by Les Abend
Almost certain of the answer, Hart drew in a deep breath and asked, “What was the warning?”
“For you to leave the investigation in Bermuda alone…or…or…bad things would happen to us.”
“I’m sorry, Cath.”
“It’s not your fault.”
“Well, in a way it is.” Hart glanced at Maureen. She had rolled to her side and was looking at him with the one piercing, brown eye that wasn’t covered by her cascading hair. “I didn’t want to give you cause for concern, but I did receive a threatening phone call en route to the airport.” Hart thought it best to leave out the paintball episode on I-95.
Cathy asked, “Did the phone call involve me?”
“Indirectly. But I didn’t take it seriously.”
“It’s okay.”
Hart began to feel a twinge of guilt rise in his chest. He said, “It’s not okay, Cath. I have an FBI connection here in Bermuda. I could have been more proactive and had the agent make the appropriate phone calls.” Hart had a momentary spike of resentment. Why hadn’t Fredricks taken the initiative? After all, the man had already been aware of the I-95 incident. And what happened to Rod’s cop friend who was supposed to keep an eye on Cathy? Were the two of them out golfing again? He’d deal with that later.
“Hart, I’m okay. I called the cops. They’ll be keeping an eye on me and the house for a while.”
“Good.” Hart rubbed his forehead and stared at the ceiling, deliberately trying to avoid eye contact with Maureen. “Cath, what did the guy look like?”
“I gave the cops a description. I couldn’t see much through the guy’s open car window. He was driving a black Mercedes with overly tinted windows. He looked skinny. Unshaven. Some kind of accent.”
Shit! The prick was supposed to have flown to New York from Bermuda according to Fredricks. How did the bastard end up back in Miami? Fucking FBI! Are they doing their jobs?
Cathy asked, “Hart, are you still there?” She paused. “Hart…you are alone aren’t you?”
Hart closed his eyes and shook his head. It took only seconds for him to reply, but he knew it was probably too long. “Yes, Cath. I’m alone.”
“Okay.”
Hart said, “Our work here in Bermuda is mostly done. The IIC is conducting an early morning press briefing. I should be able to take the morning flight back to Miami.”
“Give me a call when you get back,” Cathy said, a sullen quality creeping into her voice.
“Will do.”
“Love you.”
Cringing, Hart said, “Good night, hon.”
The line was silent for a moment. Hart could hear Cathy’s breathing. And then he heard a click.
Maureen had raised herself up on her forearms, her round breasts exposed. She took the phone from Hart and placed it back on the cradle.
Hart looked into Maureen’s eyes and said, “I’m a jerk.”
“That may be true,” Maureen said with a coy grin. “But at least the acknowledgement indicates that you have a conscience.”
“Maybe…”
Maureen rolled to her side and moved a hand over Hart’s chest and down to his midsection. Hart felt himself throb. She rotated her body on top of Hart and began to nibble on his ear.
Chapter Fourteen
Sunday
02:05 EDT
The moon’s reflection shimmered on the water. Aside from the rhythmic roll of the swells, the Atlantic Ocean was almost a sheet of glass. Had he not been focused on the mission, Mike might have shut the engines down, drifted with the current, and then simply gazed at the twinkling night sky.
Instead, Mike was dividing his attention on both the view directly in front of the bow and on his iPhone. He was studying the icon of Ashley’s cell phone location. The icon had remained stationary. The satellite view of the family locator map had positioned his daughters approximately two miles offshore. It appeared that the boat with his girls was anchored somewhere halfway between the extension of Oakland Boulevard and Commercial Boulevard.
Mike was moving the Sea Ray at a painfully slow speed. At such a low rpm, the muffled exhaust that escaped just above the water line created a warbling sound as the boat rose and fell with the waves. He didn’t want to miss spotting the Tiara, nor did he want to alert his daughters’ captors of his approach any earlier than he had to. In that regard, Mike had shut off all exterior and interior lights.
