He could see it in gaps between the smoke. It crossed toward the front of the ship, where it vanished in the dark clouds. He looked toward the bow, which was now awash in two feet of water.

A second later the oily haze parted, and a ribbed inflatable boat raced out of the smoke, gliding right up onto the bow. Two men lay prone on its forward section, aiming and firing M16 rifles.

Andras saw two of his men fall, and another was hit and hobbling. The others scrambled for cover as the fast boat beached itself on the deck near the Kinjara’s second cargo hatch.

Several men in fatigues piled out of the boat on either side as one of the shooters — a man with distinctively silver hair — aimed and fired with deadly accuracy.

Two more of The Knife’s men went down before the shooter rolled off the attacking boat and took cover behind one of the open cargo hatches.

“Americans,” Andras cursed. Where the hell had they come from?

IN AN INSTANT THE DECK of the freighter became a battleground. Bullets and shell casings flew in all directions. Andras moved quickly, grabbing Kristi and dragging her backward. He added the occasional burst to what had become a raging gun battle, but his plan was to do more than stand and fight.

As he pulled back, he saw the situation for what it was: a first strike. The Americans had stormed in, taking out a half dozen of his men, but they were now pinned down on the deck, caught in a sort of cross fire while the ship burned and slowly sank beneath them. He guessed they wouldn’t have done that intentionally, unless they had backup coming.

The sound of a loudspeaker echoed from the approaching cutter.

“Throw down your weapons and surrender,” an authoritative voice demanded.

While he had no intention of doing anything of the sort, Andras was keenly aware of the danger to himself. But then, he was a man who’d made his life knowing how to turn the tables.

He reached one of the loading cranes. Grabbing the hook that dangled from it, he slipped it under the wire he’d wrapped around Kristi’s hands.

He threw the power switch and was rewarded with the sound of its hydraulic pump running. Before he sent her out, he ripped the gag off Kristi’s mouth.

She looked at him.

“You’re going to want to scream,” he said, “trust me.” With that, he threw the lever and the crane sprang to life. It pulled her upward and began swinging her out over the battleground for all to see.

KURTAUSTIN CROUCHED BEHIND a steel hatch cover. His idea to race around the bow of the vessel and literally drive right up onto it had been a cunning move. With the smoke surrounding them and the Argo approaching from the opposite direction, Kurt and his men had taken the pirates by surprise, speeding onto the deck and hitting several of them immediately.

The one flaw in his plan had been the number of pirates. There were far more than he’d expected, more than a dozen, maybe close to twenty. Those who’d survived and taken cover now had him pinned down.

Sooner or later the other tenders from the Argo would arrive, giving them a numerical advantage, but until then it would be tough sledding.

The radio on his belt crackled, a call from one of the tenders. “Kurt, we’re approaching the stern, no resistance so far.”

He didn’t have time to reply as shells started pinging off the hatch behind him. He ducked lower, trying to see where they were coming from. Before he could decide what to do next, he heard a female scream. He glanced skyward to see a woman, in her mid-thirties, dangling from the hook of a crane.

Seconds later, a voice bellowed above the din.

“Are we ready to stop this madness?” the voice shouted.

Kurt didn’t look up, as that was a good way to get one’s head blown off, but the guns around him went silent.

Kurt glanced at the young woman. Blood streamed down her arms and across her clothes.

“Now that I have your attention,” the voice boomed, “you’re going to let my men get off this stinking garbage scow of a ship or I’ll blast this woman to shreds like a piñata.” Kurt glanced around, sweat and smoke burning his eyes. He noticed water beginning to swirl at his ankles, and several feet away it poured into one of the open cargo hatches.

The ship was settling fast. The bow was now completely submerged with only a few high points sticking out like dead trees in flooded field. Worse yet, as the water began filling the forward cargo holds the weight on the front section would increase rapidly.

In a few minutes the Kinjara Maru’s fate would change from a gentle settling to a nosedive into the abyss.

“I’m waiting!” the hidden speaker shouted.

“Kurt?” a voice asked over the radio. “What do you want to do?”

Kurt looked up at the woman again. “Hold your positions,” he said into the radio.

“Well?” the unknown voice shouted, demanding an answer.

“Okay,” Kurt yelled back. “Take your men and get out of here.” He shouted to his men. “Hold your fire until they’re clear.” Almost instantly Kurt heard movement, the pirates pulling back.

“Can anyone see him?” Kurt whispered into the radio. “He has to be up high.” Someone must have risked a look because a shot rang out. A grunt sounded over the radio.

“No peeking,” the voice shouted.

“Damn,” Kurt mumbled. He keyed the mike on his radio. “Who got hit?” No response. Then someone said, “It’s Foster.” Kurt shook his head angrily. “You hit one more of my men,” he shouted to the unseen figure, “and I promise you’ll die on this boat!” “I’m sure,” the hidden man replied, “that you’d like to believe that.” By now the water was lapping at Kurt’s thighs. It felt like the tide coming in, only way too rapidly. The ship’s equilibrium was changing. As the pitch increased, loose items began sliding down the deck toward him.

Kurt glanced up at the woman again. She had to be in tremendous pain. He wanted to shoot the scum who’d hung her up there, but he didn’t dare risk a look for her tormentor.

Then the sound of large outboard motors starting echoed from over the starboard side of the ship. In a moment, the soft rumble turned to a fierce roar, and what looked like a stripped-down powerboat began racing off into the distance.

“Go,” Kurt shouted.

His men sprang into action.

“Hawthorne’s down,” someone said.

“Get him up,” Kurt shouted. “Get him and Foster into the boat.” “What about the search?”

“I doubt these guys left any survivors,” he said. “Either way, you don’t have time to look.” The ship had tilted ten degrees nose down, far enough for a length of chain to come sliding toward him like a great metallic snake.

Kurt dodged the chain. It hit the edge of the cargo hatch and poured itself into the cavernous space below, rattling ominously as the links slid over the edge until the chain released itself into oblivion.

“Get off the ship,” Kurt ordered.

“What are you going to do?” one of his men asked.

“I’m going to get that woman.”

AS THE KINJARA MARU FOUNDERED, Kurt Austin scrambled forward and up the sloping deck. The footing was treacherous where the deck had become coated with water, oil, and sludge. He pulled himself upward with anything he could grasp.

Reaching the ladder that led up to the crane, Kurt climbed it, catching sight of the pirates racing away to the south. Putting them out of his mind and hanging on to the railing, he reached the crane operator’s hutch.

A strangely shaped folding knife with a black handle and a steel or titanium blade stood on its point, embedded into the crane operator’s seat. A little present left behind by the thug who’d strung the woman up. Kurt grabbed it, folded it up, and slid it into a pocket.