Sabotage: A Reece Culver Thriller - Book 2

by Bryan Koepke

  “From what I can figure we’ve got enough fuel to make it two or three more hours in the air. We can take off and head west toward Jamaica, or we can fly up to Port au Prince. We’ll get gas there and then we can head all the way to Jamaica. I vote we go for it.”

  *

  After taking off from the tiny airport Reece leveled out at an altitude of 7,500 feet, figuring the winds at that height would be more favorable. That way they’d get the best range out of the fuel remaining in the airplane’s tanks.

  “So if we spot them in the yacht, what do you plan on doing?” Haisley said.

  “I’ll make a couple of passes and then call either Jamaica or the nearest radio we can reach with their location,” Reece said. “I hate to do it, but with the little fuel we have it’s doubtful we’ll find them. Hell, they could be all the way to Colombia or who knows where by now.”

  The two men fell silent as Reece flew toward Jamaica. He knew from the readout on the GPS that the location was still over four hundred miles to their west. As he sat quiet listening to the drone of the engines and glancing every so often at the fuel gauges of the Aero Commander, his thoughts ran back to the first time he and Marie met back in Tarbert, Scotland.

  Down below a series of islands dotted the ocean’s surface. Reece started daydreaming in an attempt to flee the sudden sense of dread that came over him as he stared out across the vast expanse of water.

  Instead of giving in to gloom, he imagined his hands around her waist as they lay on the beach of a deserted island—just the two of them, no cell phones, no ex-husbands, no stuffy people to entertain. Her skin would be warm against his and he could make out the scent of her fine French fragrance.

  “Hey, down there,” Haisley yelled, pulling Reece back to reality. “I’ve got a boat down there at about two o’clock.”

  Reece pushed down on the right rudder pedal, yawing the nose of the airplane in that direction. Out ahead of them near the horizon he spotted the wake of a large boat cruising west.

  “If it’s them we need to be ready,” Reece said, excited. “Tune the second radio to this frequency,” he said as he read off the approach control frequency for Jamaica. “If we can’t make contact, we’ll broadcast on the emergency frequency, 121.5 Mhz, until we raise someone.”

  Reece pulled the propeller RPM levers for the engines back and then followed with both throttle levers. He could feel the instant response as the plane began to descend toward the big blue ocean below. He reached for the trim wheel and adjusted it next.

  Haisley had the binoculars pressed to his eyes, intent on finding the boat. Reece watched the hands of the altimeter unwind past six thousand feet.

  It had to be them.

  Chapter 77

  “Alex, get your ass up here,” Julian yelled from the fly bridge aboard the Brilliant Blue. Alex came up the ladder, looking eager to please.

  “What’s up,” he said as he topped the last step.

  “You hear that?” Julian said, pointing skyward behind the boat.

  Alex followed his finger. “An airplane?”

  “Yeah, but I heard them throttle back and now it looks like they’re descending,” Julian said. “Untie her and take her back to the forward cabin.”

  “Oh God. It looks big. I hope it’s the police,” Marie said.

  “Shut up,” Alex said as he squatted in front of the captain’s chair and struggled to untie the ropes that bound her hands and feet. Julian watched his incompetent partner and grimaced as he reached for his waist. Julian pulled his buck knife from its sheath.

  “Here,” he said as he quickly cut the ropes. “We don’t have time to screw around.”

  The ropes fell away and Alex wasted no time taking Marie by the arm and guiding her down the stairway that led to the mid deck. Julian looked back skyward, wondering if it might be Reece Culver. He’d heard from Alex earlier that when they’d arrived on the Woodbine III, Karl Rhodes couldn’t quit bragging about having his own private pilot that flew them from a mountain town in Colorado all the way down to St. Thomas in a twin-engine airplane.

  The plane he saw coming toward them now was a twin, and with any luck Reece Culver was at the controls. Julian didn’t know why he’d grown so adamant, but he wanted Reece Culver dead. He didn’t want to just wound him and take the chance that this bastard would come back another day. He wanted him dead. Airplanes make an awful mess when they crash and catch fire.

