Storm Surge: A Fast Paced International Adventure Thriller (Storm Thriller Series Book 3)

by Steven Becker

  “I can gather some resources to stop the ship and get John and Faith,” Saba said. “Mako might be right. We need to go after the journal.”

  Mako had noticed a change come over her. His gut told him it concerned the journal escaping her grasp, and not about their adventure. Maldonado winning the game was not going to sit well with her.”

  “It will certainly be easier to get you two to Rome than to plan a raid on a ship. Maybe we should leave that bit to Interpol,” Alicia said.

  All three acknowledged that it was the smart move. It would take a military-style action to subdue and board Longino’s ship.

  An uneasy quiet settled over the table. The waiter brought their food, a veal dish for Saba, and what he was told was freshly caught swordfish for himself—he couldn’t resist.

  “I’m hoping everything is all right with TJ. I like those two,” Mako said. He stuffed a large bite of fish in his mouth and chewed. Looking up from his plate, he saw something different on Saba’s face. She reached over and took his hand.

  “I’d like to meet them someday.” She applied enough pressure to get a reaction. “We should get to Catania tonight. Catch the first flight out.”

  Mako picked up his phone. “I’ll let Alicia know.”

  “It sounds like she has her own problems. We can take care of it ourselves.”

  57

  Key Largo, Florida

  Alicia fought off the weariness running deep in her bones. The war room had no windows to distract her; it was her circadian rhythm smacking her in the head. Between being up for more than twenty-four hours and the escape from the burning boat, her body was beginning to shut down, starting with her brain. She knew her mind had started to wander in the last few hours and she was only doing busywork to take her mind off TJ.

  The clock on her monitor told her it was past dawn. Fortunately, there were no charters booked for today. She made a note to contact the future bookings. Without a boat, their operation was effectively out of business. None of that mattered now. It was TJ and the journal that she needed to focus on.

  Mako and Saba were on their way to Rome. The yacht had passed through the Straits of Messina and was still heading north. She had no luck when she tried to confirm Maldonado’s whereabouts. That didn’t surprise her. The bishop was crafty and was likely traveling under an assumed name—or in one of the Vatican’s private jets.

  Stretching, she rose from her chair and left the war room. It was indeed morning, and after a quick shower, she grabbed a cup of coffee and headed out to the hospital.

  Sitting in a chair near TJ, Mac’s head was resting on his chest when she entered the room. She was thankful that he was still here. Letting him sleep, she ignored him and moved around the other side of the bed. On the trip over she had tried to align her expectations with TJ’s condition, hoping that would prepare her. The image in her head fell short of what TJ looked like.

  Bandages covered most of him, though there was no seepage, which she took to be a good sign. His head was wrapped as well, leaving holes for his eyes, nose, and mouth. Several plastic bags were hung on the rack beside him, dripping drugs and other fluids intravenously. Looking up to read the labels, she recognized one as an antibiotic. Another was saline.

  Following the clear line to his arm, she noticed a blocked-off tube, probably for the pain killers. Her gaze drifted up to his face and she jumped back in shock as his light blue eyes met hers.

  “Hey, babe,” he said, his voice muffled by the bandages.

  ”TJ, are you okay?” She felt stupid asking the question. He clearly wasn’t. “Pain?” she drilled deeper.

  “Some,” he said, his eyes moving to the clock on the wall.

  Below it, Alicia noticed a whiteboard with his pertinent information. On top was the nurse’s name and extension. She scanned the rest of the board, noticing that he was due for his next round of pain meds anytime. Picking up the phone, she dialed the extension and asked the nurse to come by.

  The opioid epidemic governed pain management. Pain meds were no longer issued automatically. You had to ask, after telling the nurse how much pain you were in. The scale was near worthless. Alicia had read somewhere that most people replied their pain level was a ten. The problem was that once the meds wore off, the on-ramp to the next dose was steep.

