Bluewater Vengeance: Mystery and Adventure in the Caribbean (Bluewater Thrillers Book 2) Page 16

  ****

  J.-P. was on his way home when his cell phone vibrated. He glanced down at the caller i.d. as he stopped for a traffic light. "Caller i.d. blocked," the screen read. He pushed the green button. "Hello,"

  "Hello," a young woman's voice said.

  "Dani?" he asked.

  "I'm okay. I'm not hurt. They say if you pay, they won't…" The call terminated abruptly.

  J.-P. was a bit surprised that her captors had not spoken, but he had some grudging admiration for their caution. The whole call had lasted only a few seconds, and he had no doubt that the phone which had made the call was already far away from where the call had originated. These people were professionals. That was good, in a way. It meant they were less likely to harm Liz. It also meant that they would be difficult to catch.

  He touched a speed dial button as the light changed.

  "Yes, Mr. Berger?'

  "The call disconnected just now," J.-P. said.

  "We'll let you know as soon as we have anything."

  "Yes, please," J.-P. said, disconnecting. The crooks might be professionals, but modern telephony had evolved to facilitate billing for calls, not to provide anonymity. Within an hour, he would have the number of the originating telephone as well as any information associated with it. Depending on what kind of instrument it was, he would have some location data, but that most likely wouldn't be precise.

  ****

  Juan Camacho's source within South Florida's law enforcement community was not as well connected as Paul Russo, but, in this case, she didn't need to be. Camacho had sent word that Paul Russo would be looking for the whereabouts of a motor yacht named Maximo, which narrowed the scope of her task considerably.

  She was able to log on to the DEA's email system with her own user name and password. She executed a search for any emails containing the words Maximo, Paul Russo, or Santiago Rodriguez. Her only caution had been to spread her searches over time, since repeating the same search too frequently might raise flags.

  She had waited 24 hours from the time Camacho called her, explaining her reasoning to him, telling him about the need for interagency coordination to satisfy Russo's request and the time that would take. Her first search produced no results, so she had waited an additional six hours. She seeded her second request with several extraneous keywords to help disguise her search, and her second effort paid off. She estimated that Russo might have had the answer for a few hours before Camacho, but that was the best she could do. Camacho had sounded happy enough when she called him, and she had already checked her Bahamian bank account, confirming that he had been well satisfied.

  ****

  Camacho had been on the phone with his lawyer several times already this morning. They had managed to unravel the tangled trail of paperwork related to Maximo's ownership, and Camacho had just removed several pages from the tray of his fax machine. Once Santiago Rodriguez affixed his signature to the faxed documents, Maximo would belong to Juan Camacho. Of course, the documents could be forged, so he didn't need Rodriguez to sign the papers, but José would enjoy persuading him to sign.

  Camacho would have José make a video of the proceedings, which could be judiciously spread around the organization. It was useful for his minions to see justice meted out in a case like this; witnessing Rodriguez's fate would discourage others who might be tempted to try trading on their own account using El Grupo's assets.

  Camacho found it convenient that Rodriguez had a fax machine at his house in Mustique. He had already sent the papers to José there and given him his instructions. Camacho would enjoy the video himself. He chuckled at how appropriate it was that Rodriguez would meet his end aboard the yacht, just as he signed her over to Camacho. Yes, he thought, there is divine providence.

  Chapter 27

  Midnight Thunder was rolling in a jerky, erratic manner. Phillip and Dani were both cursing the combination of a featherweight boat and a choppy sea as the foursome waited for darkness to fall. They had run at high speed on a direct course from Martinique to Maximo's last known position. When they had acquired a solid contact on the high-resolution radar, they had stopped immediately. They drifted, just out of sight of the target, while Phillip called Clarence on his sat phone and gave him their GPS coordinates. He asked Clarence to fly over and confirm that Maximo was indeed the target on their radar. As the four braced themselves against the uncomfortable motion of the vessel, they heard a squawk on the VHF radio.

  "Bay Baby, Bay Baby, this is Hairy Eyeball, over."

  Sharktooth picked up the microphone. "Eyeball, Eyeball, this the Baby. You got fish wha' you at, mon?"

