Open Source Read online

  Open Source

  M. M. FRICK

  mATTHEW M. FRICK

  WASHINGTON, D.C.

  Open Source

  M. M. Frick

  This book is a work of fiction. While the hijacking is based on an actual event, the names, characters, places, and incidents are the product of the author’s imagination or are used fictitiously. Any resemblance to actual events, locales, or persons, living or dead, is coincidental.

  Copyright © 2010 by Matthew M. Frick

  All rights reserved. Except as permitted under the US Copyright Act of 1976, no part of this publication may be reproduced, distributed, or transmitted in any form or by any means, or stored in a database or retrieval system, without the prior written permission of the author.

  Cover design © Matthew M. Frick

  Library of Congress Control Number: 2010911068

  ASIN-B003ZDO4L0

  For Janelle, Jade, and Gavin

  Chapter 1

  Baltic Sea

  The coxswain brought the engines of the black inflatable boat to life. “Inflatable” was misleading as the boat had a rigid fiberglass hull and three 200-hp outboard engines mounted on the stern. It was built for speed. And utility. This night required both.

  Eight other men, dressed identical to the boat’s driver in black military-type uniforms and black tactical gear, boarded the boat in twos. Six of them took positions around the outside of the boat and adjusted their ling-carried automatic rifles and leg-holstered pistols. A seventh passenger stowed extra cargo in the area just behind the bow, covered it with a small blanket, and kneeled down on it, holding onto the small line that ran the length of the boat on both sides. They were preparing for the bumpy ride.

  The eighth man quickly verified that all were ready, by a thumbs-up signal from each of the others. When he was satisfied, he pulled his knit cap down tight and tapped the coxswain on the shoulder. The man at the bow tossed the mooring line to the pier, gave a signal to the driver, and the boat pulled away. When the bow was pointed down the channel and the engines were sufficiently far away from the dock, the coxswain opened up the throttled and the boat shot out of the harbor and into the open water under cover of darkness.

  A sliver of moon provided little help as the MV Baltic Venture made her way through the Kattegat, past the Danish island of Laeso. It was mid-summer and the air was clear. But it was dark. The deck officer on watch scanned the horizon, looking for any unexpected obstacle that might pose a danger as the ship steamed towards the North Atlantic Ocean and the second leg of the planned voyage. He enjoyed this time of night—this time of year. It would be better when they cleared these confined waters.

  “Confined” was relative. The northern part of the bay between Norway and Denmark was reasonable large, but to a 130-meter container/cargo ship, the more room one could put between the ship and land the better. The deck officer lowered his binoculars and checked the radar screen. Everything looked fine. On the digital navigation screen, the triangle graphic representing the ship’s position was tracking nicely along the course the ship’s navigator had entered three days ago, before they left Kaliningrad.

  Kaliningrad was a Russian port in that part of Russia that shouldn’t be part of Russia. Located on the southern Baltic Sea and sandwiched between Poland and Lithuania, the area of Kaliningrad Oblast seemed almost out of place. Kaliningrad Oblast was growing faster, economically, than any other part of the Russian Federation thanks to a dampening of corruption and a special relationship with the European Union. That was not to say that corruption did not exist. There were certainly elements of organized crime and petty criminals that still operated in the province, but they were not apparent to most observers and virtually non-existent to the average citizen. Kaliningrad was also a strategic part of the Russian military complex. A staging area for tactical nuclear weapons, this part of non-Russia was also the home of Russia’s Baltic Fleet at Kaliningrad Chkalovsk.

  The Baltic Venture used the port of Kaliningrad to have badly needed repair work done to the lower hold. A cargo of cement construction blocks had broken free during heavy seas two years earlier and tore through an inner bulkhead, badly denting several steel frames. The deck officer wondered why the ship owners waited this long to repair the damage, but he understood economics enough to know that until water began pouring in and the ship could no longer make port on time, meaning lost revenue, the Baltic Venture would continue to deliver goods. He figured the owners finally had enough money to look after their 1,600-ton investment, and they could afford to keep the ship in harbor for the three weeks.

