Chasing the Lost

by Bob Mayer

  The Russian was muttering in his native tongue. His body was covered with burns and he’d also been cut, several long slices, deep enough to draw some blood, but not too much blood.

  “He’s in bad shape,” Erin said as she checked his vitals. She pulled out a needle and filled it from a small bottle. “This will help.”

  Chase and Sarah came up. She had a distant look in her eyes, what appeared to be the onset of shock. Erin stuck the needle in the Russian’s arm and pressed the plunger.

  “Karralkov apparently doesn’t do well with employees who screw up,” Riley said. “They were probably going to shoot him, too, before Gator intervened.”

  “We have to get him to a hospital,” Erin said.

  The Russian suddenly convulsed, arms and legs flailing. Riley tried to hold him still, but it wasn’t needed, as the Russian just as quickly went limp. Riley knew death, and he didn’t have to check, but Erin did. When she started to do CPR, he stopped her.

  “Enough. He’s gone.”

  Erin slowly got to her feet.

  “What are we going to do?” Sarah demanded. “The deadline is two hours away!”

  Gator and Kono came jogging out of the trees; the island indeed wasn’t that big. They indicated there was no sign of the boy.

  “No satphone,” Kono added. “They probably used the boat radio to make communication.”

  He and Gator began policing the bodies and carrying them to the cabin cruiser.

  Riley, Chase, Sarah, and Erin stood by the firepit, the flames low now, a piece of rebar still stuck in the red-hot embers.

  “Have your husband agree to pay,” Chase said to Sarah. “If we can keep Karralkov from finding out what happened here, he might release Cole. Have your husband switch the funnel, or whatever the hell you call it, ASAP. A show of faith. At the very least, have him tell Karralkov he needs proof of life. The name of that bike. We have to make sure Cole is all right.”

  “That’s supposing,” Riley said, “that these guys”—he indicated one of the bodies being carried away by Gator—“don’t have a set time they have to call and check in. Karralkov is probably going to want to know how the torturing went. And Rollins is probably going to want to know where Mikey is.”

  “Karralkov won’t know who hit this place,” Chase said.

  “He’ll know,” Riley said. “He ain’t stupid. You walked into his place yesterday. Rollins knows we’re up to something, since we borrowed his plane. Hell, that Fabrou fellow knew we were going after Karralkov. Never mind getting Cole back, we’re going to have a hard enough time keeping ourselves alive.”

  “He’s got to be holding him in his club,” Chase said. “We take the heroin—”

  “What heroin?” Riley asked. “There’s like ten kilos in that shed. Karralkov won’t—”

  Chase cut in. “There’s a couple of hundred kilos on that cruiser. Millions of dollars’ worth. We leverage right up front with Karralkov.” He turned to Sarah. “Tell Walter that he agrees to do what Karralkov wants. We go to his club, with everyone, and with the heroin. We make a deal.”

  Riley’s look went beyond skeptical. “And his seven dead men?”

  “We tell him we ambushed them, took the heroin, and let them go,” Chase said. “They took off because”—he pointed at the poles—“Karralkov obviously doesn’t treat those who screw up very well.”

  “Thin, at best,” Riley said.

  “We’ve got to get Cole,” Sarah said.

  Gator came running up, covered in blood. “We’ve got all the bodies on board the cruiser. We moved the heroin over to the Fina. Kono says he knows deep water where we can sink the evidence.”

  Chase issued orders. “I’ll take Sarah north in the Zodiac, heading for the Intracoastal, try to get a cell signal so she can call Walter and get him to agree. Then we go to Savannah and wait for you near Karralkov’s club.” He turned to Riley. “You’re in command of the Fina. Get rid of the cruiser. Gator, you can pilot it?”

  “Roger that,” Gator said.

  “Once you sink it, head back to Savannah at full speed,” Chase said. “We’ll contact you by radio.”

  “Let’s go,” Riley ordered, and they ran for the boats.

  * * * * *

  Chase had the throttle wide open on the Zodiac, skimming across the dark water. He had his night-vision goggles on and the small GPS dimmed-down as he raced north along the coastline, heading toward civilization in the form of the Savannah River as quickly as possible.

