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

by Sean Blaise

  "I want to go get our people, sir, bring them back on board."

  "What? No, I'm not going to risk it. What if they shoot at you? Besides you can only carry 2 people out of that helicopter at a time, and there are 7 people in there. Who were you planning on leaving? Have you even thought this through?"

  John swallowed his frustration. Captain Brown was so risk-averse it was sickening. He'd rather sit on the Ivana and wait for the navy than try to retrieve his crew from the armed cowards who had attacked them. And what if there were injuries? What if one of his crew was slowly bleeding to death in that helicopter? John suppressed his anger and made his final pitch.

  "We have to do something, sir! There may be injuries on board. We can't wait until they're captured to help them. Now is our chance!"

  "John, I'm not asking you to risk your life. You can go if you want, it’s your life, but it's on you. I won't let you force anyone else to go with you."

  "I understand, sir."

  "Once I have the engines and steering back online, I'll move to intercept again."

  "Roger, sir."

  John left quickly before Captain Brown would have a chance to change his mind. He reached for his portable radio as he jogged down the second level steps towards the stern.

  "Sweeney, meet me in the stern."

  "I'm already back here," came the static filled reply.

  John arrived moments later a little out of breath. He reached down and opened the latch covering a jet ski port.

  "Listen I'm not asking you to do anything you don't want to," John started to say.

  "Save it, John. If you're in, I'm in. You’ve never steered me wrong before."

  Sweeney reached on his side and began to follow suit. Both of the skis were housed in deck garages. They were kept on mobile carts, with four wheels. Normally, the skis were placed in the middle of the aft deck, and then lifted into the water using the Ivana’s massive stern A-frame. But there was no time for that. John pushed his ski towards the stern of the Ivana and tied the cart to the deck. The ski now could be pushed overboard with one hand. John spoke as he lashed the cart and checked the skis engine for fuel.

  "I've never steered you wrong? What about that time I convinced you to windsurf with me from Miami to the Bimini?"

  "Longest day of my life. My back still hurts when I think about.”

  John hit Sweeney on the shoulder with his trademark grin that he usually had right before something bad happened.

  "Alright then, buddy. You make a beeline for that chopper, grab as many as you can, and come straight back," John said.

  "What about you?"

  "I'm doing the same thing."

  "Ok," Sweeney said, finishing lashing his cart down. Sweeney turned around and climbed up on his ski. He sat down and grabbed the handle. John ran back down the deck and opened the door to the fishing locker and pulled out a three banded spear gun.

  "What are you planning on doing with that?" Sweeney asked.

  John rested the gun butt on his stomach and pulled each of the powerful bands into the reverse notch on the spear shaft. The gun was an extreme version of what amateur Florida fishermen used to impress their girlfriends by shooting the occasional baby snapper. This gun was massive, each band packing hundreds of pounds per square inch of power. John used it to jump into schools of massive bluefin tuna, weighing in the hundreds of pounds each, to spear them. The three powerful bands packed enough punch to slam the spear through a quarter inch of plywood let alone the head of a massive tuna.

  "Just want to look cool," John said. His eyes betrayed deeper concern; and Sweeney, his life-long friend, knew better than to bring it up.

  John jumped on his ski, turned the key, and placed the spear gun on the floor, his foot pinning it there.

  "Oh, Sweeney?"

  "Yeah?"

  "Try not to get yourself killed."

  With that John pulled the lever releasing his jet ski. The ski slid down the roller into the sea. John gunned the throttle, and the supercharged engine roared to life and he shot off in the direction of the helicopter.

  Chapter 31

  Dmitry struggled to light the torch while the Ivana rolled in the waves. He finally managed to spark the gas and watched as the blue green flame of the cutting torch caught and began to glow hot blue. He pushed the tongue of the flame against the seam, and instantly the false weld began to dissolve.

  Dmitry knew of the false compartment because he had insisted on it when the vessel was built. Alexi had agreed, after much persuasion; After all he needed it to be hidden from even the most overachieving of customs agent. It had been Dmitry's idea to have the weld made in soldering iron, a cheap and quickly melting metal that looked highly realistic. The seam opened nicely under the torch, he just hoped he wasn't already too late.

