A Ryan Weller Box Set Books 1 - 3

by Evan Graver

  “Jenny, follow that bird!” Mango shouted to his wife. She and Greg were on the bridge. Greg had his Barrett 98B bolt-action sniper rifle with him to act as a spotter and backup shooter.

  The big boat didn’t hesitate when she pushed the throttles forward and the two massive nineteen-hundred horsepower Caterpillar C32 diesels shoved the big boat up onto plane. Mango slid backward. He braced his foot against the tuna tower and grabbed the front edge of the roof. He glanced to his right to see how close he was to the sweep of the radar antenna positioned in the middle of the bridge’s roof.

  Mango stared at the laser range finder attached to the rifle. The tiny red numbers told him the bird was a quarter of a mile away and widening the gap. His heart sank with each increase of the numbers.

  He turned his head to look for the Peggy Lynn. She was steaming toward the sinking hulk of Kilroy’s ship. Two other vessels were also speeding toward the wreck to render assistance. They could deal with Northwest Passage. He needed to concentrate on not letting the helicopter out of sight.

  Mango glanced at the range finder. The bird was a half a mile away on their starboard side. If it got to land, they might never find Ryan again. Mango didn’t know who was flying the bird, but it wasn’t Short Rick. In the limited time he’d known Rick Hayes, he’d seen the loyalty he had for Greg and Ryan, and to an extent, himself. The man wouldn’t betray them.

  He snugged his rifle to his shoulder and sighted on the helicopter. He had only seconds to make a shot that would distract the pilot, but not bring down the bird. With luck he could get the pilot to turn the chopper, and he and Greg could shoot the bad guys, giving Ryan a chance to escape.

  The helicopter angled to the southwest while Jennifer curved Dark Water toward its flight path. Through the scope, he could see the pilot’s window and part of the helicopter’s windshield. Beneath him, the boat surged on the water, bouncing on the slight waves. He determined the pattern, calculating the timing of the shot. Breathe in, let out, hold, squeeze, BANG!

  He wasn’t sure if he hit anything. Shooting from a moving platform at a moving target was the hardest shot to make. He had spent years of his life training for this exact scenario, sent thousands of rounds down range to learn how to fire a sniper rifle from a boat, all so he could save Ryan’s ass once again. Mango smirked as he racked the bolt and threw another bullet into the chamber. He breathed, aimed, fired. Reload, breathe, aim, fire. Reload, breathe, aim, fire. Maybe just one bullet would find its mark.

  Suddenly, the helicopter darted to the left, sweeping around in a tight arc directly toward Dark Water.

  Chapter Forty-Two

  Ryan closed his eyes and took a deep breath. Assess the situation, use what the bad guys are giving you. The words of an old senior chief came floating back to him, “Never believe you’re beat, even when the cards are down.”

  He was free, his hands and feet unrestrained. They’d stripped him of his CRKT tactical folding knife and tossed it onto the floor beside Short Rick’s inert form. He’d left his guns with Dennis and Don. Eduardo Sanchez was the leader of this small group. The second Mexican was much bigger. He hefted the M60 with ease. The third sat in the co-pilot’s seat, pointing a pistol at David Pinchina, who kept glancing over his shoulder at Ryan with a pleading look on his face. Ryan figured the pilot would be all right once they landed, and he completed the job. He was probably more afraid of the punishment Joulie would give him than what these dudes would do.

  The helicopter jerked abruptly, throwing everyone off balance. David swung it hard left and brought it to a hover. Out the door, Ryan could see Dark Water charging at them. Mango lay sprawled on the bridge roof behind his sniper rifle.

  Ryan glanced down at Short Rick then searched for his knife with his eyes. It was an orange-handled, Kit Carson-designed tanto blade with a seat belt cutter on the thumb flip and a window breaking point on the butt. It should have been easy to spot on the dark metal surface of the helicopter cabin, but Ryan didn’t see it.

  The burly Mexican stood with the M60 and maneuvered to the door. He kicked Rick as he braced his feet. Ryan could see Rick’s reaction and was glad he couldn’t hear the cry of pain.

