Dangerous Alliance Read online

  Dangerous Alliance

  Randall Krzak

  ALL RIGHTS RESERVED

  No part of this book may be reproduced or transmitted in any form or by any means, electronic or mechanical, including photocopying, recording, or by any information storage and retrieval system, without permission in writing from the author, except in the case of brief quotations embodied in reviews.

  Publisher’s Note:

  This is a work of fiction. All names, characters, places, and events are the work of the author’s imagination.

  Any resemblance to real persons, places, or events is coincidental.

  Solstice Publishing - www.solsticepublishing.com

  Copyright 2018 – Randall Krzak

  To Sylvia, my true flower of Scotland,

  And to our son Craig, of whom we’re very proud.

  There’s no doubt I have the best family in the world.

  Thank you for loving me.

  I love you.

  Chapter One

  Port Rashid, Dubai

  United Arab Emirates

  In the moonless night, the target floated in the harbor’s dark water, anchored fore and aft. A faint hiss broke the silence as climbing ropes and grappling hooks sailed into the air from Plumett NS50 Silent Launchers. Within moments, a sharp tug secured each hook to a quarterdeck railing on the cruise ship, two each on the port side, the starboard, and from the stern.

  The men, dressed in the colors of the night, facial features distorted by brown, black, and green camouflage paint, raced up the lines using ascenders. The whisper of their rubber-soled shoes on the ship’s sides the only hint of their invasion.

  With a single click of their radio, each man signaled when he was in position. They readied their TGR2 rifles and waited for the command.

  Colonel Trevor Franklin (Ret.) anticipated the go-ahead from Craig Cameron, Bedlam Alpha Team Leader, and senior commander of the mission. He performed a mental review of their intel. Ship in port for routine maintenance. Crew spending time with family and friends. Seven friends, attending a private onboard dinner arranged by the ship’s owner, taken hostage by at least ten terrorists. Threatening to kill them if their demands aren’t met. Maintain silence and minimize casualties.

  Craig watched the seconds tick away and nodded to Trevor.

  “Go.”

  Trevor, leader of the new Bedlam Bravo team, issued the order as he positioned his ATN night vision goggles and slithered through the stern rail. Craig slipped through the stanchions ten feet away.

  Calm. Dark. Perfect time for a raid.

  Trevor's eyes swept the decks above. By now the other men should be at their designated search areas on decks one through seven. He located the stairwell leading to the signal deck. From behind, he felt Craig's hot breath on his neck.

  They mounted the steps, listening for the creak of movement, the strike of a match, anything indicating a terrorist. Silence greeted them. As they reached the bridge, Trevor lifted his head to peer inside. A tall man with shaggy brown hair stood in front of a control panel.

  Trevor turned to Craig and raised a finger. One occupant. Need more intel.

  He reached into his pack, grabbed his Double Trouble stun gun, and worked his way to the door. It gave a light squeak as he pulled it open. The man turned at the sound. Trevor lunged at the hijacker, pressed his weapon against the man’s chest and zapped him.

  The target collapsed. The wriggling stopped, Trevor flipped him over and secured his wrists with plastic zip ties.

  “Where are the hostages?”

  “Go to hell.” The thug turned his head and tried to spit.

  Trevor shoved a gag into the man’s mouth and secured his ankles. “Don’t go away, mate.”

  He rejoined Craig. “One tango captured. He won’t be giving any trouble.”

  “Aye. Good job. Don’t forget to swap your stun gun’s batteries.”

  “Thanks.” Charge restored, he returned the gun to his pack and grabbed his radio. He whispered to his team: “One tango down. Continuing search.”

  ***

  Built like a heavyweight wrestler, Gerhard Badenhorst’s bulk belied his ability to move with silent speed. Wall-to-wall carpet muffled his movements. Former Gurkha Sergeant Agam Bahadir Pun, a stealthy shadow, stood behind the huge man, his TGR2 at the ready.

  Tasked with investigating decks four through seven, they hurried down the stairs, checking each passageway before continuing.

