Deadly Sommer: Nora Sommer Caribbean Suspense - Book One

by Nicholas Harvey

  “Hey,” she answered through the mic attached to the Bluetooth ear pieces.

  “You’re up. How soon can you be at the FBO?”

  Why does this always happen when I’m as far away from my house as possible? she thought. She set off running as there was no point wasting time. She could talk as she ran. Sort of.

  “It’ll take me twenty-one minutes to get home,” she huffed. “Another fifteen to the FBO if I leave without a shower.”

  “Leave without a shower, and pick up the pace, agent,” the man said flatly. “Plane will be waiting on you.”

  Beth was confident she didn’t have sub seven-minute-mile pace in her today, but she kicked it up a notch anyway. It might mean a puke stop, negating any time gained, but she wasn’t one to shy away from a challenge. Her boss might have been in good shape back in his day, but he’d let it slide. Too many years behind a desk instead of in the field had put a sizable paunch around his middle. If she could make the run faster than quoted, she would enjoy giving him a shitty look the next time he stuffed his face with a morning doughnut.

  “Where?” she gasped. “Where am I going?”

  “Grand Cayman,” he replied, “There’ll be more details when you get to the plane, but it’s a kidnapped girl. Daughter of a prominent Florida businessman, so the Governor’s already up our ass over it.”

  Great, she thought, another rich kid putting the scare on Daddy by running off. But there again, she had nothing against a trip to the Cayman Islands. Would have been nice to get a little more time to prepare though. Her ‘go bag’ didn’t contain a swimsuit.

  “Get a move on. I’ll see you at the FBO,” her boss finished.

  “Sir, who’s my partner?” she asked quickly before he ended the call.

  He paused a moment before replying, which told her all she needed to know.

  “Kowalczyk,” he said firmly. “Now run faster.”

  The line went dead as she punched the air in frustration and sped up her pace even more. She now had little incentive to reach the plane any faster, but regardless, the adrenaline and anger made her legs pump harder.

  “Shit on a stick,” she yelled at the seagulls.

  Still wearing her sweat-soaked leggings and racerback tank top, Beth jogged from the FBO terminal building across the tarmac to the waiting Learjet 60, her duffel thrown over a shoulder. She trotted up the steps and hunched over to enter the cabin. She was five feet four inches tall, but the doorway to the sleek FBI plane wasn’t. Kowalczyk looked up from the file he was reading and leaned out of his seat. “She’s finally here, guys, we can leave.”

  One of the pilots stepped from the cockpit and hit the button to close the door as Beth sat in the seat across the aisle from her partner. If she’d harboured any hope that Dan would be civil to her, those hopes were quickly dashed. Juvenile prick, she thought, tossing her bag on the floor in front of her. Her clothing immediately stuck to the plush leather seats. She reached up and directed every air vent she could touch in her direction.

  “Boss leave already?” she asked.

  Dan didn’t look up. “Yup.”

  The engines fired up and Beth looked around for her copy of the file. It was sitting on the rear-facing seat in front of Kowalczyk. He clearly wasn’t going to offer it to her, and she sure as hell wasn’t asking him to hand it over, so she got up and picked up the file. Sitting back down, she hoped her sweat was dripping on his fancy grey suit. Beth buckled in and opened the paperwork, which consisted of a meagre few pages. In the hour and fifteen minutes the flight would take, she expected more details to be forthcoming, but for now she settled in to read what little they had.

  As the plane taxied and the co-pilot talked back and forth with Ground Control, arranging their priority take-off, Beth raised an eyebrow. For a twenty-year-old daughter of a wealthy family, Skylar Briggs had already accumulated more than a few scrapes with the law. Interestingly, charges against her had a habit of being dismissed or withdrawn. Daddy must indeed have friends in high places, she pondered.

  “Fucking rich kids,” Kowalczyk mumbled just loud enough for her to hear. He tossed the file on the seat in front of him and pulled earbuds from his go bag.

