by A. J Tata
A few minutes later, he watched the goatee man huddle in the corner of the container with the other man. They were discussing something with a fair amount of animation. Adham interpreted this to mean that he was in the database and that they had identified him. He was certain that his capture would make headlines. After ten minutes the argument was apparently settled. Goatee man punched some buttons and then turned to the door, which he opened.
Outside, two soldiers were waiting.
“What do we have—” one of them began to ask.
The goatee man turned his head and looked at Adham and then at the soldier, muttering, “Don’t use my name, asshole.”
“Sorry, sir.”
“We got nothing. You guys got too much going on here to deal with this dirtbag, so we’re going to take him back to main HQ. Plus, he came from that madrassa across the border and we think we can get some intel.”
“Roger that. Don’t need him here, that’s for sure.”
Adham recognized the lieutenant’s bar on the soldier’s patrol cap.
They closed the door on him, yet he still heard the radio call.
“Bring in the Copperhead helicopter. We’ve got cargo of one.”
Adham wiped the sweat from his brow. The memory of being so close to capture by Captain Mahegan during his last raid was both nerve-wracking and thrilling, but he had survived.
Mahegan would not.
Chapter 35
“I didn’t kill Royes and you know it,” Locklear said.
She had handcuffed Falco to her porch column. Barring his ability to rip the column from the frame, he was secure. He was seated, looking toward the sound with his hands behind his back. Locklear sat on the swing and kicked it lazily back and forth.
“What I know is I’m damned uncomfortable, Lindy. Now let me up.”
Locklear laughed. “You probably just killed Dakota and you were coming after me. Why in the hell would I let you go?”
“You got nothing on me,” Falco said.
“You’re probably right about that,” she said. “But in this game the rules really don’t apply, do they? You want me to hold you to the standards of evidence while you go about your business stealing gold that belongs to the state or the country?”
“What are you, some kind of patriot now?”
“What I am is irrelevant, other than the fact, of course, that I am better than you.”
“You boning that guy? Mahegan? He’s probably dead by now anyway.”
“My money’s on Mahegan, Vinny. But let me get this straight. You guys have MVX-90s, which the enemy seems to have in abundance now. You’re selling those to the bad guys. I know that much.”
“You don’t know shit. You’re wrong.”
“Don’t think so. Plus, you’re taking the Adger gold out to sea and dropping it on Tommy Thompson’s Galaxy site, pretending like it was there all along. Funny, I pulled up the Wikipedia page and it shows a new update. That gold was believed to have been on the ship that went down on the Galaxy site. And when I Google that now, I get a few random hits that the SS Bele-vedere, which is the shipwreck there, did indeed contain gold. Of course, we all know it was nothing but a mail carrier.”
“Must be true then,” Falco said weakly.
“You’re making it true, that’s for sure. So, the Lucky Lindy, hate the name by the way, goes out with the gold, you lower it, keep it there for a few days, then you lift it back up and say, ‘Eureka!’” She paused, and then said, “Did I get that right?”
Falco shook his head and smiled. She saw beads of sweat running down his shaved head. He pulled at his handcuffs, scraping them against the wood. She saw him staring out at the Teach’s Pet. Looking from him to the Pet, and then back to Falco, her mind began to process the possibilities.
“Let me go, bitch. I’ve got shit to do.”
“I’m sure you do. I’m just trying to figure out what to do with you. Kill you or turn you over to the authorities.”
Locklear heard the slight whisper of an air gun and felt the sting of an insect bite in her arm. She looked down and saw that she had a dart sticking out of her arm. She reached down and retrieved it quickly, standing to move.
The drug was moving quickly through her system as she felt dizzy and began to lose control of her muscle movements. Locklear stumbled off the porch, holding her pistol, firing it wildly at Falco at the same time arms wrapped around her.
“Now, now, Lindy, no need to go and get all trigger happy on us.”
“Go to hell, Sam Nix,” she managed to say.
At the same time, Falco was saying, “Take these cuffs off me, Nix. That bitch grazed me.”
