He paused several seconds before continuing in a slow deliberate tone. “What if I told you there is a way for you to catch up to the barge at about the same time as the French Police?” Arto searched the Commander’s face for some sort of understanding.
The Commander looked at the canal where a boat rested on the banks, its bow protruding from under a tarp.
“I told them the longer way because they were so cheap. And I was not going to show them my boat, or they would have confiscated it in the name of the police,” Arto said, laughing aloud.
For the moment, Arto turned serious, attempting his best sales technique. “But for you, I will lease the boat for only 200 English pounds and throw in a full tank of gas.” He lead the commander to where his twenty-foot 1998 American Chris-Craft was resting half in the canal, half on shore. “Isn’t she a beauty? I bought her from an American serviceman over in Germany. She purrs like a kitten and has a top speed of twenty-two knots to boot, faster than what you could achieve on that damn dirt road with all of its twists and turns.”
The Commander stepped into the boat to gauge its condition. “Would the barge hear our approach?
“Not necessarily, Commander. They would only hear you if they were docked for the night. They are operating an old eight-cylinder Detroit diesel that happens to make a lot of noise if you know what I mean,” covering his ears and whistling aloud. “But you could sneak up on them while they are still moving and await their night stoppage point, overtaking them under the cover of darkness.”
Commander Robinson turned back to the van, motioning for the rest of the team to join him. “You are a gentleman, Mr. Arto. It looks like we are taking a river cruise.”
CHAPTER TWENTY-FIVE
ABOARD THE “JACOB”
“That’s our signal, two quick red flashes,” Dan said, slowing the rate of speed on the Jacob, maneuvering to a spot close to where the light had originated.
Dan shut the engines down as Jim moved forward to assist in the barge’s mooring.
The stillness of the night was deafening as the engines grumbled to a halt.
With the trees’ dense canopies spread over the canal and dusk already an hour past, Jim probed the water’s edge with the flashlights beam.
A slight fellow stepped out from behind an overgrown holly bush no more than fifteen meters from the barge. In a thick Irish brogue, he yelled. “Hello to you on the Jacob. May I approach?”
Jim searched the woods for the mysterious voice, his flashlights beam probing left to right. “Only if you show yourself and put your hands where we can see them,” he said in reply.
“I’m in the open for all to see, my American friend. Just switch off that bloody torch,” the stranger said. Satisfied he wasn’t going to take a bullet, he moved toward the Jacob to assist in its docking. The stranger then tied the bow and stern ropes to the nearest trees to secure for the night.
Satisfied, the stranger approached to where Jim was busy lowering the wooden gangway.
Dan brushed past Jim, pulling Sean aboard with a sturdy grip in the same instant.
“Sean, you old bugger, how is my favorite cousin,” he said in greeting, holding him at arms’ length before hugging him.
“Favorite cousin is it now? Sean said in reply. “Well that’s a change from the last time we met. I must say you are a man blessed with the words, Dan, or should I just call you Father Dan?”
A select few of Dan’s family were privy to his occupation while he hid in the Americas.
Dan led Sean toward the barge’s dining room, Jim close on their heels. “I see my exploits are still making the family proud, eh, boyo—something to talk about at the holiday gatherings,” he said.
“They always have,” Sean said. “And we’d still talk about you anyway.”
Sean handed Dan a green canvas duffel bag, one that would have pushed the airline requirements for fitting in an overhead aircraft compartment.
Dan laid it carefully by the gangway as if already aware of its contents.
“You’re a sight for sore eyes Sean,” Dan said. “Let us have a short nip to celebrate what will, unfortunately, be a brief family reunion.” He waited for his cousin’s grin to fade as he viewed the comfortable accommodations aboard the Jacob.
Sean whistled before blessing himself for having such luck.
On the bar, Dan had poured three generous shots of Bushmill’s. “I apologize in having to make do with just a wee dram, but you know the rationale of why you’re here,” he said, serious for the moment. “The only other information I can disclose is that Jim and myself have a long distance to travel tonight.
As he raised his glass, Dan wondered if either man truly realized the danger they were in. “Cheers, slancha, my friends,” he said. The drink complete, Dan patted his cousin’s shoulder in affection. “Sean, my dear cousin, we are about to see if the proverbial pot of gold truly does exist at the end of the rainbow.”
French Interpol, Somewhere along the Canal Road
Arto’s detailed instructions and well-known shortcuts turned out to be a case of one mistaken turn after another. This allowed a bitter source of frustration to exist between the Inspector and Rebecca. They decided it best to discard Arto’s shortcuts and stick to the canal’s path.
They expected to overtake their prey in four to six hours if everything proceeded according to plan. Unfortunately for them, the drive now approached its eighth hour.
To their surprise, the canal had a steady clientele of holiday boaters and vacation barges. The road’s vantage point above the canal didn’t always provide them with an unobstructed view. They had to stop and check each and every barge along the way for the elusive Jacob. This only added precious time to their journey.