The water lapping against the hull would have been calming if his stress level hadn’t already peaked. Mike felt his grip on the chrome wheel of the helm tighten. Clammy moisture from his palms was beginning to seep out onto the metal. If he had been flying the 767, he would have silently criticized himself. A relaxed touch in an airplane always produced better results.
As Mike scanned the darkness ahead of the bow, a silhouette in the distance caught his attention. Another boat? Was it the boat? Or was it just anxiety flirting with his mind? Mike squinted. Was that a red nav light? Couldn’t be… Wouldn’t the maniacs that abducted his daughters want to be as stealthy as he was?
A glance at the locator program and then a quick study of the boat’s GPS display indicated that whatever floated out there corresponded with the position. But how could he be certain? What if it was just a group of buddies on a late night fishing excursion? Mike thought for a moment. Idiot! Turn on the radar. The return should be able to verify the relationship of his visual sighting with the spot on the locator map.
Mike reached forward and pressed the radar power button. The screen was mounted upright on the far corner of the instrument panel. The old monochrome display began to bathe the cockpit with a dull, green light. When a long minute passed, a steady sweep began to trace across the screen. Only three sweeps had cycled before Mike began to focus on two small pinpoints of green.
Two? Shit! Which return was the right one? They were both within a half-mile of each other. It was a 50/50 chance. Mike stared at the locator map. He had to take a gamble. Mike turned the wheel, aiming the Sea Ray at the nearest speck of green illuminated on the radar display. He reached into the duffle bag and slid the Glock out onto an empty spot by the throttle levers. He reached forward and pressed the power button on the radar display until the screen went black. He peered forward through the windscreen and out toward the rolling water into the night. The silhouette of the boat that he had sighted earlier reappeared. Mike’s heart began to thump.
An agonizing few minutes passed. Soon, Mike was within close enough proximity to discern the hull characteristics of the boat. Yes! It was a sedan bridge. He had to be careful with his approach. The calm winds would allow the boat to swing in a wide angle. Assuming the anchor line was attached to the bow, he didn’t want to snag it in his props.
With a quick jerk, Mike moved the throttles to idle and then the transmission levers to neutral. The Sea Ray glided forward, moving in a course that would slowly parallel the sedan bridge. The cabin of the other boat was dark except for the eerie orange glow of the instrument panel lights.
Just above the hiss and rumble of his engines, Mike heard voices. The voices seemed to be originating from the deck at the bow. As the Sea Ray neared the stern of the sedan bridge, Mike reached for the Glock. He gripped the weapon tightly in his right hand, being careful to keep his finger away from the trigger.
“Hey!” a voice shouted from the deck of the sedan bridge.
Mike stepped from underneath the bimini top and moved his feet to a wide stance. He aimed the automatic weapon at two dark figures. One of the figures seemed to be scampering along the inside of the starboard rail, moving aft toward the cockpit of the boat. As the moonlight illuminated more of the scene, Mike could see that the person moving toward the cockpit was clutching a beach towel around their body.
“What do you want, asshole?” the male voice asked, a slight insecurity inflection in his tone.
The figure attached to the voice reached down for something on the deck. Mike tensed. Should he squeeze the trigger? The figure grabbed at a small lump. A pair of shor
ts? The figure began to struggle, balancing on the deck in an awkward dance. The figure was trying to pull the shorts up. He tugged at the zipper as Mike drew closer with the Sea Ray.
Still aiming the Glock and now moving his finger over the trigger, he glanced at the emblem attached to the side of the sedan bridge. The emblem read, “Silverton.”
Shit! It wasn’t the Tiara!
Shaking his head, Mike ducked back under the bimini top. He dropped the automatic weapon to his side. He had just interrupted a couple trying to screw under the stars. He stepped over to the helm and pushed the transmission levers into forward gear. Crap!
From the Silverton, Mike heard, “Dumb-ass! Learn how to drive a boat! You almost killed us!”
The man’s outburst was probably the understatement of his entire life. Mike took a deep breath, hoping that he could slow his heart rate. He had almost shot an innocent man.