”Looks like she did more than that, Vinny,” Nix said. “I’ve got to come over here and clean up your mess. Thought you were taking care of everything?”
Nix laid the now unconscious Locklear on the sand.
“I got Dakota out of the picture and I’m sure Mahegan has been caught by now,” said Vinny. “Locklear’s the last one and we’re home free.”
“Perhaps,” Nix said. He stared at the Teach’s Pet for a long moment. “What do you know about that ship?”
“Unlock my damn cuffs and I’m happy to talk about whatever you damn well please.”
Nix ignored his remark. “I know we use it on occasion for transshipments, but as I was looking through Royes’s stuff, I found a spectrum analysis report. Seems there’s quite a bit of activity coming from that ship. Internet, cellular, radio transmissions and the like. So, again, Vinny, what do you know about all of that?”
Nix nudged his pistol underneath the chin of his partner. “Have you done something that I don’t know about?” he asked.
“C’mon, boss. It’s me. Vinny Falco. We were in Afghanistan together. Iraq. Every other shithole as we tried to build our business. What would I do with that stupid relic?”
Nix leaned forward and whispered in his ear.
“You better not be lying to me, cocksucker. There’s millions riding on this and I have to completely trust you.”
“We laid all that cable out there so that we could communicate with the team. I’ve never even been belowdecks on that thing. Chikatilo is the only one who goes out there.”
“Speaking of which, where the hell has he been?”
“Not sure. Said he had some business to take care of and then he’d be back. Been a few days.”
Nix pulled the handcuff key from Locklear’s pocket, feeling a little more of her bare leg with his free hand than was necessary.
“She’s looking good, boss,” Falco said.
“That she is,” Nix said, licking his lips. He unlocked the cuffs on Falco and said, “Drag her ass into the truck. She could be useful.”
Falco waved his hand at Nix’s pistol. “Let me just finish her off right here. End this bullshit.”
“Too risky. You ever get caught, you’ll be in prison for life if they don’t give you the needle.”
“We can blame it on Mahegan. I’m sure his DNA is all over this joint.” He waved his hand around the cabin and front porch.
“Negative. We need Mahegan. On the off chance he’s alive, we need bait. Which means we need Locklear.”
“Well, using your logic, she’s bait for a whole bunch of three-letter agencies.”
“Not if they don’t know where she is. Mahegan will know. And he’ll want to do it alone. That’s his mode.”
They carried Locklear to Nix’s truck. Falco had his hands under her armpits, his fingers rubbing her breasts. Nix had her ankles, legs spread sufficiently to give him a decent view inside her running shorts. They slid her into the back of the pickup Nix had parked a hundred yards away.
Driving back to Copperhead, Inc. on Dare County Mainland, Falco asked, “Do we have any reports from Galaxy?”
“Haven’t been able to reach them. They’re busy.”
Chapter 36
Mahegan had secured the lines that held the Bombard in place to prevent the boat from being blown to sea just as t
he Lucky Lindy’s two inboard 220-horsepower motors gunned to full throttle.
He held the pistol up toward the gunwale and remained low against the aft of the ship, crouching beneath the tarp covering the Bombard. As they raced away from the rocketing explosions, the chain of events happened better than he could have hoped.
Le Concord had lost the back third of its ship and was sinking rapidly. Its bow was angled upward at forty-five degrees, looking like a piece of modern art. The turbulent waters around the ships boiled with gasses being released and fires burning from lit detritus.
The scene was diminishing rapidly for Mahegan as the Lucky Lindy sped mercilessly away from the inferno. He noticed that there were further secondary explosions that had spread to the Ocean Ranger, which now had spotlights trained on the waters, presumably looking for survivors or perhaps even Mahegan himself.
A bit late, Mahegan thought.
It was only a matter of time until the Ocean Ranger also caught fire with diesel fuel blowing like a cut artery onto the water and the partner ship. Like a lighter held up to an open aerosol can, Le Concord was spewing diesel and flames in a brilliant arc skyward that was landing all over the faux gold mining operation. Busy deckhands were using large hoses to spray the burning fuel, which in many cases only served to spread the diesel.
