by V. B. Tenery
He turned his phone to Forbes and Joe so they could read the message.
“With the EPIRB equipped life jackets on board,” Joe said. “The coordinates should lead the cutter right to them.”
The pilot nodded. “That jives with the signals we’re getting.” She flipped a button, and a green radar screen appeared. Three blips flashed, two close together, one miles away.
“My guess is the two closest together are our targets,” the pilot said. “The signals are coming from the boat in the lead.”
Matt stepped closer. “That should be Crawford’s boat.”
“Head for the first boat.” Matt pointed to the second blip on the screen. “The boat that’s chasing them is moving in quickly.”
Forbes tapped the pilot on the shoulder. “Let’s see if we can’t intercept the boat in the lead.”
“What does she mean by last chance?”
Matt shrugged and gazed out across the angry waves. “Don’t know. Perhaps the name of the boat. That makes sense since the kidnapper’s first name is Chance.”
Forbes nodded. “I’ll check it out.” He moved away and made a call.
Minutes dragged into an hour before a white blot appeared to their port side. Forbes handed Matt a pair of binoculars. “Could that be them?”
The rough water and dark sky made it difficult for Matt to know for certain, even with night vision goggles. “I see two people on board. We have to get closer.”
“No problem,” the pilot said. “We should intercept them in ten minutes.”
As the Coast Guard cutter closed the gap to the Last Chance, a red powerboat, the other blip on the radar screen, appeared about twenty yards behind the cabin cruiser, closing fast.
Forbes shouted above the wind. “Say a prayer that we reach them before those guys do.”
Matt fought to focus the binoculars in the turbulence. The magnified lens zeroed in on the speedboat, the occupants hoisted automatic weapons directed at the cabin cruiser. He stepped to the helm and cast an urgent glance at the pilot. “We can’t let them board that boat.”
The Coast Guard cutter increased speed and steered on an intercept course with the speedboat.
“Looks like a Mark V used by Special Forces,” Forbes said. “I wonder where that scum got hold of that.”
Maybe the FBI Director’s fast and furious program supplied the cartel with more than just guns, Matt thought, but kept his mouth shut.
The Mark V crew seemed to notice the cutter for the first time and burst forward to put the Last Chance between them and the ship.
Forbes swore under his breath.
The Last Chance
Gulf of Mexico
The red boat moved ever closer, and Sara’s frantic gaze searched the deck for weapons and landed on three items. A fire extinguisher, a flare gun, and a harpoon.
She pulled the weapons close under the shelter of the bridge to keep the rain out of her eyes. Her aim had to be perfect. Every shot had to take out one or more of the slavers. Wind-lashed rain still invaded her shelter, but it was tons better than standing on the open deck.
The speedboat drew close enough to launch a grappling hook. Both boats tossed furiously in the choppy waves and the hook fell short, dropping heavily into the sea.
The man pulled the hook back onboard just as a six-foot high wave sent the speedboat high on its curl, landing it into a trough mere yards from the cabin cruiser. The man sent the grappler sailing into the air. This time it attached to the rear of the Last Chance.
Sara dashed to the back of the boat and tried to detach it, but the metal points had imbedded into the hull. And she didn’t have a knife to cut the rope.
Using the lead on the hook, one of the pirates pulled their boat alongside and tried to board. Sara waited two feet away, and when the man stepped on deck, she drew back the fire extinguisher and hit him in the face, sending him backward into the water. The force of the blow almost took her overboard with him, but a wave hurled her backward, landing her hard on deck.
Curses spewed from her pursuers over the howl of the wind.
She let out a yelp of fear as another pirate stepped on deck. In the turbulence, her weapons had slid out of reach, and she scrambled for the harpoon. The man’s eyes widened with fear as Sara grasped the weapon. He rushed forward to intercept her before she could fire, but the raging sea pitched him backward into a second man trying to board. Sara aimed the weapon, took a deep breath, closed her eyes, and fired. When she opened them, the two men had disappeared.
Three men still in the boat and only one remaining weapon.
