Murder Island (A Rogan Bricks Thriller Book 3)

by Steve Richer

  “Aaah!” the two men screamed together.

  It was like falling out of an aircraft. One second they were standing on a solid surface, and the next they were suspended in midair.

  It was very much like skydiving, except that under those circumstances you had the reassuring knowledge of being able to rely on a parachute. Rogan found himself weightless for a moment. But it didn’t last.

  He landed again, this time on his back and in complete darkness. He started to panic, especially when he felt himself sliding down again, and he heard the sounds of Blake falling through as well somewhere behind.

  Even though Rogan couldn’t see anything, he understood what was happening. It was a mudslide. It was an underground river. His heart was beating even faster than his rate of descent. Who knew where he would end up?

  It wasn’t unlike a gigantic slide at a water park. He went down, turned sideways, one bend after another. The hole wasn’t much larger than his body and the roots of plants scraped him in every direction. Again, he tried to claw around to stop his fall, but there was nothing he could do.

  Water had to go somewhere, right? It didn’t disappear into the ground, not at the speed it was going. It had to lead to a lake, river, or at the very least back to the ocean. It wasn’t a joyous prospect given the hurricane, but being entombed like this wasn’t much better.

  In spite of the tremendous speed, it was taking forever. Why hadn’t he stopped yet? On top of that, Rogan was beginning to struggle for breath. He had never been claustrophobic before, but the feeling was creeping up on him. It had to do with the total darkness. It reminded him of night operations in Iraq.

  He had wandered off from his squad once to take a leak and for a few minutes he had been lost. He had never known such fear before. The enemy could have been anywhere, ready to ambush him, so he couldn’t talk or turn on a flashlight. His own breath had threatened to give him away.

  He had felt alone, perhaps even already dead. It was like some sort of sensory deprivation tank and he had heard that some people went insane when spending too much time in there. This tunnel was just like that. It was his own personal version of hell.

  The sound of rushing water became louder. It wasn’t just the mud and rivulets of rain around him anymore. It was like when you’re running a bath. Like a waterfall. He lifted his chin and looked between his legs. There was a faint orange light beyond.

  What the hell?

  This was unnatural. Even outside, there was no moonlight. What was going on?

  Before he could give this situation further thought, the burrow veered to the left, brought him back right, and then angled down sharply. And he was falling through midair once more.

  Chapter 48

  “Oh shit!”

  He fell twenty feet before landing forcefully into a pool of water. He sank and sank and sank before it occurred to him to kick back to the surface.

  But just as he was, he saw through the water that Blake was suffering the same fate. He flew out of the tunnel overhead and plummeted like a brick toward the water.

  Toward him!

  Rogan swam to the side, but he wasn’t fast enough. The mercenary connected with him, his boot hitting him directly on the right arm. Bone snapped.

  Rogan couldn’t scream because he was under the surface, but his arm was definitely broken. It was the worst pain he’d ever suffered, worse than getting shot. He was sinking to the bottom again.

  His future was divided into small decisions. First he had to be able to breathe. Then he would worry about Blake or his broken arm.

  Rogan felt an intense stinging sensation on his face and neck, particularly in the cuts he had sustained going through the shattered glass and by branches going down the hill. It was burning, in fact. He realized that this was saltwater. Was he back in the ocean somehow?

  He kicked to the surface again and took deep breaths. Blake was nowhere to be seen, somewhere underwater. He took that small window of opportunity to look around and finally make sense of where he was.

  It was a cave under the mountain and it had to be fifty feet wide. He had misjudged his fall earlier; it was more like thirty feet between the water and the rocky ceiling. Three sleek speedboats were tied together, one next to the other. They were facing a wide opening toward the sea, most likely for a quick getaway.

  This had to be how the mercenaries had come to the island undetected. The unnatural light he had seen before was from a spotlight on one of the boats. Being back in the sea scared Rogan. He remembered his last naval excursion, coming back from the yacht on the jet ski. It had nearly killed Gina and him.

