Specifically, she argued that Daphne didn’t know any of them; having seen Ryker once in the dark hotel bar didn’t count. So, she hypothesized, her redheaded friend might be scared out of her wits at seeing armed men coming for her. But with Jessica there, she would understand they were here to help.
Ryker ended up agreeing with her. He gave her specific instructions to keep her head down, to do everything his men told her to do, and to never, ever put herself in pointless danger. She didn’t say so but that ship had sailed the moment Daphne had disappeared.
“Hold on,” Hubrecht said as he fired up the motor.
She braced herself and was surprised by how quiet the onboard was. He explained it was a special military motor designed to run virtually without a sound for precisely this type of operation.
She looked back toward the Swimming Dutchman. Ryker stood aft watching them speed away toward the shore 400 yards off and she resisted waving stupidly at him. Instead, she focused on the coastline where a handful of lights provided an objective. While for the moment they were aiming for Baiz’s villa, they were actually shooting for the neighbor’s property.
Vurnon and Max were both leaning forward, practically lying on the rubber hull. They had submachine guns pointed forward and they kept an eye out for anything out of the ordinary.
She was petrified, her heart beating a mile a minute. As they flew over the waves, she reconsidered her decision of coming here. Why had she insisted on tagging along? It had seemed like such a great idea in the comfort of the luxury yacht but now that she was essentially running toward a firefight, her hands were trembling with fear.
Without warning, she lunged to the side, held on as best as she could, and threw up into the sea.
“You all right?” Max asked. “You won’t be seasick for long.”
She nodded that she was okay but wouldn’t admit that it was motion sickness. It wasn’t. What frightened her most was getting to Daphne and finding her already dead.
* * *
Once the landing party was off, Ryker made his boat speed onward again. His destination was the other bay of the W configuration. A part of him wanted to watch his team make it safely to shore. No, that wasn’t exactly the truth. What he wanted was to make sure Jessica made it in one piece.
He knew his men were perfectly capable of taking care of themselves but Jessica was another matter. She was completely out of her element and he never should have let her go. What if something happened? How could he ever live with himself if she was hurt in this risky operation?
He did what he used to do in Afghanistan and Iraq. As he raced forward, he thought about everything except the immediate situation. Back when he was surrounded by insurgents and was moments away from getting killed, what kept him focused the most was to remember the sunny afternoons on his sailboat.
In those days, sailing outings were his favorite memories. Being a European teenager alone on the open sea, sailing through the Dutch Antilles, it had been the epitome of freedom. Now he had a new favorite memory: holding Jessica in his arms. She had that innocent look in her eyes, like a child discovering the world, and he found that adorable. Her soft skin, the curve of her mouth, the warmth of her body against this, nothing compared to it.
Nothing could ever compare to it.
He thought about that as he headed for his waypoint. He still had the holster along his leg but the gun was no longer there. It was in a plastic bag which in turn was in a satchel with some other necessary goodies. He had changed into a black Lycra-and-neoprene wetsuit. Strapped around his ankle was a Ka-Bar combat knife which had been spray painted with several coats of non-reflective matte black.
He kept an eye on his watch as he reached the mouth of the bay. The marina was rather small – it harbored about 50 boats – and as a result lighting conditions were poor. It was perfect. He stopped the yacht and dropped the anchor.
He didn’t care that his ship was blatantly standing out; it was actually kind of the point. If shit hit the fan he wanted everyone’s attention on the Swimming Dutchman and hopefully it would block some of the traffic in and out of the marina.
He quickly shredded his written notes and tossed them into the galley sink so he could wash them away. Losing the yacht was a strong possibility and he preferred not leaving any evidence behind. Then, he headed out on the aft deck where his equipment was laid out.
He put on flippers, slipped an air tank on his back, and lowered a mask over his eyes and nose. As he inserted the regulator between his lips, he figured he looked like any other scuba diver in the area. What set him apart was the nylon bag he was bringing with him and the sea scooter that would propel him through the murky water. He was also using a rebreather apparatus to eliminate air bubbles that could give him away.
He went down the swim deck and slid into the water, bringing his gear with him. He sank 20 feet and turned on the Seadoo sea scooter after grabbing it with both hands. The electric motor whirred to life and within seconds he found himself zipping through the water.
He couldn’t see anything but he knew the coordinates and trusted his bearings. From here on out, everything hinged on proper timing. He had to trust the others to be in position.
* * *
Jessica didn’t get sick again and she was eternally grateful when their small boat hit the sand. There was so much momentum that they climbed up the pristine beach until they were completely out of the water. Max and Vurnon leapt out and grabbed the inflatable raft to pull it further up just as Hubrecht turned off the engine.
The villa that belonged to the Colombian drug lord was 200 feet to the left. Right now they were on the private beach belonging to the neighboring house. All the lights were dark as was often the case in this season; the majority of tourists came during winter.
“I want a gun,” she whispered to the short man.
Hubrecht shook his head. “We’ve already discussed this. You’re already lucky to have come this far.”
