by Glen Robins
Collin, dressed as one of the elite businessmen of the islands, sporting a neatly trimmed dark brown goatee, insisted the Captain and crew shove off immediately. His voice matched his looks. Both were hardened, cool, and aloof. Even his accent carried an air of superiority and affluence. Collin’s commands, grim countenance, and decisive tone were echoed by the Captain. The crew hesitated, as if unsure of the intentions of this stranger. The puzzled looks on their faces displayed the sudden atmospheric change. The Captain barked again, and the men began obeying his orders and preparing the Admiral for an immediate departure.
The crew scurried about the deck, attending to their assigned duties, sizing up this new customer. Theirs was not to question; only to follow their skipper’s orders. His boat, his rules.
Captain Sewell followed Collin, who had become his best customer, into the cabin below deck. “Why so serious, man? You should be happy. I’m happy. You’re not dead,” he said with a forced chuckle.
“Yeah, I should be happy, right?” said Collin as he opened the secret compartment in the wall of the lower bunk and began to stuff his bags into it. “You don’t mind if I stick this in here, do you?”
“Be my guest.”
“I’m a bit leery these days,” said Collin as he worked the computer bag into place. “I always feel like someone’s watching me, ready to get me. Know what I mean? I guess these last few months have made me paranoid.”
“I was worried about you, man,” said the Captain, his voice growing serious. “That was a dangerous move, driving the dinghy into the storm like that. I thought that was it. You were gone forever.”
When the Captain paused, Collin jumped in, trying to lighten the mood. The last thing he needed right now was high emotion. “You thought you wouldn’t ever see the money I owe you.” He forced a laugh, but the Captain only lifted an eyebrow and tilted his head.
“We have traveled many miles together. We have shared many stories, many meals, and much laughter. It is not about the money now. You know that. You are part of this family,” said the Captain, opening his arms and gesturing toward the men above them on the deck. “You are one of us.”
Collin stopped in his tracks, looked the Captain in the eye, and nodded his head as he spoke. “I know. That’s why I came back. If I can’t be home helping my sick mom, I want to be here, helping my friends. Plus, I never got the chance to thank you and the crew for risking your lives to help me get out of Florida. I’d be rotting in a jail somewhere if it weren’t for you guys.”
The Captain paused a moment, deep in thought. “Remember how you told me I could do dinner cruises any time, but I would be happier finding adventure?”
“Yeah, kind of.” Collin was pulling items out of his bags as he spoke. They were too bulky to fit in the secret compartment. He dropped a worn T-shirt and his favorite cargo shorts on the bed next to his bag and removed the linen sport coat and the fancy button-up shirt. He finished changing while the Captain spoke.
“Well, you were right, man. Always sailing to the same places, serving the same meals, pandering to the rich American and European tourists gets to be very boring. Safe and profitable, but boring. With you, things are different. The men see it, too. Because you help them, cook for them, tell them stories, make them laugh. You listen to them. That is very different from other customers. You treat them with respect. That is why they are willing to do great things for you. You are their friend, their brother.”
Collin smiled as he absorbed the sentiment of those words. “I know. I feel the same way. But this time, there will be no need to do great things for me. This time, we’ll relax and enjoy the ride. A real sailing trip. You know, a leisure tour, like your other clients. Only much, much longer.”
“Ah, yes,” said the Captain with a smile. “That will be nice.”
“Perfect. But I do want to get out of here as soon as possible. Is that all right?”
“Of course, man,” said the Captain in his customary lilt. “We push off very soon. The question is, where are we going?”
“I don’t have much of a preference. I’m fine if we just stay lost for a month or two. I need to stay below the radar for a while, you know, off the grid. I need time to let the dust settle and come up with a game plan. So, it doesn’t matter much to me where we go. Let’s see something new.”
“Well, I suggest we head to the east side of the Caribbean. There are thousands of small islands there, full of pleasure cruisers. No one will notice you, my friend. You can remain safely anonymous.”
“Sounds great. How much?”
