by Joe Gazzam
I nodded my head as three Stryker go-fast boats slid into a line and were tied to the wooden side dock. Their captains, three highly armed, light-haired men speaking something that sounded slightly German, jumped off the boats and greeted one of Castillo’s guys.
“Austrians?” Mitch whispered
“Scandinavians, I think,” I answered.
After a quick exchange, the light-haired men began loading up their newly acquired armory. I clocked the action below, watching as they opened the crates and the weapons inside were carefully transferred to secret compartments within the boats.
“Okay, so what exactly is your plan to make this deal go bad? I mean, specifically,” Mitch asked.
“You plant the phone in Nefasto’s car,” I answered, “then, Andy and I rain on this little parade down there.”
“That is infuriatingly vague.”
“What if we stole one of the boats?” Andy asked. “After they’re loaded with product.”
“They lose product and more than that...” I said. “Castillo looks bad to his buyer.”
Andy nodded. “That would most certainly call for a face-to-face explanation.”
We all seemed to agree, so for the next several minutes we watched them work.
“This dock’s like a freakin’ drive-thru for weapons.” Mitch looked around, then began to chew on his thumbnail. “But where’s Nefasto? He’s gotta show up to get the cash, right?”
I was asking myself the same question. What if he didn’t show? What if we’d assumed wrong and this whole thing was a dead end? I didn’t have a backup plan.
“Those blond guys aren’t leaving until they pay up, trust me,” Andy answered. “We just need to be patient.”
The three of us waited in silence, until my bony joints started to ache against the metal roof. Mitch squirmed next to me, adjusting himself into a more comfortable position, crossing his arms and laying his cheek on his wrist.
He finally turned to me. “Hey, can I ask you something?” he whispered.
I nodded.
“Do you think Mom knew? About Dad?”
I furrowed my brow. “This is the time you pick to ask about that?” My eyes flickered toward him, then back to the boats, but I answered. “Yeah, I’m pretty sure. She’d been with Dad since high school. He couldn’t have kept something like this from her.”
I watched the men wander the dock. They were clearly waiting for someone or something. I just hoped it was Nefasto.
“Do you think that’s why she left?” Mitch asked.
“I don’t know. Maybe. But if it was about Dad’s secret life, why not divorce him? Why not take us with her? She left us Mitch. She took off. Whatever her reasons, it doesn’t change the fact that she gave us up and didn’t look back.”
Mitch opened his mouth to respond, but the men were starting to move. The engine of one of the boats roared to life. “Darn it.” His eyebrows sank into a deep-V. “What if the money transfer was digital? An online transaction? What if Nefasto doesn’t show? Why didn’t we think of—”
“Wait,” I cut him off, pointing to a set of headlights sweeping through the dark boneyard of industrial equipment. “Look.”
A dark blue ’56 Chevrolet Bel Air pulled up. Another Yank tank, only this one was pristine and perfectly restored. The classic car rolled to a stop fifty yards away from the wooden dock. My chin sank against my forearm with relief. Nefasto slowly got out and approached the now semicircle of Scandinavian men.
“This is good,” I said. “He came alone, which means he should leave alone.” I pulled my gun from the back of my pants and did a quick press check to make sure a round was in the chamber.
“Let’s just stick to the plan,” Andy said, putting a hand on my wrist. “Don’t start shooting people yet.”
I held back a smile. “Yes, sir.”
We both looked in unison as a large blond man emerged from the shadows. His long flowing hair seemed to contrast the expensive suit he wore. After approaching Nefasto, he extended a metal briefcase. “Delivery payment, part two of two. Yes?”
“Yes,” Nefasto nodded.
As he held out his hand to grab the case, the Scandinavian man pulled it back. “I was told we’d be given a demonstration of the new models.”
“Don’t you watch the news?”
“Yes. The embassy. Impressive, but that was the old model. I’d like to see the new ones for myself. In person.”
Nefasto nodded, then motioned to one of the armed Cuban men, who pulled a missile out of one of the cases.
