Crash Course

by Derek Fee

  Somehow, he’d have to take the cocaine and get to the police as soon as he could. If everything went according to plan, Safardi and his gang would be in prison by the following evening. Kane leaned back against the fuel container, closed his eyes, and began to breathe deeply. Precious minutes of relaxation now would provide the fuel for action later.

  The Spanish Navy vessel, Santo Cristobel, with Lieutenant Jorge Silva in command was moving smoothly through the waters west of Cape Finisterre. Silva looked out into the darkness and then examined the radar screen which was located directly in front of him. These were some of the most congested and hazardous waters in the world. However, paradoxically, the sweep of the radar indicated that not a single vessel was in range. So much for the information on the freighter which had left Mexico a week before. Silva’s superiors had been informed through the US Drug Enforcement Agency that a freighter carrying a major cargo of cocaine was heading in his direction. They had also determined that the cocaine would possibly be transferred off the coast of Spain. Galicia was a hotbed of smugglers with a long history of smuggling brandy, wine and cigarettes. The Spanish authorities were aware that a major group of cocaine smugglers had moved their base of operations into the area. Although they had often located the speedboats which the runners used to ferry their deadly cargoes ashore, they had yet to stop one single cargo from reaching its destination. The ruthlessness and skill of the drivers in getting their packages ashore was well known. The freighter had been tracked by satellite and was now approaching the coast of Galicia. The radar swept around and the tell-tale beep of a vessel appeared at the extremity of the sweep.

  Kane came to full awareness with a start when the cabin door was pulled open. He heard the throb of powerful engines outside.

  “Out,” Jaime said.

  Kane came out into the cold early morning darkness. Jaime motioned him with the Uzi towards the cockpit. The stern of a rusty freighter bearing the legend La Paloma was receding into the distance. He looked onto the afterdeck which was covered in more than one hundred packages. each wrapped with black plastic to protect it from the seawater.

  “Vamos,” Jaime said. “We go to Rianxo.”

  Kane started the engines and, after checking their position, wheeled the boat around. He looked at the radar and saw the blip indicating the departing freighter. Otherwise, it was all clear. He cast a glance over his shoulder and saw that Jaime had settled himself in the seat on the aft deck. The Uzi was trained on a spot between Kane’s shoulder blades. He pushed the throttle and pointed the speedboat towards the rocky shore of Galicia. He punched the course coordinates into the onboard navigation computer and opened the throttle. The REALM shot forward giving its full thirty knots. Kane had less than two hours to make his move. With the Uzi trained on his back, all the odds were against him but that had to be balanced with the fact that as soon as they arrived in Rianxo, his life wouldn’t be worth a cent.

  They steamed on through the darkness of the Atlantic night, skimming over the dark swell of the ocean. Kane could feel all his senses tingling. It was the fear of death gnawing away at his insides, forcing every fibre of his body to concentrate on one goal: survival.

  The ping on the radar set took him by surprise. He checked the dial. Whatever it was it was closing fast from the port side.

  “We have a contact on the radar,” he said calmly. “It’s probably only a fishing vessel.” There was no way in heaven or earth that a fishing vessel could be closing at that speed, he thought. He checked the scale again. The blip was heading straight for them at thirty knots plus. No fishing boat could move that fast. He wondered whether he should turn the speedboat towards the approaching vessel then quickly dismissed the idea. To do that would mean certain death. If a Spanish Navy vessel hoved into sight, the cocaine would go overboard only a few seconds after he did. Jaime would see to that.

  Jaime was instantly on his feet, the Uzi still levelled at Kane’s back. “You no fuck this up.” His voice was hard as steel. “If this the Spaniards, and you no break you balls getting’ away from them, then you goin’ to be shark bait. Comprende?”

  “Funny, I was thinking the same thing myself.” Kane opened the throttle and turned the wheel away from the approaching vessel while still maintaining a course towards the coast. “I understand.”

  “Is better for you, hijo de puta.”

