“We won’t let them go south.”
“I wish I had as much confidence in our plan as you do.”
Snoop sat in the passenger chair and opened his soda. “It’s a good plan. I oughta know; I helped you plan it.”
I sat in the pilot’s chair and opened my own soda. “If the plan’s so damned good, why didn’t you tell Janet what we were going to do?”
He smirked. “I didn’t want to worry her with the details.”
“How do you think she’ll feel if she has to come identify your body at the Miami-Dade morgue?”
Snoop reached across the walkway and put his hand on my shoulder. “Chuck, just because I’m not a cop anymore doesn’t mean I feel any different about right and wrong. I want to make the world a better place, just like you.” He took a drink and set his can in the drink holder.
“Yeah, but I’ve got no dependents. There’s no one who counts on me.”
“How about Clint?”
Clint Watkins was my informal foster son, more like a younger brother. I’d found him on the street as a homeless teenage dropout when he was a witness in another case I handled. I took a liking to him and, since he had no other family to speak of, I decided to send him through a private high school. “Grandpa and Grandma McCrary will take care of him if it comes to that. You’re changing the subject. Janet and the girls depend on you.”
“I’ve got a lot of life insurance. Janet would be a rich widow.”
“Janet and your daughters would find that cold comfort if you’re dead.”
“Yeah, they’ll be plenty pissed at you if I get myself killed.” He took another drink.
“For all we know, Snoop, Gracie could’ve been the one who thought this whole thing up. She’s pretty smart.”
“If I didn’t know better, I’d think you were trying to talk me out of this, Chuck.”
I ignored his comment. “And Bob isn’t blameless in this.” I chugged more Diet Dr Pepper.
“Nope, betting on his own team proves that he ain’t the sharpest knife in the drawer.” He pointed a finger at me. “But his heart’s in the right place.”
“You think these two flawed lovers deserve you risking your life?”
Snoop paused a minute. “Why are you here, Chuck?”
“It’s what I do. I could no more change that than I could become a unicorn. In grade school, I defended smaller kids from bullies. I’ve always been the knight errant.”
“Well, there you go. It’s what guys like us do.”
“I’m happy to have you, buddy.” I finished my drink, crushed the aluminum can, and dropped it in the recycle sack. “Let’s finish stowing our gear.”
By the time the sun set at 6:05 p.m., we had cleared the breakwater at the end of the Port City ship channel. I turned the Gator Raider Too south and pushed the throttles to the firewall. In a few seconds, she climbed up on plane. The Double Scotch lay at anchor sixty-five miles away as the crow flies, but we had to race eighty miles or more to reach her. I could make the first seventy-five miles in four hours. The last few, we would play by ear.
At nine o’clock, my radar showed that Elliott Key had angled back to the west. I steered straight south and watched for the navigation beacons at the entrance to Caesar’s Creek, the passage between Elliott Key and Old Rhodes Key. Even though we were two miles out in the Atlantic Ocean, the water on either side of the channel was only a foot deep. If we grounded out here, we’d have to wait for daylight to get a tow. The whole rescue would be screwed. I pulled the throttles back to idle. Gator Raider Too came off plane and surfed a few yards on her own wake as the wave we had created caught the boat and swept us ahead. We followed the red and green beacons through the narrow channel into the south end of Biscayne Bay.
I called Marie Leonard on the satellite phone I had acquired that afternoon. “Marie, Chuck here. We’re five miles south of the Double Scotch’s last reported position. Move out.”
“We’re jumping off now, sergeant. See you on the flip side.”
This wasn’t Afghanistan; this was Biscayne Bay, for crissakes. What could possibly go wrong?
Chapter 38
My radar showed the Double Scotch two miles ahead. It was 11:00 p.m. and the moon wouldn’t rise for a couple of hours. I killed the lights. In five minutes, our eyes would fully dilate. The Raider continued at idle speed. I glanced back at our wake. Without the moon, it would be invisible from fifty yards or more.
I made out the mega-yacht’s anchor lights in the distance. The wind was four knots from the northeast. The ship must’ve been swinging on a single anchor. She pointed straight into the wind, as I’d hoped. So far, so good.