  Once on deck seven, the men peered into the lounge and the well-equipped gymnasium before working their way through areas off-limits to passengers. They cleared possible hiding areas in rapid succession before returning to the staircase.

  The acrid smell of antiseptic on deck six greeted Gerhard and Pun as they entered the ship’s medical facility. Gerhard stood guard while Pun slid a fiber optic cable under each door for a peek before moving on.

  A sliver of light appeared underneath a door labeled ‘Doctor.’ Gerhard listened as he grasped the knob. Silence. He twisted the handle to the open position and pushed, keeping his body to the side of the doorframe. Pun wormed inside to the right while Gerhard veered left.

  A shadow flew past Gerhard’s face. He dropped to the floor, kicked out, and connected with something solid. Someone grunted. As Gerhard scrambled to his feet, a strong punch to his stomach knocked the wind out of him, forcing him back to the floor.

  The assailant kicked at Gerhard’s head. Missed.

  Gerhard landed a side thrust kick to the nerve point above the man’s right knee, causing it to buckle. He grabbed his attacker in a chokehold, pressing on the carotid arteries until the man became limp.

  After binding his hands and feet, Gerhard slapped the man until he regained consciousness.

  “No dossing. Where are the hostages?”

  “Huh?” The man shook his head.

  “Ag, man. Are you dof (stupid)? Where are they?”

  The dazed thug raised a shaking arm and pointed to an inner door. Gerhard grabbed the man and propelled him into the wall, knocking him out.

  “Lekker droom.” Gerhard turned to Pun. “Why didn’t you help me?”

  “You didn’t need any to give stupid man sweet dreams.”

  After securing the intruder, they approached a wood-paneled door. Gerhard heard a muffled moan from inside and eased the door open.

  A woman, long blonde hair falling over her face, sat bound to a chair with strips of elastic bandages. Gauze held her hands together while a piece of tape covered her mouth. Her eyes widened in fear when the men entered.

  Pun scanned the room. “Clear.”

  Gerhard raised his eyebrows in concern, pulled out his knife, and sliced the gauze, freeing the woman. “You okay?” He yanked the tape from her mouth.

  “Ow! I will be.” She coughed and flexed her arms, rubbing at her chaffed wrists. “Who are you?” She inhaled several sharp breaths and appeared to calm down.

  “Ag, no one. Stay here until I return.”

  “What about the guy who snatched me?”

  “Asleep—fought with a wall. He lost.” Gerhard smirked. “He won’t be bothering anyone for a few hours.”

  ***

  Gerhard and Pun climbed the stairs to deck five. They moved from cabin to cabin, using master key cards to gain access through locked doors. Each room appeared the same: bed, built-in side tables and lamps, dressers, and two easy chairs, a coffee table snuggled between them. A small bathroom completed the amenities.

  Each room shared a common similarity—empty.

  After inspecting the last cabin, Pun returned to the staircase. As he placed a foot on the first step, an arm snaked over his shoulder.

  His instincts kicked in. Pun jumped on the next step, yanked his kukri from
its wooden scabbard on the back of his belt, and swung to face his opponent.

  “Shh.” Gerhard pulled his hand back. “Ag, man, put your toy away before you steek someone.”

  “Why you grab me?”

  “To check your reflexes.”

  Pun grinned and replaced his blade. “This deck is clear.”

  Gerhard nodded and keyed his radio. “This is Green. Moving to next deck.” He turned to his partner. “Let’s go.”

  A man of few words, Pun tilted his head toward the stairs. Together they crept up to deck four, each taking a side of the hallway to check the cabins.

  There was no activity until they reached a small corridor on the right between two inner cabins.

  They scooted along the short hallway. Straight ahead were three cabins. Pun went left, Gerhard to the right. Moments later, they returned to the corridor, shaking their heads. Gerhard stepped to the middle door and tried the handle. Locked.

  He pointed to himself, giving a high sign and indicated Pun should go low. Gerhard reared back and kicked the door with his foot.

