Free Checkmate by Tom Clancy Page B

turned his head. Fisher fired. The man’s head snapped to the left and he toppled over. The coffee mug clattered to the deck and rolled away.
    Wrong place, wrong time, friend .
    Fisher holstered the pistol, hurried forward, grabbed the dead man’s collar, dragged him under the nearby chart table, then turned his attention to the helmsman.
    He pulled Tommy the helsman from the chair and bound his hands using a flexi-cuff. Tommy groaned, slowly regaining consciousness. Fisher dragged him to the rear bulkhead and propped him up. Tommy’s eyes fluttered open. “What’s going—”
    “If you want to live, stay quiet,” Fisher whispered. “Nod if you understand.”
    “What? What’s going—”
    Sam slapped him across the face. “Quiet. Nod if you understand.”
    He nodded groggily.
    “Do I have your attention?”
    Another nod.
    “Let’s make sure.”
    From his calf sheath, Fisher drew his only sentimental weapon, a genuine Sykes Fairbairn commando dagger.
    Given to him by an old family friend, one of the original combat instructors at STS 103—also known as the legendary WWII Camp X commando training school—the Sykes was more than an artifact. Finely balanced and razor sharp, it was arguably the finest special ops knife ever made. And at seven inches, the dagger’s double-edge blade and needle-sharp point was the ultimate attention-getter.
    Fisher inserted the tip of the Sykes inside Tommy’s left nostril and stretched it outward. Tommy’s eyes went wide.
    “I’ve got a few questions for you, and one job,” Fisher said. “Do you understand?”
    Tommy nodded.
    “There’s a man in charge on this boat. What’s his name and where is he? Lie to me and I’ll give you a pig snout.”
    Fisher considered pressing him for more information, but it was unlikely someone at Tommy’s level would have the details he needed. Besides, in about thirty minutes, the FBI would be here to squeeze every last bit information from the crew.
    “His . . . his name is Lei. He’s in the captain’s cabin. Down one deck, then forward through the main salon and down the ladder. Last cabin at the end of the passage.”
    “How many men on board?”
    “Six.”
    Make that three now, Fisher thought. “Can the power to the boat be restored anywhere else but here?”
    “Yes, in engine room, but I’m the engineer. It would take a while for anyone else to do it.”
    “Good. In about a minute I’m going to cut the power. When I do, someone will call up here to ask about it, yes?” The man nodded. “You’re going to tell them a circuit blew and that you’ll have it back on in a few minutes. Do you understand?”
    Tommy nodded.
    “If you say anything else, it’ll go badly for you.” To reinforce his point, Fisher lifted the tip of the Sykes, stretching the man’s nostril even more. “Are we clear? You can answer.”
    “Yes, I understand.”
    He sheathed the Sykes, then rolled the man onto his belly, grabbed him by the flexi-cuffs, and stood him up. Fisher opened the electrical panel and threw the main breaker. The bridge went dark. He flipped his trident goggles into place and switched to NV.
    On the intercom, a faint voice called, “Hey, Tommy, what’s going on? We lost power.”
    Fisher pulled Tommy close and whispered, “Show-time. No mistakes.”
    The voice said, “Tommy, you up there? Answer, damnit!”
    Fisher guided Tommy to the console and keyed the intercom’s TALK button.
    Tommy said, “Give me a minute! A circuit blew. I’ll have it back in five minutes.”
    “Well, hurry it up. I’m sitting on the can in the dark.”
    Fisher flipped off the intercom. “Was that Lei?”
    Tommy nodded. “What now?”
    “Now, you get lucky,” Fisher replied.
    He reversed the Sykes and struck Tommy behind the ear with the haft. Fisher dragged his limp body to the chart table and shoved him under with the other man.
    He keyed his subdermal. “Going belowdecks.”

13
    FISHER started down the ladder, then stopped and returned