  Alex came running back up onto the bridge. He had a look on his face like a ravenous dog.

  “Take the fucking wheel and head straight west,” Julian said, handing off the large white steering wheel to Alex and then taking off down toward his cabin. As he reached the door, he heard the sound of a woman sobbing. It was Marie in the forward cabin. He thought of her, knowing that he was using her for bait for the one man he hated more than anyone. Reece Culver dies.

  Chapter 78

  Reece leveled out the airplane at 2,500 feet. He figured they were still three miles behind the boat. They were too far away to be hit by a rifle yet close enough to see the name of the yacht on its fantail with the use of binoculars.

  “We’ve got it,” Haisley said. “It’s the Brilliant Blue. Alex James’ boat.”

  “Let’s hope Alex and Marie are onboard,” Reece said, dropping the nose of the airplane, pushing the propeller RPM levers to full and giving the twin engines full throttle.

  “What are you doing?” Haisley said nervously.

  “I’m going to buzz them low level to wake the bastards up,” Reece said, looking over with clenched teeth. “I want them to know their fucking picnic is over. Get on the radio and let them know we’ve got the people responsible for those murders back in Anguilla.”

  Reece felt the acceleration of the airplane as he nosed it over and dove for what looked like a very small boat in the middle of a very big ocean. He glanced up at the airspeed indicator, ensuring they weren’t too close to the yellow arc. If he took their speed into the yellow, he could bend the airframe. He still had forty knots of airspeed to play with. They were diving and the altimeter was unspooling fast as they passed through 1,000 feet above the ocean’s surface.

  He could just see the look on the bastard’s face. The guy he’d caused to crash off the side of the mountain trail back in the mountains above Breckenridge. He wished now he’d turned his ATV back and gone after the bastard for the kill shot, but that hadn’t happened and now he’d make things right.

  The yacht appeared larger than before in the windshield as they closed in. He looked back up at the airspeed and saw that they were just below the yellow do not exceed airspeed arc on the airspeed indicator. He looked out the side as they buzzed the boat.

  That’s when they heard a weird “whap, whap, whap” against the bottom of the airframe. Damn it.

  Chapter 79

  Julian eyed the clip containing a new batch of 7N1 bullets as he reloaded his Dragunov SVD sniper rifle. This magazine was meant for business with its capacity of thirty rounds. He hoped they’d be dumb enough to come back for another pass. The wings would be targeted this time instead of the engines, and he’d send Reece Culver in a ball of fire to the depths of the ocean. Anyone brave enough to do battle with me will surely end up dead.

  He heard yelling and screaming and looked down to see Alex James holding Marie by the hair with a gun to her head. That was enough to bother him, but what really pissed Julian off was the way Alex had been acting lately. He knew Marie was Julian’s bounty. He knew the jobs he’d paid for had all been done except for killing off Karl Rhodes, and for some reason Alex had changed his mind on that kill. It didn’t matter who Alex wanted dead or whether he changed his mind. That wasn’t of consequence to Julian. What did matter was how his former employer was acting now.

  “What the fuck are you doing?” Julian yelled, aiming the rifle at Alex. “We’ve got them right where we want them. Put her back where she belongs.”

  In the distance the airplane was heading away from the yacht
. Julian pulled the throttle of the Brilliant Blue back to idle and shifted the boat’s transmission out of running gear. He heard the waning noise of the airplane. It was far away now, just a black spot up high in the sky. He stared into the sun listening, and hoping to see it drop to the sea, but it didn’t.

  He hadn’t missed with the shots he fired. He was sure of that. The cowling of an airplane engine was pretty full. The air-cooled engine normally had two to three cylinders on each side. The exhaust wrapped around the engine, running from the exhaust port underneath each cylinder down into a header that brought all of the exhaust pipe branches into one space below the cylinders on that side of the engine. From there it ran down into a single pipe that poked out of the aluminum cowling, taking the engine’s exhaust with it. There was one exhaust stack on each side of the engine. On the bottom of the engine was the fuel injection system with its fuel lines running to the intake ports on each cylinder. There were spark plugs, two per cylinder, and magnetos that provided the spark to the plugs that exploded the fuel, and pushed the piston within the engine cylinder downward. It all happened in a continuous motion unless the fuel got shut off, or a bullet pieced the stainless steel braided fuel line. A bullet to the cowling would penetrate the thin aluminum sheet metal and could do all sorts of harm. It could even blow up the airplane.