  "Yeah, Baby. Jus' put one big one in the cooler, right wha' you say they be, mon. We goin' go home an' light the grill, Baby. You catchin' some?"

  "Yeah, mon. Plenty fish. Safe trip home. This Bay Baby, clear an' stan' by channel one-six."

  "Hairy Eyeball clear. One-six."

  "So Maximo hasn't moved. That's a good sign, I guess," Paul said. "You know, I never even heard that helicopter your friend's got. He must have been close enough."

  "I don't know, Paul," Phillip said. "Clarence had some altitude and he was probably using binoculars."

  "Yeah, but it's so quiet out here, with the wind down. Glad we aren't trying to sail."

  "Look," Sharktooth was on his feet, pointing at a speck in the sky to the west of them.

  As they all watched, the black dot grew rapidly, transforming into a helicopter that passed overhead with a soft hum, barely audible over the whooshing sounds of the rotor blades.

  "Now he's just showing off," Phillip said. "He told me how quiet that thing was, but I didn't believe it."

  "That's spooky," Paul said. "Gotta be the latest military technology. I've heard some of the guys on the drug task force talking about those choppers, but I've never seen one. How does a civilian get his hands on something like that?"

  "Thinking of Clarence as a civilian would be a mistake, Paul," Phillip said, as they watched the chopper turn and come in for another pass. This time, the noise was more typical as Clarence bypassed the mufflers to improve the fuel efficiency for his flight back to Martinique. The helicopter receded into the distance to the northeast, leaving the crew of Midnight Thunder in awe.

  "But you said he used that for tours," Paul protested.

  "That too," Phillip said, a smile on his face.

  Their banter was interrupted by a pinging sound from below deck.

  "Wha's that?" Sharktooth asked.

  "Radar. Somebody just crossed into our guard band," Dani replied from below, her eyes glued to the screen. "Small target, moving fast on a course from St. Vincent or Bequia toward Maximo."

  The three men scrambled below, peering over her shoulder at the radar screen. They were all blinking their eyes, trying to adjust to the transition from the glare outside to the dim light in the main cabin.

  "Whoa! That was a sudden stop. He's not moving now. His range is around 9 miles from Maximo."

  "Keep an eye on him, Dani. Could be he just stopped to fish." Phillip walked forward and stretched out on one of the bunks along the starboard side. "Call me when your eyes get tired, and I'll relieve you at the radar. Paul, Sharktooth, you'd better get some rest. We've probably got a long night ahead of us." Phillip grabbed an extra pillow and wedged himself in the narrow berth so that the erratic movement of the boat in the choppy seas wouldn't throw him out of bed, and within a minute or two, they heard him snoring.

  Paul grinned. "Typical old soldier," he remarked.

  "He wouldn't argue about the soldier part, but I'd keep the rest to myself, Paul," Dani said.

  Before Paul could respond, a deep, soft, repetitive rumble came from the corner where Sharktooth had settled.

  "Want a cup of coffee, Dani? I don't think I can sleep with all the racket."

  "Sure, Paul. Black is good. Our neighbor might be fishing. He's running back and forth over a course of several miles at around 5 knots."

  ****

 
Liz was stretched out on the bed in her stateroom, trying to pass the time. She had never before considered what it would be like to be in solitary confinement. She had no sense of time passing, except for the transition from night to day and vice versa. She had a view from the porthole over the berth, but it presented an endless vista of sea and sky, with only the occasional bird to break the monotony. It was late in the afternoon of her second day in captivity.

  Her captors had left her strictly alone, with the exception of delivering food and arranging her call to Dani's father. She had been served a club sandwich, the turkey and bacon still warm, for lunch yesterday, accompanied by crisp, freshly cooked chips. Dinner had been a tasty curry of beef. The quality of the food matched the luxury of her accommodations; she couldn't have prepared better meals herself, although she noted wryly that their china wasn't on a par with Vengeance's. The meals were delivered by two masked men; one carried the tray, and the other, a pistol.

