Depth Charge

by Andrew Warren

  When they were satisfied no one else was in the building, Caine and Tyler searched for their missing clothes. They finally found their torn, stained garments stuffed in a trash bag in a dingy corridor. Caine dressed first while Tyler kept an eye out for attackers. Then Tyler did the same while Caine provided cover.

  They found Valencia in a cell. She too had been stripped naked except for a dirty bandage around her thigh. She was tied to a metal frame bed on a moldy mattress stained with old blood, and flinched when the door burst open. Her fear was quickly replaced with relief when she saw Tyler.

  “Valencia, you okay?” Tyler asked as he cut her bindings.

  She sat up and rubbed her wrists. "I'll live," she muttered. As she shifted her legs, a hiss of pain escaped her lips. She pulled down the bandage and checked her wound. The bullet seemed to have gone right through the muscle. It wasn’t bleeding much, but the wound was red with infection. “You're a good shot,” she said to Caine through gritted teeth. She looked up at him. "I assume you weren't trying to kill me. The wound is through and through.”

  “I made a split second decision,” Caine muttered. “Glad it was the right one.

  “I think it's infected though,” she said, her face a grimace of pain. "This shithole isn't exactly sterile. Gonna need some antibiotics." When neither man said a word, she glanced down at her sweating, naked body. “Some clothes would be nice too."

  “Right,” Caine said, averting his eyes. "I'm on it." He felt like he was moving in slow motion. A thick haze clouded his thoughts. The adrenaline rush of the last hour was wearing off… He had been acting on instinct and muscle memory until now. The sharp, stinging agony of the hammer blows had shifted to a dull, throbbing ache. He knew the pain would not go away anytime soon. But he had to push through.

  They were not yet safe.

  “Caine,” Tyler added before he left. “I’ll stay here with Valencia and check this wound.”

  Caine nodded, then left the room and searched the warehouse. Eventually he found their wallets and passports, along with Valencia’s police badge and car keys. He finally found her clothes as well, piled on a battered wooden table. Unfortunately, their weapons were nowhere to be seen. After scouring the entire building, the closest thing to medicine he could fine was a half-empty bottle of tequila.

  He returned to find Tyler examining Valencia’s wound. “Well, she's right. The bullet went straight through, missed the bone and major arteries.”

  “It still hurts like hell,” Valencia gasped.

  Caine handed over the tequila. “This is the best I can do for now. Pour it over the wound. It should clean it out."

  Tyler took the bottle and splashed the alcohol on both the entry and exit holes. Valencia cried out as he worked on her. Tyler tore the sleeves off his shirt and wrapped them around the wound as a makeshift bandage. Then he helped her dress.

  “Time to move,” Tyler commanded.

  Valencia leaned on Tyler as Caine led them out of the building. Outside the blazing sun overhead was harsh and bright. After being locked in the dark for so long, the light was blinding. When their eyes adjusted to the glare, they found themselves on the streets of Tumaco. The pavement was cracked and broken. The neighboring buildings were colorful but decrepit. Their rusted, corrugated iron roofs sloped inward, collapsing under their own weight. Piles of rubble blocked the sidewalks, and a tangle of humming wires crisscrossed over their heads.

  “I know where we are,” Valencia said. “My car is not far from here.”

  They hobbled down a few streets until they reached Valencia’s battered Toyota Landcruiser. The keys Caine had grabbed in the warehouse opened the door. He drove while Tyler used the vehicle’s first aid kit to do a better job at treating Valencia’s wound.

  “What now?” she asked.

  “Now we do what we came for,” Caine said, keeping an eye on the dusty streets outside. “I have the coordinates where the Chinese sub is supposed to collect the cocaine shipment.”

  “Chinese submarine? What are you talking about?” Valencia asked.

  “China’s working with the Columbian drug cartels. Or at least a rogue sub commander is,” Caine said as they spun around a corner. “I need weapons and a speedboat if I’m going to stop them.”

  “Can you give me the coordinates?” she asked.