  Kane watched the radar as he opened the throttle. The blip was travelling fast and making straight for them. The REALM was hitting near its top speed of thirty-plus knots. They were still a good twenty-five miles from the coast and the Atlantic swell was throwing up three to four-foot waves. The prow of the boat was riding high in the water and sheets of cold grey spray flew over the cockpit canopy and splashed on the cargo and the hapless Jaime. He kept the throttle full out as he powered forward due east towards the safety of the coastline.

  On board the Santo Cristobel, Silva watched the radar as intently as Kane watched his. He shouted at his helmsman to give him more speed, knowing full well that his boat was already travelling at full speed. The information on the Mexican ship had been concise but nobody had anticipated the rendezvous to be so far out at sea. It would now be a race for the coast and Silva would give it his best shot. The young Spaniard looked out the window of the bridge into the pitch darkness. It would be hours before streaks of grey light would illuminate their world. Silva would prefer to take them alive but his orders were to blow them out of the water if it looked like they were getting away. The blip on the radar screen changed direction and Silva shouted the change of course to his helmsman. No, you don’t, Silva thought watching the green blip on the glass screen. We are now locked together and we will stay that way until I take you.

  Kane glanced at the radar screen as the boat shuddered from the impact with a wave. It had been half an hour since the first radar contact and it was now incontestable that the contact was pursuing them. There was still about seven miles between the two boats but because of the angle of approach to the coastline, the contact was gaining slowly but steadily. Kane had opened the throttle and the sound of the engines whining cut through the silence of the night. He looked up from the radar glass and glanced back at Jaime. The Colombian had moved forward to a position about eight feet behind his back to avoid the steady flow of seawater which lashed the afterdeck like a rain squall. Kane was concentrated on evading their pursuer but in the back of his mind was the thought that he would somehow have to avail himself of this occasion to attain his primary objective – his own survival. Jaime still held the Uzi trained on his back. The look on the Colombian’s face was alert but Kane noticed something new in his eyes. It was fear.

  If the Colombian hadn’t been so cold and wet, he would have been sweating. Seawater streamed off his sodden clothes and formed a puddle at his feet. His sense of apprehension had been increasing during the trip and he certainly didn’t need the pummelling the boat was receiving from the waves as it raced away from the pursuing radar blip.

  They hit a wave and lifted out of the water momentarily, only to crash back into the dark waters.

  “Madonna, ayuda-me,” Jaime said softly his feet slipping on the wet afterdeck as the boat pounded the waves. Kane turned from the wheel and stared at him. The Colombian thought he saw a smile flicker on his lips. The hijo de puta was laughing at him. If only he didn’t need the bastardo so badly. Jaime made himself a vow that as soon as they reached land, he would not delay in putting a burst from the Uzi into the puerco. They would see who would have the last laugh.

  Lieutenant Silva sat in his chair and stared through the window of the bridge. The chase had been on for more than an hour and still their prey ran before them. He settled back and took his mug of coffee from the receptacle built into the arm of his chair. His patrol boat crashed through the waves with the engines pushed to their limit. He told himself to be patient, remembering the fishing expeditions with his father. Patience, the old man had whispered when Jorge had hooked his first skate in the ve
ry waters they were passing over. A big fish must be played before it can be landed. The electronics on his boat were his line keeping contact with his fish. Little by little the line was growing smaller and soon the fish would be in sight. The young lieutenant had learned that one did not land the big fish with one tug of the line. He watched the blip on the radar screen while he sipped his coffee. They were gaining but the early morning light would show that the coast with its numerous bays and inlets would shortly be within reach. The young Spaniard knew that if their quarry reached the coves and inlets, the balance would suddenly tip away from him. He mentally urged his powerful vessel to move forward faster.

