by John Lansing
It was 2:00 a.m.
Terrence Dirk was on the move, and so was Jack.
He slipped into a black T-shirt, black jeans, and black running shoes.
He texted Nick, and then Cruz, who would man the phones and call in the troops if things went wrong with their apprehension. Jack wanted to be the one to drop the net on the brothers, and he wanted to take them alive. Too many loose cannons could lose the war.
Across the bed Susan was out cold. She’d been through enough traumas in the past forty-eight hours; she didn’t need to worry about him.
Jack strapped on his shoulder rig and grabbed three extra clips for his Glock. He checked the load on his throwaway gun and secured it to his ankle before lowering the cuff of his jeans.
He wolfed down two Excedrin and a Vicodin with tap water, grabbed his laptop, and was out the door in less than five minutes.
* * *
Nick Aprea kissed his young wife, Lynn, on the cheek and donned his black clothes and black leather boots, carefully laid out on a chair for just this eventuality.
He checked the load in his Colt, tucked four full clips into his black leather jacket, and headed out.
* * *
Cruz was sitting on a deck chair in the opened rear cockpit and sprang nervously to his feet when Jack and Nick came roaring into the parking lot. He was hyped, but ready to man up.
* * *
Jack handed Cruz the laptop while Nick untied the boat. He eyeballed the Colt Defender in Cruz’s shoulder rig.
“I don’t want you in the line of fire, Cruz.”
“I’m good.”
“If you hear gunplay, call in the troops. Captain Deak’s standing by, ready to deploy if we need backup.”
“Let’s hope it doesn’t go that far,” Nick said grimly as he jumped on board, still a bit rocky from his nightly affair with Herradura.
Jack reversed out of the slip and into the channel that fed into the main body of the marina, heading for the breakwaters.
Cruz’s eyes were glued to the computer, which sounded a regular beep as it tracked Terrence Dirk’s Zodiac. “He’s headed straight for Catalina.”
Jack nodded as he hit the open sea and throttled forward, teasing the full twenty-eight knots out of the boat’s capable engines. “Smooth as silk,” he murmured, admiring the power of his new craft. They were a half hour behind Terrence, and Jack wasn’t about to lose his prey.
* * *
“I hope he stopped at In-N-Out Burger like I asked,” Toby said, shivering in the damp night air. His eyes were peeled on the shoreline, waiting for a glimpse of Terrence. The moon was a fat three-quarters and gave off enough light to navigate by. The plan was to offload a cache of supplies that should last the brothers a few weeks. At a later date, Terrence would “borrow” the Diskins’ yacht, tow the kayak, and drop the two brothers safely south of the border. No one the wiser. That was when the brothers’ real odyssey would begin.
“In-N-Out isn’t open at two a.m.,” Sean pointed out.
“Jack in the Box is.”
“Why don’t you shut up? We lucked out he could sneak away at all.” In another moment his voice had reverted to nice and easy. “So, we know the park rangers check on the herd twice a day. We can use the shower in the campground after their first pass in the morning. One at a time. We’ll both feel better.”
“Maybe.” And then, “I don’t know how you developed a taste for this pouch food. Your survivalist shit.”
“Quit bitching. It doesn’t help.”
“I could also do a double quarter pounder and some fries.”
Sean refused to continue the conversation. What he was waiting on were a few bottles of Macallan.
* * *
Nick was going over a topographical map of Catalina while Cruz kept his eyes on the computer screen and Jack kept the boat on course.
“He’s heading for the south side of the island,” Nick said. “If I were in the boys’ shoes, I’d be shored up somewhere on the backside. Less traffic, less tourists, more mountainous terrain. The first stop that looks interesting is a small beach called Shark Harbor. It looks like there’s a way onto the island, with rocky cliffs on both sides.”
“If Terrence is offloading supplies, our timing is perfect,” Jack said, thinking about his head start. “If he’s picking his brothers up and making a run for the border, it’s going to be tight.”