  Caine paused. He knew the woman had no choice; her family had been threatened. But still…

  She betrayed you, whispered a voice in the back of his head. You should cut her loose, now. She can't be trusted…

  Tyler glanced up at him. His piercing blue eyes met Caine's emerald stare in the rearview mirror. He seemed to know what Caine was thinking.

  "She can help, Caine."

  He spun the wheel, turning the car down another narrow, crumbling street. He glanced at the woman in the backseat, then repeated the coordinates from memory.

  "That’s about fifteen kilometers northwest of here,” she replied. “Out in the Pacific Ocean.”

  Caine glanced at the clock on the car. According to Su Liao’s information, he had about an hour before the transaction took place. “Doesn’t give me a lot of time.”

  “Doesn't give us a lot of time, you mean” Tyler said with mock indignation.

  “Jack, you have to get Valencia to a hospital. She needs proper medical treatment, and you need to check on her family. After that, I need you to get back to the airport.”

  Tyler frowned. “Why the airport?”

  “That submarine carries six torpedoes. Until they load the cocaine, each one of those tubes is capable of firing. I need an exfil plan that doesn’t involve water. Otherwise I’m a sitting duck.”

  “Got it. Roger that.”

  Valencia shifted in her seat. She lifted a tarp in the back of the Landcruiser revealing Glock 19 pistols and M16A2 assault rifles. “You’ll need these,” she said calmly.

  "That's my girl!" Tyler said. He grabbed one of the assault rifles, slotted in a magazine, then chambered a round. He passed a pistol and assault rifle up to Caine, along with several spare magazines. "It's like Christmas morning!"

  “I'll need transportation. A speedboat, something fast," Caine said.

  The woman smiled. "I can help with that too. Turn right at the next intersection."

  Valencia directed him to a jetty at the edge of town. Several brightly colored speedboats bobbed in the green water, moored to a rickety wooden dock.

  Caine parked the vehicle, and leapt out the driver’s side door. Tyler scrambled into the front seat, and grabbed the wheel. “Good luck Caine," he said through the open window. "See you in a few!”

  He gunned the engine and tore off. Caine watched as the Landcruiser vanished in a cloud of dust, heading back towards the heart of Tumaco.

  Then he turned and raced down the jetty, assault rifle at the ready. He spotted a luxury speedboat tied off near the end of the dock. The sleek vessel was thirty-six feet in length, and sported dual 250 horsepower engines.

  Exactly what he needed.

  A pair of men wearing open Hawaiian shirts and tight speedo bathing suits sat in the back of the boat. They were pulling frosted cans of beer from a crumpled box, and looked up in surprise as Caine charged up to the boat.

  Caine pointed his assault rifle at the presumed owners. They dropped their beers and raised their hands. The cans bounced across the deck, shooting jets of pressurized alcohol into the air.

  Caine sized the pair up as he peered down the rifle's barrel. A chunky, gold watch sparkled on one of the men's wrists. Expensive watch, speed boat… Drug dealers, he thought. Maybe smugglers. No one else could afford this stuff.

  “Sorry, amigos,” Caine growled, “I need to borrow your boat.”

  The men crawled up onto the jetty, keeping their hands raised in the air. Caine turned the starter, and the engines growled to life. He cast off the mooring ropes, keeping the rifle trained on the two men. Then he got behind the wheel, pushed the throttle forward, and sped out into the open water. As the
boat angled towards the ocean, it drenched the dock in a spray of water.

  He quickly left the jetty in his wake. Once he was beyond the sand bars and river mouth, the water grew dark and choppy. Caine checked the GPS coordinates on the boat’s navigation system. He turned northwest, following the course Su Liao had given him.

  He hoped her intel would prove reliable.

  Caine squinted as the sun's golden kiss reflected off the rippling water. The salt spray stung his skin as the bow bounced across the water. Behind him, the twin motors roared like angry beasts.

  The noise didn't bother him. At this point, stealth was not a part of his plans.

