by Matthew Rief
Sliding the sniper rifle slowly up over the sand, I rested it with the barrel sticking between the branches of a large small shrub. Shutting my left eye, I pressed my cheek against the front end of the stock and focused through the PSO-1 scope with my right eye. Using my left hand, I adjusted the knobs on the top of the scope, zooming in on the ship and then bringing it into focus. The key to being a good sniper is to move slowly and methodically and to always control your breathing in a rhythmic, steady manner. It’s surprising how difficult it can be to keep a target locked in your crosshairs from half of a mile away when your heart is racing. In fact, it’s damn near impossible.
My body was perfectly relaxed as I did a quick scan of the ship, keeping an eye out for the sniper who’d tried to take me down the previous night. The deck was surprisingly empty. There were two guys standing at the stern talking to each other as they lit up their cigarettes, holding pistols in their hands as they paced back and forth. I could see the shadow of a guy through the glass window of the control tower and as I drew my field of vision back down towards the deck I saw two guys lying on their stomachs, one of them holding a sniper rifle resting on a bipod and the other staring through a pair of binoculars. They were sprawled out with their upper bodies just fitting through a hole in the port railing. Magnifying the scope a little more, I saw that the sniper had his barrel aimed straight in the direction of the island.
Similar to my .338 Lupia, the Alejandro is a bolt action rifle, so I lifted the bolt handle upwards then pulled the bolt back as far as it would go. Seeing that there wasn’t a round already chambered, I pushed it all the forward then closed it, striping a bullet from the eight-round magazine. Taking a deep, slow breath, I let it all out as my finger made contact with the metal trigger. With the thug staring into his sniper scope caught between the bisecting, red lines, I squeezed the trigger. The large caliber round exploded from the chamber with a loud and violent boom, soaring through the end of the barrel. Feeling the stock of the rifle jolt my shoulder back, I watched as the bullet flew the air.
Just under a second later the round reached its destination, exploding into the sniper’s head and spraying blood in all directions as his body jerked backward from the sheer force of it. Before the spotter had processed what had happened I’d chambered another round, shifted my aim and fired a second bullet straight at him. Upon seeing his friend’s head blow to pieces, he shifted his position, trying to crawl backward out of the small hole in the railing. But before he could come to his feet, the second bullet caught him straight in the chest, launching his body backward. I knew that when a 7.62mm diameter bullet hits human flesh at over two thousand feet per second, it usually leaves an exit wound somewhere around the size of a bowling ball, so I knew the thug was down for the count.
Keeping my movements slow, I zoomed out and did a quick scan of the deck, looking for another target. The two thugs who’d been standing with their thumbs up their asses had both dropped down and were taking cover behind the engine for the crane and a pile of metal drums. Drawing my aim back up to the bridge, I locked in on the figure of a thug standing on the other side of the large, partially tinted window. He looked like he was holding a radio and barking out orders from what was probably their controlling station. Squeezing the trigger, I sent a third bullet hurtling through the air. It exploded through the window, shattering the glass to pieces as it burst through the thug’s neck, knocking his body from view.
I drew my aim back to the deck and fired off a few more rounds at the two thugs crouching at the aft end of the ship, trying to spook them out of their hiding places. When they didn’t budge, I took one more look around the ship then jumped to my feet and ran towards the skiff the thugs had left during their last assault. The black, rigid hull inflatable boat rested idly with most of its hull sitting on the white, sandy beach while the aft end shifted up and down with the coming and going of the surf.
As I ran up to the boat I realized that it was an MR-800 military grade skiff with a Yamaha three hundred and fifty horsepower engine attached to the stern that would rocket her through the water at over fifty knots. I set my sniper rifle onto the bow next to an AK47 the thugs had left, then grabbed hold of the rubber straps at the front of the inflatable pontoons and shoved the boat back into the small crashing waves. I climbed aboard when the stern was deep enough for the prop. Moving my aching body over to the console, I prepared to hotwire the thing then realized that the dumbasses had left the key stuck in the ignition. Turning the key, I roared the Yamaha to life then pulled back on the throttles, backing the skiff into the ocean. Once deep enough, I punched the throttles forward, accelerating the inflatable with ease as I maneuvered to put the ship straight in front of me.
