by Graham Smith
To save my brother I have to help my father commit a crime. Not a small crime against a faceless corporation; a personal one against his employer. That there will be repercussions is a given.
The only saving grace is that his plan seems as if it will work, and it should allow him to drop off the radar.
‘I’m in.’
A warm hand caresses my shoulder and I feel a brief squeeze of support.
I hide my sigh of relief. Apart from everything else I’m risking by agreeing to help Cameron, my relationship with Taylor may not have survived my decision.
26
I want to cross-examine Cameron about the crime he wants me to help him commit, but instead I stay quiet. Sometimes knowing everything isn’t a good idea. He’s given me the broad strokes and that’s enough.
That he is working as a double agent for two warring businessmen is all I need to know. The heist he’s been tasked with seems simple enough on the surface. While nothing ever runs according to plan, I can’t see any massive danger in what we’re about to do.
In a lot of ways this heist is quite ingenious and, while I’d be the first to confess that my only experience of crime is in the novels I read, I believe we can get away with it. Once the job is done we’ll be able to hop on a plane back to Casperton.
I want to send John a message, telling him we’ll be there in a couple of days, but something makes me hold back. If I’m honest with myself, I think it’s because I don’t trust Cameron.
It’s an odd sensation not trusting the person who sired you. I guess it’s akin to having a spouse be unfaithful, or a sibling con you out of money. It’s not a feeling I’m comfortable with, and part of me wants to point the finger of blame at myself for having unfounded suspicions.
Yes, he’s let us all down in the past, but it’s one thing walking out of your children’s lives, and another thing condemning them to death. I guess, because I share his blood, I don’t want him to be callous to the point of being uncaring.
When he opened the door, and I saw him for the first time since childhood, I got a glimpse of my future. I’ve no doubt the surprise in his eyes was reflected in mine.
On the rare occasions I’ve imagined what I’ll look like in my sixties, the images I’ve conjured have been more or less what Cameron looks like now. Perhaps a little less stressed and with more of a twinkle in my eye, but still very much like him.
All I can hope is that the only things I’ve inherited from him are the MacDonald temper and his looks. The last thing I want to be, is as selfish as he is.
There have been times in my past when Mother’s narcissistic ways have made his leaving understandable. What hasn’t been easy to comprehend, is how he could leave two children who idolised him. I guess at some point over the next few days I’ll sit down with him and pick at those scabs, but I’m determined to wait until he’s saved John, before I start asking the kind of questions that could see Cameron walk out of my life for a second time.
I turn my mind away from thoughts I’m not yet ready to give voice to, and start paying more attention to where we’re going. Or rather, where Cameron is taking us. So far as I can tell, we’ve travelled south, past the western edge of New York, and swung east. I see a sign for Staten Island, but Cameron has pulled into a lane that, according to the road markings, will take us to a place called Perth Amboy.
Cameron seems assured with his driving. He’s not bothered to set the GPS and he’s always in the right lane at the right time. It’s a sure indicator that he’s come this way on more than one occasion. This wouldn’t concern me, were it not for the constant looks at his watch.
He’s worried about the time, which means he’s worried about how long it’ll take until he can get on with his plan.
I get that a heist has to run to plan, and that timings will be a crucial part of said plan; I don’t get why he’s not driving a little faster. The traffic is light enough for us to add another five to ten mph to our speed without any trouble. He doesn’t though, which rings alarm bells. I just need to listen to those bells and interpret their tune.
27
The dealer is all smiles for Cameron as he rounds his art-deco desk. The rest of his office is styled the same way and, just like the dealer, it lacks any real personality beyond that necessary to make the sale.
‘You have the deeds?’
‘But of course. Can I get you anything: a coffee, something stronger?’
‘Just the deeds, thank you.’
The dealer lifts a folder from his desk, opens it and hands the papers inside it to Cameron.
An old hand at legal documents, Cameron only takes a moment to pick out the salient points.
Number one: the deeds are in the name of the shell corporation he’d told the dealer to register his ownership in.
Number two: neither his real name nor the one he’s been using in the US are on the documents.
Number three: the documents are a perfect match for the uncompleted ones in the briefcase resting in the trunk of his car.
‘Very good.’ Cameron gives a curt nod and makes for the door. ‘Shall we?’
When he emerges, he sees Jake and the girl standing by his car. Jake looks pensive while the girl has a red tinge to her cheeks that he puts down to excitement. He guesses she’s never so much as jaywalked before, so this experience will be a new one for her.
He might not know his son, but he’s always been a good judge of character. What’s more, Cameron is self-aware enough to see his own faults being reflected at him. He figures the girl may well be trying life with a bad boy.
If he can avoid Jake’s notice for a while, maybe he’ll see if the girl would like to try upgrading to a bad man.
Cameron resists the urge to keep checking his watch, as the dealer insists on showing them around the motorised yacht.
The two crew members he’s hired are busy loading the yacht with the provisions from the trunk of his car.
