt said. “Let’s go.”
They switched on their suits, pulled the hoods over their heads, and readjusted the night vision goggles. Kurt took point crossing the road, heading into the tall grass on the other side and moving quickly to a break in the fence.
Joe followed, staying close. “I’ll give them this, these suits work as advertised,” he said. “I’m ten feet behind you and really have to work just to see you. Even through these goggles you’re more of a shadow than anything else.”
“I’m going to head straight for the point on this ridge,” Kurt said. “Stick close. If you get lost, give me a birdcall or something.”
“The only birdcalls I know are Woody Woodpecker and Daffy Duck.”
“That’s despicable,” Kurt said, lisping the words in his best imitation of the cartoon duck. “Let’s go.”
With that, Kurt was off. Joe followed, finding he could track Kurt more easily by the sound of his feet scuffing through the brush and grass and over the dusty soil of the higher ridge. They came down the other side of the ridge and onto a sloping field that ran all the way up to the granite formations behind the compound. At the base of those rocks the lights of the plantation house were clearly visible.
Kurt checked his watch. “We have thirty minutes to confirm that the hostages are there and radio in. Any later and the Marines will be turning around.”
Joe nodded and Kurt began to move again. They couldn’t run full out, but a brisk jog would do the trick. Halfway up they encountered a small heard of zebu, the horned cattle seeming skittish at the approach of something they could smell but not see.
They pricked up their ears, grunting and making strange gurgling noises deep in their throats. A few of them shuffled off, unnerved by the intrusion, but Kurt and Joe were long past them by that point, just shadows moving through the dark.
As he continued up the slope, Kurt felt the ache in his shoulder from the bullet wound and the weight of the heavy railgun. He ignored it and continued on.
Three-quarters of the way up the slope they came within sight of the compound walls. A quiet whistle
“What do you think?” Kurt asked.
“The wall looks rough, unfinished.”
“Probably hard to get stonemasons out here.”
“Front gate has cameras,” Joe said, studying the layout. “Can’t see any others.”
Kurt glanced along the dirt road that led up to the gate. “If a pizza delivery guy came by right about now, that would be ideal. But considering that isn’t likely to happen, I say we climb the wall.”
“I can see a spot over there where a tree is growing up beside the wall,” Joe said.
“Too inviting,” Kurt replied. “Let’s just use our hands and feet.”
Joe nodded again and Kurt began to move, heading farther upslope. Joe followed, and the two met up again at the base of the stone wall. In a moment they were over the top and inside, and the first thing they came to was the maze of manicured hedges.
Unlike the gentle slope of the hill outside the walls, the grounds inside had been excavated and flattened. The entire compound was built on a series of terraces, with the lowest by the front gate, then two intermediate levels containing the hedge maze and the other small buildings, and finally the main house in all its grandeur sitting up on the highest of the four terraces.
Unlike the rest of the grounds, the house was well lit. Kurt studied what he could from where he was. A pair of guards milled around the main entrance. At least one other man stood near the far side.
“Not exactly girded for battle,” Kurt said.
“You say that like it’s a bad thing.”
“Just not used to so much going our way.”
Kurt ducked down behind the hedge and opened the flap that covered the GPS tracking unit strapped to his right arm. In dull gray and black tones, it displayed the grounds around them. There were three buildings on the lowest terrace that were considered possibilities. According to Hiram Yaeger, men who appeared to be armed had been seen going in and out of all three.
“We have to get to the other side of this maze,” Kurt said.
“Do we risk going through it?” Joe asked. “The hedges are at least six feet high. They’ll help keep us hidden.”
Kurt was about to say yes, considering that he had an overhead diagram of the maze displayed on his arm, but as he navigated the labyrinth in his mind he discovered one salient feature: there was only one way in and one way out.
“Better go around,” Kurt said. “The maze has no other way out. It’s a big circle that doubles back around and only takes you back to where you started. Considering how this undertaking has felt from day one, I’d say I’ve had about enough of that.”
Joe laughed. “We still have eight minutes of chameleon time.”
Kurt motioned to the right. “Around that side. Stay close to the hedge. We should come across a building that looks kind of like a shed.”
This time Joe led the way and it was Kurt’s turn to marvel at how rapidly he vanished, like a ghost in the fog. Kurt moved quickly to keep up, and on the far side of the hedge he came upon Joe.
The shedlike building was right in front of them. Kurt was just about to step forward when a door opened and spilled some light onto the grounds. Kurt froze as two men came out, allowing the door to bang shut behind them.
Leaning against the building, one of them lit a cigarette. The tip brightened to an orange-red hue as he inhaled. After releasing a puff of smoke, he turned to the other man. “I’m telling you, Laurent is on the rampage. Don’t get him angry right now or question him. I asked him about Acosta and he told me to back off.”
“Acosta is a gutless traitor,” the other man said. “He sold us out on one of Sebastian’s deals. Mark my word, we’re going to be at war with him soon. Next time you make a delivery, you watch your back.”
“It’s more than that,” the smoking man said between drags on the cigarette. “Sebastian is edgy. I think he’s losing it. Been spending too much time with Calista.”
