Targets of Revenge

by Jeffrey Stephens

  Without the air tank he would not be able to submerge for long, but invisibility was presently his best defense. He dove just below the surface and stayed there as long as his lungs would allow. When he came up again he could see that whoever had been on course toward him was now heading toward shore. Sandor could not be sure, but it certainly looked to be the dive boat carrying the two Russians. He submerged again and kept moving west.

  ————

  Farrar knew which skipper had chartered the Odessa excursion. It was Sadiki and his niece Nadia. That was easy to determine for a man with his local connections. He borrowed a fast boat from one of his colleagues, headed out early, spotted the dive boat, and then slowly motored to a position off to the west, per Sandor’s instruction. Using binoculars he had watched Sandor and the other three men enter the water. From that point there had been nothing to do but wait.

  Now came the difficult part. He could approximate the time when they would surface, figuring somewhere between thirty and sixty minutes, but he had no idea how many of them would come up. Or if Sandor would still be in the company of the other three men. If Jordan had not managed to shake free there would be nothing for Farrar to do but follow them, likely back to the large yacht. If Sandor had been successful in separating from them he would try to swim away from their boat, hopefully closer to where Farrar now rocked back and forth.

  But even in these placid waters a man alone out there was going to be tough to spot.

  It was more than forty minutes into the dive when Farrar saw activity on the other boat. He grabbed for his binoculars, watching as two men boarded and removed their gear. He could see that neither of them was Sandor. There was a heated discussion between the two returning divers and Captain Sadiki, then their boat began to move.

  The deductions were obvious: one of the three Russians was not coming back—Sandor was the reason—and Sandor had managed to escape, at least for now.

  When Farrar agreed to help his friend, he knew this was not going to be a simple reconnaissance and recovery mission. It never was with Sandor, he thought with a grim smile. So, before he put the twin engines of the motorboat into gear, he placed his assault rifle on the seat beside him. With the weapon nestled comfortably within reach he began to circle at an unhurried speed toward the north, holding the wheel in one hand and the binoculars in the other.

  When Sadiki’s boat turned for land it was also motoring slowly. Farrar nodded to himself—it was the obvious move. Once Sandor eluded them, they had to assume he would keep his tank on, stay below the surface, and make for shore. They would be attempting to track his progress.

  Farrar maintained a steady speed, doing his best to remain unobtrusive among the other craft out there. These men were looking for Sandor, and he had no interest in becoming a secondary target.

  Farrar steered wide around a couple of other vessels, then lifted the binoculars to have another look for Sandor. When he also took a look toward Sadiki’s boat he saw that one of the men had his binoculars trained on him.

  ————

  Sandor had no idea what Farrar’s boat looked like, but as he bobbed up and down amid the gentle swells, he could make out a small craft off to the west that had begun moving in a large circle. He was close enough to see there was only one man aboard, and although he could not be sure it was Farrar, for now it was the best bet he had. He was about to start swimming that way when he took another check on what Captain Sadiki was doing. He had been moving south, toward shore, but now his boat was turning and seemed to be gaining speed as it came his way.

  ————

  When Farrar and the Russian locked on each other through their high-powered binoculars, it might have been a coincidence. Just two men out there, looking for their divers or checking the seascape.

  But Farrar had not survived this long in a violent business by believing in coincidences. His natural cynicism was vindicated when he watched the burly man drop the glasses and point in his direction. Then the dive boat turned north and began to accelerate.

  Farrar still had not spotted Sandor, but he at least had a general idea where his friend intended to rendezvous with him. He also had his assault rifle. And, most important of all, he knew he had the faster boat.

  He pressed the throttles forward, the need for stealth having suddenly vanished. Turning quickly to port he came about, charting a course he felt most likely to produce a sighting of his stranded friend. As he turned past two other vessels, which up to then had been peacefully riding the calm surf, he was greeted with angry shouts to slow down as his wake sent them rocking wildly back and forth.

