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

by Steven Becker

  59

  Catania, Sicily

  Mako had traveled enough to find the sign behind the baristas funny:

  Heaven is where the police are British, the chefs Italian, the mechanics German, the lovers French, and it’s all organized by the Swiss. Hell is where the police are German, the chefs are British, the mechanics French, and it is all organized by the Italians.

  Standing in what passed in Italy for a line, he couldn’t have said it better himself. Finally, he worked his way to the counter and grabbed his order. Taking the coffees to the gate, he tried to relax. At least TJ was going to be all right. That was a bright spot, the only one they had. He approached the floor-to-ceiling window and handed Saba her latte.

  “Anything from Alicia?” Saba asked, as she popped the lid and checked the brew.

  Mako sipped his Americano, and glanced at the screen. “Nothing.”

  Alicia’s call in the dead of night had appeared to be good news though, as it often did, her timing sucked. Mako and Saba, realizing there was nothing they could do until they landed in Rome, had let off some steam. Mako had been wary when Saba suggested they share a room. Having to calculate whether she was planning something other than the obvious, or was truly interested in him, had left him in a dilemma. A bottle of champagne delivered to their room had eased his worries and eased the way for some welcome horizontal activity.

  Alicia’s phone call informing them that the ship appeared to be circling in a search pattern had put a halt to all activity in room 218 of the Palace Catania.

  He was hopeful the yacht’s actions were an indication that his father and Faith were alive and had escaped. The advantage of flying, which allowed him and Saba to reach Rome before the ship arrived in port, detracted from their ability to help his father.

  When the attendant at the gate called for the flight to board, Saba started for the gate, but Mako reached out and stopped her. “Watch the show. It’s not worth the fight.”

  Instead of the semi-orderly boarding procedure they were used to, the Italians made a mad dash for the gate. Mako and Saba drank their coffee and watched. Under different circumstances they might have laughed. When the crowd finally thinned out, they presented their boarding passes and walked down the jetway.

  The flight was uneventful, offering them a brief, welcome respite to enjoy each other’s company. While on the plane they were helpless to do anything; the underlying tension of that helplessness cast a shadow over them.

  Before the wheels touched down, they both jumped into action, and turned on the phones they already held in their hands.

  Mako’s phone dinged first. Saba looked over at him. “Alicia?”

  He nodded.

  Saba’s phone countered with multiple blips, claiming her attention. Mako texted Alicia, who got right back to him. He didn’t know whether to be relieved or not.

  Saba saw him set the phone upside down on his leg. “Problem?”

  “The ship has turned back to Syracuse.”

  “That makes no sense.”

  “Could be a number of reasons. Mechanical failure … ”

  Saba cut him off. “Or maybe they escaped.”

  Mako didn’t want to get his hopes up, and turned back to the phone. By the time the plane had taxied to the gate, they were both up to date, though Mako was still unsure what to think or do about his father.

  Saba must have read his mind. “You’ve got to trust him.”

  Mako tried to switch gears. “So, it’s off to the Vatican.”

  “If it were that easy,” Saba said.

  With an abrupt bump the plane stopped at the jetway. The aisles immediately filled as the other passengers fished their luggage from the overhead bins. Despite knowing that it would accomplish nothing, Mako stood and joined them. Any action at this point would help him feel useful.

  It was a fight all the way to the airport exit where, once they stepped outside, Mako started toward the cab stand. Saba stopped him.

  “I’ve got a car and driver,” she said.

  Mako realized he had been so absorbed in his own world he had no idea what all the texts Saba that sent and received were about. “Hello, secrecy?”

  “I’ve got resources, might as well make use of them.”

  “So long as they don’t step on our toes.”

  Saba nodded, sliding into the backseat.

  “Rome,” he said to the driver, who raised his eyebrows, looking at them in the rearview mirror wanting for a more specific destination. Now that they were here, Mako realized he hadn’t thought any of this through. He didn’t have a destination—or a plan. “The Vatican,” he told the driver, and settled back for the ride.

  “Wait, we can’t just walk in there,” Saba said.

  “We’ll blend in with the tourists.” Mako reached for her hand. “Newlyweds. No one will question us.”

  “Besides wondering what we’re doing in the Vatican when we should be somewhere else.” Saba winked.

  “We can do that as well.”

  “Hold onto that last thought. I have an idea, though.” Saba faced forward, trying to get the driver’s attention. His eyes met hers in the rearview mirror, leaving no doubt he had been listening. She let it go.

  “The Pantheon.”

  60

  The Mediterranean Sea

  “We’ve got to locate the other shooter,” John whispered to Faith.

  Several more shots pinged the steel boom, causing them to lower their bodies behind the machinery. John knew it was just a matter of time before Longino’s man was in position. Facing two men with superior firepower was bad enough. Not knowing the location of the second shooter made it worse, as did the fact that his friend’s daughter was beside him.

  “There or there.” Faith motioned to two locations.

  John turned to study the areas. Something moved by one. “How can you tell?”

  “Shooting lanes. I grew up with video games,” Faith replied.