By now, the thrum of the engines and the giant rooster tail spitting out the back of the Lucky Lindy were all Mahegan could hear of the activities onboard. As he watched the burning ships from a distance, to Mahegan’s eyes the flames bundled together into a diminishing speck. He wondered why the crew of this survivable ship had not circled back to save the others. Perhaps they had their marching orders. He didn’t know. In reality, what could they have done? Their load was maxed out with the ghosts and the basic rule in combat was to cut your losses.
He began to calculate his next series of moves. He felt good. He was back in the hunt. He had just destroyed a significant load of MVX-90s and saved an incalculable number of American and coalition soldiers’ lives. That was some small redemption for Colgate and all of his warrior brethren. But he couldn’t rest. The warehouse wasn’t empty and there was more at play, he was certain.
Copperhead, Inc. had proven that they were working several azimuths, most illicit, aimed toward a larger goal. At the end of the day, Mahegan figured, it all boiled down to money. Paramount was the gold. Then came the trades of MVX-90s and bombs for free, slave labor.
Now, he looked at the problem as if he had to crack a safe. With this find, he had turned the tumblers sufficiently to have one turn left to go. But it was a difficult challenge. He believed that whatever the main operation was, aside from the gold, had to do with the prisoners held on this ship and those that were at the moment perishing on the Ocean Ranger.
Mahegan figured that an operation the size that Copperhead was running on Dare County Bombing Range would require maybe twenty-five to fifty employees. Yet, Locklear had told him that there was not a single Roanoke Island citizen that anyone knew of that had been hired. Could this have been what Royes had discovered? Some kind of personnel irregularity through pay records? He was more certain than ever that these captives in the bottom of Le Concord and now in the hold of the Lucky Lindy were the slave labor for the demining operation.
He could see how it might work. Import a bunch of ghost prisoners, illicitly taken off the battlefield, and use them as worker bees. Hiding a detainee was exceptionally easy. A small squad captures someone and they turn him over to the contract interrogators that the Army hired for every forward operating base in Afghanistan and Iraq. Copperhead, Inc. had the contract for several years, had done reasonably well, and then a scandal broke about how they were abusing some prisoners. An investigation revealed that they had interrogated and moved some detainees around two years ago, but the detainees had escaped. That escape had led to another investigation, which ultimately led to the cancellation of the contract for all of Iraq and Afghanistan.
Here he was on this fishing craft with about ten such “ghosts” imprisoned below and headed toward what he believed to be a future of trudging through the muck of Dare County Bombing Range, stepping on a few mines, maybe losing a limb or two, and perhaps even being left out there to die. Again, he didn’t have any affinity for these people, at least not the guilty ones, but when he compared them to the team at Copperhead, Inc., he wondered who the real enemy was.
His solemn duty was to defend against all enemies, foreign and domestic.
And more than anything, he had to see what the final destination for these men was. To be sure, he would never make it if he just stayed on the swim platform and docked with the group. What would he say when they saw him? “Hey, thanks for the lift?”
On the other hand, conducting a one-man takedown of the craft could be problematic. Aside from the detainees, there were at least four Copperhead crewmen. Such uncertainties were difficult to adequately predict. And while he was more spontaneous than most, he believed that he’d had his one big lucky break tonight with the utter destruction of the ships.
He calculated that they had traveled nearly an hour, the boat droning endlessly against the chop of the Atlantic Ocean and the black firmament above. As the crew powered the boat, Mahegan figured they were doing about sixty knots. Knowing they needed to go about 140 miles, that was three hours. Now, they were about two hours out. He thought that ninety minutes from now might make the perfect time to enact his plan.
Keeping quiet, he moved slowly and double-checked the three fuel tanks, hefting them and discerning they were either full or close to full. No problems. The problem would be keeping them in the boat. He saw two bungee cords securing the gas cans, but felt he needed more. He removed one of the lines securing the boat to the D-ring, freed it completely, and then looped it through the handles of the three gas cans while also tying bowline knots onto D-rings inside the Bombard rubber boat.
