Dark Hunt: A Ryan Weller Thriller

by Evan Graver

  During his sleepless night, Ryan had used Greg’s computer to read about the Syrian Army, thinking he could get into Sadiq’s mind, but what he read left him more confused than before. Since leaving the Navy, he’d rarely watched the news or even read the headlines. Keeping up with the latest world happenings and military news had dropped on his priority list, so he’d had to do a fair bit of reading.

  Syria was a hot mess. There were more countries poking a stick into that bee’s nest than he could count. The major players were the United States, Russia, and the Syrians themselves. Then there was an entire laundry list of Muslim extremist groups.

  In a bid to defeat ISIS, the U.S had buddied up with Russia to combat them. Putin’s goal was to retain control of his country’s only warm-water port in Tartus and the airbase near Latakia. They faced multiple threats from the Syrian Free Army, or SFA, The Nasar Front, and ISIS, all of whom were splinter groups of the original Syrian Arab Army, or SAA, and the splintered factions received support from the likes of Turkey, Iran, and Lebanon.

  Fighters from around the world had converged on the country to support the jihadists or felt empathetic toward the refugees who had fled the country looking for peace outside the violent regime of Syria’s president, Bashar al-Assad, who was responsible for a string of human rights abuses, including the use of chemical weapons against his own people.

  The U.S. claimed they had all but wiped ISIS out, but other reports indicated that the group was still functioning despite its many setbacks.

  All of which begged the question: whose side was Sadiq on, and what were his plans for the stolen freighter? The more Ryan tried to come at the problem from different angles, the more it added up to two things. One: Sadiq had had enough of the fighting and had struck out on his own. But what exactly was he going to do with a stolen freighter, and why had he killed the crew? Most modern-day pirates wanted to ransom either the ship or the crew, or both, yet the shipowner had heard nothing from the pirates.

  The second option, as Emily had suggested during her pitch for help, was that Sadiq planned to use the freighter to stage a terror attack. That option raised even more questions. What was the target? In this part of the world, the obvious answer was the United States. When would he attack? How would he exploit a ship to make it the best weapon possible?

  Ryan poured another cup of coffee and returned to the table. He was deep in thought about the Syrian Arab Army and terror attacks when Emily interrupted him by slipping her arms around his waist. He wrapped his hand around hers.

  “What are you thinking about?” she asked.

  “How I would use a ship as a weapon.”

  “And what would you do?”

  “Turn it into a bomb and detonate it in the biggest shipping port I could find.”

  “Do you think that’s what he plans to do?” she asked.

  “I don’t know. I guess we need more information on him. If we can figure out what makes him tick, then we might be able to find him.”

  Shelly came out of the other bedroom and poured herself a mug of coffee. “Greg will be out soon. He said to order breakfast.”

  They ordered room service and ate on the balcony because Emily’s papers covered the table indoors.

  Greg joined them as they were finishing, and Ryan sat with him, sipping coffee.

  “What’s the game plan?” Greg asked, after swallowing a bite of scrambled eggs.

  “Find more information on the pirate leader. Ashlee is working the satellite angle, and I also think we need to go to Texas and put together a team to take the ship once we find it.”

  Greg leaned forward over his plate and hooked a fat glob of egg with his fork. “I’ll have Chuck fly you up today.”

  “Great. I’ll call him and set it up.”

  “I had him file a flight plan last night.” He rolled his wrist to look at his chronograph. “He should be getting the plane ready now. Happy hunting.”

  Why his friend’s forethought surprised him was beyond Ryan’s comprehension. He should have known that Greg would have already scheduled a flight to Texas. It was the next logical step, but still, the man was ahead of him. He stood and slapped Greg on the back. “I’ll see you later. Good luck with the port project.”

  “Call Landis when you’re on the plane and ask him for help. If he can ferret out information on your boy, then it might help you find him.”

  “I had a similar thought,” Ryan said.

  “Don’t do anything I wouldn’t do,” Greg advised.

  Ryan grinned. “That leaves me with plenty of leeway.”

