Deep Six

by D P Lyle

  “That might be true,” Nicole said. “But we still know too much.” She looked at me. “Somehow I don’t see Mr. Borkov being overly forgiving of our role in this.”

  “Maybe he just wants to scare us. See what we know. And once he sees we don’t know anything, he’ll talk trade.”

  “Then why are we headed out to sea?” Nicole asked. “Why not hide us somewhere until a trade can happen?”

  I had no answer to that so I simply stared at her and then glanced back toward Zuma and Boyd. They were watching the ship’s wake, backs toward us. What to do? My inner superhero said I should charge them, try to shoulder them over the back. I mean, isn’t that what Bond, James Bond, would do? But that wouldn’t solve our problems. Not even close. With Borkov and his entire crew to deal with and us still cuffed. Not to mention that I’d probably bounce off Zuma, him being built like a brick outhouse.

  “Know what I think?” Nicole asked.

  “What?”

  “I think they’ll whack us around and try to get us to tell them where Grace is.”

  “But we don’t know,” I said,

  “Which is exactly why Detective Morgan wouldn’t tell us.”

  “Doesn’t make for a very good bargaining position.”

  “Wouldn’t matter, anyway,” Nicole said. “Once he knows where Grace is, or figures out we don’t, we’re expendable.”

  She seemed too calm considering our situation. Did she think this was a movie or something? Was her heart pounding as hard as mine? Then she looked at me, tears glistening her eyes. I wanted to hug her, assure her that all was okay, even if it wasn’t. Not even close.

  “So what are we going to do?” she asked.

  “Delay and deny as long as we can. And hope Ray understood my text.”

  “What text?”

  I told her.

  “You’re pretty smart.”

  “Let’s hope.”

  Borkov appeared. He sat across from us, while Zuma and Boyd positioned themselves behind us.

  Borkov nodded toward Zuma. “Cut them loose. They aren’t going anywhere.”

  Zuma pulled a switchblade from his pocket and snapped it open. He cut our cuffs free.

  I rubbed my wrists. Borkov lit a cigar and settled back in his chair.

  “We have a bit of a problem here,” Borkov said.

  “You mean like kidnapping?” Nicole asked.

  Borkov shrugged. “That’s the least of your troubles.”

  “What do you want?” I asked.

  “Grace. Where is she?

  “I thought she was here?” I said.

  He knocked an ash onto the deck and clamped the cigar in his teeth. “Cut the bullshit. You know she isn’t here. But I suspect you know where she is.”

  “I don’t.” I looked at Nicole. “We don’t.”

  “Why don’t I believe you?” Borkov asked.

  I don’t think he wanted an answer; his question was purely rhetorical. I answered anyway. “Because if we don’t know, all this was a massive mistake on your part.”

  “And bad news for you.”

  “Maybe for you, too,” I said.

  “Ray? You think that washed-up PI is going to ride in on a white horse and save you?”

  “Probably won’t be a white horse,” I said. “Not out here.”

  “You’re a funny guy,” Borkov said.

  But he didn’t laugh. Not even a little smile.

  “But if I were you,” he continued, “I wouldn’t count on Ray Longly saving the day.”

  But that’s exactly what I was counting on. How the hell else were we going to get out of this? Please, please, Ray, I hope you understood my text.

  “Folks who underestimate him usually regret it,” I said.

  He shrugged. “And I’d suggest you don’t underestimate me.”

  Now I smiled. “Wouldn’t dream of it.”

  He sat silently for a minute, puffing on his cigar, clouds of smoke catching the wind and swirling aft. Behind him, far in the distance, beyond the ship’s bow, I saw lightning light up a cloud bank. A huge, black cloud bank. Was a storm coming in? Guess I should watch the Weather Channel more often.

  Borkov leaned forward, forearms resting on the table edge. “What I know is that Detective Morgan has her squirreled away somewhere.”

  “Then you know more than we do,” I said. “We last saw her at the mall. Figured she made her way back here with those two.” I nodded toward Zuma and Boyd who had retaken their position near the stern.

  “What did she say to you?” Borkov asked.

  “Grace? What did she say about what?”

  “Me.”