  When the door flew open, they powered into the room. Four men sitting around a card table jumped to their feet. With no weapons in sight, Gerhard hauled out his stun gun and pressed it against the chest of a man with a purple snake tattoo running down his arm. Gerhard pulled the trigger and the man dropped to the floor in apparent agony. He prepared to meet the challenge of two others rushing at him.

  He flipped one thug over his shoulder. The man crashed through the card table to the floor, stunned. The other terrorist grabbed Gerhard’s arm and tried to force it behind his back.

  “You fight like girl.” Gerhard chuckled, twisted his body, and dropped to the floor. He stomped his right foot on the man’s ankle, placing the other in the back of his calf. The assailant fell face-first to the floor, dazed.

  Pun launched himself through the air at the fourth terrorist as the man grabbed his pistol.

  They struggled for control and the gun discharged, smashing a nearby lamp. Pun leveraged himself and thrust his opponent against the wall, where the terrorist collapsed, the pistol spinning out of his hand.

  The men trussed and gagged, Pun and Gerhard searched the remainder of the cabin. They stood on either side of the closet doors, grabbed a knob and tugged.

  A man and woman sat on the floor, tied back-to-back, their eyes covered with blackout masks. Gerhard and Pun released the couple from their makeshift prison. Both captives were shaking, massaging their wrists where ropes had cut.

  “You’re safe now.” Gerhard glanced at Pun, who helped the couple back to chairs.

  “We were playing chess when the door burst open.” A young man with bright orange hair and blue eyes pointed at the table. “They knocked us down and tied us up before dragging us into the closet.”

  “What did they want?” Gerhard asked the questions, leaving Pun to stand guard.

  “They never spoke.” The woman, about five feet tall, with black hair, shook her head. Her hazel eyes remained wide with fright.

  “We’ll move you to another cabin before we continue our recce of the ship. Pun, take them to a room by the stern stairs. I’ll retrieve the hostage from deck six. Meet you there.”

  The three passengers now safe in one location, Gerhard turned to Pun. “Let’s help Nate and Fergus.”

  ***

  Nathaniel ‘Nate’ Webster scampered along the passageway on deck three toward the stern. He threw an occasional glance over his shoulder.

  As Nate approached the stairwell, a faint shoe scuff on the rich pile carpet gave warning. He ducked around a corner and dropped into a crouch, his TGR2 ready.

  Two shadows appeared—Pun and Gerhard. Nate waved for them to follow and the three men entered the launderette.

  Gerhard glanced around. “Where’s Fergus?”

  “We decided to split up. He should be on deck two.”

  Gerhard shook his head but kept silent.

  “You guys find anyone?” Nate gazed at Gerhard, knowing Pun’s aversion to speaking.

  “Ja. We found five baddies and three hostages. We moved them to a cabin on the deck below. What about you?”

  “I found a hostage in the chapel. He’s wrapped up, lying on the floor.”

  “Why didn’t you bring him?”

  “Forgot to mention. Four terrorists with him. Two, perhaps three, I’d have gone in. Four is too many.”

  “We help.” Pun raised his kukri in the air.

  “This way.” Nate headed for the port hallway, while the others zipped down the starboard passageway.

  Once in position, Nate crawled along the wall of the synagogue to the glass-partitioned doors. He snaked a miniaturized camera through a gap to verify the terrorists’ positions.

  The device removed from under the door, Nate pointed to the left and raised one finger. He motioned to the right, with three upright fingers. He pulled his stun gun from its holster and waved at the others, who nodded and retrieved theirs. Gerhard swapped out the batteries before signaling he was ready.

  Nate tried the doorknob. It turned, and he raised three fingers again, counting down. His hand now a fist, he thrust the door open and dove for the deck, reached out to make contact, and sent an electrical charge into the single terrorist on the left.

  From the right, bullets chewed into the doorframe above the heads of Pun and Gerhard, who hugged the floor. When the firing stopped, they charged forward, two terrorists receiving a single charge from their stun guns. Pun reached the shooter. He pressed his weapon against the man's shoulder and fired. The man's body seized in violent spasms.

