Authors: Russell Blake
She plunged straight into the underbrush, having reasoned that the guards would come down the trail rather than through the jungle. With luck she could outflank them and use any confusion to her advantage.
A voice cried out from the wall path thirty meters to her left – an amateur move that told her much about the caution of the remaining gunmen. Her eyes searched for a clear way through the dense foliage. She ducked behind a tree when she heard men running nearby, waited until they’d passed, and continued pushing deeper into the jungle, away from the compound.
Maya emerged from a thicket and spotted a faint game trail that led in the direction she wanted. She followed it until she was well past the villa gate and paused, checking for any signs of pursuers. After a tense hesitation she cut across to the cart trail and followed it to the arms depot, where the dead guards still lay sprawled around the building.
She darted inside and returned several moments later with two grenades and a land mine. Maya slipped the grenades into her pockets and moved to the beach trail, where she hurriedly created a shallow depression with her rifle stock and seated the mine.
Maya armed the metal disk and covered it with sand, and then returned to the bunker. She could hear shouts from the villa grounds, but nothing close enough to pose a threat. Satisfied that she’d eluded anyone giving chase, she extracted one of the grenades from her pocket, pulled the pin, and rolled it through the door. She spun as bouncing lights approached from the track that led to the helicopter crash site and sprinted down the beach trail, taking care to give the mine a wide berth as she picked up speed.
The whump of the grenade detonating inside the building was instantly followed by a massive blast as the crates exploded in a chain reaction, blowing the corrugated steel roof off and sending a huge fireball roiling into the night sky. Maya squinted to retain what she could of her night vision. The glow from the blast framed her as she ran, a grim smile tugging at the corners of her mouth as she raced into the darkness.
Chapter 39
Maya reached the long stretch of beach that ran along the harbor. The water lay black and placid, and a slice of tangerine moon peeked from between high scattered clouds reflecting off the glassy surface. The harbor was still, which didn’t surprise her. The security force was likely keeping everyone from leaving until they’d figured out a coherent reaction to the night’s events – for the guests’ protection, of course.
The pier was empty, the beach deserted other than a contingent of guards milling around several hundred meters away near the compound gate. Maya was sure that between the shootout, the helicopter crash, and the ammo depot blast they had to be in disarray, with more than a few of the mercenaries questioning their commitment to a dead employer.
“Natasha,” she whispered, “where are you?”
The rifle felt heavy in her hand as she waited for a response. A dark clump of vegetation down the beach rustled, and Natasha limped into view, pistol clutched in her hand.
“I heard shooting. Didn’t know whether I’d see you again,” Natasha said.
Maya shrugged. “I ran into some company after sending the signal.”
“I figured. I gather the explosion was you…taking care of the weapons cache.”
“I hate to think of all that ordnance falling into the wrong hands.”
“No question.”
Maya eyed Natasha. “What about you?”
“I’m alive.”
“Can you make it to the pier?”
“Made it this far.” Natasha hesitated. “What are you thinking?”
Maya looked at the harbor. “Nice night for a boat ride.”
“Why not stay put?”
“No telling how long it’ll take for the cavalry to come over the hill, and right now we’re sitting ducks.” Maya paused. “Do you know where the Mossad boat is?”
Natasha shook her head. “Not a boat. Two agents in Kijang, over on Pulau Bintan – the big island fifteen clicks north.”
Maya’s brow furrowed. “How’s that supposed to help us?”
“They have clout with the navy. It’s not like they’re going to paraglide in.”
“So they’re passive on this op?”
Natasha nodded.
Maya ground her teeth. “Then we’ll go to them. Come on.”
She put her arm around Natasha and helped her to the pier. As they stepped onto the planks, an explosion sounded from the trail.
“Mine,” Maya explained. “Now lie down and don’t move. You should be practically invisible in this light. I’m going to steal a boat.” Her eyes searched the harbor until they settled on the darkened Viking sport fisher moored at the far end. “I’ll be right back.”
