“Hey, Gus, have a seat. Any bad news from our favorite dock?”
“Nope, not a sign.” Gus nodded with a smile at Rachel, who held up an iced mug from the kitchen. “I brought the charts you asked for. Did you decide to play for your little friend in Washington again?”
“It’s not a forgive and forget, but he sure has some interesting intel.”
Rachel set the mug down in front of Gus, and then joined Jean and Deke on the couch.
“Wow, what the hell did you do, brother, kick Deke?”
“My decision is unpopular. In three days’ time Bidwell will be fishing off the Nassau coast in a Coral Reef Rental luxury boat called the Tequila. Remember the drug cartel guy four years ago?”
“Yeah. I believe we had a two week recon on that job.”
“This is a strictly volunteer excursion. Frank may have something unexpected for us after I send Bidwell to his reward.”
“Has he screwed you before?” Gus asked with some hesitation, knowing Nick did not like questions on past ops from people with no prior knowledge.
“Did you happen to hear about some mysterious deaths in the Denver area?”
“No shit!” Gus exclaimed, real surprise highlighting his features. “Damn, Nick, a sitting US Senator? He didn’t die in his sleep, huh?”
“Sort of. There were two special op guys who supposedly killed each other nearby on the same night. They were there for me, courtesy of Frank, after offering up his boss for me to guide into the happy hunting ground.”
“So that’s what all this talk about deals was about. I can outfit us against something in our weight class, but I doubt we could run from a destroyer or a helicopter gunship. I’m in though. You have plans for your family they’re unhappy with?”
“I called my US Marshall friends. They’re flying down here tomorrow morning. They’ll be picking up my three upset companions. Rachel’s very excited about it, aren’t you Rach?”
Rachel held up her right arm, right hand and middle finger. Gus laughed and spread out the first chart on the table.
“Show me what you have in mind, ‘Family Guy’.
* * * *
Gus arrived with Rachel, Jean, and Deke at the park where they had played softball together. Nick had picked the spot out for handing his charges over to the US Marshalls. Rachel left the passenger side of the rental Buick after Gus popped the trunk lid. She took out their bags and set them over by the sidewalk. Gus turned and handed Jean an envelope while Rachel unloaded the car.
“Nick said to give you this. Happy birthday, Danger.”
Jean opened the card and read the words as tears filled her eyes: ‘I love you, Danger. Take care of your mom and Deke. We’ll have a real party when I see you next time. I’ll be thinking of you, Deke, and your mom every moment. Happy birthday, kid. Love, Nick.’ Jean hugged Gus over the seat back and left the car with Deke. Gus drove away.
Ten minutes later, a dark blue Ford van pulled up next to the curb. Grace stepped down from the passenger side of the van, smiling happily at her three former clients. Rachel made a stopping gesture as Grace began hurrying over to them.
“Tell Tim to get out of the van and open all the doors, Grace,” Rachel directed.
“What?” Grace looked at Rachel as if she had gone around the bend.
“Please, just humor me.”
Grace stood still for a moment and then returned to the van. She opened the passenger side door and the sliding door on the side.
“Tim, get out and leave your door open. Open the rear doors too.”
“This some kind of joke?” Tim asked in confusion.
“Just do it. I guess Rachel’s still a little gun-shy.”
“Okay,” Tim agreed, getting out and walking to the rear of the van to open the cargo doors. “I guess I can’t really blame her.”
“Me either,” Grace agreed. She walked around to the front, holding up her hands. “Okay?”
Rachel nodded, relief plain on her face.
Grace approached. She hugged Jean while Tim walked over to pick up two of their bags. Deke followed him around, tail wagging.
“You afraid we might be bad guys?” Grace asked. She embraced Rachel.
“No, I was afraid you didn’t do exactly what Nick told you to do and not come after us alone,” Rachel answered. “We wouldn’t be hugging right now. You, Tim, and everyone extra in the van would be dead.”
“Jesus…” Grace looked around the immediate area, her hand inadvertently reaching into the bag at her side.
Rachel caught Grace’s wrist with both hands, a pleading look on her face. “Please Grace, for God’s sake, don’t do anything stupid. Let’s just go, okay?”