  The only piece of good news was that the water was calmer. It was by no means like a Minnesota fishing pond, but the waves weren’t unhinged. This meant that they had to be on the east side of the island, on the opposite of the oncoming hurricane.

  Blake emerged from the water, sputtering. He coughed and spat, and was as confused as Rogan was, but only for a moment. He had the advantage of knowing where he was.

  He came toward him and pushed on Rogan’s head, dunking him under the surface. Rogan struggled, hating every second that he wasn’t in control. However, Blake didn’t stay in place to drown him. He was simply shoving him out of the way.

  When he let go, Rogan poked his head out once again to witness Blake heading toward the boats. The son of a bitch was planning to flee. After this entire ordeal, the mercenary would escape scot-free?

  That was unacceptable.

  Rogan charged forward and grabbed Blake’s ankle at the last second. He yanked him back which threw him off balance. He sank. Rogan may have had a broken arm, but Blake was saddled with a heavy tactical vest. They were both handicapped and therefore somewhat evenly matched for once.

  Before coming up for air, Blake punched his enemy as best as he could. There wasn’t much impact, but it was enough for Rogan to let go of him.

  They both broke the surface again and Rogan understood that this had become a race.

  “Stop!”

  It didn’t even slow down Blake. He swam toward the middle boat. It was tied to the two others with rope. That had to be his choice because it would be easier to untie than going about pulling up anchors on the other boats. He grabbed onto the sizable Mercury engine and climbed aboard.

  Rogan found it incredibly difficult to swim with only one working arm. He had to do the sidestroke which made him feel like a retiree on vacation. Like a drowning victim.

  By the time he started to hoist himself into the boat, Blake was already working on the second knot, the one on the right. The two men glanced at one another, but they both continued what they were doing.

  Rogan crawled over the fiberglass hull, regulating his breathing to lessen the lactic acid in his muscles. There was no time—no use—trying to talk the guy down again. He wanted to get away and it was Rogan’s mission to stop him.

  With the boat unmoored at last, Blake headed for the helm. The key was in the ignition.

  Rogan sprinted ahead and reached him before he could power the boat. He punched him on the side of the head, but didn’t do much damage.

  “Step off!” Blake snarled, elbowing Rogan back.

  Rogan tumbled, falling into the backseat. Nevertheless, as he did so, he took hold of the older man’s collar and brought him down with him. It was his only way to slow him down.

  Fury growing through him, Rogan wracked his brain to find a way to put an end to this. How do you kill someone stronger than you when you have a broken arm? He would have given anything for a weapon right now.

  In a flash, he glanced at the two other boats and decided that, in spite of everything, the situation wasn’t doomed. On each side, the boats were anchored, and these anchors were located just in front of the cockpit. Maybe he actually had a weapon at his disposal!

  Gathering all his strength and ignoring the pain, Rogan swung his legs over the seat and, with agility that surprised him, he leapt over the cockpit onto the bow.

  He hazarded
a glance back and Blake was also on a mission. He returned to the controls and turned the key. The engines roared to life.

  It was only seconds before the boat took off. Before Rogan was thrown overboard and run over.

  He pushed that thought out of his head and opened the anchor hatch. He grabbed the chain in his right hand, ignoring his broken bone and searing pain, and took hold of the heavy steel anchor.

  With the energy of a desperate man, Rogan wrapped the chain three times around Blake’s neck and, taking huge strides, headed for the boat on the left.

  Blake was unfazed by this. This was obviously the act of someone who had nothing left to lose. Someone without hope. He pushed the throttle all the way up and the boat lurched forward.

  Rogan reached the other boat in time, just as he felt the hull move under his foot. He had to act fast because in a matter of seconds he would be pulled into the ocean along with the anchor. It was certain death.

  He fell behind the wheel of the leftmost boat and hurried to the side, by the cave’s wall. The chain was unspooling briskly. He had no time left.

