by Tripp Ellis
“No,” I said, innocently. “We just put it somewhere he’ll never find it.”
“Why would you do that?”
“Remember that murder investigation that I’m helping the police with?”
“Yeah?” she said, having second thoughts about our relationship.
“Well, it has to do with that. It’s complicated.”
“You are quickly going from interesting to psychotic. You realize that, don’t you?”
“Don’t rush to judgment,” I said.
Her blue eyes narrowed at me. “Those guys looked pretty pissed off. It sounds like they’re coming for you.”
“Yeah. Pretty much.”
“Doesn’t that bother you?”
“Nothing I can’t handle.”
Aria shrugged. “You seemed to handle yourself pretty well at Reefers.”
“Trust me,” JD said. “The man can take care of himself.”
“Things might get a little crazy around here. It might be safer for you if you went back to your hotel. Better yet, back to New York. Not that I want you to go.”
“If you are as good as you say you are, then I’ve got nothing to worry about,” Aria said with a smile.
“I like her,” JD said. “She’s got spunk.”
“Thank you, JD,” she said.
“Just do me a favor and go back to the hotel until we get this sorted,” I pleaded.
“You’re not trying to run me out to make room for another little hottie, are you?” She was half joking.
“No. No other hotties.”
“Good.” Her perfect teeth sparkled as she smiled again.
“You know, Scarlett’s not safe either,” I said. “They’re going to come for both of us. You know that?”
“You’re right. I’ll take this one home,” JD said pointing to Aria. “Then I’ll send Scarlett up to my mom’s place in Miami until this blows over. She’s not going to be happy about leaving.”
I escorted Aria down the dock and saw her off. She climbed into Jack’s Porsche and waved as the car sped out of the parking lot.
I went back to the boat, grabbed a pair of night vision goggles, and climbed up to the bridge. I sat there with my 9mm, waiting.
31
Troy wasn’t going to waste any time. He needed his cocaine back. He was going to come for me, or JD, tonight.
I’m sure in their minds, they thought they’d be able to capture me and beat the information out of me. But these guys were amateurs.
Still, I wanted to make sure they weren’t able to gain any leverage. With Madison in South Beach, Scarlett on her way to Miami, and Aria safe in her hotel, I could focus on one thing—bringing these assholes down.
I figured all I needed to do was sit back and let them come to me.
It had taken some doing, but JD finally convinced Scarlett to get on the road. She didn’t want to leave her friends and apparently had a date that she would have to break. Somehow JD convinced her it was in her best interest to leave. He didn’t say how much cash he had to give her as a bribe, but I got the impression it was quite a lot.
Jack returned to the marina with a Köenig-Haas SA-25 semiautomatic, special applications sniper rifle. It was chambered in 7.62mm. It shared over 60% of its parts with the AR-15, making it highly customizable. It had a 20 inch barrel, high-capacity magazine, key-mod rail system, and a suppressor (which Jack had an NFA tax stamp for, so it was completely legal). The weapon had been adopted by SOCOM and was also used by IDF forces.
Needless to say, it was a capable weapon.
We planned on using a standard tactic—make yourself an easy target and draw enemy fire. Then ambush as they closed in.
We decided it was best for Jack to take an Overwatch position in Madison’s loft above the bar. Through an open window, he would have excellent coverage of the parking lot, dock, and the Slick’n Salty.
I turned the lights in the deck house on and made sure the stereo was up loud enough to filter across the water, hoping to draw the thugs out. I bunched the pillows up in the bed to make it look like someone was sleeping in the master stateroom. Then I positioned myself on a neighboring boat and waited for the assault.
Jack and I communicated with each other via wireless earbuds. It was like the old Special Ops days. The rush of adrenaline coursed through my veins, and it made me miss being on the job.
I figured Troy would strike between 3 and 4 AM. That gave us quite a bit of hurry up and wait time.
