Fair Winds
Twenty-Eight Thousand Feet
“Captain Petras. Two minutes!” The Jumpmaster’s voice came through his helmet’s headset. Simo had just finished thirty minutes of ‘pre-breathing’ one hundred percent oxygen to flush nitrogen out of his blood, leaving him feeling clear-headed and calm.
Simo thumbed-up his response and watched the former Navy SEAL, now CIA-employed Jumpmaster, once more examine his High-Altitude Low Opening gear.
Simo was equipped with a black military wetsuit, a portable oxygen canister, a chest-mount rebreather tank, and a large rucksack that held about fifty pounds of equipment between his legs.
As he finished, the jump light turned from red to green. Without hesitation, Simo stepped forward, off the ramp, and free-fell into the dark, subzero night.
Simo expertly negotiated his fall. He had to clench his jaw to stop his teeth from chattering and worried that his eyelashes might freeze together, causing him to splash down blind.
Luck was on his side; his eyelashes remained clear and he remained conscious on his way down.
Watching his GPS, he angled his descent toward his destination.
At about a minute of free-fall, he checked his altimeter, then released the pilot chute and continued his fall as he fought to stem the shaking from the loud, rushing, freezing air.
As he passed 5,000 feet, he turned his body right to break up any dead air behind his back, looked behind, and checked the small gray pilot chute.
It had deployed correctly. 3,000 feet came by fast, and he released his main canopy.
Looking up, he watched the black parachute flutter and open fully.
He checked the rucksack between his legs and readied himself to release it before he splashed down.
Simo checked his GPS and found he was two nautical miles directly in line with his target’s path. He glanced through his slightly steamed-up face mask and saw a very dim light on the sea in the distance. He made a mental note and prepared himself for the splashdown.
Watching the water rise up to him, he was relieved to see that the sea was calm as he glided downward.
He released his main chute as his feet hit the water.
Dropping into the darkness, he watched his inflated rucksack rise toward the surface, its safety line tugging at him.
Simo slowly swam upward and crested the gentle waves.
He slipped out of his harness and was thankful that the water was warm…
well, warmer than the air at 20,000 feet.
He attached his swim fins to his feet and swam over to his floating rucksack.
He checked his equipment and pulled out his Diver Propulsion Vehicle, or DPV, which was much like the Sea-Doo sea scooter civilian model he used in the Black Sea over a year ago.
He checked his gear, armed himself, attached a coil of black rope over his shoulder, and started the DPV up. He began maneuvering himself into the path of the Iranian fishing ship that was slowly heading his way.
‘Yet another ship…’ He remembered Theo shaking his head at him for taking this job…
though he really didn’t have an option. The CIA came calling and wanted their debt paid.
They said no American could be caught on this mission, dead or alive.
If a ship or aircraft came near his pickup point, his target would cut and run.
‘Another ship…’ but he was alone this time around, no backup…
and no Jessie to watch his back. Angrily, he pushed thoughts of Jessie’s smile away and concentrated on the barely lit, eighty-foot boat bearing down on him.
As it closed in, Simo dove under the water, pulling his rucksack along the surface.
He oriented himself with the ship’s direction and waited for it to catch up to his position.
He calculated that the ship was moving slightly faster than the maximum speed of his DPV.
The ship edged closer as Simo directed himself toward the ship.
It was now or never. Simo turned the DPV toward the ship and felt the metal hull scrape his outstretched, gloved hand.
Reaching onto his belt, he pulled out a black-colored Marine Tactical Magnet, or MTM.
As the hull slowly slipped by, Simo forced the MTM through the waves and wake and attached it with a click of the electronic switch to the hull.
He gripped the magnet and let the DPV float away.
Rising above the water, he attached another MTM to the hull as the ship pulled him through the water.
With one hand on the magnet, he reached down and pulled the black rucksack up, inch by inch, through the wake, until it was between his legs.
Gripping the rucksack between his powerful legs, he unclipped the rucksack’s line from his belt and, after several attempts, he managed to connect it to the powerful magnet.
He let the rucksack go as it was pulled back behind the ship into the darkness.
Collecting himself, he removed the black rope from his shoulder and clipped the carabiner to the first magnet.
He clipped the opposite end to his belt and began letting himself be pulled back toward the rear of the fishing ship.
Once at the rear, he retrieved his last MTM and attached it up as high on the boat as he could reach.
He removed his mask and pushed it behind his head.
Then, with one hand, he pulled himself up out of the churning water.
He got his knee on the magnet, reached up high, and grabbed the drain opening in the ship’s guardrail.
Heaving himself up, he managed to get a foothold on the magnet with his foot.
After a brief rest, he slowly pushed himself up and peered over the edge of the ship’s rail.
No one was visible in the darkness.
He waited and remained still as he watched the pilot house through the netting and rigging. He checked the time; it was 3:14 AM. He knew that there had to be a lookout somewhere, as they were still in range of Somali pirates.
Simo dipped down out of sight, unclipped his line from his belt, reached up, and, using the rail, he began side-skirting the rear of the ship toward the port side. Once there, he pulled himself up and peered over the edge of the ship.
He spotted the lookout.
He was tucked up inside the stairwell to the pilot house. The lookout had positioned himself well so he could watch the rear of the fishing ship.
Holding the rail with one hand, Simo retrieved his silenced FN-57 pistol and sighted the man in the dark stairway.
He waited and began timing the light roll and bounce of the ship.
Roll to port, bow raise, roll to starboard, bow drop.
Over and over, he timed the movement and waited.
Finally, as the bow rose, Simo squeezed his trigger and followed through with two more squeezes.
The man went limp and silently slid to the bottom of the stairway, dead.
With one heave, Simo pulled himself up and over the rail and crouched along the rigging, his eyes never leaving the dead man.
He kicked off his swim fins, removed his rebreather, then slowly neared the man and saw that his first shot had entered the man’s cheek, shattering half his face.
There was dark blood and bits of brain visible on the stairway.
Simo quietly pulled the dead man toward the stern of the ship and deposited him under a pile of netting.
Simo made his way up the stairway and peeked into the dimly lit pilot house.
Simo tested the handle to the door. It was unlocked.
With cat-like speed, he opened the door and sent two shots into the yawning Captain’s back.
The man slumped forward with a gasp and a gurgle.
Simo grabbed the captain’s body before it fell onto the chrome-plated throttles.
Using zip ties, he secured the dead Captain’s hands to the arms of the chair.
Then he fished in the captain’s pants pockets.
Not finding what he was looking for, he fished around under the front of the captain’s shirt and yanked free a chain with a key attached to it.
Standing back, he decided with a casual glance it would look as if the captain were watching the control monitor.
Simo turned and peered down the darkened stairwell into the bowels of the boat.
He waited and heard nothing. Crouching low, he descended the darkened stairwell.
He knew that the rear of the vessel housed the massive holding tanks for the fish, and then there would be the engineer’s room and engine compartment.
Forward lay the captain’s quarters and his target.
Simo quietly approached the captain’s berth and listened with his ear at the closed door.
Satisfied, he moved to the first officer’s berth.
Simo listened with his ear to the door and heard soft snoring.
Reaching inside his suit, he removed a large plastic double-syringe device.
Removing the cap, he depressed the syringe and filled the seam where the latch and the doorframe met with adhesive liquid.
The super-industrial-strength adhesive solidified immediately.
Simo repeated the same procedure at every crew door with the exception of the captain’s berth.