by Matthew Rief
Knowing that it was our only hope of getting out of this mess, I’d managed to maintain my death grip on my Sig even while diving into the water and during our short swim. We both looked around us, trying to come up with some kind of plan.
Whatever we do, we need to act fast, I thought as I glanced at the pressure gauge, which indicated that the tanks were dangerously close to being empty.
We kept a sharp eye on the trawler and, as I’d expected, it slowed to an idle between the burning RHIB and the Baia. Tilting my head towards Kyle, I motioned for the stern of the trawler. We each took one more deep breath and took off into the darkness, using the light from the slowly extinguishing flames to guide us.
When we reached the stern, I pulled my dive knife from its sheath strapped to my left calf and handed it to Kyle. At the count of three fingers, we rose up out of the water, making as little noise as possible as we grabbed hold of whatever we could get our hands on for support. As soon as Kyle started to pull himself up towards the top of the transom, a man yelled out something in Russian from up on the flybridge, and a second guy swiveled his MP5 towards Kyle. Before he could level his weapon, Kyle lunged forward, grabbed hold of his shirt, then jerked him over the stern and slammed him into the tip of my dive knife. The blade cut through his heart, killing him almost instantly.
As Kyle hurled the guy into a front flip and splashed him into the water, I took aim and put two rounds into the chest of the guy who’d yelled out a second earlier. He pulled the trigger of his M4 and shot a burst of rounds into the air as his body jolted sideways, flew over the starboard side of the trawler, and splashed into the water below.
More voices came from both inside and from the bow of the trawler, and Kyle and I knew that we had to move quickly. Wrapping my hands over the transom, I pulled myself up as fast as I could, brought my legs over, and planted my bare feet onto the deck. In a flash of movement, Kyle snatched the MP5 from the guy he’d impaled, then climbed up and hit the deck beside me.
We both saw movement coming from inside, and Kyle moved towards the aft door with his MP5 raised. Just as we were about to breach, a series of automatic gunfire erupted from inside, shattering the windows and causing us both to drop to the deck. I rolled to my left towards the port gunwale, seeking cover behind the metal bulkhead. Just as I reached the port bulwark, a pair of long arms grasping a blacked-out AK-15 came into view just a few feet ahead of me. It was being held by a tall, lanky guy wearing a large black leather jacket and having midnight hair that reached well past his shoulders. I hadn’t gotten a good look at him before, but he had the same general appearance as the guy who’d blown up the RHIB with the RPG.
Just as we spotted each other, he aimed his AK towards me and pulled the trigger. I just managed to extend my hand at the last second and grab his wrist, forcing the barrel to look anywhere but at me. Bullets exploded out, missing parts of my body by less than a foot as they rattled against the transom behind us. My left arm shook as I muscled the beast at bay. I gave a strong push, then, with my right hand still gripping my Sig, raised it up towards his chest. Before I pulled the trigger, he caught me off guard, using my momentum against me as he spun around and shoved me onto the deck against the metal gunwale. In a quick retaliation, I snapped my right leg across the front of his body, knocking the AK out of his hands and sliding it forward on the deck.
I raised my Sig and managed to fire off a single round, the bullet flying inches from my assailant’s face as he dropped down on top of me. Before I could fire another shot, he grabbed me by the forearms and, using his falling momentum, spun me around and slammed my Sig onto the deck. Sharp pains shot up from my right hand as my Sig came loose and rattled against the transom behind me.
I was amazed at how fast and efficient my enemy was and knew without question who he had to be. The Russian Devil. Drago Kozlov. One of the most feared assassins on earth.
His reputation preceded him. He was strong and fast, and he clearly had years of extensive training. But beyond his physical abilities, there was something deeply menacing about the guy. His pale face showed no emotion, and as he turned to face me, his dark eyes looked like portals into hell. I felt a faint recognition upon seeing his face up close. I couldn’t place it in the heat of the moment, but I swore that I’d seen him before.
