Revenge at Sea: (Quint Adler Book 1)

by Brian O'Sullivan

  I started wondering what the hell I was doing. I could have been back in Walnut Creek, making love to Cara. Instead, the idea of vengeance had taken hold of me, and I found myself in the most compromising position imaginable.

  I told myself I could still leave. They would be gone at least five or ten minutes. Now was my chance to get out of this.

  And yet I knew I wouldn’t run.

  I braced my feet against a wall, making them less likely to make noise if the boat started rocking. I just wanted to get out into the open water. I still thought I stood a fighting chance. In fact, I was younger and bigger than Charles Zane. And with all of my pent-up anger, I knew I could take him. But he did have a gun, which could tilt the odds in his favor. Hopefully, he’d leave it in the glove box.

  They came back on board several minutes later, quickly going below deck.

  This was the moment of truth.

  I pleaded to no one in particular: Please have them choose the other room!

  And they did. I heard the other door open and knew I was safe. For the moment.

  “I packed three life vests. Probably overcautious, but you never know. The sea can be a pretty unforgiving place.”

  “You can never be too safe,” Zane said.

  “I packed steaks and some chicken in the freezer. Maybe have a filet with those tuna you shoot. Little surf and turf.”

  “You missed your calling, Max.”

  “Standup comedian?”

  “Something like that.”

  They continued setting boxes in the other room until they slammed it shut. I heard a boat docking close by, causing a slight ripple in the water as it swayed a little bit. For a brief moment, my shoe started to slide off the wall. It didn’t squeak, but my heart jumped in my mouth for a horrifying second.

  “Is there anything else you need, Charles? You’ve got food, life jackets, some nice bottles of wine. A gun. And two fully powered burner phones, although I don’t know how well they’ll work the farther out to sea you get.”

  “You’ve done enough, Max. Thank you.”

  “Alright, I’ll release you from the dock.”

  “One last thing. Tell Doug Anderson that he’s on borrowed time. He’s been a valuable asset, but this is one too many fuck-ups. We can’t kill him right now with everything going on around him, but we can scare the shit out of him.”

  “Consider it done. What do I tell the cops if they come calling about you?”

  “Nothing. But spread the word I’m in Europe. I’m sure it will somehow get back to them. And they’d be more likely to believe it than if someone told them directly.”

  “You got it.”

  “Let’s go above deck and get me out of here.”

  They walked back up the ladder and I finally exhaled.

  A few minutes later, the motor started up. It was loud, the sound of a massive engine coming to life. It didn’t hurt that I was likely lying right above said motor.

  Voices spoke and I thought I heard a “Goodbye,” but it was hard to make out with the engine purring below me.

  Finally, I had gotten what I wanted. We were headed out to sea.

  Time approaching for the one on one battle I’d desired.

  The yacht moved efficiently, effortlessly gliding through the marina. The motor now made a small noise, barely audible. It was like a lion who had already roared. We knew its power, it didn’t need to remind it us while it went navigated through a harbor at five m.p.h.

  I looked out through the small window, in awe of all of the boats we passed, despite knowing I was on the nicest of them all.

  There would be some horrific moments to come, of that there was no doubt. I didn’t even want to imagine what would happen between Zane and myself. But in that moment, I managed to enjoy looking out on the marina.

  Once we made our way through it, Zane increased the speed and we moved smoothly through the waters off of Berkeley and Oakland. We were not yet the ocean, but still in the bay in a no-wake zone, so he couldn't just gun it.

  Out the window I could see the Bay Bridge, but I knew we wouldn’t be driving under it. That would just lead to more of the Bay, ending when you got further south near San Jose.

  No, I knew where we were going.

  And we’d have to pass under one of the most famous bridges in the world to get there.

  I continued looking out of the window, fascinated in spite of myself. I watched as we passed the Bay Bridge and around fifteen minutes later, we approached the span of the Golden Gate Bridge.

  Always a spectacular sight, but even more so when you saw it from sea level. It was massive and looking up at it made it all the more breathtaking. We cruised past sailboats and I'm sure they held the same opinion. Truly one of architecture and engineering’s grandest feats.

  Before you knew it, we were passing under the massive bridge, and it got dark for a moment as it blocked out the sun. When we passed it, I tried to turn around and get one last look, but the small window no longer supplied me the opportunity.

  A minute later, we started accelerating. We must have just passed the m.p.h. checkmarks. The sheer force of the yacht finally took hold. We moved faster and faster through the ocean water.

  The irony was not lost on me. With a name like Quint, how could it be?

  In Jaws, the majority of the movie takes place on land, until Brody, Hooper, and yes, Quint, head out to sea to get their shark.

  Life was imitating art.

  I guess it had to end this way.

  Quint vs. the Shark. At sea.

  Charles Zane must have pushed the throttle down to flank speed, because we quickly accelerated in one more burst and I was sent sliding from one side of the room to the other.

  I’d gone well past the point of no return.

  We were headed out of the bay and into the Pacific Ocean.

  35.

