M/V DON CARLOS
“Everybody back?” Langevin had not made a head count, and as chief investigator he felt responsible for the operation at this point.
“Everybody but one,” Pope said.
Langevin looked around. At that moment Don Carlos’s sailors and the SSI men were leading the captives to a holding area. Cohen was with them—he seemed especially interested in one of Zikri’s radio operators.
“Vic, are you really going to let that Frenchman go down if the ship sinks?”
Pope almost grinned. “Well, let’s just say I want him to think so.”
“My God,” the scientist exclaimed. “If there is another charge hidden someplace, the ship could sink pretty fast. I mean, it’s not very big.”
Langevin lowered his voice. “Look,” he began. “My area is physics, but I know one or two things about explosives. If Hurtubise is hog-tied, he can’t detonate any hidden charges if even he wanted to. So what’s the point?”
“My point is, Doctor, that he could’ve set a timer. And I don’t think it would’ve been for very long because he wouldn’t want us looking in the hold. If we get some contraband yellow cake, that can be used against him.”
Langevin lowered his gaze to the deck, obviously pondering the SEAL’s logic. “Okay, that makes sense. But how much longer will you wait?”
Pope looked at his watch. “It’s now been about fifty minutes. I’m going to let him wait an hour-plus and then I’ll go back.”
“Well, okay. But I sure would like to get to that hold before something…”
A low, rumbling ka-whump interrupted the physicist. Heads swiveled toward Tarabulus Pride, dead in the water two hundred yards away.
“That’s it!” Pope exclaimed. Ignoring Lanvegin, he called over the side. “Jeff! Fire up the Zodiac! Get me over there right now!”
M/V TARABULUS PRIDE
The old freighter was settling by the stern when Pope scrambled up the accommodation ladder. He dashed down to the galley and found Hurtubise still bound hand and foot.
“Ah, Commander,” the Frenchman exclaimed. “Bienvenue à bord!”
Pope barely resisted the urge to put a boot in the man’s face. “I ought to let you sink!”
“But you will not. Just as I knew you wouldn’t.” The smug tone in Hurtubise’s voice told Pope the story. He read me all along.
The American leaned down, produced his knife, and held it to Hurtubise’s nose. Pope wondered if the mercenary had heard of Captain Zikri’s acquaintance with that same piece of tempered steel. The blade made no obvious impression on the phlegmatic saboteur, so Pope cut the flex cuff on the Frenchman’s feet. Hurtubise was hauled upright and shoved toward the exit.
Descending the boarding ladder was awkward with his hands bound behind his back, but Hurtubise wasted little time getting off the doomed ship. As the Zodiac motored away, he looked back. The bow was well clear of the water now, the hull beginning to list to port. “I fear that Captain Zikri will be disappointed in me,” he said. The crooked smile on his face was more than Pope could abide. He erased the superior grin with a right hook that laid the offender prone in the rubber craft.
“Watch your mouth,” Pope said.