  The false plate fell free, and Dmitry closed the gas valve and shut off the torch. He grabbed the rifle from its hiding spot and slid the heavy plastic casing off the barrel. The barrel was spotless, and a fine machine grease still clung to its surface like the glazing on a donut. It was brand new and ready to shoot. He grabbed the rounds stocked in the small box on the shelf and climbed out the hatch.

  The glare of the sunlight blinded Dmitry momentarily as he struggled to hang on to the boat and the rifle simultaneously. The Ivana was drifting slowly away from the downed helicopter. He sprinted the three decks to the sundeck.

  The sundeck was where all the action normally happened. Big lounge chairs were laid out for the bathing beauties that normally frequented billionaire parties, and the wine and champagne would flow endlessly. The girls would strut their bodies like shiny lures, hoping the catch the eye of hungry, fat fish. The trick was always to show just enough to tantalize, while still leaving enough to entice a bite.

  But now the sundeck was cold, flat, and bleak. The empty jacuzzi was even more of a testament that the party was over. Dmitry looked around for a spot to situate himself with the rifle. The sides off the deck itself were too low, forcing him to lie down in the sniper’s stance, but restricting his view. He could see the downed helicopter in the distance, and the pirate speedboat that seemed to be renewing its efforts towards the helicopter.

  He noticed the two small dots on the horizon. The skis were barreling at breakneck speed towards the helicopter in a wide arcing loop avoiding the view of the pirate speedboat.

  Dmitry turned back and looked at the jacuzzi again. It was perfect. The jacuzzi top stood a good 5 feet off the deck, giving Dmitry plenty of range. It was flat, and inside had seats. Dmitry jumped in the jacuzzi and laid himself out in shooter’s pose. The rifle was a Barrett M82A1 Special Application Scoped Rifle, the same rifle used by Navy SEAL snipers. Dmitry was no SEAL, but he had not lost his touch. Four years with Alexi in Chechnya had made him a dangerous man with a rifle.

  All of his military training came back in an instant. He chambered the round and began to dial in the scope. He focused on the pirate speedboat and began scanning their faces on the military-grade, 30x, scope. At every person on board, he pressed a small button on the scope, and a refracting mirror jumped into the scope, directing the image to a small data processing chip. It was a high-tech digital camera, designed to confirm kills for the USMC. And it was necessary.

  He knew Alexi would want to know exactly who had attacked him and why. He pointed the scope at the man driving the pirate boat. He had a small back, hiding a wiry, muscled, frame. The man suddenly turned and yelled something to his comrades, and Dmitry was shocked by what he saw.

  Chapter 32

  The water was finally going down in the speedboat. They were making slow, but steady, progress toward the helicopter that bobbed like a giant black corkscrew less than a half mile off his bow. The yacht continued to veer away for some unknown reason, a thin trail of black smoke rose from the vessel indicating that Faris had found his mark with the RPG after all.

  Abdul didn't care either way, as long as it stayed away. He tried to gun the engines and speed up, but every t
ime he did the outboards became bogged down and flooded with unburnt fuel. He wasn't enough of a mechanic to know that the engines’ high-speed injector jets were clogged with years of crud and rust that had worked loose over his bumpy journey. But he knew the result was that he had to creep towards the helicopter at a painfully slow crawl.

  The Sheikh’s men in the back were quiet. After Ibrahim was washed overboard, the idea of imminent death had hit them hard. Faris and Abdul were opportunists, not zealots, and like any self-respecting opportunist, they feared death. The Sheikh's people were brainwashed, and for all purposes, brain-dead. In their minds, Ibrahim was in heaven surrounded by seventy virgins by now. However, each of them suddenly looked reluctant to play with the virgins today. The truth of what happened to Ibrahim, Abdul knew was much harsher.

  He was probably still out there, floating, swallowing sea water and waiting to die either by the hands of the sea, or the jaws of a massive shark, ripping limbs from his screaming torso. What happened after that, in Abdul's mind, didn't matter much. If there were virgins waiting, it was better than an infinite abyss of darkness and nothing. But he never understood people who rushed off to the complete unknown of the afterlife. After all, nobody came back with pictures, did they? Besides, he never understood the appeal of the virgins. Give him an experienced hooker, with proper customer service, any day.