* * *
Terrence Dirk slowed the Zodiac to a crawl, and when he was sure the beachhead was empty, he hit the gas with enough force to slide up onto the sandy shore. He drew down on a sound he heard to his left, but pulled his weapon up when he saw Sean step out from behind some scrubs that hid a path up the hillside.
“Sight for sore eyes,” Sean said, giving his brother a bear hug. “Let’s do this and get you on your way. No sense poking the cops with a stick. We’ve got enough on our plate.”
“I did the best I could with three cops following me around Whole Foods. I had to look like I was shopping for one. But with the dried meat, and fresh food in the cooler, and the extra canned goods I grabbed from the pantry, you should be fine.”
Sean looked a question at his brother.
“Oh yeah, and scotch for you, and weed for Toby.”
“Outstanding,” Sean said as he picked up the first box and headed up the path to their camp.
* * *
The two cartel operatives pulled their black Town Car into long-term parking and exited the vehicle. The small man ran his hand over the thick scar on his neck as he waited for his partner to open the trunk. They grabbed two heavy knapsacks and walked toward Berth 95 in San Pedro Harbor. They passed Island Express toward Cat Excursions, which was headquartered at the far end of the dock where their Sinaloa handlers had set up transportation to Catalina.
It had been the cartel’s idea for the men to travel in the middle of the night, ensuring the element of surprise. Too much time and resources had already been wasted on this family of thieves. The flight took an estimated fifteen minutes, but the paid assassins wanted to strike before daylight.
A tall, trim, blond California surfer type greeted them, standing next to his pride and joy. “Welcome, gentlemen. I’m Captain Rouche.”
The modern helicopter was a burnished navy-blue, six-passenger, turbine-powered beauty. “I’ll stow your bags in the rear of the craft and we’ll make short work of the trip.” He reached for the men’s knapsacks—and almost lost a hand. “Okay, have it your way. The customer’s always right in my business.” The captain wisely never asked for his passengers’ names, because this flight never happened.
He opened the door, and the two Mexicans were treated to fine leather seating, bottled water, beer, and wine in a cooler. “Make yourselves comfortable, gentlemen, I’ll do my final check and get us under way.”
As Captain Rouche closed the door, his smile went cold. He pulled the chocks from under the wheels of the craft, jumped on board, and buckled up for the flight.
* * *
The beacon stopped exactly where Nick thought it might. Shark Harbor. As the men passed Sentinel Rock, Jack switched off the lights and throttled back. He stayed as close to the rocky shore as was reasonable, using the cliff face for cover. When he saw a green buoy just yards from the entrance to the cove, Jack used it to tie off his craft. The men sat in silence until their eyes adjusted to the moonlight.
Jack unclipped the inflatable attached to the roof of the cabin cruiser and made the first trip to shore with Nick. As they paddled around the bend, they saw Terrence’s Zodiac beached on a tight strip of sand. Nick stepped onto the rocky shore and hurried into the sharp shadows created by the light of the moon, while Jack made the round trip and returned with Cruz. They pulled the inflatable up onto the shore. Using hand signals, Nick pointed out the boot prints in the sand, and then upward to where the Dirk brothers appeared to be hiding.
Keeping an eye out for any movement on the trail, Jack crawled over to the Zodiac. He pulled out the blade on his Leatherman and punctured both sides of the thick rubber float, rendering the craft useless.
Nick and Cruz ran at a crouch across the small sandy beach and flattened themselves against the cliff, followed by Jack. “When we get near the top, I want you to hang back,” Jack whispered to Cruz, who nodded stiffly, hoping his nerves wouldn’t get the better of him.
They tried to remain silent, but as the men worked their way up the ravine, Nick’s boot slipped on a loose patch. He cursed under his breath at the sound of gravel sliding down the ravine. The climb was nearly vertical; the men moved in and out of shadow—the path was rocky but accessible. Nick stopped to catch his breath at the first switchback.
“We want them alive,” Jack said. “I want both of you alive. Let’s do this.”
