Marco shuddered from the impact of the knife that hit him with such brutal force it sent the hot pain of Hell’s lightning coursing through his upper body. He instantly felt nauseous and puked all over Testa, who was raising his arm to complete the kill, which gave Patricia enough of an opening to fly-kick him fully on the chest. In spite of his great agility and resilience the cannonball hit his sternum and sent him over the rails and into the water, where his only option was to dive before fire from the Toscana terminated him. He swam deep and came up behind the scooter that he had tethered to the hull with a vacuum cup. He cut the rope and headed towards the shore. His sole companion was a pain worthy of penitents in Hell.
At about 500 feet he ran out of power and he activated a beacon that brought a black shell boat to him in less than a minute. One more beacon was about a hundred feet away and they picked up a woman who was a few seconds from death with an open chest wound. Testa threw her back in the water and they headed off. There were no more beacons. Five of the six assailants were dead or dying as searchlights from the upper deck and bridge of the Toscana scanned the surface, hunting with desperation for more enemies. Testa sat looking at his watch and counted the seconds, eight, seven, six, five, four, three, two, one…then one of the three charges that they had attached to the hull with time detonators lit up the sky and the water around the Toscana, and engulfed the yacht in flames. But it wasn’t the charges that had been placed to blow up the yacht’s fuel tanks. It was the one at the bow that was to sink the remains rapidly when the other charges and the tanks had blown. Apparently the other two charges had dislodged and sunk because seconds later plumes of water shot up indicating that the charges had detonated far underneath the surface; yet another failure.
The Abnegated headed out to sea, distancing itself from the Toscana. The Captain knew that he would probably be intercepted by the Coast Guard, but the further away it got the better. Right now his two mates were sanitizing the ship from anything that could possibly show the presence of the mercenaries. He had been paid in full and would not say a word about the National Geographic team. He would say that he was supposed to meet up with the team in Anegada where he was headed. The story was plausible and, being in international waters with no inculpating evidence aboard, he felt confident that no consequences would come from this deal. He opened a beer and sipped, it enjoying the bitter brew.
Aboard the Toscana, fire from the charge that had exploded on the hull intensified amidships. Those members of the crew who had survived the attack now focused on distilling order from chaos. All the guests were taken to the stern deck and lowered into lifeboats. Only Sun E was missing as her stateroom had been close to where the explosive charge had gone off. Several of the Board were wounded but none critically. The worst was Marco, who was suffering tremendous pain from the damage that the blade had done to his shoulder bone. Fortunately the first officer had appeared with a morphine syringe from the emergency kit and soon Marco was out of pain and in a drug-induced slumber. Several cuts, bruises, and burns were administered to as the four lifeboats, with all aboard but the fatalities among the crew and Sun E, headed away from the burning ship. Luigi and José both had minor wounds but ignored them and created a barrier of will and guts around their charges. Luigi was burnt when he was helping Patricia get Marco to the lifeboat and José had a through-shot bullet wound in his left pectoral muscle.
When they were about 200 feet from the Toscana, intense heat from the conflagration onboard ignited her fuel tanks and a ball of fire rose into the sky so large it was seen from Virgin Gorda, Anegada, and other neighboring islands. The sound wave hit the survivors with repulsive violence; then a large wave tossed the lifeboats threatening to capsize them, and then…nothing. No fire, no noise, no Toscana. There was just the buzz of the electric engines that distanced the lifeboats from the nightmare that had lasted less than ten minutes. Shocked, the survivors were in silence. Francisco Lujan and Ernie Goldman were in the same lifeboat as the captain of the yacht and after a few minutes Francisco asked how this happened so far out at sea. The captain said it was a team of pirates out of a trawler that had been navigating about a mile from them.
“We know they came in riding under-water scooters because some of the crew saw the fluorescent signature of their propellers moments before we were boarded. I don’t know what they were after but they were set on destroying the Toscana. Did you see the huge waterspouts that shot up next to us? Those were charges that must have fallen off because had they detonated on or against the Toscana we would not be here to talk about it. They meant to destroy the ship with all souls on board. What I don’t understand is why they boarded us at all.”
“We know,” said Francisco, “and we know who. The problem is we can’t do much about it for now.”
Patricia was holding Marco close to her. He seemed peaceful and the blood from his shoulder had stopped flowing with the pressure she had been applying. Apparently no major artery had been compromised. As she was accommodating herself to hold Marco’s head up the boat hit something and a loud moan was heard. The crewman who at the helm of the lifeboat stopped and the first officer shone a light around the boat. There was a person floating a few feet away. They could see it was a young woman and they edged towards her. They dragged her onboard where they were able to see her clearly. She was one of the assailants. She wore a black wetsuit with Velcro patches that had probably held weapons and maybe explosives. She was barely conscious and delirious. A gunshot wound in her thigh bled slowly but constantly. The first officer applied a tourniquet and made her drink Gatorade from the supply bag. This seemed to stabilize her but she drifted out of consciousness.
“What are we going to do with her?” asked Airy.
