Off Course: A clean action adventure book

by Glen Robins

  It took only a few milliseconds for Mr. Green to launch his counterattack. Collin didn’t see it coming. A powerful kick to his abdomen knocked him backward and forced the air out of his lungs. It was followed by a blunt object striking the side of his face. He didn’t remember anything else and didn’t wake up until the cabin was full of sunlight late the next morning.

  Chapter Ten

  Washington, DC

  June 14, 11:55 p.m. Eastern Time

  “C’mon, Rob, pick up your phone,” Lukas muttered to himself.

  The phone continued to ring until Rob’s cheery, pre-recorded voice answered saying, “This is Rob Howell. I’m unable to answer the phone at the moment, but if you’d kindly leave me a message, I’ll get back to you as soon as I can.”

  Lukas did not leave a message. He was on a secured, untraceable line deep within the NSA’s main office complex. There was no way Rob’s incoming call would be routed to him. He dared not use his cell phone with civilians, even lifelong friends like Rob, despite the fact that he was one of only two people outside of the clandestine government agency network who knew Lukas was alive. Collin was the other. They were the only two people on the outside he trusted and the only two people still living that he loved or cared for enough to contact. Rob, Lukas, and Collin were practically inseparable in middle school and high school. After graduation, each had chosen a different path, but no amount of time apart, no amount of distance between them, nor tragedy, nor intrigue could break their bond.

  After two minutes of rapping his knuckles on the table and reliving memories of his youth with his buddies, Lukas dialed again. This time, Rob answered on the first ring. A groggy voice came on the line. “Lukas, is that you?”

  “About time you picked up. Did I wake you? Awfully early for a mover and shaker of your caliber to be sleeping. Shouldn’t you be working on the next deal?” Lukas said in his gentle Austrian accent.

  “At what, 4:55 in the morning? I’m in London, you know. Just got here a few hours ago. Supposed to meet a client tomorrow. Why? What’s up?” Rob tried to sound upbeat and ready to help, but it was a hard sell after only four hours of sleep.

  “I’m worried about Collin. Have you heard from him lately?”

  This got Rob’s blood moving. “Not directly, no.” He sat up and kicked his legs out from under the covers. “You were the one who passed along the last bit of info I got. Why? What’s wrong?”

  “He hasn’t responded to any of my texts or voice messages. When I ping his phone, it shows me that he’s in the middle of the Western Caribbean,” Lukas said.

  “Is that bad?” asked Rob, clearing his throat.

  “Well, it’s not what he and I discussed last time we spoke. He was going to hide out in the islands, avoid sailing and roaming around, and just doing nothing for a while.”

  “Maybe he’s still planning to do that, but is taking a different route,” said Rob.

  “If I’m not totally wrong, it looks to me like he’s heading back to Panama,” Lukas said with a tone of exasperation.

  “Panama? Why would he go there again so soon? I take it you didn’t instruct him to go there.” Rob’s voice was beginning to sound clearer and his thoughts more coherent.

  “No, I didn’t,” said Lukas with a sigh. He stood at his computer and ran one hand through his thick, blond hair.

  “Who did?”

  “I don’t know. I told him stay hidden in the islands somewhere, but to stay on the lookout because the FBI and Interpol were still leery and still keeping a watch to see if he would return to the same boat. Looks like he did that and is now on the move, going the wrong way.”

  “That’s bad news, then, isn’t it?”

  “Yeah, and that’s not the worst of it. There are reports out of George Town that four Asian men carrying guns stormed a sailboat in the harbor this morning.”

  “Penh?”

  “His men, at least.”

  “That is bad,” Rob groaned. He was now standing at the coffee machine in his hotel room, rubbing his eyes. “Is it the same boat he was on before? The Admiral something-or-other?”

  “The Admiral Risty. It appears that way, yes. Last time Collin and I spoke, he was aware that the Interpol agents had not left the island yet. We knew when the FBI guys left, but I was waiting for a contact to confirm on the Interpol guys. I also had people on the lookout for Penh’s men.”