  “She didn’t say anything.” I glanced at Nicole. “Not to us, anyway.”

  “Nothing about Darrell and Darnell?”

  “Who?”

  “A couple of guys I’m going to introduce you to.”

  “Always like making new friends,” I said.

  “Are they hot?” Nicole asked. “I love hot guys.”

  Borkov was not amused. He sighed. “Is that the way you want to play this?”

  “Mr. Borkov, I’m not sure what we can tell you,” I said. “We don’t know any Darrell or Darnell. And we don’t know where Grace is.”

  He stood, pulling his cell from his pocket. “I have a couple of calls to make. I think you two should sit here and reevaluate your situation.”

  “You get reception out here?” Nicole asked.

  “Got to love satellites.” He headed below.

  After he descended the stairs, Nicole asked, “What are we going to do?”

  “Not sure. Pray for Ray to show with the cavalry.”

  “Will he?”

  “He’d better.”

  I looked around, searching for something, anything, that could be used as a weapon. Chairs, an umbrella pole, and a heavy glass ashtray. On the table behind Borkov’s chair, the two baseballs he had gloated over when we were last here were nestled in a bowl, the bat leaning against its edge. None of it offered much help against the well-armed Zuma and Boyd.

  I looked at Nicole. “Okay, here’s the deal. Wait for my play.”

  “Your play?” she asked. “You sound like Bogart.”

  “And you look like Bacall.”

  She managed a half smile. “Okay, I give. What play?”

  “I don’t know yet.”

  “Never mind. You’re definitely not Bogey. He’d have a real plan.”

  I shook my head and rolled my eyes. “All I know for sure is that if you see duct tape and a big metal ring, you’ll know it’s coming.”

  “You mean what happened to those brothers?”

  “Exactly.”

  She squeezed back tears again. “I’m scared.”

  “Me, too. But if I yell jump, do it. Right over the side. I’ll be right behind you.”

  She looked at me as if I was insane. And maybe I was.

  “Out here?” she said. “Are you crazy?”

  “Would you rather hit the water with your arms and legs free or tied to an anchor?”

  “Then what? We drown?”

  “Maybe. But it’ll take a while. You can swim, can’t you?”

  “Of course. I was on the swim team in high school.”

  “Hold onto those skills. They might save you.”

  “Okay, so we jump,” she said. “Then what?”

  “Swim and pray.”

  She took a deep breath and let it out slowly. “I don’t like this.”

  “I’m open to other suggestions.”

  She looked out over the water. “It’ll be cold.”

  “It will. Not to mention a pretty long fall.”

  “And they’ll probably shoot us.”

  “They’ll try. But hitting someone from a rocking boat at night isn’t as easy as it is in the movies.”

  “That makes me feel so much better.” She shook her head. “Let’s hope it doesn’t come to that.”

  “Let’s hope. But if I say jump, don’t hesitate. We won’t g
et a second chance.”

  “Maybe not even a first,” Nicole said.

  “One more thing. When, if, you have to jump, leap as far away from this beast as you can. If you get sucked under this thing the props will turn you into chum.”

  She stared at him. “I’ll say one thing, Jake Longly, dating you isn’t without its thrills.”

  I shrugged. I had no comeback for that one. I looked out toward the black water. Lightning again flittered in the clouds. They seemed much closer now. The breeze kicked up and now carried a definite chill. Or was it fear?

  Where are you, Ray?

  CHAPTER FIFTY-TWO

  “HOW MANY TIMES you going to look at your watch?” Pancake asked.

  Ray shook his head. “You know me. I hate waiting.”

  “They’ll be here any minute.”

  “And every minute Borkov gets further out to sea. With Jake and Nicole.”

  Pancake nodded. “True. But I hear Megan’s new boat is a screamer. Some insane amount of horsepower.”

  “I’d expect nothing less,” Ray said.

  Pancake started to say something but abruptly stopped, cocking his head to one side. “What was that?”

  Ray had heard it, too. A chirp, then the roar of an engine coming to life. They scrambled up the stairs in time to see the SUV spin a wide U-turn and race toward the exit.

  “One of Borkov’s guys,” Pancake said.

  “No doubt. Covering tracks.”

