Cliff Roberts Thriller Box Set

by Cliff Roberts

  “This has really got you worried, hasn’t it?”

  “No, I’m not worried. I just know that this is the most dangerous of missions I’ve ever taken on. It could go wrong in any number of ways. I’m almost sorry I got you involved, but I trust you, and I needed someone watching my back.”

  “Okay, so what do you have in there?” I said as I stepped closer to the vault.

  “Whoa, now. Let’s leave it a surprise, okay?” Bill stated as he shoved it closed before I could see inside. I stopped and gave him a very annoyed look, which he returned with another of his wicked grins. “I ain’t dead yet,” he quipped.

  “So, what? Shall we go over the plan one more time?” I asked.

  “At least once more and then I want to see how your handwork is doing. We only have three days left to get you faster. Much faster.”

  CHAPTER TWENTY-ONE

  In addition to improving the speed at which I reacted and delivered the blows with my hands, we worked on my Sea Sled driving skills. Bill had purchased what is known as a surface sled. It skims across the surface carrying up to a thousand pounds of men and equipment. He introduced me to it late in the afternoon on Wednesday.

  “You know, I’ve been meaning to ask you, when are we going to start training me to dive?” I asked Bill as he had just finished explaining how to deliver the blow to the nose once more so that it killed and didn’t just break the nose.

  “Who said anything about diving?”

  “I assumed that we would be swimming over to the Turk’s ship underwater. That way they wouldn’t be able to see us coming.”

  “They won’t see us coming. It is so dark out there at midnight, they won’t see us until we’re climbing on board the ship.”

  “I doubt I can swim three miles on the open ocean.”

  “I doubt it, too. That’s why I’ve got us a little toy, remember? The Sea Sled.”

  “Yeah, I remember you saying something about that, but I have seen it yet, and I haven’t clue about riding it or driving it. I’d prefer that I had some time to get used to it.”

  “By all means. It just so happens, they delivered it before you got here today. If you’re done doing martial arts in slow motion, let’s go check it out,” Bill said as he turned and walked off toward the rear of the warehouse.

  “What do you mean ‘slow motion’? You said I was doing fine—in fact, better than fine. You said I was ready to go.”

  “I lied! But you’re as good as you’re going to get, and it will have to do. The slap fighting we’re doing, well, I’m only going about quarter speed. The advantage you’ll have over the bad guys is they won’t believe you’re a threat and that provides you with the element of surprise. So you don’t have to be fast. Just make sure you deliver a good, solid blow.”

  “Well, that’s a real confidence builder,” I playfully lamented.

  “I hope that everything we’ve been working on the last three weeks was a confidence builder. ’Cause if you don’t think you can pull this off, I need to know now,” Bill stated curtly as he gave me a look of intimidation.

  “I’ll handle it just fine. There is nothing to worry about.”

  “You’d better handle it, or we’ll both end up as shark food,” Bill snarled.

  “Speaking of sharks…just how do we get from our boat to their ship without getting eaten by them?” I asked sheepishly.

  “We drive fast and keep our arms and legs inside the ride at all times,” Bill answered sarcastically.

  “Why not just strap a bomb to the sled and send it over the waves to the ship and blow it up?”

  “I need to see the bastard’s face when I kill him. He needs to know who is killing him and why. Oh, by the way, don’t get too gun happy and shoot him. He is mine to kill, not yours. You just watch my back and kill anyone else you see. You got that?”

  “I got it,” I answered as he gave me a very intimidating look. “I got it!” I repeated as I tried to return the intimidating look. It didn’t exactly have the same effect.

  The sled was tied up to the dock, right behind the warehouse. It was black with a six-inch-high rounded ridge running down the middle of it. It was about as wide as a king-sized bed, and the only way I could tell it wasn’t just some sort of piece for a floating dock was because it had a set of handlebars on the left side. There were two sets of clips running along the ridge, one on each side of it.

  “Okay, I think I can see how you steer the thing, but what are those clips in the middle for?”