***
Matt watched powerlessly as Sara battled alone on the storm-tossed cabin cruiser. He swung around to the captain. “Is there a rifle with a scope on board?”
The captain nodded and opened a cabinet behind her. “Here, try this. It’s a Remington MSR surgical precision sniper rifle developed for the military. We haven’t tried it yet, but they tell me it virtually eliminates shooter error. Not sure it’ll work in this weather, though.” She pressed the weapon into Matt’s hand. “Good luck. You’ll need it to make that shot, even with the super-rifle.”
Forbes looked at Matt as if he’d lost his mind. “You’re seriously going to try to take out those guys from here? You’ll run the chance of hitting one of the women.”
This was no time to try out an experimental firearm, but the options were few and dwindling by the minute. Matt glared at Forbes. “Never say never. We’re going to give those women every chance possible until we can board that boat.”
The captain looked at the rifle, then at Matt. “If he can shoot, that gun may be the edge he needs. The instructions say the Tag-Track-Xact system more than doubles the proficiency of a skilled shooter. It accounts for a slew of variables, wind speed, air pressure, and temperature – up to 1200 yards. This will be a great test.”
Joe Wilson slapped the shells into Matt’s hand.
Mind focused, Matt loaded the gun and found it easy to handle, similar to others he’d used in the Rangers. He steadied the rifle against the hull and peered through the scope. Turbulence made it almost impossible to find the target much less hit one. He braced himself and finally the cross-hairs centered on the pirate boarding the cabin cruiser. Trying to get a fix on the wind velocity, he suddenly realized the rifle did the calculation for him and locked on the target.
Matt’s jaw tightened as Sara backed away from the pirate, the flare gun pointed at the man’s chest.
Matt gently squeezed the trigger. The shot hit the mark dead center. The man stumbled, then toppled overboard.
Matt fixed the scope on another man boarding the boat and fired again. The second man went down. The last shot brought a burst of activity from the Mark V driver. He threw the grapple line overboard, made a sharp turn away from the Last Chance, and sped back toward the Mexican coast line.
Forbes expelled a deep breath. “He’s leaving, but my men will be waiting for him when he docks.” He looked over at Matt. “I take back my pessimistic remarks. You a sharp shooter?”
Joe Wilson slapped Matt on the back. “Sniper with the Army Rangers for four years.”
Matt reluctantly handed the rifle back to the captain. “I’ve got to get me one of these.” He shook his head. “But it’ll be bad news for our border patrol if another fast and furious brainstorm lands this gun in the hands of the Mexican drug cartel.”
The Last Chance sat dead in the water, tossed by the wind and waves. When the cutter pulled alongside, Matt boarded first. Gait unsteady, he made his way to the bridge.
Both women, drenched to the skin, clutched the inside railings. Bridge lighting reflected off Sara’s luminous face, lovely despite the trauma she’d just been through. Joe removed his rainproof jacket, wrapped it around Emily, and held her as she released all the tears she’d been too busy to shed.
Sara reached out a hand to Matt and walked straight into his arms, burying her face in his chest. He pulled her close, overwhelmed with emotion. Tha
nk God she was safe. She gazed up at him and wiped away tears mingled with salt water, her voice muffled by his wet shirt. “I thought you’d never come.”
PART THREE
CHAPTER TWENTY-FOUR
FBI War Room
McAllen, Texas
Hours later, wrapped in warm blankets and sipping hot coffee in the FBI war room, Sara sat on a sofa next to Matt her head resting against his shoulder.
Allen Forbes walked over, pulled up a chair, straddled it, and folded his arms across the back. “You ladies up to answering a few questions?”
Sara glanced over at Emily. “I think so.”
“Do you know who kidnapped you?”
“He called himself Tom. That’s all we know.”
“His name’s Chance Thomas Crawford.” Forbes said. “Did he harm either of you in anyway?”
Sara shook her head. “No, we were treated very well. He never tied or gagged us and fed us regularly. We were treated more like guests than prisoners, except for being locked in at night.”