  Farrar ignored them as he negotiated the tight turn, then came to starboard. That was when he caught a glimpse of Sandor who, having been able to make out some of the action, was now waving with both arms. Farrar slowed the engines, made another turn, and did his best to get close.

  “Hurry,” Sandor shouted out, then pointed to the oncoming dive boat.

  Farrar was aware of the pursuit and maneuvered into position as fast as he could. When he was close enough, Farrar tossed out a line, and Sandor grabbed it on the second attempt. He was still pulling himself over the railing when Farrar pushed the levers forward again. The boat surged and Sandor tumbled onto the fiberglass deck.

  “Get up here,” Farrar called out to him.

  Sandor scrambled to his feet and took his place beside the Egyptian as they headed on a northerly route, out to sea. Farrar was in the captain’s chair. Sandor was standing, steadying himself by taking hold of the stainless steel rail on the instrument panel. “Good to see you,” he said as he pulled off his vest and tossed it on the deck.

  Farrar nodded.

  “You know this Captain Sadiki?”

  Farrar shot him a quick glance, as if to say that he knew everyone.

  Sandor checked behind them. The dive boat was still several hundred yards away as they passed the last of the other craft sitting above the reef on this sunny morning and continued out to sea. “They tried to pass me a contaminated tank. Any chance he knew what they were up to?”

  “Sadiki? No. He’s a prick, not a murderer.”

  “Even for a lot of money?”

  “No. Not even for a lot of money.”

  Sandor checked over his shoulder again. “Then why the hell are they chasing us?”

  Farrar handed him the binoculars. “What do you think?”

  Sandor had a quick look. One of the Russians had some sort of handgun. The other was holding what appeared to be an Uzi, and he had it pointed at the captain. “It seems their duffels contained more than scuba gear,” Sandor said.

  “I don’t want Sadiki or the girl to get hurt.”

  “Of course not,” Sandor agreed, “but in case you haven’t noticed, they seem to be gaining on us. You purposely letting them get close?”

  Farrar looked up at him. “Just close enough,” he said, then slid the M-16 toward Sandor, keeping it low enough so it remained out of sight. “We can outrun them, but that doesn’t solve the problem.”

  “They might kill the captain and the girl, head back to the yacht for reinforcements, and we’ve got a small war on our hands.”

  “That was my thinking.”

  “Plus they’ll be able to identify you as the man who came out here to get me.”

  “Yes, that too. If we run them to the open water and take them out right there without Sadiki or his niece being hurt . . .”

  “Then we solve a lot of problems, provided Sadiki can be trusted to keep his mouth shut.”

  “We’ll be saving his life. What do you think he’ll do?”

  Sandor shook his head. “I wish people were that easy to figure.”

  “You have a better plan, I’m willing to listen.”

  “No, stay on course, let them think they have the faster boat, let them keep coming.”

  CHAPTER THIRTY-EIGHT

  ON THE RED SEA, OFF THE COAST OF THE SINAI PENINSULA

  CAPTAIN SADIKI STOOD at the wheel,
piloting his boat near its top speed. Nadia was seated beside him, as ordered by the two armed men, where it was easier to keep an eye on both of them.

  “Faster,” the Russian holding the Glock 9mm demanded.

  “We’re almost at full throttle now,” the captain said.

  “All the way then,” the man hollered.

  “You’ll be sorry if one of these engines blows.”

  The Russian ignored the warning. “I want to get alongside where we have a clean shot. Now!”

  Sadiki and Nadia exchanged a furtive glance. The captain knew these waters and the vessels on them. He knew the boat he was chasing was faster than his. And he had a fairly good idea who was at the helm. “When we come abeam,” he whispered to Nadia without looking at her, the roar of his engines covering his warning, “you dive to the deck.”

  “Faster,” the Russian bellowed.

  ————

  Farrar stayed just enough in front to draw them well out into the open sea, where his quicker, more agile boat would have the advantage. And where there would be no witnesses.

  “You ready?” he asked.