His crew aren’t the professional sailors you would normally find on a seven million dollar yacht, but they’ll do for the short time he needs their services.
Cameron manages to get the dealer off the yacht, and is on the harbour wall helping to cast off the mooring ropes, when he hears a name he was planning to leave behind. His head snaps up and he sees three of his employer’s enforcers.
They’re not the top enforcers, but they are still vicious thugs who’re surrounding him. Once upon a time, he’d have been confident against any two of them. Now, he’s too old, too slow and too out of practice to make more than a token gesture of defence.
28
I see the three men surrounding Cameron and know at once that something is wrong. It’s not like I wasn’t expecting trouble; instinct made sure the first thing I did when I got on the yacht was to find a vantage point where I could keep an eye on Cameron.
I dash towards the gangplank and run across it, trying not to picture myself falling into the water.
There’s a definite menace about the men, so I slow to a brisk walk as I approach the nearest of them. He’s got slicked-back hair, tied in a ponytail, and looks as if he should be directing bad porn movies. When he turns, he suggests I go away and multiply with myself.
He’s trying to keep things private, but I see one of his buddies reaching into his suit jacket.
I decide to err on the side of caution and presume he’s not going to pull out a pen and ask for my autograph.
He sees me halt, and draws his hand back a couple of inches. It’s all the advantage I need.
By the time I’ve dashed the six paces between us, his hand has just got inside his jacket. To keep his gun away from me, I thrust my shoulder against his arm and barge him towards the water.
I drop to my knees at the last second and let him topple the twelve feet into the harbour.
As I spring to my feet, I hear the thud of knuckles on flesh behind me.
The wannabe porn director has a broken nose, but the other guy is raining blows towards Cameron. As he’s the b
iggest threat, I go for him first.
I use the distraction of him beating on Cameron, to get behind him where I can bury a fist into each of his kidneys. First right, then left.
He drops to one knee and gasps in pain. Long term, repeated blows to the kidneys can cause damage but, after a few days of pissing blood, this guy will recover.
His buddy pulls a knife and uses the back of his free hand to wipe away the blood that’s dripping from his chin.
I step between him and Cameron.
‘Get the yacht ready; now!’ I push Cameron towards the gangplank while keeping my eyes on the guy with the knife.
He’s twisting his arm at the wrist as he waves the knife around. His grip is assured and his eyes are filled with confidence.
‘Leave now, buddy, and you won’t get hurt.’
I shake my head. ‘That’s not gonna happen. Why don’t you leave? I’ve already taken care of your friends. That knife isn’t going to stop me taking care of you.’
He lunges forward. Fast.
The knife flashes across where my stomach had been a second earlier, then he follows up the move with a backhand slash towards my head.
His eyes gave away his intentions, but it’s still too close for comfort. I don’t even have time to counterpunch.
He smiles at me and reveals a missing tooth. He’s confident that he’s got the better of me.
I feint a step forward and dance back as he repeats his earlier move.
When his knife arm passes me on his backhand stroke, I pounce.
My left hand grabs his right wrist, preventing him from using the knife on me, as I use my right hand to grab his collar and drag his face towards my thrusting forehead. If his nose wasn’t already broken by Cameron’s punch, it will be now.
I lift a knee to his groin and give a vicious twist on his knife arm. In his beat-up state he drops the knife.
A blow to the temple drops him.
Five seconds later his knife plops into the dark harbour water, and I’m yelling at Cameron to set sail.
29
Cameron watches as Jake bounds up the gangplank. As soon as his son’s feet hit the deck, he barges the crew member away from the controls and rams the throttle against its stops.
The motor yacht gives a deep roar as its engine reaches maximum output. The stern settles lower in the water, and after a minute they’re speeding through the harbour at a gathering pace.
What happened on the dock is way too close a call for his liking. His employer must have been watching their bank account. That spoke of distrust.
It’s now imperative that they put as much distance as possible between themselves and New York. There will be a pursuit, that’s for sure. So long as he can get out of their sight for a few hours, his plan will still work.
A small sailing boat is crossing the harbour, and its path means a collision, but Cameron is in too much of a hurry to slow down. Instead, he waits until the last moment and spins the wheel over, so his yacht rockets between the stern of the sailboat and the side of a pleasure cruiser that is taking tourists on a sightseeing trip. The wash from his yacht rocks the sailboat, and threatens to swamp or capsize the small vessel, but Cameron doesn’t care. All that’s on his mind, is getting the yacht out of the harbour and over the horizon.
Jake appears at his elbow. He’s wrestling with a life preserver, but Cameron knows that the struggle he’s having with the straps, isn’t responsible for the anger in his eyes. If his assessment about his son is right, he’ll be demanding better answers than the lies he’s been told so far.
The lie he’d spun Jake earlier hadn’t been one of his best, but Cameron put it down to being in a state of shock. He was used to having his life planned out in great detail. Surprises don’t happen when you anticipate everything, and he’d long given up expecting one of his children to track him down. That one had found him, and brought news of another’s dire need, had been unforeseeable.