“Sure,” Grace agreed, moving her hand away from the bag.
“Oh! Hey, Grace.” Jean remembered the envelope Nick had handed her to hold onto until she saw Grace. Jean reached into her carry-bag and extracted the envelope from a pocket in the bag. “Nick said to give this to you.”
Grace took the envelope from Jean and opened it. She unfolded the type written sheet of paper inside. It read: ‘If anything happens to Rachel, Jean, or Deke, you and Tim had better be dead.’ It was unsigned but Grace had no doubt who typed it. Grace shivered although it was another hot, muggy, Florida day. She put her arm around Jean’s shoulders.
“We better get moving.”
Five minutes later, the van drove away. Three hundred yards away, Nick quickly packed up his sniper rifle.
Chapter Twenty-Two
Nassau Operation
“Oh my goodness,” Nick announced in a nearly reverent tone, looking out over the dead calm surface with his digital range-finding binoculars. “Gus, we’ve hit the jackpot, my friend.”
Gus sat ten feet behind where Nick stood, listening to the chatter on the radio. He took off his earpiece and joined Nick at the wheel house observation window. Two miles away, Bidwell’s boat Tequila lay at anchor nearly five miles off the Nassau coast. Nick handed the binoculars to Gus. It took Gus a minute to sight in the vessel, where a party had been going on for the last three hours. A speed boat had brought four bikini-clad women, along with two men Nick did not recognize, out to the Tequila. Until this time, Nick had only spotted Jason Bidwell and two crewmembers.
“What am I looking at besides a wild night on the high seas?”
“See the guy with the blonde comb over and pot belly?”
“Yeah, he’s doing some kind of dance with one of the women. That’s just…disturbing.”
“He’s Max Stoddard. It appears Tanus and Fletcher may not have been rivals. Either that or their CEOs decided the better part of valor is party time in Nassau.”
“Oh my, that does work out well for you, doesn’t it? Do you think Frank knew about Stoddard?”
“He knew.” Nick took the binoculars back from Gus. “You can bet he tracked us by satellite the moment we entered Bahaman waters. Bidwell’s the one putting pressure on him back in Washington. I believed Frank about Bidwell making him the scapegoat. At least we don’t have to worry about my buddy trying to take us out before I get Bidwell.”
“I’m not happy about sacrificing my baby to this mission.”
Nick laughed. “Your baby? Gus, this tugboat looks like that scow they used to go after ‘Jaws’. I’ll buy you a brand new boat. If you think Frank will be acting honorably towards us after I off Bidwell, then stay with The Loose Lady.”
“My boat’s name is The Lucky Lady, you cretin,” Gus corrected him.
“Not after tonight.” Nick grinned, focusing on the ship again with his binoculars. “These clowns ought to be passed out soon. The ladies will be on their way back to shore in a few hours, hopefully with those guys they came on board with and a couple of the crew.”
“You were never this picky about collateral damage before.”
“I’ve been domesticated. What’d you think of the boat I picked up on Andros Island for us to get home in?”
“It’s a damn glorified rowboat, you cheapsk
ate. My skiff is bigger,” Gus needled him.
“Beggars can’t be choosers, buddy. Your master mariner rep is on the line,” Nick said, taking a break from watching the Tequila. “You went over the boat from stem to stern and gave me the thumbs up on throwing away twenty grand on it. Can we sail the glorified rowboat home or not?”
“Don’t get all huffy, Captain Ahab. Weather willing, I’ll get us back to St. Pete.”
“Ahab? This is the tropics, brother. I’m like James Bond in Dr. No.” Nick sat down next to Gus.
“James Bond, huh?” Gus chuckled. “Who would I be?”
“You’d be like James Bond’s sidekick in Dr. No: Quarrel.”
Gus brightened, leaning forward. “He was the go to guy for anything Bond needed. A tough guy who…hey, wait a minute! Quarrel gets killed.”
“Oh, sorry, Quarrel… My bad.”
