The Tahitian Pearl: A John Otter Novel (John Otter Novels Book 2)

by Sean Blaise

  The captain rushed to keep up with the fast receding back of his radio operator, who was determined not to delay the skipper. The captain had a fearsome temper and even more fearsome connections in North Korea. The wrong reference from him, and what little glimmer of hope the radio man had at a decent salary and life would be squashed instantly.

  Captain Bae began to wheeze as they progressed through the blistering heat of the engine compartment. His breaths came in painful gasps, as he felt his heavy gut starting to weigh down his progress in the tight compartment. The radio operator was moving too fast, but Captain Bae would lose face if he admitted it. Instead, he dug deep and pushed onward attempting to catch the little man.

  The chief engineer appeared from behind the main engine that seemed to be losing oil from every crevice and crack on its surface. He smiled a toothy grin, full of heavy gaps and black-tarred teeth at the sight of the captain in his domain. He loved to see the man himself in the dirty engine room that made his world possible. He wiped a greasy palm on his once white, now permanently yellow, sweat-stained T-shirt and made an exaggerated salute to the captain.

  Captain Bae was annoyed at the salute by the engineer, and he felt the greasy bastard might even be attempting insult by it. However, protocol demanded that he return it. He did quickly and hurried through the small door at the back of the engine room. The door closed behind them quietly, and the heavy steel only barely managed to reduce the engine room cacophony. The radio operator slouched in his seat and pressed the recording playback. A broken American voice was heard.

  "MAYDAY! MAYDAY! MAYDAY! This is the motor yacht Ivana, Call Sign Zulu Foxtrot Echo Delta Fiver, we are being attacked by pirates. Our position is 12° 29’ 55” North and 048°2’11” East. MAYDAY! MAYDAY! MAYDAY! "

  "How long ago was the call?"

  "Five minutes. I came for you as soon as I heard, captain."

  Captain Bae studied the radio operator carefully, making the little man tremble. He loved to do that periodically to ensure discipline and more than a little fear.

  "Write down their last known position.”

  The radioman gave Captain Bae the latest position he had heard from the Ivana. Captain Bae picked up the radio telephone to the bridge. His chief officer picked it up before the first ring was completed.

  "Alter course to 12° 29’ 55” North and 048°2’11” East. Full ahead." He handed the phone back to the radio operator. "Call headquarters and patch it to my cabin in twenty minutes."

  "Affirmative, sir.”

  Captain Bae turned and opened the door to the engine room and headed to his cabin. Finally, something was happening. He had been following the yacht loosely ever since it left Yemen and he had a feeling he was soon going to understand why.

  Chapter 20

  Pierre was bored. The Casino money laundering case was closed, and he had finally filed his last report with Frances. The paperwork, that's what killed Pierre about his job. He loved the thrill of the chase, the danger and excitement of hunting down elusive and dangerous pray; but the sheer volume of paperwork he was required to fill out once he caught it, made it almost not worthwhile. Almost.

  He smiled as he hit the send button on his e-mail. Finally, the report was in France's hands now. Good old Frances, he was made for paperwork. Frances had made his career on the backs of perfectly filed reports. Pierre reached into his desk and retrieved the bag of tobacco from its pouch. He opened the bag and sniffed in the sweet aroma of the blend of aged tobacco with a hint of rum. Although he was loath to admit it, his childhood obsession with Sherlock Holmes had bled into his adult life. The pipe smoking, while originally adolescent indulgence, had developed into a true love. His vices were simple, a great smoke, cognac, and women. Big breasted voluptuous women of the Renaissance painting days were his preference. He had no time for stick figures. And his cognac like his tobacco, was finely chosen.

  He kicked his legs up on his desk and lit the pipe. The aromatic fragrance hit him and enveloped him with a sweet cloud, as the nicotine immediately made its way to his brain's pleasure center. He smiled happily. There was little he enjoyed more.

