by Evan Graver
Ryan kept walking until he spied a parking garage, and a grin spread across his face. He pulled his hands from his pockets and ran across the access road into the structure. Even though he was now out of the rain, he left his hood up to hide his face in case there were cameras around. The structure was only two floors high and serviced the many ferries that operated from the terminal building on the waterfront.
Ryan took the stairs to the second floor and walked to the edge closest to the water. The garage offered a perfect view of the gas docks at American Yacht Harbor. He pulled the laser rangefinder from his pocket, held it to his right eye, and focused on the gas pump at the end of the dock. The distance was just shy of five hundred feet, an easy shot for an expert like Mango. Ryan wondered how rusty the man’s skills were after spending a year as a charter boat captain in the South Pacific. He guessed they’d find out soon enough.
Mango would also have to contend with the wind, the humidity, and the sailboats parked along the private dock between the garage and the gas pumps. Ryan lowered the monocle from his eye and slipped his hands back in his pockets. A gust of wind buffeted him as he looked across the bay.
His phone rang as the rain began again. He ran down the steps and stood under cover as he answered with, “Hey, Mango.”
“We just landed, bro. Let me tell you, Chuck is the man. He had the plane practically sideways on approach and snapped it straight right before touching down. I about shit my pants.”
“Sounds like a good story for beer thirty.”
“I need a stiff shot of something right now.”
“How soon can you get across the island?” asked Ryan.
“It will be another hour. We have to clear Customs and get a rental.”
“Okay. Get a van, one of those big cargo ones. Here’s what I want you to do.” Ryan sketched out his plan.
“Sounds good, bro. I’ll text you when we’re in place.”
“Roger that.” Ryan hung up and stood with his hands in his pockets for a few more minutes, giving the rain time to abate. When it didn’t do so right away, he tucked the slicker around him and headed for the boat.
When he reached Windseeker, he had to change out of his wet clothes. Emily had the mess inside almost squared away, giving him time to clean his Walther and Emily’s Smith and Wesson M&P9 Shield. He didn’t expect her to see any action, but it never hurt to be prepared, especially when a rogue actor was on the loose.
An hour later, the three of them were having a late dinner when there was a knock on the boat hull. Ryan stepped out to find a short woman with a runner’s physique, dirty blonde hair, and watery green eyes standing on the dockside. She wore tan shorts, white canvas shoes, and a pink blouse under a bright red raincoat. She came aboard without asking permission, and Ryan moved out of the way to let Jennifer Hulsey go down the steps into the cabin. Emily rose from the table and embraced her friend.
Jennifer pulled away and handed Ryan a small box from her pocket. “Scott sent this.”
Ryan opened it to find a Bluetooth earpiece. He glanced at the instructions, downloaded the app to his smartphone, and paired the earpiece to his phone so he could communicate hands free over the network, then he turned on the earpiece and slipped it into his left ear. “Hey, Scott, you copy?”
“I gotcha, loud and clear. We’re set up on the parking garage.”
Ryan checked his watch. “We have six hours until showtime.”
“I’ll let you know when I see your boy pull up in his yacht.”
“Hey, bro,” Mango said, wearing his own earpiece.
“Glad you guys could make it to the party,” Ryan said, relieved that he wasn’t running the operation on his own.
“You know me, bro—I’m just here to save your ass again.”
“I appreciate it,” Ryan said. Mango had done just that on multiple occasions, including their first op together in Mexico hunting a drug kingpin. Since then, it had become a running joke between the two men and had spilled over to their friends, including Jennifer. She and Emily had remained friends despite Emily and Ryan having split up a few years back, and she was one of their biggest supporters for their rekindled romance. If Mango hadn’t lost his right leg in a ship-boarding accident, he would probably still be saving lives as a sniper on the Maritime Security Response Team, the Coast Guard’s version of Special Forces, but the Coast Guard had retired him, and their loss had become DWR’s gain. He’d been Ryan’s partner for several operations before he and Jennifer had gone off to explore the world aboard their sailboat, Margarita.