JD’s voice crackled in my earbud. “That girl likes you.”
“You think?”
“It’s pretty obvious. She couldn’t stop talking about you on the way back to the hotel.”
“She’ll forget all about me the minute she gets back to New York.”
“I wouldn’t be so sure about that.”
“It’s Coconut Key,” I said. “You can’t take anything seriously down here. Tourists come and go. Always have, always will.”
“You don’t have to play it cool for me. Go on, admit it. You kind of like her.”
“Alright. I’ll admit it. Spending time with her hasn’t exactly been painful.”
“Just don’t get too involved with this girl and forget about your friends.”
“Stop. Just stop right now.” He was going to harass me all night long. I could tell.
We sat there and waited, and waited, and waited…
3am came and went.
Then 4am…
Then my phone buzzed. Unknown caller.
I didn’t have time for Isabella now. I ignored the call and sent it to voicemail.
Whoever it was didn’t leave a message.
A moment later, my phone buzzed again. This time I decided I’d better answer it.
“If you want to see the girl alive again, you’ll bring me my stuff.”
My body tensed, and my stomach twisted in knots. This was a call I never wanted to receive. I put it on speakerphone so it would filter through the comm link to JD.
“You want me to bring your stuff and you’ll let the girl go?” I asked. It was an FBI mirroring tactic. Repeating keywords would spur the kidnapper to repeat his demands and perhaps reveal additional information.
“Yes. That’s what I said. Are you deaf?”
“I just want to make sure I’m hearing you correctly so that I can comply with your demands.”
“Bring me the 50 kilos of cocaine, and I will let the girl go. Do you need me to speak slower?”
“Put her on the phone,” I said. “I want proof of life.”
“No,” Troy barked. “You bring what you stole from me.”
“I need proof of life, otherwise there is no incentive for me to comply. This is a two-way street.”
It was only a few seconds before I heard her voice, but it seemed like an eternity. During that unbearable moment, my mind raced, not knowing who they had taken. I was crushed when I finally heard her voice. It wasn’t real until then, like Schrödinger’s cat existing in a state of infinite possibilities.
32
“Tyson?” a frail, trembling voice said. That one word conveyed a host of emotions.
“Have they hurt you?” I asked.
Before Scarlett answered, Troy yanked the phone away. “Happy? She’s alive. If you want her to stay that way you’ve got two hours to return my merchandise.”
“You want me to return the merchandise within two hours?”
“Yes. The longer you drag this out, the more inclined I am to cause irreparable harm to this young lady.”
“I need a little time to get it.”
“You don’t have my merchandise?”
“Relax. I put it someplace safe.”
Troy growled. “You better bring it back to me. All of it. If so much as an ounce is missing, she dies.”
“I’ve got it. Every last ounce.” I paused. “You’re not having a good day, are you?”
“No. I’m not. Thanks to assholes like you.”
“Sorry about that. I bet you boys will
be in a lot of trouble if you don’t get that merchandise?”
“You’re goddamn right!”
“You’ve got every right to be angry,” I said.
I was trying to get him talking and build rapport. I didn’t know if it was working.
“Take your boat out of the harbor and head south. I’m going to text you coordinates. You’ll wait there for further instructions.” He paused. “You seem like a smart guy. So I’m sure I don’t need to tell you… No cops. No feds. Just you and that washed up 80s wanna-be friend of yours. Unarmed. Are we clear?”
“Clear.”
Troy hung up.
“Did you get all that?” I said to JD.
“Yeah, I got it” he said, stunned.
“Don’t worry. We’re going to get her back.”
“I watched Scarlett get in the car and drive away,” JD said, still trying to process how this happened. “When we get her back, I’m going to strangle her. She doesn’t listen to a thing I say! I’m going to call her friend, Ella, and see if she knows anything. I’ll meet you at the boat.”
At the boat, Jack held together pretty well. He compartmentalized and pushed it into that part of his brain where it was just another op.