  So how did I miss all of that? Julian thought, cursing. It was the speed of the boat, the rocking motion as they flew over the waves. Next time he would make sure Alex cut the acceleration. Then he’d draw a bead.

  Chapter 80

  Reece flipped on the autopilot switch of the airplane and dialed in three thousand feet with the present course of 280 degrees. Somewhere in the distance, farther than their current fuel load would take them, was Jamaica with its dreadlocks, beaches, and reggae music.

  “Motherfucker,” Haisley howled.

  “You hit?”

  “Yeah, I’ll be okay, just a little flesh wound.”

  “Sorry about that,” Reece said as he took off his headset, unfastened his seat belt, and turned around in the pilot’s seat. With his right hand in between the seats he searched for the first aid kit. He needed to get pressure on his friend’s wound and stop the bleeding.

  The tip of his index finger probed the rear pocket of the passenger’s seat. There were aeronautical charts, some older than Reece, a fuel strainer, and something hard. It was a plastic box about the size of a small plastic fishing lure case. Reece heard the drone of the engines on each side of the fuselage, and, as he listened intently the note rose up and down in an uneven cadence. There might be a problem. Fuel?

  He pulled his hand out from between the seats and was pleased to see that he had indeed snagged the first aid kit.

  “Bring your left foot up to the seat cushion if you can,” Reece said.

  Haisley did as he was told and groaned in pain. Reece looked over and saw the bright red wound where a bullet, probably from a high-powered rifle, had pieced the flesh of Haisley’s left calf.

  “You’re lucky. It looks like it’s a through and through,” Reece said.

  “That’s what you call luck,” Haisley said, breaking into a painful attempt at a smile.

  The bullet had passed the flesh on the rear of Haisley’s leg— probably cauterized the interior on its way through. It missed the important parts.

  “I’ll get you bandaged up and in a few weeks you’ll be good as new,” Reece said, whipping a rubbing alcohol coated piece of gauze over the wound site and clearing Haisley’s leg of blood. He leaned over and blew toward the man’s calf, drying the flesh before tearing open the white paper package that held a 3x3 inch bandage that he pressed against one of the thumb-sized holes in the leg with his left hand and ran his right index finger along the edges, pressing down the adhesive. He repeated the process with a second bandage on the opposite side of Haisley’s muscular calf.

  Haisley managed a smile, but Reece could tell he was hurting. He reached back behind his own seat and found the stainless steel flask containing four fingers of small batch Breckenridge bourbon whiskey. He fought the urge to drink it himself.

  “This should take the edge off,” Reece said, handing the liquor over. Just then the engine on the right side of the fuselage wavered from its powerful steady tone. He looked out the side window and saw a steady stream of dark black oil running down the shiny white engine cowling in the airplane’s slipstream.

  We’ve got trouble, Reece thought, but decided against announcing anything for fear of overstressing his wounded passenger. Up ahead on the instrument panel he saw the engine RPMs plummeting as the right engine breathed its last bits of life.

  In all engines, oil was the lifeblood, and without its lubrication the steel parts soon seized up and ended all motion. When that happened, airplanes plummeted from the sky.

  Out the windshield Reece spotted a speck of land about a mile ahead. It looked rocky, but the thick center part was covered in palm trees and might make for a landing site if needed. Reece dropped his eyes from the horizon and scanned the gauges. Fuel pressure was strong on the left engine, oil pressure good, and RPMs still strong. The Aero Commander model 560 was known for its single-engine performance. He’d need it now.

  Haisley tore off his headset and looked out toward the right engine. “We’re going to crash.”