  Chapter Thirty-Nine

  Trident Headquarters

  Texas City, Texas

  It was late in the afternoon when Ryan parked Greg Olsen’s midnight-black Chevrolet 2500 HD truck in front of an office near downtown Texas City, Texas. There were three buildings in the block of commercial offices, each painted light gray with stripes of blue and red around the top. Every office had a glass entry door, a small picture window in the front, and a roll-up garage door at the rear. This was where DWR had housed their clandestine operations when Greg’s father had run the DHS ops, and Ryan had worked here before going on the run from the Aztlán Cartel after they had placed a bounty on his head. Now, Greg ran Trident from the building, and owned a gun store and shooting range in the adjoining spaces.

  As Ryan and Emily walked to the door, a stocky man of Samoan descent with a gleaming bald head and a big grin swung it open. As usual, he wore tan cargo pants, combat boots, and a blue Columbia fishing shirt. Wiley X sunglasses hung from a strap around his neck.

  “This must be good for you to call in the cavalry,” Roland “Jinks” Jenkins said.

  Inside, Ryan introduced Emily to the retired U.S. Navy senior chief and former member of SEAL Team Six.

  “Nice to meet you, ma’am,” Jinks said.

  “I’d like you a lot better if you stopped calling me ‘ma’am,’” Emily said. “I’m not that old.”

  Jinks laughed. “Force of habit. Landis is waiting for you.”

  Ryan pointed for Emily to go into the office, closing the door as he and Jinks followed her inside. Not much had changed since the last time Ryan had entered this office to meet with Landis. Two of the four televisions on the wall played news footage and sports highlights, while the other screens were black. There was a brown leather sofa, a solid oak desk, and, behind the desk, a set of floor-to-ceiling shelves and cabinets containing a variety of books, binders, and pictures of Greg’s family. One of the photos was of him and Ryan in Afghanistan, the day before Greg had suffered a shrapnel wound to his back that had left him paralyzed.

  Landis sat behind the desk. He was a gruff gentleman on the cusp of retirement from Homeland after spending decades as an Army Ranger, a member of the Las Vegas Police Department, and the FBI before transitioning to the DHS liaison job. His steel gray hair was still in the same buzz cut he’d worn for years. He’d lost a few pounds around the waist, and his shirt no longer strained at the buttons. He gazed at Emily and Ryan with watery blue eyes that seemed to take in everything at once.

  Ryan shook his hand. “Thanks for coming.”

  He tapped the desk. “That’s what liaisons do. Now, let’s have your file.”

  Emily handed it over, and the DHS agent flipped through it while she recounted her time with Lorenzo Spataro and the steps that she’d taken to look for the Everglades Explorer to date.

  “What did you learn about Sadiq?” Ryan asked.

  Landis pushed a folder across the desk, and Ryan picked it up. The DHS agent leaned back in his chair and interlaced his fingers before drumming his thumbs against his stomach. He gave them a basic rundown of Sadiq’s history and finished with, “The reason the FBI came calling is because he’s on the terrorist watchlist. Apparently, he left the SAA and joined ISIS after a U.S. cruise missile strike killed his father.”

  Things began to crystalize in Ryan’s mind. Sadiq wanted revenge.

  “Did you talk to the FB
I agents who approached me?” Emily asked.

  “I did, and they asked what my interest was in the case,” Landis said. “I told them that my liaisons at DWR were helping you look for the freighter, and they asked to be kept in the loop if you found anything of significance.”

  “Are they looking for Sadiq or the ship?” Jinks asked from his seat on the sofa.

  “Not actively,” Landis replied.

  “What does that mean?” Ryan asked.

  “They think the sketch and subsequent hit in the database were a fluke because the tech used suspect methods in rendering the image and in pinpointing facial nodals.”

  “I can see that,” Emily said.

  “So, they believe Sadiq is still in the Middle East and not on a freighter?” Jinks inquired.

  Landis nodded. “The question now is: is this really Sadiq? Unless we have definitive proof that Sadiq is in control of the freighter, the FBI won’t want to hear any more about it.”

  “Which means we have to figure out who this guy really is,” Ryan said. “If he’s not Sadiq, we need to know who he is and what he’s doing with a stolen ship.”