  She had been blindfolded and taken up on deck this morning after breakfast. One of the men had coached her on what to say to J.-P. Berger. After the brief call, she had been taken back to her cell, as she had come to think of the stateroom. She was carefully recollecting everything that she could about her experiences since her abduction. She did this to keep herself occupied, but she also knew that details could be important. Later, details would help to identify her captors, and they could become important sooner if her situation changed.

  ****

  José and Cicero had just landed a nice tuna. As Cicero put the fish in the cooler, the click on one of the reels sounded off, the buzz announcing another strike. José snatched the rod from its holder and silenced the reel, raising the rod tip and simultaneously tightening the drag, slowing the newly hooked fish down. As Cicero put the engines in neutral, José's fish came out of the water, dancing across the sloppy sea on its tail for what seemed an eternity. The line went slack before the fish hit the water, and José was reeling madly. By the time he had retrieved the slack, the fish was in the air again, trying to shake the hook.

  "Them dorado, he don' like the hook, do he?" Cicero asked, a big grin on his face.

  As he and the fish settled in to see who had the most stamina, José thought that it was a fine thing that the fish were biting. He didn't know if Big Jim's crew could see them on radar, but, just in case, they were giving a convincing performance. While Cicero's Cigarette boat wasn't typical of the fishing craft in this part of the world, from the distance, all anyone would be able to see was a small boat, moving in typical patterns as the fishermen followed the birds that followed the feeding fish.

  Besides justifying their presence in the area, catching fish helped pass the time. José was prepared to go in hard when he hit Maximo. He wasn't worried about waiting until everyone was asleep, but he needed the cover of darkness to get close enough to board the big boat unobserved.

  Once José got the 35-pound dorado aboard, he and Cicero sat in the shade of the bimini top, drinking ice-cold beer. After the second beer, the sun was close to the western horizon, and the pastel light of a tropical sunset was playing over the irregular surface of the sea. The two men pulled an inflatable kayak from the Cigarette's cabin and blew it up, taking turns with the foot pump.

  By the time the kayak was tightly inflated, the sun was gone, and they began to close on Maximo at about eight knots, trailing the kayak behind. They reasoned that a radar target moving at that speed could be taken for almost anything from an inter-island freighter to a sailboat and therefore wouldn't attract too much attention.

  As Cicero steered the boat, José checked his backpack, making sure that the video camera and the paperwork were secured in waterproof pouches. He was determined to pull this off exactly as Tío Juan had ordered, in hopes of recovering from his earlier failure to keep track of Rodriguez. Satisfied with the contents of his backpack, he affixed the silencer to his pistol with some distaste. It seemed to him that killing with a firearm was crude, lacking in finesse. Little skill was required, and the interaction with the victim was minimal. To José, shooting someone was a waste of a victim, compared to killing with a knife, or, better still, his beloved razor.

  Cicero stopped the boat and shut off the engine.

  "Likkle over a mile, José," he said. "Not so much driftin', you wan' me to come wit' you."

  They had been worried earlier about leaving the Cigarette boat adrift in the dark, if they both boarded Maximo. They couldn't use the Cigarette for their final approach without losing the element of surprise, and the water was far too deep for them to anchor. José paused in the cockpit beside Cicero. Both watched the GPS display, verifying the accuracy of Cicero's observation.

  "Okay, Cicero. You're right. It's not going to drift very far. Once we take over Maximo, we'll come back and pick it up. Might even fit in their garage. I heard some of these big motor yachts carry boats like yours for toys. The rich, they play with them." He went below and retrieved another silenced pistol, handing it to Cicero. "Jus' in case," he admonished. "Lemme do the shooting, okay?"

  Cicero nodded, sticking the pistol inside his waistband as José pulled the kayak alongside. They both climbed down into the kayak and paddled off in the direction of the big motor yacht.

  Chapter 28

  Aboard Midnight Thunder, everyone was awake, munching on cold cuts as they contemplated the plan for attacking Maximo. After some discussion, they had decided that they would attack in the early evening instead of waiting until later. Since Maximo was at sea, they would most likely have a watch mounted around the clock, so Phillip's normal practice of striking in the early hours of the morning wouldn't offer much of an advantage. Besides, they were all anxious to set Liz free, and they weren't worried about taking prisoners. Phillip agreed with Dani that they would put an end to Santiago Rodriguez and his crowd this evening. They wouldn't give him the chance to strike a third time.