When he had put some distance between the Silverton and the Sea Ray, Mike brought the transmission levers to idle. The boat slowed, rocking with the motion of the waves. He removed his hands from the wheel and massaged his temples. He took a few more deep breaths and thought for a moment.
Mike pressed the power button of the radar. He stared at the display. The other green pinpoint reappeared. According to the range, the other boat was about a quarter-mile ahead and slightly to the right. It just had to be the Tiara…
After smearing the sweat from his palms on his jeans, Mike reached forward and once again pushed the transmission levers into forward gear. He sighed and stared ahead into the darkness. With the same technique as he employed on the airplane, he began a systematic scan of the horizon. A few anxious minutes later, the moonlit shape of another sedan bridge boat appeared. Mike felt his heart rise into his throat.
Using the strategy from the previous encounter, Mike motored to gliding distance. He slid the transmission levers into neutral and turned the helm wheel to steer the Sea Ray alongside. Within moments, he recognized the Tiara. This time he wouldn’t need to see the logo emblem. He grabbed the Glock off the instrument panel. Mike stepped out from underneath the bimini top and extended his arms, the automatic weapon poised firmly in his hands.
A yellow dome light splashed the cockpit deck of the Tiara with a dim glow. The light flowed over two human forms that were standing toward the aft end of the cockpit deck. Judging by the hourglass shapes and the long hair, the human forms were female. Should he pull the trigger…on women? If it meant saving his daughters...
From a place in his throat that he didn’t recognize, Mike shouted, “Do not move! I have a weapon aimed at your heads!” The women on board the Tiara remained stationary. No response. The Sea Ray glided closer. “I want to see Kim and Ashley on the deck!”
No movement. No reply.
“Now!” Mike yelled.
A muffled voice screamed from within the cabin of the Tiara. “Dad!? Dad! Is that you?”
In an instant, the cockpit of Mike’s Sea Ray exploded with the illumination of intense white light. Mike’s vision was overwhelmed by the glare. He squinted and instinctively attempted to cover his eyes by holding a cupped hand against his forehead. Where was the source of his blindness? He heard a cackle of laughter. His mind raced. He squeezed the trigger of the Glock. The sound of the shot crackled.
A wispy female voice from the Tiara, yelled, “Shit! It burns! I think I’ve been hit!” A groan. A stifled thump. The glaring white light disappeared as quickly as it had appeared. And then a heavy thump. Mike’s deck shook. What was that?
Someone from the Tiara must have jumped on board his boat because in an instant, Mike felt the heel of two palms shove him backward with a crushing blow. The impact pushed air from his lungs. The force threw him onto the deck of the Sea Ray. Whatever air remained completely escaped as his back and head were pounded against the hard surface. The Glock fell away from his grip. The gun slid across the deck.
As Mike coughed and gasped for a breath, the hulking outline of a large man took shape before him. The man reached down and grabbed the center of Mike’s T-shirt. He twisted the thin fabric into a knot and then pulled, forcing Mike onto his feet. In a futile attempt, Mike resisted. Most of his energy had escaped with his abrupt fall to the deck. His efforts had no effect other than to further enrage the large man. The man’s arms were made of steel.
“You shot one of my girls, faggot!” The hulking man spit from his lips.
Mike wheezed, “I just want my daughters!”
“You fucked up, faggot! Did you forget who you were dealing with?”
“I’ll get what you want. I just need time,” Mike said, taking gasping breaths.
“You should have thought of that before you took your little airline trip.”
A raspy female voice from the Tiara yelled, “Chris…it’s not looking good for Amber! I don’t think she’s breathing!”
Mike felt the grip of the muscular man relax on his T-shirt. The man reached down for the Glock that was still lying on the deck. He clenched the gun in one beefy hand and pointed it at Mike’s temple.
Glaring, the muscular man spoke in a loud, commanding voice. “Come over here and get on board this piece of shit boat, Serena. You watch this fudge-packer. I’ll jump back over and check out Amber.”
A cold voice from the Tiara responded, “I’m coming.”
