"He doesn't even give them a chance to reply."
"That's all part of the plan," Hunter said. "They have no recourse. Either surrender or go down fighting."
"Well, let's see if we can influence that decision," Hunter said, bounding out of the cabin and onto the deck.
He took a quick position check. The oil platforms were now about three miles, to the south, the first elements of the Briareus ships were one and a half miles to the north.
"Okay," he said. "Let's prepare the first missile. Sparky, put the call into the frigate helicopter crew. Tell to wait ten minutes, then take off."
Everyone pitched in to load the Harpoon missile onto the makeshift launcher.
"This is a heavy bastard, isn't it?" Hunter said. They all struggled somewhat until the rocket was finally in place. Then the launch crew started wiring the missile in place, followed by an orgy of button-pushing.
"Ready to fire," one of the sailors finally said.
"Roger," Hunter said. "Now, the first target . . ."
He was peering through powerful electronic binoculars. The spyglasses had a fairly elaborate night-289
scope capability, just enough for Hunter to pick out the biggest ship in the lead section of the Briareus fleet.
"That one looks like a good-sized missile cruiser," he said, handing the binocs to the launch sailor. "Can you get it?"
"At this range, it should be no problem," the man answered.
Hunter double-checked through the scope, then said: "Okay. It's your show.
Fire when ready."
All those not involved in the launch retreated to the cabin. Suddenly, there was a burst of flame on the deck and the Harpoon flew off its launcher.
Hunter watched it climb, level off, and head straight for the missile-launching cruiser. "When that baby hits," Hunter said, "everyone from the fleet captain to the cook will be convinced the Turks launched it."
Ten seconds later, the missile impacted right into the cruiser's bridge, causing an explosion that lifted the beam of the ship right out of the water.
"Jee-suz," Hunter exclaimed as a ball of fire rose from the ship. "You Navy guys know how to pack a missile."
Immediately after the explosion, they heard a cacophony of klaxons and warning bells coming from the enemy fleet.
"That's one," Hunter said. "Now let's get two off."
Once again they struggled to put the Harpoon in place, while O'Brien coaxed the engine to chug one more time, just enough to turn the tug around.
Less than forty-five seconds later, the second Harpoon was launched, this time right at the Turkish oil platforms. Hunter followed this missile's flight with the binoculars. The Harpoon skimmed along the ocean surface as advertised, rising up when needed.
290
Suddenly, its warhead homing device locked onto to a target and it veered to the left.
"It might have found some kind of radar set," Hunter said as the tug crew watched the Harpoon twist and turn through the platforms. Finally it streaked right into a large rig in the middle of the pack. Another enormous explosion followed. When the smoke and flame cleared, nothing remained oi the platform except some scattered, burning debris.
"Wow!" Hunter exclaimed. "Good shooting, guys!"
But now they heard other noises. Turning back,tc the fleet, they saw by the light of the burning cruisei that five of the Briareus ships had turned broadsid* to the platforms.
"Oh boy," Yaz said. "Here we go."
No sooner had he spoken than the first volley ol shells streaked over their heads and came crashing down around the platforms. As soon as those shell: hit, another barrage was tearing over their heads
"Paddy!" Hunter yelled, "can you get this bab; going just one more time?"
"I'll give it a try," the Irishman said, scramblinj down the ladder leading to the boat's engine room "But I think she's had it. . ."
Now the oil platforms began their revenge. Sud denly two Exocets zoomed by the tug, no more thai twenty feet out.
"I'm glad we've got nothing those bastards cai home in on," Hunter said. He watched as the tw< rockets streaked off toward the Briareus ships, blu flames spitting out of their tails.
Bang! Bang!
"Two direct hits!" Yaz yelled out as the Exocet slammed into a destroyer and a missile-launche corvette. The explosions were so powerful, a shoe!
291
wave rippled back to the tug.
Now, less than a minute after the Harpoons had hit, the sky was filled with flaming ordnance. Incredible naval gunfire from the fleet, dozens of Exocets from the platforms. The dark night had now become like day in the reflections of the explosions. Hunter looked up at the face of Lucifer, still hanging in the sky, the expression oblivious to the sudden violent battle that had broken out.