  Just as Burly brought the M60 up to his hip to fire, Rick whipped his arm out, the orange handle of the knife gripped in his fist. He stabbed the blade deep into Burly’s thigh. Burly twisted, grabbed at the knife, and dropped the gun. Ryan vaulted up, grabbing an overhead support tube running from the roof to the seat backs like he was going to do a chin up, and swung his legs through the arc. His feet slammed into Burly’s back and Burly flew from the helicopter. He twisted in space, screaming as he fell.

  Ryan glanced down at Rick and saw the knife was still in the man’s hand. The blade dripped with dark blood. How he had held on to it, Ryan didn’t know. He turned to face Eduardo, hands still on the support tube.

  A fine mist of blood suddenly covered the windshield. The head of the terrorist in the copilot’s seat lolled to the side, missing a large piece of skull. Bone, hair, blood, and brain matter coated David Pinchina’s face and headset. Pinchina screamed as he tried to wipe away the gore with both hands. The helicopter lurched sideways without the pilot’s input on the controls.

  The sudden shift of the chopper swung everyone to the port side. Ryan’s feet flew out from under him as he clutched the support bar. Eduardo Sanchez was in the middle of drawing his pistol when he stumbled forward. Ryan wrapped his legs around the man’s torso, pinning his arms to his sides. He squeezed, getting his ankles locked together behind the Mexican. Eduardo flailed his body, trying to free himself from the crushing forces of Ryan’s thighs.

  “David! David!” Ryan screamed despite the rushing wind of the rotor blades and the howling of the two jet engines.

  For some reason, the pilot glanced over his shoulder at Ryan, who yelled, “You got this. Don’t let us die!”

  David looked out the window and realized the gravity of the situation. He grasped the controls, adding power with the throttles and correcting the course of flight with the cyclic and collective. The helicopter tilted to port as David overcorrected. The g-forces keeping Ryan’s body parallel to the helicopter’s deck were suddenly gone and his torso sagged as he kept a tight grip on the support bar and the wiggling Mexican.

  Ryan saw movement beside him. Rick had the Mexican’s gun in his hand. They made eye contact and Rick nodded. Ryan unclenched his legs from around Eduardo’s waist and let go of the support bar at the same time. He fell to the seats. Eduardo continued to struggle against the forces no longer restraining him. He looked up and saw Rick’s outstretched hand. The gun boomed, and Eduardo staggered backward. He grabbed a support bar to keep himself up right. Rick pulled the trigger twice more, then a fourth, and a fifth time. Eduardo’s body recoiled from the impact of each bullet.

  Lying on the seats, Ryan watched Eduardo try to remain upright. The will to fight drained out of his body, leaking away like the blood staining the steel deck plates. Then Eduardo let go of the support bar and fell backward out the open door, summersaulting through the air to the sea below.

  Rick dropped the pistol, and it clattered to the deck. His head drooped, and he rested his forehead on his outstretched arm. Ryan bent down to check Rick’s pulse. It was still beating strong through his carotid artery. He picked up the gun and shoved it into his back pocket. He never liked sticking a gun down the back of his pants. In his experience, the gun always wiggled loose, and he didn’t want a Glock wedged in his butt crack where it wasn’t easily accessible.

  He tapped David on the shoulder and motioned toward Peggy Lynn, circling where Northwest Passage had gone down. David flew the Bell toward the sportfisher, which had raced away from what could have been a potential helicopter crash site. Ryan turned back to Rick, who was struggling to sit up. He grabbed the man under the armpits and hoisted him into a seat. He strapped the seat belt around Rick’s waist and reached up for the headset with microphone boom hanging beside the door. He settled it over
his ears and grabbed another one for Rick. It felt good to block out the constant blast of noise.

  Ryan keyed the internal communications system, and asked, “What happened, David?”

  David responded over the ICS, “We were jumped as soon as we walked into the hangar. They beat Meyse Rick to get information. I was left alone because I can fly.”

  “So can Rick.”

  “He told me this. They did not know.”

  “How many other people did you see?”

  “Just these three.”

  “Got any water in here?”

  “Look in the cooler behind the seats. I’m not sure if there’s any in it. They did not allow me to load anything before takeoff.”

  Ryan found the small cooler and pulled out two lukewarm waters. He handed one to Rick who stared dumbly at it. Ryan took the cap off for him and Rick managed to dribble some liquid past his split lips. More ran down his chin than into his mouth, the water washing away some of the dried blood.