  Alicia could see the lines around TJ’s eyes soften as soon as the nurse injected a dose of morphine through his IV. A few minutes later, they closed and he was asleep. Alicia motioned to the nurse that she would like to talk outside, and the two left Mac and TJ.

  The nurse looked familiar, but Alicia couldn’t recall her name. She leaned over, trying to read the hospital ID. “Nancy, is the doctor around?” Though spread out, the Keys were pretty much like every other small town, except for the influx of tourists. People knew each other. If you didn’t know someone personally, you at least recognized them.

  “I know what you’re thinking. It’s not anywhere as bad as it looks.”

  “That’s a relief.”

  “Doctor rounded earlier, and wants to keep him overnight for observation. The bandages and antibiotics are more precautionary.” She put a hand on Alicia’s arm. “He’s going to be all right.”

  Alicia started to thank her, but Nurse Nancy cut her off.

  “The police and marine patrol keep coming by, wanting to talk to him.”

  “Thanks. Better get Mac out of here, then.” She meant to say it under her breath, but Nancy caught it.

  “That’d be a good idea.”

  58

  The Mediterranean Sea

  John heard the rumble of the engines, then the deck started to vibrate. Rising from the single berth, he looked out the sealed porthole to see they were moving away from land. He paced the small cabin. It was all he had done since being taken aboard. Far from a brig, the cabin was well appointed, but it was nevertheless a jail. The door was locked from the outside and the porthole was sealed. He had been kept alone and, though he had asked, was unaware of where they were holding Faith, and if she was even here.

  He had tried to remain vigilant throughout his captivity, waiting for a mistake that might lead to his freedom. None had presented itself, or at least none that he had noticed. Part of that was due to the bottle of pills on the table by the berth. With his leg pounding like a jackhammer, he’d taken several. Now that they were underway, he sat on the berth, reached over, and unscrewed the cap. Pouring two tablets into his palm, he thought about taking a third. Deciding against it, he swallowed the pills dry. He wasn’t going anywhere for the immediate future, although his experience told him that opportunities weren’t scheduled.

  Twice he had checked his wound. There were no signs of infection, and it appeared to be healing well. When his captors had brought his latest meal, he had asked for clean dressings. Surprisingly they had complied, leaving him to think that Longino wanted him alive. He rose again, this time trying to loosen up the stiffness in his joints. If and when the time came, he would need to be ready. Walking around the room, John worked the bum appendage, testing how far he could push himself before the leg failed. The opioids helped mitigate the pain, though he realized there was a fine line between being mobile and clearheaded.

  With land slipping away, he knew this might be his last chance. He would have to manufacture his escape. The guards had just changed as well, which would give him some extra time if he was successful. All things considered, his body was feeling pretty good right now, and there might not be a better time. Believing they were planning on keeping him alive mitigated the risk.

  John banged on the door to attract the attention of the guard he expected was camped in the passageway. He’d been able to sneak a look earlier when they had delivered his food, and had seen a chair positioned halfway between two cabins. He assumed Faith was in the other room.

  There was a sudden movement outside the door. The pain pills delayed his reaction, so he was slow to step back as it opened. His position put him closer to the guard than eith
er would have liked.

  “What?”

  John didn’t have an answer to that question. Glancing down the hall to buy some time, he noticed the chair was empty. The guard was alone. With the sight of land slipping away, he acted on impulse and, leaning forward, head-butted the guard.

  Surprised by the attack, the guard staggered back. Adrenaline surged through John’s body, temporarily blunting the dulling effect of the pills. John instinctively stepped forward. Seeing the holstered weapon on his opponent’s right hip, John reached his hand underneath the man’s right arm, grabbed a hand and spun it behind the man’s back. By the time the guard regained his senses, John had him disarmed.

  Before setting out to find Faith, he pushed the man into his cabin, shut the door to mute any noise, then slammed the butt of the pistol into the man’s skull. He dropped to the floor. John quickly went to work.