Both of them laughed at that. “Who cares?” the other man said. “We just got paid. Now, finish that smoke and get back in the game so I can take your money.”
The man with the cigarette laughed. “Sure,” he said. “Set me up a drink, I’ll be there in a minute.”
The first guy went back inside while the second man smoked for a moment longer before tossing the cigarette to the ground and crushing it out with his boot. As he finished grinding it into the dirt he looked up, staring almost directly at Kurt. He lingered in that pose for a moment the way a hunting dog might freeze as it pointed toward a sound its master couldn’t hear.
Kurt held perfectly still. Hidden in the shadows at a distance of forty feet, he doubted the man could see him. All the same, he firmed his grip on the railgun and slid his gloved finger onto the trigger.
The smoker held his place for another second and then he turned, grabbed the door handle, and stepped back inside.
“Cover me,” Kurt whispered. He moved quickly toward the door and placed his ear beside it. He heard the sound of a radio and voices. Too many voices. They were loud and boisterous and, as near as he could tell, all male. It sounded like a locker room inside.
Convinced the prisoners were not present, he moved back to where Joe waited.
“Do we have the right address?” Joe asked.
“Not unless you’re looking for a frat party. I think this is a bunkhouse of some kind. Brèvard’s men are blowing off some steam.”
Joe looked around. “So where to next?”
Kurt glanced down at the screen on his arm. The next building was a hundred yards off. Closer to the wall of the third terrace. “Just up the road,” Kurt said. “Follow me, if you can.”
“Better be quick,” Joe said. “We turn back into pumpkins in less than five minutes.”
Moving past the building that housed Brèvard’s men, Kurt and Joe snuck onto another path. The next building was much like the first, low-lying and rather plain, without any windows, but it was guarded. Two men at the door, one sitting in a chair with his feet propped up on a bucket, the other standing with a rifle over his shoulder.
The main problem was a pair of exposed bulbs on a black wire above the entrance. The suits would not keep them hidden in that kind of glare.
“This has got to be it,” Kurt said. “I’m going to work my way around back and find the power line. Get in position. When I cut it, take the closest guy out with your Taser. By the time the second guy figures out what’s happened, I’ll be on him.”
“Sounds like a plan.”
As Joe moved to a new position, Kurt doubled back and went around the far side of the building. Moving quickly and quietly, he arrived on the far side of the structure and began looking for the power cable. He found a spot where a buried line came out of the ground and ran up the wall, held in place by rusted clamps. Pulling out his rubber-handled knife, Kurt sawed through the insulation and then with a quick cut severed the cable.
As the light spilling from the front of the building flickered and died, Kurt raced for the corner. He came around it just as Joe hit the standing guard with his Taser. The man went stiff as a board but made no sound, and all Kurt heard was the rapid clicking and snapping sound that the Taser made as it electrified the man’s body and triggered his muscles into a rigid state.
Realizing that something was wrong, the guard in the chair grabbed for his rifle, but Kurt was on him before he could bring it to bear. He clamped one hand over the man’s mouth and yanked him backward, bringing the black carbon steel blade of the knife up against the man’s throat.
“You make a sound, it’ll be your last,” he warned the man.
The guard went still and then nodded, his sense of shock growing as Joe appeared under the overhang like a specter materializing from another dimension. As Joe dropped down on the ground to truss up the other guard, his movements were a blur as the armor continuously changed both its color and texture. Kurt noticed the man he’d captured scrunching his eyes shut and then
“You people are holding some friends of ours,” he whispered to his captive. “Are they here? In this building?”
The guard nodded.
Kurt glanced at Joe. “Check the door.”
Joe was already in the process. “Locked tight.”
“Keys,” Kurt demanded.
The guard reached a shaking hand into his breast pocket and pulled out a ring with two keys on it.
Joe took the ring and went to work, finding two bolts, one for each key. Having unlocked the door, he cracked it open. “It’s dark, I don’t see anyone.”
“I must have cut the power to the entire building,” Kurt said, pulling the guard to his feet.
As Joe pulled the door open, Kurt pushed the guard through first in case someone attacked. Fortunately, that didn’t happen.
Looking around, Kurt saw a dozen people huddled in the far corner of the darkened room. They were hiding behind a pile of mattresses, a small table, and several chairs. He counted three men, three women, and seven children of various ages. They seemed as frightened of him and Joe as the guards had been. After what they’d been through, Kurt didn’t blame them.
“It’s all right,” he said, “we’re here to help you. We’re getting you out of here.”
They seemed too afraid to respond, so Kurt flipped up his goggles and pulled out a flashlight, shining it on them. He didn’t recognize most of the group, but two of the grimy-faced children looked like Sienna’s son and daughter.
“You’re Tanner, right?”
The boy nodded.
“And you’re Elise?”
The girl was too afraid to say anything. She just stood there, gripping the hem of her shirt.
“It’s okay,” Kurt said, brushing her hair back. “We’re taking you home. Where’s your mom?”
Elise just stared at him, but Tanner pointed at the guards. “They took her.”
Kurt looked at the guard on his knees.