Rogue Angel 55: Beneath Still Waters

by Alex Archer

  “I do,” Garin said quietly, surprising them both. “A number of years ago I made a solo journey around the world in my sailboat.”

  Annja hadn’t known that. Of course, when it came to Garin, a “number of years ago” might mean he made the trip a century or more in the past, but if that was the case, it only made the feat more impressive in her eyes. She liked to be alone, but she didn’t think she could manage the two months or more that it would take to circumnavigate the globe. Her respect for his abilities went up a notch.

  “That settles it, then,” Annja said. “We fly into Tahiti and then rent a boat. We make the journey to the island, find whatever the heck is hidden there, and then get Doug out of this jerk’s clutches once and for all.”

  When put like that, it all sounds so easy. But Annja knew the reality was going to be much different.

  In order to get there, they were going to have to fly to Los Angeles, refuel, and then continue on to Papeete, Tahiti. Annja did the calculations in her head. The flight from Munich to Los Angeles would take approximately thirteen hours. One hour to refuel. Another eight and a half hours from Los Angeles to Papeete.

  Practically an entire day of flight time.

  From there, they would have to cross nearly 750 miles of ocean to reach the island. Figure an average speed of 30 knots and that added another sixteen, maybe seventeen hours of travel.

  If they left right now, they wouldn’t arrive for at least a day and a half.

  The ticking of the clock might just be their downfall. The kidnapper had given her a seven-day deadline. This was already day two. With a day and half of travel time, they would be down to roughly three days to find Hitler’s secret headquarters on the island and report back to the kidnapper.

  There were so many things that could go wrong, from flight problems to weather delays, that Annja just wanted to scream in frustration.

  Still, they had to try.

  She turned to Garin. “How soon can the plane be ready?”

  “Fifteen minutes after I call and give the crew the destination.”

  “Tahiti by way of Los Angeles. The faster they can get us there, the better.”

  “Got it.” Garin pulled out his cell phone and turned away to make the call.

  “Don’t worry, Annja,” Paul said. “We’ll make it in time.”

  She just hoped he was right.

  * * *

  THEY ARRIVED AT the Munich International Airport an hour later. Their driver took them directly to the hangar where several of Garin’s jets were stored. Boarding the same plane that had taken them from Miami to Munich a week earlier, they prepared for the flight in the opposite direction now.

  Not wanting the crew to know where they were headed, and being an accomplished pilot in his own right, Garin decided to fly the plane himself, dismissing the crew and giving them the next week off. Annja knew he could do it; whatever mystical process had extended his life had also given him extraordinary stamina. She’d seen him go days without sleep before. With that detail taken care of, Annja and Paul settled into the comfort and luxury of the passenger cabin.

  The first part of the flight was used to nail down some of the finer details of the adventure ahead of them. Annja used the onboard satellite phone to hunt down a charter boat they could use once they arrived in Tahiti while Paul connected to the internet and dug up as much information on the nation of Kiribati so that they would know what to expect when they arrived there.

  By the time they were halfway across the Atlantic, both issues had been dealt with satisfactorily and the two of them were eating lunch, having prepared it in the plane’s well-stocked galley.

  “I wanted to thank you,” Annja said, between bites of her filet mignon.

  “Thank me for what?”

  “Saving my life last night.”

  Paul looked up from his sea bass. “He was going to shoot you.”

  It was said so matter-of-factly that Paul could have been talking about filling a hole in his garden rather than the death of another human being, thug or not.

  “You don’t seem all that torn up about it,” Annja said.

  Paul put down his fork. “Of course I’m torn up, Annja. I killed a man. Even in self-defense that’s a difficult burden to carry. But I’d be damned if I sat around and did nothing while he gunned you down in cold blood!”

  Ah, so he does feel something, after all, she thought.

  Annja inwardly sighed with relief. She had been starting to have her doubts, and a Paul who wasn’t upset by the taking of a human life was a Paul she didn’t know and didn’t want to know.

  Since taking up the sword she’d been challenged by some of the most ruthless people on the planet, ones who would think as much about taking her down where she stood as they would crushing a mosquito between their palms. She’d had to defend herself and others through the use of the sword, and sometimes the results weren’t pretty. Like the guy she’d been forced to kill the night before.

  While she put on a hard face and got through it, the truth was that she regretted each and every man or woman she’d been forced to kill. Not enough that she’d do it differently if she had the chance to do it over again, but that wasn’t the point anyway. She’d been protecting either herself or some other innocent each time she’d killed, and she felt justified in what she had done. Even so, killing was hard; it left an indelible mark on her soul that never quite went away and she didn’t wish that on anyone.

  Least of all the man she thought she might be falling for.

  “You’ll get no argument from me,” she told him. “But I still appreciate what you did.”

  He smiled at her and Annja felt him let go of some of the tension he’d been holding a moment before.

  Still, she wondered about something.

  “Have you been carrying that gun with you the whole time we’ve been together?”

  He met her gaze, and she thought she saw a bit of anger flare in his eyes. It was there and gone so quickly, however, that she couldn’t be sure.

  Probably my imagination, she thought.