Forbes cocked an eyebrow. “Tell us what happened and how you escaped.”
Sara turned to Emily. “Jump in anytime you want, Em.”
Exhaustion seemed to claim the younger woman, and she shook her head. “You’re doing fine.”
Sara pulled the blanket tighter around her shoulders. “The first morning after we woke up, he apparently knocked us out with some kind of narcotic, we learned that Emily was the target. He didn’t know the name of the man who hired him, or if he did, he didn’t tell us.”
“So Crawford wasn’t behind the kidnapping?”
“No,” Sara said. “He was just a hired gun. Whether it’s true or not, he said we were his first contract kills, and after he brought us to his place, he decided he couldn’t go through with it. He intended to sell us to a white slaver named Garza.”
“I’ve heard of that creep before. So what happened earlier today? How did you get away?”
Sara squeezed the cup to keep her hands from trembling. “The man who hired Tom came to the cabin, supposedly to pay him the balance of the contract money. Instead, he shot Tom. Tom had told the man he killed both of us and dumped our bodies overboard. After the man had gone, Tom unlocked the door and told me where the boat keys were. He’d been shot twice. I think he’s dead.”
The agent shook his head. “Maybe not. When my agents found Crawford’s place, there was no body, and no car. For the record, Crawford called the Coast Guard and told them you were in his boat, headed for the Texas coast.”
“Why didn’t they contact us right away?” Matt asked.
“The call went to the Coast Guard base in Florida. They didn’t know about our operation. They were trying to intercept the Last Chance. The Bureau forwarded the message to the cutter we were on.” Forbes looked from one girl to the other. “You have any clues as to who hired Crawford?”
Emily looked up from her coffee. “Yes. It was Ian Hamilton.”
Matt almost spewed the coffee in his mouth. “How do you know?”
Sara jumped in. “We don’t know for sure. But the man wore a unique blue windbreaker like Ian’s.”
Sara bit her bottom lip, still unwilling to believe the missionary could have been involved. It didn’t fit his character at all, unless he was a very good actor. “Did Ian leave Twin Falls at any time the last couple of days?”
Matt’s brows came together forming worry lines between his eyes. “He left yesterday, before I flew out, headed to the mission outside of Mexico City. He said the pastor there had called with some kind of emergency. Ian told me he’d be back today, unless something else came up.”
Sara set her mug on the coffee table, her mind in turmoil. She’d been moved many times by Ian’s Wednesday chapel services. He’d always seemed sold out to God, leaving his title and wealth behind in England to serve the poor in Mexico. Could he possibly be behind the death of his sister’s family? The jacket and his absence from Twin Falls certainly pointed the finger of guilt at him.
***
Matt rented a suite at the hotel for Sara and Emily to bathe and rest while he took care of getting their clothes dried and pressed, then he called Maddie to give her the good news.
Joe volunteered to call room service for dinner and to stand guard until he returned. Matt wasn’t taking any chances. Probably nothing to fear from Crawford, but the Graysons killer was still at large.
While he waited for the hotel to do an emergency job on the clothing, he made arrangements to charter a plane to take them all back to Dallas Love Field.
He stepped into the hotel restaurant to grab a bite and saw Alan Forbes sitting alone at a table. Alan waved him over. “Join me for a very late dinner, Matt. I don’t think I could look at another slice of pizza tonight. The hotel food is pretty good, although they’ll probably hate us if we order anything that takes a lot of time. I’m going with today’s special, seafood pasta, a salad, and their homemade bread sticks.”
A deflated balloon had more substance than Matt at the moment. Tension and long hours had left him drained. He slid into the booth beside Forbes and released a weary sigh. “I can handle that. You headed back to Dallas tonight?”
“Can’t get a flight out until morning,” Forbes said. “I’ll catch up on lost sleep tonight and head home tomorrow.”
“I’ve chartered a plane to take my crew home tonight. You’re welcome to come with us. It’s a six-seater.”
The waiter arrived, and they placed their order.
