G 8

by Mike Brogan

  Soon, he saw the rear deck of the first yacht, then the rear decks of the next four. The sixth yacht, a Hatteras, was backed into its slot. He lifted his binoculars and saw some words on the bow slowly came into focus… L’étoile d’Uzes.

  His heart pounded as he pointed the yacht out to de Waha.

  De Waha cut the silent fishing motor and let the raft drift toward the boathouse dock.

  Forty feet… thirty… ten…

  Stretching his arms forward, Donovan cushioned the arrival at the dock. He then eased the raft’s ropes over the docking poles. Weapons drawn, they stepped silently up onto the dock.

  The Hatteras was inches away.

  Donovan saw the faint cabin light behind a thick curtain. They’d have to enter the cabin blindly and overwhelm Stahl.

  Donovan signaled he would board first. Slowly, he placed his foot on the yacht’s deck and paused. He brought his other foot on the deck. He detected no change in the vessel’s balance.

  Very slowly, de Waha stepped aboard. Again Donovan felt no shift in the yacht’s yaw.

  They moved to the main door. He wasn’t surprised to find it unlocked. More proof Stahl had the keys and was inside.

  On Donovan’s three count, they burst in, guns drawn.

  They swept the main cabin and saw no one. They rushed to the master bedroom and bathroom. Empty. They checked two small bedrooms and closets. Empty.

  Donovan turned and saw some flex-cuffs on a coffee table. Beside them was a handwritten note. He picked it up and read…

  Rourke…

  By the time you read this, I’ll be in

  Germany… or France… or who knows

  where… But rest assured, one day soon you’ll

  pay for the trouble you’ve caused me today…

  like your wife paid a while back… and like

  your friend Maccabee is about to pay.

  Seems like you have trouble protecting

  your women!

  V. Stahl

  Donovan’s rage exploded. He felt like barbed wire was being pulled through his veins.

  “Stahl left this yacht before Hoogenboezem got here,” de Waha said.

  But did he leave with or without Maccabee? Donovan wondered as he took a deep breath. They hurried back out on the dock.

  Did Stahl take her into the fog-shrouded forest? Down the dark road beside the windmill? Down the road to steal a car?

  Or did he kill her and dump her in the canal?

  De Waha pointed to a large home on a hill. A light was on downstairs. “Let’s check it out.”

  They started up the dirt path leading to the home. The path was lined with two-foot high brick walls on each side. The pitch-dark night made it difficult to see. Donovan flicked on his phone’s flashlight and it helped him see the pathway better. But moments later, Donovan was bothered by something he didn’t see. He stopped.

  “What’s wrong?” de Waha asked.

  “This is the only way to the mansion, right?”

  “Right. So… ?”

  “So the soil is very wet, but there are no footprints.”

  De Waha looked at the ground and nodded. “Bastard took her somewhere else.”

  They turned around and headed back toward the dock. As they walked onto the dock, something flashed in Donovan’s eye. He turned and saw it sparkle on the dock beneath the boathouse lights a hundred feet away. He pointed it out to de Waha and they walked down to it and paused.

  Donovan aimed his flashlight - and saw Maccabee’s gold ring.

  Positioned on the walkway.

  The walkway to a sixty-foot SeaRay.

  Donovan pocketed the ring and flicked off his flashlight. He and de Waha studied the yacht. It was dark inside, except for what looked like the faint glow of a night-light behind a curtain. Donovan listened for any sound coming from inside the yacht, but heard nothing.

  Then a human shadow moved behind the curtain.

  FIFTY NINE

  Donovan stepped aboard the SeaRay, slowly, one step at a time. He felt no shift in the yacht’s equilibrium.

  De Waha stepped aboard and paused. Again, no shift. He took another step and Donovan saw his shoe slide on the fog-slick deck. De Waha fell forward on his hand and knee… but without making any sound.

  Donovan thought he felt a slight tilt, very slight, nothing more than the tilt a tiny wave would make.

  De Waha nodded he was fine and got up slowly.

  They inched toward the cabin door.