The men fell silent as they completed final equipment checks. Ryan didn’t expect Joseph to arrive until right at the appointed hour, so he told his team he was turning off the earpiece to save the battery and to call him on his phone when the Viking arrived.
Now it was a hurry-up-and-wait game. Ryan had gotten good at it while serving in the Navy, but he was conscious of the nervous energy inside the cabin. He had to tell Paul to sit down numerous times in response to him spontaneously jumping up and pacing the length of the cabin. Even Emily, who was used to stakeouts to nab insurance defrauders, was getting antsy. She and Jennifer conversed in hushed tones, catching up on what had happened in their lives since last seeing each other at a mutual friend’s wedding.
Ryan lay on the bunk in the aft stateroom, his eyes closed but his senses on high alert. It was nice to have an overwatch, and he knew Scott and Mango would be just as bored and ready for action as he was. It was always like this: brief moments of action preceded by long, dull hours of planning and waiting. He wondered how Diane Langston was fairing, and if Joseph and his goons had treated her well.
He awoke to the ringing of his cell phone. Adrenaline surged through him as he grabbed it and answered.
“I’ve got eyes on the Viking,” Mango said.
“Good. We’re coming out.” Ryan ended the call and looked at Paul. “You ready to do this?”
The older man squeezed his eyes shut for a moment, then opened them and nodded. His skin looked pale under the cabin lights.
“It’s going to be all right,” Ryan assured him. “We’ll get Diane back, and you guys can go into hiding.” He turned on the earpiece and reinserted it into his ear before doing a radio check. Everything was five-by-five.
Paul stood on shaky legs as Ryan led him outside. The rain continued to fall in fat droplets as they started for the fuel dock where the Viking had berthed for its brief visit. All the bars and restaurants were dark, and few cars passed on the street. This was when the world slept, and when watch standers were the most vulnerable. Ryan hoped the late hour would also keep bystanders out of the line of fire and that Terrence’s goons would be less alert. If they were professionals, they would know how to compensate for his tactics, but he suspected these guys were more used to shepherding their boss from nightclub to nightclub rather than conducting a military-style operation.
“We’ve got you,” Scott whispered in Ryan’s ear as they emerged from Windseeker.
As Ryan and Paul moved through the dim light along the walkway and turned onto the fuel dock, Ryan scanned the bushes, buildings, and boats for anything out of the ordinary. The two men stopped twenty feet short of the Viking. Joseph and two of his goons stepped onto the yacht’s aft deck.
“Where’s Diane?” Paul shouted, a quiver to his voice.
“Not until I see the documents, playa,” Joseph responded.
Ryan knelt and reached under the dock. A moment later, his hand found the line attached to the back of a post. He heaved the yellow box out of the water. It was heavy with all the dive weights he’d used to keep it underwater. He’d planted it there after Stuart had brought them back to the dock. At the time, he’d been afraid that if he kept it on Windseeker, someone would search his boat as they had Paul’s house, and he’d been right.
Once Ryan placed the box on the dock and removed the rope and weights, he opened it and tilted it so Joseph could see the contents. The gangster motioned with his hand,
and a third goon pushed Diane out of the salon onto the aft deck where she stood, trembling, beside her captors. Her face was red from crying and her left eye was black-and-blue, but other than that, she looked unharmed.
Ryan relocked the box. “Send Diane and one of your men. We’ll make the exchange here.”
Joseph motioned for the man holding Diane to do as Ryan said, and they stepped down to the dock. Ryan placed a hand on Paul’s arm to keep him from rushing toward his wife. He needed her separated from Joseph. He would take the single goon making the exchange while Mango dispatched the other two. They would take Joseph alive.
“Ready?” Ryan whispered to his overwatch.
“Roger,” Scott said.
When Diane and her minder were five feet from Ryan, Joseph ordered them to stop. Ryan pushed the box with his foot along the rough and weathered boards of the dock as he stepped forward. When he reached Diane, he grabbed her by the arm and jerked her toward Paul.