I could see behind his eyes that if he thought about it for a moment, he’d break down and lose it. But he wouldn’t allow himself to go there. Not when we had a job to do.
“Ella said she had a date with some guy. Aiden. Ella didn’t have his number. I bet Scarlett turned around and went straight to meet him,” JD said. “Troy and his bunch were probably watching my house and followed her.”
“I’m sorry, Jack. This is my fault. I should never have taken his stash. It blew up in our faces.”
Jack frowned. “Not your fault. Well, maybe just a little.”
A regretful frown tugged at my lips.
“We’ll take the boat over to the marina, dive down, grab the coke, and make the swap,” Jack said.
I cringed. “Slight problem. I told the sheriff where to find it. It’s probably sitting in an evidence locker right now.”
“So, we call the sheriff and get him to loan us the evidence, and he can get it back when we make the trade.” Jack was understandably a little frazzled. His wide eyes and trembling hands gave him away.
“Jack, you’re not thinking clearly. The sheriff is not going to give us $4 million worth of cocaine.”
“It never hurts to ask,” JD said. He pulled his phone from his pocket.
“What are you doing?”
“Calling Wayne.”
“Even if he does give us the stash, those guys have no intention of letting us all walk away. Two people are already dead.”
Wayne’s groggy voice filtered through the phone. “Sheriff Daniels.”
“Sheriff, Jack Donovan.”
“Jack, it’s 4:30 AM. This better be good.”
“About that cocaine you recovered from the marina…”
Wayne paused. “We didn’t recover any cocaine.”
“You didn’t?” Jack said, perplexed.
I could hear the sheriff’s thin voice. My eyes widened with surprise.
“I sent divers down,” Wayne said. “They couldn’t find anything. Can we talk about this at a more reasonable hour?”
“Sure, no problem,” JD stammered. He disconnected the call. “Looks like somebody else found it first.”
I deflated, kicking myself for taking it in the first place. “Great. Somebody’s running around with 50 kilos.”
“Now what?”
“It’s your call. We can call the feds and let them handle it, or we do it our way.”
“This wouldn’t be the first time we’ve negotiated for a hostage,” Jack said. “And I don’t want anybody else screwing it up. We got those journalists back in Iraq. We got the ambassador in Afghanistan.”
“These guys are backed into a corner. They’re inexperienced, and they’re panicking. They’ll be prone to making stupid decisions, which is good and bad. They know that if they don’t come up with that cocaine, or the money, they’re dead. They’ve got nothing to lose, and that makes them dangerous.”
“Well, they pissed me off, and that makes me way more dangerous.”
“We’ll get her back, Jack,” I assured.
I slipped my phone from my pocket and made a call that I hoped I would never have to make.
“Who are you calling?” JD asked.
“Just getting us a little tactical assistance.”
33
A sleepy female voice filtered from my phone. “What do you want?”
“I’m shocked,” I said. “I didn’t think you ever slept. I thought you were a cold, ruthless machine.”
“I am a machine,” Isabella said. “Is this a booty call, or is this business?”
“I need your help.”
“Quid pro quo, Tyson.”
My agreement to her terms was implicit in our continuing the conversation. It meant that somewhere down the line, she was going to call me, and I was going to have to do the job, no matter what it was. “I need you to find someone for me.”
“I thought you were retired?”
“This is a personal matter.”
“You should know better than to get involved in personal matters.”
“Circumstances beyond my control.”
“Since I won’t be able to get back to sleep, who am I trying to find?” Isabella asked.
“I received a call on this phone a few minutes ago. I need the location of the caller.”
“I’ll see what I can do.” Isabella hung up.
“Did you just make a deal with the devil?” Jack asked.
“I think so.”