CHAPTER
TWENTY-ONE
Holding speed at just over thirty knots, I kept my left hand gripped tightly around the helm then grabbed my sniper from the deck with my right. I rested the barrel of the high-powered rifle on the metal frame of the windscreen and took intermittent glances through the scope, making sure none of the thugs thought it was safe to walk freely about the deck again. The water was calm as glass following the storm, minimizing the bouncing as I cruised through the water and making it easier to keep the gun steady.
Every now and then my vision would blur, and my mind would get hazy. I was well beyond tired. My body hurt and was sore all over, but I ignored it and stayed focused, knowing that I had a chance to take all of them out and put an end to their attacks for good. Scanning the decks, control tower and various other visible sections of the ship, I saw no sign of movement of any kind. There were no thugs in sight.
After a little over a minute, I reached the ship and cruised around the bow and then around to its port side. I set my sniper on the metal deck and reached for my Sig strapped to my leg holster, holding it up in front of me and aching for a chance to use it. After taking a quick lap around the old, rusted ship, I pulled up against the port side, the pontoon making contact with the rusty hull. Idling the engine, I let go of the helm and took two steps before jumping towards the side of the ship, reaching up, and grabbing hold of the handrail with my left hand. Peaking over the side, I pointed my Sig, ready to fire at a moment’s notice, as I scanned every inch of the deck.
There was no movement to be seen as I drew my gaze from the aft section, where the crane rose high into the air, to the forward section where metal stairs led up to the various levels of the tower. I couldn’t see anyone through the glass windows of the control room and above the bow, the Bell 206 helicopter still sat idly on the helipad.
Gripping tightly to the handrail, I pulled myself up and over, my soles landing softly on the metal deck. Holding my Sig out in front of me with both hands, I moved forward towards the tower. The ship was eerily quiet as I searched the deck, my eyes darting back and forth as I approached the metal stairs. The steps were faded with sharp grooves for traction, and they squeaked as I took them two at a time, moving quietly to minimize the noise. I looked through the window of a second level room before entering. Grabbing the metal handle, I pushed it up then pulled open the heavy, watertight door. With my Sig raised, I moved down a narrow hallway, peeking into rooms that looked like disorganized messes of desks, tables, chairs, and cabinets.
When I reached the other side of the hallway and, after verifying that each room was empty, I unlatched a door leading back outside and pushed it away from me. I decided to head up to the third level and check out the cockpit. If there weren’t any thugs there either, that would mean that they were hiding out down in the crew’s quarters, cargo hold or in the engine room. The last thing I wanted was to have to go searching the bowels of a big ship like that, knowing there could be bad guys around any corner. No, I decided that if I didn’t find any thugs in the cockpit I’d rethink my strategy and come up with a different plan of action.
With the heavy door pushed aside, I felt the warm, tropical morning air brush against my face and heard the easy splashing of the ocean against the hull. A
s I stepped through the doorway, I was welcomed aboard by a Louisville Slugger swinging ferociously straight towards me from just around the corner. It happened so fast that I didn’t have time to avoid it or to try and block it in any way. The metal barrel smashed into the upper part of my chest, sending my body flying backward and knocking the wind out of me. As I hit the metal floor behind me with a loud thud, I trained my right hand, which was still clasped around my Sig, towards the door. Just as I squeezed the trigger the thug, a tall Latino guy wearing a black dress shirt and sunglasses, hit me again, this time slamming the barrel into my right hand just as a bullet exploded out of the barrel, piercing through his left shoulder.
My Sig flew from my grasp and rattled against the ground as sharp pain radiated from my right hand. The well-dressed thug with the baseball bat jerked sideways and grunted loudly in pain as he reached for the bullet wound to his left shoulder. Dark blood oozed out through his shirt as he gripped the bat with one hand and slammed it down towards my head. At the last second, I jerked my head sideways, avoiding the blow by just a few inches as the metal barrel whooshed past my ear and slammed onto the floor with a loud ting. Grabbing the barrel, I held it against the ground as I kicked my right heel into the thug’s forehead, shattering his sunglasses.
