Murder Island (A Rogan Bricks Thriller Book 3)

by Steve Richer

“We don’t know for sure. I mean… How do we really know?”

  “He was shot a bunch of times,” Clifford said once Gina had been pulled back into hiding. “They shot him in the chest and he fell from the second floor. Geez, you heard the sound it made when he landed.”

  At that, Sabatini frowned at his junior employee. “Jesus Christ, kid…”

  “What? It’s a fact. No one could have ever survived that. I’m sorry, but it’s true.”

  Gina finally nodded because she believed him. She had to come to grips with this situation. A highly-trained professional soldier had shot Oliver in the chest, almost point blank. He most likely died on impact, even before he fell and crushed his head against that rock.

  The most troubling aspect of her reaction was that it affected her so much. She had only met the man Friday afternoon, not even two days ago. And she didn’t regret rebuffing his awkward flirting. In reality, Oliver had been just a stranger to her, so she had difficulty understanding why she was on the brink of tears.

  In contrast, he had proven himself brave tonight. He was the one who first noticed the guard going down outside the house, noticed that something strange was happening. He had saved their lives by acting so quickly to get them to safety. And that said nothing of his courageous rescue of Mr. Sabatini, climbing up to the third floor to help him down.

  But Oliver had pushed his luck, it seemed. He had gone back in to get Renna when the odds had been against him. He had paid the ultimate price. For that, Gina would never forget him.

  “What happens now?” Clifford asked once they were all safely behind the garden shed again, hugging the wall to stay out of the rain, which was pretty much impossible.

  Gina shrugged. “I don’t know.”

  “We obviously can’t go back to the house now.”

  “My wife is still in there,” Sabatini growled. “My son is in there.”

  “And maybe they’re already dead,” Clifford said.

  “What the fuck did you just say?”

  “Excuse me, sir, but you have to face the facts.”

  “You son of a bitch…”

  Paul put a hand on his boss’s shoulder, instantly calming him down. “He has a point, Santo. We don’t know anything right now, one way or another.”

  “I can’t let these animals get to my family.”

  “But what’s the alternative?” Clifford wailed in defeat. “You’re gonna go in there and single-handedly rescue Renna and Raymond? That worked out so well for the last guy.”

  “You’re out of line, Clifford.”

  “We’re out of luck, Paul! I never spoke out about anything before, but I’m not stupid, all right? Let’s look at this rationally. Them? A bunch of skilled people with guns who have no problem with killing. Us? Unarmed and outmanned. We have no shot going into the house again.”

  This time, Sabatini didn’t reply. Gina could tell that their predicament was sinking in.

  “We could negotiate,” Paul finally said, breaking the silence. “They’re here for a reason, no? These mercenaries didn’t pick a random island to attack. They have a goal, a precise objective. Maybe we could open a dialogue and see what they want. This buys us time to think about what to do next.”

  The silence returned as they each considered the proposal. Clifford seemed enthusiastic while Sabatini was as inscrutable as usual. However, Gina didn’t buy it and she hadn’t needed a drink this bad in a long time.

  “It’s suicide.”

  “Don’t be overdramatic,” Paul told her.

  “Overdramatic? They killed Oliver. They killed everyone in the house. They didn’t capture him and have a conversation. They shot him to death.”

  “Still, we could try to see what they want. If this is about money, we can work around that. Santo, I know you don’t like the idea of negotiating with so-called terrorists, paying a ransom, but there might be no other way.”

  Clifford said, “The guards from the staff house should be here any minute, right? I mean, they must’ve heard gunshots. They must’ve heard the front door being blown off. They have to check in with each other all the time. They’re bound to know that something is going on and they’ll come to our rescue.”

  “I doubt it.”

  Everyone turned to Sabatini.

  “What are you talking about, sir?” Gina inquired.

  “These guys are professionals, you said so yourself. They knew about us, about the island, and about the house. They cut the power and communications. They had to know about the staff in their quarters. They killed everybody.”