Now he checked the engine. The Tahatsu fifteen-hp outboard motor was not ideal but he knew he could get thirty knots out of it. He had the range, but not the time. The Lucky Lindy would be moving twice as fast as him. He knew if he didn’t return to shore first, then Copperhead, Inc., and perhaps others, would be lying in wait for him.
He loosened the two ties on the tarp that were on the aft end of the swim platform. Next he tied slipknots that he could pull, allowing the Bombard to slide into the water. Securing his stolen radio inside his backpack and ensuring its watertight seal, he then used a climber’s snap-link to hook the backpack into the bottom of the Bombard.
He began nudging the Bombard to the back of the Lindy’s teak-stained swim platform. The boat was heavy with the gas and the engine. Nothing he couldn’t manage, but it was not a simple task of flipping the boat over the side and diving in. He took the long bowline and began maneuvering the nose of the Bombard toward the aft of the Lucky Lindy swim platform. He wanted the motor to go in the water first to keep the weight in the back and prevent it from nosing over. He checked the latches on the motor, ensuring they were tightened against the aft of the Bombard. The last thing he wanted was to lose the engine one hundred miles away from the coast.
He felt the unmistakable shift of the fishing boat’s engines until they came to an idling rest in the middle of the Atlantic Ocean. The sudden shift in momentum rolled him toward the aft end of the Lucky Lindy.
“Okay, go get him,” the voice said.
“Aye.”
Mahegan held tight, aiming his pistol toward the tarp again. He heard the vibrations of feet on the deck, but they seemed to be heading away from him.
Muffled shouts were coming from belowdecks. Mahegan felt the boat tossing with the endless swells that slapped the side of boat from the northwest. The wet smack against the hull set an ominous tone.
“Inshallah!”
“Shut up, raghead. You’re the lucky lottery winner. We’ll be done with you quick, unlike your comrades down there.”
“C’mon, dickhead, just do your thing. Nix is gonna be
pissed we cut the manpower.”
“He’s extra, so just let me do my thing, as you call it.”
“Well, hurry up. We’ve got all kinds of distress signals out there and the Coast Guard is going to full alert. We’re going to look pretty strange coming back into the port when we should be going out on another early morning fishing run.”
“Inshallah!”
“Shut up, you piece of shit. What I’m about to do to you is more than you deserve.”
“Please. Please. No kill. Interpreter for American forces. I love Americans.”
“Yeah, yeah. Famous last words.”
Mahegan lay still, listening to the interchange. Before he could do anything, he heard a yelp that he recognized. One of the Copperhead men on the deck had just stuck one of the prisoners with a knife and it sounded like he was working the knife inside the victim.
“Pluh—pluh,” was the only noise the prisoner could make.
Mahegan knew what was next. The splash came shortly after, followed by the boat driver saying, “C’mon, no blood on the ship, man.”
“Say it’s marlin blood. Raise the flag upside down.”
Fishermen flew flags for big game fish off the trolling rigs or masts of their vessels when coming into port. If the flag was upside down, it meant catch and release. If right side up, it meant the fish was onboard.
“All right. Raise the flag, but we’re hauling ass.”
Mahegan felt the boat engines gun and the rearward tilt of the boat pulled the Bombard a bit farther off the swim platform.
He checked his equipment one last time and began feeding the Bombard into the jet spray of the rooster tail behind the ship.
He secured the two lines on the tarp, reestablishing the forty-five-degree angle of the tarp from the top of the gunwale down to the base of the freeboard. In effect, if no one checked, he would be just fine. They had been moving for about ten minutes since they had killed the prisoner and he felt the moment was close at hand.
“Hey, asshole, what are you doing?”
It was the same voice of the man who had gutted the prisoner and dumped him overboard for the sharks. And it was talking to him. The man had loosened one end of the tarp and had lowered himself half over the gunwale in pursuit, chest first.