* * * *
Nick zipped up his wetsuit. The Lucky Lady floated in darkness, while the Tequila anchored with running lights, as is common practice to keep from being struck by another ship. Gus helped Nick with the one piece buoyancy compensator and tank vest, which also incorporated a weight belt. Nick checked his gauges. He took a couple practice breaths with his regulator, setting it for minimum air flow.
“I still don’t understand why you didn’t blow their heads off with your long range cannon,” Gus said irritably. “You’re taking this James Bond stuff too far.”
“Like I’ve never approached a boat with scuba gear before,” Nick retorted, fitting his mask into place.
“Sure you did,” Gus agreed. “But you attached enough C4 to vaporize the boat. Why assault the damn guys in the boat?”
“Finesse, my dear Quarrel, finesse,” Nick said in his best James Bond voice. He put on his fins and positioned himself aft. “I have chloroform, plastic ties, stun gun, and my trusty H &K.45 in the waterproof pack. Stoddard being on board with Bidwell makes me think there may be more to this get together than sex, drugs, and rock & roll. When you look through the sight of my sniper rifle, you’ll see real fast why taking potshots from a rocking boat ain’t an exact science. Remember, don’t fire that damn thing unless I’m dead. Chances are you’ll kill me.”
“Ha, ha, very funny. That’s a long swim, genius. Why don’t we -”
“Bloody hell, Quarrel, mind your business.” Nick put the regulator in his mouth, clasped his hand over the mask and went into the ocean off the fantail.
Gus shook his head. He waited for Nick’s thumbs up to hand down the grappling hook and line, followed by Nick’s equipment bag.
Nick took a final reading with his compass, built into the gauge pack. Allowing enough air out of the buoyancy compensator to take his dive down to fifteen feet, he then headed toward the Tequila. Breathing in and exhaling with measured discipline, he kicked forward at a steady pace in the absolute darkness. He popped up every few minutes, ensuring his course still intersected with the lighted boat.
Nick looked up in relief when he reached the Tequila. They had left the aft ladder in place. After discarding the grappling hook, he aired up his buoyancy compensator and slipped out of it. He fastened a compensator strap around the ladder base, leaving it floating in the water. He pulled his mask down around his neck, undid his fins while clinging to the ladder, and climbed up slowly. Peeking over the fantail, Nick waited a full five minutes before boarding the Tequila. After setting aside his mask, fins, and bag, he took off his gloves. He extracted the H &K.45 caliber automatic, silencer in place, and set it down within reach. Nick eased out of his wetsuit, using a towel from the bag to dry off.
He found the crew members first, asleep in the wheelhouse on cots. He retreated to his bag, and then returned silently to the wheelhouse with H &K.45, chloroform, and a large gauze pad soaked in chloroform. He kept his weapon trained on the crewmember to the left, while holding the chloroformed pad lightly over the other’s nose until his breathing changed. Nick pressed the pad tighter, until the man breathed no more. He repeated the process with the man on his left. Padding down the ladder carefully in his bare feet, he cleared his head with deep breaths.
Bidwell and Stoddard slept the sleep of the wasted downstairs. Nick took his bag with him down into the cabin area and gave each of them a light chloroforming before flipping each one over and plastic-tying their wrists behind their backs. He plastic-tied the ankles next, adding one tie between ankles and wrists. Nick went up to get some air, and returned to the cabin. He found an ice bucket holding empty bottles of Champagne. He took the bottles out and poured a little ice water over each man until they groaned their way into consciousness. Nick placed a chair near the bunks and kept up his ice water treatment.
“Wha…what the hell?” Bidwell spluttered, looking around wildly. He saw Stoddard bound as he was across the narrow space between bunks. “Stoddard!”
Stoddard blinked stupidly and threw up. Nick doused him with ice water, and pulled him off the bunk to the floor. Nick sat down and picked up his stun gun. He fired off a crackling arc which had both men trying to scramble away. Stoddard twisted on the floor, looking up at Nick without recognition.
“Who? Who are you?”
“I’ll be asking the questions, Max, and we all know what happens if I don’t get answers. Why are you two supposed rivals in the gunrunning, drug, and human trafficking business here together?”
