A Viable Threat (A Martin Billings Story Book 4)

by Ed Teja

  “You weren't in the hotel,” Hank said.

  “I could've been.” Bill winked. “Thinking about being blown up made me hungry. And since Martin's missions never run smooth, I want to see this gear Amy is going to provide—check out the boat and make sure they filled the gas tank, shit like that.”

  “Not very trusting, are you?” Hank asked as we all stood.

  “Hey, that's one of my best qualities,” he said. “That's the reason I'm here now.”

  20

  When we left the office, Amy led the way to a battered little Honda parked down the street. “Hop in,” she said. “And do buckle up.”

  “Expecting a rough ride?” I asked, as I sat in the passenger seat.

  She nodded back toward Hank's office. Chandler was staring at us as we drove off. “That's up to them. I intend to insist that they don't know where we are launching the mission from,” she said.

  “Keep the Navy in the dark?”

  “After the bombing of the hotel, I had too many questions with no answers. The way Hank is brushing the crumbs under the table, I'm not in a trusting mood. It's not a stretch to imagine whoever blew up the building might choose to sabotage the mission in other ways.”

  “Good point,” I said. “But you arranged this before the bombing.”

  “Smart ass,” she said, flashing me a smile. “My mistrust was just sharpened by that little event.”

  “A mistrust that predates the mission by some time, I suspect,” Bill said from the back seat.

  “As a matter of fact, yes.”

  No one followed; at least we didn't see anyone. Amy drove across the island, following twisty roads, taking us to a dock that was not prime real estate. The only buildings, a tiny bait shop and a shabby guest house and restaurant, needed even more repair than the dock.

  “They run bone fish charters out of here,” she said, pointing to a paint-splotched powerboat that had two lovely Honda outboards on the back.

  “Not all that successfully,” I said.

  She elbowed me. “A successful operation would be too visible.”

  “Ah! Failure as the ideal cover story.”

  “Now you are thinking.”

  Walking down the dock involved stepping around missing planks and enjoying a bit of swaying motion that suggested the wooded pilings were no longer as secure as they had once been. I’d guess that worm had eaten them half through. But the boat itself proved a different story. She was weathered and some of the fiberglass powdery and cracked, but she was sound. Bill and I checked out her running gear. It was immaculate.

  “She's a sleeper,” Bill said.

  “She's pretty quick,” Amy said, opening a locked compartment and showing us an array of magical assault goodies. “There are sidearms, vests, black clothes that should fit us, and the tranq guns, plus a body bag.”

  “A body bag? I thought you wanted him alive.”

  “It's a special kind made for living bodies,” she said. “It has a special face covering to prevent him from getting suffocated if we accidentally park him on his face or something, and it's made of a special Kevlar that will help keep him alive if someone tries to kill him. It holds him tight so that even if he escapes the bonds, he can't use his arms. Oh, and it floats.”

  “I want one,” I said.

  “Put it on your Christmas list.”

  “Any explosives?” Bill asked. “I like explosives. What fun is a mission if you don't have explosives?”

  “I stuck in some C-4 for special occasions,” she said. “You never know when there might be a party.”

  “Exactly,” he said.

  She wiped her hands on her shorts. The movement caught my eye, and I found myself staring at her lovely legs for a moment too long. She grinned. “I need to check to ensure my people got the package I sent.” She tossed Bill the keys. “In the meantime, I thought you two might like to take a scenic tour of the future crime scene. You can mosey by at a safe distance. That might be helpful before we have to approach at night.”

  “Yeah, I'd like a look at that ramp in daylight,” Bill said.

  She pointed to the console. “There are binoculars in there. Don't get too close or look too curious.”

  “Yes, Mom,” Bill said. “We will be careful.”

  She laughed. “I'll be at the restaurant around noon, and if you get back before I finish my meal, I'm buying.”

  “Before we head off, I need to know why you agreed to let Hank change our plan,” I said.

