Flood Tide (Dirk Pitt 14)

"It beats a long-range duel with missiles we couldn't win," said Max Hanley, who was sitting in a chair beside an electronics specialist manning a tactical data unit.

Like a football coach in the lockers before the kickoff, Cabrillo went over his game plan carefully with his players. No contingency was left undevised or unpolished, no detail overlooked, nothing left to chance. Tension was nonexistent. The men and women on board the Oregon prepared to go about their jobs as if it was a typical Monday morning in the big city. Their eyes were clear and fixed, they did not have the frightened look of the hunted.

When Cabrillo finished, he asked, "Any questions?" His voice was deep and low, with the tiniest trace of a Spanish accent, and although he was far too experienced and perceptive not to accept fear, no hint showed in his face and manner. Hearing no inquiries from his crew, he nodded. "Okay, that's it then. Good luck to you all. And when this little scrape is over, we'll throw the biggest party the Oregon has ever known."

Pitt raised a hand. "You said you needed every man. How can Al and I help?"

Cabrillo nodded. "You two gave evidence the other night that you're not afraid of a fight. Go to the ship's armory and pick up a pair of automatic weapons. You'll need more firepower than that forty-five-caliber popgun of yours. Also check out a couple of sets of body armor. After that check with the costume department for some grungy old clothes. Then join the deck crew. Your talents will come in handy in stopping the Chinese marines once they come on board. I can only spare a few men from more important duties, so you'll be slightly outnumbered. There probably won't be more than ten of them, not enough to matter since you'll have the element of surprise. If you're successful, and I'm counting on it, you can lend a hand at damage control. And you can bet there will be plenty of damage to go around."

"Will it be absolutely necessary to shoot down the boarding party without warning?" asked Linda Ross.

"Keep in mind," Cabrillo said to her bluntly, "these people do not intend to allow anybody on board this ship to reach port. Because they are no doubt aware of our involvement with the underwater search of the United States, there is not the slightest doubt they mean for all of us to sleep with fishes before morning."

Pitt's eyes raked Cabrillos, searching for a tinge of regret, a sign that he thought that what they were about to do was a colossal mistake, but there was none of it. "Does it bother you that we might be mistaken about their intentions and commit an act of war?"

Cabrillo pulled his pipe out of a breast pocket and scraped the bowl. Then he said, "I don't mind admitting that I'm a bit worried on that score, but we can't run from their air force, so we have no option but to bluff our way out, and if that fails, we must fight."

Like a gray ghost gliding over a black sea streaked by the full moon, the big Chinese destroyer overhauled the slow-moving Oregon with the malevolence of an Orca killer whale stalking a friendly manatee. But for its ungainly array of navigation, surface- and air-search detection and countermeasure systems that were perched above ugly towers, the ship might have had a sleek appearance. As it was, it looked like it was glued together by a small child who wasn't sure where all the pieces went.

Hali Kasim, the Oregon's vice president in charge of communications, called through the speakerphone on the bridge wing to Cabrillo, who now stood observing the destroyer through night glasses.

"Mr. Cabrillo, they've ordered us to heave to."

"In what language?"

"English," answered Kasim.

"An amateurish attempt to get us to tip our hand. Answer them in Arabic."

There was a short pause. "They called our bluff, sir. They have someone on board who can speak Arabic."

"String them along for a little while. We don't want to appear too anxious to appease. Ask why we should obey their orders in international waters."

Cabrillo lit his pipe and waited. He looked down on the deck where Pitt, Giordino and three of his crew had assembled, all armed for a knock-down,

drag-out fight.

"They're not buying it," came Hali Kasim's voice again. "They say if we don't stop immediately, they will blow us out of the water."

"Are they jamming in anticipation of us sending out a distress signal?"

"You can make book on it. Any message we transmit outside the immediate area will be received garbled."

"What are the chances of a friendly warship cruising in the neighborhood, like a nuclear submarine?"

"None," came the voice of Linda Ross in the countermeasures and surveillance room. "The only vessel within a hundred miles is a Japanese auto transporter."

"All right," Cabrillo sighed. "Signal them that we will comply and heave to. But inform them that we will protest this outrage to the World Board of Trade and International Maritime Council."

Cabrillo could then do nothing but wait and watch the Chinese destroyer emerge from the gloom. Besides his pair of unblinking eyes, the big warship was covered by the two concealed Harpoon missiles mounted in the center of the'Oregon's hull, the two Mark 46 torpedoes in their underwater tubes and the muzzles of twin Oerlikon thirty-millimeter guns that could spit seven hundred rounds per minute out of each barrel.

All that could be done in preparation had been done. Cabrillo was proud of his corporate team. If there was unease, none of them showed it. What was visible was a determination, a grim satisfaction, that they were going to tackle an opponent twice their size and ten times as powerful and see it through to the end. There would be no turning of the cheek after a slap. The point of no return had been passed, and it was they who were going to slap first.

The destroyer came to a stop and drifted no more than two hundred yards away from the Oregon. Through his night glasses, Cabrillo could read the big white numbers painted near the bow. He called down to Ross, "Can you give me an ID on Chinese destroyer number one hundred sixteen? I repeat, one sixteen."

He waited for a reply as he watched a boat being lowered from the destroyer's midships and clearing her davits. The boarding operation went smoothly, and the boat pushed off from the destroyer and headed across the gap between the two ships, coming alongside the hull of the simple-looking old freighter within twelve minutes. He noted with no little satisfaction that the turreted twin one-hundred-millimeter guns on the bow were the only weapons trained on the Oregon. The missile launchers appeared deserted and secured. The thirty-seven millimeter gun mounts had their barrels trained fore and aft.

"I have your ID," came back Ross. "Number one sixteen is called the Chengdo. She's the biggest and the best the Chinese Navy has to offer. She is captained by Commander Yu Tien. With enough time I could get you his bio."