Without remorse - Tom Clancy [241]
'Wait a minute!' That was a new theory entirely, a contract assassin right out of the movies, and those people simply did not exist. But Douglas just headed out of the office, ending the chance for a discussion that might have demonstrated that each of the detectives was half wrong and half right.
Weapons practice started under the watchful eyes of the command team, plus whatever sailors could find an excuse to come aft. The Marines told themselves that the two newly arrived admirals and the new CIA puke had to be as jet-lagged as they'd been upon arrival, not knowing that Maxwell, Greer, and Ritter had flown a VIP transport most of the way, taking the Pacific in easier hops, with drinks and comfortable seats.
Trash was tossed over the side, with the ship moving at a stately five knots. The Marines perforated the various blocks of wood and paper sacks in an exercise that was more a matter of entertainment for the crew than real training value. Kelly took his turn, controlling his CAR-15 with two- and three-round bursts, and hitting the target. When it was over the men safed their weapons and headed back to their quarters. A chief stopped Kelly as he was reentering the superstructure.
'You're the guy going in alone?'
'You're not supposed to know that.'
The chief machinist's mate just chuckled. 'Follow me, sir.' They headed forward, diverting from the Marine detail and finding themselves in Ogden's impressive machine shop. It had to be impressive, as it was designed not merely to service the ship herself, but also the needs of whatever mobile equipment might be embarked. On one of the worktables, Kelly saw the sea sled he'd be using to head up the river.
'We've had this aboard since San Diego, sir. Our chief electrician and I been playing with it. We've stripped it down, cleaned everything, checked the batteries - they're good ones, by the way. It's got new seals, so it oughta keep the water out. We even tested it in the well deck. The guarantee says five hours. Deacon and I worked on it. It's good for seven,' the chief said with quiet pride. 'I figured that might come in handy.'
'It will, Chief. Thank you.'
'Now let's see this gun.' Kelly handed it over after a moment's hesitation, and the chief started taking it apart. In fifteen seconds it was field-stripped, but the chief didn't stop there.
'Hold on!' Kelly snapped as the front-sight assembly came off.
'It's too noisy, sir. You are going in alone, right?'
'Yes, I am.'
The machinist didn't even look up. 'You want me to quiet this baby down or do you like to advertise?'
'Yon can't do that with a rifle.'
'Says who? How far you figure you have to shoot?'
'Not more than a hundred yards, probably not that much. Hell, I don't even want to have to use it -'
''Cuz it's noisy, right?' The chief smiled. 'You want to watch me, sir? You're gonna learn something.'
The chief walked the barrel over to a drill press. The proper bit was already in place, and under the watchful eyes of Kelly and two petty officers he drilled a series of holes in the forward six inches of the hollow steel rod.
'Now, you can't silence a supersonic bullet all the way, but what you can do is trap all the gas, and that'll surely help.'
'Even for a high-power cartridge?'
'Gonzo, you all set up?'
'Yeah, Chief,' a second-class named Gonzales replied. The rifle barrel went onto a lathe, which cut a shallow but lengthy series of threads.
'I already got this made up.' The chief held up a can-type suppressor, fully three inches in diameter and fourteen inches long. It screwed nicely onto the end of the barrel. A gap in the can allowed reattachment of the front sights, which also locked the suppressor fully in place.
'How long did you work on this?'
'Three days, sir. When I looked over the arms we embarked, it wasn't