Before my Sig had come to a stop, he reached beneath the left side of his black leather jacket and pulled out a silver blade that glistened under the deck lights. He sliced the sharpened steel towards my body as I twisted and pummeled him across the face with my right foot. Seeming to be only irritated by the blow and nothing more, he came back with another strike, this time stabbing the blade towards my chest. I rolled and forced the blade aside, causing it to stab into the deck beside me.
Jumping to my feet, I managed to avoid a few more stabs of his blade before his clenched fist struck me in the side. As I lurched sideways, he sliced the blade through the air, the steel cutting a deep gash in my left shoulder. I grunted, trying to brush off the excruciating pain. As he came in for a finishing blow, I shuffled to my left, grabbed hold of his shirt, then spun him around and slammed his head into the bulkhead. I could tell he was slightly dazed from the blow and used it to my advantage. Without hesitating, I twisted him around, and hit him with a strong front kick. His body flew forward and he nearly tumbled onto his face.
“Logan!” Kyle shouted from the other side of the boat.
I turned around, took a few steps aft, and snatched my Sig from the deck. Glancing over at Kyle, I saw him standing with the MP5 in one hand and my dive knife in the other. Two dead guys lay bleeding and motionless at his feet.
As we both turned our attention to the port side, I heard a loud order barked in Russian across the night air. I ignored the pain from my shoulder as blood dripped down my wetsuit. I turned to look back down the port bulwark, this time with my Sig raised and with Kyle at my six, but Drago had vanished. I glanced at Kyle, then took a step forward. Just as my bare foot hit the deck, a loud roar grumbled from below. The trawler suddenly accelerated at an unbelievable rate, causing the bow to rise high into the air and sending Kyle and me falling backward.
We both lost our balance for a second, nearly tumbling over before stabilizing ourselves against the transom. I didn’t know how the old and decrepit-looking trawler managed to move so quickly, but it definitely had some unbelievable upgrades in the engine room. In the chaos of the boat accelerating and Drago vanishing, we hadn’t noticed that one of the bleeding guys Kyle had taken out had somehow managed to rise to his feet. He was a big guy, built like a tank, and he looked pissed off.
Just as we looked his way, I saw that he’d snatched a long metal pole and was swinging it towards both of us. We only had time to raise our arms to try and absorb the brunt of the blow, but the pole was heavy and he was swinging it like a big leaguer at a home run derby. The pole slammed into us, causing our legs to brace against the transom and our bodies to hinge. Our upper bodies jolted backward and we spun almost 360 degrees before splashing into the white, bubbly water of the trawler’s wake.
Disoriented in the strong current of the churning water, I broke the surface and turned around to look at the trawler, which was already nearing forty knots as it cruised away from us. Through salty, blurry eyes, I spotted a dark figure climb up onto the flybridge with an AK in his hands. It was Drago.
“There he is!” I shouted over the thrashing of the water and the roar of the engine.
Kyle treaded beside me and we both took aim, firing round after round towards the blacked-out devil. He shot a few rounds back at us as well, the bullets striking the sea and splashing around us. As the trawler cruised far away into the night, I saw at least one of our rounds hit home. Drago jerked sideways and collapsed onto one knee. Seconds later, he dropped out of view and the trawler disappeared into the darkness. Soon even the low hum of the engines faded away, and we were left alone in the calm after the storm.
SEVENTEEN
“Well, that
was fun,” Kyle said between quick, deep inhalations.
I nodded, then wiped some of the dripping water from my brow.
“What the hell?” I said. “I thought you took that guy out.”
He shrugged. “Me too. He went with the old hook bar to the chest. Oldest trick in the book.”
Kyle kicked his body up higher in the water, then quickly checked the rounds left in his magazine. I didn’t have to count. My fifteen-round mag had three rounds left, a fact that caused my body to turn instinctively towards the Baia. She was still floating peacefully, her bow pointed towards us, into the slow-moving current.
“I don’t understand why he isn’t coming back to try and finish us off,” I said as I turned back and glanced towards the dark horizon where the trawler had vanished.