  Besides, he thought, if Su Liao's coordinates are right, things are about to get even louder…

  Chapter Twenty

  COLOMBIAN TERRITORIAL WATERS, PACIFIC OCEAN

  Captain Zhao Jianyu stood on the deck of the Hai Long, watching three ‘go-fast’ speedboats approach from the southeast. He knew each cartel vessel was loaded with bags of pure cocaine. They also carried a crew of Colombian thugs, armed with outdated knock-off U.S. weaponry. The men were there to oversee the transfer of drugs to his submarine.

  Zhao stood ramrod straight, and held his hands clasped behind his back. The faintest hint of a smile curled across his lips.

  Soon, he thought… Soon all my planning and sacrifice will bear fruit. My mission, my true mission, will be a success.

  His only regret was that no one would ever know… When he pulled this off, it would be the largest single shipment of pure cocaine ever to enter the United States of America. He would flood the market. Street prices would drop. More Americans than ever would turn to the illicit drug, saddling more of the population with a crippling addiction. In his own way, he was striking a blow against the country, making it just that little bit more ineffective.

  But more importantly, he would become rich. Wealthier than he had ever dreamed possible.

  The shimmering boats streaked closer, leaving white trails across the water. Zhao glanced back at his men. For his own protection, several sailors were stationed on deck, carrying QBZ-95 Assault Rifles and QCW-05 Assault Guns. He had illegally stowed the weapons onboard for this mission.

  His men had even mounted a QW-1 Vanguard man-portable air-defense system to a bracket on the conning tower. The weapon had required several exorbitant bribes to secure, but the extra firepower was worth it. Zhao had little reason to trust El Lobizon's men. And even if the Cartel didn’t prove to be a problem, the Hai Long was vulnerable when surfaced. Colombian or United States’ naval or air forces could appear at any moment.

  To mitigate the risk, he didn't intend to stay surfaced for long. The plan was simple… load the almost ten tons of pure cocaine into the torpedo tubes as quickly as possible, then dive and head for California. Every second counted, and he had drilled his men relentlessly on the journey to this point.

  Like silver bullets, the go-fast boats screamed across the water. They moved faster than any vessel Zhao had ever seen. As they neared the floating submarine, their motors finally died down, and they slowed to a halt. One of the chugging boats drifted close enough to pull alongside the Hai Long. Zhao knew the other two vessels would hang back until they knew everything was proceeding as planned. Both sides were cautious.

  One of the thugs on the boat threw a rope to Zhao’s men. They expertly tied it off, allowing the vessel to berth alongside the larger submarine. A gaunt, pale-faced man climbed onto the deck of the Type 093 prototype submarine. He wore a white long sleeve shirt, matching pants, and polished boots. Zhao spotted the butt of a pistol tucked into the back of his pants, the only visible weapon he carried.

  The man turned to face Zhao. Up close, he looked even paler. His face was as white as a corpse and his eyes were two dark pools of ink. There was something about the way he moved, and his eyes darted over Zhao's men, observing everything around him. Zhao gritted his teeth. This man was not like the others. He was military trained… He was dangerous.

  “I’m Supay,” he said, introducing himself in English in a harsh, almost whispery growl. English was the only language they both understood, which was fine with Zhao. The last thing he wanted to hear was this hired gun's mangled attempts at speaking Chinese.

  “I know who you are,” Zhao snapped. “Carlos Supay. I was expecting your superior.”

  “He trusts me with the details of the mission,” Supay answered, his voice calm and smug. “He could not be with us today, as he’s busy fixing a problem you should have dealt with yourself.”

  Zhao paused, aware his men were watching him for any pre-arranged signals. If Zhao’s hands touched his face, that meant he didn’t trust the Colombians. In which case, his men had orders to shoot every last one of them dead. He almost touched his face in that moment. Instead, he asked, “And what problem is that?”

  “The girl. Su Liao. You said she was not a threat."

  “She isn’t,” Zhao responded calmly. “She provided the fake path across the Pacific which we are transmitting back to Beijing even now. Holding her parents in one of our reeducation camps was exactly the persuasion she required to do her job. She'll keep her mouth shut.”

  Supay’s eyes grew even darker. “But she didn’t, Zhao,” he hissed through gritted teeth. “She was in Bolivia two days ago, finalizing her defection to America.”