  “Well, what’s he going to do now?” John asked, trying to make light of their situation.

  “If they work as a team, they’re going to alternate fire and move in on our position.”

  Just as she said it a shot pinged the engine housing just inches away from John’s head, coming from behind them. The man was in position now, and not worried about revealing his location. The machinery, which had provided adequate cover when both men were near the stairway, now left them vulnerable to the second shooter. “We’ve got to move.”

  It was a calculated risk. Although Longino had the deadlier weapon, he likely lacked the experience of the thug. The problem was there was no way to prove John’s theory without testing it, and that meant exposing himself. Studying the deck, John thought Faith’s shooting-lane strategy might work in their favor, provided he was correct.

  “Cover me,” John said, handing Faith the Sig Sauer. “Five shots left.”

  As he rose, she took aim and fired. The shot hit the door jamb, forcing Longino back inside the stairwell.

  “Four.”

  Another shot struck behind them. It was closer than the first, indicating the shooter had found a better angle. “Don’t forget our friend back there.”

  Knowing that Faith was competent with a firearm eased John’s anxiety as he dashed across the deck and dove behind one of the jet skis. Several shots followed his progress, but they were too late.

  Longino was still in the stairwell, but with the shooter somewhere behind him and aware of his position, there was nothing he could do about either man. John glanced over at Faith. She had shifted into a small space between the engine and the carriage to which the crane was mounted. It was a perfect hiding spot for one person.

  John took a deep breath, released it, and ran for the door. Two shots echoed behind him. There was no sign of the bullets striking nearby and he started to worry about Faith, but he was too exposed to help her. The best thing he could do for both of them was to take out Longino.

  Going up against an automatic weapon
was not something to be taken lightly. Even if the man holding it was inexperienced, the odds were heavily in the shooter’s favor. John looked around for a weapon, something to balance the scales. Several steps away was a workbench. Next to it, secured with two eye-hooks embedded in the wall, was a mechanics tool chest.

  John looked over at Faith again. A movement behind her caught his eye. “Faith!” he yelled to alert her. She turned a second too late. The man lunged forward, pinning the Sig Sauer against the boom housing. A second later the sound of metal on metal rang out as the pistol dropped to the steel deck.

  There was only one thing to do. If the man had Faith, John needed Longino. The sounds of a skirmish across the room gave him confidence that the shooter was distracted. He quickly slid over to the toolbox and opened the top drawer. An assortment of wrenches were laid out by size. Reaching for the largest, he moved back to the door. The eighteen-inch-long wrench would be adequate to take down Longino, but there was still the problem of the gun.

  “Don’t move. I’ve got her,” the man yelled from across the room.

  John had to take another risk that if the man was going to kill Faith he would have done so already. Reaching back toward the chest, he opened the same drawer and removed one of the smaller wrenches. John moved the larger wrench to his left hand and, twirling the smaller wrench in his right to get a feel for the weight and balance, he reached for the doorknob.

  John had no choice. Though he badly wanted the weight and reach of the larger wrench, he knew it was the wrong weapon. By the time he could find and strike Longino, John’s body would be riddled with bullet holes. Setting the larger wrench down, he reached for the doorknob again, turning it quickly, and pulled the door open. His peripheral vision caught movement behind him. He was committed now with only a half-inch wrench for a weapon—or tool.

  Lunging forward, to get inside the reach of the weapon, John anticipated where Longino’s hands would be. Not expecting the attack, the man jumped back in surprise. Instinctively, Longino recoiled slightly. At the same time, he brought the gun up. Expecting John to go for the gun, Longino’s finger started to squeeze the trigger. In the millisecond before the trigger activated the firing pin, John jammed the small wrench into the trigger guard. It stuck. Longino tried to fire again, which lodged the wrench in even more.

  With the weapon disabled, John slammed the foot of his good leg into Longino’s instep. John knew Longino would lean forward in pain, and when he did, John yanked the AK from his hands. Taking it by the barrel, he slammed the butt into Longino’s head.

  “I still have the girl,” the other man called out from across the deck. “Let me go and I’ll release her.”

  Nothing would be gained from a gunfight with Faith in the middle. John glanced down at Longino’s body on the deck beneath him. A large pool of blood was spreading from the head wound, causing John to take several steps back. Leaning down, John didn’t see a need to check for a pulse; instead he checked Longino’s weapon.

  “I’ll do what I have to,” the man called out.

  John figured he had heard the loud click as he reseated the magazine and chambered a round. “I got no gripe against you,” John called back. “Release her. We’ll be taking that boat there. You can stay with the ship.”

  “I got some issues with staying.”

  John didn’t care. The man would likely be cannon fodder once Longino’s associates found out what had happened. When your only job is to protect your boss and he’s killed, unemployment is your last worry. “Let her go. We’ll take the boat and be on our way.”

  “Suit yourself, but I need some assurances.”