“We had to call a truce…especially with what’s surfaced lately,” Bidwell gasped out fearfully. “There were these drives -”
“I know all about the recent disclosures. You guys know a man named Frank from Washington D.C.? He used to be an underling of Senator Ambrose. Now, I hear he takes orders from you, Bidwell.”
“Oh Christ…you’re that psycho, McCarty! Frank said he had you killed. That son of a bitch sent you after us, didn’t he?”
“How about you, Max?” Nick ignored Bidwell’s question.
“Frank Richert?” Stoddard asked, his eyes now wide open.
“Yep.”
“How…how did he know we were setting him up to take the fall?” Bidwell’s voice faded in tenor along with all hope of seeing another sunrise.
“Don’t know,” Nick admitted. “He’s a sneaky one, our Frank.”
“He’ll have you killed too.” Stoddard’s voice sounded stronger. “We can protect you.”
“No thanks, Max.”
“This is all because of that Hunter bitch! The stupid slut and her dimwit husband brought all this shit down on us!” Bidwell raged, rocking back and forth on the bunk.
“This is one of your boats, Bidwell,” Nick interrupted Bidwell’s rant. “Where do you keep your cruising around money?”
“Fuck you, McCarty!”
“I was hoping you’d say that.” Nick stunned Bidwell until he flopped around in boneless fashion.
“Honest to God, I don’t know where any money is, Mr. McCarty,” Stoddard whimpered, trying to scoot even further into the bunk’s base.
“Is there anyone else besides you and Jason here looking for the Hunter woman, Max?”
“We stopped looking for her when the drives were released. We met down here to…to reorganize. We needed to let our people pour enough money into the right pockets so we could recover.”
“I believe you, Max.” Nick picked up his chloroform pad. He soaked it once again and bent down toward the cringing Stoddard. “Breathe deeply Max, and go to sleep. If you fight it, I might change my mind and have two drowning victims instead of one.”
Stoddard breathed and died. Nick threw some more water on Bidwell, who cried out as Nick began slapping him awake.
“Now, you were saying about the money, Jas?”
“It’s in a safe, behind the galley cupboard!” Bidwell cried out as Nick fired off another arc near him. He quickly rattled off the combination.
Nick found nearly fifty thousand dollars and some drugs in the safe. He came back from the galley a few minutes later, his bag stuffed with money. Nick had left a couple thousand dollars and the dru
gs behind before closing up the safe. “That’s more like it.”
Nick cut the ties off Stoddard’s body and worked the corpse up into the empty bunk. He then cut Bidwell’s plastic ties on his ankles. Nick guided Bidwell up the steps and over to the fantail.
“I need a drowning victim. Any volunteers?”
“Oh God no!” Bidwell screamed. “Please -”
Nick threw Bidwell over the fantail and then dived into the water after him. Nick grabbed Bidwell by the hair and surfaced. He held him under the water while clinging to the boat ladder for five minutes. Nick ducked down and put Bidwell over his shoulder. He worked his way up the ladder, tossing the dead man into the boat. Nick retrieved his cutters and cut the plastic tie on Bidwell’s wrists. After shouldering the dead man once again, Nick made his way down to the berthing area and dumped Bidwell on his bunk.
Over the next fifteen minutes, Nick packed up. When he was ready to leave, he turned on just one of the galley burners without flame, and left the oven door open and flame on. He went up to the fantail and into the water, donning his fins and compensator quickly at the base of the ladder. He made it nearly halfway to The Lucky Lady when he felt the concussion from the blast. He continued surfacing every few minutes to check for the small light Gus had turned on. Gus took his bag and gear, hauling up the compensator and tank so Nick could climb aboard without the weight.
“I hope you have the skiff ready, Quarrel. I’ll change when we get to the other boat.”
“All set, James,” Gus played along.
“Well done, Quarrel. Do you have Lucky here rigged to run toward Florida?”
“Of course, James.”
“I’ll be in the skiff, Quarrel. Please hurry, won’t you?”
Gus gave Nick a push and went to set The Lucky Lady on the autopilot he had rigged up. By the time he hurried down to join Nick, the boat was picking up speed with running lights on. Nick released the mooring when Gus jumped down into the skiff.
Cold Blooded Page 27