“Maybe he wants to replenish his numbers,” he said, glancing over at the two dead guys floating in the water. “Not a lot of good it’ll do.”
My body relaxed as the adrenaline began to wear off. I became increasingly aware of the pain radiating from my left shoulder, then motioned towards the Baia.
“Come on,” I said, then swam on my right side towards the stern.
Kyle slung the MP5 onto his back, then freestyled, reaching the swim platform a few strokes ahead of me. He climbed up the swim platform ladder and looked out over the water.
“This day just keeps getting better and better,” he said, motioning towards the few burnt pieces of the RHIB that floated in the water behind us.
Needless to say, the metal box was nowhere in sight.
After climbing aboard, Kyle extended a hand to help me up.
“Damn,” he said as I rose up to my feet. “I sure hope that looks worse than it feels.”
“Yeah, the saltwater really eases the pain,” I said sarcastically.
Dripping water and small amounts of blood onto the deck, I grabbed a small towel and pressed it against my shoulder.
“Be a friend and hand me that first aid kit under the helm,” I said.
Kyle moved forward, then bent down and opened the small locker.
“Let me stitch it up,” he said, grabbing it and placing it on the dinette beside us.
I heard feet shuffling and barking coming from below deck. Grabbing my keys out of my wetsuit pocket, I slid the brass one into the salon door. Atticus came bolting out, clearly excited by all the commotion. He placed his paws against my chest and looked around. After sniffing the deck for a few seconds, he jumped back to me and looked at the blood coming out from my shoulder and soaking part of the towel.
“I know,” I said, petting him behind his right ear. “I’ll be alright.”
As Kyle opened up the first aid kit, I moved down into the main cabin. Stepping into the closet, I pressed my right thumb on the scanner of my biometric safe and punched in the code. I grabbed two more mags for my Sig along with my MP5 SD6 assault rifle. As I stepped back up onto the deck, I heard the radio crackle to life.
“Seas the Day to Baia Flash,” an older man’s voice said through the radio. “Logan, are you okay?”
Kyle glanced over at me, but my face showed nothing but utter confusion. I had no idea who was contacting us, though his voice sounded vaguely familiar.
I stepped towards the cockpit and grabbed the radio.
“Baia Flash to Seas the Day,” I said, holding down the talk button. “With whom am I speaking?”
After a short pause, the man’s voice returned.
“This is George Shepherd,” he said. “Captain of Seas the Day and former captain of Island Dream.”
Hearing his name took me back instantly to my first few days back in Key West last year. Island Dream was the name of my boat before I’d purchased it, and George Shepherd was the man I’d purchased it from. He’d painted over the name to allow me to choose a new one, and I’d christened it Dodging Bullets a short while after. George had been a surgeon living in the Keys and, after retiring, he’d sold the Baia and bought a sailboat to cruise around the world with his wife.
I smiled and brought the radio back up close to my mouth. Kyle was still looking back at me, confused. I debated telling George to sail away as fast as he could but knew that that was probably not the best idea considering that there was an angry and heavily armed Russian assassin out there somewhere.
“George, you wouldn’t happen to know anyone who could take care of a knife wound, would you?”
“With this wind, I should reach your anchoring in half an hour,” he said. “We heard the gunshots and the explosion, and we saw the spotlight in the sky. Looked like a war zone.” After a second’s pause, he added, “Can you manage your shoulder until we get there? If it’s serious, I’ve got a small dink and outboard I can drop in the water.”
“Appreciate it, George. The pressure seems to be holding it fine.”
“Alright. ETA in thirty. We’re a forty-four-foot catamaran. Don’t shoot us.”
I laughed when the last three words came over the radio.
“Roger that,” I said. “Over and out.”
I stuck the radio onto its clip beside the helm, then turned back to Kyle. He was still shooting me a confused look.
Shaking his head, he said, “You’ve only been living in the Keys for a year. Seems like you know everybody.”
I grabbed my canteen from the dinette and took a few swigs.
“He used to own Dodging Bullets,” I said. “I bought it from him back when I first moved.”
“And… we can trust him?”
