by D P Lyle
I think he expected me to say something, maybe beg, maybe cry and whine. I simply stared back. What the hell else could I do? Ray had always said I was stubborn. In his view, to a fault. Right now I grabbed that and held it tight. If this was our last hour on Earth there was no way I would give Borkov even a sliver of satisfaction.
Finally he spoke. “So what’s it going to be? Easy or hard?”
“Does it matter?” I asked.
He shrugged.
“We don’t know where Grace is or anything else for that matter,” I said. “But you won’t believe me regardless of what I say.”
“Try me.”
“I wish I could tell you something that would resolve this. But we really don’t know anything.”
Borkov laced his fingers and rested his hands on the table but said nothing.
“Even if we did,” I continued, “I don’t see it helping here. You’ve made your decision and we can’t really change that.”
“What decision might that be?” He smiled. Not a friendly smile, but a tight, thin one. Like a shark circling its prey.
He actually reminded me of Auric Goldfinger telling Bond, James Bond, that he didn’t expect him to talk, that he only expected him to die. Which is pretty much how I assessed our situation. Of course, James got out of it. Dodged that deadly metal-cutting laser and took old Auric and Odd Job down. I didn’t feel much like 007 right now. Nicole might be able to play Pussy Galore, but I feared it would be her final role.
Cut, fade to black, roll the credits. That’s a wrap.
“Mr. Borkov,” I said, “I’m sure I have no idea what you’ve decided.”
“Fair enough,” he said. “Let me enlighten you.”
Over his shoulder, a long stutter of lightning danced in the mountain of clouds that minute by minute marched our way, the following thunder even more ominous.
“I believe you,” Borkov said. “I don’t think you know where Grace is. I don’t think Detective Morgan would hand over that information.”
“At least we agree on that,” I said. “But does that matter now?”
He shrugged. “Not really.”
“So what now?”
“The easy way is I have Joe Zuma shoot you both in the head. Clean and quick.” His eyes narrowed. “The hard way is I weight you both down and toss you overboard. Alive.”
“Neither sound very good to me.”
“Then there’s the ugly.” He leaned forward, his glare like an ice pick to my chest. “I let Zuma and Boyd take a run at Nicole and make you watch before you get tossed.”
Nicole’s nails dug into my palm, and when I looked down, her knuckles were iceberg white.
Borkov continued. “So, last chance. Convince me I’m wrong. That you actually do know where Grace is.”
“I wish we could, but we can’t tell you what we don’t know.”
He leaned back in his chair and eyed Nicole. “You’re a lucky young lady.”
She looked up at him, her face etched with fear.
“We don’t have time for the ugly option so we’ll go with the hard way.”
He nodded to Zuma. He and Boyd went below.
Borkov picked up the Glock and pushed back his chair, its legs grating across the wooden deck, and stood. He waved a hand indicting we should follow him. I looked at Nicole. Her pale face was now set in grim determination.
She was ready.
Was I?
Borkov grabbed Nicole’s arm and tugged her toward the rear deck. Panic swelled in my chest. I needed some kind of weapon, anything that would at least slow them down. Give us time to make the leap. If it came to that.
I looked around, my gaze falling on the two baseballs and the bat. The bat would be best, but Borkov would definitely notice me carrying that. But maybe not the balls. I scooped them from the bowl where they rested, slipping one into each pocket of my jacket. It wasn’t much, I mean baseballs against guns, but I didn’t see any other options.
As I walked out to where Nicole now stood, the wind kicked up and began to swirl and rain began to fall. Fat drops slapping against the wooden deck. The water to either side churned with increasing force.
Not a good night for a swim.
CHAPTER FIFTY-FOUR
RAY AIMED THE binoculars Megan had given him at the faint lights on the horizon. High tech and then some, the binocs had zoom, image stabilization, and a button to switch between regular and night vision. Right now he was on night vision. The world appeared green, and when he zoomed in, the outline of the Sea Witch became clear.
“It’s them,” Ray said.
“That’s what I thought,” Megan said. “Glad we haven’t been chasing the wrong radar image.” She glanced at the console. “Got them at four miles and they’ve slowed. Speed only about six knots now.”
Ray felt acid swirl in his stomach. Only reason Borkov would slow down out this far was that he had reached where he was headed. Where he would dump Jake and Nicole. Just like Darrell and Darnell. He had no illusions that there would be any kind of negotiation. Borkov simply couldn’t let Jake and Nicole survive. Grace either, for that matter. But right now she was Morgan’s problem; Jake and Nicole were his.
“Can you get Pancake on the radio?” Ray asked.
“Give me a sec.” Megan worked the radio and soon had Pancake patched into our headsets.
“Did you reach Ira?” Ray asked.
“Sure did. They’re under sail, as it were. Said he had the Sea Witch located and was maybe thirty minutes behind. Making twenty-eight knots.”
“Good. We’ll beat them there by a good margin. I’ll get back to you as soon as we know more. Keep us up to date on Ira’s progress.”