  She grinned. “Because of my secondary goal. Getting Vermeer is the big deal, but this will give me more time to play with his computers and pull off hard data. Wow, what a coup that would be.”

  “So the extra time wouldn't be spent sitting outside watching the villa?”

  “If Hank wants to believe that's what we are doing, I'm good with that. But honestly, I don't see spending the night leaning on rocks waiting for his text. I'm not worried about his people interfering. No, we go in as we planned. We enter the villa and tranq anyone who moves, except him. When we've restored peace, I'll sit down with him and his computers and see if I can establish a relationship that lets me play. Once I'm in, you tranq and bag him while I rip anything that looks interesting onto encrypted thumb drives. When I finish, we will go over to the pickup point, give ourselves more travel time in the dark.”

  “I like it,” I said. “And, of course, you'd rather we didn't mention any bonus data to Hank?”

  “I wouldn't want to complicate his vision of the mission by explaining every little detail. He has enough on his plate doing whatever he is doing.”

  Bill lowered the engines and fired them up. They sounded good, their rumbling deep and throaty. He gave me a high sign.

  “We are going for a boat ride. See you at lunch then,” I said.

  She grinned, undid the docking lines, and tossed them in the boat. Then her lovely leg reached out and her sneaker pushed the boat away from the dock. Bill shoved the throttle forward; the boat smoothly surged forward with a growl, and I looked back to see her wave goodbye.

  “We are in a confusing mess,” Bill said. “And at the mercy of too many people.”

  “Besides Hank?”

  “You have to consider the possibility that Amy might not be everything she claims,” he said. “I know you won't want to hear this at the moment, but you need to at least consider that lovely Amy is almost too good at this. Plus, this morning it occurred to me how convenient it is that the explosion allowed her to keep the intel without Hank's knowledge. Now she's introduced another little game that gives her access to Vermeer's computers—again without Hank knowing.”

  “She doesn't trust Hank. It's a big club.”

  “Yet, it behooves us to think for just a moment of the possibility, slim as it might be, that Hank's boners are just his natural incompetence and ineptness, which has been given room to flourish in the Navy's straight-jacketed operations.”

  “So, you think Amy is a spy?”

  He laughed. “No, but she might be a truly ambitious agent out to score for her agency without any regard for whom she must squash, including thee and me, Junior.”

  “That's not the mindset I want to go into a mission with, Mr. Ugly.”

  “No. I simply ask that you consider the possibility, so you are not blindsided entirely if any part of it is true.”

  “Okay, I considered it.”

  “Now put it out of your mind and perform with confidence.”

  “I can do that,” I said, more confidently than I felt.

  “Sure, I'm just reminding you.” He glanced at me. “Your devil-may-care persona is good for morale, Junior, but there are times when I'm not sure it doesn't blind you to the life-and-death nature of what we are about to do.”

  “Never fear, old friend. I will watch my ass from every angle.”

  “And keep your eye on the road.”

  We roared across the brilliant waters, salt water spray d
arting out from the hull as we skirted the Cays, heading for the island. As we approached, Bill backed off the throttles so that we could see more than a blur on shore. “The villa,” he said, pointing.

  I grabbed the binoculars and scanned the modern structure overlooking Exuma Sound, just as Hank had said. “I don't see a beach that would give us access.”

  “So that much is true,” Bill said, turning the helm to take us into Adderley Cut. “Let's see if the info is right about the boat ramp. I'd hate to come rolling in and find it was mined or something.”

  “That would be disappointing,” I said.

  At the sight of crumbling buildings I recognized from the photos, I signaled for Bill to slow more. As the boat came to a halt, drifting with the current toward the Atlantic, I handed him the binoculars. “Looks as advertised,” I said. “No guards, no gun emplacements, practically peaceful.”

  “Except for the lasers,” Bill said, handing the binoculars back. “See the regularly placed posts? Each has a laser and sensor. It isn't anything sophisticated, just a home-quality intruder detection system. They probably bought it online, and it's nothing more than something to let them know when locals come on the island for a picnic or to scavenge from the old buildings.”