  “I thought no one knew what they looked like,” said Rob.

  “That’s true, but we knew what to look for in terms of their activities and demeanor. We had built a profile, and it wasn’t just based on race, but never got a match.”

  “What’s your theory, then? You wouldn’t call me if you didn’t have a theory,” said Rob, trying to lighten the mood.

  “You’re right, I do have a theory,” Lukas said slowly, as if putting the pieces together as he spoke. “If the reports are true, the gunmen jumped out of the boat parked in the slip next to the Admiral Risty in the George Town Marina. None of the witnesses―that includes other boat owners, security guards, maintenance crew, the whole bit―ever saw anyone board or leave that boat in the last week or longer.” Lukas snapped his fingers.

  “So?”

  “So that means Penh guessed first that Collin survived Hurricane Abigail and, second, that he would return to the same boat. Makes sense, right? Collin had spent a couple weeks on that boat in May, then used it again to get away from the FBI earlier this month. Typical of Penh. Probably had guys waiting in Panama, Huntington Beach, San Diego, and a bunch of other places he knew Collin had been or might go.”

  “And you think these guys played invisible all that time just waiting for Collin to show up?”

  “Makes sense, doesn’t it? Penh knows by now that Collin is pretty smart. He would assume that if Collin were to come back, he would be suspicious, right?”

  “Yeah, that makes sense. Collin’s managed to avoid capture all these months. That’s a logical assumption,” said Rob.

  “It’s therefore logical for him to assume that Collin would suspect law enforcement to be on the lookout for him, right?”

  “I’m with you. So Penh tells his guys to hide out until the cops are gone―probably has a way to know that, too―and alerts them to that fact knowing that Collin is more likely to come out of hiding when the coast is clear,” said Rob, putting the last piece into the puzzle.

  “You got it.”

  “That’s great, Lukas. Glad we got that figured out. The big question now is: What’s next and how can I help?”

  “Do me a favor, OK?” said Lukas.

  “Sure, Lukas. What do you need?”

  “First, I need you to not use my name.”

  “But you’re on a secure line . . .”

  “I know, but I don’t want it to become a habit. It’s just better that way. Remember, people think I’m dead.”

  “OK, what else?” asked Rob.

  “The second thing is I need to gather as much information as I can as quickly as I can. I’m getting limited bits and pieces from the intelligence community. The FBI seems to know where he is, too, but I can’t see that they’ve done anything about it as yet.”

  “OK, what do you need me to do?” Rob offered. “Shall I talk to Henry and Sarah and find out what they know?”

  “Maybe you should start with Emily. Remember, Sarah’s in treatment for cancer. I don’t want to do anything to upset her.”

  “Good point. You’re always one step ahead of the rest of us.”

  “That’s not all,” said Lukas.

  “Uh-oh, sounds like something really bad is coming.”

  “I’m afraid so. Putting two and two together, I think you need to get back to Huntington Beach. The phone lines are tapped at Emily’s and the Cooks’, so you can’t call them to get this info. And, I think it would be a good idea to keep an eye on Henry and Sarah.”

  “What do you mean keep an eye on them, Lukas?”

  “I mean protect them.”

  �
��Why?”

  “The FBI has a two-man protective team following Emily, so apparently they’re worried about her being in harm’s way. But they haven’t done the same for the Cook’s, perhaps because they think Sarah’s too fragile or because they know Collin risked it all to see Emily in Chicago and they figure there’s some sort of link there that will help them.”

  “OK, I’ll get back there as quickly as I can.”

  “Thatta boy. But, Rob, whatever you do, don’t tell her or anyone about me or this conversation. It’s extremely important that my cover not be blown.”

  “I’m with you, buddy. If there’s anything I’m really good at, it’s gathering important information and keeping secrets.”

  “I know. That’s why I called you. But remember to stay off the phones and away from their homes. It would be best if you were not seen.”