Two wooden skiffs lay beached near the breakwater wall, their hulls halfway up on the powdery sand. Maya pushed the smaller into the water and began rowing toward the pier. She was halfway to the jetty when voices at the pier entrance yelled in Bahasa Indonesia, and then again in English.
“Stop or we shoot!”
Maya ducked and groped for her rifle. Shots rang out from the pier – pistol shots, followed immediately by the chatter of assault rifles. A man screamed in pain as bullets sprayed geysers of water around the skiff and then thumped into the hull.
Maya couldn’t return fire due to the angle; she was pinned down, a sitting duck. More rounds splintered the wood by her head, and she cringed, only inches away from being cut to ribbons. Another pistol shot cracked from the pier, followed by a burst of rifle fire. Two more pistol shots echoed in the darkness, and the gunfire abruptly stopped.
Maya peered over the bow. Nothing moved on the pier or the shore. She resumed rowing, a sinking feeling in the pit of her stomach. When she reached the pilings, she tied off the bow line and climbed the ladder, drawing her pistol when she reached the top. Her gaze moved down the wooden stretch to where two men lay twisted halfway down the pier, and she pieced together what must have happened: the guards had spotted the boat, and Natasha had engaged when she’d seen them preparing to shoot Maya to pieces.
She crawled to where Natasha had collapsed. Maya turned her over, knowing from the feel of her body that it was too late. Multiple bullet wounds and a lifeless expression confirmed the worst. She reached out and closed Natasha’s open eye, and then the sound of men running toward the pier from the villa jarred her out of the moment.
Maya dropped down the ladder and was rowing away in seconds. Her shoulders strained as she pulled with all her might, cutting across the water in grim silence. Three minutes later she climbed aboard the Viking, the skiff abandoned. She checked her ammunition – most of the rifle magazine full but only one spare remaining – and tried the cabin door, which wasn’t locked. She entered the dark salon and quickly located the breaker panel in an enclosure near the door. She flipped on the mains and returned to the deck to cast off the aft tie and, once it was free, moved forward to remove the bow line.
The heavy nylon rope sank into the depths, leaving the float bobbing on the surface. Maya returned to the cockpit, climbed the ladder to the flybridge, and familiarized herself with the layout, working calmly and methodically, doing her best to ignore the flashlight beams on the distant pier. She activated the bilge blower and was relieved to find the fan nearly silent. When she thumbed the starter buttons for the engines, she wasn’t so lucky, and the big diesels roared to life before settling into a steady growl.
Maya eased the transmissions into gear and pointed the bow at the mouth of the harbor. The hull sliced the inky surface with a hiss as she neared the opening, the outline of the rocks unmistakable against the swell. By the time shooting from the pier began, the big yacht was already out of range, and the rifle rounds sizzled harmlessly around the transom as she cleared the breakwater and jammed the throttles forward. The boat surged like an eager colt, and moments later she cut through the waves at thirty knots, the GPS and depth finder glowing beside her, Pulau Bintan less than twenty minutes away.
The flybridge flooded with white light as the blinding glare from a spotlight behind her turned night into day. Maya shielded her eyes with her hand and saw a small speedboat gaining on her. She wondered momentarily whether it might be the navy, but got her answer when slugs tore into the cockpit – official vessels didn’t fire on random boats, even in Indonesia.
She firewalled the throttles, and the big boat accelerated to thirty-five and then over forty knots, barreling through the swells at wide-open speed. Maya twisted the wheel erratically, steering the yacht on a serpentine course with no rhyme or rhythm, presenting an almost impossible target for the pursuit boat, which would have to contend not only with her zigzagging but also the considerable wake the Viking was throwing, a geyser of water towering in a two-story-tall rooster tail behind her.
More gunfire chattered from the other vessel. Maya twisted and steadied her rifle against the railing and fired off three bursts, trying to hit the searchlight. A line of slugs from the chase boat tore into the sea beside the Viking, and the cabin glass shattered beneath her as several rounds smacked into the flybridge console by her legs. Maya emptied the rifle and returned her attention to evasion, jerking the boat around like a feather in a windstorm.