"Well, we've certainly started something," Yaz said excitedly as a trio of Exocets raced by. "Now where the hell is that chopper?"
At that moment, O'Brien emerged from the engine room. "She's dead, major," he said. "Can't get her to even cough."
"Don't worry," Hunter said, closing his eyes and listening. Ah, yes, the feeling was coming over him. It had been a long time. Too long. "The chopper is on its way."
Exactly one minute later, the frigate copter was hovering above the tug, its winch line lifting the first two crew members up to safety. Despite all the missiles flying around and the shells streaking overhead, the Norwegian chopper pilot held steady. He didn't flinch when a stray round from a destroyer fell within a few hundred feet of the tug.
Hunter and Yaz were the last to go up. No sooner were the crew members dragging Hunter on board then the chopper pilot dropped to nearly wavetop level and throttled up. In seconds, the copter was dashing out of the battle zone and heading for the carrier flotilla.
There were handshakes all around as the tug crew congratulated each other for a job well done.
"They'll be battering each other all night," Hunter said, watching the flames of the battle still visible
\
292
fifteen miles away.
"And they'll probably never figure out who got the first shot in," Yaz said, the glee evident in his voice.
Hunter craned his neck and looked up to where the face of Lucifer was. Just as he spotted it, he noticed it was losing some of its glimmer. Then he watched as it slowly faded away . . .
293
Their jubilation didn't last very long . . .
As soon as they touched down on the deck of the Saratoga, they saw Heath was waiting for them, an extremely worried look on his face.
"Don't tell me," Hunter said, holding up his hand. "More bad news?" He knew something was up because the Saratoga was barely moving.
"I'm afraid so," Heath said, nodding. "While you were gone, we were attacked by two submarines."
"What?!" They all said in unison. Hunter couldn't believe it.
"They got three of your tugs, I'm afraid," Heath said to O'Brien.
"Mother of God." The Irishman's face went crimson. "How about my men?"
"Only one lost," Heath said, brightening a little. "The choppers got into a running gunfight with the subs so the Commodore's boys went in and plucked your guys out."
"What kind of subs?" Hunter asked as the Norwegian chopper took off and headed back to its frigate.
"That's the even worse news," Heath said."They were Soviets."
"Soviet-built?" Yaz asked.
Heath shook his head. "No, I mean, Soviet-294
manned."
"How can you be sure?" Hunter asked.
Heath nodded his head grimly. "Because the chopper guys managed to nail one with a depth charge while it was close to the surface. We fished two of its crew members out. They're as Russian as borsch."
"Are they in any shape to talk?" Hunter wanted to know.
"Yes, one is," Heath said. "They're both up in sick bay."
"Well," Hunter said, his voice angry. "Let's go see what he has to say ..."
Ten minutes later, Hunter was sitting in the Soviet crewman's room, staring down at the man. He had resisted bringing in a whole gang of people, though he was tempted to scare the man rightfully out of his wits. But for now, he decided on a different tactic.
The man, an oldster about fifty, opened his eyes and was startled to see Hunter hovering over him.
"Dobriy vyehchyeer, comrade," Hunter said. "Understand any English?"
The man looked at him suspiciously, then slowly nodded his bandaged head.
"Understand good?" Hunter asked.
The man shrugged.
Hunter clapped his hands twice. The cabin door opened and one of the call girls-a friend of Anna's named Beatrice-walked in. She was lovely. Blonde, well-proportioned, and very alluring, she was the youngest of the group except for Anna herself.
"Okay, Boris," Hunter said to the Soviet sailor. "This is how we'll work it.
Tell me what I want to know and you not only go free, you get to get acquainted with Beatrice."
295
Now a look of complete surprise came across the Soviet's face. Hunter's statement begged the question. "What if I no talk?" the Soviet asked.
Hunter slowly drew out a borrowed .45 Colt automatic. In a half-second it had found itself just a quarter-inch away from the Russian's nose. "We either shoot you or you go overboard."
The man gulped. Hunter turned to Beatrice and nodded. She smiled and slowly undid her blouse. Five buttons later, she revealed her see-through black-lace bra.
The Soviet began to sweat.
