Flood Tide

“We can't fool a naval boarding party,” said Cabrillo solemnly. “They'll see through our disguise two minutes after setting foot on deck. You seem to forget, as far as the Chinese are concerned, Mr. Pitt, you and I and everyone on board this ship are spies. And as such, we can all be executed in the blink of an eye. Also, once they get their hands on the Oregon and her technology and realize her potential, they won't hesitate to use her for intelligence operations against other nations. Once the first Chinese marine sets foot on our deck, the die is cast. We fight or die.”

“Then our only option is surprise.”

“The key is that we won't constitute a threat in the eyes of the captain of that Chinese destroyer,” Cabrillo explained gruffly. “If you were him, standing on your bridge looking at us through night glasses, would you be trembling in your boots at what you saw? I doubt it. He might train the hundred millimeters on our bridge or one of the thirty-seven-millimeter twins at any crewman showing on deck. But once he sees his marines come on board and begin seizing the ship, he'll relax and call off the ship's alert, provided he even bothered to order one.”

“You make it sound as cut and dried as a snowball fight,” ventured Giordino.

Cabrillo gave Giordino a patiently worn look. “A what fight?”

“You'll have to excuse Al's regressive display of humor,” said Pitt. “He gets mentally unstable when things don't go his way.”

“You're just as weird,” Cabrillo growled at Pitt. “Doesn't anything ever faze you two?”

“Think of it as a response to a nasty situation,” Pitt said in mild protest. “You and your crew are trained and prepared for a fight. We're merely helpless bystanders.”

“We'll require the services of every man and woman on board before this night is over.”

Pitt studied the image on the monitor over Linda Ross's shoulder. “If you don't mind me asking, just how do you intend to trash a heavy destroyer?”

“My plan, elementary as it is, is for the Oregon to come to a stop when ordered. Then comes a demand to board and inspect us. Once we sucker him into standing off within spitting distance, we act like i

“You have a Chinese flag?” asked Giordino.

“We carry flags and ensigns of every maritime country in the world,” answered Cabrillo.

“After your show of surrender?” said Pitt. “Then what?”

“We hit him with everything we've got and pray that when we're through he has nothing left to throw back at us.”

“It beats a long-range duel with missiles we couldn't win,” said Max Hanley, who was sitting in a chair beside an electronics specialist ma

Like a football coach in the lockers before the kickoff, Cabrillo went over his game plan carefully with his players. No contingency was left undevised or unpolished, no detail overlooked, nothing left to chance. Tension was nonexistent. The men and women on board the Oregon prepared to go about their jobs as if it was a typical Monday morning in the big city. Their eyes were clear and fixed, they did not have the frightened look of the hunted.

When Cabrillo finished, he asked, “Any questions?” His voice was deep and low, with the tiniest trace of a Spanish accent, and although he was far too experienced and perceptive not to accept fear, no hint showed in his face and ma

Pitt raised a hand. “You said you needed every man. How can Al and I help?”

Cabrillo nodded. “You two gave evidence the other night that you're not afraid of a fight. Go to the ship's armory and pick up a pair of automatic weapons. You'll need more fire-power than that forty-five-caliber popgun of yours. Also check out a couple of sets of body armor. After that check with the costume department for some grungy old clothes. Then join the deck crew. Your talents will come in handy in stopping the Chinese marines once they come on board. I can only spare a few men from more important duties, so you'll be slightly outnumbered. There probably won't be more than ten of them, not enough to matter since you'll have the element of surprise. If you're successful, and I'm counting on it, you can lend a hand at damage control. And you can bet there will be plenty of damage to go around.”

“Will it be absolutely necessary to shoot down the boarding party without warning?” asked Linda Ross.

“Keep in mind,” Cabrillo said to her bluntly, “these people do not intend to allow anybody on board this ship to reach port. Because they are no doubt aware of our involvement with the underwater search of the United States, there is not the slightest doubt they mean for all of us to sleep with fishes before morning.”

Pitt's eyes raked Cabrillo's, searching for a tinge of regret, a sign that he thought that what they were about to do was a colossal mistake, but there was none of it. “Does it bother you that we might be mistaken about their intentions and commit an act of war?”

Cabrillo pulled his pipe out of a breast pocket and scraped the bowl. Then he said, “I don't mind admitting that I'm a bit worried on that score, but we can't run from then air force, so we have no option but to bluff our way out, and if that fails, we must fight.”

Like a gray ghost gliding over a black sea streaked by the full moon, the big Chinese destroyer overhauled the slow-moving Oregon with the malevolence of an Orca killer whale stalking a friendly manatee. But for its ungainly array of navigation, surface- and air-search detection and countermeasure systems that were perched above ugly towers, the ship might have had a sleek appearance. As it was, it looked like it was glued together by a small child who wasn't sure where all the pieces went.

Hali Kasim, the Oregon's vice president in charge of communications, called through the speakerphone on the bridge wing to Cabrillo, who now stood observing the destroyer through night glasses.

“Mr. Cabrillo, they've ordered us to heave to.”

“In what language?”

“English,” answered Kasim.

“An amateurish attempt to get us to tip our hand. Answer them in Arabic.”

There was a short pause. “They called our bluff, sir. They have someone on board who can speak Arabic.”

“String them along for a little while. We don't want to appear too anxious to appease. Ask why we should obey their orders in international waters.”

Cabrillo lit his pipe and waited. He looked down on the deck where Pitt, Giordino and three of his crew had assembled, all armed for a knock-down, drag-out fight.

“They're not buying it,” came Hali Kasim's voice again. “They say if we don't stop immediately, they will blow us out of the water.”

“Are they jamming in anticipation of us sending out a distress signal?”

“You can make book on it. Any message we transmit outside the immediate area will be received garbled.”

“What are the chances of a friendly warship cruising in the neighborhood, like a nuclear submarine?”

“None,” came the voice of Linda Ross in the countermea-sures and surveillance room. “The only vessel within a hundred miles is a Japanese auto transporter.”

“All right,” Cabrillo sighed. “Signal them that we will comply and heave to. But inform them that we will protest this outrage to the World Board of Trade and International Maritime Council.”

Cabrillo could then do nothing but wait and watch the Chinese destroyer emerge from the gloom. Besides his pair of unblinking eyes, the big warship was covered by the two concealed Harpoon missiles mounted in the center of the Oregon's hull, the two Mark 46 torpedoes in their underwater tubes and the muzzles of twin Oerlikon thirty-millimeter guns that could spit seven hundred rounds per minute out of each barrel.