Down to the Wire

by Lyn Stone

  “What? What’s wrong?” Joe demanded.

  “Does she ever, you know, panic about stuff?” Eric asked. He was rubbing his strong, pale wrists, almost clawing at them. “I sensed she was a little worse than… scared.”

  “Damn him to hell!” Joe cursed roundly, slamming his palm against the wall. “He’s tied her up. That freaks her out. She’s…claustrophobic.” He winced, feeling he had betrayed Martine by admitting what she saw as her worst fault.

  “Oh,” Vinland said simply, nodding. “Yeah, that’d do it. Well, at least she’s alive.” He dropped his hands to his sides and gave a sort of shudder.

  “You okay?” Joe asked.

  “Yeah. It’s just that the sensations are…insidious, I guess you’d call it. I’ll be fine.”

  Then he changed the topic altogether, as if he wanted to get his own mind off Martine as quickly as he could. “Your sister was sending out signals nobody could miss. She was mad as hell.” He forced a laugh.

  “Yeah. Linda can be what you might call volatile.” But Joe couldn’t think about Linda right now. She was safe. Martine wasn’t.

  Vinland continued talking, hopping to yet another topic. “You know, that bomb of Humberto’s was a pretty sophisticated piece of homemade ordnance. Very small in size but would have been damned effective combined with the gas. Judging by the materials we know he acquired, there’s at least one more out there we haven’t found yet.”

  “Only one?”

  “Yes, and he did buy a remote garage door opener, so this second one’s gonna be different. Jack tells me our perp did a stint in demolition when he was in the army down there.” Vinland sighed. “Jack’s got everybody on this, but a casual observer would never know it. It’s an invisible op so far and it’s going well.”

  Not nearly well enough, Joe thought. It wouldn’t be well until Humberto and his men were dead and Martine was safe.

  He leaned back against the wall and closed his eyes, pressing his thumb and forefinger against his lids for the hundredth time since all this began. But nothing came to him. Not a blessed thing.

  “Relax, man, you’re probably trying too hard.”

  Joe looked at Vinland, searching his face for truth as he asked what he had been wondering since he’d left the McLean office. “Is this why I was hired for Sextant? This…premonition thing?”

  “No, but it sure didn’t hurt your chances when it came to making the selection. Jack appreciates the fact that hunches play a big part in investigations and in survival. He had the records of that early study you participated in, and the results.”

  “Lack of results,” Joe clarified. “About all we did was try to match cards and colors. I was wrong most of the time and only guessing when I got them right.”

  “Yeah, well, it’s not as if he expects you to have any full-blown episodes on command.”

  “Good thing,” Joe muttered, shoving away from the wall and beginning to pace in the small confines of the bedroom/study. ‘“Cause I am not psychic.”

  However, he couldn’t help but remember the way Martine had looked in the glow of that flashlight in the cave, terror stricken, exactly the way he had seen her in his mind not long before the reality took place.

  The vision where she had blood on her face could very well have predicted what she looked like now after that blow Humberto had delivered with the gun when he abducted her last night. And that one of her surrounded by white had not yet happened.

  Bride or corpse? A shiver rattled him right down to his soul. He felt dizzy and disoriented just thinking about it.

  “I’m definitely not psychic,” he repeated, arguing as much with himself as with Vinland.

  Eric smiled knowingly. “Maybe. Maybe not. But you have survived missions that most agents wouldn’t. Those mental snapshots you pick up occasionally are not much more than your mind’s little parlor trick. More distraction than help, I expect. It’s the gut instinct you run with, the one that saves you when your number should be up.”

  Joe frowned. “That’s what Mercier was after in me?”

  “Yeah. In all of us, I think. I figure you haven’t realized yet how valuable a tool that can be, but you need to be aware of it. Maybe learn to trust it, and yourself, a bit more than you do.”

  “Strange you should say that. My father said almost the same thing.” Joe studied Vinland. “You’ve obviously delved into all this pretty deeply.”

