by Hep Aldridge
Copyright © 2021 by Hep Aldridge
Published by BUOY MEDIA LLC
All rights reserved.
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No part of this book may be reproduced, scanned, or distributed in any printed or electronic form without permission from the author.
This is a work of fiction. Any resemblance of characters to actual persons, living or dead is purely coincidental. The Author holds exclusive rights to this work. Unauthorized duplication is prohibited.
Cover design by Juan Villar Padron,
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Special thanks to my editor Janell Parque
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Prologue
It was seven a.m. London time when Marco’s phone rang. He had just finished his morning workout as he answered. The voice on the other end spoke for three minutes, and then the line went dead. He had listened without comment to his instructions. They were clear. Marco never questioned the Cardinal’s orders. During his years of service, he had seen what happened to those who questioned the Vatican’s darker side—wrath he did not wish to incur. Two hours later, his plane was leaving Heathrow, headed for Rome. Later that evening, he and his four new companions were on a private jet headed for South America.
It had been a long flight with little sleep as the five men huddled and talked in low voices through the night. They arrived in Cuenca, Ecuador, went through customs, collected their bags, and left the airport. They checked into their hotel, a modestly upscale property. As had been promised, two large packages were waiting for them at the desk, having been shipped earlier from Quito. The suite accommodated Marco and his number two; the other three had adjoining rooms.
Once situated, they met in the suite and began unpacking the boxes. Each man had an HK P30 handgun and ammunition. The table was rapidly filling as the boxes were emptied. There were disassembled long guns, HK 417 A2’s, and one HK MSG90 A2 sniper rifle. Conversation was nonexistent as each team member picked up weapons, checked their action, and loaded them. Shoulder holsters and other tactical gear had also been provided.
Once the men were armed and the other weapons had been assembled and loaded, they were placed in duffel bags and set aside. The table was cleared as they pulled up chairs and sat down. Marco spoke as he opened a file folder and revealed a picture of Colten Burnett attached to a sheet of paper. Historical and background information covered the page.
“This is the leader of the group that calls itself Risky Business, Ltd., Colten Burnett,” he said as he passed it around. “He is an academic adventurer with some past specialized military training. Nothing recent, but there are rumors that he and his team are a resourceful group with interest in lost treasure and ancient civilizations.” As he spoke, he handed out printed pages with pictures of Dimitri, Joe, Doc Greene, and O’Reilly.
“We have limited information on the others, except for O’Reilly, who we know at one time was a CIA operative—an analyst—but little else. The others come from various backgrounds. The Russian is the only other member who has had military experience. Remember their faces; we need to learn all we can about them.” The others nodded and sat silently, passing around and reviewing the dossiers.
After a few minutes, one of the men spoke up, “And once we find them, then what?”
“It’s quite simple, really. We find out what they know, and then terminate them,” he said. “If possible, we make it look like an accident; if not, then they will just cease to exist. Our orders are clear.” The group around the table nodded in understanding; nothing more needed to be said. These men were highly trained professionals, and this was not their first assignment, but as had been stressed, one of their most important.
Chapter One
You know that saying, “The best-laid plans…” well, believe it. I should have been in Ecuador four weeks ago. But here I sit in a courtroom in Orlando, Florida, listening to two idiots from the state arguing that I have violated numerous laws and regulations pertaining to my discovery of a Spanish Galleon shipwreck off Florida’s Space Coast. Not my discovery, my company, Risky Business, Ltd.’s discovery of the wreck.
Things were going arguably well at the recovery site until one week before my Ecuador team’s planned departure for South America. That’s when the proverbial shit hit the fan. Let me explain. After the discovery of the shipwreck, we began an “official” legal salvage and recovery operation. We had already amassed sizeable assets from our previous “questionable” covert recovery activities at the site; luckily, no one knew about them. We hadn’t had too many hiccups, as I said; things were going well. That’s when Doc got the anonymous tip. He called me at home right away.
“Colt, we may have a problem. I just got a call letting me know that an official request has been received by the 7th Coast Guard District, directing them to provide an escort for some state officials out to our recovery site in three days.”
“What?” I asked.
“I don’t know what it’s about, but I don’t think they are going to be delivering a fruit basket from the Welcome Wagon.”
“Crap—get on the horn and let Gus know. I’ll get word to the rest of the team.”
“Roger that.”
As Doc contacted the Falcon, my mind was swirling with possibilities. We were prepared for a legal battle, but the Coast Guard—that was a wrinkle we hadn’t anticipated. Why were they getting involved, and what role would they be playing in this thing? I contacted Fitz, filled him in, and asked for any help or guidance he could provide. He didn’t like the Guard’s involvement either and said the only thing he could figure was they would be playing a law enforcement role. I agreed. He said he would make some calls but wasn’t sure what he could do. I told him any help would be appreciated.
He said, “So, your trip back down south is put on hold.”
“Yeah, guess it is. I want to be on the boat when the Welcome Wagon arrives.”