  Ryan turned to look out the open door. The white-and-blue fiberglass and aluminum of Dark Water glistened in the sun. He keyed the ICS and said to David, “Get me VHF channel thirty-five.” It was the channel DWR traditionally operated on and Ryan knew Greg would be monitoring it.

  David paged up through the digital numbers on his radio. “Got it.”

  Ryan pressed the radio button on his headset. “Dark Water, Dark Water, this is Ryan.”

  “Copy, Ryan,” Greg replied.

  “We have control of the helicopter and are flying to where Northwest went down.”

  “Copy, we’re headed that way too. What’s going on up there?”

  “Kilroy tried to double dip. Some Aztlán cartel clowns jumped Rick and David at the hanger. They took control of the helicopter and came to pick me up. They beat Rick pretty good. He’ll be all right though.”

  “Copy that.”

  David brought the helicopter to a hover over the wreck site. Peggy Lynn and several other boats were busy picking up flotsam from the wreck. Ryan recognized them as the ones that had acted as Joulie’s guard boats. Rafted to Peggy Lynn was the Viking sportfisher. Travis and Stacey had commandeered the Yellowfin center console. Stacey was at the helm while Travis used a boat hook to fish debris from the water. The two boats had been in the blocks on Northwest Passage’s deck when she’d gone down, and Ryan guessed they’d drifted clear when the mothership sank beneath them.

  The sea was still churning with air belching from the wreckage, but Ryan could make out Northwest Passage’s outline through the water. She had broken apart in the middle and lay on her port side. He moved his gaze to the red hull of the salvage vessel. Emily and Don waved at him as he leaned out of the helicopter’s open door. It seemed too surreal.

  “Get me channel sixteen, David.”

  The pilot changed channels and said, “Ready for you.”

  “Peggy Lynn, Peggy Lynn, this is helicopter off your starboard side.”

  “Go ahead, helicopter.”

  “Any sign of Kilroy?”

  “Yes, one of the other boats fished his body out.”

  “Copy that,” Ryan said. “Everyone else all right?”

  “Yes, sir,” Dennis replied.

  “We’ll be back in a shortly, we have an injured man who requires medical attention, out.”

  “Roger that, out.”

  David slewed the helicopter sideways in a turn and headed for land. Ryan looked over at Dark Water speeding toward the scene and saw a man at the top of the tuna tower waving at them with both arms. At the same time, squelch broke on the radio.

  “Ryan, this is Jennifer, do you copy?”

  “I got you.”

  “Mango wants you to pick him up.”

  “Say again.”

  “Mango says to bring the helicopter over the tower, and he’ll climb aboard. He wants to help with security, or something.”

  “Copy that,” Ryan replied. Even over the radio static, Ryan could hear her rolling her eyes. He clicked the ICS and said to David, “Can you bring the bird over the tuna tower, so we can pick that guy up?”

  “Sure can. This day just keeps getting better and better. I haven’t had this much fun since I was in the United States for training.”

  Ryan keyed the ICS switch. “Hold a minute before you get over the boat.”

  David brought the bird to a hover and Ryan removed his headset and stepped out onto the landing skid. He tripped the door latch on the co-pilot’s door and shoved it open. He wedged himself in the gap and reached across the lap of the dead man to unbuckle the safety harness. Ryan backed along the skid, pulled the body out of the seat, and let it drop into the pristine water below.

  When he climbed back in the cabin, David had edged the helo closer to Dark Water. Mango gripped the tower, braced against the rotor wash. He wore a black backpack with two guns strapped to it, muzzles down. The fishing outrigger had been swung away from the tower and Mango had dropped the thick fiberglass radio antennas. Dark Water was barely making way on the smooth sea.

  “Bring us over the tower, so he can step right on,” Ryan said after resettling the headset over his ears.

  “Roger that,” David said. “Is the rope ladder in?”

  “Hold one.” Ryan pulled the ladder into the cabin, rolling it to keep it from tangling and making it easier to stow behind the passenger seats.

  The helicopter slid sideways over the long nose of the Hatteras and David brought a skid inches from the top of the tuna tower. Ryan extended his hand to Mango, who stepped onto the skid and climbed into the bird.