  “That’s where we hook up the spear guns or tie off any packages we might care to take with us. Let’s get into some wetsuits and take this bad boy for a cruise,” Bill stated as he once more walked off leading the way.

  “What? Do it in the Intercoastal?”

  “Unless you would rather do it out in the ocean,” Bill stated.

  “What about the gators?” I asked nervously.

  “They’ll stay away from us, and besides, if they don’t, they would probably eat you first ’cause you’re a lot slower swimmer than I am.”

  “Since you put it that way, how can I resist getting in the water? We are taking our guns with us, right?”

  “Will you forget about the gators. They won’t bother us. Anyway, they like the smaller canals to hide out in. It’s the bull sharks that are the problem in the bigger canals like this one.”

  “Bull sharks? Just remember I can’t watch your back if I get eaten by some gator or a shark. Just remember that.”

  Despite my personal apprehensions about playing in the Intercoastal over the next three days, I spent several hours running the sled back and forth in front of the warehouse. By the time it came to load the sled onto the cabin cruiser for our mission, I was ready to drive the sled between our boat and their ship. No problem.

  My job for Friday night was to watch the Turk’s yacht to make sure he didn’t change plans and slip out late Friday night. I went home to catch some sleep when the crew turned down all the lights at about one a.m.

  Bill had an assignment for Friday night, as well. His job was to plant a GPS bug on the ship in case we lost them. We couldn’t exactly follow them out of the harbor, so we had to have some way to find them.

  He found an ingenious way to attach a GPS tracker to the yacht. The one he chose was fired from a rifle and would implant itself into any wood or fiberglass surface. Bill chose to place it up under the very point of the bow. He had positioned himself among the dry docked boats late Friday night/early Saturday morning, and when the crew revved up the engines on board the Turk’s yacht, he planted it. The impact made a slight thump, which was lost within the noise of the engines warming up.

  According to the Turk’s maid, Giles was to pick her up at four-thirty Saturday evening. The Turk and family were planning on leaving at four so that they could be out on the water far enough to the see the sunset over Miami while having dinner around nine.

  At two that afternoon, I found a spot in a neighboring marina where I could watch the Turk’s yacht and settled in. Once the Turk and his family arrived, I would head over to Coka Cola Charlie’s and meet up with Bill. The cabin cruiser docked behind the restaurant, where we would sit, have dinner and watch for the Turk to pass by on his way out to sea.

  At four-fifteen, right on schedule, the Turk and family arrived. Dad, the Turk, exited his limousine and promptly marched up the gangway while talking on a cell phone. The Turk’s wife followed him up the gangway with both children tagging along behind her. The whole family climbed the stairs to the middle level and slipped inside what was, according to the ship’s plans, the grand salon.

  The security team that had delivered Anthony Generilli, the Young Turk, and his family remained on the dock after stuffing the dingy full of luggage. I counted eight security men in clear view on the deck of the ship and two crew members who made only a brief appearance to collect the luggage and stow the gangway. Once the land-based security detail drove off, I too slipped out from in between the dry docked boats
and raced over to Charlie’s.

  I found Bill lying on the rear bench of the cockpit area. His eyes were closed and there was a fresh drink in the cup holder at the end of the bench. He spoke up as soon as I had stepped down into the cockpit area.

  “The Turk’s on the move, I take it?” he asked, knowing I wouldn’t be here if he hadn’t.

  “I counted eight security guards and two crew. The security guys were all carrying, but I couldn’t tell about the crew guys.”

  “That’s good. Wave the waitresses over so we can get dinner done and over with. I figure we have about ten minutes or so before the Turk’s ship passes by here. One drink with dinner—I don’t want you getting sleepy on me or have it mess with your reflexes.”

  “No problem, neither do I,” I stated as I waved at the waitress, who hurried right out.

