Marauder (Oregon Files 15)

Linda finally drew a breath. “That was close,” she said to Eric in a quiet voice that was high pitched but still radiated authority. She tapped her balaclava. “It’s good I have this on.”

Linda was known for regularly changing the color of her hair to suit her mood. Right now, it was styled in a pixie cut dyed a bright green that would have surely been seen by the terrorist if she hadn’t been wearing the head covering.

“I intend to write a strongly worded letter to the Dahar’s captain telling him to make sure his crew locks down their equipment properly in the future,” Eric said.

Eric had also been a U.S. Navy officer and was now the Oregon’s helmsman. Usually, he was dressed in a button-down shirt and khakis, not combat gear. He and his best friend, Mark Murphy, were the smartest people on the crew, so they were normally tasked with figuring out technical solutions to problems that the Oregon faced rather than taking down armed terrorists.

Like Linda, however, he had seen his fair share of fighting over his years with the Corporation, and the Chairman had made sure to keep all their operational and weapons training current while they finished constructing their new ship. She was glad to have Eric with her, not only for his expertise on the analysis of the bombs but also because he had strong tactical instincts.

Now they just had to plan how to approach the terrorists without being seen.

The pumping units were housed in a

small shack that protected the valves from the elements. Pipes snaked from the structure in all directions to the massive oil tanks beneath their feet. A bomb going off in there would rupture a dozen pipes, igniting the oil feeding them and providing oxygen to the fuel vapor in the tanks that could cause a giant fireball to erupt. The blaze would be visible from the coasts of Malaysia on one side and Indonesia on the other.

“I’m too short to climb over those pipes,” Linda said.

“I could give you a boost,” Eric said. He wasn’t big guy, but Linda was tiny, so she had no doubt he could do it.

“Too exposed,” she said.

“Going around will take too long.”

“Then we go under.” She pointed to a gap between the pipes and the deck. It was a narrow space, but they could belly-crawl through.

Juan’s voice came over the line again. “Linda, do you copy? We’ve taken down two hijackers so far. That leaves five more.”

Linda clicked her molar mic. “I read you, Chairman. We’ve got two hostiles here. About to make our move.”

“Good hunting,” he replied. They didn’t say “Good luck” on the Oregon. Depending on luck was a fool’s game. Although it didn’t hurt to have some good fortune in a pinch, Juan preached that preparation, training, teamwork, and skill were far more important to a successful mission.

“We’ll let you know when we’ve got the bomb in hand, Chairman,” Linda said.

“Copy that.”

She and Eric went to where the gap beneath the pipes was widest. Eric went first while Linda did her best to cover him with her MP5 submachine gun between the spaces in the pipes. The valve shed was ten yards away, and she wasn’t going to risk a dart shot through such a narrow opening.

When he had squirmed through, he ran over and crouched beside the shack.

Linda put the MP5 on her shoulder and got onto her belly, squeezing herself through. The distinctive smell of oil and grease filled her nose.

She was almost out from underneath when she saw one of the terrorists round the corner of the shed behind Eric. He was so surprised at finding someone there that he didn’t shoot, which was the only thing that saved Eric’s life.

Eric turned when he heard the footsteps and raised his MP5 to fire, but the terrorist knocked it from his hands with the butt of his AK-47. Eric didn’t let him bring the assault rifle to bear. He launched himself at the terrorist and tackled him to the ground, and they began to wrestle for control of the weapon.

Linda wasn’t out from under the pipes yet and couldn’t reach her submachine gun. Instead, she drew the dart gun from her holster, but Eric and the terrorist rolled back and forth, keeping her from getting a clean shot.

At that moment, the second terrorist came around the shed from the other direction. He must have heard the commotion and simply came to see what it was, leaving his own AK-47 behind.

Still lying down, Linda snapped off a shot with the dart gun, but the angle was odd, and her dart hit the terrorist right in the leather belt he was wearing.

The man heard the sound but didn’t realize he’d been hit. Then he saw Linda scrabbling out from beneath the pipes and sprinted toward her. She leaped to her feet just as he arrived and pinned her against the pipes.

He chopped the dart gun from her hand and pressed his forearm against her throat, cutting off her air. His hot breath on her face reeked of tobacco and curry. Linda tried to push his arm away, but the wiry man was too strong for her. It was only a matter of time before she lost consciousness.

She let go of his arm and ran her hand down his torso until she reached the belt. She grabbed the dart still jutting from the leather and yanked it out. With her vision tunneling, she jabbed the dart into the terrorist’s neck.

His eyes went wide with shock, and he pulled out the dart, but it was too late. The injection directly into the artery made the effect of the drug nearly instantaneous. He sank to his knees and keeled over.