  “They what?!” Clifford exclaimed. “How do you know that?”

  “Yeah, Santo, how can you be so sure?”

  “It’s how I would’ve done it. It’s the smart thing to do. It’s basic, really. You take out your opponent’s defenses before you go after the leader.”

  “No, that can’t be…” Clifford was shaking his head, scratching his scalp.

  “Remember in ‘97, Paul? That thing in Atlantic City. That’s how we handled it. No reason it’s different now. It’s logic. It’s tactical.”

  “We’re trapped. We’re on our own,” Gina whispered.

  The old man nodded. “We’re on our own.”

  “Shit. Oh shit! My mother said I never should’ve taken this job. Shit!”

  “Clifford, shut up. Santo, I still advise you to negotiate. We have something they don’t.”

  “What’s that?”

  “Money. We—you, Santo—have more money than most. We can buy them off. We can buy Renna and Raymond from them.”

  “That’s putting everyone at risk, Paul. That’s my son and my wife you’re talking about. I can’t jeopardize their lives.”

  “I hate to break it to you, but their lives are already in jeopardy.”

  “Then we take door number three,” Gina said, getting everyone’s attention.

  “What do you mean?”

  “We call for help.”

  “The phones are down, the mobile signal is jammed. We can’t call anyone.”

  “There is something I think could work, something we overlooked,” Gina said.

  “What?”

  “That.” She pointed in the distance. Around a cluster of palm trees and flowers was a clearing. The helipad. “The helicopter has a radio.”

  Chapter 26

  All the mercenaries turned to Blake. Beta spoke for all of them. “What’s the course of action now, sir?”

  “Yeah,” Raymond pitched in. “I wanna know, too. I’m paying you a shitload of money for this and right now it doesn’t look like I’m getting my money’s worth.”

  “Sir…” Beta began, trying to appease the young man.

  “I hired a guy once to do the drywall in the second bedroom. He showed up whenever he wanted, worked half days, spent his time on the phone, talking his bookie into extending his deadline. And all this time he wasn’t working on my walls.”

  “Sir…” Beta said again.

  Raymond ignored him. In fact, he spun completely toward Blake. “He wasn’t doing what he was paid to do. He was taking personal time during work hours. On my time. You get hired for something, you do it. You’re paid to provide a service, you better goddamn deliver it. It’s called a contract.”

  Blake nodded, not showing any emotion. “I understand, Mr. Sabatini.”

  “Do you? Because the drywall guy didn’t get the concept of honoring a contract. I had to shove his face in a bucket of spackle for thirty of the loneliest seconds of his life for him to finally understand. See where I’m going with this?”

  “Two things, Mr. Sabatini. One, you hired me for a very specific task, and even though we encountered a few hurdles, I fully intend to honor our arrangement. I will do what you paid me and my team to do.”

  “Good. And the second thing?”

  Blake took a step closer. “Two, don’t you ever threaten me or my men again. If you do, I will uproot your fucking little head and display it as a mantelpiece. Do we understand each other
?”

  Raymond didn’t move a muscle and that’s how Blake knew that the kid was scared. He acted tough, but that was simply a side effect of growing up in the shadow of a rich and powerful father.

  “I said, do we understand each other?”

  The mercenaries shifted, widening their stance. Getting ready for battle if necessary. It was unambiguous.

  Raymond ultimately nodded. “Yes.”

  “Good. What we’ve done so far is progress. No one can escape this island. No one can call for help. The security detail has been taken out. Now it’s just a matter of locating your father and his lawyer. We’re in the home stretch.”

  Blake gave him a few more seconds to stew under his menacing gaze and then turned toward Beta and Gamma, the latter already producing a map.

  “Boss, what about the weather? Getting to hurricane strength now.”

  Blake waved Beta’s observation aside. “It works to our advantage.”

  “It does? It’s a hurricane, sir.”

  “Evens the playing field. It will make it harder for Sabatini to hide. It narrows down his options. That’s good for us.”