  With dinner ordered, I sat down and got my legs up and did my best to relax. We had seven hours until we struck. We would leave our boat about eleven p.m. and then drive the Sea Sled up to the yacht, timing our approach with the stroke of midnight and what Bill hoped would be the changing of the guard. I figured we would probably not get back until three a.m. at best, or not at all at worst.

  I had just dozed off when I heard Bill say something. What, I wasn’t sure. I awoke with a start and looked in Bill’s direction. Apparently, my face clearly registered my incomprehension because he sat glaring at me, waiting for the cobwebs to be swept out of my brains to repeat himself.

  “I said, there goes our buddy the Young Turk.” I turned my head just quickly enough to catch a partial view of the Turk’s yacht slipping into the main shipping lanes that led past the cruise ship docks and then out into the Atlantic Ocean.

  Just then, the waitress showed up with my dinner—chicken quesadillas with cheese and rice with plenty of sour cream. She pulled a Foster’s lager from her pants pocket, twisted off the top and slipped it into the cup holder.

  “Anything else?” she asked, and Bill ignored her, but I made eye contact. She was just a bit older than most of the other waitresses, and she had an infectious smile.

  “No, that’ll be all,” I stated and then reconsidered. “Say, can you get me a two liter of cola to go?”

  “Coming right up,” she chirped.

  “I’ll get the engines started while you’re eating. When you’re done, you can get all the lines and we’ll get after him. You’ll be driving, and I’ll watch the GPS and the horizon. So eat up. It’s time to rock and roll. There’s going to be a bad moon tonight, perfect for our little escapade,” Bill yelled over the engines as they roared to life.

  “You’ve said that a couple of times. What does that mean?” I asked.

  He pointed up at the sky, which was filled with scattered gray clouds and then said, “There’s a weather front moving in and the clouds will cause the moon to slip in and out behind them making it harder to see. That’s a bad moon.”

  “Oh,” I said, though I doubted it meant anything. He probably just made it up to try and sound cool and tough. It sort of worked.

  We cleared the cruise ship channel at about six p.m. Our GPS had a twenty mile range over open water. Bill had me steer straight out and open it up. It seemed that the Turk was making very good time in his travels, and we needed to be sure not to lose him.

  “So, won’t the Feds be watching him out here?” I asked.

  “They’ll be hanging back out in the darkness just like we will be. That’s why we have silencers and a white noise maker. They won’t be able to see us anymore than the Turk’s men will. We will use these.” He pulled what looked to be a handful of waxed sticks from his pocket. “Red glow sticks. They will give off just enough light for us to work, but not enough to be seen from a distance. Here, tuck these in your pocket in case we get separated. Remember, if I go down, you get out. Just go. If you get wounded, I’ll do all I can to save you, but try not to get shot, okay?”

  “Yeah, I think I’ll be making that my main priority after covering your ass,” I said dryly.

  “Bring us left about three degrees,” Bill ordered, and I adjusted course, using the compass as he had shown me. “Yeah, we’re headed right up his ass now.”

  “Anybody following us?” I asked.

  “It’s all clear,” Bill replied.

  It was just after ten o’clock when we set our sea anchors and set the onboard navigator controls to keep the boat on station. There was only a light chop, so the electric motor was able to hold it in place with the help of the anchors.

  We wrestled the Sea Sled over the side and tied it off while we checked and doubled-checked that our guns were loaded and that we each had ten extra clips. We each made sure we had four flash bang grenades and that all four spear guns were loaded properly.

  At five to eleven, Bill shook my hand and made a show of counting down to eleven p.m., then over the side we went.

  CHAPTER TWENTY-TWO

  The Sea Sled performed just as it had in the Intercoastal. The light chop didn’t slow us down one bit, although the three miles to the Turk’s yacht did take us a whole hour to traverse.

  Slowly, I edged up to the outer reaches of the bright lights of the yacht. On the bow of the ship were two men. They looked to be armed with sub-machine guns with silencers. There were two men at the rear of the ship similarly armed.

