Khan and the two women had been in the cabin for over an hour. Tiki lamps still lit up the aft deck, their vivid colors played across the water like Christmas tree lights. Before the women went below deck with Khan, Jake watched them take turns dancing with the terrorist. Each one removed their tunics and taunted and teased the man.
After an hour and a half, Jake grew impatient. He was about to suggest they move closer to the cruiser when Khan appeared on deck alone, stumbling toward the stern as the boat pitched in the waves.
“Looks like we’ve got movement.” Jake said.
Kaplan grabbed the spotting scope, Perez his binoculars.
“Who is it?” Kaplan asked.
“Khan. And he’s alone.” Jake watched through his night vision spotting scope.
Khan walked midway across the deck, turned around and returned to the helm. The tiki lamps went out and the aft deck plunged into darkness.
“I can’t see anything.” Kaplan said.
“Me either.” Perez.
“I’ll give you the play by play.” Jake zoomed his scope in as close as it would get him. “He’s digging around in the back for something. Wait, he pulled something out and dropped it on the swim platform.”
“He’s not going diving, is he?” Perez asked.
“What’d he pull out?” Kaplan.
“I can’t tell, just two lumpy shadows on the swim platform. We’re a long way away and the lack of clarity with this scope is making identification difficult. Whatever they are, they’re small and compact. Too big for fins, definitely two, though.”
The fishing boat slowly rotated parallel to the swells and the boat rocked side-to-side. “I can’t see shit with the boat moving like this. Perez, fire up one engine and put the bow into the waves.” Jake ordered.
Perez did as instructed and the boat stopped rocking.
Jake located the boat again with his goggles. “Khan just put something large on the platform, maybe a tank or something.”
“You think he’s going diving at night?” Kaplan asked. “Doesn’t make sense.”
“Unless.” Jake drew out the word. “Unless he’s leaving the women onboard and making for shore.”
Perez laughed. “It’s over forty kilometers to shore…twenty-five of your miles, he’d never make it.”
“Maybe someone’s picking him up. Maybe he’s about to blow the boat up and kill the girls.” Kaplan said.
“Nope. That’s not it either.” Jake stared intently through the spotting scope. “He just brought one of the women on deck and laid her across the transom. Now he’s going back inside.”
“What is he doing?” Kaplan.
“He’s bringing out the other woman. He laid her down next to the first one. Neither one is moving.” Jake lowered his scope. “He’s disposing of the women. Fire up the other engine and get us over there ASAP. Full throttle. We take him now.”
Jake reached into the duffle bag and pulled out a sniper rifle. Then another. Then another.
“You weren’t kidding about the rifles.” Kaplan grabbed one from Jake. “Where did you get these?”
“Don’t ask.” Jake studied Khan’s movements on the back of the boat. “He’s wrapping something around their legs. Son of a bitch, we’re not going to make it. We’re not going to make it.”
Jake jumped when the rifle blasted a shot toward the cruiser. He saw Khan look in their direction after Kaplan fired. Khan moved at a frenzied pace. A splash and only one woman remained on the transom.
“Dammit.” Jake shouted. “He dumped one. Explain it to him again, Gregg. Or better yet just kill him.”
Kaplan fired another round. “I’ll never hit anything with the boat moving like this.”
Another splash. “Oh my God. They’re both gone. The bastard killed them both.” He looked at Perez. “How deep is it here?”
Perez fiddled with the depth gauge. “In feet, a little over four thousand. If he weighted them, they’re gone. There’s nothing we can do.”
“Yes there is.” Jake grabbed a rifle and took aim at the cruiser. “We can kill that bastard.”
“No, Jake.” Kaplan yelled over the roar of the two outboard motors. “Alive. We need Khan alive.”
“Fine.” Jake resolved. “We take him alive. Then we torture his ass to death.”