  While Nate undid the ropes around the hostage, Gerhard and Pun bound the four terrorists with zip ties from their backpacks.

  “I think we should consolidate the people we’ve freed in one spot, perhaps the launderette.” Nate pointed toward the stern as he spoke. “Since we’re using the staircases for movement between decks, it’ll be easier to collect them when we finish.”

  Gerhard stuck his head out of the doorway. "Okay, all clear. I'll bring the three up."

  “I guard.”

  Nate nodded at Pun’s offer. “Good. I’ll head to deck two. Tell Gerhard to follow once he brings you the others.”

  ***

  Fergus Mulligan, the newest member of Bedlam Bravo, pushed long reddish hair from his forehead, and finished clearing the starboard side of deck one. As he turned the corner to work through the port side cabins, a scream echoed along the passageway.

  A woman with long brown hair in a ponytail ran out of a cabin midway along the hallway and headed away from Fergus. A turbaned man brandishing a knife followed in close pursuit. Fergus let loose a shot from his TGR2. Missed. They turned into another passageway and disappeared before he could fire again.

  He ran to the cabin’s door and peeked inside. A man lay on the floor, the remnants of a red ceramic flowerpot scattered around him, clumps of earth and roses spread along his back. Fergus rushed back into the corridor and continued pursuit.

  He reached the stern and turned toward the staircase, skidding to a stop. The turbaned man lay motionless on the floor. The tall woman leaped across the body and flung her arms around Nate, holding on to her savior.

  "You’re a chancer. Why do you always get the girls?" Fergus laughed. "One day you must clue me in.”

  "All about being in the right place. Being handsome helps, too."

  “Don’t forget modesty. I’ll take a gander for the others, give you time to introduce yourself to the young lady.”

  “That’s okay, boys.” She gave Nate and Fergus a peck on the cheek. “You rescued me, and I’m thankful. Now, how do I get off this tub?” A wary smile surfaced on her lips before she screwed up her face. “I’ve had enough excitement for one evening.”

  A few minutes later, the rest of the team and the freed hostages arrived. Stashed in a cabin, Pun stayed with them. The others headed up the stairs to deck one.

  ***

  Trevor and Craig
moved from the signal deck to the sun deck. They cleared the few suites in rapid fashion and headed to the cinema. Craig eased the door open far enough to squeeze in. Trevor followed.

  In a crouch, they waited for their eyes to adjust to the dim light. Craig remained by the door while Trevor glanced around the room seeking anything out of place.

  A shadow moved up front. Trevor ducked and crabbed along a row of seats. He peered through the gap between two backrests toward the figure.

  More movement—someone’s head lolled on the back of a seat. Trevor crept forward for a better view. A TCR rifle across the man’s lap, he appeared to be asleep.

  Trevor snuck behind the terrorist, grabbed him in a chokehold, and subdued him. After securing the man to the seat, he motioned to Craig and they continued. Not finding anyone else, they moved to the stern and proceeded to the boat deck.

  Picking up their pace, they circled via the promenade, ducking as they came along a row of windows. Craig raised his head above the ledge. A gold placard on a window read: ‘Queens Grill Lounge.’ Sprawled across the bar, a gagged man lay bound by several strands of rope.

  “One man tied on top of the bar,” Craig whispered. “You go and I’ll cover.”

  Trevor nodded, glanced around for any further movement, and crept forward. After he had untied the cord around the man’s hands and ankles, the freed captive slid off the bar and stumbled into a chair.

  “Thank you. My friends—a couple—the terrorists took them away after they trussed me up like a chicken. Find them, okay?”

  “Don’t worry. My team’s clearing the other decks. Stay here with my partner until I return.”

  The man nodded. Craig reached over the bar, grabbed a glass, and pulled a pint. He handed it to the still shaking man, who sucked air in with great gulps.

  “Here, this will help. Try to relax. You’re safe now.”

  The man downed the pint in three swallows and held the glass out, smacking his lips. “Couldn’t have another one by any chance?” He stood, twisted his body to work out the kinks and rolled his shoulders before sitting.