He looked dazed as I scissored my legs on either side of his shins, forcing my right leg forward and my left back, leveraging his body towards the ground. The Louisville Slugger rattled from his hands as he slammed into the metal floor. Reaching as far as I could, I grabbed the rubber coated handle and jumped to my feet. My opponent proved to be just as agile, whipping his body forward and his legs under him and landing on his feet in an athletic stance. Grabbing the metal frame of his shattered sunglasses, he growled at me and then threw them to the ground.
He was slightly taller than my six-foot-two-inches and stood just in front of the doorway with his fists raised in front of his chest. Blood continued to drip out from the bullet wound to his left shoulder as he gritted his teeth. He snarled at me as I threw the bat at him, catching him off guard and causing his eyes to grow wide as it spun towards him. As he tried to block it I lunged towards him, jumped like I was about to slam it home on a breakaway then grabbed hold of the pipes overhead and swung my body. Caught off guard, he was helpless as both of my heals slammed forcefully into his chest, launching his large frame off the ground and hurtling him through the open doorway behind him.
The thug got some serious air before slamming onto the deck and tumbling into the starboard railing. As I grabbed the bat and moved swiftly through the doorway to finish him off, he struggled to his feet, grunting and looking slightly disoriented as he looked up at me. Suddenly, he yelled out violently and sprinted straight for me like an Olympian upon hearing the starting gun. Throwing the baseball bat aside, I jumped out of his path of destruction, grabbed hold of his shirt collar and used a combination of his momentum and my own strength to slam his head into the glass covering a red emergency ax just beside the doorway, shattering it to pieces. Blood covered his face as shards of glass crashed to the deck at our feet. Wrapping my right hand around his neck, I forced him back and threw him chest first onto the deck. Turning around, I grabbed the emergency ax with both hands, brought it high over my head, and slammed it hard into the thug’s back.
He thrashed in pain as I pressed my foot against his back and pulled out the bloody blade. As his body shook and he struggled for air, I moved back into the hallway, bent over and grabbed my Sig from the ground. Heading back through the door, I quickly put the big guy out of his misery, sending a 9mm round right through his skull, causing a thick stream of blood to flow out and pool around his body as he went still as stone. I gasped for air, trying to shake off the powerful blows he’d landed to my chest and hand. Observing the fingers of my right hand, I tried to straighten them and then shut them, but even the slightest movements hurt like hell.
Regaining my focus, I looked around the outside of the ship, but even with all of the commotion, there was no one else lumbering about. I took one more look at the bloodied thug before heading for the metal stairs to check the cockpit. Clearly, he wasn’t one of Salazar’s goons that usually got his hands dirty, though he’d been trained extensively and was likely a top-tier assassin. No, most of Salazar’s grunt workers were lying dead in the sand over on Loggerhead.
I made quick work of the stairs, reaching the top in seconds and scanning through the windows of the cockpit with my Sig raised to shoulder height. From my angle, I hadn’t seen anyone inside or any movement at all as I moved for the watertight door, pushed up the metal locking device and pulled it open. It squeaked loudly, and it sounded even louder in the empty, quiet cockpit. Moving inside, I scanned behind a row of control panels then circled a table in the center that was covered with charts and maps. The room had good natural lighting, with windows that circled all the way around that let in a blinding ray of morning sunshine as it rose up into the sky. As I passed by the helm I saw the dead guy I’d shot with my sniper rifle lying on the ground in a pool of blood. Though he had lighter skin than the thug I’d chopped downstairs, he too wore a nice, button-up shirt. Glancing up, I saw the bullet hole my rifle had made in the center of the glass.