The Inspector looked over to Rebecca, his frustration clearly mounting. “I thought the objective of a shortcut was to save time not add it,” he said sarcastically. “If this bastard purposely gave us these shortcuts to slow us down, I’m going to make sure his police pension check is lost in the shuffle.”
“Slow down, Inspector,” Rebecca implored, ignoring his last comment along with the previous ones he had dispensed during the torturous ride she had to endure. “I think there is another barge just ahead. Look off to your left-hand side at about a hundred meters,” her arm crossing his field of vision.
“Mrs. Lenine, I can’t see the damn road while your arm is waving in front of me,” he scowled at her, brushing her arm away. He slowed the car down to a crawl, looking for a place to park on the narrow road before maneuvering the car to a clearing.
“I think you may be right, Mrs. Lenine. This could be our subjects,” he said. Darkness hindered an actual reading of the full name on its stern, only a large “J” visible to the naked eye. “Use the infrared scope and give us a read on the name while I consult the map for our exact location.”
Rebecca aimed the bulbous scope at the barge. The night’s full moon only aided her, allowing her to focus on the barge with extra clarity. She professionally adjusted the dials mounted on the unit, maximizing its magnification. “Yes, sir, it is the Jacob alright,” she said in exhilaration. “We have finally caught up with them.”
The Inspector looked up and down the dirt road. “Mrs. Lenine, I say we park 500 or so meters from the barge and approach from up along the riverbank. We can use all of this overgrown shrubbery as cover. I also want to double check and make sure that this is our Jacob and not some vacationers on their honeymoon when we burst in. This tricky bastard could have painted the Jacob’s name on another barge just to throw us off.”
“Inspector, don’t you think we should wait for full darkness instead of this fading light for our approach?” she replied. “We don’t want the possibility of making our prey skittish, do we? From the looks of their docking ropes, they should be tied up for the night.”
“You may have a point, Mrs. Lenine,” he said.
“I think we passed a small bistro about two kilometers back. We should probably grab somet
hing to eat and inquire about the local police presence.”
“No local police involvement,” the Inspector spat out, not intending on sharing his spotlight. “This has been a carefully laid-out plan from the beginning, a fine bit of detective work I’d say. No common officer will share in our moment of triumph. Besides, there are only two of them, and we shall have the element of surprise. What could possibly go wrong?”
SAS Group, along the Canal
Approaching its sixth hour, the seven-meter Chris-Craft motorboat churned at its maximum speed of 22 knots. With dusk passing two hours before, the night’s darkness would only aid them in their assault.
“I’m slowing down, Commander. Barge dead ahead, 500 meters, starboard side,” the team’s youngest member, Private Crumfield said. He wore an awkward fitting night vision gear strapped to his head, its single lens presenting him with a clear image bathed in an eerie green and white. “She looks to be moored for the night to some elm trees, sir.”
“All right, Crumbfield,” the Commander replied. “Have a look on 70 magnification and slow us down to five knots so we don’t startle the buggers.
Adjusting the unit’s magnification, Crumbfield scanned the deck for any evidence of movement. “She’s the Jacob, sir. You can see her white lettering on the stern,” he replied.
“Okay, sergeant, take the helm from Crumbfield,” the Commander said. ”I want you to motor past but slowly. I want to get a positive ID on the boat and check out the territory we have to traverse tonight. We can’t afford to screw this one up, not on French soil.”
The Commander turned his trained eye back to the barge, looking for any weaknesses as their Chris-Craft slowed to almost a crawl. His assessment complete, the Commander then ordered the boat to shore no more then a hundred meters in front of the barge’s mooring point, just out of view of the barge. Once on shore, they quickly unloaded their gear.
The commander focused his tripod-mounted night vision unit on the moored Jacob. The tripod scope differed from the head-mounted unit in that it also came complete with a built-in microphone that was capable of listening up to 200 meters.
With everything checked and ready to go, the team assembled around Commander Robinson for the final brief on their mission.
“All right, gentlemen, from the record we have on this bugger, he prefers to indulge in a few drinks after his main meal. Based on this information, we will attack the subjects after they’ve had their nightcap and a little time to settle in.” He looked at his luminescent Swiss watch for the correct time before proceeding, “which should be in about an hour or so.”
The Commander removed his canteen, taking a drink, passing it around to the others, before continuing. “I want Crumbfield and you, Sergeant, to perform our classic vessel attack. Take the motorboat and use its wooden paddles to glide up to the port side of the Jacob. Verify my position, then board, sweeping from bow to stern. I will enter from the starboard side via the land route and sweep from stern to bow. Private Swift, you will stay here with the equipment and monitor our progress.”
Each nodded in understanding.
The Commander continued. “We have practiced this maneuver many times on our hostage course. Now it counts for the money boys. One thing in our favor, we don’t have to worry about hostages being onboard, so shoot to kill if they don’t immediately surrender.
“Gentleman, if all goes according to plan, we should have our two trophies back home in time for breakfast.”
Aboard the “Jacob”
Sean McMinn admired his cousin’s generosity, having left him the keys to a luxurious barge and close to fifteen thousand American dollars to boot. Too bad there was a hint of danger or he could have brought along the wife and kids.