  “Adios, motherfucker.”

  Rogan swung the anchor like a baseball player in the World Series, agonizing pain shooting into his right arm. The sharp edge of the anchor dug into the stone. Best of all, it remained there, resting against a crevice’s lip. Out of strength, Rogan collapsed into the seat and watched Blake getting away.

  Only he didn’t get away.

  The chain continued to roll out until it ran out. Blake’s body went rigid with the realization that his oxygen and blood circulation were cut off. But this surprise lasted only a split second because the boat continued to speed forward.

  The chain loop constricted, digging into Blake’s neck. Blood seeped through the links, flesh quickly following. A second later, the head was completely severed, popping up like the cork of a champagne bottle.

  Rogan felt absolutely no guilt at watching the mercenary being decapitated. And what came next was even better.

  The anchor chain ultimately broke and the boat gained speed in spite of being thrown every which way by the tumultuous sea. After a moment, it swerved off course and crashed straight into exposed reefs.

  Catapulted into the air, the boat caught even bigger rocks which created sparks and ignited a hundred and fifty gallons of premium fuel. The speedboat exploded into a series of fireballs that even the hurricane couldn’t contain.

  Rogan smiled because no matter the situation, a fireworks show made everybody smile. It was finally over and that knowledge allowed him a second of celebration.

  Now he had to figure out just how the hell he was going to get out of this cave…

  Chapter 49

  Desperate to avoid another swim in perilous waters—there was no telling how quickly the undertow would drag him to his death—Rogan decided to risk a boat ride.

  He untied the boat he was in, pulled up the anchor, and slowly came out of the cave with it. The boat was in superb condition, though the water was choppier than he’d anticipated, and the possibility of capsizing was real. More troubling was the fact that he had no idea where the shoals and reefs were located.

  Just because he knew there were some obstructions where the other boat had exploded, it didn’t mean there weren’t others elsewhere. After all, it was these submerged ridges that had given this island its name. He had to be extra careful.

  The one thing Rogan had going for him was the power of the engines. He could go slow and veer off course if necessary. The boat was also equipped with a powerful spotlight which he aimed thirty feet ahead of the bow.

  He kept an eye on the waves, observing how they moved. The wind was strong, which skewed his perception, but he didn’t notice any abnormal crashes or vortexes.

  He headed south, following the coastline, and soon he made out the marina in the distance. It was still on fire. This in itself was great news because it gave him a target. More than that, it offered a backdrop for the other elements on the island.

  He saw the base of the hill and tried to gauge the geography in his head from what he knew about the place. About halfway between the hill and marina was where the staff house was located. The burning helipad told him approximately where the mansion was.

  Unfortunately, he had no idea how the shore was laid out there. Did it have a smooth beach? Or was it like next to the marina, jagged rocks which would make it impossible for him to properly berth.

  He had to take his time. That was the only way to do this. It would be a bit of a slap in the face to survive a fight with a dozen mercenaries only to drown as he tried to get off his boat.

  Let’s try to avoid this…

  Taking a chance, he swiveled the spotlight toward the coast. It was difficult to make out the lay of the land because of the rolling waves, but then Rogan decided that this was exactly what he should be looking for.

  He stood up while bracing so he wouldn’t get thrown off, and kept an eye out for how the waves landed on the shore. Splashes, big splashes, softer splashes, and then…

  “Yes!”

  Between some mangroves and a cleared area at the corner of the staff house, the waves didn’t seem to have any impact. This meant that they were simply lapping up. It was some sort of beach. Rogan kept watching for several seconds to make sure he wasn’t misinterpreting the phenomenon and then turned his attention further off the shore. Water didn’t hit any obstacles.

  This was his opening. He pushed on the throttle, aimed for that spot, and prayed that he wasn’t wrong. The boat went faster, carried by the incoming waves. He would either survive or crash hard.