  “Where do we start?” Jinks asked.

  “I’m waiting for Ashlee to get back with me,” Ryan said. “She’s working with a satellite tracking company to find the ship.”

  “How long will that take?” Landis asked.

  “Let me call her and find out.” He pulled out his cell phone and dialed Ashlee’s number.

  When she answered, she said, “I was just about to call you.”

  “I’m putting you on speaker.”

  They heard Ashlee take a deep breath before she said, “I don’t have anything yet. It’s taking longer than I thought it would.”

  “How long will it take?” Ryan asked.

  “Hopefully, tomorrow.”

  “Okay, Ash. Keep in touch,” he said and ended the call.

  Landis stood. “I need to get back to my office, and rush hour is going to be a nightmare. Call me if you get something concrete on Sadiq.”

  Ryan shook hands with the DHS agent and promised to keep him in the loop. He stood, stretched, and turned to Emily. “I’m hungry. Let’s go get something to eat.”

  “Sounds good,” she replied.

  “See you tomorrow, Jinks.”

  Jinks nodded and headed back to his office, which was a cubical near the front door.

  Emily followed Ryan outside into the warm Texas evening. “It will be hot for Don and Ashlee’s wedding,” she said.

  “Yeah, fortunately we’re wearing shorts. I guess they’re doing a beach theme.”

  Emily grinned coquettishly. “But you’d look even more handsome in a tux.”

  “Get in the truck.” He opened the passenger door, and she stepped onto the nerf bar and into the seat. Ryan closed the door and ran around to the driver’s side. A moment later, he had the truck started, and they pulled out of the parking lot.

  Fifteen minutes later, he stopped beside a small, tan clapboard building with blue trim and a large red triangular sign that read Boyd’s Cajun Grill Express. They slid out of the truck and joined the other people waiting to order food. The line snaked out the door amid the outside seating area. As they waited, Emily scrolled through messages on her phone, and Ryan breathed the salt air mixed with the pungent odors of cooking seafood and acrid crude oil. Texas City was one of the largest petrochemical refining and manufacturing centers in the United States, and Dark Water Research had built its headquarters there because of the deep-water port and easy access to the Gulf of Mexico. Ryan liked the small city, maybe because his friends lived there, but it wasn’t the same as living in the Caribbean with its clear blue water.

  Once they reached the counter, Emily ordered shrimp tacos, and Ryan ordered the crawfish basket with fried okra. They carried their fare to the pickup, and Ryan drove them onto the five-mile-long Texas City Dike, created when the city had dredged the Texas City Channel. The dike helped prevent sediment from filtering into the upper bay. From the end of the dike, they had a view of the Galveston skyline and the tip of the Bolivar Peninsula across the blue-brown waters of the bay.

  Ryan stopped the truck in a dirt-and-gravel lot. They ate on the tailgate while watching barges, oil tankers, and pleasure boats move past. A dredge worked in the channel, a constant operation to remove the silt and keep it clear.

  Emily sat cross-legged on the tailgate, the breeze blowing the strands of her hair across her cheeks. She kept brushing it off her face as she ate. Ryan finished his crawfish, which Emily said was disgusting when he popped the tail into his mouth then sucked on the crawfish’s head before chewing. He explained that all the juices were in the head, and it made the meat taste much better. She remained unconvinced.

  When they finished eating, he deposited their trash in a can, and they strolled hand in hand along the narrow strip of beach, watching fishermen surf cast or toss lures along the rocky shelves from their boats.

  Emily took off her shoes and waded out on a narrow sandbar, picking up shells. He watched her smile with each discovery and delighted in them with her. She walked to the end of the sandbar and back, and after she put her sandals back on, Ryan took her hand again and stopped her. “I have to tell you that I really like being here with you and working together again. I understood why you broke up with me, but it broke my heart. I really thought we’d make a go of it …” He trailed off, scuffing his foot in the sand.

  Emily could see he was struggling to choose his words. She put a hand on his cheek and caressed it with her thumb. “I’m sorry, too. I should have been brave enough to tell you face-to-face, but I wasn’t, and I’ve always regretted it.”