Snoop pointed. “One o’clock. I see the lights. Yeah, there’s two of them.” The two helicopters had risen over the horizon as they cruised south from Biscayne Key toward Elliott Key.
“Tell them to hang where they are for now.”
“Roger.” He picked up the satellite phone. “Candle One, Archer says to hang there for now.”
“Roger, Archer.”
I angled off to the northwest to cross the mega-yacht’s stern a half mile behind. I watched as the anchor lights on its bow and stern got closer together. I used them like a nautical range marker. The bow light disappeared first. I continued until I had lined up the Double Scotch’s stern light with its masthead light. Now we approached from directly astern. Right on target.
I pulled the throttles back to idle. “Call Dick. Tell him to start the dance.”
“Candle One, Archer says to proceed.”
I pointed straight ahead. “We’re three hundred yards off, Snoop. We’ll be there in three minutes.”
Ahead, the two helicopters lit their strobe lights and moved closer to the ship, approaching from the bow. From our angle they lined up with the ship’s two visible anchor lights. The strobe lights rose and fell like the opposite ends of a seesaw. It was a mesmerizing dance in the night sky—I hoped. I had instructed Marie and Dick to stay at least five hundred yards away from the ship and to remain above five hundred feet. I tried to convince myself they were in no danger. Even if someone on the Double Scotch tried to shoot them, they were out of handgun range. If the shooter had a rifle, which I doubted, it should be an impossible shot with the ’copters dancing up and down. And, hopefully, the shooter wouldn’t know the distance to the target. At least, that was the plan.
For two minutes, the helicopters danced in front of the ship. The thump-thump-thumps of the choppers sent a shudder of chills across my back. This wasn’t Afghanistan and I wasn’t in the Triple Seven anymore. I heard the slight change in pitch when each of the pilots turned their cyclics to change from falling to rising and vice versa. I reminded myself that it wasn’t Iraq either.
Snoop scrambled onto the bow, line in hand. He glanced back at me and nodded. I could barely make him out in the darkness.
When we were fifty yards off, I called Dick on the sat phone. “Archer to Candle One.”
“Candle One here.”
“Phase two,” I said and hung up.
Thirty seconds later, I pulled the left throttle to neutral and spun the wheel to the left. I killed both engines as the boat turned. The bow swung across the swim platform and the Raider turned and drifted sideways toward the ship.
Snoop stepped onto the swim platform and snubbed the line to a cleat. He moved to catch the stern line I tossed him and snubbed it at the other end of the platform.
I grabbed both our gear bags and stepped onto the platform. I pulled my Ka-Bar knife and slashed a rip in the Zodiac tender’s fabric. No one would be chasing us in that tender. The one on the bow was smaller and would take longer to launch.
I handed Snoop his bag. “Show time.”
Chapter 39
As we climbed the steps from the swim platform to the main deck, one of the helicopter’s engines would roar louder, then the other. I couldn’t see them from back here, but I knew that in three minutes, they would rise like a two-stage skyrocket towards the star
s to head back out to sea. We had to work fast.
We snuck along the walkway outside the main salon and slid open the door at the front. Snoop stood guard at the top of the stairs while I went down to the lower deck to search the guest staterooms. There were four decks. The lower deck had the thirty-foot Zodiac at the rear that I had just disabled, beside the swim platform where we had tied up. In front of that was the engine room. Four guest staterooms were midships and five crew cabins were at the front of the yacht. The main deck had the lounges, salon, dining room, kitchen, gym, and media center. The bridge deck had the bridge in front, another salon midships, and the owner’s stateroom and lounge at the back. The sun deck had a hot tub, another dining area al fresco, bar, and sun lounges.
Snoop and I figured that Graciela would be in one of four staterooms on the lower deck. Two of the guest staterooms had king-sized beds, so we figured she’d be in one of those. The first stateroom was dark. Closing the door behind me, I took a deep breath through my nose. Nothing. It was unoccupied.