She hadn’t really expected a different answer but it was disheartening considering he was dressed in black camouflage and had several weapons in his possession. Surely he could spare one, no? There was no time for arguing and he urged her forward.
Aruba, just like Curaçao, had a dry climate ill-suited for tropical forests. It was an island of rolling hills covered with bushes and shrubs, not dense jungle foliage. This said, palm trees and mangroves had been planted between the two properties to set them apart and to make it seem more tropical.
With guns at the ready, the four of them scampered up in that direction. They knew there would be a fence – it did extend all the way down to the water, concealed under plants – but for the moment they had to get as close to it as possible. When Jessica had asked why they couldn’t just land on the Baiz side of the fence, she had been told that cameras and various security measures made it too dangerous.
So now it was all about being quiet and stealthy.
* * *
Ryker slowed down when he reached shallow ground. He ascended toward the surface so that what little moonlight there was could help him see better underwater. For a while all he could make out was a clutter of heavy wooden posts holding up the docks, as well as the hulls of pleasure crafts.
But then the water opened up again and he knew he was on the right path. As slowly and carefully as possible, his head broke the surface. It lasted less than a second but he saw what he expected to see. There was a boat shed right against the shore. It was rather large for such a small marina but it was made to look rustic with walls made of aging planks and a thatched roof.
However, Ryker knew that the place was anything but rustic. The structure was said to be reinforced with lead to keep satellite imagery from detecting what was going on inside. Baiz’s operation consisted in having his drug boat going into the shed and a few minutes later it came out again. What the authorities didn’t know was that it wasn’t the same boat that exited.
It was an identical boat with an identical registrati
on number. No one would think there was enough time to unload illicit cargo that way. Baiz’s men could take their time to remove the drugs from the boat and then a truck backed up to the shed to receive the drugs. From there, it drove across the street to a small runway that on paper belonged to a skydiving outfit. Baiz actually owned it and used it to transport his wares anywhere he chose. It was a perfect plan.
Ryker was about to destroy that plan forever.
Abandoning the scooter, he swam all the way to the shed’s pillars. From his satchel he retrieved explosives charges and he swiftly installed one on each of the forward support posts. He flipped a switch on them to activate them. While this was enough to take boathouse out of commission, the plan required something with more panache.
Quietly and yet very swiftly, he removed his scuba gear completely, from flippers to oxygen tank, letting everything sink to the bottom. His time as a frogman was over. He went to the side of the shed and gently grabbed the coping to hoist himself out of the water. He froze.
There was an armed guard standing right above him.
Chapter 27
Holding his breath, Ryker sank into the water. He simultaneously dropped the plastic explosive back into the pouch clipped to his belt and drew his knife. Now that he had a free hand, it was time to pounce.
When he emerged, he did so quickly and with purpose. There was no time for half measures anymore. Nonetheless, speed also meant noise. There was no mistaking the sound of a man pulling himself out of the water.
The guard spun on his heels and lifted his AK-47 toward Ryker!
But the smuggler had surprise and experience on his side. He sprang forward, knife in hand. The satchel hanging against his leg was cumbersome but not overwhelmingly so. In one fell swoop, he used his free hand to move the rifle’s barrel away from him and at the same time made the guy turn around.
Ryker hurried behind him, lifted the blade to his throat, and slashed hard. The Colombian tried to scream as blood gushed out but all he could manage was a tortured gurgle. Ryker snatched the weapon out of his hands before he could squeeze the trigger. The man died quickly and fell back into the Dutchman’s waiting arms.
As delicately as he could, he lowered the corpse to the coping and eased it into the water, along with the AK-47. There was no sense keeping it since it was a weapon much too loud for this operation.
With the body disposed of, Ryker pulled out the explosive charge again and affixed it to the wall of the boat shed, as high as he could reach. It was conspicuous but the upcoming fireworks show was worth the risk.
He took his SIG Sauer pistol from the pouch, took it out of the plastic bag, and inserted it in his holster. After he got rid of the satchel altogether, gingerly making it sink into the bay, he walked toward the shore.
It was time to join the others and assault the villa.
* * *
Jessica realized how so not in shape she was as she traipsed through the woven mangrove bushes along the property line. The incline wasn’t too steep and they certainly were not going fast – though they should, as Vurnon kept reminding them – but having to lift her feet all the way with every step was taking a toll.
Hubrecht was walking point. His weapon was aimed forward because there was no telling if guards had been posted along the fence. This was a worry Jessica felt and the nervousness was adding to her fatigue. And then there was the incredibly heavy bulletproof vest Ryker had made her wear.
“Faster, almost there.”
Sure enough, they had reached the fence, a sturdy 8-foot gate with massive brick posts every 15 feet, but they were not yet in the best position to breach it. They needed to be closer to the house and that meant going farther up toward the road.
What gave Jessica the strength to go on was knowing that Daphne was most likely in worse shape than she was.
* * *
It took a long time for Daphne to move from the mattress and do what she was told. Nevertheless, after a while, left with her thoughts, the prospect of cleaning up was too wonderful to pass up, no matter who she was doing it for. The water wasn’t hot like Raul had claimed, it was only tepid, but for her it was the best feeling in the world.