  He grinned and shrugged. “As good a hobby as any, I guess. Look, we can’t do anything else for a while. You want to give it your best shot? I’ll be your control. It can’t hurt.”

  Useless effort, but why the hell not? It would at least show Vinland he ought to give up on the precognition bull where Joe was concerned. He shrugged. “Sure.”

  “C’mon, loosen up. Lie down over there.” Eric pointed to the daybed against the wall across from the computer desk.

  Joe complied, nerves skittering beneath his skin. Loosen up? Yeah, right. Martine was out there suffering God knew what and he was supposed to laze around playing mind games with Boy Agent?

  Eric pulled a chair next to the daybed and sat down. “Fine, now close your eyes and do the muscle thing. You know, tighten and relax ‘em one at a time until you’re a puddle. They teach you that?”

  Joe nodded. He began the exercise he had learned all those years ago. As he concentrated on that, Eric ran his mouth, yammering on and on about walking on the beach, seeing the sun go down, watching the waves roll in. The timbre of his voice melded with the actual sounds from outside the beach house. Joe focused on forcing his muscles to behave, only half listening, not even bothering to respond.

  Eventually he felt the rocking motion of waves, annoyingly rhythmic, swishing over the sand, advancing, retreating, never-ending, relentless.

  “Relax. Let it come at you sideways,” the quiet voice droned. It was the last thing he knew until Vinland shook him awake later and Joe realized it had been a ploy to lull him into much-needed sleep. If not for his renewed energy and sharpened thought processes, Joe would have been mad as hell.

  By that time six o’clock had rolled around and things were coming together. So were the principals involved in the rescue. Joe had been surprised when he woke up to see Mercier there. The entire Sextant team was, with the exception of Clay Senate who was holding down the fort in McLean.

  One of the bomb squads had swept the Corda cottage last night and declared it clean. That was now headquarters. Joe’s family were residing at a safe house in Panama City until the situation was resolved.

  Merrier, Holly, Vinland and Joe flanked the oak table where Joe had once done his homework. He was damned glad to have partners for this project.

  A map of the coast lay spread on the table now. Mercier had brought it with him with the positions of all the boats located by two satellites clearly marked. He was pointing at one in particular, one mile and ten degrees southeast off the elbow of Cape San Bias.

  “This is it,” Mercier announced. “One guy on deck just behind the windlass, automatic weapon within reach. One other, also armed, lounging on the aft deck.” He smiled. “The EXTER-14 satellite could have read his magazine if he’d been holding it at the right angle.”

  An exaggeration, Joe knew, but not by much. If the angle was right, it could actually identify the numbers on a license plate.

  “Big question is whether they have moved since they were spotted,” Holly declared. She shot Joe a warning glance. “You know you can’t go in without being sure. Suppose they aren’t anchored where they were and you’re out there snorkeling around looking for them when Humberto’s call comes in?”

  Mercier agreed. “You’ll have to wait for his instructions. You’ll take the Zodiac and go in above board. Eric will take the submersible, swing around and come at the boat from the opposite direction. While you create a distraction going aboard, he can slip in on the other side.”

  “I thought I was running this show,” Joe argued.

  Mercier inclined his he
ad and gestured with one hand as if offering the lead back to him. “If you have a better plan, we’re listening.”

  Joe felt sheepish and let it show. “No. It’s sound. No alternative.”

  They all looked pleased. Joe Corda played well with others. He figured that meant he could keep his job if he wanted to. But did he? All he cared about right now was getting Martine off that boat alive.

  Chapter 14

  The sound of a motor sent Martine’s efforts into overdrive. She almost had the knot undone. A cry of frustration slipped out as she twisted her joined wrists to unwind the bonds.

  Even though they were free, her hands now felt like useless dead things at the ends of her arms. Her fingers were numb and swollen. Frantically, she rubbed and stretched them, coaxing circulation. No more time. She had to act now. If nothing else, she could divert Humberto’s attention, give Joe a chance to get the upper hand.