  It was time to formulate a plan. Ten minutes had become twenty, which had become an hour. Once we’d hit the Pacific Ocean, we’d taken a left and started heading down the California coast. The guest cabin was on the port side of the boat and I could see the coast through the small window.

  We were slowly getting further out to sea, but for the most part we followed the coast. If I had to, I’d guess we were approximately a half-mile from land. I wasn’t sure exactly why, but all things being equal, I preferred it. The further out you got, the more you’d have to brave the elements.

  I’d run through my options and narrowed them down to two. One, I could bide my time and wait until Charles Zane came downstairs. There was a hidden little inlet once you took the stairs below deck. I considered waiting there and finding something to bash him over the head with as he stepped down the ladder.

  The problem with that plan was, how long was I willing to wait? I couldn’t just stand there for four hours. Six hours. Eight hours. A day.

  A second option was to wait until he went to sleep. I assumed he’d stay close enough to shore where he’d be able to set an anchor down. I couldn’t imagine just floating haphazardly in a yacht worth millions of dollars.

  And when he slept, he’d probably come down below deck.

  And then something hit me.

  They’d put boxes in the other room. He’d probably be expecting to sleep in the room I was in.

  Fuck!!!

  But as I thought more about it, I realized maybe I could use that to my advantage. There wasn’t much space to hide in the room, but if I heard him about to open the door, I could set my feet and be ready to bum-rush him.

  None of the options sounded good.

  Being with Cara in Walnut Creek sounded good.

  Talking with my mother sounded good.

  But those were no longer options. Thanks to my thirst for revenge.

  I didn’t hear any noise from above. Not that I should have expected to. Was he just going to start talking to himself?

  It did get me thinking. What did a terrible man like Charles Zane think about when he was by himself? Did he ask fo
r forgiveness? Did he relish in memories of all the people he’d murdered? For a shit-fuck murderer like him, I’d think being alone with your thoughts would be the worst place to be. But then again, I had morals.

  I grabbed one of the two phones from my pocket. It was 3:45. We’d been out to sea for a little over two hours at this point. Now in early September—where had all the time gone?—and the days were getting shorter. If I wanted to go after him while there was still light out, it had to be in the next few hours.

  I started going over my options once again.

  I had to decide soon. No more flip-flopping.

  And once I committed to a plan of action, there was no going back. I had to commit 1000%.

  Ten more minutes passed. I considered pulling down the wooden bunk bed, breaking off two pieces of wood, and using one to sharpen the other into a weapon. Making too much noise posed a huge risk, but I thought it was worth it.

  I stood up and cautiously started pulling the bunk bed down. It was very quiet and I thought this just might work.

  As I slowly, deliberately, finished setting the legs on the floor, the door suddenly opened.

  Charles Zane stood before me, a gun in his hand. I was six feet from him, the base of the bunk bed still in my hands. I couldn’t jump at him. I was defenseless.

  He moved the gun upward and took aim at my chest.

  I tried to think of something nice, knowing my life was ending. I remembered a picture that was framed in my parents’ family room. In it I, probably three years old, sat on the laps of my mother and father. It was our favorite family picture.

  Cara then came to mind and all of our great times flashed before my eyes.

  “Get on the floor!” Zane said.

  If I’d been closer to him, maybe I would have leapt. But that was suicide at this point.

  I sat down.

  Charles Zane moved a step closer, now standing directly above me. I readied myself for a gunshot, to the head or chest, but it didn’t come. Instead, he grabbed my left arm and fastened a handcuff around it. He took the other cuff and fastened it to one of the little metal handrails the room had.

  If I tried to make any sudden move, I knew he would have killed me. I didn’t have much choice but to obey.

  Next, he leaned down and started going through my pockets.

  He took out the two cells, mine and the burner Dennis McCarthy had given me.

  Charles Zane took a step back and kept the gun pointed at me.

  “You didn’t think you were going to get off that easy, did you?” he said.

  And then he walked out of the room and shut the door behind him.

  I heard him walk up on deck. The yacht took a quick right turn and accelerated. Looking out the little window, I saw that we were heading away from the coast and further out to sea.

  Zane wanted me alive. I initially shuddered at the reason why, then tried to avoid thinking about it. Instead, I vehemently shook the handcuff, hoping the rail might give way. No luck; it was strongly bolted to the wall. I didn’t give up and kept attempting to yank it out. After my fifth attempt, I realized it was a lost cause and stopped wasting my energy.

  I tried thinking of anything that might give me a chance to fight back. I came up empty.

  I wasn’t giving up, but the thought of my body being fed to the sharks was never far from my mind. I couldn’t go through that.

  Of course, it might not be my choice.

  Another twenty minutes passed. I could no longer see the shoreline. The sun was still out, but definitely on its way to setting. It got a little less bright by the minute. Heading further out to sea only expedited it, as the lights from shore were no longer visible.

  I decided to shake the handrail a few more times, but it still wouldn’t budge.

  I leaned back and just hoped the end would come quick.

  But I knew better.

  The engine under me came to a halt. We were now miles and miles from the coastline, so I knew there’s no way that he could anchor the yacht. We’d just be drifting.