  Abdul made a mental note that the Sheikh had probably given the men orders to betray him once they had the Russian. He would make sure to disarm them before their pickup was scheduled. After the disastrous mission start, things were beginning to look up. Abdul smiled, one more time I pulled it off, he thought.

  Abdul failed to see or even hear the jet skis roar past him a half mile to his starboard.

  Chapter 33

  Alexi saw the pirates' boat heading once more towards the helicopter. He also saw the Ivana nearly disappearing in the distance as a small trail of black smoke wafted skyward from her vicinity. The boat must have been hit and disabled somehow; otherwise, he was sure John would have turned it around. He hoped everyone was still alive.

  The girls in the back had suspended their earlier weeping and had adopted temporary faces of tough restraint. How much was due to their own inward resolve, or due to their fear of the ever-stoic Ingrid, wasn't much of a concern for Alexi. They would be in the hands of the pirates soon; and rape or mutilation of a physical, or even less repairable mental, nature was always a threat. Alexi only hoped the ever-present power of his mighty checkbook could sway the men to the side of reason. Although their willingness to shoot down the chopper made him question the pirates’ actual goals.

  Dmitry cursed as the Ivana continued her present course away from Alexi and the helicopter. He was well outside the range of his rifle and he knew it. He didn't want to risk a shot and alert the pirates to the weapon. What were they doing? He'd noticed the smoke pouring out of the starboard side. He grabbed the Motorola UHF radio and pressed the rubber coated button to speak. The UHF was an ultrahigh frequency radio, whose signal was encrypted. Only the helicopter and the Ivana’s radios could pick it up.

  "Alexi, Alexi do you copy?"

  The helicopter’s radio squeaked loudly, coated with a heavy layer of interference from the growing distance between the chopper and the boat. “Lexi....c..o..p..y?"

  Alexi grabbed the radio and brought it up to his bushy beard.

  "Dmitry? What's ….? Is … Ivana ok? Ship …. fire?"

  "Can’t receive...in position. Crew…hurt?"

  "Everyone...ok...Dmitry, pirates coming back, engage!" Alexi said.

  "I can't before…reach you. Jet..." static interfered with the transmission.

  Alexi looked at the frightened girls in the back who could hear every word. He would not risk their lives with one shooter against the four or five pirates at close range with automatic weapons. Nope, once they were in the arms of the pirates, he would have to rely on the idea that his pen would be mightier than the sword.

  "Do not shoot, too many, hold off. Understood?" Alexi said.

  There was just static. They were out of range. Alexi keyed the mike again.

  "Dmitry, do not shoot when they have us. Those are your orders, understood?" Alexi infused the last part of the sentence with the hard tone that military men around the world immediately listen to. There was no response, just endless static.

  Alexi hung up the radio, knowing there was little to be done now. The pirate boat was less than a mile from the helicopter and closing slowly. It would still be a few minutes till they were taken. He looked back, locking eyes with Ingrid. She gave him a knowing look. He just hoped she wouldn't do anything stupid. Ingrid was a formidable fighting machine, Alexi knew. He trained her himself. She was more a daughter than his own, and he cared for her deeply. But she was impulsive and unpredictable and therefore a danger to him and the rest of the crew.

  Chapter 34

  John jumped a wave and rocketed into the air; body soaked with spray. He slid alongside the helicopter in a massive splash and Alexi couldn't help but smile. He opened his door, on the pilot’s side, and leaned out.

  "John, I expected you a while ago."

  John couldn't help smiling back. "Apologies, sir, got held up."

  "How many can you take?"

  "Just two."

  Just then Sweeney roared up next to John’s ski. Alexi smiled again.

  "Hello, Sweeney."

  Sweeney tipped a fake hat. "At your service, sir."

  "Go girls, two each ski."

  "Lexi, I will stay with you." Ingrid began in an unusually soft voice.