“See those barges?” Nefasto said, pointing out to the water.
Two hundred yards from the dock, two large barges stacked with wooden containers bobbed in the water.
“I see them.”
Nefasto motioned once more to the Cuban man who shouldered the slender tube-like missile effortlessly. He triggered it and–whoosh–it screamed off into the air, cleared the distance in a second and both barges instantly imploded. They completely folded on themselves, yanked together with a sonic boom that sucked everything in before rubber-banding back and sending a circular ten-foot-high wake out in every direction. As the water calmed, the target was so disintegrated, there was barely any debris left in the water.
“Now you see it, now you don’t,” Nefasto said. “That is the genius of Castillo. He is the Da Vinci of our time. If you were to buy the same type of missile from anyone else, you would need a mounted platform to launch it. Any other weapon capable of the same penetration and mechanical stress would be ten times as large, twenty times as heavy. No one builds weapons smaller, more easy to transport, or capable of more destruction than Castillo.”
“You may be right.” The Scandinavian nodded, clearly impressed.
“Soon, you will be able to level an entire city with weapons you can fit in the trunk of your car,” Nefasto said with a smile that quickly evaporated. “Now...the money, please.”
The Scandinavian handed Nefasto the briefcase, then turned to his men. “Keep loading,” he shouted.
Up on the metal container I lay frozen in shock. The missile test had sent a fresh wave of terror down my spine. I’d seen videos of the embassy explosion, but witnessing it in person shook my confidence. I watched as men patrolled the area. Nefasto’s guys covered the street, the Scandinavians had the dock. Three or four paced in alternating patterns past Nefasto’s car. I tried to memorize their paths, but there were too many.
I pulled Mitch back further out of sight. “Give me your phone.” He hesitated, but I snatched it from his hand. “This is the app? Is it all set up?”
“Yeah, but I thought I was going to plant—”
“Forget it. It’s too risky. Just let me do my thing. Both of you wait here. I’ll be back—”
“You can’t do this all yourself,” Mitch cut in. “When are you going to trust me?”
“It’s not a matter of trust.”
“He’s right,” Andy said. “There are too many moving parts for one person.”
I set my jaw, considering it. “Okay. We split things in half. I’ll plant the phone and create the distraction. You and Mitch are in charge of securing the boat.”
“Great,” Mitch said. “How do we do that?”
“Use my distraction.”
“Right. And what does that mean?”
Before I could answer, one of the Scandinavian men’s voices boomed. “Let’s go!”
Andy turned quickly to Mitch. “We will figure it out.”
Mitch let out a shaky breath. “Perfect.”
“You good?” I asked Mitch.
His eyes swept the dock, pulling all the pieces together. “Yeah, go do your thing. Just...don’t die.”
“Don’t die. Got it.” I shimmied toward the edge of the container, my gut tight with worry.
Andy caught my arm and pulled himself closer. “They see you, they kill you.”
“I’ve trained for this. It’s what I’m good at.”
He held my gaze, but anoth
er boat fired up its engine and he loosened his grip.
“Be careful,” he whispered.
I nodded and slunk off the container, heading toward Nefasto’s car. Moving fast, but with practiced tactical precision, I stayed low, hidden in shadows and along narrow sightlines, always out of view.
One of Castillo’s men lingered near the vehicle, but faced away toward the dock. I kept crouched and silent as I slid behind Nefasto’s car, using the side mirror to make sure I wasn’t noticed, then opened the door with quiet ease. Listening for the sound of footsteps, I leaned forward and slipped the phone under the driver’s seat. Once it was in place, I partially shut the door and then leaned on it to get the lock to catch with a gentle snap.
Without warning, the man beside the car turned, lighting a cigarette. I ducked down, unsure if he saw me or heard the door latch. His feet shuffled in my direction, and I raised my gun, ready to fire, but he slowly turned back away. I exhaled quietly, then spun and slid back into the shadows.
