It took every ounce of control he had to stand still and not bound down that aisle to initiate a quadrant-by-quadrant search for Olive.
Jerry barely paid attention to the vows exchanged by bride and groom.The chaplain spoke about love, marriage, and God’s perfect plans.They slipped the rings on each other’s fingers, then clasped hands and smiled at each other, anticipating the chaplain’s command to kiss.“Phil,” the chaplain started, “you may now kiss—”
Nearby automatic gunfire interrupted the chaplain.
Before Jerry had time to react, the chapel door burst open.“Everyone get down!”the Secret Service Agent he knew as Agent Guthrie yelled.Then the agent raced up the aisle toward Cynthia, his Glock 47 pistol drawn just as rapid gunfire echoed from outside the chapel doors.
The 7.62×39mm caliber bullet is the preferred round used by non-NATO forces and fired by Kalashnikov rifles like the venerable AK and variants such as the SKS or the MAK-90.A tremendous amount of 7.62 automatic gunfire echoed around the chapel from the corridor outside, interwoven with short, controlled bursts of 9mm return fire from right outside the double doors.
Instinctively, Jerry turned toward the direction of the shots.He and Osbourne pushed Judge Osbourne toward the women and stepped in front of them.A federal Marshal named Stalling emerged from the back corner of the room, pistol drawn, and guided Melissa, Judge Osbourne, Lola, and Sharon toward the back of the room.When Agent Guthrie reached Cynthia, Rick Norton stepped out of the pew and ran for the door.
Jerry made sure the wedding party was well away from the door before rushing down the aisle.Before he got to the door, it burst open.The Federal Marshal named Black burst through, staggering to the deck.
Osbourne got to him before Jerry.Blood covered the front of his white shirt.While Osbourne ripped the shirt open, Jerry took the Glock 47 from his limp hand and quickly searched his belt and pockets for spare magazines.As he stood, he rapidly released the nearly spent magazine and replaced it with a full one, then checked the remaining rounds in the first magazine.Three rounds.He slipped that magazine into his pocket, then stood and looked at Peña.
The gunfire had ceased.The sharp smell of cordite and the metallic smell of blood began to waft into the chapel.Peña gestured toward the door.He joined Norton, Ibrahim, and Fisher at the door.Sanders, Waller, Brock, and Peña took up the other side.Out of long habit, they “stacked” at the doorway, prepared to breach.At Peña’s signal, Jerry held the pistol ready, holding it directly in front of his face and chest, his arms forming a relaxed triangle prepared to move in any direction in his working space, and Fisher turned the handle.
He quickly assessed the situation outside.Secret Service Agent Butler, Secret Service Agent Young, and Federal Marshal Nguyen lay on the deck, motionless.Norton and Peña quickly scooped up their discarded weapons: a Glock 47 pistol from Marshal Nguyen, and a Heckler and Koch MP5K fully automatic carbine from Secret Service Agents Butler and Young.These had been disguised in their briefcases.
They then joined Jerry on point.Fisher retrieved another Glock 47 from the downed Secret Service Agent Young, and also retrieved his spare magazines.
They moved out, almost moving in unison, covering every corner and angle like a deadly synchronized dance.Jerry slowly approached the man on the deck of the corridor closest to him.The man lay on his back, his lifeless eyes staring up at the awning above.Chinese?
He glanced at the weapon.Not a Soviet AK.Was that a QBZ-191?He’d trained with one, had fired it even, but months had gone by since that class.If it wasn’t QBZ-191, it was definitely Chinese.Not an SKS, perhaps an AK-103.He held out the pistol he carried, and Swanson immediately took it.Keeping an eye on the four other bodies, he retrieved the rifle, snatched up the muslin bandolier holding six fresh 30-round magazines from around the man’s neck, and slung it around his own neck, then checked for a round in the chamber.
Assured, he held the rifle at the ready.The weight felt comfortable, and Jerry felt more secure with a long gun in his capable hands.He had always found a long gun more to his taste than a pistol, even in close-quarters combat.
“Blessed be the Lord my rock, who trains my hands for war, and my fingers for battle,” Jerry murmured, quoting Psalms 144:1.It was as much of a prayer as he could spare at the moment.
They crouched as they walked.They maneuvered above the entire ship, and by crouching, they stayed out of the visual range of any snipers below.Waller, Swanson, and Fisher each retrieved weapons and ammunition.One by one, they replaced spent or partially spent magazines with fresh magazines.
They found three Chinese military QSW-06 pistols, all equipped with built-in suppressors.Why hadn’t the OPFOR used these in their initial assault?They would have taken them completely by surprise.Jerry offered a quick prayer of thanks that they had not.
Chase Anderson, Fisher’s friend, had joined them, and he and Sanders each retrieved the remaining available rifles.They quickly frisked the bodies, finding radios, phones, and yet more magazines.Four wore the uniform of the cruise line’s crew.On their name tags, the home country listed below three of the men’s names read “Haiti.”
The fifth, a Chinese woman, wore black cotton fatigues with many pockets and no markings or patches.Once they confirmed no one remained alive, Norton opened the elevator door and dragged the Chinese woman’s corpse into the opening to block the doors and keep the elevator from getting called down.
Anderson reached up and knocked the lenses out of the security camera.He and Brock, both taller than the rest, circled, disabling the cameras on the deck and in the elevator.Then they met at the elevator, blocked from view below by the elevator wall.
“No one left alive,” Fisher said.
“All clear,” Swanson added.
Sanders rolled his head on his shoulders.“What the actual?”
“Haitian?”Norton shook his head.“Pirates, maybe?”
“Does it matter?”Jerry asked.Impatience clawed at his gut.“Olive never made it to the wedding.”
“You’re right,” Peña said.“Emma looked for her but didn’t see her.”
He wanted to rip open that door and sprint down those stairs and find her.But he resisted the urge.Right now, he considered three possibilities.One, Olive was dead somewhere on the ship.Two, Olive was hiding somewhere on the ship.Three, Olive was captured somewhere on or off the ship.
He could affect nothing if Olive was dead.If she were alive and hiding or held captive, he could not keep her alive by abandoning his team.What he needed to do instead was stay with them, figure out what all this meant, and affect a positive outcome.
He hated it, though.He wanted Olive alive.He needed Olive alive.
“I want to clear the stairs,” Peña said.He motioned at the stair door.