“He’s not gonna arrive standing on his bow with a rocket launcher if that’s what you’re wondering.”
He shrugged, then motioned towards my shoulder. “Seems to be contained well enough.” He bent down, then stepped down towards the salon. “You got another rebreather, right?”
Atticus cocked his head at the question. Even he seemed to realize that it was crazy.
“Yeah, but it needs calibration work. Why?” I said, shaking my head.
“Because I’m heading back down. I wanna see if the box is still intact.”
“You’re kidding, right? Kyle, it was a tool storage box, not an explosion-proof safe. There’s no way it survived a head-on collision with a rocket-propelled grenade.”
“Well, I’m gonna make sure. We came all this way. I’m not about to let a little hiccup stop me.”
A little hiccup? I thought.
He didn’t wait for a reply. As he turned and continued down into the salon, I placed a hand on his shoulder.
“Wait. I’ve got a better idea.” I squeezed my way past him. “Just wait up here and keep an eye out. I’ll be right back.”
When I reached the bottom of the steps, I hooked a sharp left and moved into the guest cabin. After opening the big locker on the starboard side, I reached inside and pulled out a plastic hardcase. Back topside, I set the hardcase on the sunbed, unclasped the hinges, and pulled it open. Kyle’s reaction was just as I’d hoped.
“I didn’t know you had one of those,” he said, leaning over me for a better look.
Inside the case was my commercial-grade underwater drone, complete with top, bottom, and forward/reverse thrusters. It also had a series of high-powered LEDs and three built-in cameras. Secured in the foam base beside the drone were four hundred feet of coiled-up yellow tether and a remote control with a built-in digital display.
After turning it on and checking to make sure that the battery was full and that everything was working properly, we set it in the water beside the swim platform. Once it was submerged, I powered up the top thrusters, propelling the small ROV downward.
“That thing’s awesome,” Kyle said.
“It comes in handy,” I said, then handed him the controls. “Here. It handles pretty well.”
Kyle was always a quick learner, and after less than a minute, he was piloting it like a pro. I plopped down on the cushioned seat beside Atticus. Sliding the first aid kit in front of me, I pulled out a small stack of gauze pads and some disinfectant. After taking care o
f the wound, I pressed the towel back against it and tightened it using one my leather belts. Once finished, I took a few more swigs of water, then leaned back and scanned the eastern horizon. The clouds had opened up a little, allowing the moonlight to cast a silver glow over the water.
“I have a visual of the seafloor,” Kyle said. He was sitting on the sunbed with his feet propped up and his upper body hunched over the ROV’s controls. “Looks like I owe you a new rebreather,” he said, holding the screen up so I could see what remained of the destroyed piece of expensive diving equipment.
I waved him off and reached for my night vision monocular. “I already scratched it as a loss. I was looking to upgrade them to newer models soon anyway. Any sign of the box?”
I turned on the monocular, then looked east. Far in the distance, I saw the outline of a twin-hulled sailboat, its boom rising high into the air. It looked to be just a few miles out. While waiting, I grabbed my Sig along with an old rag and took it apart, rinsing each piece with freshwater and drying it off to prevent it from rusting.
Kyle suddenly dropped the controls in his lap, then leaned back.
I sighed and said, “Nothing left?”
He tilted his head and looked out over the horizon. “Nah. Just bits and pieces, burned and scattered all over the bottom.”
He set the controls on the sunbed, then rose to his feet. Standing against the starboard gunwale, he looked out over the horizon. His breathing was heavy, his eyes narrowed, and his blood was probably just a few degrees shy of boiling.
“Hey,” I said. “I’m sorry. But it’ll be alright.”
“How the hell can you say that?” he said, keeping his eyes peeled out over the water. “These people have been doing this for years. They came after me, and recently my family as well.”
We both fell silent for a minute. I swear I could hear his heartbeat pounding in his chest. Not knowing what else I could say and deciding that he needed space, I put my Sig back together and slid off the bench.
“You should change out of that wetsuit and grab a shower,” I said.