  "Ingrid, go now! " Alexi barked harshly, and he instantly regretted his anger. John saw hurt in Ingrid's eyes for the first time ever.

  Mary, the Filipino, stewardess got on Sweeney's ski. The motion of the bobbing ski was too much for her. She clutched at Sweeney’s back, locking her arms around him in vise-grip fashion. Then she threw up on his back. He could feel the warm trickle down his shirt as the tart smell of her stomach acid and breakfast wafted towards his nose. Sweeney, who already had a notoriously weak stomach, promptly emptied his stomach down the front of his ski. Mary smiled weakly.

  "Sowy, Sweeney," she said.

  "Yup, it's ok," Sweeney replied grimacing and wiping his mouth.

  When the last girl was aboard his ski Sweeney took off. Claire was the first on John's ski and locked her hands behind his stomach. Ingrid looked downright furious as she boarded second. John could feel Claire's breasts pressing against his back, and his body instinctively reacted. Even he was surprised considering the circumstances.

  "I knew you'd come for us, John," Claire breathed softly in his ear. That’s not helping, he thought.

  John looked up at Alexi and the last three crew.

  "Be right back, boss," he said.

  Alexi leaned back in his chair. "I know," he said. But he doubted John would make it in time.

  John gunned the ski in a wide arc heading away from the pirates and was gone.

  Chapter 35

  John was already headed back to the helicopter, after he and Sweeney had dropped off their first round of passengers, when he heard gunshots ring out ahead of him. He floored the jet ski and rocketed up an oncoming wave. From his height in the air the scene wasn't good. Sweeney had the last passenger he could carry trying to board the ski. The third stewardess, a plump Spanish girl, was suspended between the ski and chopper when the pirate boat, not 500 meters away, opened fire with an AK-47. The shots were inaccurate, but the girl had gotten frightened and had fallen in the water. In her desperate attempt to get on the ski, she knocked Sweeney off balance, and he fell in as well. He grabbed her by the butt and pushed her up the back of the ski, then swam back to the chopper towing the ski with him to climb up and back on.

  John saw that his friend needed more time, or he'd never get clear of the helicopter. The older looking pirate was still taking pot shots at him and with every second was getting closer to range. John slowed his ski and picked
up the spear gun, placing it across his lap and jamming it there. He accelerated the ski, turning hard left, and aiming at the stern of the pirate boat. He needed picture perfect timing to get close enough to get within range of the spear. He needed a miracle.

  Sweeney tried desperately to climb the slippery flotation bags of the helicopter, but he couldn't maintain his grip and hold the ski at the same time. Suddenly, he felt an iron hand lock around his arm so hard he could hear his bones crunching.

  "I've got you. Now, Sweeney, I need you to get up."

  Sweeney looked up into the stone-cold, blue eyes of Alexi. There was no doubt there, and absolutely no fear, only painful resolve. Sweeney had no doubt that if he didn't get up, Alexi would tear his arm out. Using Alexi, he climbed to a seated position on the precarious bags, and pulled the ski in. He jumped on.

  He turned to Alexi, "Thanks." Just then a flurry of gun shots hit the front of his ski, splintering the fiberglass and sending a shard into his eye. Sweeney slammed the ski in reverse, trying to put the helicopter between him and the shooter. Alexi jumped back into the helicopter and got behind the heavy door as the pirate boat fired again. Another volley of bullets slammed into the water in front of Sweeney's ski, tracing their way back to him. He waited any second for them to punch holes in his chest.

  John found it, the miracle wave. The pirate boat was in the trough of the swell he was on, placing them below his ski by several feet already. He mashed the jet ski's throttle down hard, bringing the ski up the next wave at 60 mph. It was more than enough speed to clear the pirate boat and John rocketed into the air over the speedboat.

  Jamil turned just in time to see the infidel, flying directly over them. He tried to yell out a warning to the others, but his voiced cracked as it always did when his 17-year-old voice got excited, making him croak instead. John flew off the tip of the wave, and was well in the air, when Jamil brought his gun up. John didn't see it as the boy was directly under the ski whose hull was protecting him. John leaned over the skis right side aiming carefully at the man shooting at Sweeney who was still pulling away.