“Will do. One more thing. The Pensacola PD tracked down the SUV. Bit of gunfight erupted. The bad guy’s down and the vehicle’s in custody.”
“Any ID on the driver?” Ray asked.
“You’re going to love this,” Pancake said.
“Tell me.”
“Carlos Fernandez, according to his driver’s license.”
“One of Borkov’s crew,” Ray said. “No surprise there. Okay, we’re closing on the Sea Witch. The shit’s getting ready to go down.”
“Be cool,” Pancake said.
“Always.” Ray looked at Megan. “Let’s go get my boy and Nicole.”
“All over it.”
Megan angled the boat to starboard, positioning the boat directly astern of the yacht. She eased back to port so that she was now in line with the Sea Witch.
“I’ll come straight up their wake,” Megan said. “They’ll never see or hear us until we’re in close.” She glanced back over her shoulder. “You guys ready?”
“Absolutely,” Tommy said.
Tommy stood and handed Ray his sniper rifle. “Hold this a sec.” He climbed around the cockpit and onto the long, flat bow. He retrieved the rifle from Ray and stretched out, flipping down the support arms and leveling the rifle toward the yacht.
Billy Ray slung his assault rifle over his shoulder and followed. He settled into a prone position to Tommy’s left.
Megan dropped down to fifteen knots, the ship now only a mile ahead. Through the binocs, Ray saw Jake, Nicole, and Borkov walk out on the rear deck.
“It’s going down,” Ray said. “Borkov has them on the stern deck.” He moved his visual field around. “I don’t see Zuma and Boyd.”
Now only 200 yards behind and sitting smack in the middle of the yacht’s wake, Megan dropped their speed to six knots, matching the Sea Witch’s speed.
“I got Borkov locked,” Tommy said, his right eye fitted against the massive scope. “I can take him anytime you want.”
“Water seems a little rough,” Ray said.
It was. Rain fell at an angle, the wind came directly at them, and waves had jumped to a good three feet. Maybe more.
“No problem at this distance,” Tommy said. “Center of mass is a piece of cake from here.”
“If you say so,” Ray said. “But not unt
il we know where his two stooges are. Or until he does something stupid.”
“Oh, he’ll do something stupid.” Tommy said. “It’s in his nature.”
CHAPTER FIFTY-FIVE
THE SWELLS HAD increased to the point that even a ship the size of the Sea Witch rose and fell and wobbled, its gyrations now to our benefit. Not that it would make swimming any easier, but it would make hitting us with handguns fired from her deck nearly impossible. That was the hope, anyway. I briefly wondered if Zuma and Boyd spent much time at the firing range.
I hugged Nicole, pulling her tightly against me, my mouth near her ear.
“I’m sorry,” I whispered.
“For what?”
“For involving you in this. For putting you in this situation.”
“I’m a big girl. I put myself here.”
“No, it was . . .”
“It was nothing. But I’ll let you get me out of this if you can.”
“Same plan. When I say go, you go.”
“Which way?”
“Whatever seems the shortest path.” I gazed over her shoulder toward the rear. “Try to go straight off the back. But jump far. Less likely to get sucked underneath than off the side, I think.”
“But you don’t know?”
“No. Just makes sense. Besides, the wake’s bubbles and foam should help hide us once we’re in the water.”
“Or drown us.”
“Well, there is that. But the center of the wake will be calmer. Swim straight away as far and as fast as you can. I’ll be right behind you.”
“I love you,” she said.
“You’re scared.”
“Yes, I am, but I do love you, Jake Longly.”
I hugged her more tightly. “Love you, too.”
“Okay, let’s break it up,” Borkov said.
Something slapped the deck nearby. A thick, silvery roll of duct tape. I saw Zuma, standing near the top of the stairs. He smiled. “A little something for your journey.” He disappeared below deck.
Borkov picked up the tape. He looked at it, spun it in his hand, and then tossed it to me. “Why don’t you make yourself useful. Wrap her ankles and wrists.”
Behind him, Zuma and Boyd struggled up the stairs, awkwardly carrying a thick metal ring between them. Looked about the size of a manhole cover and was obviously very heavy. Our ride to the bottom.
“You do it, asshole,” I said.
I underhanded the roll at his head. Startled, he failed to get a hand up quickly enough and it struck him near his right eye.
Before I settled on baseball, back in high school, I played a couple of years of football. Wide receiver and punter. And the kick I delivered would have been an eighty yarder, I’m sure. Probably set some kind of high school record. Two steps and a perfect leg swing, the top of my foot driving Borkov’s nuts somewhere near his diaphragm. He bent, grabbed himself, and collapsed on all fours, gagging.
Zuma in front and Boyd behind were just reaching the top of the stairs. Bent under the weight of the metal ring, Zuma looked up, shocked, momentarily frozen.
“Go,” I shouted,
As I extracted one of the baseballs from my pocket, I peripherally saw a flash of blond hair go airborne over the stern. I didn’t have time to see how or where she landed, but rather focused on Zuma.