  “Aye aye, sir.”

  Blake got on the radio. “Blue Team, come in. This is Alpha, over.”

  “Alpha, this is Epsilon. Over.”

  “Epsilon, I need you to make a sweep in a southbound pattern. Your mission is to find Sabatini, the lawyer Bloom, and the others.”

  “Copy. Mission parameters? Over.”

  “Parameters haven’t changed. You know what to do. Show no mercy.”

  “Roger that, Alpha.”

  There was joy in Epsilon’s voice.

  ~ ~ ~ ~

  Bill was almost laughing maniacally as he followed Rogan into the clearing, going toward the marina.

  “Boats,” he said like a child walking into a toy store. “There are boats!”

  “Keep your voice down,” Rogan told him.

  He motioned for him to stay put, to keep crouching, although it didn’t do much good given Bill’s size. No one would miss him just like no one would miss a straight-tusked elephant on their front porch.

  “We can get out of here.”

  Rogan didn’t reply. If he said what was on his mind, it would either stress the lawyer out or dash his hopes. Both options were counterproductive. And that said nothing of the water.

  Damn it, Rogan thought. It was worse than he had anticipated. The water was wild, the waves crashing together in no discernible pattern. Under normal circumstances, you could follow the current and be guided by it. Not tonight.

  The water was liable to pull them under without a moment’s notice. Going out there didn’t seem like such a good idea anymore, until he remembered what they were up against on the island.

  There was one piece of good news: the Jersey Devil on the horizon. The yacht was amazingly stable amid the rough seas. It was a suitable short-term solution.

  Rogan visualized his plan of attack. First, they had to make their way to the marina proper. Next, they needed to commandeer one of the boats—there were several along the pier with more surely inside the boathouse. And finally, they would set out into the ocean.

  “What are we waiting for, Orland… Rogan?”

  Rogan didn’t say anything right away, still inspecting the scene.

  “Rogan? What’s the matter?”

  “We have to make sure the coast is clear.”

  “The coast is clear,” Bill said. “Aside from that storm.”

  “I meant clear from guys with machine guns. They have a way of ruining your night.”

  Bill swallowed. “Oh.”

  Rogan wiped some of the rain from his face and shielded his eyes as he scanned the area. Where would a sentry be posted? Where would he position himself if he were in charge? What was the best spot from where to shoot intruders?

  It was a matter of understanding what these guys were most afraid of. Were they afraid to be attacked from the sea? Rogan doubted it. Not in this weather. So the mercenaries would be taking measures against them escaping, and that meant looking for people coming from the island itself.

  He examined everywhere, lingering on concealment points. He couldn’t see any signs of guards. The boathouse had a terrible vantage point so he was convinced no one was in there.

  “And?” Bill asked. “You see anyone?”

  “No.”

  “Good. Let’s go then. We’re wasting time.”

  Bill moved forward, but Rogan stopped him, grabbing his arm. “Wait.”

  “You said there wasn’t anyone…”

  “Something isn’t right,” Rogan answered, still searching the darkness for signs of hostiles.

  He spent a full minute staring at the best hiding spots once more. Nevertheless, he didn’t see anything that corresponded to his expectations. Then he got it. He understood.

  These sons of bitches didn’t need to post sentries here tonight. It would be a waste of manpower. Mother Nature was already taking care of security measures. The ocean might as well have been a lava field. Only someone suicidal would dare go out there.

  Maybe they were right, but Rogan didn’t have a choice.

  “Follow me, Bill. Stay low, walk fast.”

  Chapter 27

  The helipad was located halfway between the mansion and the marina. Gina didn’t waste a second and ran in that direction, trusting that the others would follow. The main concern was being seen, but it was dark and staying put was inconceivable.

  She heard wet, heavy footsteps behind her. Good, she thought. They understood that remaining alive depended on them being proactive. If they waited for these killers to stumble upon them, they would be shot within seconds.