  He smiled and turned his head to kiss her palm. “Em, this could get dangerous, real fast.”

  “I know.”

  “By searching for this ship, we’re putting ourselves in harm’s way.”

  “This is what you do, Ryan.” She let her hand drop from his face. “I realize that now. Demanding that you change would be trying to control you, and you’d be unhappy and resentful. I couldn’t live with that. I think it was part of why I cut you out of my life, because I knew you would want to change, not for yourself, but for me, and at some point, you would go back to doing dangerous things, because it’s in your nature.” Her eyes shifted away from his. “That, and you were having an affair with that Haitian vodou woman.”

  Ryan grinned, ignoring everything else and fixating on her comment about his relationship with Joulie Lafitte, which only happened because Emily had dumped him. “So, you were jealous?”

  “Yes. Yes, I was, and you have no right to make fun of me.”

  He suppressed his grin. “I’m not.”

  They walked slowly, both watching the setting sun reflecting off the water.

  “What were you saying when you trailed off earlier?” she asked.

  “I don’t remember,” he lied.

  “Yes, you do. I told you I was jealous. Now you can tell me what you were going to say.”

  He stood there, staring into her beautiful face, her brilliant blue eyes searching his, a bemused smile on her lips. “I was going to say that I thought you were the one, and I figured we would get married and have a family.”

  Emily smiled coyly. “Ryan Weller, is that a proposal?”

  His cheeks turned crimson and he stammered as he tried to find an answer that would both appease her and get himself off the hook. While he had once wanted very much to marry this beautiful woman, he hadn’t imagined ever delivering such an awkward proposal. “I-I … I mean …”

  She crossed her arms and gave him a pointed look before turning for the truck.

  “Okay, yes,” he called after her. “It was a proposal if you want it to be. I hadn’t planned it to be, but …” She kept walking. “Hey, wait!” He charged after her and blocked her path. “I thought we were telling each other the truth?”

  “You really wanted to ask me to marry you? Why?”

  “Because I fe
ll in love with you during our trip to Marathon, and I’ve never felt for another woman the way I feel about you, Em. I love you. I want this to work between us.”

  Once again, she avoided his gaze by staring at the horizon, keeping her arms wrapped around her body. Then she nodded. “Okay.” She thrust a finger into his chest. “Not to marriage, I mean.” She took his hands in hers. “Let’s see how it goes. I’m not promising anything.”

  He put his arm around her shoulders, and they walked to the truck, a smile on his face.

  As they drove away from the dike, Ryan swung the truck into a small parking lot and hopped out.

  “What are you doing?” Emily asked.

  “I want to see what this anchor is doing here.” He pointed at a large white ship’s main anchor with several historical plaques on either side of it.

  Emily leaned out the truck window. “What’s it say?”

  “On April 16, 1947, the French freighter Grandcamp exploded and killed 576 people, injured five thousand, and destroyed ten million dollars’ in property. This ten-thousand-pound anchor landed here, a half mile away from where the ship exploded.”

  “Holy cow.”

  “Yeah. Wonder what made it explode?” He climbed back into the driver’s seat, put the transmission in drive, and headed toward Greg’s house on Tiki Island.

  Emily pulled out her phone. While Ryan drove, she summarized as she read. “It says the Grandcamp was carrying ammonium nitrate stored in paper sacks. The longshoremen reported that the bags were hot to the touch while loading. Apparently, the manufacturer made the ammonium nitrate into pellets coated in paraffin, and between the warm day and the heat in the ship’s hold, the pellets started to smolder. The pressure inside the hold blew off the ship’s hatches, and the hull plates bulged at the seams. The water around the ship got so hot that it boiled and turned to steam. Eventually, the heat and pressure caused the ammonium nitrate to explode. It knocked the wings off two airplanes flying nearby, and people felt the shock in Louisiana, two-hundred-and-fifty miles away. The explosion of the Grandcamp caused another ship to catch fire, which was also loaded with ammonium nitrate. The detonation blew that ship’s propeller over a mile away.”