CHAPTER 60
KHAN HEARD THE shot off the starboard side of the cruiser in the distance but saw nothing, just a black void across the dark sea. He’d tied the brunette’s feet to the weight when he heard engines roar to life from the direction of the shot. He hoisted her over his shoulder and tossed her in the water. Next he pushed the weight overboard and the brunette disappeared into the black water, plunging her to the bottom of the deep-sea trench known as the Capbreton Canyon.
With renewed urgency, he shackled the blonde to the weight, tossed her into the water, and pushed the weight overboard. She sank out of sight as the weight dragged her down.
Another shot rang out from the right side of the cruiser; the roar of the unknown boat’s engines grew louder in the darkness. He scrambled to the cabin, trying to keep his sea legs while the cruiser pitched and rocked, grabbed his automatic rifle, and returned to the deck. Stopping at the helm, he turned the ignition to each engine and they roared to life. He pushed the transmission levers into forward and jammed the throttles down. The cruiser lurched forward as the bow pitched upward with each new wave. He knew his initial bearing to San Sebastian so he made a sweeping left turn back toward shore. Now the oncoming craft was to port, a better angle for firing from the helm.
More gunshots, bright flashes in the distance, wood splintered down the side of the cruiser. He raised his rifle and unloaded fifty rapid-fire rounds at the mystery boat. He needed to get away; his craft could reach smooth water speeds in excess of sixty kilometers per hour but under these sea conditions, much less—maybe forty-five—if he was lucky. Probably not enough to outrun the smaller craft.
He turned on the GPS-coupled autopilot with his preloaded coordinates and activated it. Now he was hands-free to seek cover and engage the oncoming boat.
Another blast caused a side window on his boat to explode, glass shards rained down across the deck, two of them nicking his face. Close. But the muzzle flash also highlighted the enemy vessel, enough for him to know where to aim, and now he could identify the faint outline of the boat itself. It was the gray fishing boat from earlier in the day. He’d been duped. When he saw the men catch the big fish and start celebrating, he’d erroneously made the assumption they were just men fishing the lip of the canyon. As they trolled their craft away from him toward the horizon, he’d forgotten they existed.
How could he have been so stupid? Now he was in a firefight in the middle of the sea. It was three armed men in a smaller, more maneuverable boat against him.
He knelt down behind the seat, resting his rifle on the railing for as much stability as he could get in rough seas. The gray outline of the fishing boat skipping across the tops of the waves seemed ominous as it closed in on his craft but it also offered him a good target. He took careful aim and squeezed off more rounds. He heard the rounds make contact with the smaller boat, and then it swerved taking a parallel track across the water.
More muzzle flashes and he ducked. Holes ripped through the port side, splintered wood fragments flew across the deck. He could make out the silhouettes of the three men, two holding rifles, one piloting the boat. He fired another burst and all three men ducked out of sight. Right where he wanted them, he thought.
The first shadow to reappear was the man at the helm. Khan had a clear shot and he took it. The man fell out of sight and the boat veered away and slowed.
One down. Two to go.
Three more shots hit the back of the cruiser. With each flash, Khan saw the outline of the boat. It was coming directly from behind. Not an ideal angle. He ducked and crawled to the back transom. As he reached the stern, he raised the rifle and leveled it at the boat. For the first time, he noticed fish
ing rods in rod holders whipping on the back of the boat. The boat was twenty meters behind and gaining. He readied the rifle and fired, unloading round after round into the hull of the boat until the rifle clicked.
Empty.
He made his way to the helm, keeping his body low, grabbed his ammo, reloaded the rifle and readied it for firing. He still had plenty of ammo and a handgun stored below deck. He returned to the rear transom and looked out. The boat was gone.
Three shots rang out from the right side of the cruiser. One grazed his left shoulder. He’d been in gun battles before, but not on a boat in the middle of the sea. He suppressed the pain and aimed the rifle toward the fishing boat. He fired and both men ducked. One of the outboard engines on the fishing boat burst into flames. He kept firing. And screaming. Screaming at the infidels.