  The SUV flew out the exit, made a hard, tire-squealing left, and disappeared.

  “I’ll call the local cops,” Pancake said, pulling his phone from his pocket.

  “No need.”

  Ray nodded toward the entrance where a pair of patrol cars turned in. They had just missed the SUV. He and Pancake stepped off the boat and waited until the units stopped nearby. Two officers stepped out of one car, the two in the other unit remained inside.

  “What’s the story,” the young uniform asked. His name tag said he was P. Brewster. “We got a call from Detective Bob Morgan. He said to meet a couple of guys here.”

  “That’s us,” Ray said. “I’m Ray Longly. This is Pancake.”

  That got a raised eyebrow from Brewster. Pancake’s moniker always did that.

  “We have a kidnapping of two people,” Ray said. “They were taken aboard a large yacht that left here maybe a half hour ago.”

  Brewster looked out toward the water. “That’s what this is about? What’s Morgan’s involvement here?”

  “He’s investigating a series of murders and the kidnappings are part of that.”

  Brewster nodded. “I see. So what do you need us for? This sounds like a situation for the Coast Guard.”

  “Already on it,” Ray said. “We’re waiting for a boat to go after the yacht.”

  Pancake punched a couple of buttons on his cell and held it where Brewster could see the photos of the SUV Pancake had taken. “This is the vehicle involved in the kidnapping.” He punched another button. “Here’s its license plate.”

  “It was involved in an accident with the kidnapping victims’ vehicle,” Ray said. “Over in Perdido Bay. Someone involved with the kidnappers just took off in it. Headed toward the highway, I suspect.”

  “When?” Brewster asked.

  “Two minutes before you arrived.”

  “Can you send me those photos?” Brewster asked Pancake.

  “Sure,” Pancake said. “I’ll text them. What’s your number?”

  Brewster gave it to him and Pancake sent the images.

  “Okay,” Brewster said. “I’ll get an alert out.”

  The two officers climbed back in their patrol unit, and, while his partner began working the dashboard computer, Brewster spun the car around and headed toward the exit, the second cruiser in tow.

  Ray turned as the high-pitched, high-speed churn of a marine engine came toward them. A sleek shadow with a moonlit wake sped into the harbor. The engine lowered its pitch, the boat slowed, and Megan Willis executed a perfect sideways slide up to the dock. Headlights washed across them. Ray turned to see a large dually pickup enter the lot and race toward them.

  The cavalry had arrived.

  Ray decided that it was best for Pancake to remain behind as sort of a communications center. Man the computer, the boat’s radio, and cell service onshore in case they were needed. Ray and the others would run down the Sea Witch. While Billy Ray Tucker and Tommy Patton loaded two heavy canvas duffels, no doubt filled with weaponry, into the back of Megan’s brand-new, dark-blue Willard Assault 43, Ray called Ira Gemmel. His office patched him through Ira who was on his Coast Guard vessel tracking the Sea Witch.

  “Any news?” Ray asked.

  “The Sea Witch is maybe eight miles south of the harbor doing twelve knots on a south, southwest course. We’re maybe fifteen miles away making twenty-five knots.”

  “Okay, thanks,” Ray said. “We’re leaving the harbor now. I think we’ll be doing a bit more than twenty-five so we’ll beat you there.”

  “We?” Ira asked.

  “I have a few friends.”

  “Listen up, Ray. This is the Coast Guard’s jurisdiction and problem. Let us do our job.”

  “Glad to do just that, but right now time is critical. A few minutes here or there could make the difference whether Jake gets out of this alive or not. That’s the key here.”

  “I know arguing with you will do no good, so all I ask is that you find them and track them but don’t engage. Understand?”

  “Will do. Unless they force our hand.”

  “Guess I’ll have to live with that,” Ira said.

  “I’ll get you on the radio as soon as we know something.”

  Ray disconnected the call and climbed on board Megan’s new ride. The Willard was just over forty feet and rode low in the water. Painted dark blue, it would be all but invisible at night. It had four seats, two front, two back. Ray settled in the front seat next to Megan, Billy Ray and Tommy in back.

  “They’re about eight miles south of our current position, making twelve knots,” Ray said. “How fast will this thing go?”

