“It’s up to them at this point. We may not have any other option that keeps us alive. I’ll do all the talking. If there’s a handshake deal to be had, I’ll take it — especially if it keeps you all out of prison and our refugees out of a North Korean concentration camp. Beyond that — my standing instructions to all crew and passengers is to surrender unconditionally, comply with any and all Japanese orders and accept their boarding parties without resistance.”
Dalmar slammed his fist into the metal hull, the meaty impact ringing out like a torpedo hit. As the rest of the crew quietly digested the plan, Jonah punched the ship-wide intercom, ordering the doctor to the bridge.
Within moments, Hassan walked into the command compartment. Jonah knew the doctor could read his expressions without a single spoken word. The wild ride was over, and now it was time to pay the toll.
CHAPTER 7
Jonah and Hassan emerged from the conning tower unarmed, carefully descending the exterior ladder to the tilting deck. The surrounding fleet was intimidating; it looked as though every Japanese ship within a thousand miles had been on their heels. True to his orders, Alexis had set the engines to belch out thick black smoke through the stack and into the clear winter air, feigning distress. Helicopter drones circled the rising column like buzzards, training their rocket pods on the surfaced submarine.
“What happens now?” asked Hassan, shielding his eyes from the winter sun as he stared across the waters to the massive fleet.
“I have no idea,” said Jonah. “I’ve never had an entire navy after me before.”
The doctor bent down to examine where the training torpedo had struck, brushing his fingers across a punched-in exterior hull plate on the starboard side. Jonah didn’t have to look at the jagged metal fragments still lodged in the side of his ship — he knew it was a kill-shot, a direct hit to the command compartment. A warhead payload would have instantly imploded the hull, slaughtering the crew as the flooded metal husk of the Scorpion fell to the depths. The aborted battle wasn’t like going up against corporate mercenaries, local pirates, or even the underfed soldiers of a backward hermit kingdom. The Japanese navy was the real deal, and Jonah knew they never had a goddamn chance.
A black, rubber-ringed Zodiac boat sped away from the nearest destroyer at high speed, moving to intercept the Scorpion. It was only the first — nearly a dozen emerged from behind the shelter of their mothership, following close behind the first. The six men onboard the lead boat bristled with MP5 machine pistols and a mounted 50-caliber gun. Jonah recognized the distinctive balaclava-clad combat soldiers as the Special Boarding Unit, the British SBS-trained counter-terrorism force created to combat North Korean spy ship incursions.
Jonah pursed his lips as he considered the sheer volume of firepower heading their way. “I didn’t think we rated this much attention so far away from the Horn of Africa,” he said. “The world has gotten too small, my friend.”
“Quite.”
The Special Forces troops beached their inflatable boat on the deck of the Scorpion and sprinted across the deck with guns leveled. Jonah and Hassan were thrown face-first onto the wet hull as zip ties went around their wrists.
“It was nice knowing you, Doc,” shouted Jonah over the din of stomping combat boots, his face shoved into an oily puddle. “It was fun while it lasted. Maybe we can arrange adjoining prison cells if I ask nicely.”
“I thoroughly disagree that it was ever fun,” snapped Hassan, his voice lost to the commotion.
Two of the Special Forces soldiers sat on Jonah’s back, keeping him pinned to the wet hull as a half-dozen inflatable boats disgorged soldiers until the Scorpion’s deck was thick with troops.
Jonah and Hassan were roughly yanked upright and thrown against the base of the conning tower. As they watched, a single soldier opened a metal folding chair and placed it facing them before retreating. A tall Japanese man in his late forties, with thick black hair and a thin beard, sat down in the folding chair, wordlessly staring down Jonah and Hassan with penetrating, intelligent eyes. Their captor had no military uniform, sporting instead, a clean and pressed collared shirt with the knot of his tie barely peeking from behind his expensive cardigan. He looked like he’d just stepped out of a Banana Republic catalog, not the deck of Japan’s Special Forces-laden naval carrier flagship.
Preparing to enter the interior, the boarding party opened the main deck hatch, aiming their machine pistols down the opening as the first of the terrified refugees emerged from within. A small, wailing girl no older than eight crawled onto the deck, followed by her shaking, frantic mother. The little girl screamed as her mother was zip-tied, bodily hauled towards the nearest inflatable boat, and hurled in face-first. The refugees came out of the hatch faster now, each grabbed and violently heaved into boats. None of the boarders could enter — the refugees were emerging in waves now, blinking against the winter sunlight as soldiers shoved them to their hands and knees.
“Hey!” protested Jonah, struggling to his feet to address the well-dressed man on the folding chair. “Let’s figure this thing out without all the rough stuff, okay? There’s kids down there, no need to—”
Their captor leapt to his feet within a heartbeat and put himself nose-to-nose with Jonah, staring him down like a prizefighter at a weigh-in. And then he struck, burying a clenched fist into Jonah’s gut. Jonah wheezed and collapsed, earning himself a too-brief reprieve before his captor aimed three calculated, brutal kicks to the ribs.
“We’re cooperating!” protested Hassan, his wrists straining against the zip ties. “Leave him alone! You’re terrifying these people!”
Jonah barely managed to shoot a single warning glance toward Hassan, shaking his head to silence the doctor. With gasping coughs, Jonah again pushed himself to a sitting position against the base of the conning tower and closed his eyes, grimacing in pain.
“There’s no cause for violence,” insisted Hassan, ignoring Jonah’s warning. “We’ve surrendered unconditionally. Please conduct yourselves peacefully and allow us to assist with our passengers!”
Pensively nodding, their captor touched a single finger to his chin as though he were seriously considering Hassan’s words. And then he grabbed Jonah by the throat, raining violent open-palmed slaps across his unprotected face. Hassan winced with every blow, trying, but failing, to meet their captor’s wild, unblinking eyes. Breathing heavily as he dropped his raised hand, the man smoothed his cardigan, sat down in his chair, and casually crossed his legs.
“Please stop talking, Doc,” groaned Jonah, his face red with hand-shaped imprints.
“So much for a handshake deal,” mumbled Hassan, barely loud enough for Jonah to hear.
“Don’t rub it in,” whispered Jonah. “Not my fault we drew Happy McSlappy as chief jackass in charge instead of a proper naval admiral.”
“An admiral?” Hassan bitterly laughed. “A little presumptuous, don’t you think?”
Dalmar’s shaved head emerged from the deck hatch, his bulky shoulders barely fitting through the tight squeeze. The surrounding men took an unconscious step back as he raised himself to his full height, flexing as he stood an entire head taller than their largest soldier. Seeing Jonah and Hassan by the conning tower, Dalmar extended his hands forward and allowed the Japanese soldiers to respectfully bind his wrists. With one escort on each arm, the grinning pirate was lead over and gently deposited next to the captain and doctor. Jonah couldn’t help but feel a flash of annoyed resentment at the comparative treatment received by the former warlord.