Two men in the boat rose up and fired, one right behind the other. Semi-automatics. Inferior weapons to his automatic yet effective with the cadence the two men used to return fire. He heard one of the fishing boat’s engines groan and the boat lost speed. Both men turned toward the failing engine so he unleashed another hailstorm of bullets. The cruiser pulled away from the boat and within seconds was out of sight.
He got lucky and he knew it.
The cruiser made a correction to starboard—to the right—as programmed into the autopilot.
His backup plan. He’d eluded his pursuers. Eliminated the women.
Now for his escape.
CHAPTER 61
JAKE COULDN’T BELIEVE he’d just watched Khan send the two women into the depths of the sea. They were gone, with no chance of rescue. By now, they were already several hundred feet below the surface and, if they weren’t dead before, they were now. Khan just killed two more innocent victims. He would pay for that act of cruelty.
As Perez steered the fishing boat, Kaplan took a shot at the cruiser in an attempt to disable the vessel, then Khan unleashed a barrage of bullets into the side of their boat. All three men ducked for cover. Perez steered a course parallel to Khan. With the cruiser to their right, Jake and Kaplan fired. A window shattered and Khan disappeared.
A moment later Khan reappeared and peppered their boat with a spray of bullets. Perez went down. He’d taken a round in his right temple and his lifeless body crumpled in the middle of the boat. As Perez’s body fell, the boat turned hard left almost knocking Jake overboard. Jake grabbed the railing as he was being thrown over then pulled himself toward the helm as the boat swerved out of control.
Regaining control of the helm, Jake piloted the craft directly behind the cruiser. He used the hull for protection by keeping the bow high in the water. By the time Jake realized his mistake it was too late. Khan opened fire and bullets pierced through the bottom of the wooden hull allowing water to stream into the boat.
Jake steered right and accelerated alongside the cruiser while Kaplan fired into the cruiser’s hull. He thought he saw Khan take a bullet, but he definitely heard him yelling despite the roar of the engines. Then Khan reappeared and fired. The fishing boat’s left engine exploded from the barrage of bullets but Jake kept pushing the engine, grinding out every last bit of power. Khan couldn’t get away. Khan had to be stopped.
He and Kaplan looked at each other and nodded. They lifted their guns over the railing and fired. They alternated shots with such a pace that it was almost as effective as an automatic weapon—right up until the left engine sputtered, coughed, and died.
Khan and the cruiser disappeared into the night.
Jake threw his rifle onto the deck of the fishing boat. “Shit, the son of a bitch got away.”
Kaplan kept firing. Firing into the darkness.
For the first time since he had taken control of the helm, he looked down at Perez. It was a clean exit wound, in the right temple and out the left. Perez was dead. His blood drained toward the back of the boat, swirling into the ever-increasing amount of seawater seeping through the bullet holes that had penetrated the hull.
Kaplan yelled and threw his rifle onto the deck. “Now what?”
Jake had already turned the boat toward shore. “Back to San Sebastian. Let’s hope the starboard engine holds, it doesn’t sound good.”
“How far to shore?”
“Twenty two miles. At this speed.” Jake made the mental calculations. “If the engine holds up, probably an hour. More if we start losing power. But we have bigger problems than that.” Jake pointed to the deck. Three inches of water was standing, loose items floated toward the stern. “ The marine radio took a bullet and my cell phone is dead.”
Kaplan pulled out his phone. “Mine too. What about Perez’s phone?”
Jake searched through the dead man’s pockets. He held up the phone and water dripped out. “Drowned. And if we don’t plug a few leaks, we won’t make shore before we sink.”
† † †
Khan dropped to a sitting position on the deck while the autopilot guided him toward his backup escape route. Everything went awry because he had gotten sloppy. A mistake he won’t make again. As the adrenaline from the shoot out wore off, the reality of the last few minutes sank in. His chest tightened, he couldn’t breathe. Relax. Relax. He tried to use reason and calm himself down but nothing worked. He felt his pulse race. He forced himself to take long, slow breaths. He curled into the fetal position on the open deck. Khan considered himself brave, but he’d never been so close to death.