  Phillip had been watching the radar for the last couple of hours, allowing Dani to rest. As she woke up and joined the group, he filled everyone in on the movements of the nearby fishing boat.

  "Just after sunset, they struck out for Maximo," he said. "They never moved faster than seven or eight knots, and the targets finally merged. My bet is they had come from Bequia, stopped to do a little fishing, and now they're home for the night."

  "Could have been Rodriguez himself," Paul commented.

  "Maybe. Doesn't really matter. Here's what I think we should do. We'll approach within about 50 yards astern, running in stealth mode. Remember; keep your voices to a whisper. You'll be making more noise than Midnight Thunder. Once we're there, Sharktooth and I will go over the side and swim to the stern platform. If there's anybody on watch back there, we'll take 'em out. While we're securing the platform, you two put out those two big inflatable fenders and bring Midnight Thunder’s side to the platform. Paul, you guard the boat. Have her ready for a quick getaway, just in case something goes wrong. You take a suppressed AK-47; if you see anybody besides us, drop 'em in their tracks, wherever they are. Dani, as soon as we've tied up Midnight Thunder, you take up a covering position and make sure nobody gets behind Sharktooth and me. We'll clear the lower deck first, from aft forward, and then move up one deck at a time until we hit the bridge. We'll check for Liz as we go, but our first goal is to secure the boat. Then we can do a detailed search for her if we haven't found her. Everybody but Liz dies on the spot. Two shots in the head to be sure; we don't want anybody behind us. If we find Liz before we've cleared the boat, leave her where she is. When we've accounted for everybody, we'll bring her back to Midnight Thunder. I'll set some charges to scuttle Maximo, and we'll run for home. Questions?"

  The other three shook their heads.

  "Let's go, then. Paul, take her in while we get the weapons out."

  ****

  Phillip was holding onto the port side of Maximo's swim platform; he watched as Sharktooth put a hand on the opposite corner. They were both looking at the inflatable kayak tied to the port s
ide of the platform. When he saw that Sharktooth was holding on with one hand and had his pistol in the other, Phillip worked his way around to the kayak and carefully slit all three of the air chambers with his razor-sharp commando knife. They watched for a moment as the air hissed out and the kayak settled into the water. Phillip looked back at Sharktooth. Both men nodded.

  Phillip came out of the water with such speed that he appeared to just materialize on the platform, pistol in hand. Sharktooth remained in the water, covering Phillip, until Phillip waved him up. They quickly stepped to the open watertight door in the transom of the big boat, one taking up position on either side. The bright lighting from the interior of the vessel shone through the opening, casting shadows on the swim platform. They paused for a moment, allowing their eyes to adjust, and then Phillip dove through the opening, hitting the deck and rolling to the starboard side of the compartment. Sharktooth was a second behind him, finishing his roll on the port side.

  They both saw the bodies at the same time. Sharktooth moved to a position covering the door into the next compartment, while Phillip checked the two corpses. Both had taken several shots to the chest, and each had been shot through the forehead at close range. Phillip left Sharktooth to guard the compartment while he stepped back out onto the swim platform and helped Dani secure Midnight Thunder.

  The three of them quickly cleared the lower deck, finding two more bodies in one of the crew cabins. The men had each been shot twice in the head at close range, apparently in their sleep. By the time they reached the bridge deck, they had accounted for the entire crew, but they had seen no sign of Liz. Every crewman's body showed signs of a clinical execution, with the exception of the first two, who had presumably offered some resistance to earn the center of mass shots that preceded their headshots.

  They heard raised voices coming from the owner's cabin, which occupied a deck of its own just aft of the bridge. Phillip and Dani stood to either side of the entrance that opened onto the bridge deck, silently counting off 90 seconds to allow Sharktooth time to reach the other entrance, which was on an interior corridor. Phillip had his ear to the door, trying without success to make out what was being said. He and Dani finished the countdown within a second of one another. She reached across the door and put her hand on the knob. At Phillip's nod, she turned the knob and pushed the door open as Phillip threw his body against it.