  At about a quarter mile out, Bill signaled that we needed to change our approach. We’d planned to approach from the stern of the ship, but the Turk and Mother Nature hadn’t cooperated. Typically, when a ship stops at sea, they try to turn the ship’s bow into the wind. It cuts down the wave action making for a smoother ride. The Turk hadn’t done that. So, now we had to approach from the bow, in order to save power on our electric sled. Taking another ten or fifteen minutes to slide around the ship to make the approach as planned would drain the batteries dangerously low, so from the bow it was. As quietly as we could, using the lowest power setting, we slid along the water’s surface until we were a hundred feet out. We got lucky as the two bow guards decided to have cigarette break and were too busy lighting up to spot us as we slipped alongside the ship.

  At about twenty feet from the stern, we cut our motor and used a suction cup to attach to the hull and hold our position as Bill used the Sea Sled to get a boost up for his climb up the side of the ship. He tossed a rubber-coated grappling hook over the top rail on the third deck and began to climb a rope up the side of the ship. Bill climbed quickly to the first deck walk that ran down the ship’s side and slipped over the rail. The guards at either end of the ship were completely unaware of the fact that the ship had been boarded. I, as instructed, left the rope hanging there and slipped silently to the stern where I was supposed to climb on board using the dive platform.

  The first two guards Bill encountered were the ones guarding the stern. They were inside the main salon, where they were sitting and talking. Their backs were toward the door, and they had a noisy movie on a big screen TV. Their guns were lying on the table in front of them, just out of easy reach, requiring them to sit up and then reach to get a hold of them.

  Bill slowly pulled his silenced gun from inside his wetsuit, steadying himself by leaning against the door frame. He fired two shots, and the two guards pitched over on to the deck. Bill then turned his attention to the guards on the bow. He slowly made his way up the access walk on the portside. When he reached the end of the superstructure, he paused to double check that no one was in the windows of the bridge with a small mirror he had on a collapsible wand. When he was sure there was no one watching the men, he took careful aim once more and fired twice sending both men over the side. It wasn’t ten seconds later that the bridge watchman looked out the windows over the bow and just shook his head because it was fairly usual for the guards to flake off their duties.

  After clearing the bow, Bill returned to the stern of the ship and signaled me on come aboard. I had already tied off the Sea Sled to the dive platform. Not being anywhere near as fit as Bill, I struggled for severa
l seconds to get up to my knees and grab the dive platform. From there, I was able to slip over to the platform by scooting on my butt across the Sea Sled, and after some unflattering wiggling and slithering, I finally made it to my feet. I had just stepped in front of the staircase, which led up from the dive platform, when a body came tumbling down the stairs.

  Bill was standing at the top of the stairs giving me a withering look as I climbed the stairs as fast as I could. When I reached the top, he looked me in the eye and stated in a harsh whisper, “Stop fucking around!”

  I nodded and dug my gun out of my wetsuit and followed him across the open deck to the grand salon entrance. Unbeknownst to us, we had been on camera since Bill climbed over the railing. The CCTV system wasn’t a part of the blueprints, and so we hadn’t known to account for it.

  The plans for the boat had shown the sub-deck as being sectioned off into the engine room, fuel bunkers and storage, with only one access at the rear, through the galley. The Turk had the plans reworked, and he had made a few changes, like the sub-deck becoming a walk-through space, the addition of CCTV surveillance system, two small staircases for access to and from the galley, plus adding a skylight in the master suite.

  We crossed the salon and reached the top of the stairs when Bill held up his hand. I kept looking down the staircase, certain I would be staring at an armed man any second. Actually, I had completely frozen. I had my back against the wall, and I stood paralyzed with my gun pointing down the stairs. Bill stood twenty feet away waving his hand, trying to get my attention, and only after several moments had passed did I look up at him.

  He shrugged his shoulders and pointed out the front windows. At first I didn’t understand and started to step around the staircase to go out on the bow when Bill grunted. I stopped and turned quickly toward him, and he pointed down the stairs and held up a flash bang. Damn, this was harder than it looked on paper.