I cracked the door to number two. I smelled the same perfume I’d noticed in Bob and Gracie’s hotel suite and in her rental car. I slipped into the room. Gracie must’ve gone to the bow to watch the helicopters. She had to be bored out of her mind after so many days on the yacht and, like the crew, she would want to see anything out of the ordinary. I had counted on that distraction to allow us to board the mega-yacht unnoticed.
I stepped into a closet and closed the door, peering through the louvers. Too late, I saw the footprints of my size-twelve boat shoes imprinted on the plush carpet. Anyone coming in with Gracie would have to be blind not to notice.
I heard soft footsteps outside. The latch on the stateroom door clicked. Shadows from the opening door moved across the carpet. The latch clicked again.
I saw Graciela’s legs from the knees down as she walked to the bar. I heard the refrigerator door open.
I opened the closet door and stepped onto the plush carpet. “Gracie,” I whispered.
She jumped back and dropped a bottle of Pinot Grigio. It rolled across the carpet. “Holy Christ!”
I picked up the wine bottle and put it on the bar. “I’ve come to take you home.”
Gracie was in the same outfit I had seen on the hotel security video when she disappeared from the parking garage. “Chuck! What the hell are you doing here?”
“I’ve come to take you home. Do you have sneakers? Those spike heels won’t do.”
She looked down at her shoes. “How did you get here?”
“I have a boat tied up at the swim platform at the back. Now, do you have sneakers? If not, you’ll have to go barefoot.”
“I have sneakers.” She moved to the closet and pointed at a pair of boat shoes on a shelf. “But why do you want to take me home? I’m just fine.”
I had been afraid of this. She didn’t know moonshine from moon pies.
I took both her hands in mine. “Gracie, when the Super Bowl is over, Vicente Vidali won’t need you anymore. You’re an unnecessary complication. He’ll kill you and use your body for shark bait.”
She scoffed and pulled away. “This isn’t some gangster movie, Chuck. This is the real world. Even a man like Vic wouldn’t do that. I’m just his guest for a few days.”
“Gracie, look at me.”
She did.
“There’s a reason I’m wearing this bulletproof vest.” I patted my body armor. “Vidali won’t want to lose you. I’m guessing he gave orders to the crew not to let you leave. That’s why he anchored the yacht five miles off the coast. He didn’t want you to be tempted to swim for shore.”
“Well, he’s not very smart then. I don’t swim that well.”
“Gracie, Vidali plans to make Bob throw the Super Bowl game by threatening to harm you. Believe me when I say, Bob’s not gonna throw the game. But whether Vidali’s threats work or not, you’re dead when he doesn’t need you anymore.”
“I don’t believe you. Vic promised.”
“Gracie, Vidali kills people. He couldn’t care less what happens to you. If fact, he’d prefer you dead—you’d pose less of a risk that this scheme comes back to bite him in the ass.” I grabbed her hands again. “He. Will. Kill. You.”
Her mouth opened, closed, opened again. She grabbed the boat shoes. “I’ll put them on.”
She took a bag from the closet and set it on the bed. She grabbed a hot pink, raw silk jacket from the closet and began to fold it.
“Gracie, we can’t take anything but you. Leave everything else. Put on the damn sneakers. We don’t have much time.”
She looked back at the open closet. I could tell she was having a hard time coming to terms with leaving her clothes.
“Gracie, you can replace your clothes. But Bob can’t replace your life. Now put the goddamned shoes on.”
She did.
I pulled a bulletproof vest from the gear bag and handed it to her. “I’ll help you put this on.”
“My God. That’s a bulletproof vest.”
“I hope so, and I hope you won’t need it.” I helped her into the vest.
When I opened the door, I heard footsteps above her cabin. Someone was walking on the main deck. The crew cabins had their own stairway down from the bow. I had counted on the crew retiring for the night when the helicopter show was over.
“Was the whole crew at the front of the boat watching the helicopters?”
“Yeah, I guess…Was that thing with the helicopters your idea?”
“Shh. Keep your voice down. Yes, I arranged that to distract the crew while we boarded the ship.”
“We?”
“My partner Snoop Snopolski is with me. Middle-aged guy, former cop dressed like me—also in a bulletproof vest.”