Still, it had rocked him, stolen his usual composure and delayed him long enough for his employer’s men to arrive at the dock before he’d set sail. He knew his employer must have been either suspicious or contacted by the dealer. He guesses the former. Had the dealer contacted his employer, the enforcers would have shown up at his home or would have been waiting for him on the yacht.
Once he’s passed the north part of Sandy Hook, Cameron allows the crew member to take back the controls. The guy looks pissed about being shoved out of the way, but Cameron knows he won’t press the issue. His crew are being well paid for a couple of days’ work and will tolerate whatever he decides to throw at them.
Cameron turns and sees that Jake has got the life preserver fastened, and is watching him with a look that’s part anger, part bewilderment, and part assessment. He knows his son is re-evaluating him and is keen to learn the truth.
‘Not now, Jake. We can talk once we get clear, but now isn’t the time.’
He catches the nod his son throws his way; knows that if Jake is as smart as he thinks he is, it would be wise to speak to him before he works out for himself what’s going on.
Cameron turns and scans the sea in front of them. The waves are kicking up now and, free of the calm waters of the harbour and the bay, the yacht is beginning to pitch and yaw as it crests waves at an oblique angle. So far, it’s nothing the yacht can’t handle, but it was designed to be a rich man’s plaything rather than an oceangoing racer. If the swells get larger, they’ll have to slow to a more sensible pace.
He casts a look back at the bay, squints, and lets out a low curse. The motor boat coming out of the bay is sleek and nimble, and travelling like the person at its helm is trying to beat a world record.
There’s no doubt in his mind that it’s being piloted by one of the enforcers.
30
I watch as the motorboat powers alongside us. Since its arrival from the bay, Cameron has been hidden below decks. So far as I am concerned, it’s the best place for him.
The breakneck race from the harbour and out through the bay would have been exhilarating, had it not been for the whirl of nasty ideas forming in my head. Most of these ideas involve me falling from the boat and being swallowed up by the murky depths of the water. Sometimes, to add a neat twist to the horrors of drowning, I’d imagine a many-toothed sea creature eating me, as the water forced its way into my lungs.
The worst ideas though, are the ones about my father; they’re all about betrayal, double-crossing and manipulation. The stealing of this yacht is no more to do with settling a debt than his lies which brought Taylor and me with him.
Guys with guns don’t attack you on a harbour wall over a dispute between rival companies; unless those companies are the non-legitimate kind.
This is the second time in as many days that I’ve gotten myself mixed up in something that concerns organised crime. I’m big enough to look after myself and make my own decisions; it’s Taylor who worries me. She’s been stoic and has kept a brave face, but I can tell she’s scared witless by the events at the harbour.
If I thought it would be safer for her, I’d insist she be dropped off at the nearest port or harbour, but there’s every likelihood she would be picked up by their accomplices.
The motorboat coming after us is another worry. It may be some rich guy playing with his toy, or it may be the coast guard coming to reprimand Cameron for his mad dash through the bay, but deep inside I know that both of these ideas are nothing more than wishful thinking.
Even as the motor yacht rolls its way through the swells, the motorboat is barrelling forward, cresting waves and slamming down into troughs. The roiling of my stomach is a mixture of the boat’s gyrations and the sense of impending doom as the motorboat narrows the gap.
It catches up and rolls alongside us, fifty or so yards away, close enough for its crew to communicate that they want us to stop.
Of the four men aboard the motorboat, I recognise two from the harbour wall. They don’t look like there’s much fight left in them,
but the other two are fresh.
In this situation, freshness doesn’t matter. There’s four of them and, counting my father and the two crewmen, there’s four of us on this yacht.
This wouldn’t be a problem, as I’m confident I could soon get the odds firmly in our favour, were it not for one little fact.
Each of the four men have guns.
Granted, the guns are pistols, which means they are all but useless at fifty yards. Doubly so when they are shooting at a moving target from an unstable platform.
They don’t need to shoot us though. All they have to do is force us to stop, or follow us until we do.
I have no idea how far the fuel in our tanks will carry us, but it’s a moot point. If they are representing organised crime they will have the resources to summon help. They’ll be able to get another boat to take over from them when their tanks threaten to run dry.
That’s not something we can do. We have to keep moving and somehow evade them at a dock or harbour somewhere.
The sound of the engine throttling back makes me look towards the bridge. The crewman at the yacht’s controls has raised his hands above his head and is making sure the four gunmen know he’s being compliant.
I can’t blame him for his actions. To the best of my knowledge, he owes Cameron no loyalty other than a fair day’s work for a fair day’s pay.
It’s not the crewman’s place to risk his life.
Me, on the other hand; I’ve beaten up two of them and dumped their buddy in the harbour. If they get on the yacht, I don’t think they’ll be asking my name so I can be added to their Christmas card list. It’s much more likely I’ll receive a severe beating, or a bullet in the brain.
With nothing to lose, I dash towards the bridge as the motorboat closes the gap between us.
I’m four paces from the yacht’s controls when I hear a shout.