“Don’t do anything foolish,” he admonished. “One wrong step in this situation could land you in jail or worse. I know you guys are armed and prepared to repel all boarders, but any gunplay or use of force with these officials would be disastrous.”
“I hear you,” I said. “I just need to make sure the rest of the team understands that. I do have a few hotheads to contend with.”
“That’s putting it mildly… Good luck, I’ll stay in touch.” With that, the line went dead, and I contacted the rest of the team. A few hours later, those of us on land met at the new Lair and connected with Gus on the Falcon and Fitz and O’Reilly in Bithlo on our encrypted video link.
The conversation started with trying to figure out what this visit was going to be about. David Kensington, Esq., our on-site maritime legal eagle from the law firm in Atlanta, joined us. The firm that David worked for had come to us through a Fitz connection. As it turned out, Dave was not only an expert in maritime law, but he was also a good guy and fit in nicely with the rest of the team. He had been down here the last five weeks working with Lawrence on our legal standing in the salvage operations. Also joining us was Tim Robinson, our Nautical Archaeology specialist. I had hired him a few months back when we went legit with our salvage of the galleon. He was a graduate of Texas A
& M’s archaeology program, had a master’s degree, and was a sharp cookie. There had been some run-ins with the faculty, and he decided to break out of academe. He had been looking for a little more adventure in the world of underwater archaeology, and my job offer was just the ticket. Once things settled down, Dave took the lead on the discussion.
“I think we can assume this will be the beginning of the legal battle we have been preparing for,” he said.
Lawrence, who was going to be his number two, agreed. “I think you’re right. We’ve known something was going to happen sooner or later; I guess that’s now. But why is the state requesting the Coast Guard be involved?”
“My guess would be as law enforcement back-up. I get the feeling that this may be more than just a serving of papers,” Dave added.
“What do you mean?” Dimitri asked.
Dave spoke up, “They may be planning on serving a Cease-and-Desist order on your recovery and might be worried you will protest. I’ve seen it happen before.”
A spontaneous chorus erupted, and Dimitri, Gus, and Joe responded, “Hell yeah, we’ll protest… with extreme prejudice.”
Here we go, I thought. “All right, guys, I know how you feel, but we have to tread very lightly with this. If we get crazy now, we could lose everything, and I mean everything.” I had to keep things from spiraling out of control.
“Colt’s right,” Doc said. “Now is the time to be smart with our response, especially when dealing with the state. No matter how we feel inside, we have to maintain our cool.”
“And let’s not jump the gun here,” Dave said, “We’re not even sure what this visit’s about. My comment was only a guess, one possibility out of many.”
“True,” Fitz interjected, “But you need to have contingencies in place for a worst-case scenario. I’ve made a couple of calls, working some back channels, but haven’t heard back.”
“Thanks, Fitz,” I said. “Appreciate the help. However, until we have the meeting, we have no idea what we’re up against. Good thing playing it by ear is one of our strong suits.” That got a disgruntled laugh from everyone. Fitz signed off, and we continued our meeting. I told Gus we needed to off-load any treasure they currently had on board and be ready to close up shop if need be. I told Nils I wanted him to take his boat The Mistress and make the run out to the Falcon and pick it up in the morning. I asked Dave and Lawrence to put their heads together and get ready for any imaginable scenario. They agreed. I knew I would have to keep Dimitri and Joe on a short leash during this thing and wasn’t looking forward to that. My plan was for us to be on-site with the Lisa B. Gus said he would let his crew know what was going on and signed off.
We finished our formal discussions and sat around for a while, having beers and unwinding somewhat. As I drove home that night, my mind swirled with possibilities and outcomes for the upcoming meeting. We had been doing well for the past couple of years, and now we were about to face possibly our biggest challenge so far. I thought back to the comment Lawrence had made months ago about the potential for an upcoming court battle, “Hey, all we’ll be fighting over is chump change.” He was right; we had already taken almost 4 billion dollars in treasure off the wreck before we officially “discovered” it and began our legal salvage. My furrowed brow finally loosened up, and a grin replaced the frown I had been wearing. “It’s a pirate’s life for me. Yo, Ho, Ho, and a bottle of rum,” I thought. I didn’t sleep well that night, but I did sleep.
The next day, our plan kicked into high gear. Nils made the run to the Falcon, and Dave and Lawrence gathered our legal paperwork and lease info together and spent the day reviewing it and any other relevant information they could find.
Tim had our site survey and recovery data in a neat package, archaeologically speaking. Dimitri, Joe, Doc, and I worked on making sure things were in order in the “new” Lair. We briefed our head of security, and he, in turn, briefed the 24-man security team we hired on Fitz’s recommendation. I had split the security staff between the new facility and our place in Cocoa Village, the old bank. We were storing around twenty-five million dollars so far at this new facility.
A few weeks earlier, I had decided we needed something more secure for the bulk of our legal recovery, so I had gone shopping. I remembered that in Cocoa Village, there was an old bank that had been closed many years ago. Over time, it had taken on life as a dining establishment of one kind or another. After passing through several owners, it had come back on the market recently. The beauty part of it was, over the years, the various owners had kept the vault intact and used it as part of the décor and ambiance. The building’s interior, vault, and everything associated with it had been well taken care of, so I bought it.