Seeing that the room was clear of thugs, I knew that there was no place the others could be other than below decks. The idea of going down there, looking for them on their own turf and in dimly lit nooks and crannies didn’t exactly excite me. As I walked around the counter and looked through the massive sheets of glass towards the aft section of the ship, I saw groups of large, metal barrels strapped together along the port and starboard sides. I’d passed by them on my way up from the skiff but had really just noticed how many there were for the first time. Maybe I didn’t have to go down below decks after all. Maybe I could get them to come out on their own accord.
Turning to my left, I headed for the watertight door I’d entered in from which was still wide open and letting in a soft, tropical breeze that felt good against my face. When I was just a few steps from the doorway, I heard movement coming from the other side of the room behind a set of control panels. Suddenly, two small but heavy objects rattled along the floor, heading straight for me. I recognized them instantly as grenades and instinctively dove to my right, taking cover behind a metal counter. Just as my body slammed into the hard ground, I heard a loud hissing sound which was followed right after by a cloud of white gas shooting from the grenades and filling the air. Teargas, I thought as I quickly covered my mouth with the collar of my shirt. I jumped to my feet, but before I could reach the door I’d entered through the small control room turned white, filling completely with the gas.
My eyes stung like hell and welled up with tears as I struggled to breathe, gagging short gulps of toxic air. I couldn’t see anything as I back stepped towards the door, hoping to escape the white cloud of gas that was wreaking havoc on my face and lungs. Disoriented, I turned around and reached ahead of me. My hand grazed against the squeaky, metal door just as a pair of arms wrapped around me from behind. I fired off two shots blindly into the gas with my Sig before my unknown enemy knocked the weapon from my hands. His powerful arms gripped tightly to my vest and slammed me down onto the floor with a loud thump. I caught only a glimpse of a black gas mask through the clouds of tear gas before I felt a jarring pain rattle across my skull as my unknown assailant slammed the butt of a rifle into my forehead.
CHAPTER
TWENTY-TWO
My mind was in a painful haze as strong arms turned me over and slammed me onto my chest. I could barely breathe as my hands were forced behind my back and my wrists locked together by what felt like a large, plastic zip tie. I coughed and gagged as the thug grabbed me by the shoulders and dragged me through the doorway, out of the thick cloud of gas. The blinding rays of sunshine were painful as they beat against my watery eyes. I got only intermittent glimpses as a few more thugs grabbed hold of me, helping to drag me along the grated walkway and down the metal, creaking st
airs.
Once back on the main deck, the thugs shoved me against the starboard bulkhead then slapped me around a bit, trying to shake me out of it. I blinked my eyes a few times then slowly opened them. They still hurt like hell from the teargas, but they were getting a little better each second. My breathing relaxed as my lungs enjoyed the sweet taste of fresh air. As my vision cleared, I saw that there were three thugs standing in front of me. Two of them looked like they could be professional wrestlers, both having muscles that bulged out from their button-up dress shirts. The third was smaller, had a gold front tooth and, I don’t know how else to say it, he looked like a guy you’d see in an insane asylum the way his crazy eyes looked at me.
The two big thugs held handguns, one of them a Glock 19 and the other a Desert Eagle, and the crazy looking dude with the gold tooth held a shotgun. By the way they watched me like a hawk, it was clear that they weren’t messing around. And for good reason; they’d seen firsthand the damage that I’d done to their buddies over the past day or so. I knew I wouldn’t get an inch of slack from those knuckle draggers.
After leaning against the bulkhead for a few moments, a loud, metal door opened on the bottom level of the tower and a guy stepped out. As he walked nonchalantly towards us, he took intermittent drags of his massive cigar which was burned about halfway. I instantly recognized him from the few images I’d seen on the news, the most prominent being a mugshot taken the day he was captured in Miami. He reminded me of Al Pacino in Scarface, only older and with thick, black chest hair that was visible behind his red, button up shirt that was only buttoned up about halfway. He had long, dark hair and wore sunglasses that concealed his eyes completely. Around his neck, he wore two thick gold chains that clanked together as he moved. He wasn’t very tall, maybe five seven, but he had a commanding presence that went beyond his size.