“We’ll hand her over to the Coast Guard when they get here. There isn’t much else we can do.”
“We can toss her overboard,” said the crewman at the helm with a grimace of disgust.
“Nah,” said the first officer. “I bet she’s got a story to tell. Major Allen will get it out of her. I sent him a last SOS and he should be on his way.”
“I much doubt it,” said Patricia, “she’s a mercenary and they get well paid to keep their mouth shut.”
“Yes, and once the Coast Guard has her, it will be impossible to interrogate her,” said the crew member.
“Don’t bet your lunch money on that,” said the first officer who had been with Allen Security for over five years and knew that his boss rarely took no for an answer.
He leaned over and took a small box that was attached to the wetsuit. It appeared to be some sort of communications device because it had an antenna, a toggle on and off switch. He flipped the toggle and a small blue LED light started blinking.
Now miles away the signal reached the shell boat as it headed for Road Town, Tortola. It was ignored because it was too late to do anything about it.
“I think this is a locator beacon,” said Luigi. “I’ve seen those before. They are used by divers to signal their location when they surface far from the dive boat. The receiver will indicate the direction and distance to the signal or in some cases exact coordinates.”
Victor Martins, the first officer, shut off the device.
“Yeah, but I don’t think we need to tell these sons of bitches where we are.”
It was almost 4:30 a.m. when everyone in the lifeboats heard the thumping of an approaching helicopter. Soon it was hovering over them with searchlights ablaze. Through the loudspeaker they were told that two Coast Guard vessels were minutes away and that they would maintain their position over the lifeboats, which were now converging upon each other aided by the lights, until rescue arrived.
Five minutes later a US Coast Guard rescue boat shortly followed by one of Her Majesty’s Navy cutters were pulling the survivors from the lifeboats. The wounded received provisional medical assistance with IV and blood substitute that was applicable to all types while their wounds were cleaned, disinfected, and dressed. Antibiotics were added to
the IV solutions and ID bracelets placed on everyone’s wrist.
The captains of both Coast Guard units received the report from the captain of the Toscana and deemed it necessary to place the wounded assailant under guard and transfer her by helicopter to Puerto Rico. A US cutter would pursue the trawler Abnegated and escort her back to Road Town, where the survivors indicated that they needed to return to a villa on Tortola where they had personal belongings of importance and a private airplane that would eventually take them to the US. Most of the people on board were from nationalities other than the US so it was decided that the British territory was the best destination for all. Most personal identification had been lost in the catastrophe but replacement documents would be obtained. Necessary interviews and paperwork would be conducted by the British with copies sent to US authorities.
CHAPTER TEN
Leon Goddard and Ian Carlo de la Rosa sat together in the sauna of a very private golf club in Manhasset. Neither man was comfortable with the other but a lot of things had happened in the last 24 hours. It was necessary to discuss these and their consequences. Ian Carlo had called the meeting so he opened the conversation.
“Marco has been wounded in another attempt on his life.”
“Another?”
“Yes, the third in less than two weeks. And now you gotta belly up to the bar ’cause in that side of the business I got nobody else. Marco trusts you so that means that I trust you.”
“So…”
“You will have another meeting this evening with an attorney of ours, Mr. Ernie Goldman. He’s gonna give you access and power of attorney over a lot more than you know about.”
“Mr. de la Rosa…”
“Ian Carlo…call me Ian Carlo,”
“OK Ian Carlo; is this something that can get me into problems with the law?”
“No, this is all on the up and up; but you know what I do and so that we don’t bullshit ourselves, much of that money that is nice and rosy wasn’t when we made it. OK?”
“I didn’t need to know that,” said Leon.
“Yes, you did. I need you with eyes wide open. People might come at us through the businesses that you will be managing and you have to be ready for anything. These are not nice people. They tried to kill Marco in Florida and again by bombing his plane; and now they’ve stabbed him and blew up the yacht he was on.”
“Hold it a second. Are you telling me that Joe Strasso’s death wasn’t an accident?”
“No. It was fucking murder is what I’m telling you.”
Leon was silent for a few seconds and then looked Ian Carlo in the eye.
“I have a family, a wife and two kids, but Joe was like a brother to me…just tell me that my family is not at risk and I’ll do whatever you need.”
“I don’t see why your family could be at risk because you will not be doing anything different than what you do now. It’s just going to be bigger; a lot bigger. But I will have security added to your home and your kids will be protected when they go to school and when they are not with you. That’s a given for a man of your income level.”
“My income level?”
“Yes, as of now you make fifty million a year plus bonus. You get paid any way you want. Set yourself up.”
Leon left the meeting in a daze. Things were happening that he did not understand but he soon would. He knew that Mrs. Goddard didn’t raise an idiot. But for now he needed to talk to a friend, so he headed for the Long Island Flying Club and had the tow take him up to 5,000 feet. When the Aeronca that was pulling him bucked its wings and took a slow turn to the right and down, he disengaged, dipped his left wing and pulled lightly on the joystick. The air was smooth and the sky was clear. There was not much chance of a thermal but he did slow “Ss” looking for rising air. Within a few minutes he was down to 3,500 feet when he felt the pressure on his butt that indicated rising air. He tightened the turn and pulled on the stick. The altimeter started going up…3,800…4,000…4,200 until he was at almost 8,000 feet. There the thermal petered out but sustained him at that altitude.