“Now!” Ryan commanded.
The sniper crew went to work while Ryan hit the goon who’d held Diane with a palm strike to the jaw, then pummeled him with two more, followed by a punch to the side of the face just under the ear.
The man dropped like a rock.
While Ryan was dispatching his man, Paul had grabbed Diane and rushed her off the dock. Mango shot the two goons beside Joseph with suppressed rounds. The gangster rushed to cast off the lines and escape from the carnage that had exploded all around him.
Ryan leaped onto the Viking and tackled the black man, riding him to the ground. Joseph hit hard, but he immediately began flailing his arms and rolling as Ryan struggled to get him under control.
“Who’s the clown stealing the box of papers?” Scott asked in Ryan’s ear.
Ryan was too busy battling with Joseph to respond. He had to end this fight quickly, so he drew his pistol and smacked Joseph on the temple with the gun butt. Ryan popped him again for good measure and jumped up to run after the mystery man. He had a feeling he already knew who it was.
The same guy who’d escaped from Paul’s office.
Chapter Eight
Emily Hunt and Jennifer Hulsey had followed Ryan and Paul off Windseeker at a safe distance. Emily didn’t want Ryan to know that she was backing him up, because he had told her to stay on the sailboat out of harm’s way, but that wasn’t who she was. She had to protect her man.
The two women skirted through the building’s shadows, keeping a low profile. She suspected something would go wrong on this operation, and, like Ryan, she believed the mystery man from Paul’s office would show up at some point. He’d overheard Paul’s conversation with Joseph, just as she had while she’d been holding him at gunpoint.
As an insurance investigator, Emily had spent her fair share of time stalking thieves and crooks along the various waterfronts of the Atlantic and Gulf Coasts of the United States. She’d also traveled around the world, investigating shipping accidents and coordinating with various law enforcement agencies. Emily knew her way around the shady side of paradise, and it left her wondering how she could consider Ryan’s work dangerous when she was often in tight spots herself.
She and Jennifer paused at the end of the yacht club building, beside the restaurant Paul and Diane had taken them to the previous night. After crossing the alley to the next building, they watched as Ryan exchanged the documents for Diane. As Ryan leaped aboard the yacht to go after Terrence Joseph, Emily saw a dark figure dart out from the shadows of a palm thicket and race down the dock past Paul and Diane. He scooped up the yellow box and sprinted back toward land.
Grabbing the umbrella from her friend’s hand, Emily ran toward the dock. As the man approached, she swung the umbrella and clotheslined him, knocking him off his feet. The box skidded toward the edge of the walkway and fell into the water. When the man tried to rise to his feet, she whacked him again, placed the umbrella across his throat, and her knee on his chest to keep him in place.
Ryan ran up and knelt beside her. “You okay, babe?”
“I’m fine.”
“Go help Jennifer,” Ryan said. “I’ve got this guy.”
Emily moved to where Jennifer was lying on her belly at the edge of the dock, trying to grasp the slippery yellow plastic case. Without the handle, it was difficult to lift from the water. Jennifer had pulled the box to the seawall, and they each grasped a side, but they had no leverage to lift it. Their fingertips barely had purchase on the slight ridges that ringed the case as they lay on their stomachs, arms fully extended.
Mango and Scott arrived, and Scott grasped Emily and Jennifer’s free arms. They pulled against him for leverage while lifting the case. Together, the three of them pulled it up and set it on the dock. Emily picked up the case, and she and Jennifer followed Ryan, Mango, and Scott as they escorted the prisoner to the Viking.
While Mango and Scott tied up the man Emily had clocked with the umbrella, Ryan started the Viking’s engines. He asked her to cast off the mooring lines and, when she was back aboard, he motored them out of the bay and into the heaving Caribbean Sea. She stood beside Ryan, watching the radar, and giving him directions to a sheltered cove on a nearby uninhabited island where they could interrogate their prisoners.