  * * *

  Valek Stahl slid his fingers down the smooth, silky skin of Maccabee’s shoulder, then paused. He sensed something. Movement.

  Not wave movement. More like a slight tilt to the left. He glanced at the nearby fishbowl. The red castle had just dipped under the water – and remained under.

  Only one explanation.

  Weight.

  Human weight!

  Added to the left side of the yacht.

  Stahl grabbed his gun, untied Maccabee, pulled her into the front cabin and listened at the door.

  He sensed someone on the other side.

  * * *

  Donovan and de Waha, their weapons drawn, bolted through the cabin door and swept the main room. Empty. Donovan hurried into the master bedroom. Also empty.

  He saw a messed-up bed, a piece of rope and a beer bottle beside a fishbowl. The master bath and closet were also vacant. He looked at the only room they hadn’t checked. The door was closed. Donovan walked over to it. Now or never.

  He yanked it open.

  Empty.

  Behind them, he heard a latch click. He spun around and saw Stahl, gun in hand, and Maccabee emerge from the huge storage bins beneath the sofa cushions in the stateroom.

  “Welcome aboard!” Valek Stahl said, jamming his gun against Maccabee’s temple. Her mouth had bled onto her blouse which was unbuttoned. She looked terrified… but when she realized it was Donovan and de Waha, tears welled up in her eyes.

  Donovan stared at Stahl, fighting the urge to empty his Glock between the man’s eyes. “Maccabee. We’re not alone!”

  “Put your guns down!”

  Donovan and de Waha hesitated.

  “Do it or her brains paint the wall!”

  Slowly, Donovan and de Waha placed their guns on the floor.

  “Phones down too!”

  Both men placed their phones on the floor.

  Donovan couldn’t take his eyes off Stahl. Finally, he was face to face with the psychopath who killed his wife Emma… and hundreds of innocent people… and almost killed the world’s most powerful leaders…

  …. and might kill Maccabee any second.

  He saw the bloody gag around her mouth, a purple gash on her swollen cheek, her drenched blouse. Stahl had beaten her and worse. Donovan’s anger felt like molten lava.

  Please Lord, just a few minutes with this bastard!

  “The police have this yacht surrounded, Stahl,” Donovan said. “You have no chance.”

  “I assumed as much.” His accent was American.

  “Assume something else, Stahl!” Donovan fought to control his rage.

  “And what is that, Mr. Rourke?”

  “That you will die if you hurt her any more!”

  Stahl smiled, but said nothing.

  “And maybe even if you don’t.”

  Stahl smiled again. “Brave talk, Mr. Rourke, for a man who couldn’t even protect his own wife.”

  Donovan felt like he’d been kicked in the gut.

  “Question for you Stahl… ”

  “Yeah?”

  “How brave were you when you slit my wife’s throat while she slept?”

  Anger flashed in Stahl’s eyes, but he said nothing. He looked hard at Donovan for several moments, staring at his shirt and pants. Staring too long for some reason. Donovan looked down and realized his clothes were the same colors as Stahl’s.

  He sensed what the man was planning.

  Stahl pulled off his fake beard and tossed it behind a chair.
“Throw your vest and helmet over here, Rourke! Do it now!”

  Donovan stalled, searching for some way out of this.

  “NOW!” He pushed the gun barrel into Maccabee’s temple. She cringed.

  Donovan took off his vest and helmet and tossed them over. Stahl slid the vest on and forced Maccabee to fasten its Velcro straps.

  “Walk backward toward that storage room!”

  Donovan and de Waha stepped back toward the small room.

  “Get in the room and shut the door!”

  They got in and shut the door.

  Stahl locked it with a key, then it sounded like he wedged something under the handle.

  “If you follow me, she dies.”

  “Stahl… ?” Donovan said through the door.

  “Yeah?”

  “You’re a dead man.”

  * * *

  Clutching Maccabee, Stahl peeked out the windows. He saw no cops in the fog, but knew they were there, probably hiding in the trees.

  But now, he was Rourke. Same height and weight, same color pants and shirts, same bulletproof vest. The helmet would hide his hair, the fog and darkness would obscure his face, and the Glock would keep Maccabee nice and quiet.