  “Not if I can help it. We’ve still got 2,800 feet elevation and one good engine. This particular model of aircraft has a history of flying on one engine.”

  The airplane passed over the small island, and Reece peered down at it, running a plan through his head. They were down to one engine, low on fuel, and if he could draw Alex James to this island, maybe he could rescue Marie. He saw the propeller blades of the right engine slowing down. This put him into emergency mode, and he followed his mental checklist as he shut off the fuel to the right engine and feathered the blades, keeping all the forward motion the left engine was supplying by pushing the propeller RPM control on that engine to full.

  He turned around in his seat and surveyed the items they’d packed in the fuselage of the airplane. He spotted the two scuba tanks, regulators, dive fins, wet suits, a .22 semi automatic Browning rifle with a thousand rounds of long rifle ammunition, and an emergency raft. He looked back forward at the gauges and saw the oil pressure on the left engine wavering. They were going down.

  *

  Reece brought the airplane around, turning in a one hundred and eighty degree arc back toward the island. He turned to the left, using the aerodynamic thrust of the remaining engine to pull them around and in doing so cover more ground. From the far side the island looked larger. It was half moon shaped with a nice rounded bay near its middle.

  On the left side of the fuselage the only remaining source of engine power was coming to an end. Sparks were exiting the exhaust stack, and Reece knew in a matter of minutes this engine would be finished.

  “Haisley, I want you to brace for a crash landing. I’m going to put us down on the water and we’ll end up on that beach up ahead.”

  “Can’t we fly back to Haiti on the one engine?” Haisley said.

  Reece pointed at the oil pressure gauge for the left engine. The white needle was bouncing up and down like a teeter-totter. “We’ve got a minute, maybe less, before that engine gives out too.”

  The airplane sank slowly toward the calm surface of the ocean. Reece decided the best landing would be made with the landing gear left retracted. He turned the trim wheel bringing the nose up and reached for the shoulder strap seat belts, cinching them tight against his shoulders.

  “When we land, we need to get out of this thing as fast as possible. The wing tanks still have fuel, and airplanes have a tendency to catch on fire when crash landed. Getting shot in the leg sucks, but burning alive in an aluminum can takes the cake,” Reece said, smiling over at his friend. Haisley looked less than amused, but he hadn’t survived so many years as a cop without being tough as nails.

  Near the center of the island was a portio
n of sand-covered beach that Reece was aiming for. The bay they were overflying just a few feet off the water was dotted with rock outcroppings, and he knew if they landed too quickly and hit the rocks, they wouldn’t survive. He held back full force on the control wheel, keeping the plane from dropping to the surface. He had to feel his way down. It was one time in his life when his years of flying were paying him back.

  The rear of the fuselage touched the water first, and for a few moments everything seemed like it was going to work like Reece had planned. Then the nose took a dive and a huge wave of water plunged over the top of the windshield. Reece was going with the motion, still gripping the steering yoke, when he heard a thump that was followed by what sounded like a painful wail as Haisley yelled.

  Chapter 81

  Julian sat in at the controls in the bridge, shoved the twin throttles forward to max power, and wondered why Alex had brought the woman back. In the distance the plane had been visible on the horizon if only just a small black spot. He squinted at the spot and thought, for a moment, that he saw a smoke trail coming off the back, but he wasn’t sure. As he squinted, he realized the plane was gone.

  Sometimes a smoke plume was the best part of opening your eyes after a long blink. The bright sun was glaring at him and Julian remembered sneaking up on a village from a jungle. The helicopters had gone and all that remained was thick grey smoke. That was the place he’d headed that day fifteen years earlier, and this afternoon the yacht he was piloting was taking him to a similar spot, where he hoped to find the remains of enemy bodies. Finally, Reece Culver is dead.

  The source of the fire was still five or ten miles ahead, but at their current speed it wouldn’t take more than thirty minutes. Half an hour was a long time to be trapped inside a burning airplane. One hundred low-lead aviation gasoline burned hot, hot enough to melt aluminum, flesh, bone—whatever it came in contact with.

  “What are you smiling about, Julian?” Marie said.