  “They say sixty, but I know how to squeeze out a bit more if needed. We’ll be on them in no time.” She glanced over her shoulder. “Hold on.”

  She eased away from the dock, aiming the bow toward the Gulf, and shoved the throttle forward. The engines spun up and the boat jerked forward. It took about a minute to reach top speed and they seemed to fly over the water.

  She had killed the running lights so the vessel was completely dark, except for the faint green glow of the digital dashboard and radar screen. Ray saw she was doing fifty-eight knots.

  Megan tapped the wireless headset she wore and indicated another hanging from a hook in front of Ray. He placed it over his head, adjusting the single earpiece in place and lowering the mic arm so that the pickup was near his lips. Then he heard Megan speak.

  ‘Everybody five by five?” she asked.

  “Got it,” Billy Ray said.

  “Copacetic,” Tommy added.

  “I’m good,” Ray said.

  “Okay,” Megan said. “Everyone get ready. At this speed we’ll catch them in fifteen or so.”

  “That quickly?” Ray asked.

  “We’re doing nearly five times their speed and they don’t have that much of a head start. Eight miles is nothing at a mile a minute.” She tapped the radar screen in front of her. “There’s the Sea Witch right there.”

  Ray saw several blips on the screen. “How do you know that’s her?”

  “Unless there’s a U.S. Navy destroyer out there, it’s her. Nothing else that big out and about tonight.”

  Ray nodded. “Let’s go get some bad guys.”

  “We have a weather front moving in,” Megan said. “Looks like a good one.”

  “Just when I thought things couldn’t be worse.”

  “What?” Megan said. “You afraid of a little rain and wind?” She smiled at him.

  Ray turne
d in his seat and watched as Tommy removed his sniper rifle from his duffel and began the assembly process. Something he could do blindfolded or in the pitch darkness of the cold Afghan mountains. Billy Ray lifted a semiautomatic weapon from his own duffel.

  “What’ve you got there?” Ray asked.

  “An HK G36. In case I need to spray the walls.”

  “Hopefully not,” Ray said.

  Billy Ray smiled. “You spoil all the fun.”

  CHAPTER FIFTY-THREE

  THE PITCH OF the Sea Witch’s engines dropped an octave and I felt the massive vessel slow. No way that was good news. It could only mean that Borkov had reached his destination. Middle of nowhere; very deep water. Cold, black, deep water. I suspected the Wilbanks brothers were several hundred feet below us.

  Nicole and I still sat at the table, saying little as there was little to say. I held her hand, her fingers delicate and cold. Guilt climbed inside me and took root. But for me, she wouldn’t be here. Shouldn’t be here. Probably shouldn’t even know me. Maybe that was Tammy’s fault. If she hadn’t trashed my Mustang that night, Nicole might have simply driven on by, hooked up with her bartender boyfriend, and never even known I existed. No, that wasn’t fair. This one was totally on me. I wanted to assure Nicole that everything would work out, but in truth I had little to offer.

  In the distance, the storm had moved closer, lightning flickering inside the thunderheads, faint rumbles of thunder now audible. The air temperature dropped a few more degrees and the wind buffeted my hair. The waves now had mini whitecaps. As if jumping overboard wasn’t going to be dangerous enough, why not throw in a churning Gulf ? I mean, could our situation really get worse?

  Yes, it could.

  Borkov had gone below again, Zuma and Boyd hadn’t moved, and Nicole and I sat like we were waiting on the hangman. Which I guess we were.

  Did I really believe Ray could pull this off? That he actually received and understood my text? That he wasn’t curled in bed asleep? That he had somehow figured out we were on board Borkov’s boat miles from shore in water so deep our bodies would never be found?

  Never found.

  Like Darrell and Darnell.

  Borkov returned and sat down heavily across from us. He placed a Glock on the table, its muzzle pointed in our direction. He said nothing, only stared at us, his eyes like Antarctic ice. Cold and hard. I felt as if we were now seeing the real Victor Borkov. No anger, no passion, not even a hint that this was personal. For him, this was a simple business decision. After all, isn’t that how all this began? A business dispute with Henry Plummer? Over a goddamn piece of dirt?