  “Always,” Sandor said. He was holding the M-16 at waist level. He checked the magazine and made sure one round was already in the breach. “You know what to do, right?”

  “What is that expression you have? ‘This is not my first rodeo.’ ”

  Sandor laughed. “You going to be able to turn this baby quickly enough?”

  “Don’t you worry about me, you just make sure you don’t miss.”

  Captain Sadiki had pushed his twin inboards to the limit. Farrar had a quick look in his direction, gauged the distance, then cut his port engine slightly, forcing a turn to that side. Then, as the gap between the boats narrowed, Farrar throttled up the port engine, cut the starboard and made a violent turn, heading directly at the dive boat.

  The Russians reacted with confusion and then alarm. They both opened fire, but neither the sidearm nor the Uzi had the range nor the accuracy to be a threat from this distance. They had not come out here prepared for an open-water battle.

  Meanwhile, Sandor lunged toward the port railing and braced himself against the bulkhead as the two boats appeared to be on a collision course. He opened fire with the M-16, taking out the man standing in the bow with his second shot. The other ducked below the railing, out of sight, then crawled across the deck to grab Nadia, who had taken cover behind the captain’s chair.

  Farrar cut back on his engines and Sadiki did the same. The two boats, which had moments ago been careening at breakneck speed toward one another, were now swaying side to side amid the waves they had themselves created.

  For a moment everything was still, and then Nadia shrieked. Sadiki turned and saw that she had been tugged to her knees by her hair. The large Russian was holding the heated barrel of the submachine gun to her head, burning her skin.

  Sadiki spun and instinctively kicked at the man, but the Russian growled at him. “Move again and I’ll kill you both.” He nodded toward the other boat. “Tell them to throw down their weapons and jump into the water where I can see them.”

  “What?”

  “Tell them,” the man snapped.

  Sadiki stood, his arms raised in the air, although no one had asked him to do that, and stepped toward the bow. Calling across the water, he told them what the man wanted.

  Farrar was hunkered down between the wheel and chair, well out of sight. Sandor was also protected, and still out of range from the Uzi.

  “I’ve done enough swimming today,” Sandor said to Farrar.

  “You were supposed to take them both out.”

  “I know,” Sandor agreed with a disgusted shake of his head.

  “He has Sadiki’s niece. What do we do?”

  Sandor nodded, then raised his head just high enough to see Sadiki standing with his hands up. “Here’s the deal,” he hollered out. “I don’t give a damn about you or the girl, but if he throws down his gun we won’t kill him. Otherwise I’m going to use this rifle to take out both of your engines, and maybe even blow up your boat if I can arrange that. And then I’m going home. So what’s it going to be?”

  When Sadiki turned to repeat this to the Russian, he was told, “Shut up. I heard him.”

  For his part, Sandor was not waiting for a reply. He fired three shots into the casing of Sadiki’s port outboard. It immediately began hissing and emitting a stream of oil and a cloud of steam. “What’s it going to be?” Sandor repeated.

  The Russian got to his feet. He was using Nadia as a shield, his left hand clutching a large clump of her hair to keep her in place, his right still pressing the barrel of the Uzi against her face. Then, without warning, he pointed the submachine gun at Sadiki and fired a three-shot burst at his legs. The Egyptian screamed in pain and crumpled to the deck with a thud. “I will kill them both before I give up my weapon,” the Russian shouted across the water.

  With each of the boats rocking it was difficult for Sandor to get a clean shot, but the man was taller and broader than Nadia, which at least presented a narrow target. The situation being what it was, Sandor’s options were limited. He took dead aim and fired at the man’s right shoulder, an area exposed as the Russian tried to crouch behind the girl. The shot hit the girl in the soft part of her shoulder, but the high-caliber round had sufficient velocity and power to pass through her and rip into the Russian. It knocked him backward on the rolling deck, causing him to lose his grip on both the submachine gun and the wounded girl as he struggled to keep his footing.

