Free Seal Team Seven #20: Attack Mode by Keith Douglass

most northern one. Be there in about ten minutes. We’re doing a high fly-over at fifteen so if there is anything on any of these specks of dust out here, they won’t even know we were up here.”
    “Good idea, Skycap. Tell us soonest. Home Base out.”
    Murdock looked around the CIC and nodded. “Yeah, Captain, I know, now we sit and wait again.”
    Five minutes later one of the crewmen came into the CIC.
    “Captain, sir. Communications has some civilian on the international hailing frequency. Says he wants to talk to the U.S. Navy or the missile base on Kwajalein.”
    “Patch him through here, Petty Officer. Put it on the speaker.”
    A moment later a scratchy voice came into the CIC.
    “Not sure who I’m talking to. My name is Keanae. I’m on board the
Willowwind.
I know Don Stroh. A lot of people know about this ship. We’re now anchored at some small island. My guess is one of the northern Marshalls, probably Sibylla Island. And I’m in deep trouble here.” Before he could say anything else, they heard two gunshots sound over the radio, then the transmission cut off.

6
    Willowwind
    Sibylla Atoll, Marshall Islands
    Keanae dropped the microphone when the bullet dug into his right shoulder. The second shot missed him. He spun around toward the door of the radio room, grabbed a heavy notebook off the counter, and threw it at the gunman, who still stood in the open hatch. The notebook absorbed the next shot, then slammed into the terrorist’s chest. The blow surprised and hurt the gunman, who almost dropped his handgun.
    In the three seconds that the man hesitated before he brought up the weapon for another shot, Keanae jolted forward three steps and tackled him around the waist, driving him backward against the bulkhead. His skull crashed into the hard metal. The shooter dropped the weapon and slid down the bulkhead, unconscious.
    Keanae knew the three shots would bring other crewmen on the run, other hijackers. He scooped up the revolver, darted down the companionway to a ladder, vanished down a deck, and then rushed to his nearest hideout. This one was in the kitchen, and with the total cooperation of the three cooks. No hijacker ever came into the kitchen. In the canned goods and dry good storage compartment, he had moved cases of canned goods and boxes of Corn Flakes and fashioned a concealed area large enough to lie down in. At least in this spot he didn’t have to worry about food or drink. He let out a sigh and tried to relax. He had contacted someone; he wasn’t quite sure who. It sounded like military, which would be either theNavy or the men at the missile listening site. Either one would do. Now he had to wait and see what developed.
    He had intended to hit the radio room at three a . m . But Shigahara must have been worried about the radio and its potential to hurt him. He had shut down the radio and put three men in the room. One could be sleeping, but two had to be awake and alert and armed at all times from midnight to six a . m . Keanae thought of a diversion, maybe a small fire in one of the cabins, but he gave up on that one. He didn’t want to endanger the crew, and a fire on a ship like this might take off and nobody could stop it.
    That meant he had to chance a daylight hit. Two of the hijackers went off duty at six a . m . and he moved in. He had opened the hatch silently. The man was at the console, his back to the door. He should have shot him with his silenced .45. Instead he threw two empty tin cans from the kitchen to the man’s left. The hijacker whirled that way and gave Keanae time to surge into the room and club him with the automatic. He went down and out. Keanae wasted a few seconds binding his hands and feet, then turned on the radio and began sending out his calls on the international hailing frequency. The tenth time he made the call he had a contact. They asked him to identify himself, and he had just got his message through and his location when the hatch must have been