  “Oh, yeah. Good point,” said Rob, stirring some sugar into his coffee. “I’ll charter a flight out of here as soon as I can. I’ll have to cancel my golf game at Carnoustie, too. You know how long I’ve been waiting to play there? We’re talking a PGA Tour course here. I wouldn’t do that for just anyone.”

  Lukas tried to muster a chuckle. “I know. That’s a big sacrifice on your part, my friend, but I’m afraid it’s urgently necessary.”

  “You’ll call me back, I assume?”

  “In twenty-four hours, yes.”

  “I’m all over it. All for one and one for all, right?”

  “That’s the spirit,” said Lukas, trying his best not to let his exhaustion show through the phone line. “Thanks, Rob. You’re the best.”

  “Collin would do it for either of us if the tables were turned. He needs us right now,” said Rob, a sudden seriousness drawing at his tone.

  “We’re all he’s got,” added Lukas.

  Ninety minutes later, at London’s Gatwick Airport, Rob climbed aboard a Gulfstream 6 headed to JFK in New York, joining an acquaintance and business associate he had worked with a few years ago. The Internet, with its myriad useful websites, provided wonderful tools for connecting people who needed something with people who had something to offer. In this case, a plane ride across the Atlantic. The modern-day, high-tech equivalent of the college ride board.

  By 11:45 a.m. the next morning California time, Rob had landed at Lindbergh Airfield in San Diego in a corporate Learjet coming in from JFK owned by a young, high-tech millionaire whom Rob had helped during his company’s start-up phase.

  ****

  London, England

  June 15, 8:30 a.m. London Time

  Junior Detective Nic Lancaster rushed into Alastair Montgomery’s office precisely on time. He knew his boss was not a morning person, so he refrained from showing up early. Nic’s enthusiasm was hard to tame on a normal day. Today, it reached epic proportions as he contemplated the ramifications of this meeting. He could hardly contain himself.

  Nic Lancaster loved the game and loved the idea of getting promoted. His ambitions produced a jittery energy that drove him to excel. Failure was a bad word never to be spoken or considered anything but completely unacceptable. This drive, he knew, irritated the hard-drinking, ready-for-this-career-to-be-over Section Chief Montgomery. Today, however, his energy percolated from the knowledge that he alone held regarding their quarry, Collin Cook. The unsuspecting Alastair would be forced to take Nic seriously or face the shame of a scandal unleashed on YouTube for all the British press and public to consume.

  Alastair’s office door was partly open, so Nic knocked once as he pushed his way into Alastair’s cluttered workspace. Alastair, coffee mug in hand, eyed Nic from behind a stack of file folders on his desk as he sauntered into the room. “You look ready for war there, Lancaster. What have you got?” His voice was husky, like it often was first thing in the morning. The eyelids were swollen, too. Another common occurrence.

  “Me? Nothing. Nothing at all. I’m just ready to start my day, sir.” Nic remained standing, his notepad and pen at the ready. Alastair despised many of the high-tech gadgets that had become common tools in law enforcement, most notably the tablet computer. Anyone who attempted to take notes on one in his presence received a thorough lecture for carrying his brain around in his hands instead of using the one in his head.

  “You can’t pull that on me. I’m a detective and have been since you were a tot. Don’t you go forgetting that now.” Alastair tried to clear the rasp from his throat.

  “Right. It’s just that I’ve gotten some very good news lately.”

  There was a pause while Alastair studied his brightest, most ambitious Cyber Crime Task Force rookie. “Well, out with it now. I haven’t got all day.”

  “It’s nothing, really, sir.”

  “Can’t be nothing. Not with that look on your face. Let me guess: You’re having a baby?” Alastair cackled out loud at his own joke. The cackling soon turned into a bronchial cough, followed by a round of throat clearing.

  Nic clinched his teeth and shook his head. “No, sir. I’m not married. Not even dating anyone at the moment.”

  “Married to the job, I know. Problem is, I haven’t seen you this excited since you told me you had that Cook character pinned down in Florida.”

  Nic’s head shot up, his face stone still.

  “No, you’re not still working on that one, are you? Not after he died out there in the ocean?”