  Quietly she twisted the doorknob, opened the narrow door to her cabin and peeked out. It opened into the forward end of a main salon. To her left was the wheel, unattended now since they were at anchor.

  Curtained windows lined the salon, most of them closed. Along one side was a built-in banquette and narrow trestle bolted to the floor. On the other, an efficient little kitchen. At the opposite end was the door to the aft cabin. The doorway to the deck was on her right just past the banquette seat and a storage cabinet.

  She heard voices. But oddly enough, not the shouting she expected would accompany Joe’s arrival. Martine dropped to her knees and crawled down the corridor of the salon. As she crept nearer the steps up to the deck the voices grew clearer.

  She drew closer to the window nearest the entrance to the salon and risked moving the curtain a fraction of an inch to peek out. Humberto was climbing aboard via the swim ladder. His two men were hovering, almost obscuring her view of him. He must have been ashore in a smaller boat and just now returned. One of the guys took something from him as he boarded.

  She recognized the men as two who had served Humberto as bodyguards in Colombia. They were strictly muscle and not too bright, but had seemed devoted to their leader.

  When they found her free, they would tie her up again and throw her right back into that cabin. Martine thought that before she was discovered, she should simply run for it and dive over the rail. But she had no idea which way she should start swimming. They’d probably shoot her before or after she hit the water anyway. But wasn’t anything better than being tied up again? An involuntary shudder shook her.

  No. No way was she ready to die. And Joe would blame himself forever if she let that happen. She thought again about Joe’s greatest fear.

  As poor as her chances seemed right now, Martine resolved she would survive this. And if Joe came to find her, she would save him, too. Somehow.

  She watched Humberto peer out over the water. He and his men were dressed like tourists or fishermen in Bermuda shorts, Hawaiian print shirts and deck shoes. His bodyguards looked ridiculous, too beefy to be anything but what they were, especially with automatic weapons worn as accessories.

  Humberto looked dashing as ever, wiry and fit, his bearing only a little less soldierly in those casual clothes. She had at first thought maybe he possessed a code of honor, warped as it was. But though he had treated her well, she had soon discovered the layer of cruelty beneath that veneer in watching him deal with his men.

  The man—Thomas, she thought his name was—who stood closest to Humberto wore an AK-47 on a strap slung over his left shoulder. He was holding a small box very carefully with both hands and staring at it as if it contained poisonous snakes. The other guy was hurriedly climbing down the ladder into what had to be the boat in which Humberto had arrived.

  Humberto, his back to her now, was now talking on a cell phone. She could hear his voice, but couldn’t make out his words. Suddenly he finished his conversation, tucked the phone into the pocket of his shorts and turned to speak to the man holding the box.

  “Thomas, place that on the console just in front of the wheel. Make certain this side faces the front window.” He pointed. “Understand?”

  Thomas said something Martine didn’t catch.

  “Don’t worry. It will not explode unless I give the cue.” Humberto raised one hand and gingerly touched something, the top of which was just visible, in the pocket of his shirt. It appeared to be a remote control. He added, laughing, “But do be careful not to trip.”

  Then she heard him ask, “How is our guest?”

  An engine started, obliterating anything else they might have said. She saw a small motorboat cutting through the water as it departed. Humberto and his friend with the box turned toward the salon entrance.

  Martine scrambled quickly back to the door of the pocket cabin. There was no place inside the boat where she could hide for long and she’d surely be caught before she made the railing if she ran. Worse than that, she could startle Thomas and make him drop that bomb.

  She closed the door quietly and climbed back into position on the bed. The cord lay taunting her. She picked it up, put both hands behind her and wound it around her wrists, knowing it wouldn’t stand close inspection, but if he only looked in on her, she hoped it would fool him.

  She needed time to think, time to form some kind of plan before Joe got here.

  Meanwhile preparations for the rescue were under way at the Updike Marina off Port San Blas. Humberto had called promptly at seven o’clock with instructions. Joe was to leave precisely at nine from this particular place and travel due south at twenty-five knots per hour for ten minutes, then stop and await further directions. It would be pitch-dark by then. The sky was overcast and there would be no moon visible tonight.