  He pulled off her gag. “We’re going outside. Button your blouse. Act normal. If you warn them – I’ll kill you and some of them. Understand?”

  She nodded.

  Stahl opened the door and led her outside onto the rear deck, then down to the fog-shrouded dock.

  His face down, Stahl kept his hand around her shoulder as though comforting her. His other hand jammed the gun into her spine. He looked ahead into the dark, misty dock area and forest, still seeing no one, but knowing the police were out there.

  “You need help, Agent Rourke?” a voice from the forest.

  “No. We’ve got Stahl cuffed inside. De Waha wants to question him alone for a couple minutes.”

  He heard the officers start to walk toward them from the forest.

  “Stand back! Don’t crowd her. Maccabee needs some time alone. She’s been through a lot.”

  “Okay… you need anything, Miss Singh?”

  She said nothing.

  Stahl nudged her with the gun.

  She said nothing.

  “Miss Singh… ?”

  He nudged her hard.

  “No.”

  Stahl led her along the misty canal bank. In the distance he saw the outline of the large windmill and beyond that some unattended police cars.

  Wouldn’t surprise him if the idiots had left the keys in them again. He also remembered some homes further up the canal. Cars were parked in the drives.

  And then he remembered seeing a Renault Clio at the farmhouse just up the road. So many choices.

  He’d be out of here in minutes.

  SIXTY

  “Stand back, Jean!” Donovan said, moving de Waha away from the locked door.

  “Why?”

  “This.” He yanked a 9mm mini-Glock from his ankle holster and aimed at the doorknob.

  Donovan fired and the bullet shattered the lock mechanism and broke off chunks of wood. They lunged against the door, but it gave only a half-inch. Stahl had wedged something against it.

  On a three count, they kicked the door – but only gained an inch. They kicked harder, and then harder again, finally slamming the door open and knocking a chair away. They ran into the cabin and saw that Stahl had taken their handguns.

  Rushing out onto the dock, Donovan saw Officer Koopmans and other officers running toward them, looking astonished.

  “Donovan - we thought you –”

  “Where’d Stahl take her?”

  “That way - along the canal!”

  “Are there police cars down there?”

  “Yes.”

  “Did you hear a car start?”

  “The choppers are too loud to hear anything down there!”

  Donovan saw two Dutch Agusta-Bell Police helicopters sweeping over the forest, their spotlights bleaching the trees white.

  “Tell them to search this area for Stahl and Maccabee. Stahl has dark clothes, but she’s wearing a white blouse.”

  Koopmans gave the order into his phone.

  “Any houses down there?” Donovan asked.

  “Several.”

  “Check them and the cars out too.”

  Koopmans repeated the command into his shoulder mic.

  “What about the forest?” de Waha asked.

  “SWAT teams just started combing it, working their way toward us now.”

  Donovan hoped their net was cast earlier enough and wide enough.

  “He took our guns,” Donovan said.

  Koopmans turned to an officer who quickly produced two 9mm Berettas and handed them to Donovan and de Waha.

  Donovan looked around. Where was Stahl?

  Logic suggested he was getting as far away as possible. But Stahl often used logic to deceive the cops. Maybe Stahl did not run and was hiding close by.

  And maybe when he heard my gunshot in the yacht, he knew he had to hide fast – maybe in the forest or along the canal.

  “Jean, let’s you, Koopmans and I start with the big windmill first, then the canal and forest.”

  They nodded.

  “Is the windmill door unlocked?” Donovan asked.

  Koopmans shrugged that he didn’t know.

  Donovan studied the windmill. It was far larger and taller than any mill he’d ever seen. The blades, more than fifty feet in length, groaned in the wind. He heard a motor running inside and wondered if the mill was both power and wind driven? Its base was sixty feet wide and surrounded by white tulips and large decorative boulders. A wood railing and wood plank walkway also circled the mill. The roof swooped down like a Chinese pagoda.

  As Donovan switched his Beretta’s safety off, he thought he heard something near the mill. Not the blades whirring and groaning, and not a mechanical sound, but a sharp click. Like a shoe clicking on the wood walkway. A hard heel click??