  “A detection system that we can slide under with no problem,” I said. “They are positioned pretty high.”

  “Easy to do, now that you know it’s there,” he said, scowling. “If we'd relied on Hank, you might have not seen them in the dark and triggered an alarm. Amy's suggested visit saved us that little problem.” He winked.

  I was glad to have him thinking well of Amy again. “It's a bad idea to go into a mission without knowing where everyone stands on the stand-up scale.”

  “This entire mission has been such a bad idea from the get-go that it's hard to imagine we can do anything but get her done and go home.”

  “Speaking of going home, I think we've seen all we are going to from out here.”

  I pointed in the direction I hoped led to Exuma. “Then home, James. I'd like to be back in time for that free lunch.”

  “Now you are talking,” Bill said, sending the boat forward again.

  As he headed back, Bill's thoughts turned to lunch. Mine went further, thinking that we had an afternoon to pass. Even with thoughts and calculations relative to the mission in my head, I'd been unable to get Amy's lovely legs out of my mind. Now we'd meet for lunch. After that, we'd have a little time to rest before we had to start getting ready. I hoped that she'd be amenable to spending that time with those legs wrapped around me.

  It was worth asking.

  21

  Right at sunset a breeze picked up, blowing in off the Atlantic as we set out. It created a small chop as Bill navigated the shallow waters of Exuma Sound taking us to Lee Stocking island. The water in the Sound is never what a sailor thinks of as deep. In daylight you could usually judge the depth by the color of the water, which is actually light being reflected up through it. At night, well, you had to know where you were going or risk running aground. Fortunately, Bill knew his way around the waters. I wasn't clear on when he'd been in this area, or why, but his confidence at the helm was reassuring. Still, I was glad we'd made the earlier run.

  As we closed in on the island, Bill doused the running lights. Our twin four-stroke outboards made a dull, steady drone, punctuated by slaps of water hitting the bow as we punched through the chop that changed into more of a swell as we entered the cut, heading toward the Atlantic against an incoming.

  I scanned the shoreline, catching a glimpse of lights from the villa. Then Bill brought the boat around, cutting to port and pointing her toward shore, and I lost track of it.

  “You are way too far down,” I said, indicating rocks on the shoreline.

  He shook his head. “I've got it covered, Junior. With this stiff incoming current, when I cut power, she will set down beside the rocks—right on the ramp.”

  “What ramp? I can't even see it.”

  He snorted. “Course not. It's narrow and intended for daylight use. I can feel the helm, and I'll bring her in. Stop trusting your eyes on put your faith in Ugly Bill's magic seamanship.”

  As we closed on the dark shoreline, Bill gently reversed the engines. “Hold on tight,” he said. Moments later, as our progress slowed, he cut the engines. I heard the squeal of the electric motor that raised the engines, lifting the props out of the water. Within seconds, the hull scraped against the sand that covered the concrete ramp and the boat came to an abrupt stop.

  I grabbed my tranq gun and jumped over the gunnel, landing knee deep in the water, hearing a soft splash as Amy moved in sync with me on the opposite side of the boat. We turned to face the boat.

  “Martin,” Bill hissed, pointing up the ramp.

  I turned to look. Nothing moved. “What is it?”

  “Remember the electronic sensors,” he said.

  I nodded. “Got it.” Then Amy and I pushed the boat backward until she floated again. We both turned to face the shore, watching for any sign of an alert as the boat floated back into deep water and twisted in the current. Behind me, the whine of electric motors lowered the engines. I heard the crackle of the ignition and the soft roar of the engines. The boats slipped back further, then disappearing quietly into the dark.

  We were on our own.

  On every mission you reach a point when your stomach tightens. You know that from then on there is no turning back, no final chance to abort the mission. You are committed, past the point of no return, and it is time to let go of worrying about what happens after the mission—all that matters is getting to your target and completing the mission. Extraction will happen or it won't. It's out of your control. We'd gotten there.