In a few moments, tan slender legs slid over the rail of the Sea Ray. A tall blonde took a few steps toward the monstrous bald man holding the gun aimed at Mike. The bald man passed the Glock to the blonde without taking his eyes off Mike. The blonde took a wide stance and aimed the gun with a two-handed grip.
“Take him below decks for now, Serena,” the man snarled. Get the information out of him. I’ll let this barge drift for now. There’s no sense in rafting it alongside…at least for the moment.” He gestured at the cockpit. “Do you think you can figure out how to steer this thing back to the Tiara?”
Serena nodded and rolled her eyes. Both of them knew she could maneuver almost any boat.
As the man climbed back aboard the Tiara, the blonde pointed the gun at the sliding door that led down to the Sea Ray’s salon. Mike took a deep breath and limped over to the salon door. He opened it and descended the two steps into the darkened room. A throbbing pain encompassing his back and sides restricted his movement to a cautious pace.
“Move, asshole!” the blonde sneered. She prodded Mike with the barrel of the gun. Mike took a few small steps into the cabin. He steadied himself by leaning on the salon table. As the blonde climbed down the steps, she commanded, “Go sit on the V-berth!”
Mike hobbled toward the bow. He grimaced as he hoisted himself up and onto the mattress of the V-berth using his shoulders. He turned and sat facing the blonde with his legs dangling over the side of the raised platform.
As he stared into the woman’s steely eyes, Mike tried to focus. He was losing an important battle. Actually, he was not only losing the battle, he was losing the war. He had been fighting the war his whole life; it had been his own personal conflict. He had not been honest with himself. He had not been honest with his family. He deserved to die.
How ironic that the stunning woman aiming the gun at Mike’s head was the perfect opposite of his true desires. He had forced himself to believe that he was attracted to such beauty, but he felt nothing. Instead of accepting his true feelings, Mike had pursued the traditional American dream. He married. He had children. Robin was right. He had lived a lie.
And now the two people that mattered most might have to pay for his mistake. The only hope was that his contingency plan would not fail.
02:35 EDT
Kim whispered, “I can’t hear anything. He’s probably still on our Sea Ray.”
Ashley nodded and bit her lip. She watched her sister peek out through the glass of the locked cabin door. She asked, “Is the bald guy out there?”
Kim said, “I think so. It looks like Super Shrek is kneeling over the red-haired chick.” Kim moved her face
closer to the glass. “The red-haired chick isn’t moving.”
“Kim, I’ve got something to tell you,” Ashley whispered.
Kim continued to peer out through the glass door. “Is it important? Can it wait?”
“No.”
Turning to face her little sister, Kim said, “Oh for Christ’s sake, Ash, what the hell? Is this really the time for true confessions?”
“I got a text message about an hour ago.”
“You got a what…?”
“I got a text message…a text message from Dad.”
“Ash, you don’t even have a cell…” Kim’s voice trailed off. Her eyes widened. “When did you get a cell phone? Dad said that you weren’t getting one for another year.”
“I was supposed to keep it a secret. Dad felt guilty that he had bought you the VW. He thought I was responsible enough. My grades were really good. It doesn’t matter.”
Kim said with narrowing eyes, “You little bitch…so why did you wait until now to tell me? We could have been calling or texting to tell people where we are.”
Ashley waved her hand around the boat and said, “They have cameras and microphones hidden down here. Remember?”
“Yeah, you’re right.” Kim glanced back outside for a brief moment.
“Do you think they’re monitoring us now?” Ashley asked.
Kim said, “No. Super Shrek is still occupied. I heard the blond slut say that she was jumping onto the Sea Ray. The red-haired slut is unconscious...or something. I think Dad shot her.” Kim slid off the salon steps and walked over to Ashley still seated on the couch. “Show me the text, sis.”
Squeezing a hand into her blue jeans pocket, Ashley pulled out her iPhone. She tapped the screen and handed the phone to Kim. Kim began to read.
“I am coming. Know where you girls are. If anything goes wrong, you must try and escape. They will try to hurt you. Use the defensive tactics I taught you. You will be OK. Love u always. Dad.”