The Captain laughed out loud, waved a dismissive hand at the air, then turned on his heels and climbed the steps up to the cockpit. He switched on his instrumentation as he sat in the padded Captain’s chair behind the large steering wheel. “Rojas, Jaime. Are we ready?”
“Aye, Captain,” the two said in unison as they hopped to the dock and moved toward the tie lines.
Captain Sewell fired up the boat’s small engine so he could maneuver out of the harbor. It chugged and sputtered as it came to life, throwing out a blue cloud of fumes.
“Miguel, Tog. Man your stations,” he bellowed in his hearty, baritone voice.
“Aye, sir,” they called back one at a time. Each man scurried into position, one at the bow, one at the stern.
Jaime and Rojas untied the ropes from the dock cleats fore and aft and gently guided the Admiral out of its slip as Captain Sewell started up the little engine. Neither of them noticed the activity on the boat in the next slip.
After the Captain went topside, Collin pulled the contents out of the computer bag and backpack. He had placed a few items of clothing, the dozen false passports he owned, his laptop, and $500,000 worth of cash into the overstuffed bags before coming to the marina. They were too bulky to fit in the compartment, so he began to repack things into a large waterproof sea bag the Captain had loaned him on their last voyage. Moving quickly, he reloaded his computer, the money, and his passports into the long, cylindrical sea bag, then crammed it into the smuggler’s hideaway, as the crew called it. With those items out of the way, he tossed the nearly empty computer bag in a closet.
One of the items Collin had removed from his backpack was a small waterproof pouch which contained his iPhone, a seaworthy GPS unit, and a few thousand dollars in several different currencies. He tugged at its sides and nodded to himself. Collin pulled a cheap cell phone he had purchased in Chicago from the pocket of his blazer and checked that it had a full charge. Its twin was in Emily’s possession. The thought of her, his eye-popping high school sweetheart, made him smile. As he squeezed the little phone into the small sea pouch with his iPhone, a strange commotion erupted on the deck above. Loud footfalls on the fiberglass hull at the bow were rushing toward the stern. Commands were barked out by an unfamiliar voice in short, guttural bursts. Sensing danger, Collin grabbed the waterproof pouch and jumped down two steps to the galley. He swung open the door to the microwave oven, reached to the back, pushed on two soft buttons to release the latches, and shoved the pouch in the secret compartment behind the back wall of the microwave.
Captain Sewell had purchased this boat at auction and later learned it had been confiscated by the DEA during a drug bust. Unbeknownst to the Captain at the time of purchase, the original owner had designed features into this boat necessary for his trade. Jaime had shown Collin these secret compartments and he had used them to his advantage on previous occasions.
Both hands were inside the oven when an angry voice barked something he didn’t understand. Collin whirled around, slamming the door shut with his elbow, to stare down the muzzle of a snub-nosed, semi-automatic Uzi pointed right at his face. The ill-tempered Asian man carrying it glared disapprovingly at him. Collin’s hands shot straight up in the air. There was no other option but to surrender and trust that God would somehow deliver him again.
The gunman approached suspiciously, making as wide an arc as he could in the tight quarters below decks. He wore a flower
ed shirt and a straw hat, but the rippling biceps and the thick chest indicated he was something more than a tourist. Using the weapon as a pointer, the man motioned for Collin to move toward the stairs, using quick jabs in the air and short, unintelligible grunts. Checking his surroundings, he then maneuvered like a stalking panther in a slow semicircle opposite his prey. When Collin reached the steps, beyond arm’s reach, he stopped, obeying the gunman’s gesture. The man opened the microwave door and stole a glance inside. Collin’s heart was in his throat, unsure if the back wall had snapped shut all the way. If his phones and laptop were discovered, it would be all over. Pho Nam Penh would win because every detail of Collin’s finances was stored on those devices. Penh would crack his sophisticated firewall eventually and know the whereabouts of the nearly $30 million stashed in several banks around the world. The lion’s share of the money, however, was held in a top-secret bank in Panama City, Panama, used primarily by the US clandestine community operating in the region. Lukas, with his knowledge of deep-cover operations, had helped Collin gain access to this hidden gem. Having the account numbers and pass codes from Collin’s laptop, Penh would have much of what he needed to syphon away everything. Collin maintained safeguards, but Lukas had warned Collin at the beginning to guard that laptop and iPhone with his life. Information on those devices, including the instant messages between Collin and Lukas, could also expose Lukas’s covert operational involvement in the war on terrorism, thus blowing his carefully guarded existence.
