by John J. Rust
“Yeah, he was.”
“What about you?”
Rastun’s eyebrows knitted together. “What’d you mean?”
“Did you actually think I was working for Gunderson?”
Rastun stared at her, trying to figure out how best to answer.
He remained silent, looking away from her.
“You did.” Karen’s jaw trembled. “Oh my God, you did.”
“Karen, when we learned about the mansion, and that you owned it, I … I…”
“How could you think that?” She backed away from him. “After everything we’ve been through. I saved your life on that Coast Guard boat, and you still thought I betrayed you and everyone on this expedition?”
“Karen, I’m sorry.”
“Sorry?” Her voice rose in anger. A tear ran down her cheek. “I let you into my life, I gave you my body, I thought we trusted one another. This is how you repay me for that trust?”
“Karen…” Again, he struggled to find the right words.
Karen held up a hand. More tears escaped her eyes. “My God, Jack. I lo…”
She turned away, wiping her cheeks, and hurried toward the crew compartments.
He started to open his mouth. There were just three words he wanted to say to her. Three words he wished he’d said to her sooner. Three words that might bring her back to him.
Rastun kept those three words to himself.
FORTY-FIVE
This was the one thing Rastun hated about sentry duty. Ninety-nine percent of the time, nothing happened. When nothing happened, the mind wandered, even when that mind belonged to a highly trained soldier like an Army Ranger.
He could only stare at waves for so long before he thought of Karen, the outrage in her voice, the tears in her eyes.
It sickened him to know he’d been the cause of those tears.
He gripped the railing, wondering if he should give it some time before he sought out Karen to apologize. But would a simple “I’m sorry” be enough?
“Captain.”
He turned to find Sherlock walking toward him. “What’s up?”
“The Coast Guard’s sending a motor lifeboat to pick up Pilka. ETA about thirty minutes. The FBI will have agents standing by at Coast Guard Station Atlantic City to take him into custody.”
“Good.”
“Meantime, I had my people back in Washington run a check on Andres Piet through INTERPOL.”
“What did they find?” asked Rastun.
“The guy’s a real piece of work. Fifty-four years old, but still has the physique of the body builder.” Sherlock showed him a photo of Piet on his smartphone. The compact face that stared back at him had graying hair in a buzzcut and soulless eyes.
“He was born in Pretoria,” Sherlock continued. “His father was a sergeant in the South African Defense Force who died when Piet was nine.”
“How?”
“The African National Congress bombed an army barracks and killed seven soldiers, including Piet’s father. After he died, Piet’s mother suffered from depression. She also abused alcohol, drugs and Piet.”
“Sounds like he had a great upbringing.”
Sherlock gave him a sardonic smile. “The abuse stopped when Piet was fifteen. It sounds like a switch went off in his head and he figured why should I keep getting knocked around when I’m this big? He started beating his mother until he left home at age seventeen.”
Rastun shook his head. He thought back to when he was that age, when he sometimes thought he had the worst parents in the world because they did not support his decision to join the Army. But his mother and father weren’t in the same universe with some of the truly horrible parents in the world.
Like Piet’s mother.
“So what happened with our golden boy?”
“He joined the army. When he was nineteen, Piet and some of his friends were going to a bar in Bloemfontein when they ran into a black couple. He thought the man gave him a nasty look. Piet bashed his head into the sidewalk, stomped in his chest, then used a broken beer bottle to carve out his eyes.” Sherlock grimaced as he stared at his phone. “You don’t want to know what he did to the girl.”
“Sounds like this guy has some serious anger issues.”
“Between a group of blacks blowing up his father and all the abuse from his mother, he has plenty of issues.”
“So did his superiors do anything?”
“Yeah. They gave him a promotion.”
Rastun’s eyes widened in surprise, then he remembered. “Right. This was during Apartheid.”
Sherlock nodded. “Piet was transferred to the national police force. He was part of a unit that specialized in raping the family members of anti-Apartheid activists in order to scare them into silence. By all accounts, he was very good at his job.”