  John thought about his situation for a few seconds, deciding they were just wasting time. It was at least a half hour and probably longer since he had caught the glimpse of land passing by his porthole. Glancing at the open door, he estimated the ship was cruising in the neighborhood of thirty knots. That meant if they were heading out to sea, they would be at least fifteen miles offshore. With no idea of the range of the small boat strapped into a cradle behind him, it was time to go.

  “What do you need?” With renewed urgency, John decided this negotiation was a waste of time. He moved away from the steel door where Longino lay. “Leave her there. The way to the door is clear.”

  “Clear, so you can shoot me.”

  John looked down at the rifle. Ejecting the magazine and clearing the chamber, he tossed it toward the open door. It skidded to a stop just inches before falling into the depths. “There’s your assurances. Let’s get this done. Your turn.”

  He heard Faith scream and instantly regretted disarming himself. Reaching for his pistol, he came up empty. Recalling Faith had had it, he saw it lying on the deck. Seconds later a second pistol tossed by the henchman joined it.

  “I’m okay,” Faith called out.

  At the same time, John heard the sound of hard-soled shoes echo off the steel deck. The man looked over his shoulder as he reached the door, yanked it open, and disappeared. John ran to Faith.

  “Easy. You sure you’re not hurt?”

  Faith rose unassisted and brushed herself off. “I’m good. Let’s get out of here.”

  “I’m with you there.” John went to the small boat, leaned over the gunwale, and scanned the console. “Key’s in it.” Standing back, he realized starting the boat wasn’t going to be the problem. Moving it into the water was. Glancing back across the deck, he saw that the crane used to lower the submersible was equidistant between the submarine and boat. It was used for both, and now, with the hydraulics disabled by the gunshot, was of no use.

  “The jet skis,” Faith said.

  John glanced over at her, realizing the pair as positioned to allow them to slide off their cradles onto the retractable dock. From there they were easily pushed into the water. “You know what to do with them?” He had no idea, always thinking of them as the mosquitoes of the boat world.

  “Yeah, it’s easy.” She released the cable on the bow used to haul the machine from the water and shoved it off the cradle. The wheels attached to the supports rolled beneath it. A second later, Faith stood beside it on the dock, doing her best to hold it in place as the ship plowed through the chop.

  “Come on.”

  John repeated the procedure on the other craft. A few minutes later, after waiting for a lull in the waves, the jet skis were in the water. John looked over at her. Faith nodded that she was ready, and they started their engines. It took John less than a minute to get the hang of the controls, enough time to round the stern of the ship.

  John was getting anxious about the range of the jet skis, but once they were fully around the yacht, he could see land only a few miles away. With a sigh of relief, he realized the ship must have been running parallel to the coast.

  Faith had spotted what looked like a small town ahead and turned toward it. A second later, John accelerated to avoid the rooster tail sent back at him as she took off. He followed her toward land.

  61

  Rome

  Saba browsed the aisles of the small religious goods shop, looking for a nun’s habit that she could live with. While she shopped Mako got used to the idea of impersonating a priest. Frankly, he was surprised when the religious store by the Pantheon hadn’t been struck by lightning when he snapped the collar in place. With an occasional apprehensive glance at the ceiling to make sure it was not about to cave in on him, he checked himself in the mirror. Black was his color, and he was surprised how well the the suit fit him.

  A minute later, he emerged from the dressing room, and found Saba still searching for her disguise. The store owner hovered over her, a stream of Italian questions coming from her lips. In between diatribes, she shot nasty looks at Mako, who couldn’t understand any of it. It wasn’t hard to figure out what upset her. The woman was torn between making a sale, and knowing neither of them had anything to do with the clergy.

  The old woman went into another tirade as Mako moved ahead of Saba, pulling the occasiona
l dress from the rack. “Sister, this would look sweet on you,” he joked, hoping the storekeeper didn’t understand English.

  Finally, Saba took two frocks into the dressing room. Mako decided to wait outside while she tried them on rather than be left alone with the woman. The street was busy with tourists flocking to the Pantheon. The ancient building was rumored to be the longest continuously operated church in existence. It had started as an old Roman temple, then co-opted, as many of their other sites were, by the Catholic Church. If the ancient structures were not suitable for conversion, they were built in front of, or around, or over, and pillaged of their stone and furnishings. Of all these buildings, the Pantheon’s unique domed roof, oculus, and state of preservation make it a must-see.

  People nodded to Mako as they passed. It took a few minutes for Mako to realize that the passersby were not being friendly so much as paying tribute to his calling.

  In this case it truly was the clothes that made the man.

  Mako had started to engage the people, nodding back at them, when Saba emerged from the store. She had chosen well, down to the sensible shoes. Checking their reflection in the storefront window, she nodded.

  “Well, Father? Shall we go see the pope?”

  Mako’s laugh was interrupted by his phone. Alicia was back. Accepting the call, he moved into the alcove by the door. He could see the woman on the other side of the glass give him a stern look, but he ignored her, needing the privacy.

  “John and Faith are safe,” Alicia stated.

  “Great news.” Mako turned to Saba and told her.

  “And Longino is dead.”

  “Go, John Storm. That’s one down. Now we need to nail Maldonado to the proverbial cross.”