  It was pitch black and the shape of the rocky coast of Galicia could be seen in relief against the dark sky. Kane didn’t have to keep an eye on the radar to know that they were still being pursued. In open water, the Spanish patrol boat would be locked onto them like a Patriot missile to a Scud. It would be a different matter if he could reach the coastline before they sighted him. The Mercury engines hummed as he poured on every ounce of power they could deliver. Time was running out. As soon as they reached the safety of the coast, he would become expendable. The boat launched into the air as it hit the top of a wave. Kane turned in time to see Jaime totter slightly as the speedboat crashed back to earth. The Colombian quickly and agilely regained his stance, the Uzi barely wavering during the second of instability.

  Kane was heading directly for the series of inlets known as the Rias Bajas which stretched from the city of Vigo in the south to Cape Finisterre in the north. The coast was now only four miles ahead but his radar told him that the Spanish patrol boat had closed to less than three miles. He glanced over his shoulder at the Uzi pointing between his shoulder blades.

  Jaime steadied himself as the boat bucked in the swell forcing him to switch his weight rapidly from one foot to the other to keep his balance. They were nearly home. Just a few more miles and they would be safely away. Then he would be free to deal with Kane.

  It was time to act. Kane tilted the speedboat directly into a wave hoping for the maximum amount of lift. The prow of the boat rose clean out of the water causing Jaime to totter backwards onto the sodden afterdeck. As the hull hit the water, Kane pulled the wheel hard to port causing the boat to lurch sideways suddenly. Jaime hit the aft rail of the boat when the hull of the boat smacked against the sea. Kane’s manoeuvre caused him to slip sideways towards the edge of the rail. Suddenly the realisation came over him that the manoeuvre had been intended for him. He struggled to get his balance and bring the Uzi into line at the same time. In that instant, Kane swung the wheel to starboard and a burst of machine-gun fire flew directly upwards as Jaime was thrown backwards and over the aft rail. Kane immediately straightened up the boat and made away at top speed from the spot where Jaime had fallen overboard. If the Colombian was lucky, the Spanish patrol boat would pick him up. If he wasn’t, the sharks would breakfast well. He hoped the sharks would win.

  “Esses hombres estan rompiendo las bolas” Silva shot to his feet. The blip on the radar screen was changing direction rapidly. “What the hell are they up to?” he said to the helmsman.

  The young sailor shrugged his shoulders.

  The blip on the radar screen had settled back onto a course which ran directly for the Rias Bajas. Silva pulled out the detailed charts of the region. He didn’t really need to examine them. He knew every inch of the bays and inlets ahead. Once the smugglers hit the Isla Sálvora at the mouth of the Ría de Arousa they would be lost in the creeks which dug into the sides of the green Galician hills. He turned and looked at the screen. The bastard was almost there.

  Kane felt an adrenaline rush as the speedboat powered through the swell towards the Isla Sálvora He was entering the more sheltered coastal waters and the twin engines screamed as he pushed them to the limit. Once inside the mouth of the Ría de Arousa, he would be relatively safe. He glanced at the radar screen. His pursuer was no longer gaining; he would reach the safety of the coast before he would be sighted. The first part of his plan had already succeeded. He had managed to get rid of Jaime and he now had possession of the cocaine. But there were still the two men waiting on the quay at Rianxo.

  “Mierda!” Silva scattered the charts from the table. The radar screen showed the speedboat passing the Isla Sálvora and entering the Ría de Arousa. The blip disappeared, the chase was over and Silva had lost. The young Spaniard slumped in his chair. It had been a long night and despite his patience, his fish had escaped. The Ría de Arousa was full of small bays and inlets where a speedboat could hide while the scum unloaded their evil cargo. There would be another day when the fish would not evade him. Silva closed his eyes and gave the helmsman the order to change course to port. He would report the incident to his superiors with the recommendation that next time they employ more resources. Perhaps if there had been a sister ship closer to the coast, they could have run them to ground. But the cost, Silva, he could hear his captain say. The Spanish Navy was not made of money. But the drug smugglers were.

  The Santo Cristobel pulled to port without anyone seeing the waving of Jaime’s outstretched arms.

