Worse, the man had apparently defected again. Having gotten what he needed from Mother Russia, he’d gone freelance and was busy contacting rogue states and terrorist organizations to sell the stuff Jermaine had seen in the videos. Dieter suspected that his boss had gotten the video from one of the potential clients.
Of course, he couldn’t ask where the data had come from. If he did that, Jermaine would just smile enigmatically and say: “I was under the impression that knowing that kind of thing was your job.”
The most galling thing was that he’d be right.
Dieter spent the next hour reading the information. He wrote a five-line email with the salient points on it and sent it off to the CEO’s office. Then he sat down and thought who might have a tip on where he could contact the sellers. He’d need to pass himself off as a potential buyer, of course, but that should pose few problems. One of the major reasons he held his job in the first place was the multiplicity of aliases and alter-egos he’d set up precisely for this kind of thing.
He opened a secondary laptop quarantined from his real one, and opened the Tor Browser. Then he signed into one of the darknet chatrooms as Karl Stuttenberg, an aging former member of Baader Meinhoff who kept his hand in the game as a liaison for aspiring revolutionaries in Europe.
Now, the question was which of his information brokers he should contact for the data he needed.
In the end, however, there was really only one name, one person on the planet that could purvey this kind of thing quickly and, most importantly, discreetly.
The Electric Buddha. The only guy with all the answers. He’d even been the one to suggest North Sentinel Island.
Dieter began to type.
Outside his cabin, the port of San Diego began to move as the colossal ship gently slipped its mooring. He paid it no particular attention. As long as he had an internet connection on board, it made zero difference to him whether he was on land or at sea.
At least professionally, which was the only part that mattered. His personal preferences were less than irrelevant.
Chapter 3
Cora Gimenez observed the two bunnies sunning themselves on deck with one eye, while keeping her other on the weather. A storm at sea was not much of a concern for the former Marine sergeant, but the unlimited stupidity of her billionaire boss’ onboard guests was.
Much as she thought the silly little groupies to be a waste of protein and space, it was her job to keep them alive.
“Yo, Barbie dolls,” she called out to them.
They didn’t even raise their heads, so she walked up to them. She was tempted to toss the frigid contents of the bottle of water in her hand over their heads for ignoring her until she realized they were both wearing earbuds from which music could be heard even a few yards away.
She relaxed. They might be too dumb to take care of their ears, but they weren’t disrespecting her on purpose.
Cora stood where they could see her and they both did exactly the same thing: they put their hand in front of their faces to see who’d entered their space. Both looked disappointed to see her there.
She wanted to smirk and tell them that the boys had more important things to do in the daytime than talk to them, but she suddenly felt a little sorry for them. They probably thought the people they were hanging with valued them for something other than their gym routines and implants, and they would have a serious disappointment coming their way when reality hit. The owner of this yacht and his social circle weren’t soccer players. Bunnies were a pastime, but when it came time to settle down, the wives would be from good families and these girls would be a part of the past no one spoke about.
But right now, they were living the dream. She saw no need to ruin it for them. Being dumb wasn’t a crime unless they made the mistake of disrespecting her.
“Hi,” she said.
The women clearly didn’t know who she was, but they weren’t confident enough in their roles on the ship to brush her off. They sat up and peered at her. “Hi,” one of them responded. “Can we help you?”
This one’s English sounded Eastern European, which matched her pale skin and ice-blue eyes. The other one didn’t speak, but she was a little darker—not much—and was wearing a bikini with the Union Jack on it. So Cora guessed British. Her Malaysian boss loved to show off with pale blondes on his arm even though he always treated them like ladies and, as far as Cora knew, never took a bunny to bed. The women who achieved that honor were always upper-class Malaysians or Singaporean women. But he thought blondes made him look powerful to the occidental men he hung out with, so that was what he was seen with. That wasn’t politically correct, but his checks had never bounced and he’d always treated Cora with the utmost respect… which, in her book, meant he could run around with whoever he felt like.
“I’m sorry to disturb you,” she said. “But there’s a storm coming.”
They peered in the direction she was pointing.
“You think we should get inside?” Union Jack said, her accent confirming her origins as being lower-class England.
“It’s going to get a bit bumpy in a few minutes,” Cora replied.
That earned her a smile from Eastern Europe. “Thanks for letting us know,” she replied. Implied was that Cora could have let them get drenched.
Now Cora felt guilty. Had it been a question of a light rainfall, she probably would have let them take a surprise shower. After all, the temperature was not going to be enough to drive them inside, even just before a rainfall; it was always hot in the Indian Ocean except during the Monsoon… and even then it was still mostly hot. She’d only warned them because this one was going to be quite the toad-strangler and she didn’t want them overboard if the sea got rough. The paperwork would have been horrendous and Tam, Mr. Lai’s lawyer would probably have made Cora fill it all in.
She decided to be nicer to the bunnies from then on. There were eight of them on board, two for each of the young men accompanying Lai on this particular trip. As far as Cora knew, they were not prostitutes in the usual sense of the term, but girls who’d been offered a chance at a champagne and luxury cruise with people they’d met at a party and who’d thought it sounded like fun.