  For once, Beth agreed with him.

  6

  A Heavy Weight

  Jacob picked his way around too many vehicles at the end of Batabano Road, leading to the public dock. Several news teams filmed us passing by and people shouted a myriad of questions or statements. Maybe it was encouragement. I couldn’t tell, and I kept my head down. After years of hiding from public attention, I would rather have a root canal, mammogram, and pelvic exam all at once than face cameras and interviews. Near the end of the road, by Calypso Grill, a police barrier stopped anyone going any further, and I was relieved when they dragged it aside for us to come straight through.

  The small car park for Calypso Grill and Tukka West, another waterfront restaurant by the dock, was full of police vehicles. The dock was nothing more than a single boat ramp with piers extending into the North Sound on either side. When I got out of the car, the first person I saw was my friend, AJ Bailey. She’s more like a big sister and best friend, all rolled into a petite tattooed English woman with purple streaks in her blonde hair. If there was one person I could be in this world instead of me, it would be AJ. Except I’d talk less. She walked over and hugged me and I wished we could stay like that all day and let the world continue its madness around us.

  “Got yourself in a bit of a pickle here,” she said, letting me go and stepping back.

  I shrugged my shoulders, reluctantly returning to the real world. “I’m lucky that way.”

  I could tell she wanted to tell me I didn’t have to do this, but we both knew I did. AJ would trade places with me in a heartbeat, but that wasn’t possible either, and I wouldn’t let her anyway. Her soulmate is still alive and well. She went to speak, but I interrupted her.

  “I know,” I said firmly. “It’s okay, let’s just get on with it.”

  AJ nodded as Whittaker approached us.

  “You probably saw, a little earlier he told us to have scuba gear for you,” he said. “So I had AJ bring your gear, and she and Reg are on standby in case they need to go in the water.”

  Reg was AJ’s friend and mentor who also ran a dive boat operation, as she did. They both assisted the police when divers were needed. I was a certified divemaster, thanks to AJ training me, which apparently was key in at least the first challenge.

  “You’re right,” I said to the detective. “He chose me.”

  “Jensen Massey,” Whittaker replied. “That’s his name. We were able to match facial recognition to entry records at immigration. And yes, all evidence so far points towards him selecting you in particular.”

  We walked towards the boat ramp where my scuba gear was set up and Reg was waiting.

  “How could he know I would walk into the house first?” I wondered aloud. “I didn’t know until we arrived there. If Jacob hadn’t called in on the radio, he probably would have beaten me to the door.”

  “We have limited resources when it comes to technology forensics, but the head of our Crime Scene Investigation Unit is pretty handy with computers,” Whittaker replied. “She’s taken a look at the tablet, camera and other electronics he’d set up at the house. It looks like he had another version he could have played if you weren’t the first in the room, which still selected you.”

  Knowing I’d been hand picked by a kidnapper gave me the creeps from my hair follicles down to my toenails. “So all he had to know was it would be Jacob and me patrolling The Shores this morning.”

  “Exactly,” Whittaker affirmed as we reached the dive gear.

  “Morning, Nora,” Reg greeted me in his gruff London accent. “I’ve put a second, smaller dive knife in your left side BCD pocket in case he makes you ditch the one on your cummerbund.”

  “Thanks.” I looked down at what I was now wearing and wished I’d thought more about concealing weapons. I h
ad a snug-fitting Lycra shirt over a one-piece swimsuit and water shoes on my feet. I had no idea what to expect after whatever was about to take place in the water, but at some point I’d be back on land and would need shoes. Hopefully.

  “He’s back on the feed,” Jacob shouted, holding up his mobile.

  We huddled around to watch as the man I now knew as Jensen Massey stood before the camera, blocking our view of his captive. The counter in the corner of the screen read 28,000 and something. Then 29,000 and something. Even the hundreds digit had almost become a blur. I needed to stop looking at the number and picturing half the population of the island watching the feed. It was freaking me out.