  That belief was reinforced when Paul smiled at her. “Do I look like the type who regularly carries a gun around with him?”

  Before she could answer, he went on. “Besides, how would I have gotten it into the country past Customs and all that, if I was? No, Garin gave it to me while you were, ah, indisposed for a few minutes, before we went to Paris. He said not to trouble you about it but to keep it handy in case it was needed. I’d learned to shoot while I was covering the Sudanese civil war a couple of years ago for the magazine, so I didn’t see it as a big deal.”

  That sounded like something Garin would do, so she dropped it. There was no sense arguing about it. Paul obviously knew how to handle a weapon, and if she was honest with herself she would admit that his ability was more reassuring to her than anything else.

  Who knew what might be waiting for them in the South Pacific? Knowing he could handle himself would let her focus on more important things, like finding Hitler’s last bolt-hole.

  Paul surprised her with a question of his own.

  “Have you given any thought to what you’re going to do if this guy doesn’t let Doug live?”

  What will I do? There’s no question what I will do, she thought. I will hunt the guy to the ends of the earth and make him pay for it.

  She didn’t say anything like that to Paul, though. She wasn’t sure he would understand. Instead, she kept it simple.

  “Let’s just hope it doesn’t come to that,” she said. “If it does, I suppose I’ll cross that bridge when the time comes.”

  The rest of the flight passed without incident and they landed in Los Angeles on schedule. After making sure that their resupply and refueling was underway, Garin caught a couple of hours of sleep in the rear cabin so that he would be refreshed for the final leg of the journey ahead.

  That couldn’t come soon enough for Annja, and she was practically frothing with impatience by the time Garin was
given clearance from the tower for them to get underway.

  Next stop, Tahiti, she told herself as the blue waters of the Pacific rolled out beneath the aircraft and they took to the skies once more.

  Chapter 20

  “What do you mean you can’t let us have the boat?”

  Annja, Garin and Paul stood in the charter company’s office in the Tahitian capital of Papeete. Outside, it was a bright, sunny day with temperatures in the mid-80s, but since the clerk’s statement moments ago the temperature inside the room had gotten decidedly icy.

  “I’m very sorry, ma’am, but as I said, you can’t take just the boat. You have to take the crew as well. They are the ones who will drive the boat.”

  “But we don’t need a crew,” Annja argued. Pointing at Garin, who stood a few feet behind her, she said, “Our captain is an accomplished sailor. He will drive the boat.”

  They’d arrived late the night before and gotten several hours of sleep in an airport hotel before rising early and heading out to the wharf where they were to pick up their charter.

  That’s when things went a little awry.

  The Polynesian clerk, little more than a teenager really, looked at Garin, then very quickly turned back to Annja and shook his head. “The crew must go with the boat. That is the boss’s rule.”

  Annja started to protest for the third time, but Garin gently pulled her aside and stepped in front of the counter. He put both hands on it and leaned forward, intimidating with his size but not overtly so.

  “Is your boss here?”

  The clerk shook his head.

  “Can you call him on the phone?”

  The clerk nodded.

  Garin waited for him to do so, but the clerk just stood there looking at him.

  Garin sighed. “Can you call him now, please?”

  “Oh, yes, sir. Just a second please.”

  The clerk picked up the phone, dialed a number and spoke in rapid-fire Tahitian to whoever picked up at the other end. He listened, then handed the phone to Garin.

  Annja’s companion didn’t beat around the bush. “I will pay you three times the fee we’ve already negotiated if you’ll let me charter the boat without the crew.”

  There was a pause and then Garin said, “Thank you. A pleasure doing business with you,” before handing the phone back to the clerk.

  The clerk listened again, agreed with whatever was said and hung up. He looked up at Garin and smiled tentatively.

  “If you give me a moment, I will prepare the paperwork.”

  “Please,” Garin said, “by all means.”

  The crisis averted, Annja took a deep breath and tried to relax.

  Losing it now isn’t going to help anyone, least of all Doug, she reminded herself. Keep it together.

  When the details were completed and Garin had paid for the charter, the clerk, Teva, took them out to the dock to see their boat, the Reliant.

  According to the paperwork, she was a Harmony 47 sailing cruiser, built in the Ponchin Yachts shipyard. It was forty-seven feet in length with a deep keel and a fully battened main sail that would provide a rich sailing experience.

  Or, at least, that’s what the brochure said. Annja just hoped the thing was as fast as it looked.

  The 75-horsepower engine was powered by fifty-five gallons of diesel fuel carried in the lower diesel tank, and they had arranged to have an extra twenty-five gallons of fuel stored in the holding tank for emergency use. They were also carrying fifty gallons of fresh water.

  The boat had three double cabins, a cabin with two single berths, two toilets, two showers and even a dinghy powered by a 5-horsepower outboard motor that they could use to get to shore once they arrived.

  All in all, it appeared that it would suit their needs rather nicely and Annja was pleased with her selection. Garin, too, seemed to be happy with it; at least he was smiling as he looked over the engines, sails and rigging, if that was any indication.