I thought out loud. “Now someone on the crew is making one last walk around the deck before he turns in for the night—I hope. How many others are on board?”
“There’s a steward, a pilot, a cook, and a few deckhands. Maybe half a dozen in all.”
“Are you sure?”
She scowled at me. “No, I’m not sure. I don’t pay any attention to those things. Hell, the only ones I’ve seen the last three days are the steward and the cook. Oh, and another guy, maybe a deckhand or something.”
“There could be five or six that you saw. Is Vidali onboard?”
“He left a few days ago. Tuesday, I think it was.” She finished tying her shoes and grabbed her purse. “All the days run together. I’m not sure what today is.”
“It’s Friday.” I glanced at my watch. “For ten more minutes. What about Dante and Pistolet, Vidali’s bodyguards? They on board?”
“Dante and another creepy-looking guy left with Vic. I haven’t seen any of them since they left.”
“Good. That’s less people to fight.”
“Fight? We might have to fight?” She brought a hand to her cheek.
“Not you, us. That’s why Snoop and I are sneaking around here. That’s why the bulletproof vests.” I peeked through the door again. “Let’s go. Keep quiet.”
Chapter 40
We climbed the stairs to the front of the salon on the main deck. I heard a commotion from the walkway outside. I put a hand on Gracie’s arm. “Go through the main salon toward the stern and out the back door to the lounge. Go down those stairs at the rear. My boat is tied up at the swim platform at the bottom. Get onboard. You’ll find life jackets in the cabin. Put one on over the vest. Do not take the vest off. Stay in the cabin out of sight. We’ll be along as soon as we can. Now go.”
I pulled a Glock 17 from my shoulder holster and grabbed a blackjack from my gear bag. I glanced to make sure that Gracie was moving. She wasn’t.
“Gracie, get the hell out of here. Now.”
She ran off through the salon.
I charged through the door to the walkway. Snoop was wrestling with the crewman whose footsteps I’d heard. The two men rolled on the narrow walkway, bounced between the fiberglass hull on one side and the stainless st
eel braces and cables of the outside railing.
“¡Ayuda me!” the crewman shouted. Help me!
I clubbed him twice with the blackjack, dropped it to the deck to free my right hand, and grabbed the back of his shirt. I pulled him off Snoop. “Help me throw him over.”
We heaved the groggy crewman over the railing.
“You think he’ll drown, Chuck?”
“I hope so. There’s a half dozen more crew. Let’s get out of here.” I abandoned the blackjack and sprinted through the salon, following the route I had sent Gracie down, Snoop close behind. I grabbed the gear bag as we passed.
“Where’s the girl?” Snoop hollered.
“Already on the boat.”
We pounded through the salon to the back lounge. I ran around the hot tub and jumped over the six feet of steps that led down to the swim platform. The fiberglass cracked and groaned beneath my feet as I landed. It wasn’t designed for a two-hundred-pound man to jump on it. Snoop landed beside me and the platform cracked more and broke in the middle. Shards of fiberglass splinters flew through the air.
I clambered onto my boat and cranked the engines. No time to blow the bilge.
The platform where Snoop stood broke away from the ship as he jumped to the end. Snoop loosed the bow line and threw it over the railing onto the boat. He turned to run to the stern line and stopped at the edge of the broken swim platform, now dangling from two stainless steel braces.
My heart sank as I saw the stern line still snubbed to the cleat on the broken platform. There was no way for Snoop to reach it.
“Forget it, Snoop. Jump on.”
“We’re still tied to the ship.”
“You’ll have to cut the line from this end. Now jump, dammit!”
A bullet shattered the side window, not two feet from where I stood at the wheel.
I turned and snapped three shots at a gunman standing next to the hot tub. The hot tub cracked, then broke open. Water flooded the deck and down the steps as the gunman ducked for cover.
Snoop jumped onboard. I pushed the throttles to the firewall, knocking Snoop of his feet. The Raider leapt six feet and slammed to a stop. I had hoped the boat’s lunge would either break the stern line or tear the cleat away from my hull. No such luck.
Quarterback Trap (A Carlos McCrary novel Book 3) Page 13