  “It’s time to get started, ladies and gentlemen,” Massey began. “Our contestant, Nora, will enter the water and face her first challenge.” He took a step to the side and waved a hand towards Skylar Briggs as though presenting the grand prize on a TV game show. “And here is the reward for the challenge. If Nora successfully negotiates the challenge, and nobody breaks the rules or interferes, this young lady will remain intact.”

  I noticed her wrists were now strapped tightly to the arms of the chair.

  “If you fail the challenge, fail to follow the instructions precisely, or your friends break my rules,” he said, stepping back and tapping on the young woman’s hand, “then fingers will be lost.”

  Skylar quickly curled her fingers under, balling them into fists, and squealed behind the duct tape over her mouth. She fidgeted in the chair, which appeared to be fixed in place. Massey stepped back towards the camera.

  “Nora, you have five minutes to get ready before you’ll enter the water down the boat ramp, using scuba gear. Follow the channel and you’ll find your next instruction waiting for you.”

  “Detective, sir!” came a voice shouting from the roof of Calypso Grill. “I think I’ve found one!”

  We all looked over at a policeman from the tactical unit atop the roof. He was pointing to something in front of him.

  Whittaker yelled back. “Cover it with your hand.”

  I turned back to the video feed and realised Massey had stopped talking. He was staring off to the side of the camera. He looked back at the lens.

  “Rules. Here’s the first rule, Detective Whittaker. Yes, I know who you are. Do not interfere with my cameras.” He looked to the side of the camera filming him again where he presumably had some kind of display with his camera feeds. I wondered how many he’d set up and how long that must have taken.

  Whittaker waved to the policeman on the roof. “Leave it be, constable.”

  “Thank you, detective,” Massey said. “A few more rules. Nothing in the air, no helicopters, planes or drones,” he continued, pacing back and forth in front of the camera. “Nobody accompanies Nora, nobody follows Nora, and nobody enters the water. You may position a single patrol boat, one half mile from shore to keep all other boats away. Is that understood, detective?”

  A picture-in-picture smaller window popped up in the top right corner of the feed. It was from the camera on the roof aimed at the boat ramp. And all of us. We watched on the mobile as Whittaker turned to the camera on the roof and gave a thumbs-up.

  “Good. Four minutes, Nora. You’d better get ready,” Massey said calmly.

  I tore myself away from the small phone screen, but couldn’t help catching a last look at the counter. It was over 30,000. That was a crazy number of people already following the drama. I felt the tingling nerves I used to get before swim competitions in school and sailboat races. My legs seemed to lose all their strength and stability and I instantly felt out of breath, standing still. As unreal as all this seemed, it was actually happening, and happening right now. Someone’s hand was on my arm.

  “Come on, let’s get you geared up,” AJ said softly.

  Reg picked up the dive tank with my buoyancy control device, or BCD, already fitted. I slipped my arms through the straps and he let the hefty weight hang on my shoulders. I pulled the cummerbund around and fastened the clasp. My gear felt much heavier than normal and I turned to AJ, who I presumed had set it up.

  “I think there’s…”

  “Shush,” she whispered back. “I loaded you with six one-pound weights, three each side. Use them as markers if you can.”

  I nodded and fastened the chest strap.

  Whittaker stepped in front of me and put his hands on my shoulders. “Do not put yourself at risk, Nora. Understand? If this challenge is life threatening, turn around and come back. We’ll negotiate our way through this.”

  I nodded, but it seemed like I’d be guaranteeing another human’s death if I gave up. I didn’t know shit about Skylar Briggs, and it was probably better that I didn’t, as her life appeared to be in my hands. If she was a chip off the old block, I doubted I would bother getting in the water at all.

  “Buy us as much time as possible, okay?” Whittaker continued. “Delay whenever possible. Every clue he leaves gives us a better chance to find him. He can’t be far from where we’re standing right now. FBI agents are on their way to help and time buys us options, okay? He’s not allowed me to speak directly with him yet, but that’s my highest priority. If we can speak with him, we can find out what he wants from all this nonsense. Opening communication is key.” He smiled warmly. “Good luck and we’ll see you when you come out.”