  I heard Zane take the ladder and come below deck. He didn’t go straight to my room, but instead he rustled about, probably grabbing things.

  Then the door opened. He had a knife in his hand. Along with a little bag of food. He moved quickly to my left side, where I was defenseless, my hand still being cuffed to the rail.

  He took the knife and sliced across my thigh several times. He hadn’t cut deep enough to rupture anything, but it did lead to a lot of bleeding. He grabbed some of the food he’d brought in—the raw chicken and meat Max had packed for him—and started coating it with my blood.

  “I’m not sure this will be enough blood to attract any sharks, but I figured what the hell, let’s give it a try.”

  And he smiled at me.

  I was so dumbfounded by how evil this man was, and how much I was at his non-existent mercy, that I couldn’t think of anything to say.

  He made a point of shutting the door as he left, not that it mattered.

  As terrible as everything had been up to this point, I knew it was only going to get worse.

  36.

  I didn’t have to wait long for Charles Zane to come back.

  He opened the door and said, “I think we’re all set. Hope you’re ready for this.”

  I still hadn’t said a word to him. And I wasn’t sure why.

  He approached me and pulled a piece of rope from his back pocket.

  Zane started trying to tie my feet together by the ankles. I kicked at him and connected to his mid-section, sending him back against the opposite wall.

  A second later, he brandished the knife.

  “If you don’t let me do this, I’ll take out an eye,” he said.

  And pushed the knife within a few inches of my left eye to illustrate.

  I’d likely be dead soon, but there were some things I couldn’t deal with. Losing an eye was one of them.

  He finished tying my ankles together. And I had to let him.

  Then he brought the gun back out.

  “If you don’t do exactly as I say, I’m going to shoot you in the groin.”

  I couldn’t even imagine the damage.

  “I’ll do what you say,” I said, horrified.

  He walked to my right side, making a point to aim the gun down toward the region he’d mentioned.

  “I’m going to remove the cuff from the handrail and you are going to slide your right hand through it. I don’t have to remind you what I’ll do if you don’t.”

  He had a knife in one hand and a gun in the other. My feet were roped together. I hated having to do what he said, but I had no choice.

  Zane set the knife down and released the cuff from the rail.

  I slid my right hand through it.

  I was now roped and handcuffed. But I had my private parts and my eyes.

  And if, by some miracle, I got out of this, I wanted to do it as a full man.

  The only thing he hadn’t done was put a piece of tape over my mouth. When you’re dozens of miles from shore, sitting in the middle of the Pacific Ocean, I guess a guy screaming doesn’t really matter.

  “We’re going above deck. If you resist, I’ll gladly follow through on one of my threats. Please, I’d like to.”

  Each line Zane said made me realize just how diabolical he was. I’d been over my head from the very start. Not that I’d deserved what was coming, but I never should have gotten involved with this monster.

  Sadly, I’d come to this realization too late.

  Zane led me to the ladder. I had to take many small steps since my feet were roped together. It reminded me of the perp walk by shackled men in the movies, headed to their execution. It didn’t take a genius to understand the similarities.

  Zane set me down at the stern of the boat. There was a little metal bar on the deck which I assumed was meant for attaching knots. While pointing the gun at my groin, he quickly unhooked one of my handcuffs, slid it underneath the little metal bar, and then
reattached it.

  If I’d made the slightest motion, he would have shot me. But I began to think maybe that would have been preferable.

  I was now defenseless. In every sense of the word.

  I was lying on the stern of the boat, my ankles tied together. My wrists were handcuffed behind my back and solidified by a metal bar.

  I finally spoke.

  “You’re going to do what you want to do. I’m powerless to stop it. Just tell me why you killed my father. Please, it’s all I’ve ever wanted to know.”

  It was weird saying the word “please” to the monster in front of me. And it wasn’t to get into his good graces. I knew I was a dead man. I just spoke out of instinct. My parents had raised me to be polite, and even in this, the last minutes of my life, I couldn’t avoid it.

  “I have some questions of my own,” Charles Zane said. “I’m fine with a little Q & A before we get down to the squeamish stuff.”

  I’d do anything to avoid thinking of what he meant by squeamish. So I kept talking.

  “How did you know I was on the boat?”

  Technically, it was a yacht, but I wasn’t going to give him the satisfaction. What a weird, tiny thing for me to care about. I’d say please, but I wouldn’t say yacht.

  “I got a call from my friend Max about thirty minutes ago. He was walking around the dock when a man started asking about this here yacht.”

  Zane emphasized the word in a way that showed he was offended I’d said boat. My aversion to him magnified.

  He continued, “The man asked whose yacht this was and Max knows to be coy, so he just said an old friend’s. The man then said, and I’m paraphrasing, ‘That’s a huge yacht, is it just the two of them?’ To which Max asked, ‘What do you mean, two of them?’ Apparently, the man had seen you step onto my boat.”

  He paused for a few seconds.

  “I think I’m going to get that man something special when I return,” Zane said.