  He didn’t mind. It was nice to have some time off. Especially after he had to supervise the cargo offload so the repairs could be made. There was some kind of problem with the stevedore contract about when the ship needed to be offloaded and when the repairs were to begin. That meant the ship’s crew had to work the offload themselves, using only the onboard cranes. what should have been a one-day job took them four. As reward for all of their hard work, the captain, who had only just signed on with the ship before she left Finland, gave the crew a break. The captain personally supervised the reloading after the repairs were complete, including the addition of three shipping container of Mercedes Benz the manifest said were official vehicles purchased by the Algerian government. the deck officer was won over immediately. It had been a long time since he sailed with a skipper who looked after his crew. Too many captains seemed to only be in it for the money, which was quite good by most standards. They acted more like irritated bus drivers than someone responsible for the lives of their crews and the safety of their vessels.

  When the deck officer returned to the ship after a week with a nice Russian university student on holiday, the ship was already loaded, and he was ready to go.

  The helmsman yawned loudly and broke the silence that engulfed the bridge. The deck officer looked up from the monitor and smiled. “Need coffee?” he asked the seaman at the ship’s wheel.

  “I’m okay. It is only two in the morning. Ask me again in three hours, and I will say yes.”

  The deck officer smirked. There were only four of the twenty crewmembers awake this time of night—two engineers, the helmsman, and himself. Sometimes it was hard to stay focused or even awake when the ship was so quiet. He turned his attention back to the windows at the front of the bridge and could just make out the bow past the cargo of timber and shipping containers that occupied most of the vessel. He shined his red-filtered flashlight at his wristwatch and checked the time. Three more hours and the cooks would start making breakfast. His stomach grumbled audibly at the thought.

  The black boat reduced speed and slipped quietly into the wake of the Baltic Venture—the noise a low steady rumble. The eight passengers settled onto the deck now that they were no longer holding on for dear life. For thirty minutes they had run full-out, all three outboard engines redlined. The information they were given had been correct. The cargo ship was right where it was supposed to be.

  The engines of the Baltic Venture muted the sound of the approaching speedboat, and the darkness of a near-moonless night helped mask the quiet approach. They were only 100 yards aster of the large vessel as Viktor Egorov looked forward. His only fear was that some insomniac peckerhead would be aft by the mooring winches smoking a cigarette and notice their approach.

  Fifty yards in front of them was the last swirling mass of bubbles caused by the turning of the ship’s propeller. The screw agitated microscopic bioluminescent creatures, creating an eerie green glow that added to the muted white of the bubbles. Viktor’s grandfather once told him that the green glow was the gates of Hell opening up to take a soul to eternal damnation. Stupid old fool.

  The speedboat moved across the turbulent water, momentarily ma
king them vulnerable to detection by the contrast of the black boat and black-clad passengers against the white and green. The boat moved up the port side of the Baltic Venture. The cargo ship would provide a lee, blocking the north-northeast wind and allowing them to come alongside with relative ease.

  The coxswain deftly maneuvered the speedboat just forward of the ship’s superstructure. The freeboard between the main deck of the ship and the water was already low because of the full load of cargo, and opening used for staging the accommodation ladder made it even lower where the speedboat settled in and matched the Baltic Venture’s speed. the man at the bow uncovered the gear he had stowed there and tossed a grappling hook just over the edge of the deck. He gave a quick pull to secure the hook onto the ship. A chain ladder hung down from the hook, and one after the other, the men exited the speedboat and made their way onboard the ship. In less than ninety seconds, the eight men were aboard, and the black rubber/fiberglass boat turned wide to port and sped off to the south.