The barge itself came stocked with filet steaks, prawns, and plenty of booze. Dan even instructed him to keep the barge out for as long as he wanted, forcing Sean to have a free vacation in the sun. He did realize a slight danger was to be associated with the job. His cousin briefed him on that particular aspect prior to his accepting the job. But what the hell, with Belfast unemployment approaching fifteen percent, he’d take any work he could lay his hands on.
Using the full amenities the gourmet kitchen provided, Sean cooked himself a lovely steak dinner before moving in on a bottle of whiskey. Adjourning from the kitchen, he settled into a leather chair situated conveniently next to the bar—pouring himself another generous glass.
Sean sat contemplating how many days to stay in the area when a noise startled him, not a noise that would normally be associated with the everyday workings of a barge. It sounded something along the lines of a champagne cork popping.
The barge tilted ever so slightly from side-to-side.
Sean grabbed his Meisser semiautomatic that lay beside him.
“Dan and Jim can’t be back already,” he said aloud, deciding it would be best if he sought safety behind the bar.
“MRS. LENINE, YOU take the stern and walk around mid-ship, I’ll take what appears to be one of the bedrooms and walk forward,” the inspector whispered. This being his first operation involving weapons in years, his nerves were a bit frayed. “And put your silencer on that damn weapon. We do not need the locals reporting a shootout. We have to do this as quietly as possible.”
Rebecca was moving just ahead of him. She tried to screw the silencer on in the dark, but dropped it to the deck of the boat creating a loud metallic pop for all to hear. She recouped by efficiently scooping it up and professionally screwing it on in a matter of seconds.
Inspector Jacko was furious, slowly shaking his head.
Rebecca had hoped for this to be her big moment. Now he would return to make crude jokes to her teammates about her ineptness. I’ll show that fat bastard.
SEAN DETECTED THE movement of at least one and possibly two persons who had come aboard. He leaned heavily against the bar’s mahogany, switching off the bar’s light in the process, plunging the galley and lounge into darkness. Not a total darkness. The night’s quarter moon streaked in through the open window blinds on both sides of the salon.
Fingering his weapon, he once again checked to ensure a full magazine. Sean quickly thought of three possibilities as he removed the weapon’s safety. The obvious would be Dan and Jim returning. Second would be thieves coming aboard to rob tourists loaded with cash; or, and the most likely scenario, my cousin’s enemies he had warned me about.
REBECCA EASED HERSELF along the barge’s port side walkway, the walkway no more than one-half meter wide, careful not to slip into the canal’s murky waters to her left. Moving silently, she passed what appeared to be the galley area, its metal pans hanging from overhead racks. She noticed a door ajar three meters ahead. She allowed her weapon to lead the way as she eased it open. She paused several moments, allowing her eyes to adjust to the stateroom’s darkness. Moonlight streamed in through the window blinds’ narrow slots, providing the rooms only source of light. Pushing forward, her heart raced, looking from left to right before, out of the corner of her eye, she noticed movement.
SEAN KEPT PEAKING out from his confined space, pinned between the end of the saloon’s bar and a floor-to-ceiling wooden post, his attention directed toward where the Inspector slowly crept forward.
REBECCA FOLLOWED THE moon’s narrow beams of light that formed paths in the room’s darkened interior, the light seemingly urging her forward. With this as her guide, she crept to within five meters of Sean’s position. She could now hear his rapid breathing, her own breathing increasing in time so loud she was sure it would give away her position.
Rebecca pulled her gun up to her lips, kissing it softly, saying a silent prayer. After many years of practice on the gun range, never having fired her gun in anger, she felt that streak was about to end.
SEAN WATCHED THE Inspector creep toward his position. Being presented with a somewhat large and clear shot, he brought his gun up to bear.
INSPECTOR JACKO pushed forward, finger on his weapon’s trigger.
Inspector Jacko moved within three meters of Sean’s position, now leveling his own weapon in the same general direction as Rebecca, still searching for a target.
Sean could see the portly man in front of him producing a silver badge that glistened in the night’s moonlight.
Sean quickly crossed off robbery as a motive. “Well, at least you’re not here to take my valuables,” he said, still greedily fingering his weapon, its steel barrel pointed at the Inspector.
He would not go peaceably with the police. They would only turn him over to Scotland Yard, and he would be in prison for a long run.
“Bastards,” Sean cried aloud, diving to the floor, firing in front of him at the Inspector, his three shots missing wide left.
The Inspector in turn emptied his gun in Sean’s general direction, missing widely, most of the shots impacting the wooden bar with a series of sharp cracks.
Rebecca watched as Sean dove for the floor, keeping her poise and waiting for the Inspector to shoot the man practically at his feet.
The Inspector hastily tried to reload his weapon as Sean leveled his own weapon, laughing aloud at the Inspector’s predicament.
Rebecca fired instantly in response, killing Sean with two well-placed shots to the upper torso. Moving in quickly, she stood with her arms extended, her weapon leveled at Sean. After a few seconds, she searched for a light switch.
Angels Fallen Page 14