  Teva had already stocked the boat with their requested items—a box of assorted tools, rope and a few high-powered handheld flashlights in addition to water, food and diving equipment—so they were able to get underway as soon as he turned over the keys. Annja and Paul sat on padded benches on either side of the cockpit as Garin stood behind the wheel, deftly easing them out of their berth, then turning them toward the open sea.

  The first several hours passed without incident. The weather was clear, the sea calm, and there was a strong wind. Garin got the sails up and had the boat practically flying across the water at a ferocious thirty-two knots, a slightly faster pace than Annja had originally estimated. The warm sun and the salt spray lulled her into a relaxed state and she could almost forget what they were there for.

  Almost.

  By midafternoon, however, dark clouds could be seen gathering on the horizon, and the radar was warning of a sizable storm headed in their direction. Garin gathered them to discuss the situation.

  “We’ve got two choices ahead of us,” he told Paul and Annja. “We can try to find an island to use as shelter and wait out the storm or we can try to push through and hope we don’t get hit with the brunt of it.”

  “What’s the radar say?” Paul asked.

  “At the moment, if the wind holds steady, it looks like the main thrust of the storm will miss us.”

  “But that can change, right?” Annja asked.

  Garin nodded. “At a moment’s notice.”

  “How much farther do we have to go before reaching Wolf Island?” she asked. If they were close enough, she was inclined to just make a run for it.

  Garin grabbed a chart out of a nearby drawer and rolled it out on the tabletop. He looked at it, and then pointed to a spot northwest of Tahiti, close to the Line Islands.

  “We’re here,” he said. “That puts us about three-quarters of the way to our destination. We could take shelter here, on the leeward side of one of these smaller islands. Drop anchor, batten down the hatches, and just ride it out.”

  “Or?” Paul asked.

  “Or we can run north along this route,” Garin said, tracing a line on the map with his finger, “as fast as we can and hope we stay ahead of the storm.”

  If there was ever a time I wished I had a crystal ball.

  But she didn’t have one, which meant she was going to have to rely on her gut. And right now her gut was telling her to push onward and not let the storm slow them.

  “What do you think our chances are?” she asked, wanting someone else’s opinion on the topic so that she wasn’t relying on her desire to be right rather than the facts at hand.

  “It’s hard to say,” Garin replied. “If the wind stays steady and the storm doesn’t change course, then I’d put them at sixty-five, maybe seventy percent in favor of outracing the weather. If the wind dies down or the storm changes course, then all bets are off.”

  We’re running out of time.

  She turned to Paul. “Any ideas?”

  He shook his head. “I know next to nothing about sailing and even less about tropical storms, so I’ll go along with whatever the two of you decide.”

  That was all Annja needed to hear.

  “We go for it,” she announced.

  The decision made, they dug in and made preparations for the race to come.

  Garin handed out life jackets—just to be safe, he said—and they pulled them over their heads and buckled them tightly about their waists. Then, and only then, did they begin securing what they could, not wanting to lose anything important if the weather got worse later on. When that was finished, they turned their attention to hoisting the jib, wanting to catch as much of the wind as physically possible to help them outrun the storm.

  For a while things went pretty well. The heavy winds combined with the added sail helped to boost their speed another few knots, making Annja feel like an America’s Cup racer as they shot forward across the water. Their speed was exhilarating and the knowledge that they were closing in on their destination with every pass
ing moment helped ease her anxiety somewhat.

  Provided things stayed as they were, they would reach the island in less than three hours.

  As it turned out, that was wishful thinking.

  Just over an hour later the weather began to change. The radar showed that the storm had shifted course and was certain to cross their path, probably within the next thirty minutes.

  It didn’t take long for the seas around them to begin getting rougher, the swells growing in size and frequency, but the boat handled them with deft efficiency, much to Annja’s relief. Garin didn’t appear concerned by the inclement weather, so Annja tried not to let it bother her, either. She figured she wouldn’t panic until he did.

  It didn’t occur to her that Garin might be worried but keeping a poker face so as not to concern his companions.

  Annja stayed with Garin for a bit, watching him manage the situation with a deft hand. He worked the boat like the master sailor that he was, pulling every inch of forward momentum out of her, unwilling to admit defeat even as the storm grew around them.

  When she became tired of that, Annja went below to find something to keep her mind occupied. She sat at the table and calculated their current position, marking it on the map for later reference. When she was done with that, she stared at the radar for a while, noting the shaded mass that marked the main thrust of the storm that was closing in on their position from the east. She tried to calculate how long until they might be within its grip, but she wasn’t adept enough at reading the Doppler data to figure it out and eventually gave up.

  She turned her attention at that point to helping Paul secure anything that wasn’t bolted to the deck and was in the midst of doing that when she felt a change come over the boat. For a moment she couldn’t identify what it was and then it came to her.

  They were slowing.

  She dropped what she was doing, turned and rushed back up on deck. Paul followed closely on her heels.

  The sight that greeted them when they emerged from the companionway stole the voice right out of Annja’s throat.

  The sky had lost its openness and had closed around them like a vice; the white clouds were now a deep gray interspersed with a green tinge that made everything look wrong in the odd-colored light.