The wings levelled again, and Charlotte took a deep breath. She was in good hands. Not Mark’s hands, but good hands. Jack Brenner was highly trained, and Mark trusted him. So why did she feel like she was about to throw up?
“It’s coming up on your right.”
“What’s that?”
“Aroon Island. Up ahead, about three o’clock. Keep your eyes peeled because if I fly over more than once, it’ll attract attention.”
“What are we looking for?” she asked, as a green dot came into view.
“Boats, docks, buildings. Anything that gives you an idea of who or how many we’re dealing with.”
A chill slithered down Charlotte’s spine as they neared the island. It looked like a patch of jungle, hardly larger than a few football fields. Was her brother down there, amid all that tangled vegetation? Was he alive?
“I’ve got three motorboats, two long-tails and a kayak,” Jack said. “What about you?”
She swallowed down her fear. It wouldn’t help Davey. “I see two primitive buildings set back from the beach.”
“Quonset huts,” he said. “There’s one on that south hill, too. OK, we’re going to go directly over. Look carefully.”
She peered out of the window. “I see a tower of some kind on the hill to the north.”
“Cell tower.”
“And there’s a rectangular clearing. It looks man-made.”
“Any clearing around here is going to be man-made.”
“Is it an airstrip?”
“Not long enough,” he said. “Looks like a firing range. And it wasn’t here last time I did a flyover. Neither were the Quonset huts. Looks like Chanarong’s been making some capital improvements.”
“Chanarong?” She glanced over at him.
“The big bad mofo who runs the place. He deals in heroin, arms and pretty much anything of value he can get his hands on.”
“He’s famous around here?”
“Infamous would be more like it.”
“Infamous enough that someone like Davey might want to interview him?”
“Who knows? I don’t know what your brother was working on. Do you?”
“No. But he prides himself on always getting the impossible story, the most unattainable interview.” Charlotte’s stomach filled with dread. Had Davey really risked life and limb just to interview some Thai drug lord?
They passed over the island and the water turned turquoise, with an abrupt shift to indigo.
“That’s the reef,” Jack said. “Used to be a popular dive spot before Chanarong moved in. Not much going on on this side of the island. It’d be a good insertion point, if it weren’t for the current.”
She looked at Jack as the wings tilted again and they veered east. Charlotte pressed her hand to her chest. Her heart was hammering. She was sweating, too. Just being this close to the island had way too many terrifying thoughts racing through her brain.
Jack glanced at her. “You OK?”
“Fine. Why?”
“You look pale.”
“I’m not used to flying, that’s all.”
“Paralegals don’t travel much, I take it?”
She looked at him. That must have been some background check. She wondered what else he knew about her. She turned to gaze out of the window. “Not in my office, they don’t. We’re one of Dallas’ ‘boutique’ law firms, which sounds cool, but what it really means is there’s a limited budget.”
“And do you like the job?”
She took a deep breath. He was trying to distract her, and she was happy to let him.
“The work is interesting,” she said. “I like the people, for the most part. And the pay is decent, the benefits are good.” She shook her head ruefully. Her job at Bakers and Bindle and the problems she’d thought she had just a few days ago seemed light years away now.
“Sounds like a nice gig.”
She shot him a look. Was he being facetious?
He smiled at her. “Add a two-storey house and a black Lab, and you’ll be living the American dream.”
She nearly choked on her laughter. “I have a Lab. She’s at my neighbour’s right now.”
“Oh, yeah? What’s her name?”
She took a deep breath. “Daisy,” she said, and closed her eyes. She could breathe again. Jack’s voice in her ears had calmed her, and she wasn’t going to have a panic attack.
They flew in silence for a while, and the vibration of the plane soothed her. She stole a glance at him. Underneath all those muscles, there was some sensitivity.
“Ko Phi Phi, coming up on your right,” he said.
She looked out of the window. “What’s that?”
“Popular tourist spot. It’s two islands, actually. Phi Phi Don and Phi Phi Leh.”
They dipped suddenly, and her stomach pitched.
“What are we doing?”
“Landing. I’ve got to offload this stuff, then make a plan for tonight.”
“We’re going at night?”
“I’m going.” He looked at her. “You’re staying at the resort.”
“I most certainly am not! It’s my brother we’re going after. With my money.”
“It’s non-negotiable.”
“But this is dangerous. I hardly know you. I can’t possibly allow you to—”
“Trust me, I’m much better off with you back at the resort.”
She gaped at him. “My brother’s life is at stake. What the hell am I going to do at a resort?”
“Have a Mai Tai. Get your toenails done.” He cut a glance at her. “You can do whatever you want, just as long as you stay out of the way.”
Phi Phi Island – 23.00
Jack slung his waterproof rucksack over his shoulder and left his bungalow. He didn’t bother locking it. Although it served as his temporary home whenever he touched down on Phi Phi Island, there was nothing inside worth stealing, and the resort manager kept an eye on the place for him to keep out squatters. Jack walked down the beach, passing a few bars, all fairly empty because it was the low season. He glanced up at the sky. Mostly cloudy with a slight breeze out of the south. Perfect weather for a swim.