"Where's your base?" Hunter asked.
The man shook his head. "They kill me if I tell/'
"There is no more 'they,' " Hunter told him. "Your ship is gone. Except for another guy who is busted up in the next room, you are the only one left. Face it, champ. They think you're dead."
Hunter nodded once again to Beatrice. She seductively removed her miniskirt and shoes, then walked to the other side of the Russian's bed.
"Okay, where's your base?" Hunter asked.
The Russian's eyes were fixed on Beatrice's well-rounded breasts. She did her best to further inflame him, slowly shaking and stretching her beautiful body.
"I cannot tell," the Soviet said, though never taking his eyes off Beatrice.
Hunter winked at her. She smiled and slowly removed her bra. The man's face turned five shades of red. These sub guys, Hunter thought. Always horny and always deprived.
Beatrice moved in very close to the man, so much so her nipples wound up just inches from his face.
"Listen, pal," Hunter said. "There's an Englishman out there that would just as soon cut you up
296
and feed you to the fishes. Then there's
who is very pissed off that you and your
sank his tugboats. He's taking it very
He'd as soon drag your ass around on a fish hook
until you fall apart into little pieces. And I won't even mention what the Moroccans would do to you.
"But you see, you're lucky. You're dealing with an American here, okay? All I want is information. Once you're done, we chopper you to the nearest land and you can walk back to Moscow for all I care."
While Hunter was talking, Beatrice had moved her, breasts right into the man's face. It was clear that he was breaking down.
"Now," Hunter said a third time. "Where's your base?"
"Alexandria," the Soviet answered.
"Very good," Hunter said, watching as Beatrice rewarded the man by sticking her lovely right nipple into his mouth. The man made a half-hearted attempt to suck it briefly, before Beatrice teasingly withdrew.
"Okay, how many subs?" Hunter continued, as Beatrice zoomed in with her left breast.
"Two squadrons, ten boats in each," the Russian said, gasping. Beatrice inserted her left nipple into his mouth and left it there. The man, a little more greedy this time, sucked it for a good three seconds, before Beatrice again moved away.
"Why are you stationed in Egypt?" Hunter asked.
"That I cannot tell you," the man answered, his eyes never leaving Beatrice's chest.
Hunter again nodded to her. In a second, her hand was resting on top of the blankets right above the man's crotch.
"Why are you in Egypt?" Hunter asked, calmly.
297
The man gasped. "We are protecting the pyramid."
"A pyramid?" Hunter said. The answer surprised
'him. Subs protecting a pyramid? "Which pyramid?"
He watched as Beatrice's hand began to feel its way around and under the blankets. It soon found its
mark.
"The Great Pyramid . . ." the man burst out. "The Great Pyramid of Cheops .
,<"" "\
"Besides your subs, who else is protecting the pyramid?" Hunter asked.
"Two helicopter squadrons," the man answered quickly, anticipating Beatrice's next move. "Also ten each. Plus soldiers on the ground."
He fell back onto his pillow as Beatrice snuggled in closer. Hunter could see a jerking movement begin under the man's covers.
He drew close. He had to ask the all-important question. "Why are you guarding the Great Pyramid?"
Hunter nodded to Beatrice and she suddenly •stopped all movement. The man, who had settled back onto his pillow with his eyes closed, was suddenly up again, eyes wide open. He looked at Hunter.
"Why are you guarding the pyramid?" the pilot asked again.
The man looked confused. At first he shook his head, but a slight tickle by Beatrice delivered an unmistakable message. Finally the man broke down.
"It's part of an agreement," he said in broken but understandable English.
"An agreement with Lucifer?" Hunter asked.
"Yes. There is something, the valuable,' hidden in the pyramid," the man continued. Beatrice had begun her hand movements once again.
298
"What is it?" Hunter pressed,
"We do not know," the man answered quickly, closing his eyes again. "They doii't tell us submariners. Why would they? We are small pawns in big game."
"You must have some idea," Hunter said. "What was the scuttlebutt on your ship? Gold? Jewels?"
"Nyet, not money valuable," the man said, the passionate strain showing on his face. "Very valuable as a weapon of some kind. But we would never know. And neither do the soldiers on ground."