The men continued their ascent, and as they stepped around the second switchback, a bullet thwacked into the rock face ten feet above their location.
“Shit,” Cruz yelped. “They fucking know we’re here.”
Jack held his finger up to his mouth, signaling his young charge to silence. “We’re good.”
Jack, Nick, and Cruz proceeded with more caution, hugging the cliff. All they could hear was the sound of the Pacific breaking against the rocky cliff face below.
“They blind-fired,” Jack whispered. “They know we’re here, but they don’t know where we are.” He leaned in toward Nick. “If they shoot again, lay down suppression rounds, and when I make it to the top, I’ll cover you. If I make it to the top, clean, you’ll know when to make an appearance.” And then to Cruz, “It’s time to call in the troops.”
Jack unholstered his Glock 9mm and continued the climb.
Cruz pulled out his cell and sent a text of their coordinates to the LAPD, along with a 911 signal to Captain Deak. He could only pray the troops would arrive in a timely fashion, armed for bear.
* * *
“We are so fucked,” Sean said to Terrence in a tight whisper. “Who do you think it is?”
“It’s got Bertolino’s stench all over it,” Terrence said, eyes narrowed.
“Fuck him! He won’t walk away this time,” Sean rasped.
Toby ran to the cliff’s end and sent a volley of bullets raining down on the crew. Toby jumped back wild-eyed when a bullet nicked his cheek and blood started to spill down his neck.
“Save your rounds,” Terrence said in a thick whisper. “Let them think we’re on the run. When they breach the summit, we unload with everything we’ve got.”
The three brothers stood shoulder to shoulder like gunslingers. Their faces pale in the moonlight. Terrence in the middle, his red hair whipping in the breeze that rolled off the Pacific. Sean stood to his right, Toby to his left. Three pistols leveled at the summit.
Thirty-seven
A compact canyon oak had seeded itself near the summit of the cliff. Darkness was Jack’s ally as he grabbed it and carefully worked his way to the left of the pathway, out of the expected line of fire, and crawled to the top. He peered over the edge at the Dirks’ location. The herd of buffalo was in silhouette, bunched in an undulating, tightening group behind the Dirks. An eight-hundred-pound bull with a broken horn stomped the ground.
“Terrence, Sean, Toby . . . Bertolino here,” he shouted over the grazing field. “It’s over. You’re on an island, your boat’s scuttled; the LAPD is in the air. There’s only one good choice and one way out.”
“Son of a bitch,” Terrence spit as he signaled his brothers to spread out, widening their circumference and shooting range.
Nick and Cruz used Jack’s distraction to move rapidly up the path.
“How many are you?” Terrence shouted.
“You know me, Red, I’m a lone wolf. Drop your weapons and live to hire a good lawyer,” Jack shouted back. “Terrence, you’re fairly clean at this juncture. I guess the real question is whether your brothers will let you leave the island alive.”
“Fuck you, Bertolino,” Sean’s voice echoed in the damp night.
“That you, Sean? A tougher road for you, but I think it’s brother Toby who’s going to take the major hit. But who knows? Do the right thing, get the right jury, you’ll do time, but you’re smart guys, you can play the system. Your call.”
“Who do you have with you, Jack?” Terrence shouted, not buying the lone-wolf routine.
“Clock’s ticking, Terrence. I need you to drop your weapons and come out with your hands raised. And I need your answer now.”
“I got your answer right here, Jack,” Toby snarled as he raised his pistol and fired a single shot that echoed in the night.
Terrence nodded, and the Dirk brothers took one step forward and attacked. Three automatic weapons spit fire, throwing flames into the darkness, chewing up the hillside in the direction of Jack’s voice.
Jack dove for cover, flattened against the hillside, eating dirt as rounds divoted the rocky soil inches from his body.
* * *
The herd of buffalo, led by the broken-horned monster, started to shuffle, disjointed at first, spinning in place, and pawing, and then running slowly in a looping, circular pattern in the grazing field until the bull abruptly changed course and pounded down the rise, away from the intense firearm assault, in the direction of the campground followed by the herd, a hundred and fifty strong.