  Zhao struggled to hide his surprise. A tremor ran across his lips, and his eyes narrowed. He was stunned by this revelation. He had made it clear to Su Liao that if she did not do exactly as instructed, her parents would be tortured in the most horrific means possible. Then they would be executed.

  His face flushed red. He clenched his fists behind his back. He was enraged by her audacity, by her will to defy him. “I do hope for your sake, Supay, that you have her in your custody.”

  Supay shook his head. “No. Three CIA agents snatched Liao right from under our noses. Luckily we captured two of the Americans. They are both dead now. But they revealed Su Liao was already in America. She is under U.S. Government protection.”

  “Then you should have killed her when you had the chance," Zhou shouted.

  “If you had taken care of her in the first place, we wouldn't have this problem," Supay hissed back.

  The two furious men stared at each other in silence. Finally, Supay licked his lips, and spoke. “To ensure there are no further fuck ups, I’m coming with you.”

  Every muscle in Zhao’s body tensed involuntarily. “What?”

  The skeletal-faced man nodded. “You’ve let us down. Me, and one man of my choosing, will board your submarine. We will ensure the merchandise makes it to California as agreed.”

  Zhao’s fists clenched in anger, cracking his knuckles. “If you let Liao escape, she will know where the shipment rendezvous will be, and tell the Americans—”

  “We’ve already changed the pick-up location and the time,” Supay interrupted. “To ensure there are no more difficulties, you will only be told the precise coordinates once we are on our way.”

  Zhao considered these new demands. Despite his anger, they seemed reasonable enough. If Supay and his man proved problematic, it would not be difficult for his sailors to murder them and toss their bodies into the sea. But he doubted it would come to that. Seeing this mission through to its profitable conclusion was in both their best interests.

  But there was still one thing Zhao couldn’t understand. Why had Su Liao defied him? She was weak… she was nothing. It infuriated him that a mere woman was complicating his plans.

  “We load the cocaine now,” Supay insisted. “The time for talk is over.”

  Zhao once again considered touching his face, giving the order to have the Colombians murdered here and now. His men could still load the cocaine onboard, still take it to America. The only problem was, Zhao had no idea who to sell it too. He needed a buyer.

  No. Zhao decided he had to continue with this relationship for now. The wealth and the power it would bring him was more important than losin
g a little pride over this momentary annoyance.

  “Zhao?” Supay asked again. "I said we—"

  “Fine. I accept your conditions—”

  A sailor interrupted them. "Captain, there's another vessel heading this way. It's coming in fast!"

  “Is that one of yours?” Zhao asked.

  Supay turned. He squinted, trying to identify who piloted the boat roaring across the water. He seemed to recognize the man in the speedboat tearing at breakneck speed towards them.

  “No,” Supay said, his voice cold as ice. “That’s one of the American spies.”

  “I thought they were dead?”

  “I made a mistake.” Supay pulled his pistol from his belt and racked the slide, chambering the first round. “I won't make the same mistake twice."

  Chapter Twenty-One

  Caine powered the speedboat through the choppy waters, pushing the odometer to sixty miles per hour. He could see the submarine now, and three custom-made go-fast boats moored nearby. The long, narrow go-fasts were the latest tool in the drug cartels’ arsenal. Each boat was custom-built for speed, designed to outrun Coast Guard and Naval vessels as they smuggled cocaine into the United States. If it came to a chase, Caine knew his boat would be no match against them in speed or maneuverability.

  As he sped closer, he spotted frantic activity on the deck of the submarine. The criminals must have seen him by now. Caine ducked low behind the dashboard. He knew what was coming.

  A split-second later, bullets ricocheted off the bow. The sloped windshield exploded above him, raining glass shards over his body. There was a brief pause, then a second hail of gunfire struck the boat. Caine pushed on, piloting the boat towards a gap between two of the go-fasts anchored nearby. The engines roared even louder as he increased his speed. His free hand gripped a five-gallon drum of fuel, one of four he had readied earlier.