  “Humberto’s obviously changed location. Eric’s gonna play hell finding that boat without coordinates,” Holly grumbled. “That rigged-up underwater running light on the Zodiac’s not sufficient to follow with the submersible.”

  “It will be if he stays close behind me. We can’t risk anything else. If it fails and he loses me, he can surface for a visual check. As dark as it is, he shouldn’t be detected, but he’ll be able to see me since I’ll have lights.” Joe was stating what he felt was obvious while he doggedly inspected his gear. He was trying like hell to stay as busy as possible, and not dwell on what Martine must be going through at the moment.

  Humberto had ordered him to wear fitted swim trunks and nothing else so there would be no place to conceal a weapon. That also meant he wouldn’t be able to wear a Kevlar vest. No protection at all.

  Though the April night was warm enough, Joe felt a distinct chill.

  He had been told to arrive in an open craft that would seat three, do at least 35 knots per hour and to bring extra gas. There was to be nothing else in the boat except a container bearing the money and Martine’s cell phone. Humberto had the number to that and had warned Joe there might be further instructions.

  Whether the extra gas was to insure that Joe had enough to reach the Paper Moon which might have moved any distance offshore, or to augment the motor yacht’s fuel supply once the deal was done, Joe didn’t know. But he would comply right down to the letter. His main objective was to get aboard the Paper Moon alive.

  “Where’s the money?” he asked.

  “Will’s on his way. His ETA’s about ten minutes,” Holly said. “Sorry to cut it so close. He had a little trouble getting a big enough case with a built-in transmitter, something that couldn’t be detected and removed.”

  Joe checked his watch again. Twenty minutes and counting. He adjusted the flesh-colored dart pen taped to the inside of his wrist. It would need to be fired at close range and carried only one dose of paralyzing agent.

  All he needed was the chance to come within three or four feet of Humberto. He had practiced with dummy darts half the afternoon and felt he was as proficient as he could get with the gadget. It was his only weapon.

  The minutes crawled by. Will arrived with the money contained in a waterproof alumin
um case. “Transmitter’s built inside the plastic handle,” Will told him as he handed it over.

  Joe hefted it, then climbed into the inflatable black Zodiac. It rocked with his weight, then settled when he sat down. There were three fuel bladders secured in back, clearly visible behind the case with the money.

  “Good to go,” he said with a shake of his head. “God, I wish I knew how this was going to play out.” He looked up at Merrier, then at the others. “Whatever happens, thanks. All of you. I owe you.”

  “Buy us a drink at Christa’s when we get back to Virginia,” Mercier said. His stony expression slowly morphed into a confident smile. “I have a feeling things will work out tonight.”

  A feeling, huh? Like he was supposed to trust that. “Right. Well, here goes nothing.”

  Good thing somebody had a positive feeling about this, Joe thought as he switched on the running lights and cranked the motor.

  The Zodiac zoomed away from the dock on an almost silent, southerly course while Joe played out every possible outcome in his mind. There was no way of knowing what kind of reception he’d get when he reached the Paper Moon, but short of a bullet to the head or heart the minute he got there, he meant to get rid of the threat to Martine if he had to die doing it.

  “Get up. Company is on the way and we must entertain,” Humberto said, grasping Martine’s ankles and dragging her half off the bunk.

  He had looked in on her shortly after he’d returned to the boat, then again later. That time he had placed his fingers to her neck and felt for her pulse. It had been racing ninety to nothing and he’d immediately realized she was awake.

  Martine opened her eyes to the glare of pure hatred in his and a very lethal-looking pistol in his left hand. She had thought he might kill her right there on the bed.

  Instead of showing the fear he was obviously looking for, she boldly asked to go to the bathroom. He paused to consider it, then stood back and allowed her to wriggle off the bed. Roughly he grasped her upper arm to lift her to a standing position.