On the opposite side of the dock, I glimpsed Mitch and Andy for the briefest second making their way around several giant containers. I needed to make my move. Thinking quickly, I headed along a covered straightaway, but as I rounded the side of a rust-colored unit, I abruptly slid to a halt. There, twenty yards straight ahead, was another gunman. A short Cuban with a gun dangling from his hand.
I froze and pressed against the container. The cold metal shocked my skin as my eyes darted from side to side, searching for a way out. There was another container fifty feet to my left, but if I ran, the short man would surely spot me. My eyes ticked right, but there was only wide-open, brightly lit space and a large red crane.
I spun and looked behind me. A small recess where a second container butted up against this one cast a dark shadow, but was it dark enough to provided complete cover? I heard the man heading toward me. It was my only option.
I lurched for the recess, pressing as flat as I could. Doing a quick test, I held out my hand in front of my face. It was dark, but I could still see the outline of my fingers. I briefly considered running back, but the point became moot as the man stepped into view. He cocked his pistol and scanned the area.
I held my breath, cementing my feet to the ground, afraid to even blink.
The man turned directly toward me and squinted, trying to peer through the darkness. As he raised his gun and pointed it toward the shadows, I slowly reached for mine.
My chest grew tight.
I stared down at the man’s feet, gauging his next move. He pressed onto the balls of his feet, but something stopped him—a noise or a voice in the distance. He turned. My opportunity to take him down. Moving on instinct, I shot forward, twisting the gun from his hand and hooked his neck in the crook of my arm, wrapping him in a chokehold. He clawed at my wrist, but I secured my grip with my other hand and monkey-climbed onto his back so he couldn’t trip up my feet. In less than a minute the man seized up and let out a choking sound.
When he went slack, I dragged his unconscious body into the shadows, then picked up his pistol, shucked the clip to check for rounds, and racked the chamber.
Whatever I was going to do, I had to do it fast. My mind played out Mitch and Andy’s part of the plan. Once we took one of the boats, the other two were sure to follow. The area was teeming with men, and the final boat was loaded. If I could find a way to take out the other vessels along with the buyers, maybe use one of the explosives...
The massive red crane twenty yards to the right caught my eye. Attached to the end of its arm was a container box, ready to be moved. I didn’t have time to think of an alternative. I exhaled, taking a moment to calm my heart before sprinting forward across the well-lit open space.
As I climbed into the glass encasement, I glanced behind me. Nobody had spotted me...yet. I sat in the control seat, but began to panic in my search for the keys. They weren’t under the seat or in the side panel of the door. I started considering other methods, but found them hanging from the ignition. Apparently, no one was worried about a random American girl hijacking an industrial crane at a Cuban port.
Once I familiarized myself with the controls, essentially a joystick on each armrest, one for side-to-side movement and the other for raising and lowing the crane arm, I scanned the dock for any sign of Mitch or Andy. The Scandinavians still occupied the boats, and the long-haired one was shaking hands with Nefasto, signaling completion of the deal.
It was now or never.
As the head buyer moved toward the boats to leave, everyone, including Nefasto, paused at the odd mechanical sound that floated through the air, a mix of gears turning and metal scraping as I attempted to move the metal container. The men in the boats, finally looked up and located the source of the noise. I positioned the giant metal shipping container directly over the dock and right above their heads.
Before they could run I pushed the release button—click. The container fell, and the men scattered as the huge metal box dropped. It fell fifty feet in the air, completely destroying two of the boats and nearly eviscerating most of the wooden dock. Shards of wood and cement sprayed into the air like deadly confetti.
Nefasto staggered backward and stared at the aftermath. His face went red as he turned and saw that it was me who manned the crane.
“Kill her!” he screamed.
Nefasto’s men charged toward me, and my heart knocked wildly in my chest, but I waited. I needed this vantage point to see if Andy and Mitch could secure the other boat.
“Come on,” I whispered to myself, tapping my fingers on the joystick.
As if they’d heard me, the two of them slipped unnoticed behind the Scandinavians at the dock, and I watched the other two boats sink to the bottom of the port.