It took only seconds for Collin’s already unbalanced existence to shift once again. In that instant, he realized he had placed the life of every man on board the Admiral Risty in jeopardy. The feeling of being in total free fall caused him to stagger backward, before catching himself on the bulkhead by the steps. This drew an angry look from the gunman. Collin knew if he didn’t play his cards right, they would all die, Penh’s terror group would receive a healthy round of funding and enough classified information to help them stay under the radar indefinitely. None of these outcomes boded well for Collin, his friends, or his country.
The stocky gunman peered again into the microwave, pulled out a coffee mug, and sniffed its contents. He dumped it into the sink and checked inside the oven again. As he did, Collin forced himself to remain composed and keep a poker face. Disgusted, the man grunted and slammed the door shut. Startled, Collin let out a nervous cough. The gunman’s focus returned to Collin as he climbed the two steps up from the galley.
The attack was swift and sudden. The gunman pounced, closing the distance between them in milliseconds, and smashed the butt of the gun into the side of Collin’s head before he could adequately shield himself. The force of the blow snapped his head sideways into the wall on his right, causing his world to go dark.
Three more gunmen stood on deck with Uzis aimed at the other four crew members and the Captain. The Admiral Risty had not yet cleared the harbor, but these men boldly displayed their hardware, apparently unafraid of anyone. The gunman closest to the Captain directed him to move out of the way. The green-shirted man fiddled with the instruments in the cockpit for a moment, then pointed to a spot on the Captain’s GPS map. “We go there. Now,” he demanded.
“Panama? You want to go to Panama?” asked the Captain.
“Yes. We go now.”
“OK, you’re the one with the gun. But you know it will take a week or more, don’t you?”
The lean, long-haired one standing to the Captain’s right cocked his head slightly. “You go faster. This boat very fast. You go faster. Three days.” His face was like stone and his eyes were hidden behind dark sunglasses. Every movement was calculated and efficient. Every word carried meaning and consequences.
The Captain looked from one armed man to the other, studying their expressionless faces. He had no idea what they might do, but he had to set the right expectations from the start. He knew mean men and he knew they had to be handled with the right balance of firmness and cooperation. It was important to set the boundaries early in these situations, so the Captain held silent for a long moment, showing no fear and no desire to acquiesce to their demands. “That depends on the wind, you know?” he said, waving a hand in the air and looking at the sky around them. “No wind, no going faster.”
It was a rather surreal scene. In a matter of seconds these four highly trained, heavily armed Asian mercenaries took control of the Admiral Risty and altered its course and the lives of everyone onboard.
Chapter Two
La Jolla, California
June 14, 6:08 a.m. Pacific Time
Dr. Emily Burns stood in front of the large plate-glass window in her dining room, staring out over the fog covered Pacific Ocean, which stretched to the horizon like an endless, gray Berber carpet eighteen floors down and across the road. She dabbed her face with a towel after her morning run. As she drank from her sport bottle and pulled her sandy hair from its ponytail holder, she once again found her mind reeling over the tumultuous orbit of her dear friend Collin Cook.
Her life had not been the same since he reentered it. All too often, absentminded day-dreaming interrupted her problem-solving thought trains. Collin was indeed a problem that needed fixing, but there seemed to be no obvious or scientific solution, unlike the problems she worked on professionally.