  Crouched to present a low profile, we approached the sensors and looked them over. They were mounted on a series of irregular poles, haphazardly shoved into the sand. Each pole had a photocell and a red LED that was aimed at the photocell on the next pole. It formed a primitive security chain. Passing between them would break the circuit and, assuming it was operational, set off an alarm.

  The downside was that an animal or bird could set it off as easily as a human scavenger.

  That afternoon, I'd noted that the sensors were mounted high; now we saw they were about three feet off the ground. We grinned at each other, then lay on the ground, getting on our backs and wiggling under them. “Limbo,” Amy said as we got up and brushed off the sand.

  Clear of the sensors, we took a moment to survey the surroundings. The buildings were narrow rectangular structures that could have been anything. I moved toward them, wanting a closer look. We had plenty of time.

  “These were staff housing,” Amy said. Before I could ask, she said: “When I first heard about Vermeer moving to the island, I tracked down the archived website for the research center. It had a lot of interesting information about what went on here.”

  In the moonlight, the collapsing buildings cast shadows that provided cover, and we slunk along the edge of them. Everything was quiet, and we walked past piles of trash that looked like the residue of beach parties—bottles, can, plastic—the likely reason for the sensors. I kept waiting for the inevitable surveillance equipment.

  “The local kids and boaters sure as hell aren't afraid of whatever is here,” Amy said.

  “Maybe they tolerate people coming here. It makes the place seem less built up.”

  She shot me a look. “Then why the sensors? Besides, that would be even more troubling. Have you ever heard of mercenaries, any private army that didn't maintain a tight security perimeter? Even if they are complacent, even if the only thing they are worried about is protecting their equipment from vandals and thieves, any paramilitary group I can think of would shut this island down to the water's edge.”

  She was right. “And Hank says this group is supposed to be particularly bad ass. The facts we see sure don’t fit with that.”

  She nodded. “Typic
ally, professional soldiers like these are more anal about security than our top-secret facilities. They really, really, don't tolerate prying eyes. A lot of them have prices on their heads somewhere or another and are suitable targets for rendition themselves.”

  “I think we can agree this stinks. Our stealthy incursion seems to be a cakewalk.” I peered to look over a dune and saw nothing but an empty dirt road that led to the villa. “We have a complete absence of any serious security equipment, no roving patrols. Nothing we've seen suggests that Brad’s military base is anything more than an abandoned tropical island some rich guy built a house on.”

  “Shit,” she muttered. “The shopping mall on Exuma has tougher security. I was discounting what Hank said, but this verges on downright disappointing.”

  We looked at each other. We'd come to the party loaded for bear and didn't even see a rodent.

  “Ironically, all this nothing tells me we best go on high alert,” I said.

  She nodded. The harsh reality is that when professionals act careless, it's usually a trap. In this case, the logical conclusion was that either we were being lured into a spider's web, or there was nothing here that even came close to Hank's buildup. Neither of those options was reassuring.

  Here we were, feeling stupid because we were all ready to fight and no one was home.

  “You are right that this doesn't add up,” I said. “If Vermeer is such a threat, and this is his idea of security... I can't see his people blowing up our hotel the other night.”

  I felt, more than saw, her shadowy nod. “If this is the best they've got, I can't imagine them even knowing about our mission,” she said. “It doesn't fit.” She held up a finger. “Are you ready to improvise?”

  “Always,” I said. “Have something in mind?”

  “Since we have time to kill, an entire night, what say we make profitable use of it?”

  “What are you thinking? I asked.

  “How about satisfying our curiosity? According to Hank's photos, there is some high-tech stuff out at the airport. Now, even if you were a complacent jerk, a complete incompetent in terms of military stuff, you'd protect your assets. Expensive attack helicopters aren't the kind of thing you'd leave unattended.”