The Jordan Quest FBI Thriller Series: Books 1-3: The Jordan Quest FBI Thriller Series Boxset Book 1

by Gary Winston Brown

  “That’s it,” Jordan said.

  “What is?”

  “Ava’s Dream.”

  “What are you talking about?”

  “There’s a yacht… Ava’s Dream. I saw it. That’s where he’s headed. We need to run a search on that vessel. Find out where it’s moored in Montauk.”

  “On it,” Penner said. He connected his phone to the choppers control panel cellular interface, placed a call to the Montauk Harbor Patrol.

  Jordan spoke to Chris. “If you were Scroll and running from the police what route would you take?”

  “I’d stick to the coastline and small towns,” Chris replied.

  “Then that’s what we need to do.” To the pilot Jordan said, “Other than Interstate 495, what’s the most direct route into Montauk?”

  “27,” the pilot answered. “The Sunset Highway. It’ll take you straight in.”

  “Take us there.”

  “Copy that,” the pilot replied. The helicopter banked right, assumed a new southeasterly heading.

  “Got it,” Penner said. “There’s a motor yacht by the name of Ava’s Dream moored at Garney’s Resort and Marina in Montauk.”

  “That’s it,” Jordan said. “We need to get to Garney’s. He’s using the yacht to escape.”

  “And he’s taking Lacey with him,” Chris finished.

  178

  SAM CHAPMAN’S PHONE rang.

  “We’ve got the Range Rover in sight,” Henny Black reported. “Eastbound on Sunrise Highway at East Hampton. There’s an accident ahead. Radio says it’s a bad one, twin-fatality. Cops have set up a safety checkpoint. They’re letting us through one at a time. Hold on…” The Hells Angel straddled his Harley over the lane to get a closer look. “The Rover’s clear now. He’s on the move.”

  “We’re on our way,” Chapman said. “Stay with him.”

  Chapman gunned the engine. The motorcycle picked up speed, surged ahead. His fellow gang members followed close behind.

  Degario sped up, closed the gap, stayed with them. They were now traveling well above highway speed.

  “Something’s up,” Anton said.

  “Yeah,” Degario agreed. “Sam must have gotten a call. We must be getting close to Scroll and Lacey.”

  “I hope so,” Anton said, “because there’s nothing like rocketing down the highway on the ass of a band of Hells Angels to draw attention to yourself.”

  Ahead, a trail of red brake lights. The traffic had slowed to a crawl.

  Chapman and his men slowed, stopped. Sam hopped off his bike, walked back, updated the men. “They just cleared the accident site,” he said. “Our guys are on them.”

  “Good,” Degario said.

  “You think he knows he’s being followed?” Anton asked. “If you spook him, he might hurt Lacey.”

  Sam shook his head. “I doubt it. He’s watching out for cops, not us. And my guys are pros. They could roll right up beside him and not let on he’s their target. Come to think of it, maybe that should be the plan.”

  “What?” Anton asked.

  “Pull up beside him, cap him, get Lacey.”

  “It’s a nice thought,” Anton said, “but it’s too risky. If they make their move and the play goes south Lacey is dead. No, we need to wait. After she’s out of harm’s way I don’t give a shit what you do to him.”

  The traffic began to move.

  “Stay on my six,” Sam said. He walked back to his bike, revved the engine, put the machine in gear, drove off.

  Degario drove ahead. Police waved them past the mangled wreckage which had now been placed onto a flatbed trailer parked on the side of the road.

  The road now clear, Anton and Degario raced along the highway. The bikers accelerated, opened the gap.

  Overhead, a helicopter raced past.

  Degario looked up, identified the chopper by its markings. “FBI,” he said.

  “They’re after the Range Rover,” Anton said. “If Scroll makes the chopper, sees he’s being followed…”

  “… Lacey is as good as dead,” Degario finished.

  He hit the gas.

  179

  GARNEY’S MARINA WAS quiet. Otto pulled into the parking lot. He retrieved the knife, pointed it at Lacey. “Here’s what will happen,” he said. “You’ll wait for me to open your door and let you out of the car, then you’ll walk with me to the yacht. You don’t look at anyone. You don’t talk to anyone. Car to the yacht. Got it?”