  Anything that even resembled a weapon had been removed from the room. The only things not bolted down were the sheets and towels. Grabbing a washcloth from the bathroom, John stuffed it into the man’s mouth and, using the top bedsheet, tightly rolled the inert figure like a mummy. To secure the man, John rolled the second sheet in the same manner and lashed it around the man’s torso. His captive was just coming to when John tied the knot behind him. The effect was a double-layered straight jacket. The man’s face turned red as he fought against the bonds. John watched him struggle for a minute to ensure he couldn’t escape, and left the room.

  Finding Fatih was now his priority. After that he would figure it out as he went. It was too much of a risk to call out to her. Knocking on the cabin doors was not preferable, either. He had the element of surprise and moving to the next door he tested the knob. The door opened to an empty cabin. The two doors across the passageway yielded the same result.

  John wondered if she was being held in another part of the ship, or maybe she wasn’t aboard at all. Passing the guard’s chair, there was one door remaining. Checking the corridor, he moved toward it and slid the locking mechanism away from the jamb. His search of the other rooms had only taken a few minutes, he could only hope it wouldn’t cost more than that.

  He knocked lightly as he cracked the door open.

  “Faith?”

  “John?” She threw her arms around him.

  “No time for that. We’ve got to go,” John said, hoping she wasn’t going to ask what his plan was. They had several things going for them: surprise and darkness, which John figured would descend over the Mediterranean Sea in the next hour or so. Attempting escape with no knowledge of the ship’s layout or how many people were aboard was not the smartest thing he had done. Backtracking from the thoughts of doom and gloom, he reviewed what he knew as he led Faith down the passageway.

  He did have some knowledge. The guards, for one. There were three that he recognized, probably meaning they worked in eight-hour shifts. He cursed himself for not working out their schedule, but guessed they checked in every two or three hours. He looked down at his watch. Using the smaller number, and figuring it had been fifteen minutes since he rendered the guard unconscious, John estimated they had an hour and a half comfort zone. That would be six o’clock, about the time the sun set.

  John also knew enough about the yacht to figure out where the exit was. Though the ship had many decks he had not seen, he was aware of which level they currently were on, and the location of the tender dock. Hopefully, that would be enough. On arrival, they had been hurried through the lower level, but it has been hard to miss the collection of water toys—including the submersible. He also knew from the direction of the shadows across his room that they were heading north and that meant the Straits of Messina, not a body of water to navigate with a Jet Ski or small, open boat. That left the submarine.

  Before he worried about their method of transport, they had to reach the lower decks. Not wanting to risk the elevator, he pulled open a steel door, which opened onto a stairwell. They quickly descended two levels before he stopped. He put a finger to his lips. Together they waited, the only sound their individual heartbeats. After a minute John whispered, “What do you remember about the level we were brought in on?”

  “I’m fine, thank you, and same for the rescue,” Faith whispered.

  John knew he had been abrupt, but his mind was on escape, not niceties. “Please. We don’t have much time.”

  “We’ve been at sea for four hours with one stop about halfway. My guess from the airplane traffic I saw that it was Catania.”

  John tried to hide his shock. She had more situational awareness than he did. Blaming it on the drugs, he added to her summary. “We’ve got an hour, maybe a few minutes more, until they figure out we escaped.”

  “I’m not sure how many levels the ship has,” she said, moving to the doorway.

  To the side was a schematic of the ship mounted in a glass frame. Ignoring the irony of a Mafia boss having a safety plan, John studied the drawing. “Looks like two levels down from here.”

  Silence was more important than speed, so they descended carefully. Reaching the door they assumed was to the tender deck, John pulled the guard’s Sig Sauer out of his waistband and signaled for Faith to stand back. Slowly, he cracked the door. The deck was pitch dark, the only illumination coming from small LED lights on the equipment. Straight ahead, to the side of where he thought the retractable door was, a brighter glow came from what he guessed was the control panel for the submersible.

  John started toward the lights, but stopped when he felt a hand on his arm.

  “The door’s going to set off an alarm,” Faith said.