  It was past four o’clock in the morning when Kane steered into the channel leading to the port of Rianxo. The white-washed houses of the little village were dark shadows. He made for the fine sandy beaches which surrounded the village before turning into the port. There was no sign of movement. The village of Rianxo slept.

  The white BMW was parked at the end of the causeway which constituted one side of the marina. Kane throttled back as the boat eased over the blue waters of the little harbour. The doors of the BMW opened and the two guards moved out onto the concrete causeway to meet the incoming craft. He pointed the craft towards the marina making sure to skirt the small rocky outcrops which lined the inside of the causeway. Ahead on the quay at Rianxo, the two guards stood waiting. Kane sucked in a deep breath and exhaled slowly as he approached the quay.

  “Donde est Jaime?” the larger of the two men said as they advanced.

  Kane didn’t understand Spanish but he assumed that the men were asking after the whereabouts of their Colombian counterpart. He tossed the forward and aft lines to the two men and proceeded to act out an expressive mime whereby Jaime went overboard during a chase with a Spanish Navy patrol boat. The two men tied up the boat looking sceptically at one another. Kane’s return alone definitely hadn’t been part of the plan and, as he’d anticipated, the change of plan had thrown the hired help into confusion. He jumped agilely ashore. Neither guard was brandishing a weapon. Their arsenal was probably still in the BMW. It wouldn’t take them long to tumble that something was badly amiss so it was important for him to act quickly. As soon as the speedboat was securely fastened, the two men exchanged a glance and returned to where he was standing.

  Kane sucked in a deep breath of tangy sea air. He swung his arms and lifted his knees which ached from the long night in the Atlantic. The guards converged on him from either end of the boat making no attempt to conceal their intentions. As he approached, the man who had asked about Jaime slipped a knife out of his waistband. Kane reacted immediately, moving forward smoothly to meet the challenge. As the two men converged, he slid sharply to the left and at the same time delivered a side kick to the man’s groin. The knife thrust cut through the air as his foot hit the man’s testicles. The guard grunted and collapsed on the concrete causeway, and the knife flew from his hand and clanged on the stone causeway throwing up a spark as it skipped.

  The second man moved away from Kane and jumped into a small fishing boat. He reappeared instantly, brandishing an evil looking gaff and wearing a smile which said he was about to settle Kane’s hash. He circled slowly around Kane pushing the gaff forward, testing his enemy’s defences. Kane moved deftly aside while trying to get a grip on the wooden shaft. Once he nearly succeeded but the guard withdrew the gaff swiftly causing the hook to open a vicious wound in Kane’s thumb. The two men circled each other probing for a moment
of weakness. The guard feinted to stab the pointed gaff in Kane’s direction. Kane parried and then moved sharply aside as the real thrust followed. The guard’s head was level with Kane when he released a punch which rocketed into the temple of his opponent. The man collapsed as though he had been shot, the gaff sailing through the air and landing with a splash in the water.

  Kane retrieved the fallen knife and jumped aboard the nearest fishing boat. He cut off two lengths of fishing line and securely tied the two prone men then removed the scabbard from the larger man’s belt and slipped it onto his own. He returned to his boat and carried the packages of cocaine onto the concrete quay. Phase one of the plan which had been slowly formulating in his brain was now complete. One by one he carried the packages to the car and deposited them in the trunk.

  He climbed into the driver’s seat and examined the contents of the car. An Uzi and four 25-round ammunition clips were hidden under the rear seats as well as an envelope containing over a hundred fifty-euro notes. He replaced the Uzi in its hiding place and slipped the cash into his pocket. He was adrift on the north-western coast of Spain with a fortune in cocaine. He had managed to avoid the fate that Safardi had designed for him. But something was nagging at the back of his mind. He was sure that Safardi had ordered his death while he was on his way to Galicia. That meant that something had triggered the change in plan. It might be wise to find out what that something was before he paid his visit to the police.