  “That’s just it, sir. He’s not dead. He’s quite alive and pulling half a million dollars out of a bank in the Caymans. Just yesterday morning, he did.”

  Alastair dropped into his chair and looked up at the ceiling, trying to digest this morsel of intelligence. “I assume you have some sort of proof, do you?”

  “I do, sir. Shall I show you?”

  “No, no. That’s not necessary. You’re sure it’s him?”

  “I am and so is Crabtree.”

  “You’re saying the FBI admits he’s alive?”

  “Maybe not the whole FBI, but Crabtree for sure.”

  “What’re they doing about it?”

  “He’s working on arranging an intercept as we speak.” Checking his watch, Nic corrected himself. “Well, as of yesterday afternoon his time, I suppose.”

  “No word on that yet, eh?”

  “No, sir. But I presume I’ll have confirmation from him by day’s end.”

  Alastair sat quietly, staring at nothing. “Why are you working on this? That case was closed when the FBI declared the man a goner and now you tell me you’re dedicating your valuable time to a closed file on a dead man?” Alastair’s face was reddening as he spoke, working to control his emotions. “I could run you back to a beat cop for this, you know.”

  “I doubt that, sir. With all due respect,” said Nic, the sarcasm in his voice not well hidden. “I’ve got a lovely video of you exiting the flat of a certain young lady―the daughter of a member of Parliament―at lunchtime. Certainly you remember that, sir. I believe you were calendared for a non-existent meeting with Scotland Yard.”

  “What are you on about Lancaster?”

  “Would you like to see the video, sir?”

  “Video?” Alastair’s face went bright red.

  “Not that sort of video. That’s plain creepy. The one I’ve got shows you giving your girl, the MP’s daughter, quite a long good-bye kiss at her front door before you shuttle off in a taxi. Right in the middle of the working day. Has all the makings of a fine tabloid scandal, if I do say so myself.”

  Alastair had to back down gracefully. The last thing he wanted was to flush his pension down the toilet while the newspapers mocked him to scorn. He remained silent as Nic wagged his cell phone in front of him. “Knock that off, Lancaster. OK, you’ve got my attention. But let me remind you, neither of us can afford to be chasing ghosts at this point. Not after all the mishaps before.”

  “Right, sir. I’m well aware of the embarrassments we’ve suffered but imagine the triumph of nailing this guy. Or, better yet, bringing down Penh and his syndicate.”

 
; Alastair perked up. “That would be a coup, would it not? But my point is that you were to be working on your assigned case-load, which no longer includes Collin Cook.”

  “If it’s any consolation, I’ve only been working on this case after hours. I’ve stayed until midnight or later nearly every night this past week. I work on the assignments from you during the day, and I’m all caught up on them,” Nic said, his jowls quivering with pent-up frustration.

  “Right. Brief me on the Cook case before I leave tonight, in any case. I expect you won’t commit any Interpol assets to another one of your red herrings.”

  “No, sir. The FBI is handling it. I’m just working my contacts in the islands.”

  “So long as we’re clear, then. They’d have my hide if they knew you were spending your time chasing a ghost. Imagine what would happen . . .” Alastair’s words trailed off as he shook the thought from his head and began combing through a stack of papers on his desk.

  “I assume, however, that the hunt for Pho Nam Penh is still active and still a priority, is it not?” asked Nic, trying to sound all-business.

  Alastair answered without looking up, still intent on finding the right file. “Of course it is. He’s still Prime Suspect Number One for the RBS hack job, as well as half a dozen smaller ones. Now that Cook is out of the picture, we need to find him somehow.”

  “Right. I presume since he’s still one of our top priorities, that committing ourselves and our resources in pursuit of him or his accomplices still has patent approval, does it not?”

  “Yeah, that’s right, Nic. You see the big picture now,” Alastair muttered through his distraction.

  Nic smiled to himself and waited for Alastair to find what he was looking for. He casually reached into his pocket and turned off the voice recording app running on his phone. Mission accomplished. He had his angle.