  Just then Frances walked into the Interpol office. He scowled at Pierre sucking happily on his pipe. He hated the sight of the man more and more. With his agile mind and handsome looks, he was everything Frances was not _ he despised him for it. Once he was made superintendent of the force, he would no longer need the keen mind of Pierre. And he relished the thought of the day when he could fire the man.

  "Your report was late!" Frances bellowed, turning towards his office.

  Pierre was in such a good mood, he refused to let Frances ruin it. And he refused to even acknowledge his statement. What a hateful, fat, little man, he thought. Frances's disdain for Pierre was a well-known secret, and Pierre could have cared less. He was well paid; and he was paid to live a life of exotic locales and exciting adventures. Frances could stay in his boring little office for ever, thought Pierre. I wonder, how much more he would hate me, if he knew that I slept with his wife regularly? He smiled broadly to himself at the thought of her.

  Although plain in appearance, more the housewife than the harlot, the mere thought of who she was had sent Pierre over the edge uncharacteristically early at their first coupling. She, of course, had been flattered at his hurried insistence. He had no doubt it was the first time she had ever experienced that kind of passion. Pierre had enjoyed their rendezvous even more because she never bothered asking for more. He could have it whenever he, and only he, wanted it. It was the power in it all that aroused him; the fact that he had complete power over his boss's wife. She let him do things that she forbade her own husband from doing. He felt himself getting excited at the mere thought of calling her. Perhaps he owed Frances for his rude statement. Perhaps, tonight, he would repay him.

  The tip of his new case folder caught his eye and he frowned. He adjusted himself and took his legs down off the table while he leaned forward and picked up the gruesome case file. Mr. Dubois. His mind perked up at the possibilities of where this case would lead him.

  He pulled Alexi's photo from under the murder print and studied the face closely. The man was older, with striking blue eyes. He was handsome, in a strong steel way, and no doubt had any woman he wanted at some point. There was a coldness to the eyes and bone structure that Pierre couldn't quite describe. Wolfish. Yes, that was it. He was a predator. What is your history, Mr. Popovich? He could tell without a doubt it was a dark one. He would bet his favorite pipe that Alexi had left more than one dead body in his wake on his way to the top.

  However, in his brief background search since he received the file in Monaco, he had come up with nothing very interesting. In fact, Alexi's background report felt…well-scrubbed. The man was far too careful to leave a dead body out in the open like that. No, it made no sense. Nonetheless, Pierre had a feeling that something that Mr. Popovich had done had caused Mr. Dubois’ early demise. They were connected in some way; he was sure of it.

  The door to the office swung open and Belina, the office manager for the Interpol headquarters, walked in. Pierre looked up and smiled. He loved to watch her walk. She smiled at his unabashed gaze at her figure and blushed scarlet as he appraised her endowments remorselessly. She saw the lecherous look in his eye, and felt the blood begin to flow south as her heart bounded in her chest. She knew that look. It was the look he always gave her before he mounted her mercilessly.

  "I have something for you, inspector," Belina said coyly.

  Pierre smiled. Belina had great, pendulous, breasts; best experienced while grabbing them from behind. She was young, and ever so enthusiastic to please.

  "Oh, cheri?" he replied huskily.

  "I was told to give you this number, for a yacht? You're not sailing away without me, are you?"

  Pierre grabbed the number. It was for the yacht Ivana, which was where Alexi Popovich was located at precisely this moment. He checked his watch without looking at Belina again. He was excited n
ow; but for an entirely different thing. He reached for his phone without a word and began dialing the numbers.

  Belina was shocked at his sudden mood change; but she had seen it before. It was something she would never get used to. She often wondered whether or not he was more excited by sex or by his job. She turned away angrily already knowing the answer to her own question.

  Chapter 21

  Abdul was going as fast as he could. The seas were slowing him down considerably and he was trying hard to time the waves with bursts of full engine power. But he was having to go slower than the speedboat could do in flat water. The swells, which had so effectively hidden him earlier, were now killing the very element of surprise they had helped to create.