  The weapon tumbled from his grasp and Nadia collapsed onto the fiberglass deck, giving Sandor the opportunity to fire off two more rounds. The Russian had fallen to his knees so the rounds sailed high. Sandor stood for a better angle, but before he could take aim he heard a loud burst of gunfire and saw the Russian’s chest and face rip open. Only then did Nadia manage to get to her feet, her right shoulder stained with blood, the Uzi in her left hand.

  CHAPTER THIRTY-NINE

  SHARM EL-SHEIKH, EGYPT

  THE SITUATION WAS complicated, even by the murky standards of Farrar’s world.

  Ronny Sudakov had chartered a dive boat from Captain Sadiki, sending out three of his men and Jordan Sandor. His expectation was that the boat would return with those three men carrying Sandor’s corpse and a tragic story about the American’s horrific diving accident.

  Instead, one of the Russians was missing somewhere in the depths of the Red Sea, the other two had been shot dead—one with his own weapon—and both Sadiki and his niece were now in the local hospital being treated for wounds sustained in the battle.

  And Sandor was missing.

  As Farrar towed Sadiki’s boat to shore and Sandor tended to the wounds of Nadia and her uncle, the four of them dealt with the obvious problem—how they would explain what happened to the authorities.

  They agreed that Sadiki and Nadia would say their boat was boarded by armed men in masks shortly after the divers went over the side. When the four divers returned, all three Russians were killed in the struggle, one of whom was thrown overboard, and the assault team then drove the boat out to sea where they met their own vessel and made off with the American. Sadiki and his niece were shot in the crossfire and left for dead.

  Sandor did his best to keep the details simple, knowing that Sudakov’s men would ultimately get to Sadiki and his niece. Inconsistencies, hesitation, or even reluctance to tell their tale, could be fatal.

  Convinced they had done the best they could, and with Farrar’s boat coming within sight of the dock, it was time for Sandor to disappear. Just before he slid over the side to make his own way to shore, he apologized one more time to Nadia.

  “He was going to kill me,” the girl said. “I know that. You did the right thing.”

  Sandor nodded. “Sorry I had to hit you first. It was the only shot I had at his chest.”

  “Well then,” she said with a weak smile, “I suppose I should be grateful you weren’t aiming at
his head.”

  ————

  Word of the shootings had spread all over town by the time Farrar met with the police and harbor patrol at the hospital. He answered their questions, staying with the script, then asked if he might go get a change of clothes. Since he was not accused of firing on anyone and thus far had been described as the person responsible for rescuing Sadiki and Nadia, they let him go for the time being.

  Despite being released Farrar assumed he was being watched—by the authorities or Sudakov or both—so he made a phone call and arranged for one of his associates to meet him a couple of blocks from the Ritz-Carlton. They passed on the street and, without exchanging a word, Farrar handed off the keycard to Sandor’s hotel room. Then he hailed a cab and returned to his shop on Naama Heights Street.

  Sandor, who had made his way there on foot by a circuitous route through the backstreets, was waiting in the small office, anxious for news.

  “So far we are all right,” Farrar told him.

  “What about Lilli? Is she at the hotel?”

  “We’ll know soon enough. I gave the job to Malik.”

  “Reliable?”

  “Very. Although I trust you left nothing of value in your room.” He shrugged his shoulders. “Malik is a good man in his way, but everything has its price. Whatever you left behind you will certainly never see again.”

  “The least of our troubles,” Sandor conceded. “My go bag is in your safe, so I’m fine. Right now I could use a chilled vodka or an aged bourbon. What have you got?”

  Farrar called in the girl and arranged for two Stolis on ice. Then they spent the time reassessing their risks.

  “I didn’t expect things to get so far out of control,” Sandor said. “I never meant to put you at risk.”

  The Egyptian forced a smile. “I knew very well who I was dealing with.”

  Sandor forced a tired smile. “You mean the Russians, of course.”

  “Yes, of course.”

  “And you did have the foresight to bring the rifle.”