Now she did smirk because she knew exactly who slept where. They might not be prostitutes, but they had… modern morals.
But then again, she’d spent the past fifteen years among soldiers. She had nothing whatsoever against people getting laid whenever they could.
Cora watched them disappear into the nearest door, but she didn’t follow them in. This was the kind of weather she loved, and the 500 foot yacht wasn’t going to be overly disturbed by the storm, even if it pitched a little.
So she stood her ground, staring into the teeth of the darkening sky, daring it to try to sweep her off the deck.
She scanned the suddenly black sea, noting the tactical situation—a habit she would likely never break—and saw some kind of container ship in the distance. The only sign of land was a smudge near the horizon, too small to be mainland of any sort, so it must have been one of the islands they occasionally stopped off at for the local party scene.
Maybe, as Head of Security, she should have known exactly what their position was, down to the last second of latitude and longitude, but that was another habit she wasn’t going to break any time soon: it was the Captain’s job to transport the Marines to where they needed to be. Once there, the Marines kicked ass.
Cora had extended her scope to include what happened onboard the Vanarisa, but that was it. She’d ask where they were when they arrived.
The first drops fell on her face and the wind picked up.
“Come on. You know you can do better than that,” she said.
As if rising to the challenge, the wind obliged, driving fat drops into her face.
Her smile widened. “Better, but I think there’s more.”
Within minutes, the rain pelted her and the thunder of drops hitting the sea surrounded her. The world disappear
ed behind a grey curtain, cutting her off from everything that didn’t belong. She inhaled deeply and simply enjoyed it.
Ironically, the sea didn’t look like it was going to get rough any time soon. The wind wasn’t quite strong enough for that, even though the shower did justice to the latitude.
She could barely see the water beside the ship, but they weren’t about to sink.
Just as she realized that the waves weren’t going to knock her into the sea—and that she’d had no real need to save the bunnies—and relaxed, the ship jolted to one side and lifted almost out of the water.
Only her lightning-quick reflexes—still sharp at thirty-eight—kept her from taking a swim. One hand snagged the railing as it flew below her.
When she realized what had happened, Cora was hanging by that one hand, pain radiating out from her right shoulder, which had borne the brunt of the impact. She quickly brought her other hand to grasp the railing and pulled herself up.
“You’re letting yourself go,” she said after struggling more than she expected to regain the deck. “That wouldn’t have been so hard in basic. Now, let’s see what the hell is happening.”
The ship felt a little slanted, listing to one side. Not serious yet—it would not even be noticeable to anyone not attuned to ships at sea—but if they were taking on water…
She ignored the door that the bunnies had disappeared into and sprinted towards the bow. Lai’s crew were competent, if taciturn. They kept themselves to themselves and seemed to feel that they were somehow above the rest of the billionaire’s employees.
“What’s happening?” she asked the Captain. He was a dark-skinned Frenchman from one of the Caribbean Islands who’d gotten bored of driving cruise ships.
“Not now.”
“Yes, now. Do what you need to but tell me the status.”
“We’re sinking,” he replied with a scowl.
“You’re shitting me.”
The man actually took his gaze off the instruments to give her a withering look. “I don’t joke about things like that. I’m not a Marine.”
Cora wanted to ask him how the hell he’d managed to hit something in the middle of an empty ocean, but it wouldn’t have helped her do her job, and that was the only thing she cared about presently. She nodded. “How long?”
“If the damage assessment is accurate… two hours.”
“Can we get to the island over there?” She pointed in the general direction of the landmass she’d seen earlier, now obscured by the sheeting rain.
“North Sentinel? We might, but it will be close.”
“Is it safer to keep the people on board or to take the lifeboats?”
“I think the best course would be for me to stay aboard with a couple of sailors and for the rest of you to take the lifeboats. Take the starboard and port boats. Leave us the stern dinghy, just in case.”
She knew what he was saying, and she’d been around enough sailors to know what he wasn’t saying. She held his gaze. “It’s your call, Captain. You need to give the order.”
He sighed. “Abandon ship,” he whispered.
“Yes, sir.” If they all made it, she would ask some pointed questions. But right now, the man was in a bad place.
She sprinted off to find Lai. He was standing outside the main stateroom, buttoning up his pants.
“What’s happening?” he asked.
“We need to get off the ship,” she replied. “I need everyone off in fifteen minutes. Anyone in there?”
He smiled. He knew she tolerated any indiscretions he might indulge in as long as they didn’t stop her from doing her job. “I was just having a nap. It’s empty.”
She didn’t insult him by looking, just nodded and headed to the next room.
“Can I talk to my Captain? This yacht is worth a certain amount of money, and I’d like to know what’s wrong with it.”
“Of course, just be at the starboard lifeboat in ten minutes.”
“Yes, sir,” Lai replied. But he said it grimly. She supposed even billionaires hated to lose hundred-million-dollar boats.