“So what happened when Apartheid ended?”
“It looks like Piet saw the writing on the wall beforehand. He fled South Africa in 1991, the year after Mandela was let out of prison. That’s when he became a mercenary. He’s wanted in more than a dozen countries for murder, weapons trafficking, rape and, well, it would take me an hour to list all his other charges. The TSA’s been alerted to see if Piet flew into the country around the time of the first monster attack.”
Rastun snorted. “The TSA. Let in a psycho mercenary, but make sure you do a body cavity search on a four-year-old girl with a lollipop.”
“I also alerted the New Jersey State Police, as well as all the local PDs along the Jersey Shore. They’ll contact me if they get a lead on Piet.”
“Good.”
Sherlock pocketed his phone, then pulled out a couple of vials of clear liquid. “I also found these in Pilka’s cabin.”
“What are they?”
“My guess is pheromone extract from the other sea monster. I’ll have to have a lab test it to be sure.”
“Mm.” Rastun looked back out at the ocean. He folded his arms and stared at a patch of water in thought. “Your lab would only need one of those vials for testing, right?”
“Yes, sir.”
“Good. Because as soon as the Coast Guard takes Pilka off our hands, I’m gonna run an idea past Ehrenberg.”
Sherlock glanced at the vials in his palm, then back to Rastun. “You plan to use these pheromones to lure out the Point Pleasant Monster and kill it.”
Rastun nodded. “You read my mind.”
***
Piet stood on the bridge of their disguised motor lifeboat, staring at his satellite phone. There was an hour’s difference between here and Texas. Still, Gunderson should already be up.
Even if he isn’t, he needs to know this now.
He dialed the number. Gunderson answered on the second ring.
“Mister Piet. Good. I was just about to call you.”
“You were?”
“We’ve had a significant problem come up. I’m sorry, but your services are no longer needed.”
“What?” Piet’s surprise gave way to anger. Four million dollars was at stake, and the old bastard was pulling the plug on him? “What for?”
“Let’s just say the prize you were looking for, it had a twin. We were keeping it, but the wrong people found out about it.”
Even though Gunderson used a secure phone, he was still careful with what he said. One never knew who could be listening in.
Especially in America these days.
So Gunderson had another monster stashed away. Then why offer so much money to catch this one? All Piet could think of was Gunderson hoped the two beasties would bugger each other and start popping out little beasties. He could make a lot of crown selling those things.
Not anymore.
“Understood,” Piet told him. “Unfortunately, you have another problem. Our friend on the inside, the wrong people have him, too.” Doern had been monitoring Coast Guard frequencies when they announced Pilka’s arrest.
“Dammit!” Gunderson cursed. “Do you know what information they’ve gotten out of h
im?”
“No.”
“Well, I need to know how much damage he might have caused me. I want you and your men to retrieve our friend.”
“That could be risky,” said Piet. “It would be better to just eliminate the problem.”
“No. I need to know what he told the wrong people so I can deal with any fallout. Do you know where our friend is?”
“Yes.” Epic Venture had radioed the Coast Guard that Pilka was still onboard and gave its GPS coordinates to the MLB sent to collect him.
“If you’re worried about the risk, you can have your bonus, provided you successfully complete this job.”
Piet stared at the overhead of the bridge in thought. Such an operation carried out on short notice stood a good chance of getting cocked up.
Four million dollars, however, made it a chance worth taking.
FORTY-SIX
Rastun turned when he heard the hatch to the bridge open. Karen stepped out, camera in hand. She turned to him, pausing when their eyes met. He took a step toward her.
She turned and walked to the stern.
Still mad at me. Not that he could blame her. He prayed she would eventually forgive him.
Unfortunately, they hadn’t had an argument about some missed social engagement or a comment that offended a family member. He had thought, he had believed, Karen sold them out to a slimebag exotic animal collector and caused the death of Captain Keller.
How does one forgive something like that?
“Cap’n,” Geek radioed. “There’s a vessel approaching from the east. About four klicks off the stern, port side.”
