“My guess is that he also has on board submachine guns for his crewmen. They have to be in on this operation. If they have tuned in to local news stations lately, they’ll know about the fire and the death and the police raid on the International Food and Novelty company. They will be ready to put up a fight.”
“It might not last that long if DeWitt is in command,” Murdock said.
“The problem is, they can’t sink the boat. They have to bring it back with Zekharyah alive if possible so he can stand trial for treason. That’s what the civil authorities want as much as the bombs to stop.”
Murdock looked toward the sea. “I just wish I was out there with them. It sounds like it should be a good fight.”
31
Ed DeWitt stood at the rail of the Israeli patrol boat as it skimmed through the placid Mediterranean. They were about three miles off shore, and had checked out thirty-five fishing boats in the north half of the fleet. There were only six more ahead of them. So far they hadn’t found Zekharyah or his boat, Gimbra II.
DeWitt had brought five men from his squad, Fernandez, Canzoneri, Victor, Mahanani, and Jefferson. That was all the boat captain would let him bring on the thirty-two-foot patrol boat. The craft could do thirty knots if it had to, DeWitt figured.
They came up on another fisher. It was trolling, and the patrol boat stayed well to the port side, out of the way of the trolling lines. They moved in to fifty feet and a bullhorn sounded.
“Ahoy, just checking on your welfare. We heard one boat in the fleet had an injured man on board.”
“Not here,” a husky voice called from the ship. “Haven’t heard any distress calls on the radio.”
“Thanks, we’ll keep checking.”
The patrol boat geared away, and angled toward another fisherman a mile away and closer to shore. DeWitt stood at the rail with his binoculars, trying to read the name on the next fishing boat. Still too far away. He didn’t know what the SEALs would do on this trip. It could be a simple arrest, with the captain put in handcuffs and a crewman told to follow them back to shore.
The fisher came up quickly at what DeWitt figured was their twenty-five-knot speed. He checked again and then saw the name, Gimbra II.
“This is the one,” one of the crew called. DeWitt used the Motorola and told all the SEALs to stay out of sight. He dropped below the solid rail around the front of the boat and waited.
Two minutes later a bullhorn on the Coast Watch boat came on.
“Gimbra II, heave to. We have official business with you.”
“Heave to? No way. We’re fishing here.” The words came from another bullhorn on the fishing boat.
“This is official business. Heave to, now.”
“We had official business last week. You checked all our papers, permits, and weigh charts. What else is there?”
“Cut your throttle and we’ll tell you.”
The fishing boat didn’t respond. “Put a round across their bow,” Captain Dagan of the patrol boat said. A rifle cracked, and still there was no response from the smaller boat.
“Last warning, Zekharyah. Come about, or we’ll have to open fire on your boat.”
The response this time was a rifle shot from the fishing boat that slapped into the cabin and ripped out the rear side.
“Two rounds into the cabin,” Captain Dagan said.
DeWitt lifted up so his glasses cleared the rail, and watched the boat. He saw no one on board. At once two rifle rounds cracked, and the rounds jolted into the small boat’s cabin, breaking a side panel and tearing through thin wood. There was no response.
“Come about and heave to, or we’ll be forced to fire again,” the captain said on the bullhorn.
There was no reaction from the ship. It continued forward, but now in a slight left turn that would bring it in a long arc back toward shore, now about three miles away.
DeWitt adjusted the Draegr rebreather that he and all the SEALs wore as a matter of course, and checked the boat again with his binoculars. Nobody.
He watched the boat; the gentle turn to the left was precisely the same. He went into the cabin, saw where the shot had ripped through, but not hit anyone.
“Captain, shouldn’t the boat be trying some maneuvers to get away? Make some quick turns or something?”
The young Captain Dagan nodded grimly. “First time I ever had to shoot at a boat.”
“Captain, I’d bet my last month’s paycheck that there is no one on board the fishing boat.”
The sailor frowned. “Why?”
“Otherwise he’d be taking evasive action. Dumping out the goods or trying to get away.”
“So, what’s next?”
“Put another two rounds into the cabin. Maybe you can slow or stop the craft.”
The young captain agreed, and told his riflemen to hit the cabin twice again. They did, and nothing happened. The captain looked at DeWitt.
“I think I can stop the boat with a pair of twenty-millimeter rounds into the cabin.”
The Israeli Navy man frowned, then nodded.
“Fernandez, up front. Bring your twenty.”
DeWitt let Fernandez fire the first round. The twenty hit slightly to the right of center on the cabin, and blew apart the wooden frame but didn’t stop the craft.
DeWitt aimed dead center on the cabin and fired. The round exploded with a cracking roar, smashing the cabin and bringing an immediate slowing of the fishing boat. A minute later it was dead in the water.
“Boarding party,” the Navy captain ordered.
The patrol boat came alongside the fishing craft. Two sailors quickly tied the two together, and an Israeli with an Uzi submachine gun jumped on board the fisher and bolted forward to what was left of the cabin.
“Nobody here and no dead bodies,” he shouted.
“Go below.”
A moment later he was back. “No one and no dead bodies.”
“Where are they?” the captain asked.
“Overboard, just after they took that shot,” DeWitt said. “They knew they couldn’t outrun us or outshoot us. So they went for a swim.”
“Three miles?” the captain asked.
“Easy for a swimmer,” DeWitt said. “And they could have a sea sled on board. A man like Zekharyah would plan ahead. What could he do if you figured out the deal and nailed the supplier? He must have heard about the fire and the raid on the International Food distributor.”
“Where would they be now?” the captain asked.
“A sea sled can make about two knots per hour. My guess is they have scuba gear, which will leave a trail of bubbles. We could go in within a mile of shore and work a picket line back and forth looking for bubbles. Once there we can drop off our SEALs every twenty yards and watch for the fishermen. We don’t leave bubbles.”
The young Captain Dagan looked at DeWitt and grinned. “Let’s do it, go now.”
He reported the situation to the other patrol boat and to his superiors on shore, who gave him the go-ahead. The other patrol boat met them at the spot and their divers went into the water. A half hour before the swimmers could have made it a mile offshore, the picket line stretched for half a mile in a direct path from the first firing of the fishing boat’s rifle to the beach.
Just before he went into the water, DeWitt suggested to the young captain that he request the Army to send a company of men to patrol the beach, watching for any exhausted swimmers coming out of the water, especially any with a sea sled. That was backup in case they got by the divers.
“Done,” the captain said.
Murdock went underwater, made contact with his SEALS, and they began their prowl of their sector. It was only three hundred yards wide, but was in the center of the estimated line the swimmers would take.