  Lacey nodded, said nothing.

  Berthed at the end of the pier, the motor yacht Ava’s Dream sat dead steady in the calm Atlantic water.

  “There’s a security gate ahead,” Otto said. “When we reach it, you’ll hold onto it with both hands while I enter the key code, then you’ll walk to the end of the pier and get on the yacht. Challenge me in any way and you’ll wear the knife.” He pointed out to sea. “The Atlantic might be beautiful, but the waters along this coast are dangerous as hell. Can you swim?”

  “Yes,” Lacey said.

  “Good,” Otto said. “Not that it would matter. You’d be dead within a minute.”

  “Why?”

  “Doesn’t matter. Let’s just say it wouldn’t be pleasant. Now sit there and wait.”

  Otto stepped out, walked around the Range Rover, opened Lacey’s door, grabbed her by the arm, pulled her out of the car, pointed to the middle of the pier. He saw what she had written on the dusty door: 911. “Bitch,” he said. “The gate. Move!”

  Lacey stood beside the vehicle. Otto lowered the knife, exposed himself. One well-placed side kick, she thought. Aim for his solar plexus. Drive the blade of her foot deep into his chest. The crushing blow would incapacitate him instantly. She could make a run for it, try to escape.

  Otto stepped out of the line of attack. The opportunity had been missed.

  “Keep your back to me,” he said as he closed the car door. “Feel that?”

  Through her clothes, Lacey felt the tip of the knife against her back.

  “Yes.”

  “You’d be surprised how little force is needed to break the skin,” Otto said. “After the initial penetration, a quick twist at this angle and your spinal cord will be severed. You’ll drop to the ground and never get up again, paralyzed from the neck down. You don’t want that, do you Lacey?”

  “No.”

  “I didn’t think so. I wouldn’t want that for you either. We have too much living to do, you and I.”

  “I’m looking forward to it, Otto,” Lacey replied. “Please move the knife. It hurts.”

  In the distance came the roar of motorcycles. The sound grew louder, steel thunder. The bikers rolled up to the main entrance of the marina, stopped, their machines idling.

  Otto watched them dismount, turn, and speak to one another. They appeared to be searching for something or someone. Otto recognized the emblem on the back of their vests. What were four members of Hells Angels doing at Garney’s?

  No matter. In a moment he and Lacey would be free of the dock. Ava’s Dream would set out to sea. The Bahamas awaited.

  The biker walked ahead, looked at Otto, took out his phone.

  The four men angled their bikes, blocking the exit to the yacht club, then turned off their engines, stepped off the machines, and started to walk in their direction.

  Otto’s every instinct told him these men were trouble, that somehow they were coming for him. Obeying his sixth sense, he pushed Lacey forward. “Start walking,” he said.

  Lacey walked ahead of Otto down the gangway to the security gate and placed her hands on the metal bars as she had been instructed. Otto entered the key code. With a click the door opened.

  A voice called out from behind. “Lacey? Lacey Chastain?”

  Lacey turned around. The bikers were advancing. One of the men held a gun at his side.

  Otto pushed her through the open gate, stepped through, then closed and locked the steel door behind him. He grabbed Lacey, spun her around, placed the knife to her neck, issued a warni
ng to the bikers. “Another step and she dies!”

  Henny Black raised his hand. The men stopped. “Give it up, man,” Henny yelled.

  “Drop the gun,” Otto said.

  “Never gonna happen,” Henny replied.

  Otto called out. “Did you come here to save her or to watch her die?”

  The biker raised his hands, showed Otto the gun.

  “Toss it,” Otto said.

  “No!” Lacey cried.

  Otto pressed the knife to her throat, cut her skin. Warm blood trickled down her neck. He dragged her along the dock, a human shield.

  Locked outside the gate, with no other means of accessing the pier, the bikers watched helplessly as Otto and Lacey walked to the gangway and boarded Ava’s Dream.

  Schoop, schoop, schoop, schoop, schoop…

  Otto looked up. A helicopter was approaching fast. On its fuselage, the emblem of the Federal Bureau of Investigation.

  He rolled back the gangway. “Get below!” he yelled.