“Got an ID on it?”
“Looks like a Coast Guard motor lifeboat.”
“Copy. Standby for confirmation.” Rastun contacted Captain Snider. “There’s a vessel approaching us from the east. Have they made contact with us?”
“That’s affirmative. I was just about to let you know. U.S. Coast Guard Motor Lifeboat Twenty-Four coming to pick up Doctor Pilka. They’re going to pull up along our port side.”
“Roger. Geek, did you get that?”
“I did, sir.”
“Let’s give the Coasties whatever help they need, get this done and get back to our real job.”
“Yes, sir.”
The MLB soon pulled up next to Epic Venture. Hernandez caught the rope thrown to him by one of the Coasties and tied it to the railing. A skinny young man with fair skin jumped from the MLB onto the FUBI vessel.
“Ensign Capra, U.S. Coast Guard.”
Both Rastun and Ehrenberg introduced themselves.
“Is the prisoner ready for transport?” asked Capra.
“He is.” Rastun radioed Sherlock, who currently stood guard outside Pilka’s cabin. “The Coast Guard’s here. Bring up Pilka.”
“We’re on the way.”
The two men appeared little over a minute later. Sherlock with a no-nonsense expression, looking every bit the cop, Pilka with his shoulders slumped, head hung low and hands cuffed behind his back, looking thoroughly defeated.
Rastun’s hand hovered next to his holster. He seriously doubted Pilka would try anything stupid. But in case he did, he was ready. So was Geek, who clutched his USAS-12 shotgun. So was the stocky Coast Guard petty officer on the MLB who carried a Remington 870 shotgun.
Pilka would have to be really, really stupid to try anything.
“He’s all yours,” Sherlock said as he neared Capra.
“Thank you.”
“You guys have back-up coming?” Ehrenberg leaned to his left, staring past Sherlock and Pilka.
“Sir?” Capra gave him a quizzical look.
Rastun turned, staring past Epic Venture’s bow. Another USCG boat headed toward them. It looked similar to Capra’s vessel, but with a square-shaped bridge instead of a rounded one.
Capra got on his radio. “MLB Twenty-Four to Coast Guard boat approaching my pos, do you copy? Over.”
No response.
“Coast Guard boat approaching my pos, this is MLB Twenty-Four. Respond, please.”
Again Capra was answered with silence.
Rastun looked from the ensign to the approaching boat. Why wouldn’t they answer? Radio problems, perhaps?
His paranoia whispered in the back of his mind. His hand moved closer to his Glock.
“Coast Guard boat approaching my pos,” Capra repeated in a more demanding voice. “Respond.”
The boat sped past them. The roar of its engines decreased as it slowed.
What’s it—
Someone stepped out of the bridge, balancing a slender tube with a conical tip. A stab of fear went through Rastun. He’d seen that weapon plenty of times in Iraq and Afghanistan.
“RPG! Down! Everyone down!”
Rastun, Geek and Sherlock all hit the deck. The civilians just looked at the other boat, confused. So did the Coasties. He doubted any of them had ever been under fire.
“Get down, dammit!”
The FUBI members and the Coasties dropped to their stomachs when Rastun heard the familiar crack of an RPG firing. Next came the sharp fluttering of the rocket-propelled grenade streaking through the air.
The blast shook Epic Venture. Shrapnel zipped over Rastun’s head. Three people screamed in terror. Two female, one male. Karen and Malakov, and Pilka. Rastun looked across the deck at Karen. She laid flat, hands on top of her head. Her eyes were wide open and blazing with fear.
But he didn’t see a trace of blood on her, thank God.
A light machine gun opened up. An M-60, judging by the distinct staccato chatter. A flurry of 7.62mm rounds punched through the bridge. Splinters of glass, wood and fiberglass showered the deck. Rastun drew his Glock and rolled behind a nearby storage locker. Three rounds ripped through it.
