Two Americans lay at the side, one with his neck twisted at a grotesque angle. Ali stepped forward and shot him once in the head, even though he was clearly dead. He used two bullets on the other man, whose body continued to jerk for several long seconds after the final shot.

The ship’s captain stood near the wheel, pinned by four of Ali’s men.

“You—show me the boat,” said Ali, using his very limited English.

“I will die first.”

Ali raised the pistol to the man’s head.

“The boat.”

The man spit at him. Ali pulled the trigger. The bullet sped through the man’s skull and lodged in the glass of the bridge behind him.

“Throw them overboard. Quickly, search the rest of the ship,” said Ali. “Find the weapons lockers.”

Ali scanned the bridge. The basic controls were here.

Moving the Shark Boat would not be difficult. But the displays and sensors and, most important, the weapons would take considerable amount of study. Even with his experience, Ali doubted he could master them.

But God would help, surely. He had given them the boat.

“Captain, we have the boat,” said Saed, taking him by the elbow.

Ali was surprised to find his lieutenant here.

“I had not realized you were here.”

SATAN’S TAIL

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“Until the end. There are fifteen of us, and yourself.”

“Take the helm. Where is Habib?”

“Outside.”

“Someone find Habib,” said Ali. “We need his computer skills.”

THE RUNABOUT TIED TO THE DOCK LOOKED LIKE A LATE-1950S

eighteen-foot Thompson, crafted from wood and open to the air. A pair of large Johnson engines sat at the stern. A thick coat of varnish covered the pockmarked decking and wooden ribs at the side of the open craft.

Danny got in, steadying himself on the gunwale as the boat rocked back and forth. There was no question the craft had been used by the pirates—there were two AK47s and an ammo locker under the seat bench on the port side, and mountings for a grenade launcher bolted just below the port window.

The controls consisted of a large wheel and a throttle as-sembly that could be ganged to engage and work the motors together. There didn’t seem to be an ignition key; the only thing close was a simple push-button to the right of the wheel, mounted on a plastic plate that had been carefully fitted to the wooden dashboard.

Danny leaned on the button but nothing happened. He started to go back and check the engines, then saw a thick wire running along the decking up toward the dashboard.

Thinking there had to be a key or some sort of ignition system, he got to his knee and craned his neck under the old panel. One strand of wire was separated, with the two ends stripped and formed into hooks. He slipped them together, then got up and tried again. The engines coughed, but didn’t catch.

A small gauge on the dash indicated that there was a full tank of fuel. Danny guessed that he needed to choke the engines somehow, but he couldn’t find a switch or mechanism to do so. There was nothing obvious on the engine housings either; metal wire ran to them, but he couldn’t quite see 368

DALE BROWN’S DREAMLAND

where they connected. He went back and tried again; the motors coughed but still didn’t catch. The boat rocked unsteadily beneath him. He jerked his hand out against the dashboard, grabbing a decorative knob in the middle. A swell of the waves pushed him back, and as he tried to maintain his balance by holding onto the dash, the knob came out. He’d found the choke.

It took two more tries to get the motors started. Once they came to life, the boat heaved forward. The line tugged taut; Danny backed off the power to idle, went back and cut the line. His performance wasn’t going to win him any honors in seamanship, but at least he had the craft working. There were a pair of lights on the bow; he found the switches and saw the thin beams play over the water as he moved away from the dock, getting a feel for the boat.

“Hey, Dancer, this is Whiplash leader. Where are you?”

“About five hundred yards from shore,” said the Marine lieutenant. “Roughly due north of the second landing. Very shallow here, maybe twenty feet deep. We’re working with a boat from Shark Boat One.”

“I see you. I’m in a runabout or something. I want to use it to bring whatever we take from the pirate command post out to the Shark Boat. I’m heading toward you.”

Danny throttled slowly toward the wreckage area. The windscreen of the boat folded forward, and he managed to lean out and work the beam down so he could sweep the water. Debris covered the surface.

“Looks like we don’t have any survivors,” said Dancer, maneuvering her boat toward his. “I’m sorry.”

“Yeah.”

“Two of the Navy men are certified as divers, and there’s diving equipment back on the Shark Boat,” she told him.

“So if you want to start a recovery—”

“That’s going to have to wait until we check on the cave where the sub is,” Danny told her. “Maybe they can dive in from the ocean side after our guys secure the land entrances.

The Shark Boat can support them. I want to check back in SATAN’S TAIL

369

with the Abner Read and see what their situation is.”

One of Shark Boat One’s little boats came alongside and told Dancer that they were having trouble raising their ship on the radio. Danny went into the Dreamland circuit and tried to connect via the Abner Read, but also couldn’t get them.

“Abner Read is under fire,” Major Catsman said from Dreamland Command. “The ECM systems aboard the ship and the Megafortresses are degrading the radio communications. Going to be a few minutes, Danny.”

“Maybe I ought to just take a spin out there,” Danny told Dancer. “I have to talk to the captain myself, and it might be quicker face-to-face.”

“Ship seems to be moving,” said the Marine in Dancer’s boat. He pointed out to the horizon.

“I hope they’re not planning on leaving us here,” said Dancer.

“He’s moving pretty fast. Maybe there’s another pirate boat out there,” said Dancer.

Danny clicked his viewer into the sitrep screen, then into the infrared view supplied by Hawk Two, which was still orbiting overhead. Neither screen showed a threat. The Shark Boat had taken a turn in the water and was now heading directly north.

“Colonel Bastian, this is Whiplash leader.”

“Go ahead, Danny,” said Dog from the Megafortress.

“Can you contact the Shark Boat offshore?”

“Stand by. We’re countering a barrage of antiship missiles.”

“If you could give me the surface radar operator, I want to know about possible threats off the beachhead here.”

“There are no threats. Dish will get on the line with you in a second.”

“I think I want to go talk to their captain right now,” Danny told Dancer. “And I want a couple of Marines with me.”

“THIS IS A PASSIVE INFRARED RECEIVING SYSTEM. IT SHOWS

heat sources in front of the ship,” said Habib. “This is an active radar, which is very limited, not much more power-

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ful than ours. This screen, though, this gets inputs from some other source. I can’t tell whether it’s aboard this ship or not.”

Ali studied the suite of screens. If he was reading the legends correctly—which might not be the case—the external radar had a seventy-mile radius. Rather than putting this vessel in the center of the plot, it seemed to position it far off to the side. It seemed to him that the Americans had found some way to transmit radar information from another source—Satan’s Tail, he guessed. This would explain why they had never seen radar signals from the small patrol craft themselves.

“This looks like a radar plot too, but I don’t see how that can be,” added Habib, pointing to a large screen near the center of the console. “It has different modes, but what they mean is not clear.”