At first she intended to only wash her hands and face. Soon that wasn’t enough. She stripped naked and scrubbed herself thoroughly. She even applied the hair remover in a desperate attempt to feel normal anew.
Once she was dressed again, she waited. There was nothing else to do and she was getting good at it. She couldn’t help thinking she was paying for her wasted life. She had partied when she should have studied, she had slept around when she should have built relationships. Karma was real, you had to pay the piper eventually.
And the piper was an asshole.
She didn’t know how long she waited but the door opened way too soon. As always, it was Raul who opened it. He held the door open but didn’t come in. A second later she understood why, his boss was here. She did something she hadn’t done since grade school: she prayed.
“Señor Baiz, this is Daphne.”
“Muy bien.”
The man finally came within sight. The redhead was torn between staring and looking away, as if pretending naively the man didn’t exist would make him disappear. But in the end she decided to be strong. She decided she wouldn’t let their intimidation tactics work on her.
“Daphne, this is Señor Bernardo Baiz.”
She wasn’t sure what she had expected but the Colombian didn’t fit the image. He was tall with the kind of dark skin one got from an expensive tanning regimen. His hair was short and grey on the temples, the man was in his late 40s for sure. He was clean-shaven and dressed snappily in tan slacks and a colorful Ralph Lauren shirt.
She couldn’t deny that he was attractive. Way attractive. In other circumstances she definitely could see herself going out with him. This said, just knowing what he wanted of her made her blood curdle.
“Did he tell you I always wanted an American mistress?”
He had a rather pronounced Spanish accent but he made up for it by enunciating in an exaggerated fashion. He waited for her to reply but she didn’t, which made him grin mischievously.
“And you’re a redhead too. Are you a natural redhead? Maybe I should have waited to make you shave and see for myself.”
He turned to Raul and whispered something in Spanish. The underling nodded and rushed into the room to gather the two buckets and the toiletries. He left and closed the door behind him.
“Alone at last.”
Still sitting on the mattress, Daphne backed up into the corner like the frightened little girl she actually was. She wanted to be defiant. If she was to be turned into a sex slave then she wouldn’t go down without a fight. Alas, her will crumbled when Baiz groped himself.
“Please, mister,” she pleaded, tears welling up in her eyes. “Please don’t do this…”
“Ah yes, I like begging. Do it again.”
He pocketed his flashy gold watch and started unbuttoning the shirt as he swaggered forward.
“Don’t, I’ll do anything but don’t do this to me.”
“Yes, beg again!”
Daphne was chilled to the bone, paralyzed with fear. She shook her head and bawled, suddenly hoping for a quick death.
Snarling, Baiz hit her hard with the back of his hand when he was close enough. His colossal pinky ring created a wide gash on her cheek and she screamed as blood dripped down.
“Noooo, please!”
“Again!” he ordered, his voice becoming louder.
He grabbed her by the shoulders and pulled her to her feet. Once she was standing up, he resumed stroking his groin and undid his pants.
That was the end, Daphne was sure of it. She would be raped, beaten, probably killed and certainly destroyed. She wanted to fight back but her body was frozen.
I’m ready, she thought. I’m ready to die.
Chapter 28
Hubrecht made a fist with his hand and everyone halted. He pointed at the to
p of the fence. “Camera.”
Looking up, Jessica could see something out there but to her it was just a black sphere, nothing like any camera she had ever seen.
“Can they see us?” she asked.
“No, they’re most likely pointed toward Baiz’s yard.”
His answer didn’t offer much comfort. The only positive thing right now was that they had stopped hiking. The house was 40 feet away from the gate.
“We have motion detectors,” Hubrecht added.
Jessica couldn’t see them but she took his word for it. She was about to ask what they were going to do about it when Vurnon slung his submachine gun and produced a multitool kit. The two other men gave him a boost and held him up as he started circumventing the security measures.
* * *
Ryker tiptoed to the back of the boathouse. His diving shoes were made of rubber and neoprene and kept noises to a minimum. He headed toward the road and he knew that from there he’d be able to link up with the house. He would breach the gate at the same time as his men.
But then he heard something behind him. It was the distinctive sound of pebbles crunching under footsteps. He was almost at the road by now and he crouched instinctively as he turned.
Next to the boat shed was a guard. This one didn’t have an AK-47 but rather some version of the popular AR-15. He must have been inside the shed before which was why the Dutchman hadn’t seen him earlier.
The man looked around, probably for his colleague, and then his eyes were drawn to the water. He bent down and then recoiled. Ryker swallowed hard as he understood what had just happened: the guard had seen his buddy’s corpse.
Ryker’s first instinct was to go away unnoticed. The problem was he was still too far from the road and out in the open. He drew his SIG Sauer and a split second later the guard turned toward him.
This was the worst situation for either of them to discharge their weapons. One gunshot would eradicate their entire element of surprise. However, if he didn’t kill him Colombian reinforcements would rain down on all of them. The best solution was to take him down with his knife but he was simply too far.
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