A mix of hope and mourning occupied the space in her brain that used to try to unravel the mystery surrounding him and his disappearance. Since he had been reported missing and presumed dead by the Coast Guard over a week ago, Emily’s heart had been troubled. The account on the FBI’s website detailed the circumstances surrounding his disappearance at sea, but she hadn’t yet fully accepted it as truth. Perhaps part of her doubt came from Collin’s mother, Sarah Cook, who was certain Collin was as alive as she was. Sarah had almost convinced Emily to believe. But Emily, the scientist, was trapped in the void between theory and proof. Sarah had a theory and the government lacked evidence to prove otherwise. What was she to believe?
Her machinations and her breakfast were interrupted by a call from an unfamiliar number originating from San Francisco. Despite her initial hesitation, she answered it.
“Dr. Burns, this is Special Agent Reggie Crabtree from the FBI. I would like to ask you a few questions about your friend, Collin Cook. Is now a good time to talk?” said a deep, sincere voice.
Astonished, she balked at the intrusion. It was 6:08 a.m., hardly a good time for anyone to be calling, let alone a government agent who, for all she knew, played a part in Collin’s death and may be calling to gloat about it. “At six o’clock in the morning? I’m sorry, Agent Crabtree, but isn’t it a bit early to be calling to harass me about a friend I recently lost?”
“I realize it’s early, Dr. Burns. And, yes, this is highly unusual. I’m not in the habit of questioning people this early. But, trust me, nothing about this Collin Cook case can be termed “usual.” And if it weren’t very urgent, I would wait until you had a little more time to cool down after your morning run.”
“How did you—”
“I’m a detective, Dr. Burns. A very good one, at that.”
Emily felt like she’d been knocked off balance. Her mind raced, trying to connect dots she couldn’t see and certainly couldn’t make sense of at this early hour. She wasn’t used to interacting with people before work. This was her quiet time, her alone time, and he was infringing—no, imposing—upon it. Why? There had to be a compelling reason. She had to come back strong. And quickly.
Feeling suddenly lightheaded, she sat at her dining room table. A single sunflower stood in a tall beaker of water half filled with glass marbles. It, too, pointed toward the window, searching for light. “I don’t know why you’re calling me, Special Agent Crabtree. Collin Cook is dead. Says so right on your agency’s website.” Not quite the strong comeback she was looking for.
“That may be true, Dr. Burns, but we are still investigating the circumstances leading up to his disappearance,” said Crabtree. “We need to know everything you
know about him.”
Emily vacillated, not sure what to tell him but feeling like she had to say something. “I know nothing. We broke up years ago.”
“Don’t play dumb with me, Dr. Burns. I know more about your relationship with him than you think I know.”
Still trying to recover, she blurted out the first thing that came to mind. “There’s nothing to know, Agent Crabtree, because there’s been no relationship since high school.” As soon as she said it, she regretted it, sensing she could get trapped in her lie.
“Now you’re assuming I haven’t done my homework. I see,” said Agent Crabtree, who sounded like he was moving and breathing quickly. “Well, we know you saw him in Chicago two weeks ago and spent some time with him there. I can only suppose you know something more than we know based on that time together.” Reggie paused. When Emily didn’t respond, he continued. “We also know you were at the funeral for Amy Cook and the children and at Petaluma Hospital with Mr. Cook after he injured himself at the time of his wife’s accident. Shall I go on?”
Her hand went to her forehead as her stomach did a back flip. She stared through the glass tabletop at her well-worn neon-pink running shoes as they tapped the floor anxiously. Breathing became a chore and forming coherent sentences a laborious effort. “It sounds like you know quite a bit. Why do you need me?”
“Isn’t it obvious, Dr. Burns?” asked Reggie. “You’ve spent more time with him in the past year than any other human being we’re aware of.”
“I don’t think I know anything that can help you, Agent Crabtree.” Emily’s voice was flat and unconvincing. She knew it and figured Crabtree was smart enough to pick up on it.
During the pause that followed, she heard something like the ding of a bell—no, an elevator door—in the background above the sound of his breathing.
“We need to know what he told you while you were together in Chicago. Certainly, the two of you talked in that little café. You remember the time you spent sipping coffee at the Bio Med Conference?”