“Don’t tempt me, Matt,” Forbes said. “I’d love to take you up on the offer, but I’m not allowed to accept personal gifts. Unfortunately, a free plane ride comes under the heading of personal gifts.”
Matt grinned. “It’s refreshing to know some people in government still obey the rules.”
The agent gave him a sideways glance. “Don’t judge me by my boss.”
They ate in silence, both too tired to expend their energy in conversation while they ate. Matt finished and shoved his plate away. “Why do you think Crawford helped Sara and Emily escape and made that phone call? He had to know they could identify him as their abductor. I don’t have to tell you kidnapping carries a lengthy prison sentence.”
Forbes polished off the last of his breadstick before he replied. “From everything I’ve heard about this guy, he’s not bad to the bone, just disillusioned.” He shrugged. “Perhaps his conscience caught up with him.”
“Whatever his reason, I’m in his debt.” Matt wiped away the frost from his tea glass with his finger. “Without his help, today could have had a very different ending.”
Grayson Manor
Twin Falls, Texas
It was after three when Matt deposited Sara at home then drove Emily to Grayson Manor. When Perkins opened the door, Emily fell into his arms. The old butler’s restraint dropped, and he returned the hug. “Miss Emily, we’ve been so worried.”
She released him and patted his wrinkled cheek. “Me too, Perky.”
His mouth tilted into a slight smile. “You’re tired. Let me get you settled in your room so you can rest.”
She sniffed, and he handed her his handkerchief. “I’ll send someone up with some soup and tea after you’ve had a hot bath.”
“Thank you, Perky, I had a late dinner, but I will take some chamomile tea. Just this once, I’ll let you take care of me.”
Exhaustion written in every line of her body, Emily slowly mounted the stairs.
Matt watched her leave then turned to Perkins. “Where’s Alexander?”
“Right here.” The young man stepped into the entryway, wearing a robe and slippers. “Emily’s home? Thank God she’s safe. Is she all right?”
“Shaken and traumatized, but unharmed,” Matt said. “She’s been through a harrowing experience, but she and Sara are both safe. Is Ian here?”
“He called earlier tonight to say his flight would land at nine this morning. That should put him home by ten. Can you tell me what happened? With Emily, I mean.”
Matt nodded toward the stairs. “No time now. Take care of Emily. I want to catch a few hours’ sleep before I talk to Ian.”
Alexander didn’t argue. It wouldn’t have done any good if he had.
Matt Foley’s Home
Twin Falls, Texas
Eyelids seemingly filled with sand, Matt drove home but found the energy to call Davis and ask him and Turner to meet him at DFW to intercept Ian as he deplaned at nine AM.
All the windows were dark when he pulled into his driveway. Rowdy met him at the door in a state of excited frenzy to have him home. He’d asked his housekeeper Stella to stay while he was away so Rowdy wouldn’t be alone. Her car outside told him she was asleep in one of the guest bedrooms.
Matt set the alarm for seven which gave him four hours to sleep. Still fully dressed, he fell across his bed in a deep, dreamless sleep.
Dallas/Ft. Worth Airport
Dallas, Texas
Matt and the two detectives stood by as Ian exited the jetport, his carryon luggage hanging from a strap on his shoulder. When he noticed the group, he smiled and waved. “I’m honored to have a delegation meet me at the terminal. I hope you have good news. This must mean you’ve found Emily and Sara.”
Matt didn’t return the smile. “Where have you been?”
Ian glanced at the stone-faced group that surrounded him. “To the mission like I told you. They had a fire and needed my help to get the repairs started.”
Matt pulled him over to a deserted boarding area. “I’m not going to pull any punches, Ian. We found Sara and Emily. They’re safe, but the guy behind their kidnapping wore a windbreaker like yours.”
Miles Davis added, “Navy blue, Jesus Saves.”
The missionary’s face flushed red. “You can’t seriously believe I would do that. I thought you knew me better than that, Matt.”
“Where’s the jacket, Ian?”
“I left it in the entryway closet at Grayson Manor.” The missionary handed over his luggage. “Be my guest. If you find it there, I’ll eat it.”