  “He’s on,” Ryan said.

  David raised the collective, and the helicopter rose straight into the air. As they approached one thousand feet, David dipped the chopper’s nose and they accelerated toward the airport.

  Mango pulled a headset over his ears and keyed the mic. “Did you see the shot that took out the co-pilot?”

  Ryan looked up from rummaging through Mango’s backpack. “It scared the shit out of David. I thought we were going to crash.” He removed a sleek black KRISS Vector CRB rifle.

  “Saved your ass again, bro.”

  Ryan shook his head. “No dice, buddy, you almost wrecked the helicopter. Doesn’t count.”

  The bag also contained a chest rig with magazine pouches. Each pouch held two twenty-five round magazines stuffed with fat, blunt nose forty-five caliber hollow points. Attached to the chest rig was a Spyderco H1 dive knife, a Gerber multitool, a medical blowout kit, and four pistol magazines for a Walther PPQ. Under the rig was the Walther in a Kydex holster and a belt.

  “It counts,” Mango argued. “If it wasn’t for me shooting a hole in the pilot’s door, there, he wouldn’t have turned back.”

  Ryan shook his head again. “Nope. Rick and I had this one covered.” He fed a belt through the loops of his cargo shorts and the holster. Eduardo’s Glock was still in his back pocket. He put it in the backpack.

  “What do you mean Rick?” Mango glanced at the man beside him.

  “The dude stabbed the machine gunner in the leg just before he could light you guys up. Technically, he saved your ass, bro.”

  Rick grinned and held up his middle finger. His laugh was more of a cough, but he was smiling. Ryan took gauze from the medical pack, soaked it in water, and wiped Rick’s face clean.

  Mango gripped his rifle between his knees and checked the action and the magazine. “I’m not admitting to anything.”

  “This one’s on Rick, admit it.”

  Mango shook his head. “Then you have to admit we both saved your ass.”

  Ryan snorted in consternation. “David, are you hooked to satellite communications?”

  “Yes, sir.”

  “Can you call Joulie and have her meet us at the airport with a medical team?”

  They listened to him make the phone call. She would send a medical team for Rick, but she couldn’t make it to the airport. She asked Ryan and Mango to meet her at Billy Parker’s dock.

&
nbsp; David landed the helicopter ten minutes later. An ambulance sat beside the hangar. The paramedics waited until the rotor blades stopped spinning and then ran over to the bird with a stretcher. Ryan opened the cabin door and stepped out onto the tarmac, the KRISS Vector at low ready. The medical crew didn’t even pause at the sight of the firearms, moving quickly around him to get to Rick. They helped the injured man onto a stretcher and rushed him back to the ambulance.

  Mango climbed in after them. He made eye contact with one of the EMTs. “I go where he goes.”

  David got out of the helicopter and slammed the door. He walked around it, checking out the damage.

  “I need to get a ride to the hospital,” Ryan said.

  David nodded. “If you help me get the helicopter into the hangar, I’ll drive you.”

  “What do we do?” Ryan asked.

  “Grab the dolly and we’ll move it inside.”

  When the helicopter was in the hangar, they closed the doors and locked them with a chain and padlock before walking to David’s Bronco.

  Chapter Forty-Three

  After talking to the doctor about Rick’s injuries, Mango and Ryan had headed for the dock. Joulie Lafitte was waiting for them when they arrived. As Mango and Ryan walked down the dock, she had her driver start the Cigarette Top Gun’s twin engines. They thundered to life. The idling motors sounded out of time from the lumpy cam shafts the builder had used to achieve the highest horsepower possible.

  Mango slung the backpack into the boat and climbed down. Ryan swept his gaze around the marina and out into the bay, still gripping the KRISS Vector. When Mango was seated beside Joulie, Ryan tossed off the lines and stepped into the boat. He leaned his back into the contoured seat and continued to keep watch as the driver idled them away from the dock. Once clear of the no wake zone, the driver threw power to the engines. They raced across the calm bay, avoiding incoming fishing vessels and a large freighter. Weariness set into Ryan’s muscles. Joulie, wearing a pair of khaki shorts and a purple top, turned to him, her long hair streaming in the wind. She yelled, “I hear you have my gold.”