  “Do you think Karralkov will go for it?” Sarah shouted, trying to be heard above the roar of the engines.

  Not really, Chase thought. “It’s our only chance. If Walter agrees before the deadline, everything should work out.”

  The coast to the left was pitch-black, but Chase could see a glow ahead, and assumed that had to be Tybee Island. He spotted a light flashing, and recognized it as the Tybee Island Lighthouse on the northeast corner of the island.

  “Any signal yet?” Chase asked as he edged closer to the shoreline.

  Sarah was squinting down at the face of her phone. “No.”

  A tiny red light, the depth warning, flickered on the control panel, looking like a flare in the goggles, and Chase throttled back and turned hard to starboard, out to deeper water. He was cutting it too close, and the bottom was coming up. Heading out east for a minute, he turned back to the north. As he drew parallel to the lighthouse, he banked to the left, for the mouth of the Savannah River.

  “Anything?” he yelled.

  “Yes!”

  * * * * *

  Gator knelt among the explosives, like a kid with a set of blocks. “We don’t want a big blast and fire,” he said. “Just sink the bitch nice and quiet-like.”

  “Stop yakking and just do it,” Riley said as the Russian boat bobbed in the Atlantic. The Fina was alongside.

  Riley was tired, slightly hung-over, and his shoulder felt like it had been hit by a sledgehammer. Layer mission failure on top of that, and he in no mood for chit-chat.

  The deck of the Russian boat was slippery with blood. All the bodies had been chained down to keep them with the ship, then locked into the tiny engine room, jammed together for their final journey.

  Riley had forgotten how much a dead man weighed as he’d helped with the last positioning of them, ignoring his own pain as best he could. He’d checked Mikey’s body and found his dogtags, still around his neck. Old habits died hard. Riley had taken the tags off and put them in his pocket. Now, he tried to wipe some of the blood off his hands as Gator assembled the explosives, making coherent charges out of the pile.

  Riley noted that Erin was watching him. He held up a hand, the blood glistening in the moonlight. “Late in my career, I’d seen enough death for any man. And I started to think that if the dead could speak, they’d most likely tell you that whatever it is they died for, it wasn’t worth it.”

  “You don’t think there are things worth dying for?” Erin asked.

  “Didn’t say that,” Riley replied. “I’m putting my life on the line here. But most causes, not really.”

  “Pretty cynical,” Erin said.

  “I’m older than you,” Riley said as Gator disappeared below with his toys. “And I’ve seen more death than you, I’m sure of that. The living know nothing of death. These Russians, they died for money. Mikey, he died for a bed to sleep in, in a room above a garage at Rollins’s place. He’d served his country, and that was all he was left with. How much is a life worth?”

  “Each person has to place a value on something,” Erin said. “Something bigger than themselves.”

  “What’s that for you?” Riley asked.

  Erin stared at him. “That’s personal.”

  “Usually is,” Riley said.

  Gator came up out of the hatch, unreeling a fuse. “We’re set,” he announced.

  Riley waved, and Kono brought the Fina less than a foot away. Riley jumped first, then turned and caught Erin as she followed him. He gasped in pai
n.

  “Are you hurt?”

  “Got hit in the shoulder,” Riley finally admitted. “But the body armor caught the round. It wasn’t square-on, or it probably would have punched through. The old Kevlar plate bounced it.”

  “Let me see,” Erin said.

  Back on the Russian boat, Gator knelt, lit the fuse, then jumped onboard.

  Kono had the Fina moving the second Gator’s feet touched the deck.

  He accelerated away to a safe distance, then slid the throttles into neutral. They were over twenty miles from land, with nothing but open water all around.

  There was a subdued thump of explosion, and nothing apparent happened. But then the Russian boat simply went under, straight down, no awe-inspiring Titanic slide. It simply disappeared.

  “Good job,” Riley said as Erin probed at his shoulder.

  “Roger that, chief,” Gator said.

  “Let’s head for Savannah,” Riley ordered. He checked his watch. It was zero-five-fifteen. Forty-five minutes until the deadline.

