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“Then I’ll let the captain of the Mantícora know that we can start moving the containers.”
“That sounds fine. Why don’t you watch from the bridge with me?”
“All right.”
They walked up to the bridge, where they were met by three crewmen. The bridge was just as revolting as the rest of the ship. Discarded cans and cigarette butts littered the floor. The glass dials on several of the instruments were cracked. One of the windows had been blown out, was now covered with plywood and duct tape.
One of the crew said, “The captain of the Mantícora has asked for permission to pull alongside so they can start lifting the containers.”
“Permission denied,” Knight said, his accent suddenly gone.
Perry whipped his head around. “What are you talking about?”
“We got what we came for.”
“You’re backing out on the deal?” Perry asked in shock.
“Why not? The money is sitting safely in our account now. We’ve got better things to do with those weapons than let them be used in some private war of yours in Nicaragua.”
Perry’s mouth hung open. “How did you . . . ?”
“We have people everywhere.”
“You’ve made a big mistake. There is a squad of commandos on board our ship, ready to take over the Portland just in case you double-crossed us. You can’t possibly think you’ll get away from us in this atrocity of a ship.”
Knight nodded at the Mantícora. “You think you can catch us in that thing?”
“Easily,” Perry scoffed.
“In that case,” he said, speaking up as if he were talking into a microphone, “Weapons Officer, destroy their bridge.”
To Perry’s utter disbelief, plates in the hull and deck slid aside, revealing a six-barreled Gatling gun like those found on Navy warships for shooting down missiles. It spun up and unleashed a torrent of shells at the defenseless Mantícora. Perry put his hands over his ears as they were assaulted by the deafening buzz saw noise.
The explosive rounds ripped into the cargo ship’s superstructure, chewing through glass, metal, and flesh. The bridge was instantly transformed into a slaughterhouse. No one inside could have survived.
The Mantícora began to drift, and the crew members in the lifeboat that had transported Perry to the Portland dashed to safety on the other side of the stricken cargo ship.
Commandos burst onto the Mantícora’s deck with weapons at the ready. They knelt and raised their assault rifles. One had an RPG.
“Now, we can’t have that,” Knight said. “Take care of them.”
The Gatling gun swung around and raked the deck. The commandos didn’t stand a chance. The rounds were so powerful that there was little left of the men besides slicks of blood.
Perry felt like he was going to be sick. He stared at Knight in shock. “We had an agreement. Do you realize who you’re dealing with?”
Knight shrugged, as unconcerned as if he’d swatted a fly. “Tell your bosses we don’t need them any longer. We have more profitable clients now.”
With incredible power for a man missing one leg, Knight took Perry by the shoulders and shoved him onto the bridge’s wing. When they reached the railing, Knight threw him over the side with no more effort than if he were a doll. Perry fell five stories to the water below.
When he surfaced, gasping for air, Perry saw the Portland’s Gatling gun disappear behind the hull plates. Her engines hummed to life, and the ship pivoted neatly until her prow was facing the Mantícora. Another hull plate in her bow slid aside, revealing a cannon the size of the main gun on a destroyer. The cannon took aim at the cargo ship and fired five shots in quick succession. The armor-piercing rounds blew massive holes in the hull at the waterline.
The Mantícora began to tilt sideways as water poured into the holds. The remaining crew on board emerged on deck with life jackets and jumped overboard.
Knight stood on the bridge wing of the Portland enjoying the spectacle. He looked down at Perry and gave him a jaunty wave before going inside.
The plate covering the cannon slid closed again. The Portland turned and shot away as if launched by a catapult. Her speed was as impossible as her hidden guns, but Perry couldn’t deny what he was seeing.
Seconds later, the Mantícora turned turtle, water cascading off her keel. It was only a matter of time before she went to the bottom. The lifeboat was busy picking up the waterlogged survivors.