  The men in black moved quickly to either side of the superstructure and split into three teams. The first group of three entered the white tower that contained both living quarters and control rooms and went down toward the engineering nerve center. The second group of three men negotiated the stairs and ladders of the port side while the final two went up the starboard side. It took two minutes to reach the bridge.

  “Good morning, sir,” Viktor said, his gun aimed at the center of the deck officer’s head as the five men simultaneously entered the pilothouse. He relished the initial surprise. Only on first contact did he allow himself to play out the Hollywood script. “Please do not make any noise, or it will be the last noise you ever make.”

  After that, the hijacking was all business.

  Chapter 2

  Savannah, Georgia

  Casey Shenk finished loading up the dolly and pulled the cargo door down on the back of the company truck. A white GMC Vandura, the box truck was a real piece of shit. A few weeks after he got the job running a vending machine route in Savannah, Georgia, he asked the company owners for a new vehicle. Not only did he have to buy a new battery and replace the wiring for the brake lights within the first two days, the cable to the roll-up cargo door snapped and nearly took his head off as it crashed down at 200 mph. That was in the first four days.

  He was duly reimbursed for all the work he did on the truck, which allowed him to continue making deliveries. It also kept the company from having to buy him a new vehicle. Casey was non-confrontational by nature, having learned early on that you must pick and choose your battles. The truck was a battle he decided not to fight, so for five years he kept driving it. He figured it was only a matter of time before the engine gave out, and he was stranded on I-95 with melting Zero bars and defrosting Hot Pockets. Surely the company would give in then.

  Casey walked through the automatic door of the K-Mart and made his way to the employee break room. It was small, compared to Home Depot or Best Buy, but unlike some break rooms, he could at least maneuver the dolly to the vending machines without any trouble.

  “Hey, honey. Got anything new this week?” an overweight woman asked him when he came in the room.

  “Afternoon, Mary. I got some new old stuff,” he said as he took out his keys and opened the snack machine.

  Mary laughed. “You crazy, boy. Tanya, ain’t he crazy?” Mary was talking to a younger woman sitting at the table next to her. Tanya nodded her head, but she was more interested in watching Jerry Springer on the television set sitting on a bracket nailed high on the wall. She ate a bag of M&Ms, eyes glued to the screen while Jerry’s stage guards tried to keep a woman from mauling her husband who just informed the world that he was the father of both her sister and her niece.

  Casey made sure he stayed out of Tanya’s view of the television screen. No sense upsetting the quiet one.

  Mary wiped her mouth with a napkin after she took a bite of her sandwich. Without waiting until she was done chewing her food, she asked, “Mr. Casey, you seen that new girl workin’ the register over by perfume? She single, you know.” She smiled mischievously, revealing the contents of her sandwich painted on her tobacco-stained teeth.

  “Come on, Mary. You know I just got over my last relationship.” Casey finished restocking the chips and pulled out the shelf with the chocolate bars. “Besides, I don’t think I’m ready for a commitment.”

  “Boy, I ain’t sayin’ you gotta marry the girl, you should just ask her for a date. ‘Sides, you dated since ole girl left. Don’t tell me you ain’t, cause Tanya here seen you with a girl last month.”

  “That was my sister.”

  Mary almost choked on her sandwich she hadn’t quite finished swallowing. “You got some kinda lovin’ family then, cause Tanya says you was tryin’ to get a taste what that girl had for breakfast, you was kissin’ her so hard! Ain’t that right Tanya?”

  Tanya didn’t answer. Jerry’s bouncers didn’t do a very good job trying to contain the anger of the 200-pound jilted wife, and the cheating husband was knocked out cold on the stage with a torrent of blood gushing from his freshly cracked skull. Casey pushed the shelf in and shut the machine. Maybe the man on Springer was the lucky one, Casey thought. A chair to the head right now would be better than listening to Mary dissect his love life, or lack thereof.

  He locked the snack door and turned to the soda machine next to it. “Mary, why are you always trying to play matchmaker for me?” Casey asked as he started loading Coke bottles.