  He knew he was probably spotted by now, but it didn't matter. It was pitch dark and he was only 8 miles from the boat and closing quickly. He could just make out the faint, white hull of the Ivana in the distance.

  Faris and the Sheikhs men were holding on for dear life in the stern of the pitching boat. These were not men built for the sea. They were desert nomads who had no business doing highway speeds over the black water.

  The weapons were loaded, and everything had been prepared as per Abdul's plan. He knew that he would be intercepting the Ivana shortly. Yet, he couldn't figure out why the Ivana was not yet at full speed trying to outrun him. It made no sense. In fact, it appeared that the Ivana had actually slowed down. Then, in a flash, he realized why.

  He cursed under his breath as he slammed the throttles as far forward as they could go. The boat roared to life and slammed up the slope of an oncoming wave like a rocket sled. The helicopter. He should have thought of it. It should have been disabled in Yemen, somehow. It should, ah! It should have been a lot of things that he could no longer concern himself with. He was here, the situation was as it was, and he was in play. Operational planning could only go so far Abdul knew; unplanned obstacles like this were just the facts of life.

  The advantage that he did still have was that in order to launch it, the Ivana would have to slow to idle. And that would cost them precious time in their escape. Time that would allow Abdul to get even closer.

  "Faris, load the RPG, I think they will try to escape by helicopter. If it takes off, shoot it down."

  Abdul had a primary mission to recover the briefcase and the information for the Sheikh. But he had a secondary mission: to kill the Russian. Abdul would take whichever result he could get. He was certain the Russian would be on that chopper. Who knew? Maybe he would still get the briefcase. The Sheikh would have to take whatever Abdul delivered.

  Chapter 22

  Captain Brown took the wheel while John fired up the FLIR camera.

  "Sweeney, run out all the fire hoses, run to the engine room and tell Jean Michelle to crank both fire pumps. Tell him I know it will overload the system and I don’t care. I want maximum pressure. Go!"

  Sweeney left. Claire raced into the bridge and stood stock still looking at John. Her eyes were brimming with tears. John gulped as he looked at her so distraught. It was obvious she already cared for him, greatly.

  "Go, Claire, you need to get on that chopper now."

  She nodded. Then ran forward and embraced him in a surprisingly strong hug. John could feel her tears, wet and warm on his cheek. She pulled back holding his face in her hands and kissed him deeply. Although it was inevitably going to happen, the danger of the moment, and the fear of never seeing John again, had overridden any career concerns she had about the action. She liked John so much and was scared that something awful would happen to him. Captain Brown didn't miss the exchange.

  .

  Chapter 23

  The Ivana slowed to idle and began heading into the light breeze to help the helicopter launch. Deep in the engine room, Jean Michelle struggled to open the 5 separate fuel valves for each of the 5000 hp turbines.

  Sweeney arrived in the engine room, just as Jean Michelle fired up the first turbine.

  "You need help?" Sweeney asked over the turbine noise.

  Jean Michelle gave him the thumbs-up. He pointed to the valves on the second turbine. Together, they each opened one valve at a time in order. Finally, the engines were ready and the last two turbines were online. Even through the protective earpieces, Sweeney could feel the massive sound of the 3 jet engines in his bones. Jean Michelle quickly studied each of the gauges on the turbines to ensure they were operating properly. The gas turbine was an incredible piece of machinery. Its processes were quite simple. The turbines had fewer moving parts than the traditional piston engines that the Ivana relied upon most of the time. Once started up, little could go wrong. The turbines would continue running until the fuel ran out or the air shut off.

  Jean Michelle picked up the phone in the soundproof engineer’s office and dialed the bridge.

  "John, we are ready. Should I open the jet drive ports?"

  "No, not yet. The helicopter hasn’t taken off. We have to wait."

  "No, John, we cannot wait. I must shut down the main engines and lock the shafts. This takes five minutes. You know this. We must hurry!"

  "I know that! But if you open the jet ports now, we will move suddenly. We cannot do that until the helicopter is off. You must wait!"