  She had a feeling that Sabatini understood this more than anyone. He was a gangster, he knew how these people’s minds worked. For regular folks, such a thing was so out of the realm of possibility that the brain would be paralyzed when confronted to it. But Sabatini got it. Life and death, kill or be killed.

  More disturbing was how she had somehow become the leader of this group. That wasn’t her, never had been. Gina had coasted most of her life and she had been fine with that. It was a lifestyle that fit well with her drinking.

  However, she wondered if this had been the cause or the consequence. Had she taken things easy because she had been too busy sipping red wine all day long, or had she been drinking because life wasn’t moving fast enough for her? She had yet to resolve this issue, no matter how many AA meetings she went to.

  “Come on,” she whispered.

  Paul was trailing, definitely not in shape or dressed for this kind of nocturnal escape. But he followed, that’s what mattered. It was the only way they would survive.

  They rounded the palm trees and reached the elevated helipad. With the incoming hurricane, it had been judged unsafe to leave the helicopter on the yacht. As an additional precaution measure, the pilot had covered the aircraft with a thick black tarp. Even though it was wrapped tightly, the edges flapped noisily in the wind.

  “We have to get the tarp off,” Clifford said.

  Gina had a better idea. “Let’s just do enough so we can slip inside.”

  It was Sabatini who took charge and Gina quickly went to help. The thing was surprisingly light even though it was made of sturdy nylon. There were straps tied down to the skids.

  As soon as Sabatini unhooked one of them, the wind lifted the cover. The hook at the end of the strap whipped up and hit Sabatini in the face.

  “Shit!”

  “Are you all right?” Paul asked.

  “Yeah, I’m fine. It’s nothing.”

  There was a gash on his forehead, blood trickling down the side of his face. It didn’t look serious though. More worrisome was the front part of the tarp which was standing straight up like a sail.

  “Change of plans,” Gina said. “We have to take the whole thing off otherwise it could tip the helicopter over.”

  There were no arguments and they hurried to unhook the three
other fasteners. Immediately, the cover was caught by the wind and flew away like a kite. It turned and tumbled before disappearing over the tree line.

  Sabatini opened the rear passenger door and they all piled inside. Clifford turned on the flashlight feature on his phone.

  “Anyone know how to operate the radio?” Gina asked, impressed that they were able to get in without having to use a key.

  Clifford shrugged. “No idea.”

  The two others shook their heads. It had been such a fantastic idea to come here, but it would be for nothing if they couldn’t figure out how things worked.

  ~ ~ ~ ~

  Rogan controlled his breathing as best as he could, but it wasn’t easy. His heart was pumping, his lungs trying to keep up and failing. Not knowing what was around him was the worst part.

  He had been in the thick of battles before. He had gone head-to-head with professional assassins, one time in a business jet thirty thousand feet in the air. It had been easy compared to what he was doing now. When you were actively in a fight, you knew what you were up against.

  With his training, Rogan could expect blows and he knew how to counter them. He knew how to strike back. It was like math, really. With a problem laid out in front of you, you could use your skills and knowledge to solve it. But now he had no idea what to expect. You can’t win when you don’t even know what game you’re playing.

  Adrenaline coursed through his veins. It kept him sharp, keyed up, which was a good thing. It made him twitchy though and that was the last thing he needed with the M4 carbine in his arms.

  He scanned the horizon as they walked into the cleared area which made up the whole of the marina. The crashing waves drowned out the violent sound of the wind, but also any sounds that could alert him that someone was lying in ambush.

  He wished he wasn’t with Bill at the moment. He would’ve given anything to have a squad of Marines with him—his old Force Recon team especially. That’s what they’d been trained for, after all. He had to push that thought out of his head. It was just him and a civilian he had to keep safe.

  Between the docks and the small parking lot—a semicircular path, actually—was a low stone wall. It didn’t run the entire length of the marina. It was more like a decorative feature. That said, it was a perfect waypoint.