  “No!” Lacey called out.

  “There!” Chris said. He pointed to the yacht club parking lot. “Silver Range Rover.” The agents watched as the drama unfolded on the dock below them.

  Jordan looked down. “On the yacht,” she said. “That’s Lacey.”

  The water at the back of the vessel began to churn. Ava’s Dream had started her engines.

  The chopper swooped down hard and fast, taking a direct line of approach to the ship.

  The yacht widened its distance from the dock. It started to turn, pointing its bow toward the open sea.

  “Take us down!” Jordan yelled to the pilot.

  “Copy that,” the pilot replied.

  The bird drifted downward toward the yacht.

  Jordan removed her headset, slid open the helicopter door, stepped down onto the landing rail, called out. “Get me as close to that ship as you can!”

  At the helm of Ava’s Dream, Otto watched the helicopter circle the vessel in an attempt to cut it off. He gunned the engine. The mighty engines roared. The yacht surged ahead.

  “He’s trying to ram us,” the pilot yelled. The helicopter pulled up sharply, rose into the sky.

  Jordan yelled. “Again! Try again!”

  The pilot swung the chopper down towards the ship once more. He opened the P.A. system. “Attention Ava’s Dream,” he said. The sound of his voice boomed through the public address speakers over the water. “This is the FBI. Shut down your engines. Prepare to be boarded.”

  Otto responded by zig-zagging the direction of the yacht, hard to the left, then to the right, port to starboard, successfully hindering the helicopter’s approach.

  “Hurry!” Jordan said.

  “Get ready,” the pilot yelled. “The further he gets from shore the choppier the water gets. With the rise and fall of the ship I’m only going to get one shot at this. Wait for my go, then jump.”

  “Copy that,” Jordan replied. She held on tight to the side of the helicopter.

  The chopper dropped quickly, veered in precariously close to the stern of the ship. “Now!” the pilot yelled. “Go! Go! Go!”

  Jordan jumped from the helicopter. She landed on the rear deck of the ship, rolled, found her footing, rose to her feet, drew her weapon.

  She looked up. Schreiber was gone.

  With the helm now unmanned and with no one to steer her Ava’s Dream fell victim to the waves. Swells pounded the sides of the ship. Out of control, the vessel’s course was being set by the sea itself.

  Jordan crossed the deck precariously as the ship rose and fell.

  In the distance, sheets of rain met the Atlantic.

  Lightning flashed across an angry sky.

  Thunder rolled.

  Somewhere inside the ship, Lacey screamed.

  180

  DEGARIO AND ANTON followed Sam Chapman and the Hells Angels off the Sunrise Highway to Garney’s Resort and Marina where two of the bikers blocked the entrance, two more the exit.

  Sam and his men dismounted their machines.

  Degario and Anton stepped out of the car.

  Hearing their arrival, Henny Black looked back, called out. “He’s got Lacey! They’re on the ship!”

  “God, no!” Anton said. He ran to the gate.

  The men watched as Ava’s Dream, out of control, crisscrossed the turbulent sea with the FBI chopper in close pursuit.

  181

  JORDAN ENTERED THE ship. Ava’s Dream was massive, a luxury home on the water. Jordan cleared each room in search of Lacey. When she arrived at the master bedroom stateroom, she met the man she had been searching for.

  Otto Schreiber stood behind Lacey, his knife to her throat. “You move, she dies,” he said.

  Jordan saw the blood on Lacey’s neck, kept her gun trained on the killer. “It doesn’t have to end like this, Schreiber,” she said. “Let her go.”

  “You have no right to be here,” Otto said. “Leave us, now!”

  “You know I can’t do that,” Jordan replied. She made eye contact with Lacey, looked at Otto’s wounded shoulder, then back at Lacey. Lacey understood what the agent was trying to tell her.

  “We can all walk away from this,” Jordan said, “but you need to put down the knife.”

  “No, no, NO!” Otto yelled. “She’s mine! MINE! MINE! MINE!”

  “You’re injured. Let me get you the medical help you need.”

  “You need to leave!” Otto rested his forehead on his hostage’s shoulder, looked down, and muttered to himself. “Mine… mine… make it real… make it real.”