Khan didn’t know how long he’d lain there. Did he pass out? When he mustered enough energy to climb back to the helm, he could see lights dotting the shoreline. He checked his GPS—twenty kilometers to go—he’d been out for over half the trip, twenty-eight kilometers had passed behind him already. At his current speed, he’d make Orio in thirty minutes.
† † †
Jake fought the growing swells as the crippled fishing boat made its way toward shore. It didn’t take Jake long to figure out that every time the boat planed out, it took on water faster. He had to slow his speed so the boat would ride in bow-high thus extending how long it would take to reach shore. Kaplan was bailing water non-stop with the only bucket on board, a one-gallon bait bucket. The big problem was the boat took on almost a gallon by the time he could bail a gallon.
Over the course of the last thirty minutes, he and Kaplan had exchanged duties several times. Kaplan was bailing again.
The boat was sitting lower in the water. A rogue wave washed through the vessel adding another five inches of standing water.
“This is hopeless.” Kaplan shouted. “I can’t keep up with it any longer.”
“Take the helm, I’ll bail some more.” Jake ordered. “We’re still ten miles out.”
“Forget it.” Kaplan pointed at the engine. “We’re not going to make it.”
Jake followed Kaplan’s finger. The starboard engine was smoking and leaving a trail of oil in the water. As the rpm’s slowed, Jake added more throttle until it was all the way forward. Five minutes later, the motor spit its last breath and the boat was now at the mercy of the sea.
“We’re still nine miles out, give or take.” Jake said. “How far can you swim?”
“Tonight? Nine miles. Give or take.”
Jake had more in-the-water experience than Kaplan and was mentally prepared for what was in store. A long, exhausting, and laborious swim in cold water. With water temperatures in the sixties, exhaustion time was two to seven hours. Cold water robs the body’s heat 32 times faster than cold air. As the body’s core temperature dropped, Jake knew what to expect. At 96.5 degrees, shivering begins. Amnesia at 94 degrees. Unconsciousness at 86 degrees and death at 79. Once they hit the water, they had to keep moving or drown.
Under normal circumstances, they would be motionless in the water, conserving energy while they waited to be rescued. But these weren’t normal circumstances. They were nine miles out to sea, no one knew where they were, but most of all, they had to stop Khan.
Jake grabbed his duffle letting the water drain from the bag. He dug around
and pulled out six Snickers bars. “Here. Start eating.”
Kaplan grabbed the packs. “You really did have Snickers in there.”
“Boy Scout motto. Be prepared. Eat it all, you’re going to need all the energy you can muster.”
The next five minutes were spent in total silence. The only sound was the waves slapping the sides of the sinking fishing boat. The two sat, ate, and rocked with the boat. Jake could see the apprehension in Kaplan’s face as the boat sank lower and lower into the water.
“How good a swimmer are you?” Jake asked.
“At this point, what does it matter?” Kaplan stuffed his garbage in a side pocket of the console on the boat. “You’re in charge, I’ll just follow you.”
“It’s all about pacing.” Jake wasn’t good at giving words of encouragement, but he felt Kaplan needed to hear something positive. Jake was a strong swimmer, very strong, and as a child competed in swim tournaments with the school swim teams. “We’ll take it slow and steady.”
“Slow and steady. Roger that.” Kaplan sat on the rail and unlaced his boots.
“What are you doing? Leave your boots on.”
“But I can kick better without them.”
“Trust me on this.”
Kaplan laced up his boots. Jake grabbed two life jackets and tossed Kaplan one. Next he grabbed two flotation-approved seat cushions. He rummaged through the boat’s compartments, found a flare gun and stuffed it, the weapons, and ammo into a wet bag then sealed it tight.
“Put the life vest on, get a good grip on the cushion, and let’s go. Remember, keep the cushion underneath you for extra buoyancy. We’ll need all the help we can get.” Jake sat on the edge of the railing. “The water will be cold.”
Kaplan sat next to Jake on the railing. “Tell me something I don’t know.”
The Toymaker Page 23