  “I ain’t always trying to hook you up, Casey. I just think you could use a good woman.”

  “You’re not always trying to hook me up?” He put down the crate of grape Fanta he had just taken off of the dolly and turned to Mary. What about that girl Sherrie from the KFC? Or Laura who works over at the fabric store down the street? Or your cousin Detta?”

  Mary balled up her brown paper lunch bag and tossed it into the trash can behind her. She brushed her hands together, moving the crumbs from her palms to the front of her loud, flower-covered blouse. “And how many of them did you go out with?” she asked, squinting her eyes slightly, her stare boring into Casey’s tired gaze.

  “None.”

  “That’s right. None.” She leaned back in her chair as much as her Twinkie-sculpted figure would allow. “If you did go out with any of them, you might be a settled down family man now. Instead you go chasin’ ho’s in a bar—anything in a short skirt with blonde hair who give you the time of day.”

  “Bullshit, Mary,” Casey said. He didn’t want to fight with Mary. She was about the only one who paid any attention to him on his vending route, and Casey didn’t have many other people he considered friends, or at least friendly. He turned back to the soda machine and closed it up. “I’ve dated exactly three girls since Jennifer left Savannah. Three. The longest for about two months.” He stacked the baskets of unused snacks onto the dolly and turned to leave. “Nobody else feels right. It’s like I had my one chance and let her get away. I guess God meant for me to just be a bachelor, filling your vending machines.”

  “Well, I’m just sayin’ you need to git you a good woman and make a family. You’re too lonely. Mary can tell. It ain’t even one o’clock and you look like a mule done kicked you in the nuts. You need somethin’ else beside your chips and soda, and you keep looking in the past for somethin’ ain’t there no mo’ like you do, you gonna get old real quick. And growin’ old by yourself with nobody there to laugh wit’ when you start havin’ to wear diapers again? That ain’t no fun.” Casey laughed along with Mary.

  He looked at Tanya and tossed a pack of M&Ms in her lap.

  “Thanks,” she said without taking her eyes off of the TV.

  “Look, Mary. I appreciate your concern, but really, I’m fine. I’ll find somebody someday,” Casey reassured Mary. “When I stop comparing every possible girlfriend to Jennifer, then I guess I’ll be ready. Besides, I’m not worth worrying over, trust me. Save all those good intentions for your cu
stomers,” he told her, pointing his thumb over his shoulder toward the door. Casey looked at his watch. “Speaking of which, shouldn’t you be getting back to work?”

  “Honey, they pay me minimum wage. Mary’s only gonna give ‘em minimum work,” she chuckled. “I’ll see you next week Mr. Casey. You take care.”

  Casey moved out the break room door and turned around to pull the dolly through. “You too, Ms. Mary,” he replied with a smile on his face as he walked toward the exit. When the door shut behind him he heard Mary get in her last parting shot.

  “Brown sugar in perfume! She ain’t working this weekend neither!”

  On the way back to the warehouse, Casey’s mind drifted to a happier time in his life. Then, in a flash, it brought him vividly to the worst day of his life. After Jennifer left Savannah, Casey was lost. He couldn’t even concentrate on the good times they had together because his thoughts, more correctly, his emotions, always fast forwarded to the day she left. “I’m a goddamn basket case,” Casey said to no one in particular. Even Paul Harvey replays on the radio couldn’t put him at ease.

  Thank God K-Mart was the last stop of the week.

  He pulled the delivery truck through the gate of the A-1 Self-Storage and parked in front of B-15. The “warehouse” was a medium-size storage garage stuck between 200 similar garages in the one-level town of A-1. Every Tuesday, before he left for his first delivery of the day, he filled out an inventory sheet of what was remaining in the warehouse and an order sheet of what he needed to restock. On Thursday, the boxes of food and crates of soda, along with his paycheck, would magically appear in the warehouse while he was on his route. He never had to talk to anyone.