Immediately, two shots rang out at him, each missing by more than three feet. Stupid, now I know where you are. Styles holstered his Beretta and retrieved two of his throwing knives. Like a snake, he inched along the floor until he could see a shadow moving from light that was thrown by the fluorescent fixtures above. Another shot rang out, directed toward the place that Styles no longer occupied. He guessed he was about twelve feet from his quarry. In one motion, Styles stood and cocked his throwing arm. A single glance told him that Nazir al-Hadid was just finishing affixing a bomb to the fuel tanks. A flash split the air and impaled al-Hadid in the right shoulder, causing him to scream. A second followed, hitting him just above the left elbow, and he collapsed onto the corrugated steel floor. The wounds were not life threatening, but certainly disabling. Looking around cautiously as he approached al-Hadid, he was certain that only the two of them were in the room. The fuel tanks were enormous. He couldn't even begin to guess their capacity. Standing over al-Hadid, he kicked the Glock nine-millimeter pistol away that had been dropped.
"Unlike you, I don't want to blow us up." He reached down and yanked both knives out of his victim. Wiping the blood on al-Hadid's shirt, he told Starr, "Al-Hadid is secure." He holstered his knives.
Through his pain, sheer rage glowered from Nazir al-Hadid's eyes. "How do you know my name?" he snarled before realizing the mistake of admission.
Styles squatted down beside him. "Good. You like to talk. You'll talk more."
"I will tell you nothing."
"You won't have a choice," growled Styles.
Styles turned him over and thoroughly checked him for weapons. Finding none, he secured both his arms and legs with wire ties. He then hoisted him over his shoulder and managed to get him up out of the engine bay and into the corridor. He started making his way back, found a stateroom close to the main salon, and dumped al-Hadid onto the bed. He double-checked the ties and then went to rejoin his group.
"The first officer is secure in the engine room. Al-Hadid is wounded and secure in a stateroom just down the hall."
"What about the others?" asked Starr.
"I think it's safe to assume the entire crew is part of the terrorist plot, but I'm not sure about the passengers."
"I've been running the passports, and by all accounts, the wedding party is just that. I think they're being used as a cover," offered Phillips.
"So what do we do with them? They've seen us," stated Christman.
"No innocents; that's what he said. We can't ignore that!" exclaimed Starr.
"I agree," stated Phillips.
"Take them back to their staterooms, be damn sure they are secure, and we'll leave the rest of the crew here," Styles directed.
As Phillips and Christman led the wedding party away, Starr and Styles bound the crew members with the plastic wire ties and then went and retrieved the first officer.
Styles walked back in with the first officer slung over his shoulder just as Phillips and J. C. returned. "Those people all set?"
"Yeah, they're not going anywhere," Phillips asserted emphatically.
Styles turned and started to leave.
"Where are you going?" Starr asked.
"To find an empty state room or something. Phillips, you're with me." The second door on the left was exactly what Styles was looking for, a small conference room. He tossed al-Hadid into a blue overstuffed leather lounger. "Give him something for the pain."
Looking a little confused, Phillips went to her small leather case and retrieved a syringe and then drew morphine into it from a small vial. Finding a vein in al-Hadid's right forearm, she injected the painkiller. Almost immediately, the man appeared more comfortable.
Styles peered hard into al-Hadid's eyes. "I gave you that to show you that if you answer my questions, this will go well for you. If you don't answer, it won't."
"I have nothing to say."
"Load that thing up with your special sauce," addressing Phillips.
Picking up another vial, she extracted the liquid it contained into the syringe. She nodded.
"Give it to him."
Finding the same vein, she injected approximately one-third of the contents into al-Hadid. His eyes immediately started to glaze over slightly.
"What is your name?" Styles demanded.
"I tell you nothing."
Styles nodded at Phillips, who injected half the remaining serum into al-Hadid.
They watched as his head started to fall to his chest. Styles grabbed him by his hair and yanked his head upright.
"What is your name?"
"A… a… Hadeddd…"
"He's under pretty far," Phillips offered.
"Who ordered the death of the American president?"
"All of us," al-Hadid stammered, managing a smirk, and then he reeled as Styles slapped him hard across his face. Styles knew that the blow wouldn't hurt due to the morphine; it was the shock value he wanted. Al-Hadid continued, "I shot down."
"Who planned it? Give me a name."
Al-Hadid was struggling valiantly against the drugs but was losing the battle. "I do not know."
Styles nodded again, but Phillips cautioned him.
"He's pretty close to the limit now."
"Take it to the limit — past if need be. We need answers."
Phillips injected the remaining portion in the syringe into al-Hadid. His eyes now were closed. Styles slapped him hard across his cheeks three times, causing his eyes to open slightly.
"Who planned the assassination of the American president?" Styles snarled at him.
"Al… Ali… Ryki Ali… and his brother." With that, his head collapsed on his chest. He jerked violently twice and died.
Over their earpieces, Starr informed them that they had company.
"Looks like the same bunch."
Looking at Phillips, Styles said, "We don't have much time. Find the computers and do whatever you do. We need the intel. Don't stop no matter what you hear." With that, he was running back toward Starr.
"Where's Phillips?" Starr asked.
"Getting the intel off their computers. We need to buy her time."
"What's the plan?"
"Wing it, what else? J. C., you copy that?"
"Copy that. What do you want from me?"
"Stand ready and look mad."
38
At six in the morning in the Oval Office, President Lamar was having a meeting with only three of his directors; Elliott Ragar of the NSA, Charles Rockford of Homeland Security, and Matt Sanderson of the FBI were in attendance.
"Gentlemen, where do we stand with regard to President Williams?"
Sanderson answered, "Sir, we have fifteen yachts under observance where the recovered scuba diver could have retreated to. They are being watched 24-7. The Coast Guard is going to board them again to double-check all their paperwork. Four of them are foreign registry. They'll be gone over with an even finer-tooth comb. We are confident we will find something linking one of them to the assassination."
President Lamar did not hide his contempt. "So, Matt, you're telling me that you think that a group capable of killing the president of the United States is going to leave something on board their boat connecting them to that? I find that highly implausible."
Ragar spoke up. "Sir, sometimes it's the smallest item that may be overlooked. When the vessels are boarded, we will have at least two of our people along, people who are extremely experienced in picking up on information that the Coast Guard may not spot."
"And that information might be…?"
"We won't know until we find it, sir."
"I honestly wish I could share your faith. When I think about how they were able to bring three helicopters down with such ease, it sends ice-cold shivers up and down my spine. My God, man, their plan was brilliant. I'm only surprised it hasn't happened sooner. I'm having my secret service detail work out different travel scenarios for me. I have no wish to have a missile explode in my face."