He peered around the locker. He grimaced when he saw Hernandez and Ensign Capra sprawled on the deck, blood pooling around them. The petty officer with the shotgun fired over the MLB’s railing. Machine gun fire tore into the MLB. He ducked. Another RPG round raced over the water. Fire and smoke burst through the aft deck, right where the petty officer had taken cover.
The other MLB neared the twisted, smoking remains of Epic Venture’s dive platform. Rastun gritted his teeth when he realized the bad guys had targeted the engines with that first RPG round.
Epic Venture was dead in the water.
Two men hurried out of the boat’s bridge, each carrying AK-74s. Orange flashes spat from their barrels. Dozens of rounds ripped through Epic Venture’s hull. What glass remained in the bridge windows exploded.
Rastun fired three rounds and ducked behind the locker. More high velocity rounds tore apart the top of it. He scowled at his Glock. What he needed was a Steyr AUG rifle. But all of them were in the weapons locker belowdecks.
“Captain Snider!” he radioed. “Send out a distress call! Epic Venture is under attack.”
Nothing.
“Captain Snider!” He tensed as more rounds cracked above him. “Captain Snider, respond!”
Rastun looked at the bridge. All the windows had been shot out and the hull turned into Swiss Cheese. He feared Captain Snider wouldn’t respond to anything ever again.
A shudder went through Epic Venture. The fake Coast Guard boat bumped into the mangled dive platform. The M-60 chattered again. Geek, now behind a vent box, blasted away with his shotgun. Rastun saw the machine gunner duck behind the gunwales. He grabbed a flash/bang grenade and looked at Ehrenberg, who lay flat on the deck a few feet away.
“Doc!” Rastun held up the grenade. “When this goes off, you get the women below.”
Ehrenberg stared at him, his face the color of chalk, fear evident in his eyes. Still, he managed a slight nod.
“Cover fire!”
Geek reloaded his USAS-12 and opened up. Sherlock crawled over to Rastun and added his shotgun to the mini-barrage. Rastun pulled the pin and hurled the grenade. He threw another flash/bang for good measure. Brilliant flashes went off near the enemy boat. Thunderclaps fo
llowed.
“Get below!” Rastun blazed away with his Glock. Geek and Sherlock kept up their fire.
Karen, Ehrenberg and Malakov scrambled for the bridge on their hands and knees. Geek tossed another flash/bang and shoved a fresh magazine into his shotgun. The grenade exploded.
Five seconds passed without the enemy firing.
Rastun quickly ran down his options. They could try a direct assault on the boat. It meant having to cross about twenty-five feet of open space. That was just asking to be cut down.
“Geek. Get to the weapons locker. Get our Steyrs and all the ammo you can carry.” Rastun got on the radio. “Doc. Call the Coast Guard and tell them—”
He heard a deep thump. Something clattered on top of the bridge.
“Grenade!”
The three ex-Rangers dropped to their stomachs and covered their heads. The fragmentation grenade went off with a crump. Shrapnel whizzed through the air.
Another grenade launcher thumped from the enemy boat. The projectile ricocheted off the rear of the bridge and bounced along the deck, away from Rastun and his men. The blast sent shrapnel in all directions. It pinged off the storage locker.
The machine gun opened up again. Rastun peeked around the locker. Two men leapt off the boat and fired their AKs. Rastun’s eyes locked on one of them, the one with the compact face and graying hair.
It was Andres Piet.
FORTY-SEVEN
Rastun fired his Glock. Piet and his buddy dove behind the deck gate that led to the mangled dive platform. Geek’s shotgun boomed twice. One of the bad guys fired at him, missing.
The man with the M-60 leaped onto Epic Venture’s stern. He hefted the machine gun to his shoulder and sprayed Rastun and his men. Bullets cracked around them. Rastun heard two thunks as 7.62mm rounds tore through the storage locker. He leaned around it and sighted the machine gunner’s torso. He fired his Glock three times.
The man stumbled briefly, but didn’t go down.
“Shit! They got body armor.”
“Big deal.” Geek said as the machine gunner sent a stream of tracers at Rastun and Sherlock.