She glanced over her shoulder at the mystery man. He was of medium height with short black hair, and he had a solid athletic build with a dark complexion. Despite the circumstances, she thought he had a kind face and was rather good-looking for a thief. It wouldn’t take long for them to learn his name and his life story. There were three men aboard skilled at interrogation, and if they failed to get the information with a hammer, she and Jennifer could play the velvet glove.
The soft touch was the best way to start, she decided, and she stepped away from the helm to where their mystery man sat tied up on one of the built-in couches. Mango had duct taped his feet and hands together, but while they were secure bonds, she was positive that if they left this man alone for a few minutes, he could free himself with ease, just as he had back at Paul’s office.
Mango and Scott were busy rolling Joseph’s dead goons off the back of the yacht and hosing away the blood.
Emily sat beside their bound guest and asked if he wanted something to drink and if he was comfortable.
The man just glared at her.
“I don’t know your story,” she said, “but those three guys are all ex-Special Forces, and they know how to extract information. Now, you can talk to me or you can talk to those guys. Which would you like to do?”
“What do you do?” the man asked.
“I’m just here as eye candy,” she said with a smile.
“You do it very well.”
“Thanks.” She flipped her hair over her shoulder. Ryan liked to call it her Viking hair because he had once seen it in long braids and told her that all she needed was a horned helmet and a sword and she could lead men into battle.
Ryan pulled the throttles back, and the boat coasted forward. The heavy wave action had fallen away, and the big yacht rode easier on the calmer waters. He dropped the anchor and backed down on the hook before shutting off the engines.
Emily looked at the man beside her on the couch. “Like I said, it’s them or me. I’m not sure where we are, but it’s probably someplace where no one can hear you scream.”
The man sat in silence.
“Do you work for Terrence Joseph?” she asked.
“Who is that?” the man responded.
“The guy we have tied up in the cabin,” Ryan said.
“Let’s start with an easier question,” Emily said. “What’s your name?”
The man stared at his hands.
“Okay, so you don’t work for Joseph, but you want the documents that Paul has. Are you implicated by them?” Emily asked.
Again, the man remained silent.
“This isn’t getting us anywhere,” Scott said. “I say we use the dinghy to drag him around the bay with a rope tied to his ankles.”
“You guys go s
ee what you can do with Joseph,” Ryan said to Scott and Mango.
The two men stepped down into the cabin while Ryan and Emily remained with their mystery thief. A moment later, a ghastly scream rose from the salon.
“That doesn’t sound like fun,” Emily said. Even though the scream had set her teeth on edge and she wanted them to stop torturing Joseph immediately, she knew it was necessary in the hope of loosening the thief’s tongue.
Ryan raised the sleeves of the mystery man’s T-shirt. Emily wondered what he was doing until she saw a tattoo on his right shoulder. He pulled the man’s arm around so Emily could see it better. “This guy’s a Venezuelan Marine, or used to be.”
The Marine twisted his body to free himself from Ryan’s grasp.
“Did you defect?” Ryan asked.
Another blood-curdling scream made Emily cringe. What are they doing to that guy?
“You hear that?” she asked the Marine, trying to keep her cool. “Now’s not the time to play dumb because you’re next.”
Chapter Nine
The scream came again, and Oscar knew these people meant business. He had tortured men, too, and the men who’d captured him were clearly professionals. It was easy to see by their quiet demeanor and the quick way in which they had taken down their opposition.
The woman had surprised him by coming out of the shadows and whacking him with the umbrella. Even she seemed professional. There was only one who seemed bothered by the ordeal, and that was the second woman. He watched her out of the corner of his eye. She had her hands clamped over her ears and stood as far away from the action as she could get.
He looked around the boat, studying his surroundings and the people holding him hostage. It impressed him that the man had known he was a Marine based on his tattoo. Few Americans knew about the Marine units attached to the Venezuelan Navy. There were only ten thousand men and women serving in the Marine Corps, and they weren’t well known, even among his own military community.