She got on with it and within ten minutes, everyone on board had arrived at one of the two lifeboats, standing unhappily in the rain. Fifteen people to a side, which was perfect: the boats could take twenty each.
“All right. Don’t worry about your stuff. The crew is driving the ship towards the same island we’re heading to. They should have enough time to get there, and then we’ll assess the damage and see where we go.”
“Can’t we just go with the ship?” one of Lai’s younger guests asked.
“No. If it sinks, I want us well away. Now get in.”
She would have loved to do what the executive suggested and not have to deal with the whining, but the Captain, whatever his shortcomings, was right about one thing: they were definitely taking on water, and the ship was now listing a lot more noticeably than before.
The lifeboat looked more like a luxury minibus, complete with rumbling diesel engine, than a stark survival unit. It was attached to the boat by an automatic clamp and winch assembly that could be lowered automatically from within the lifeboat itself.
They were barely settled when she gave the sailor who’d be driving them the order to release the clamp. Her passengers consisted of the important people—Mr. Lai and his employees, as well as some of the sailors—while the first mate had the rest of the crew and the bunnies in the other lifeboat.
The first thought that occurred to her when they landed in the water was that this little boat moved around quite a bit more than the yacht. The same seas that had disappointed her just moments before were not tossing the smaller vessel around like a toy.
Still better than the CRRCs they made her ride in the Corps. Those bounced around like a son of a bitch.
“Let’s see if we can keep the other lifeboat in sight,” she said. “I’ll feel much better if I can keep an eye on everyone.”
The sailor nodded and started to push the throttle forward when Cora yelled another order. “Wait. Stop. I want to see this.”
So instead of pulling strongly away from the yacht, they drifted past, moving barely faster than the ship itself.
“What the hell is that?” the sailor said.
The hull had been stoved in on the side facing them, a deep dent running almost ten meters of the length of the ship. That, at least, was consistent with the possibility of having run into something: a rock or some other vessel.
But that was the only evidence consistent with a collision. Above the dent, the hull looked like it had been scratched by a cat—if a cat could tear through metal composite sheet. Long gashes streaked along the ship and, in one place the metal hung in a fold, as if it had been torn away.
“How can that happen?” she asked the sailor, who was staring wide-eyed at the broken vessel.
“I have no clue,” the man replied. “I suppose it must have caught on something.”
“I didn’t feel anything catch or snag,” Cora replied. “Just the initial impact that almost threw me overboard.” She rubbed her shoulder as she said it, remembering the wrench.
They observed in silence, creeping ahead of the mega-yacht until Cora slapped her palm against her forehead. “Damn. The other lifeboat. I forgot about them completely and they probably went on ahead. Speed up. Let’s see if we can find them.”
They searched in the rain for thirty minutes, but the downpour persisted, so Cora told them to head towards the island. The lifeboat had a functioning GPS and she wished that the builders had also thought to install a radio or satellite phone capability.
At least the other lifeboat should also reach the nearest island.
“North Sentinel, right?” she asked the sailor.
“Yeah, though we might be better off heading for Andaman. It’s a little farther away, but there are a lot of people on it.”
“How much farther?”
“An hour. Maybe a little more in this sea.”
“No. Stay the course. L
et’s get to land first and see what we can do from there. Maybe we can repair the yacht well enough to limp wherever we need to go next. There has to be someone on North Sentinel who can help us.”
“There’s a spot on my map, the Lost Island Hotel and Beach Club. It’s on the east side of the island, but we can go around.”
“Let’s aim there.”
The yacht was completely out of sight, no one had cell coverage, and the island was nowhere to be seen. Only the GPS allowed them to navigate.
“We should see the island soon,” the sailor said.
“Don’t hit it,” Cora replied. “I’m really not in the mood for a swim while trying to keep this lot from drowning.”
The sailor turned pale. “What was that?” He pointed at the water behind Cora.
She turned. Nothing but sea and the grey curtain of rain. “What?”
“I thought I saw something. A head coming out of the water.”
She tensed. “What? Like a person swimming?” Had the other lifeboat overturned, even though the seas were relatively mild?
“No… like a monster. A huge whale, too big to be a shark.”
“Just get us onto the island. If it’s a whale, it probably just came up for air.”
“I guess.” The man didn’t look too convinced, but he turned his head back to the controls.
It was a good thing, too. The wind began to gust and the breakers near the island were getting quite a lot bigger.
“Maybe we should go around a little further away,” the sailor said.
“I don’t think so,” Cora replied. “That storm looks like it’s getting worse. Just beach us here.”
The trip onto the beach was nearly enjoyable. Once they got aligned right, the waves that had buffeted them helped them ashore and they rode one final breaker onto the beach. As soon as they grounded, Cora felt a weight come off her shoulders. This boatload, at least, wouldn’t be drowning on her watch.
“Don’t run up the beach just yet,” she called to the passengers who were standing. “We need to haul this boat up the beach a bit. If it drifts off and there’s no one on the island, we’re stuck here for good.”
Lost Island Rampage Page 3