  "Merde!" Jean Michelle said with disgust.

  John slammed the phone down on the bridge and looked over at Captain Brown. He was making satellite phone calls to the Navy command center in the region, reporting the position of the vessel as well as the nature of the distress. He was also requesting permission to land the Ivana’s helicopter on the U.S.S. Enterprise aircraft carrier in the Gulf of Aden, near their position. Although Alexi would call them by radio once he got closer, you never wanted to approach a U.S. aircraft carrier battle group without proper notice.

  John flipped the helm monitor to the camera mounted on the yacht’s flagpole. He rotated it around to face the helicopter. He saw the last of the girls enter the black Eurocopter, with Alexi climbing into the pilot seat.

  Alexi was a gifted pilot, having served in the Russian army. He had taken the flight training offered to him and had flown many sorties over Chechnya when he was promoted. He had also flown opium and weapons for Slava when they had begun their burgeoning empire.

  John rushed over to the radar and saw that the target was only 4 miles away. The boat had sped up. They needed to get the helicopter off, now! John saw the ARPA tracking the little green dot; and he saw that the time of closest point of approach, was less than 6 minutes away.

  John swiveled and opened the door to the left bridge wing. He looked hard at the horizon and could just make out a dark, black, boat in the distance. It was closing fast. He ran aft towards the helicopter pad at a full sprint. One of his deckhands was struggling with the last tie down strap. John slid under the chopper and grasped it desperately. It was too tight to release, having had the helicopter tied down with less straps for its quick departure had backfired.

  The extra strain placed on the few remaining straps had caused them to become unbearably tight as the helicopter had shifted in the seas.

  John reached for his knife. He always carried his nine inch, Norwegian, sailing knife in a leather sheath on his hip. He was constantly made fun of it, as the knife was little use on a motor yacht. But it was a throwback to his sailing days: where to be without a knife would probably cost you your life. He wore it always. The blade came out easily, its serrated teeth hungry for action, with a single slash at the strap it cleaved the heavy webbing in half.

  John rolled out of from under the chopper until he was clear of the blades. He gave Alexi the all clear sign. He looked at Alexi's eyes and he saw fear, fear for John, the Ivana, and everyone left behind. John saw Alexi's eyes look to the port. The speedboat was clearly visible now. John raced back toward the helm without looking back at the helicopter.

  Chapter 24

  John ripped open the door to the helm and picked up the phone to the engine control room.

  "Jean Michelle, shut
down main engines, lock shafts, and open jet ports. Do it now!"

  John ran to the radar and looked desperately for the little green target. He couldn't find it anywhere. It was already too close for the massive radars to pick it up. The beams were shooting right over the little boat. John looked out the window and he saw him.

  Abdul was so close to the massive, lumbering, yacht that he could make out the officer in the helm window. They locked eyes for a moment before Abdul heard the helicopter engine picking up speed. He cursed and slammed the boat hard to starboard as he aimed for the stern of the ship. He knew that the helicopter would have to lift up and away toward the stern to avoid the ships superstructure and antennas. He wanted to give Faris a clear and close shot at the chopper.

  Alexi pulled on the collective hard and the helicopter lurched upwards into the air. The Ivana had stopped moving forward; and he knew the main engines must have been shut down. He cursed as he had to pull the cyclic control aft to pull the bird off the stern and away from the Ivana’s superstructure. That's when he saw the little boat filled with armed men. Alexi saw the RPG swing up the shoulder of a burly looking man. Thankfully it was not Alexi's first time getting shot at.

  He quickly banked the bird to the left, hoping to change angles on the boat as quickly as possible. He knew the range was close and any decent military man would hit the helicopter. He kept the helicopter low, not wanting to build too much altitude in case they were hit.

  As he angled the chopper away the man operating the boat banked it quickly underneath the helicopter. He was good. Alexi slammed the left peddle down spinning the choppers tail over and away from the boat and banked the chopper hard to the right at the same time. He watched as the small boat came out from under him and back into view.