Madison had left me her keys to Diver Down. JD and I fumbled to the kitchen and found flour, Ziploc bags, and butcher paper. We made 50 fake kilos, wrapped them in duct tape, then covered them with butcher paper. We labeled them as various fillets of fish and stuffed them into a rolling suitcase that I took from Madison’s loft. The subterfuge wouldn’t last long, but maybe it would buy us a few minutes. In these types of situations, every second counts.
By the time we were done with our craft project, Isabella texted me the coordinates of their location. I showed my phone screen to JD.
“That looks like half-a-mile south of Urchin Key,” he said.
“I know it. Small little strip of an island about 2 miles offshore.”
We pulled the area up on the maps app.
“If we take this route,” I said pointing to the screen,” you can drop me off here. I can take the dinghy to the north side of the island. From there, I should be able to get a view of their boat with night vision. I can slip into the water on the south side with the Dräger and come up underneath the boat. You can rendezvous with them as scheduled. Before they realize I’m not with you, I’ll be on their boat and will have neutralized the threat.”
“I like the way that sounds. Let’s hope it goes as smoothly as you make it sound.”
“It will.”
“Be careful in that water, that area is full of bull sharks. And they are aggressive.”
“If I don’t bother them, they won’t bother me,” I said, hopeful.
We boarded Jack’s boat and pulled the dinghy from storage. It was a 7.5 foot inflatable WavePro MK-II. The pontoons were gray and black, and he had a Barracuda MM7 electric motor that would run the dinghy at close to 6 knots. The motor was whisper quiet, and if the wind was right, they’d never hear me coming. If I needed absolute silence, there were two 6” aluminum ores. But rowing against the wind in a dinghy wasn’t my idea of fun.
I don’t know how Jack got his hands on it, but he had a military issue Dräger LAR V closed-circuit oxygen rebreather. It was the preferred diving apparatus for stealth units. Low noise, no bubbles, compact and streamlined.
We cast off, left the marina, and headed south. JD throttled up and brought the boat on plane. A storm brewed offshore. The occasional flash of lightning and ripple of thunder rolled a
cross the sky. The conditions were okay, but deteriorating rapidly. The front rolled in from the southeast, and the winds picked up.
The text came through with the rendezvous coordinates. They were about 2 miles south of the location Isabella had given me.
My hunch was that Troy intended to send us to a temporary location and let us sit for a while to make sure we were alone. Then they’d give us coordinates to their actual location. If they were smart, they’d have a spotter near the fake rendezvous point, looking for law enforcement.
Jack cut the engines about a mile north of Urchin Key. The rain was coming down in sheets now.
We tossed the dinghy into the water and I loaded it with my gear, which included nightvision goggles, Jack’s sniper rifle, the Dräger, fins, and a K-Bar knife.
I climbed over the transom and stepped into the dinghy. The waves rocked the tiny boat. I looked up at JD, his eyes full of concern.
“We got this,” I said. “No worries.”
34
The little electric motor was good for six hours at full throttle. The wind was out of the southeast. With the storm, there was no way the sound of the little motor would carry across the island.
Wind rushed through my hair. Hard rain and the spray of salt water pelted my face. The soft bottom of the dinghy didn’t allow it to get on plane, but I was moving at a decent speed, probably cruising along at 4 knots. The rolling waves felt like a roller coaster as the tiny craft pitched up and down. I hit the north side of the island in 15 minutes. I hopped out of the craft and pulled the dinghy up the beach to the tree line.
I put on my tactical helmet and pulled down my night vision goggles (NVGs). My surroundings lit up with a green glow as I looked through the optics. I shouldered the Dräger, grabbed my fins and sniper rifle, and headed south across the island, weaving through mangrove trees and underbrush.
At the south shore, I posted up behind a tree and scanned the horizon. The Heartbreaker was just where Isabella said it was, Maybe half a mile from shore.
I strapped on the Dräger and donned my mask. The unit hung from my chest, unlike a traditional scuba tank. It was good for about four hours of use. I slipped into the water, put on my fins, and submerged.