* * *
Jack glanced skyward. The sound of gunfire was obscured by a sudden calamitous windstorm kicked up by the massive rotors of a helicopter as it circled the area, looking for a landing site near the campground.
“That’s not the Coast Guard,” Jack shouted to his men.
The roar of the chopper and the spit of automatic weapons fire sent the buffalo into a frenzied, panicked stampede.
The monster with the ragged horn changed course. He pounded away from the thrumming rotors of the helicopter, followed by the herd, thundering straight back toward the Dirk brothers’ position and Jack’s team.
Jack rapid fired at the Dirks, laying down suppression rounds. He shouted to Nick and Cruz. “Separate their line of fire!” The men complied, dashing over the rise, finding safety behind trees, and boulders, and shadows, just below the ridgeline.
* * *
The Dirks were breathing hard as they slapped in fresh clips. They knew Jack had support, but were unsure of the number of men and guns. Bullets were pinging off rocks, dirt, and scrub from multiple directions now.
“If I had my fucking .22, we could sit tight and I’d pick them off,” Toby said. “There’s only one way in.”
“We’ve got bigger problems,” Terrance shouted, dreading the answer. “Who’s in the chopper, and why are they here?”
Sean signaled down the slope. The brothers turned to see the herd pounding in their direction and ran for cover.
* * *
Captain Rouche yelled over the sound of the rotors, in the cabin of his navy-blue helicopter, “This is insane. There’s no way I can set her down.”
The tallest of the cartel’s men shoved the barrel of an AK into the pilot’s neck. “We go down,” he shouted. “One way or the other.”
With cold steel pressed against his neck, Rouche did a tight, dangerous spinning maneuver, and started to lower the chopper onto the middle of the campground. “You no move until we say,” the short man screamed. The pilot tightened his jaw, and set the bird down.
The cartel operatives, brandishing their AK-47s, leapt out of the cabin and duckwalked until they cleared the spinning rotors. The short man trained his automatic weapon on the Dirks who were shadows on the move, and let loose with a series of short bursts. He strafed a buffalo and then a second. Both huge beasts thundered to the ground, dead on the spot.
The bull snorted and stomped the earth as the herd spooked, scattering in all direc
tions. But the sound, and the whirling rotors of the navy-blue chopper, kicking up dust and grass, kept the giant beasts running in crazed patterns in the natural bowl of the grazing field, making it all but impossible for the cartel killers to get off a clean shot.
* * *
Jack watched as the melee of wild beasts and armed gunmen forced the Dirks to separate. The apprehension of the brothers was spinning out of control, but Jack took the moment to charge from his elevated position and reconnoiter with Nick and Cruz, who was white faced but alive. “They’re shooting the fucking animals,” Cruz cried.
“They are animals.” Nick shouted from his position. “When were you going to tell me about the buffalo, Jack?” Nick asked, not expecting an answer.
“It looks like the cartel enforcers figured out the play,” Jack shouted. “They’re after the Dirks, but they’ll kill anything that moves, so stay lively. Shoot first, ask questions later. I’ll cut toward the water tanks. Cruz, you stay back by the path, make sure you’re well covered, and only shoot if someone runs in your direction.” And to Nick, “Flank on the left and try to work your way behind the brothers.”
A second helicopter thundered overhead. “Captain Deak’s here,” Jack shouted and pointed skyward with his 9mm.
“Yes! Fuck!” Cruz shouted as a thousand-candle spotlight snapped on and crisscrossed the action, lighting the battlefield like a klieg light at a movie premier.
“Can you get him on the horn?” Jack asked. Cruz grabbed his cell, dialed, and handed it to Jack. “It’s a cluster fuck down here, Deak. Some cartel scumbags arrived on scene, gunning for the Dirks who stole their drugs. Automatic weapons, AKs, watch your approach.”