  * * * * *

  Sarah hit the off button on her phone. “Walter will do it,” she said, which Chase had picked up from hearing her end of the brief, and forceful on her part, conversation. “He’s calling Karralkov right now, telling him he’ll divert the funnel. He’s also going to demand proof of life.”

  “All right.” Chase didn’t know what else to say, and the adrenaline from the action had worn off. He had the Zodiac resting in a small estuary of calm water off the north, and mostly-uninhabited side, of the Savannah River. They’d passed Fort Pulaski, but were still a couple of miles from the city of Savannah.

  “What do we do now?” Sarah asked.

  Dawn was still over an hour away. It was quiet, the only sound the lap of water against the rubber sides of the Zodiac.

  “We wait,” Chase said. He knew that was the hardest part of any combat operation. Waiting, and letting things play out.

  A chill breeze cut across the low country. Sarah moved closer to Chase, their backs against the rubber bulkhead of the Zodiac.

  “Walter is going to fuck it up,” Sarah said, in such a low voice, Chase almost didn’t hear her.

  “What?”

  “Walter,” Sarah said in a resigned voice. “He’ll fuck it up. He’s fucked up everything in our life. The only good thing out of our years together was Cole, and now he’s screwed that up.”

  She leaned into him and Chase put his arm around her. “We’ll get Cole back. We’ve got the heroin. That will make Karralkov think. He’s probably moving it in a major deal, and that brings other players in. It’s not as clear-cut as he wanted.”

  “We have to,” Sarah said. Her head was pressed into Chase’s neck. “I’m never, ever getting back together with Walter, no matter what happens. I’ve got to get Cole away from him.”

  “We will,” Chase said.

  Sarah lifted her head up, and in the darkness he could see the glint of her eyes, a hint of moisture. “Horace?”

  “Yes?”

  “I—”

  Sarah was interrupted as her phone buzzed. Sarah pulled back and hit receive. She listened, and Chase could see her shoulders slump in relief. She listened for over a minute, then all she said was, “All right.”

  She turned the phone off and looked at Chase. “That was Walter. He texted the kidnappers, agreeing. They texted back and said they’d release Cole at kickoff, six-twenty Eastern time tonight.”

  “Where?” Chase asked.

  “They said they’d drop him off someplace near Hilton Head, and text him the exact location.”

  “What about proof of life?”

  Sarah smiled, joy pouring out of her. “They gave the correct answer. Mustang. Only Cole would know that. And me. Not even Walter.”

  Chase was so tired, he couldn’t sort all the angles. In Delta and on the Boulder P.D., he’d done some training on kidnapping cases, but in Delta, it had been mostly on the door-kicking stage when negotiations had failed. In Boulder, it had been pretty basic stuff, since the FBI was always supposed to be called in for a kidnapping; the result of the Lindbergh baby and the passing of the Federal Kidnapping Act, aka the Lindbergh Law.

  She continued. “Walter said he’s on his way back. He’s already left Antigua and will rendezvous with a ship. He’ll set his boat’s radio to the frequency Kono had us on.”

  “When will he arrive?” Chase asked.

  “Probably not in time.” Sarah shook her head. “As usual. We’ll have to get Cole.”

  “We will,” Chase said.

  Done, she put the phone back in her pocket. She threw her arms around Chase. “I don’t believe it. I’ll have Cole back.” She buried her head in his chest.

  As long as Karralkov didn’t find out about his dead men and the missing heroin, Chase thought, but didn’t say.

  Sarah’s head lifted slightly and he felt her warm breath on his neck. Then her lips, touching his skin ever so slightly. Chase couldn’t move. His brain was a muddle of fading adrenaline, projecting forward to the possibilities of a showdown with Karralkov, concern over the rest of the team, and—

  He stopped thinking as Sarah’s lips touched his. He pulled her in against his body, tight. Her hands were sure, reaching for him, while his fumbled with her zippers and buttons. Her hand was cool as it slid into his pants and she wrapped her fingers around him. He was distantly surprised he was hard, but there was nothing normal about any of this. Nothing normal at all.