  The hair on his neck stiffened.

  He signaled de Waha and Koopman that he would approach the windmill while they blocked the other sides. If Stahl bolted, he’d face cops, bullets, or canal water.

  Donovan inched toward the windmill, reminding himself that he was not wearing his bulletproof vest or helmet.

  Stahl was!

  A few steps closer, Donovan paused and squinted into the fog. He saw the faint outline of something or someone backed up against the mill. He blinked to be sure. Then he was sure. He was looking at a tall man’s profile.

  Stahl!

  Holding his gun!

  His back against the mill.

  But no Maccabee…

  Donovan looked left, then right, then left again, but didn’t see her.

  Then he looked back.

  Stahl was gone!

  Cursing himself for losing Stahl, Donovan moved to the left and seconds later managed to catch Stahl’s profile – this time clutching Maccabee in front of him - his gun jammed against her head!

  Donovan flattened himself on the ground, giving Stahl less to shoot at, and began creeping toward the man, keeping his eyes focused on Stahl’s shoes forty feet away.

  The shoes did not move. Nor did Maccabee’s.

  Only thirty feet now… twenty…

  Then Donovan’s hand came down on a fallen branch. It snapped loud as a bullwhip. He looked down at the damned branch, cursed silently – then looked back up.

  Stahl and Maccabee were gone!

  Donovan rolled left, fearing Stahl would shoot toward the sound. But Stahl did not fire. Instead, Donovan realized, he had to be backing up around the windmill.

  If I go in the opposite direction, he should be backing up toward me.

  Donovan heard noise in the forest.

  Did Stahl just sneak past Koopmans and de Waha into the woods? Possible, but not likely. Something told him that Stahl was still at or near the windmill.

  He crawled along the mill’s wood-plank wal
kway in the opposite direction Stahl had taken. He paused and listened. Nothing.

  As he crept forward, his finger slid between two wood planks. He pulled it out and felt a large sliver rip into it. It stung like hell, but he kept crawling, watching for Stahl’s back to emerge from the fog.

  But Stahl’s back did not emerge.

  Nor did any sound.

  Donovan waited several seconds.

  Still nothing.

  Was Stahl waiting for him?

  Donovan inched ahead. No sight of him. Did he take her inside the mill? Or along the canal? He couldn’t possibly get past de Waha and Koopmans, could he?

  Donovan listened hard, but heard only the huge blades, groaning and creaking.

  Something was very wrong.

  Where the hell was Stahl?

  Then… Donovan felt something.

  Behind him!

  A wood plank had dipped down.

  He spun around and saw Stahl pulling Maccabee backward, her high heels clicking across the planks.

  Donovan raised his gun to shoot - but Stahl yanked Maccabee in front of him as a shield and aimed his gun at Donovan.

  As Stahl squeezed the trigger, Maccabee hit his elbow.

  One bullet grazed Donovan’s shoulder, the other missed his head by inches.

  Stahl pulled Maccabee back.

  And that’s when it happened - her heel suddenly lodged between the wood planks. As she fell, she grabbed Stahl’s arm and pulled him down. Stahl jerked his arm free, straightened up, then aimed at Donovan again.

  Too late.

  Donovan’s first bullet ripped into Stahl’s shoulder. The second and third bullets ripped into his neck near the carotid artery.

  Stahl seemed to freeze.

  Maccabee pushed him. He tripped over her stuck shoe, then flipped backward over the railing, his legs flying up into the air.

  And then incredibly… so was the rest of him!

  Donovan couldn’t believe his eyes… Stahl’s body was being dragged up into the foggy night sky!

  His leg had wedged itself into the grids of a huge windmill blade. Stahl struggled to free himself, but couldn’t dislodge his leg.

  Donovan wrapped Maccabee in his arms – and watched Stahl swing high above their heads, struggling to free his leg. If he managed to pull his leg out, he’d fall one hundred feet to the ground. But he couldn’t free the leg. The shin and knee were locked too deeply in the blade’s gridwork.