with the tails out. On his head he had bill cap touting the New York Yankees. He pulled it down and put on a pair of light-colored sunglasses. Then he figured that was too much and left the sunglasses with his other gear behind a case of pickles.
He felt dizzy for just a moment as he picked up the tray. That damn lead slug in his shoulder was starting to affect him. The tray was heavier than he’d imagined. Wally said there were always three entrees on the tray. He had the .45 stuffed in his belt under the shirt, which was just long enough to cover it. He wasn’t sure how hewould do it, but it would get done. He’d have to play it as it fell. Keanae walked the familiar corridors and up the ladders to Officer Country and knocked on the captain’s hatch.
“Yeah?” A voice barely came through the heavy steel.
“Captain’s dinner is here,” Keanae bellowed so Shigahara could hear him.
The man inside said something that Keanae couldn’t understand, and then the hatch opened outward a crack. Keanae nudged it toward him with the fingers on his right hand, then pulled it open. He stepped just inside the hatch and held out the tray.
“Put it on the table, idiot,” Shigahara snapped.
Keanae took it a dozen feet to the table bolted to the wall, then turned, the .45 already out. The CIA man was surprised to see that the hijacker had his own weapon out and pointing in Keanae’s general direction. Keanae fired twice as fast as he could. The first round caught Shigahara in the chest and slammed him backward in his chair. The second round was higher from the surge upward of the weapon’s recoil. The second round hit Jomo Shigahara just above his nose, tore off half of his scalp, and pulverized massive amounts of his brain centers.
Keanae hadn’t heard the smaller gun fire, but he felt the round jolt into his right thigh and nearly knock him down. He stayed on his feet and felt the dizziness come back. For a moment he looked at the hijacker where he had flopped backward in the soft chair. The hijacking was over. Now if he could just get up to the bridge.
It took him fifteen minutes moving along the familiar corridors and ladders, until he pushed open the bridge hatch, then yelled at the chief mate and fell forward on his face.
When Keanae came back to consciousness five minutes later he still held the .45 clamped in his hand, but his finger wasn’t on the trigger. They had lifted him into a chair and somebody had bound up his leg wound. Chief Mate Stillman hovered over him.
“About time you came back to see us. I had a mancheck the captain’s cabin. Nice shooting. Now what the hell are we supposed to do?”
Keanae shook his head to try to clear it. He was on the bridge. Yes, and with Chief Mate Stillman. Slowly his eyes focused and he took a deep breath. His leg hurt and his shoulder seemed to be on fire.
“What should we do now?”
“Storm still on?”
“Right, looks like a big one. We’ll make Bikar atoll before morning.”
“Radio the Navy. Tell them where we are. We’ll wait for them at Bikar to reclaim the U.S. property and get this tub on its way back to San Diego.”
Chief Stillman looked away. He shook his head. “Keanae, I’m sorry to say that we can’t call in the Navy. This afternoon Shigahara went into the communications room and shot holes in every piece of radio equipment down there. We can’t transmit to anyone, nor can we receive. We’re deaf right now to the outside world.”
It took Keanae a while to absorb what the chief mate had told him. He blinked, then tried to sit up straighter, but when he put pressure on his left arm, he let out a groan.
“You said we don’t have any radio?”
“None at all. He must have been expecting to change ships or something at Bikar.”
“Okay. When we get to Bikar we can use their radio. The Navy can’t be far behind us.” He pushed up with his right hand. Yes, He felt better now. Shigahara was dead. Now for the other four. “Round up the
He felt dizzy for just a moment as he picked up the tray. That damn lead slug in his shoulder was starting to affect him. The tray was heavier than he’d imagined. Wally said there were always three entrees on the tray. He had the .45 stuffed in his belt under the shirt, which was just long enough to cover it. He wasn’t sure how hewould do it, but it would get done. He’d have to play it as it fell. Keanae walked the familiar corridors and up the ladders to Officer Country and knocked on the captain’s hatch.
“Yeah?” A voice barely came through the heavy steel.
“Captain’s dinner is here,” Keanae bellowed so Shigahara could hear him.
The man inside said something that Keanae couldn’t understand, and then the hatch opened outward a crack. Keanae nudged it toward him with the fingers on his right hand, then pulled it open. He stepped just inside the hatch and held out the tray.
“Put it on the table, idiot,” Shigahara snapped.
Keanae took it a dozen feet to the table bolted to the wall, then turned, the .45 already out. The CIA man was surprised to see that the hijacker had his own weapon out and pointing in Keanae’s general direction. Keanae fired twice as fast as he could. The first round caught Shigahara in the chest and slammed him backward in his chair. The second round was higher from the surge upward of the weapon’s recoil. The second round hit Jomo Shigahara just above his nose, tore off half of his scalp, and pulverized massive amounts of his brain centers.
Keanae hadn’t heard the smaller gun fire, but he felt the round jolt into his right thigh and nearly knock him down. He stayed on his feet and felt the dizziness come back. For a moment he looked at the hijacker where he had flopped backward in the soft chair. The hijacking was over. Now if he could just get up to the bridge.
It took him fifteen minutes moving along the familiar corridors and ladders, until he pushed open the bridge hatch, then yelled at the chief mate and fell forward on his face.
When Keanae came back to consciousness five minutes later he still held the .45 clamped in his hand, but his finger wasn’t on the trigger. They had lifted him into a chair and somebody had bound up his leg wound. Chief Mate Stillman hovered over him.
“About time you came back to see us. I had a mancheck the captain’s cabin. Nice shooting. Now what the hell are we supposed to do?”
Keanae shook his head to try to clear it. He was on the bridge. Yes, and with Chief Mate Stillman. Slowly his eyes focused and he took a deep breath. His leg hurt and his shoulder seemed to be on fire.
“What should we do now?”
“Storm still on?”
“Right, looks like a big one. We’ll make Bikar atoll before morning.”
“Radio the Navy. Tell them where we are. We’ll wait for them at Bikar to reclaim the U.S. property and get this tub on its way back to San Diego.”
Chief Stillman looked away. He shook his head. “Keanae, I’m sorry to say that we can’t call in the Navy. This afternoon Shigahara went into the communications room and shot holes in every piece of radio equipment down there. We can’t transmit to anyone, nor can we receive. We’re deaf right now to the outside world.”
It took Keanae a while to absorb what the chief mate had told him. He blinked, then tried to sit up straighter, but when he put pressure on his left arm, he let out a groan.
“You said we don’t have any radio?”
“None at all. He must have been expecting to change ships or something at Bikar.”
“Okay. When we get to Bikar we can use their radio. The Navy can’t be far behind us.” He pushed up with his right hand. Yes, He felt better now. Shigahara was dead. Now for the other four. “Round up the
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