  She unbuttoned, unzipped, and slid her pants off. Then Sarah was on top of him, leaning forward, kissing him, while her hands shoved all obstacles away.

  Chase gasped as she lowered herself onto him. The warmth was an exhilarating switch from the coolness of her hand.

  Sarah’s lips slipped off his, and her head was buried in his neck. She was whispering something he couldn’t make out, and moaning. The latter began to overwhelm the former as she rocked back and forth, back and forth, the Zodiac beginning to move in rhythm with her, Chase immobile underneath her. Her hands slid down his arms and she entwined her fingers in his. She lifted his arms up, over their heads, pulling her head away, arching back, now moaning loudly.

  Chase was losing control. “Sarah—” he began to say.

  But she hissed, “No!” and then collapsed on top of him, just as Chase gave up any attempt to hold himself back. She let go of his hands and he wrapped his arms around her. She cradled his face in her hands.

  They lay there, half-clothed, still connected, both breathing hard.

  “I’m sorry,” Sarah whispered. “ I don’t understand what happened. I just—”

  She paused as the radio crackled. “Chase, this is Riley. We’re five miles off of the entrance to the river. Status?”

  Chase unwrapped his arms from around Sarah. He searched on the floor of the Zodiac in the dark for the radio, as Sarah collected her clothes and secured them.

  Chase keyed the radio. “We got hold of Walter. He’s going to agree to the deal. Karralkov has agreed. He’ll return Cole at kickoff someplace near Hilton Head.”

  There was a long silence, and Chase knew Riley was thinking through the implications.

  “Roger,” Riley finally replied. “Let’s link up at your place.”

  * * * * *

  Onboard the Fina, Riley stared eastward at the subdued glow of pre-dawn Savannah. Gator was in the turret, doing something with the dual fifties. To his left, Kono was at the helm, a still, silent figure. Erin was behind both of them.

  “Well?” Erin asked.

  “Looks like there’s a deal,” Riley said. “Except Karralkov won’t return Cole until kickoff, which means he’s got twelve hours to find out about what we just did.”

  “Then we hope he not find out,” Kono said. “Where to?”

  “Back to Chase’s house,” Riley ordered.

  “And if he does find out?” Erin asks.

  “Then we’ve got a shit-storm on our hands,” Riley said. “It depends how valuable that heroin w
e’re carrying is to him. It’s not worth fifty million, but he might look at our actions as a deal-breaker.”

  “You think?” Erin said.

  The Fina accelerated, turning north toward Hilton Head.

  Riley glanced at his watch. “We’ll find out in the next twelve hours.”

  Chapter Eleven

  Coming up the Intracoastal, Chase and Sarah arrived at Brams Point just as dawn was breaking over the peninsula. Chase tied off the Zodiac on the landward side of the dock. As they got off the rubber boat, the Fina came roaring up the Intracoastal.

  Chase and Sarah waited on the floating dock for their comrades to arrive. Kono pulled up, stopping his boat right at the dock, with just a few inches between it and the buffers. Chase grabbed the lines Riley tossed him, and tied the patrol boat off. The twin fifties were hidden away, along with the machine guns that had been on the side mounts, and the Fina was back in decrepit, deceptive mode.

  Chase immediately noticed the sling Riley’s arm was ensconced in. “What happened?”

  “Body armor took a hit during the raid,” Riley said. “Not a big deal.”

  Chase looked at Erin. “Is he all right?”

  She nodded. “Bruised and beat-up, but he’ll recover. He’s a tough old goat.”

  “Not sure I like that, coming from a veterinarian,” Riley said. “I’ve eaten some tough old goat in some of the places I’ve been.”

  “That explains why you’re tough,” Erin said.

  “Not as tough as I used to be,” Riley said.

  The boats tied off, the team trudged up the metal ramp onto the long, wooden dock. It creaked under their heavy tread, especially Gator’s.

  “Need fixing,” Kono noted, slapping a hand on the wood railing.

  “I need fixing,” Riley muttered.

  “We need to kill the rest of the fucking Russians,” Gator said loudly, not caring who heard.