Provided he could lose the tail he’d picked up.
Jack trudged across the sand, using the glow spilling from the beachfront hotel rooms for guidance. He passed a line of sleeping jet skis and a dive shop. He spotted his dinghy on the sand between a pair of long-tail boats, right where he’d asked Sajja to leave it. What he didn’t spot was Sajja. Jack tossed his gear into the rubber raft and glanced around, but he didn’t see the man anywhere.
“You’re taking a boat?”
This from the blonde who’d been on his six for ten minutes.
“You got something against boats?” he asked her.
“But . . . it’s like thirty miles away. I thought the quickest way to get there was by seaplane.”
“Quick, yes. Quiet, no.”
She stopped beside the dinghy, which would serve as his aquatic headquarters tonight. She wore the outfit she’d had on before, right down to the backpack that contained something near and dear to her heart – most likely her life savings. She scraped a curl back from her face and looked up at him.
“I want to come with you.”
He’d expected this. “Not happening.”
“I only just met you. It’s not fair for you to risk your life all by yourself for someone you don’t even know.”
He stepped closer and gazed down into those big brown eyes that had been even bigger this morning when he’d snuck into her hotel room.
“Who ever told you life was fair?” he asked. “And anyway, you’re paying me. Believe me, the risk is built into my fee.”
She looked uncomfortable at this, which was just what he’d intended. Maybe she’d think twice about being alone with him. She should. She should stay far away. If she had any sense, she’d lock herself in that bungalow she’d rented and not come out until he returned with her brother.
If her br
other was even alive, which was a huge if. A reporter dumb enough to go to Chanarong’s private island to chase down a story probably didn’t have much in the way of survival instincts. Charlotte seemed to know this, which accounted for the desperation he’d seen on her face for the last twenty-four hours. It also probably accounted for her willingness to sleep with a man who clearly scared the hell out of her.
Jack checked his watch and muttered a curse. Where was Sajja? They had approximately three hours to get this job done before the cloud cover was scheduled to dissipate. Tonight was a full moon, and Jack much preferred to work under cover of darkness. He glanced up and down the beach.
“Who’s meeting you here?” she asked.
“No one.” He stepped into the boat and checked the plastic gas jug sitting beside the motor. It was full, as was the back-up jug. His friend had done everything Jack had asked him to, except stick around to drive the boat.
“They’ve stood you up, haven’t they?”
He glanced at Charlotte now and caught the excitement in her tone. Beneath those powder-puff looks was an opportunist.
Jack rummaged through his rucksack and checked his phone. No messages.
“Let me go instead,” she said eagerly. “I can do whatever you need help with.”
“Oh, yeah? What if I need you to slit someone’s throat? You any good with a knife?”
She stepped back. “You really think you’ll have to—”
“I don’t know what I’ll have to do. But whatever it is, I’d sure as hell rather do it before the moon comes out.” Jack searched up and down the beach again, but still no Sajja. Shit. He didn’t mind working alone. And he didn’t mind being outnumbered, because he relied on stealth, not firepower to get himself in and out of tight situations. But he was going to have his hands full retrieving the hostage tonight. And given the sheer number of unknowns, this op would be much, much easier if he could get the lay of the land before committing to an extraction point.
He checked his watch again. Almost 23.30. Jack rested his hands on his hips and looked at Charlotte. “You ever driven a dinghy?”
She smiled up at him and stepped into the boat.
Jack checked the GPS on his watch. He was just where he wanted to be, and only a few minutes behind schedule. He took another look through the night-vision binoculars before turning and handing them to Charlotte, who was seated beside him on the narrow wooden seat.
“Here, have a look.”
She lifted the binoculars to her face as he glanced around for landmarks. They’d motored their way to within two miles of the island, and then Jack had cut the engine and rowed, to minimize sound. They’d been going against the current, and now he was covered with sweat and had a good dose of adrenaline pumping through his veins.
“You see the guards?” he asked her.
“Where?”
“There’s one on the beach, leaning up against a palm tree. Another pair is positioned near the Quonset hut at the top of the hill.”
“OK, I see them,” she said. “What does it mean for your plan?”
“The man on the beach looks asleep. The two men on the hill are conducting a patrol. Which tells me there’s something in that hut up there worth guarding.”
“You think it’s Davey?” she asked, and he heard the hope in her voice.
“Possibly,” he said. Though not likely. Charlotte had shown Jack a photo of her brother. The man wasn’t exactly a bodybuilder, so it should have been no problem for Chanarong’s men to keep him in check, even if he wanted to leave. Jack felt pretty sure those guards were more about keeping people out than in.
“Look again at the shoreline,” Jack said. “The rest of the activity is concentrated in two buildings down on the beach, near the boat docks. I’m guessing that’s where Chanarong is, assuming he’s on the island.”
“Why do you say that?”
“Two generators and a satellite dish. He’s got power, television, access to boats. It looks a lot more comfortable than that hut on top of the hill.”
Charlotte lifted the binoculars again. She sighed quietly, and the little female sound tugged at him. She was worried. And scared. For the past hour, she’d been practically vibrating with nerves.
