“Looks like the sedative worked as advertised,” the smallest of them said in a high-pitched, feminine voice.
Juan stood up and said, “With this stuff, I could make Colonel Sanders spill his secret recipes for both Original and Extra Crispy chicken. Tanjung here tells me there are seven hostiles on board armed with AK-47s. Use the darts only as long as we have the element of surprise.” He checked his watch. “I’ve got the bomb locations. Tanjung says we have about fifteen minutes left to deactivate the timers. He also mentioned that Kersen, the leader of their terrorist cell, has a remote detonator as a backup. Apparently, he didn’t trust anyone else not to blow up the ship with him on it. You’ll know him by his missing left ear.”
Using his tongue, Juan clicked the molar mic embedded in his mouth. The transceiver not only allowed him to use his radio hands-free, it also played the sound inside his skull through bone conduction, which meant he could hear communications even in noisy environments.
“Is the deck clear?” He looked up, but the small gray quadcopter drone hovering above them was too high to be visible.
“No movement,” came the reply.
“Anyone on the Dahar’s bridge?” It would be easy to spot Juan and his team coming over the railing if there were terrorists in that high perch.
“Maneuvering to get a better look.” A pause. “It’s empty.”
Juan put on his balaclava and a pair of augmented reality glasses and fed in the bomb locations. They’d downloaded a detailed schematic of the tanker on their way to the ship so their glasses could guide them through the corridors of its interior. In the corner of his eye, he could now see a deck by deck map of the Dahar’s layout.
“Let’s go,” Juan said.
He led the way up the terrorists’ ladder. Juan felt it was his duty to be the first on the ship.
All of them were members of the Corporation, and Juan was its Chairman, an honorific many of his people used when addressing him. Technically, they were mercenaries, but Juan hated that term. Mercenaries hired themselves out to the highest bidders, no matter the cause or morals of their employers.
Instead, the Corporation was a company of private contractors made up of U.S. military veterans and former CIA operatives. They had an unusual set of skills and did work for the U.S. government when secrecy and plausible deniability were required. One such mission was a raid to sabotage a Syrian pharmaceutical complex producing sarin gas where they had acquired a limited batch of the tranquilizer serum they were now using. They also took jobs from friendly nations or non-government entities, but only if it served the interests of their home country.
Juan Cabrillo was not only the Chairman of the Corporation but its heart and soul. A former CIA operative, he led the organization with fortitude and savvy, seemingly always one step ahead of his adversaries. He had helped assemble the top-notch crew around him and placed trust in every member of the Corporation to do their assigned job. In return, he was deeply respected and admired by all, most considering him a close friend.
The Corporation was unique in that it was based entirely on one ship, the Oregon. The new Oregon.
After the tragic loss of their previous ship, Juan and the rest of the crew had been eager to get back to sea to see what the new vessel could do. Their first voyage was meant to be a simple trial to test out her engines and a few of her other upgraded capabilities before returning to a Malaysian dry dock to finish prepping her for deployment. But intel about an imminent attack in the Strait of Malacca meant she had to set sail before she was fully outfitted. Now the Oregon was on her maiden cruise, and some of her crew weren’t even on board yet.
The terrorists’ plan was to plant the explosives and get off the ship with their hostages long before the authorities could arrive. But Indo Jihad didn’t realize that their group had been penetrated by a mole from the Corporation, so they wouldn’t be expecting anyone spoiling the party. Although Juan’s team was outnumbered, their advantage was stealth and surprise.
When they all reached the oil tanker’s deck, they split up into two pairs. Juan and Hali Kasim would take the engine room while the others would go to the bow.
The pair hustled to an access door set into the stern superstructure.
“How are you doing?” Juan asked as the two of them pressed themselves against the steel bulkhead.
Going on commando raids wasn’t Hali’s regular job on the Oregon. The Lebanese American was the ship’s communications officer and had been responsible for catching the emergency alert sent out by the Dahar. Although the Oregon had a team of former special forces operatives who would normally take on a mission like this, they were all away on another job in Bali.
But everyone in the Corporation was trained for combat, and Hali had been on his fair share of dangerous operations in the past.
“Having a great time,” Hali said. “That said, I’ll be happy to be back in my nice comfy ops chair with a headset over my ears.”
“Just follow me, and we’ll be fine. Remember, don’t take any chances.”
Juan opened the door, and they found the nearest stairway. With the dart gun in his hand, Juan led Hali down, following the map displayed in his glasses.
When they reached the door to the engine room, Juan could feel the thrum through the steel. At least the terrorists hadn’t shut the big diesels down when they brought the ship to a halt. The noise would help mask their approach.
Juan looked at Hali, who nodded in reply that he was good to go. Juan crouched and eased the door open. The sound of the loud turbines filled his ears.
The door was located on a catwalk overlooking the entire engine room, but the vast array of piping, ductwork, and machinery meant they weren’t too exposed to anyone who might be below.
First, they crept to the control room, and Juan looked in the window. No one was inside.
Hali tapped his shoulder, and Juan turned to see two of the hijackers huddled over something they were attaching to the massive fuel line feeding the engines. Just as the terrorist on the boat had told them, the plan was to blow up the ship, igniting a raging inferno that would be seen for miles.
The hijackers twenty feet below them were so preoccupied with their task that they never looked up. Juan gave a signal to Hali that he would take the man on the right while Hali shot the one on the left.
They aimed through the catwalk railing. Juan fired. His dart hit the terrorist in the back of the neck. He turned at the same time that Hali’s dart hit the other one in the back. Within three seconds, they both collapsed to the deck.
Edging around the catwalk, Juan and Hali scanned the rest of the engine room. No one else was there.
They went down the stairs to find the two terrorists huddled on the floor, mumbling to themselves. According to the man in the boat, there should have been two teams planting bombs in the engine room. He couldn’t have been lying, so either he hadn’t understood the plan or he hadn’t been told the truth about it.