“Well, Joe,” he said out loud, “this is going to get interesting. I’ve been offered…or better yet, I’ve been told that I’m going to make more money in a year than I ever thought I’d make in ten lifetimes. I’m going to do this job. I don’t know why, but I guess in some way you have something to do with it. Rest easy my friend. Your family in Palermo is going to get enough to live in luxury for the rest of their lives and leave enough for whatever relatives you have for them to live well.”
This was his real goodbye to Joe. Up where they both believed that God was. Leon soared for an hour going in and out of the thermal. Then he put the nose down and gained speed until the airspeed indicator showed 100 mph. He pulled the stick and did two consecutive loops, and then he let the glider rise straight up until his speed was about 40 mph and he kicked the rudder and did a perfect wing over. He repeated the maneuver but this time he let the plane stall and buck over completing a hammerhead.
When he landed he was a man with a brighter soul.
Joe Delany was trying to locate Marco Carducci without raising flags all over the place. He had learned by now that the Carducci clan was better connected than a leech to a beaver’s ass and he couldn’t afford to get sideswiped by one of the big guys. He had lost the trail in Sarasota but now it was pretty obvious that he wasn’t at the house and the agent that had done the visual inspection of the place failed to notice that the docks were empty. It had been a week of looking and he had nothing. He was about to despair of the hunt when a flag came to his attention. A yacht called the Toscana that in the past had been in some way linked with Salvatore Carducci had been destroyed by an act of piracy in international waters east of the Virgin Islands. He went to work finding the provenance of the yacht that had a Bahamas registry and was owned by an overseas corporation that after a little digging showed Salvatore and now Marco Carducci as “permanent consultants” to the board of a Canadian corporation that owned the Bahamian one.
Bingo.
He asked for and received the Coast Guard report on the incident and copies of the interviews with the survivors. There were no passports or other IDs as all was lost in the wreckage, but a dutiful British investigator had included a detailed description of each of the survivors, their age, name, place of birth and residence. He also made a point of referencing the request for new passports for the British personnel. He requested copies of those through the State Department and set to wait for them to come back. State Departments are notoriously slow so he armed himself with patience and addressed other matters in his workload. He especially spent some time planning how to get back at Uncle Archie.
The captain of the Abnegated and his two shipmates were celebrating the end of this job. They had been happy to help out the Coast Guard in any way they could. No, they had not seen the explosion as two of them were asleep and the other sheepishly confessed that he had his earphones on and was listening to a great concert of Guns ‘n’ Roses. No, they didn’t have anyone on board other than themselves. Yes, the Coast Guard and whoever else could inspect the boat. That was the end of that. Now they were pretty drunk and full of lobster, shrimp, clams, and conch, all cooked in beer and accompanied with coconut rice – a specialty of one of the fish shacks on Tortola. Too bad that later that night they all died of the same toxin that had killed the US Senator a few weeks ago. What a plague! Earlier the bearded long haired hippie who had sat quietly at a table paid for his meal and limped back to his small sailboat using a makeshift crutch and sailed west into the sunset.
Cardinal Dupree was again concerned. If one could venture a leap of faith one could say that His Eminence was pissed off. He had no confirmation of the death of Carducci. He was not listed as a survivor but then he was not among those aboard as declared in the investigation. There were several wounded and several dead but no confirmation of the death even though Testa said that he had put a knife in the man himself. What he did get were the names of p
eople that were obviously collaborating with Carducci. But those names would take him nowhere. Nobody traveled under their real names except for the crew.
Ernie landed in NY and called Leon Goddard. They agreed to meet as soon as Ernie got to the city. For a man of almost seventy years of age he was fit and vital, but the past two days had taken a lot out of him. He felt exhausted and deeply saddened by so many dead. A total of nine people were lost on the Toscana, not counting those of the opposition. He felt a great loss in Sun E’s death. They had only met a few times but she and Ernie had hit it off famously, both of them having a love for the Blues. They exchanged music over the years and lately had joined an online music club and shared with many their magnificent collections of the most unique voices that the United States had offered the world: Billie Holiday, Ella Fitzgerald, Nina Simone, and so many more. As the limousine headed in from LGA towards Manhattan Ernie took out a flash drive that he was going to give to Leon Goddard. It contained a lot more than Ernie was comfortable sharing but there was no alternative. Marco was going to be out of commission for a week at least and then would have to lie low until he, Francisco, and probably Ian Carlo could decide on a path of action, because the evidence was that the cardinal wasn’t going to give up trying to kill Marco and Patricia. And now that Francisco and he were probably in the fucking priest’s sights they would have to have contingency plans for their own safety. This was getting out of hand. He would have to talk to Ian Carlo. The man knew how to deal with this shit.
The Carducci Convergence Page 14