We contacted the vault manufacturer and flew in one of their techs from New York. He cleaned its mechanism and thoroughly inspected it. Once we received a thumbs up from him, he reset the combinations on the vault’s locking system. We installed some new electronic security measures inside and out and moved the bulk of the treasure “legally” recovered inside—around 275 million dollars in gold and silver.
The building was staffed with a security force and a communications center, but there was no in-and-out daily traffic. For appearances’ sake, it was still just a closed business that was having some renovation work done. Our deliveries and vault refurbishing occurred at night. The workmen in coveralls around during the day were all security personnel. Since Lair Two was the site you saw on the news, the security personnel were uniformed and very visible there. No need for a covert approach; I wanted them to be seen. That made them a psychological as well as a physical deterrent.
Our original Lair in the industrial area of West Cocoa still housed the bulk of our “Pirate Booty.” Its non-descript exterior and location hid well over 3.9 billion dollars in gold, silver, and gems. People drove by it every day and had no idea. The building sported a chemical company logo and hazardous material signage supplied by Fitz and his Acme Corporation. We now had three areas where our wealth was stored. My mind still had a hard time taking it in, but it was all part of the plan. If word ever got out about us having a secret location for our finds, I would give up the bank in the village. I hoped that the original Lair location would remain unknown.
Early the next morning, I was awakened by the incessant ringing of my phone. I picked up and immediately recognized Doc’s excited voice.
“Colt, I got another call…”
“What now?” I groggily asked, the adrenaline starting to kick in.
“Looks like the state is preparing for the potential of an altercation at our meeting tomorrow. They contacted the Guard again to make sure they would be armed.”
“What the hell…” I exclaimed, sitting up and wide awake now. “Why would they be so concerned about that unless they were planning on starting a shit storm?”
“I know,” Doc replied. “That’s why I called; something is definitely screwy with this.”
“Okay,” I said, “I’ll get on the horn with Fitz and alert him. Let me know if you hear anything else. I’ll be at the office (what we now called Lair Two) in an hour.”
“Roger that, I’ll meet you there.”
I hung up and called Fitz. He was as mystified as I was. “Maybe they think you are going to respond poorly to whatever it is they have on their minds.”
“Poorly?” I asked.
Fitz began laughing and said, “Okay, bad choice of words. How about in a less than favorable fashion… better?” His laughing continued.
“You’re not being helpful here,” I said.
“All right, let me see what I can do. We sure as hell don’t want an O.K. Corral on the high seas occurring. I’ll be in touch; stay frosty!”
“Thanks, will do.”
I informed the rest of the team, and we set up a meeting at the new office (Lair Two) for an hour later. We had a conference room in this facility, just not as high tech as our original Lair. We took our seats around the table and dove into the fact
s as we knew them. Tension was rising, and I was worried.
After an hour of discussion, I felt we were as prepared as we could be. However, Dimitri and Joe were not much help in quelling my concern.
Dimitri had said, “We’re good to go, Colt. We’ve got weapons, ammo, and Gus has enough explosives on board the Falcon to sink a destroyer.”
“Yeah, we’re loaded for bear!” Joe added.
“For crying out loud, you two! You keep that up, and I’m going to put you both in a ‘time-out’ and leave you at home.” That’s when the laughter began, not at what I had said, but at the fact that I had taken the bait those two yahoos had thrown out.
Through the fits of laughter, Dimitri turned to Joe and said, “Told you he would fall for it,” and continued chuckling.
“Hook line and sinker,” Joe said.
As the laughter died down, I felt the heat of the flush start to recede from my face.
“All right, you two Bozos, that was not funny…”
“Oh, yes, it was,” Doc said. “You’ve gotten yourself wound pretty tight over this meeting, and you need to take a breath. We can and will get through this. We’ve handled worse, so relax a bit and let’s get to it.”
He was right, of course; we had been through much worse and came out the other side just fine. So, I did begin to relax a bit. We were ready, and we had a plan; now, all we had to do was execute it.
Chapter Two
We pulled alongside the Falcon the next morning just as the orange glow of the sun was kissing the waters of the Atlantic. There was a light breeze, and the salt air was refreshing and just a little cool. February mornings in central Florida tend to be on the cool side. Dave and Lawrence boarded the Falcon with their briefcases, and Doc followed. We put the bumpers in place and tied off the lines to raft the two vessels together. I boarded the Falcon; Joe and Dimitri stayed on the Lisa B. The meeting was set for 9 a.m. Smitty and Wild Bill were below deck, and Mac was with Gus and the rest of us. We sat at the table behind the wheelhouse, making small talk. You could feel the tension as I slowly scanned the faces of the men on deck. I looked at Dave, and he seemed relaxed and confident. That gave me pause, and I said, “You don’t seem worried.”