  “No worries there. Smile for the cameras,” John said, pointing to a security camera mounted over the door. The flashing red light told him it was active. Disabling it would be easy enough, and possibly ignored, written off as a malfunction. Things constantly broke on well-maintained boats, even one this expensive. Glancing around, he noticed several more cameras. Taking out the one was not worth the trouble.

  John took off toward the control panel, counting down the seconds until they had company. Figuring the steel door would open in less than a minute, the time it would take security to descend into the bowels of the ship, he reached the closed hatch and stared at the panel. Many of his contemporaries, including Faith’s father, had retired, in part because of the transfer of assets from human, to computers and drones. John had bucked the trend and at least tried to stay current with the new technologies. He could deal with most systems, but when he found himself staring at a complicated computer screen, he felt inadequate.

  Faith nudged him aside, and pressed several icons on the touch screen. John left her to it, keeping his pistol aimed at the steel door, which he expected would be opened any second now. A motor started to whine above and he felt a slight breeze as the hatch cracked open.

  “Good job. Now, can you get that submersible in the water?”

  “You want to take the submarine?” she asked.

  John remained silent. This was no time for debate. Taking the submersible had several advantages over the surface craft, especially if, as he suspected, they were in the Straits. The yacht had many features above and beyond comparable craft, but it was no Navy destroyer. Lacking depth charges, the submersible could escape, whereas surface craft could be seen on radar and pursued. On their way across the harbor, he had studied the ship as best he could and hadn’t seen a deck-mounted gun aboard. That didn’t mean they didn’t have one. He remembered how Mac Travis’s friend Jesse McDermitt had weaponized his Rampage sportfisher. The mount for the fighting chair doubled as a stand for a fifty caliber M2 machine gun.

  With the access door completely open, light flooded the deck. Now that he could see, John moved over to the submersible and, with one hand still holding the pistol on the door, released the tie-downs with his other. A cable with a large hook attached to a welded ring on the hull led to the boom of a small crane fixed to the deck adjacent to the sub. A thick electrical cable was attached to the port side.
He released the twist-lock and discarded the charging cable, then moved to the side and stared at the crane.

  Relief swept over him. The controls were common to heavy equipment. “Come on. I’ve got this.”

  Do we need to extend the dock?” Faith asked.

  With the tender door almost open, John studied the controls trying to figure out how to launch the craft. He had been lost in thought for a second and missed when the steel door behind them opened. He didn’t miss the gunshots as they ricocheted off the steel supports.

  Two men stood by the door. The one firing was focused on Faith. The other scanned the room. John wanted to call out and reassure Faith, but stayed silent. The men knew he was in the room, but not where. Using the precious advantage, he slid away from the submersible and, using the crane for cover, took careful aim and fired two shots at the man.

  One dropped, giving Faith the few seconds she needed to reach him. They were together now, but a third figure stood in the doorway.

  “Longino,” Faith muttered.

  The mob boss held what looked like an AK-47. A flurry of bullets flowed from the muzzle. Hidden behind the bulk of the crane, nothing hit them, but a red fluid was pooling on the deck around them.

  “He hit a hydraulic line. We need plan B.” The line appeared to be critical to launching the submersible, and from the quantity of fluid spreading around them, John knew the shot had disabled the entire unit.

  He fired twice, cursing himself for not checking the magazine when he had taken the weapon from the man in his room. There was only so much he could blame on the narcotics. His game needed to improve. The Sig Sauer 229 was not his preferred weapon, but he could tell by the length of the grip that it held an extended ten-round magazine. Minus the four shots that he’d taken, leaving him six remaining plus one in the chamber—if it had been full.

  Having switched his rifle from automatic to manual, Longino continued to spray bullets across the deck, this time in two- and three-shot groupings. At his current rate of fire, he could pin them here indefinitely. Sending one shot toward the steel door to put Longino in a defensive position, John fired a second, taking the opportunity to peer out from behind the boom. Longino was alone.