Page 72 of Clive Cussler Ghost Soldier

The captain knew theJade Voyagercould handle it. His worry was the stacks of containers crowded on his decks. The owners were on the verge of bankruptcy and had pressured him to push the safety limits to increase the cargo load for this trip to India. They sent him to a small but accommodating Indonesian port infamous for its lax enforcement of safety standards. The stacks were unusually high, but not entirely out of reason. Despite the heavy load, the captain was confident in his ship, his apprehension alleviated by the owners’ promise of an extra bonus for his cooperation.

But here, in the belly of a storm-tossed night, the captain began losing his nerve.

A rogue wave had hit his vessel at precisely the wrong angle, sending his ship into an accelerating spiral of uncontrollable pitching and rolling. The physics of mass and energy were upsetting the balance of weight of the overstacked containers—lashed to the deck with rusted and fraying cables the owners couldn’t afford to replace.

A ship’s alarm sounded as theJade Voyagerangled past the thirty-degree mark. The sharp, sizzling crack of snapping cables suddenly burst outside.

The captain pressed closer to the rain-spattered bridge glass. He caught a glimpse of the first stack of bright yellow containers tumbling into the sea, dragging the next stack into the water behind them, and then a third.

Ten more followed.

The sudden loss of weight began stabilizing the ship. The remaining containers on the deck stayed in place.

The captain mopped the sweat from his face, then lit a cigarette, resigned to his fate.

He would be blamed by the owners and the authorities for the reckless decision to overstack the cargo.

He was ruined.

36

Kosovo

MacD and Raven trudged up the steep mountainside, sweat slicking between their shoulder blades beneath their packs.

The two of them were posing as American backpackers hiking in the region—not an unusual sight in this part of the world. Raven had bragged about hiking the steep and jagged peaks of the rugged Accursed Mountains just across the border in Montenegro several years before. She described them as something straight out of a Tolkien novel.

The backpacking ruse made a lot of sense for other practical reasons, including hauling the gear they needed to bring in and, with any luck, carry out.

A lot of what they needed for this mission they brought in legitimately. They also smuggled two 9-millimeter Walther PDP pistols, mags, and ammo thanks to Chuck “Tiny” Gunderson and the Corporation’s private Gulfstream jet he piloted into Pristina. He was staying in the capital city on twenty-four-hour call with the plane already refueled and the flight plans submitted for a hasty return back to theOregon. They were under orders from Max to avoid gunplay at all costs unless their lives were in immediate danger.

Everything they couldn’t bring Colonel Piccinini had kindly provided including his battered but reliable Toyota Land Cruiser.

They passed through the ambush site with their antennae on highalert, stopping only to pick up a few of the dozens of spent brass casings they found scattered in the pine needles.

“That’s 5.56,” MacD said, pocketing one. He found a different casing, badly weathered and rusted.

“What is it?” Raven asked.

“Swedish 6.5x55. One of the most popular hunting rounds in Europe. Not recent, that’s for sure.”

They pressed on up the mountain, heading for the informant’s last known campsite, their heads on swivels. The warming midmorning sun promised an eighty-six-degree day, just as the weather forecast predicted.

“I’m curious,” Raven asked in a whispered voice. “Why did you volunteer for this assignment?”

“Max needed two bodies. You were the first. I’m not great at math, but I figured one more kinda evened it all up.”

“No, seriously.”

“Look, I’ve seen you in action.T’es une sacrée bonne fighter, toi.”

“I’m assuming that’s Cajun for some kind of compliment.”

“No doubt you can throw down as good as the rest of us, for sure. But on my first tour in the sandbox I came across a gaggle of these Kosovo jihadis. They was one rough bunch. Nasty as gators. Just thought I should tag along with ya.”

“Appreciate it.”

They trudged up the mountain for another two hours, stopping only for a short break of water and protein bars before pushing on. They finally arrived at the informant’s campsite.