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“God, there must be five hundred people on her,” Eric said.
“And I bet she’s rated for no more than two hundred,” Cabrillo replied. “Take her down our port side. I want the Oregon between the RPGs and that tub.”
Stone edged his controls and took note of the fathometer. The riverbed was rising rapidly. “Chairman, we’ve got less than twenty feet under our keel. Eighteen. Fifteen. Ten feet, sir.”
“Hold us steady,” Juan said as a hail of fresh gunfire erupted from the jungle, AK-47s and a string of RPGs launched as fast as a Roman candle.
Explosions rocked the freighter as she raced toward the lumbering ferry, the sky lighting up with each hit. One of the missiles went errant and for a horrified moment looked like it was going to hit the ferry broadside, but at the last second its motor kicked out and it detonated just shy of her hull, drenching the passengers who were frantically rushing around in a hopeless bid to stay out of the line of fire.
“Max, give me everything you’ve got,” Juan said angrily, sickened by the callousness of Abala’s troops. “We’ve got to protect those people.”
Max Hanley released the safeties from the battery circuits and eked a few more amps out of them and into the pump jets. The Oregon gained another three knots but it would cost them more miles of range, miles they couldn’t afford to lose.
The ferry veered toward the middle of the river, giving the Oregon just enough room to pass without grounding. Moments later, the Swift boats split around the oncoming vessel, cutting frothing arcs of water across the river. A motorized skiff that had been riding in the ferry’s wake emerged in the confusion, and one of the Swift boats rammed it under the waves, crushing its wooden hull and two occupants without a check in speed.
Juan watched Eric at the controls. Maneuvering such a large vessel in the tight confines of the river was bad enough, but dodging traffic while being shot at was something young Stone had never faced before. Juan had full confidence in his helmsman but in the back of his mind he knew he could override Eric’s work station and take the helm himself.
A voice sounded over Cabrillo’s headset. “Chairman, it’s Eddie. I have visual on those two choppers. Can’t tell the make but they look big enough to carry at least ten men. Now might be the time to splash them.”
“Negative. The pilots are civilians for one thing, kidnapped by Makambo’s rebels and forced to fly for them. And secondly, we can’t let them know our capabilities. We went over this before coming upriver. We’ll take a pounding, but the old girl will get us home. Just be prepared if they try to drop men onto the deck.”
“We’re ready.”
“Then God help ’em.”
For an hour they raced down the Congo, dogged by the Swift boats and taking occasional fire from shore where the road came close enough to the river for the rebels to set up an ambush. The choppers continued to hover over the Oregon without attempting to land or off-load troops. Juan assumed they wanted to board the ship once she’d been forced aground by the RPGs.
They cruised under the Inga Dam, a massive concrete abutment holding back a tributary of the Congo River. The dam and its twin were the main sources of electricity in this part of Africa. The ship encountered rough water where the two flows met, forcing Eric to reverse thrust on the pulse jets to keep the Oregon from turning broadside to the current.
“Chairman, I have Benjamin Isaka on the line,” Linda Ross said. “Transferring him to your station.”
“Deputy Minister Isaka, Captain Cabrillo here. I assume you’ve been apprised of our situation?”
“Yes, Captain. Colonel Abala wants his diamonds back.” The deputy defense minister’s accent was almost too thick for Juan to understand. “And he has stolen two of our river patrol boats. I have a report that ten of our men are dead on the dock in Matadi where the boats were stationed.”
“He also has two helicopters from an oil company.”
“I see,” Isaka said noncommittally.
“We could use a little help.”
“Our mutual friend at Langley who recommended you said you are more than capable of taking care of yourselves.”
Juan wanted to scream at the government official. “Mr. Isaka, if I take out Abala’s forces he’s going to be very suspicious about the weapons he just bought. The radio direction tags embedded in them are well hidden but not undetectable. The whole plan was for him to take the guns back to Makambo’s jungle headquarters, giving your military its location once and for all. You can end the insurrection in a couple of days, but not if Abala leaves the weapons on the dock back at the plantation.” It was the third or fourth time he’d outlined his logic to Isaka since Langston Overholt at the CIA okayed Juan to undertake the mission.
The first part of Isaka’s reply was muffled by the sound of mortar fire coming from the S
wift boats. They hit close enough to throw a wall of water against the Oregon’s side. “…they leave Boma now they will reach you in an hour.”
“Could you repeat that please, Minister?”
The entire crew in the op center was thrown forward as the Oregon’s keel slammed into the river bottom, the instant deceleration sending expensive china cascading in the mess and shattering a portable X-ray machine in the medical bay that Dr. Julia Huxley had forgotten to secure.
Juan was among the first to his feet. “Eric, what the hell happened?”
“The bottom shoaled suddenly, I never saw it coming.”
“Max, how’re the engines?”