  “You did it, Otto,” Lacey said. “You succeeded. This is as real as it gets. What you need to do now is make it right.”

  “You can’t leave me,” Otto said. “You just can’t.”

  “I won’t,” Lacey said. “I promise. Now put down the knife. Let me go. I promise I’ll help you through this. I know how much you love me, but we both know this isn’t right.”

  “I’m sorry,” Otto said.

  “I know you are,” Lacey said.

  “I should never have let it get this far.”

  “It’s all right.”

  “I should have put an end to it long ago.”

  “You can do that now.”

  “There’s nothing left for me.”

  “I’m here for you, Otto.”

  “So many have died.”

  “I know.”

  “We can still make it right, you and I.”

  “Otto...”

  “There’s still time,” Otto said. He looked up. His hand tensed on the handle of the knife.

  Lacey raised her head. “Otto, no,” she said. “Don’t do this!”

  “Drop the knife, Schreiber,” Jordan demanded.

  Lacey’s thoughts raced back to the limousine. The knock-out gas that had rendered her unconscious. The horrendous pain exerted upon her in the strappado in the dungeon. Bonnie Cole and the unthinkable mutilation she had endured at the hands of the madman who now held her tight within his grasp.

  The only enemy is fear, she remembered. Better to die on my feet than plead on my knees.

  Lacey drove her thumb deep into Otto’s wounded shoulder. The killer cried out and lowered his arm but held fast to the knife.

  Lacey continued the defense. She kicked up, drove her heel hard into Otto’s groin, then grabbed his arm and spun around. In one smooth motion she turned the weapon on him, drove the knife deep into his gut.

  She looked into the man’s eyes, saw the shock, disbelief. “How’s that for making it real, motherfucker?” she said. She pushed Otto aside, watched him fall to his knees.

  Jordan rushed ahead, examined Lacey’s neck. A light cut, minimal bleeding, but nothing serious. “Are you all right?” she asked.

  Lacey looked down upon the fallen murderer. “Never better,” she said.

  “That was smooth,” Jordan said.

  “I have my moments,” Lacey replied.

  Jordan helped Otto to his feet. The wound was deep, s
erious. “He’s losing a lot of blood,” she said. “He needs to get to a hospital.”

  “That sack of human excrement?” Lacey said. “What he needs is another cut to match the one I just gave him.”

  “Probably,” Jordan said, “but I can’t let that happen.”

  “You actually want to save his life?” Lacey asked. “After all he’s done, all the people he’s killed?”

  “No,” Jordan replied, “I don’t. But I don’t have a choice. Neither do you. We need to get him out of here.”

  Lacey refused to move. “No,” she said. “I want to watch him die. For Bonnie and Melinda and Victoria. And for every other woman he’s ever tortured or killed.”

  “You might still get your wish,” Jordan said. “But I have a duty and a responsibility to save his life.”

  Lacey stared at Otto. He turned away. “Look at me you sick sonofabitch,” she yelled.

  Otto returned her stare.

  “You don’t deserve an ounce of compassion, you understand?” Lacey said.

  Otto forced out the words. “You lied,” he said. “Everything you said was a lie.”

  Lacey smiled. “Every last word,” she said.

  “Let’s go,” Jordan said. “Help met him on up on deck. I need to stop the ship.”

  Topside, Jordan waved to the chopper.

  Otto Schreiber was in custody.

  Jordan handcuffed the killer, then leaned him against the side rail of the ship. “Stay with him,” she told Lacey. “He may be wounded but don’t take your eyes off him for a second. Got it?”

  Lacey held Otto by the arm. “He’s not going anywhere,” she said.

  “Good,” Jordan replied. “I’ll be right back.”

  The helicopter maintained a low but safe altitude above Ava’s Dream.

  Otto’s breathing had become heavy, labored. “I’m dying, Lacey,” he said.

  Lacey shook her head. “No, you aren’t. You don’t get that luxury. I’ll save your pathetic excuse for a life if I have to. You’re going to spend the rest of your life in prison. I’ll see to that.”

  The knife remained lodged in Otto’s stomach. Jordan had chosen not to remove it for fear the killer might bleed out and die.