  He focused the spotlight ahead and, sure enough, it was some sort of beach. The sand was littered with debris, branches and leaves mostly. Piloting the boat with only one hand was nearly impossible, especially this close to his objective, but he fought through the throbbing pain.

  He steered the wheel, craned his neck to judge where he was going, and his right hand controlled the throttle. He could do this.

  Thirty feet…

  Twenty feet…

  “Come on, please work!”

  Ten feet…

  He sat down and braced with his legs. He had to survive the impact. He glanced behind him and witnessed a huge swell. This was it! He gave the engines more power and the wave propelled him like a rocket. The boat climbed onto the beach, settling in the sand.

  Rogan turned off the power out of habit and disembarked as fast as he could, dashing over the bow so he would be as far away from the ocean as possible.

  He ran up the slope, for the first time not having to worry about someone ambushing him. He rounded the house and went to the front door because he didn’t want to spend time searching for another entrance. He was shocked that half of the windows had been broken. Trees had fallen—no, they had been uprooted. My God…

  “Gina!” he called as he hurried inside. “Gina!”

  He looked around, going further in. There were still the same bodies as before and his heart tightened as he wondered if Gina had become one of them. Maybe she had been knocked dead by a fallen tree.

  “Gina, it’s me!”

  Movement to his left alerted him.

  “I’m here,” Gina said with uncertainty. She had found a raincoat to wear. She noticed the way he was holding his right arm. “What happened to you?”

  “Oh, you know, called the Coast Guard, killed Blake for real this time, broke my arm. The usual.”

  “Blake!”

  “Yeah, we finally settled our disagreement until one of us lost his head. I’ll tell you all about it later.”

  “The Coast Guard is really coming to get us, Rogan?”

  “Once the hurricane settles down, yes. You find someplace where we can ride this thing out?”

  She grimaced. “The house is falling apart. The windows are breaking one after the other.”

  “How about we head to the big house. I have a feeling Sabatini built it pretty solid. This means we have to take a natu
re walk though. You up for it?”

  The little smile he gave her was enough to convince her. She nodded and went to him. They went back outside and walked fast in spite of the wind. They didn’t need to hide any longer. There was no sense keeping to the jungle. They walked straight in the middle of the road, the two of them huddled together as if it made them power through the weather more easily.

  Each step was harder than the previous one, though. The rain was cold and battered them relentlessly. It was like fighting with Blake or one of his men all over again. Yet they persevered. They had to.

  When they were by the marina, the fire still raging thanks to the fuel dumps, they could see the main compound up ahead. This gave them a boost of confidence and they walked faster, still keeping to the center of the road. They grinned to each other, knowing that the objective was within range.

  “Stop right there!”

  The voice belonged to neither of them. They spun to the left and saw an older, bigger man in a black poncho. It was Paul and he was pointing a black pistol at them.

  “I want the USB drive back!”

  A gash above his head was bleeding. There was a bullet in his abdomen, Rogan noticed when the wind made the poncho flap about. Still, he was sturdy on his feet. The weapon was aimed true.

  Instinctively, Gina reached in her pocket for the USB drive. Rogan knew this was a mistake. Paul was liable to shoot them on sight now that he knew they had what he wanted.

  Christ, why hadn’t he taken a gun back at the staff house?

  “Hand it over, Ms. Maldonado. Otherwise, I’m gonna grab it from your cold, lifeless corpse.”

  “Paul, it’s over,” Rogan said. “This is useless.”

  “Shut up!”

  “Everybody’s dead. Sabatini, his people, Raymond, the mercenaries. It’s over.”

  Paul began to squeeze the trigger. “I’m not going to jail because of those financial documents. Give me the fucking thumb drive!”

  Out of nowhere, a Jeep shot out of the fallen branches and slammed into Paul, sending him flying for an instant before hitting the ground hard. Never slowing down, the vehicle went over his body before backing up and going over it once more. The front wheel crushed his face to a pulp. He was dead.