  I nodded again, but his words made me think. The kidnapper had talked about four challenges. Would my instructions bring me back out to the boat ramp where we’d set off for another location? That didn’t seem right in my mind, and I was about to say something when Jacob spoke, holding up his mobile.

  “Hey, he’s back on, I think it’s time.”

  “Grab a beer and some popcorn everybody,” Massey said, managing a slightly more dramatic tone. “The first challenge begins now.”

  AJ handed me my fins and mask. “Good luck, Nora, be careful. Don’t do anything too… Viking-like, okay?”

  “Okay,” I said, as there wasn’t much else to say. I walked down the boat ramp towards the North Sound, relieved my legs were cooperating and moving my body along, but I felt a desperate need to pee from the nerves. When I reached chest-deep water, I picked up one foot and slipped a fin on. I repeated the process for the other foot, then turned for a last look at the crowd watching me from dry land.

  “AJ, my mobile is in the car,” I shouted. “I hope my parents aren’t watching this shit-show, but if they are…”

  If they are, what? I had no clue what to say. Hi Mum and Dad, hope you’re having a good day, I’m off underwater on the whim of a lunatic, call you later. Maybe.

  “I’ll let them know,” AJ shouted back. “Don’t worry, just be careful.”

  I guessed that would have to do.

  The sound of someone shouting came from across the car park at the police barrier, and I saw Briggs waving his arms and realised it was him yelling at the policemen. The camera crews didn’t know whether to film him or film me. It was a good incentive for me to leave. I turned to the clear blue water, pulled my mask in place, put the regulator in my mouth, and slipped under the surface. The nerves immediately evaporated in the quiet of the undersea world, replaced by an overwhelming sense of loneliness. I had no one to talk to, no one to listen to, and no one to help me. If I screwed this up, a young woman would be mutilated. The magnitude of the consequences weighed far more than the extra ballast AJ had given me.

  7

  I Know Him

  Detective Whittaker watched Nora disappear into the North Sound and told himself his police officer was doing the job she had signed up for, as any constable would do. But Nora wasn’t just any officer fulfilling her duties. She was the young woman he had persuaded to join the force under his tutelage. Only three weeks into active duty, she was being thrown to the wolves.

  Donovan Briggs’s bellowing pulled him from his concerns, and he turned to face the man marching across the car park.

  “What the hell are you doing, Whittaker? The FBI should be handl
ing this.”

  The detective let the angry man approach without responding, allowing him to blow off steam, hoping he’d calm down after a good rant.

  “Well?” Briggs shouted as he stomped up uncomfortably close to Whittaker.

  “I’m in touch with the FBI, Mr Briggs. They’re on their way, but won’t be here until this afternoon. I could wait until they land if you’d prefer, but if this fellow, Massey, is to be believed, your daughter will be at least one finger short of the number she currently possesses,” he said calmly. “While we figure out where he may have taken her, I’ve chosen to put my constable at risk in an effort to buy time and keep Skylar intact.”

  Whittaker walked towards a RCIPS-marked pop-up tent that had been erected in the car park, indicating for Briggs to follow him. “I’m sure the FBI will provide us with helpful insight, as they deal with these situations more often than we do. But this is still our jurisdiction, Mr Briggs, and as such, I must handle the case using my best judgement.”

  They arrived at the tent where folding tables had been set up and the Internet video feed was streaming to a large computer monitor. Several other police personnel were busy at computers.

  “Do you know the kidnapper, Mr Briggs?” Whittaker asked, as they looked at the live picture of Skylar Briggs tied to the chair. “His name is Jensen Massey.”

  Briggs shook his head. “How would I know him?” he blasted back.

  “Our information tells us he’s from the Tampa Bay, St Petersburg area,” Whittaker said in a pleasant tone. “Isn’t that where you live and your business is located?”