The other, nimbler craft was gaining on her, and she was exposed, steering from a position where it was only a matter of time until a lucky shot got her. She eyed the GPS. Within three minutes, tops, she’d have to slow as she entered the treacherous narrow straits southwest of Pulau Kelong.
Another volley pounded into the ruined salon below in a spray of fiberglass.
She needed to get off the water.
Risking letting go of the wheel again, she ejected the spent magazine and seated her last, each of its thirty rounds a potential lifesaver. The dark shape of a small island appeared from nowhere on her right, and the depth sounder alarm shrieked, signaling that she was in dangerously shallow water. She steered hard left, and the boat leaned over, grudgingly obeying at the limits of its handling as more bullets peppered the transom.
One more minute. She only had to last sixty seconds and it would be a different ballgame. Maya swung around and loosed a ten-round burst as she entered the calmer water between the islands, and the spotlight winked out. Now the scales were more balanced, Maya thought. She took another glance at the GPS, and when the timing was right, steered left again.
Maya could just make out a strait, three hundred meters wide, dead ahead. She counted to ten and spun the wheel right, hoping she’d timed it correctly.
There
. An even narrower gap between a tiny bump of land and a larger island. She backed off her speed as she entered the small channel. Revs from the boat behind her confirmed it had followed her in, and she pointed the bow at a spit of pale beach barely visible in the darkness ahead.
The Viking was doing eighteen knots when the rising bottom sheared off the propellers and rudders, and twelve when the bow ground into the sand. Maya was already sliding down the front slope of the flybridge as the boat came to rest, yawing to port at a forty-degree angle. She leapt off the bow and hit the ground running as the chase boat approached the shore, and was crashing through the jungle by the time it came to a stop.
Gunfire rattled from the darkness, but the shooters had no target or light. Maya took cover behind a rock outcropping and let them exhaust their ammo supply shooting into the Viking and the surrounding vegetation. She freed the SIG Sauer and her remaining grenade and, when the shooting finally stopped, readied herself.
Two splashes from the boat announced they were coming. She peered from behind a frond and saw a pair of guards knee-deep in the water, moving toward the beach. When they reached the Viking’s hull, she fired a sustained burst from her rifle, cutting them both down. Maya was on her feet and bolting to the other side of the Viking by the time the surviving gunmen opened up at her, and was no more than eight meters from them when she threw the grenade.
The detonation ripped the pursuit boat in two. The blast hurled the remaining guards into the air, already dying as they cartwheeled amidst the fireball. She took in the carnage impassively, keeping the rifle trained on the flaming hulk until it was nothing more than smoldering wreckage, and then slowly sat on the sand and watched it sink.
Ten minutes later she waded into the water, her shoes tied together around her neck, a life vest from the Viking strapped across her chest. A stippling of stars glimmered in the heavens as she kicked away from the beach for the three-kilometer swim to Palau Kelong, the eighty-three degree water more than comfortable for a leisurely nocturnal swim.
Chapter 40
Tel Aviv, Israel
Banks of high gray clouds blew across the afternoon sky as sea birds rode updrafts, scouting far from shore for any delicacies left in dumpsters or dropped on the sidewalks after the lunch hour was over. Traffic had thinned, and only an occasional vehicle rolled down the street as an approaching storm quieted the air. A white plastic bag drifted along, carried by the breeze, and Maya watched its progress from her vantage point near the picture window, the windblown sack no more in control of its destiny than she was.
Lev finished reading the report while Maya sipped her tea. The café was empty at 3:30 p.m., so they had the seating area to themselves. He paused at the last page and eyed her over the top of the folder before he removed his reading glasses, slipped the pages back into his briefcase, and snapped it closed.
“I’m rarely speechless,” he said.
She waited.
“First of all, congratulations. This was a truly amazing performance if even half the account’s true.”
“It’s all true.”
“You took out…what…fifteen armed men over the course of two hours, destroyed the nerve agent, killed the arms dealer as well as two infamous terrorists…”
“It might have been more. I stopped counting. And Natasha helped. It’s not like I did it single-handedly.”