She turned to look at him. “How well do you know Mark Colter?” she asked.
“Well enough. Why?”
“Because this is an incredible amount of trouble to go to as a favour for an army buddy.”
“Navy,” he said, taking the binoculars. “And anyway, I don’t think of it as trouble. I’d swim through shark-infested waters for that guy,” Jack said. He had, in fact.
“That’s crazy.”
“That’s the way it works in the teams. He’d do the same for me.”
She paused, digesting this. The SEAL code was hard for most civilians to understand.
“If you feel so strongly about it, why did you quit?”
“I didn’t.” He stowed the binoculars under the seat.
“But why—”
“Injury,” he said, and left it at that. He didn’t really want to talk about how he’d shattered his knee falling off a mountain in Afghanistan. He didn’t want to talk about how, even after three surgeries, he’d never be the same, and how he’d chosen to leave the teams rather than be the weak link that someday, somewhere got one of his teammates killed. He never discussed that part of his past with anyone, and he sure as hell wasn’t going to discuss it now, with Charlotte Whiteside, while he needed to be prepping for an op.
Jack rummaged through his bag, inventorying gear: SIG Sauer 9 mm, ammo, knife, radio. He tossed a couple extra flashbangs into his pack just for good measure, then stripped off his T-shirt and pulled his fins on over his coral boots.
“You’re swimming from here?”
He glanced at Charlotte. It was too dim to see her face well, but he heard the emotion in her voice.
“It’s no big deal.”
“Yeah, right.” She snorted. “A half-mile swim. With all that stuff on your back.”
“Trust me, this is nothing. I once swam twice this distance in forty-degree water carrying a twenty-two-pound haversack full of explosives.”
She went silent at that, and he wasn’t sure whether he’d alleviated her fear or made it worse.
What was it with this woman? He couldn’t remember the last time someone had worried about him, and her concern was getting to him.
Or maybe it was the image he couldn’t get out of his head, the image from this morning. In one of life’s nicer surprises, he’d learned that Charlotte Whiteside liked to sleep in the buff.
“Jack, I’m scared.” She edged closer to him now on the narrow seat. “Maybe we should try this another way. Davey’s never been a strong swimmer.”
“He doesn’t need to swim a stroke.”
“But how can you possibly—”
“Relax.” He took her hand, which he could tell surprised her. “I’ve pulled people out of much worse situations than this. This is going to be fine.” Provided he’s still alive in there.
Her hand was cool in his, and damp too, which for some reason made him feel good. He’d be willing to bet this woman had never been so terrified in her life. And yet she was sitting here, trusting him to do the most important job she’d ever asked of anyone. He planned to do it, too, and it wasn’t just because of Mark.
“Remember what I told you about the radio,” he said. “Silence means you wait for me here, but if I call and give the signal, then I need you to move around to the other side. Stay away from the reef. Just wait for me about fifty yards out.” He dropped her hand and picked up his mask. “And if anything goes boom, that means my plan to tiptoe in and out of there is shot to hell, and I’ll need you to meet me at the easiest extraction point possible, which is that strip of beach. You got it?”
“I got it.”
He pulled his back-up weapon from his rucksack and folded her hand around the grip. “You ever used a Glock before?”
“No.�
��
“Just point and shoot,” he said. “No safety. Don’t be afraid to use it.”
He looked at her wide brown eyes and knew that it was a ridiculous thing to say. She was afraid of all of this. But she nodded anyway and put on a brave face – so brave, in fact, that he wanted to kiss her.
Instead, he swung his legs over the side of the raft. “Listen for that radio.”
“Wait.” She caught his arm. And then she kissed him. It was an explosive kiss. A bomb blast. Her mouth fused with his and sent a shot of fire straight to his groin. She smelled good. She tasted like heaven and sin rolled into one. And when she finally pulled back, he could barely remember his own name.
He stared at her.
“Come back quick,” she said.
He pulled on his mask and slipped into the water.
Two
In the clear, warm waters of the Andaman Sea, a night swim is a psychedelic experience. Phosphorescent particles swirl around. Fish dart by, leaving little glowing trails in their wake. Jack loved the ocean, and normally it was one of those weird nature shows that he really appreciated. But when embarking on a mission it was fucking distracting.
About forty yards from the shore, he surfaced and filled his lungs. Then it was a straight shot underwater until turbulence told him he’d neared land.
He removed his fins and clipped them to his rucksack, then hit the beach. A sprint across the sand had him concealed in the jungle inside of three seconds.
He crouched at the base of a coconut palm, motionless for a moment as he got his bearings. Noise from the Quonset huts on the shore. The hum of one – no, make it two separate generators. Nothing but silence and shadows behind him.
Jack slipped into the darkness without a sound. The terrain went from flat to steep to nearly vertical, and he used branches and tree roots to haul himself up the hillside. There was definitely an easier path to the top, but he wasn’t feeling particularly sociable tonight, so he’d opted for the steep and solitary route. When he reached the top, he turned north, towards the structure he’d seen from the boat. He moved to the edge of the thicket where he’d be more exposed but less likely to make a sound.
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