With little time to escape, and men surrounding the crane, I saw only one way out. It wasn’t my best option, but it was all I had. I moved the crane arm back over the water, then slipped out the door of the glass cab and climbed onto the metal roof.
Someone fired four successive shots near the boats. The sound stopped me where I was, and I caught Andy out of the corner of my eye taking down the buyers who remained on the dock.
As they writhed in pain, he hopped in their remaining boat, and started it up. He throttled forward, and I leapt onto the diagonal arm of the crane, climbing as fast as I could toward the top.
As Nefasto and his men unloaded, a fusillade of bullets ricocheted off the metal below my feet. I tried not to think of how exposed I was. Fear coaxed me onward, though my hands slipped against the steel frame of the arm, and my feet moved faster than my confidence. One misstep and I would fall.
Below, Andy gunned the boat in my direction. My way out.
A hail of lead chased me to the top of the arm, fifty feet in the air, but trapped me at the very end with no more room to run. Nefasto climbed onto the crane body and aimed his gun at me. Just before it went off, I jumped.
No hesitation, no looking back. My stomach lifted into my throat and I held my breath as I tensed for impact. I kept my body straight as I plummeted into the cool water, feet first, and it hit me like a slap. Pain shot from my heels to my spine and bubbles rose around me in a dizzying spiral before I swam up for air.
“You okay?” Mitch shouted as I surfaced. I gave a thumbs up, though I wasn’t entirely sure, and Andy slowed down just enough for Mitch to throw over a rope. I reached for it, snagging it with one hand, but Nefasto and his men raked the side of the boat with bullets. Andy cried out and slapped a hand to his deltoid muscle. Blood seeped through his fingers as he pushed the engine to its max.
My heart gave a lurch as I floated behind them, knowing what was about to happen. The rope went taut, and whipped me out of the way of a second wave of bullets that buried harmlessly into the sea.
“Get us out of here,” I yelled, unable to take cover in the open water.
Andy steered for a bend in the coast, and jammed the throttle forward, dragging me away. The tension yanked me so hard I caught air, and my
chest nearly burst from the sheer terror of being flung behind a moving speedboat. I let out an involuntary scream before landing back into the ocean with an excruciating smack. The wake broke around my body and I gasped and choked on the spray, which felt like being waterboarded. As the boat dragged me along the surface of the water I tried to hold my breath, gritting my teeth against the sting of the water and dreading the inevitable pain to come. Still, I kept a tight grip on the rope. Within seconds, the sound of gunfire faded behind me, and Andy zoomed around the next bend.
Gone like smoke.
CHAPTER TWENTY-ONE
THE SUN HAD BROKEN the surface of the horizon. Its light splintered through the clouds and stained them with color. As soon as we were out of range, Mitch pulled me in. I let him do the work, allowing my beaten body to float like a doll through the lapping water as I coughed out the liquid in my lungs and tried to breathe.
Andy helped him hoist me onto the floor of the boat, and I closed my eyes, as we sped away. The early morning air whipped at my wet clothes, chilling me into a shiver, but I didn’t care. I was alive. We all were. For now.
After a long, bumpy ride that shook every inch of my sore body, Andy navigated the boat into a lush embankment overgrown with mangrove trees. The hull of the go-fast scraped against the shallow bottom of the shore, but he managed to hide it behind a dense collection of tree roots.
In a rush, he killed the engine and knelt at my side. His hands swept over my arms and legs, his eyes searching for injuries. “Are you hurt?”
Mitch stood behind him, his face tight with worry.
I sat up with a groan. The torque from the boat had tossed my vertebrae around like dice, but I refused to acknowledge the pain. The Marines had taught me to ignore it. To push past superficial injuries and complete the mission. “No, I’m okay.”
“Can you stand?” Andy asked, helping me up.
I nodded, but kept hold of his strong shoulders.
“Did you plant the phone?” Mitch’s voice was laced with doubt. “If so, we need to get to a computer.”