While in the bigs, I threw a bunch of great fastballs. Blew them past guys with gaudy batting averages. Always loved to hear the ball pop into the catcher’s mitt. This was maybe my best ever. I put my entire body and soul behind it and released it on a straight line toward Zuma’s wide-eyed face. Like David and Goliath, it cracked against his forehead. He staggered, dropping his half of the ring. The weight now shifted toward Boyd and I heard bones and metal crash down the stairs. Zuma recovered somewhat and took a step toward me, Borkov still retching on his knees. The next fastball was also perfect. It struck Zuma’s throat with a sickening slap.
Then I was gone. The leap was perfect. Over the stern railing, far out over the water, well beyond the props that sliced and diced the Gulf into a churning wake. I immediately curled into a knot, my arms yanking my knees as tightly against my chest as possible. Perfect in every way.
As I seemed to hover in midair I realized the first of my miscalculations. The drop. Seemed to take forever. For some odd reason I flashed on a physics class I took during college. Why I had signed up for it remains a mystery but I think I thought it would be interesting. Even fun. It was neither. It was hard. I didn’t grasp most of it and, shock of all shocks, I didn’t do well. What I did remember, right now as I plummeted toward the water, was that some egghead had worked out a formula for the acceleration of falling bodies. The falling body in question here was me. I didn’t remember the formula on the final exam and damn sure couldn’t recall it here, but I did remember that crazy speeds were achieved very quickly.
The result was that I hit the water hard. It felt like concrete. My breath escaped in a harsh whoosh and then I was underwater, lungs empty, nose filled with seawater. That’s when Mr. Panic introduced himself.
Lungs begging for air, the natural urge was to gulp in a breath. Common sense screamed, “Are you crazy?” I managed to hold on, kicking at the water with increasing ferocity, until I broke the surface. Gagging and coughing followed.
That’s when my second miscalculation reared its head. From the deck of the Sea Witch, the swells seemed fairly large but not really massive. Down here among them, they seemed like angry mountains. What I had estimated as three feet or so was actually closer to six. A thrill ride of ups and downs.
Where was Nicole? Did the fall take her breath? Fill her lungs with water? Was she floating facedown? Or worse settling deep in the water never to be seen again?
I rode up another swell, my head on a swivel. Nothing. Down and then back up. Still nothing. On the third ride up the marching swells, I saw her. Fifty yards away, treading water.
“Jake,” she yelled, waving at me. I swam toward her.
Then I heard a pop and a bullet sailed past me and slapped the water five feet away. Then another, a little farther away. By the time I reached Nicole, another half dozen shots flew past us, creating little water spouts in the already angry water. I looked back. Zuma and Boyd, standing on the stern, Boyd pointing our way, Zuma leveling his gun. Then we were down in a trough and out of sight. Briefly. Back up and three more shots came our way.
Then the world lit up. Two large lights on the back of the Sea Witch had snapped on.
That was the bad news. The good? I saw a boat, a hundred yards ahead.
Ray.
CHAPTER FIFTY-SIX
“BORKOV’S DOWN,” RAY said.
He had the binocs trained on the Sea Witch’s stern. They were now only one hundred yards behind the yacht, apparently not yet detected.
“And there goes the girl,” Tommy said, his eye still plastered to his scope.
Ray saw. Nicole took a leap off the back and hit the water hard. He followed her leap. She bobbed to the surface and began swimming in their direction. Megan pushed the throttle forward, angling the boat toward her.
Ray swung back toward the yacht. Jake threw something at someone Ray couldn’t see. And then another pitch and Jake too was over the back. Gunshots followed. Then two lights snapped on. The water between them and the yacht lit up. In the wash of light between the two high candle-watt searchlights, Ray saw Zuma point in their direction.
“We’re on their radar now,” Ray said.
A bullet slammed into the front of the boat. Megan zigged to starboard, and then back to port. Two more muzzle flashes and a bullet whizzed past Ray’s head.
“Take them,” Ray said.
Tommy didn’t hesitate. His sniper rifle spit, and through the binocs Ray saw Zuma’s chest blossom with a dark stain. Zuma staggered and fell to the deck. Boyd appeared, handgun pointed in their direction. Another pop from Tommy’s rifle and he too went down. Amazing. Two for two from a hundred yards in a choppy sea. No wonder the Taliban nev
er had a chance with Tommy in the field.
“Take out those lights,” Megan said.
“Take out everything,” Ray barked.
“Yeah, baby,” Billy Ray said as he opened up with his automatic assault rifle, its staccato burst ripping through the night air. First one light and then another exploded in a cascade of fireworks, but Billy Ray didn’t let up. He chewed up the rear of the Sea Witch.
Ray saw Borkov turn and retreat but he only managed a couple of steps before Billy Ray cut him down.
Megan cut the engines.
Then all was silent. It was as if the air had been sucked up into the ionosphere.
“Where are they?” Ray asked.
Tommy rose to his knees and scanned the water. “There.” He pointed. “Ten degrees port, fifty yards.”
Ray looked that way and saw Jake and Nicole bobbing in the water.
Took only a couple of minutes to get them on board.
“You okay?” Ray asked.
“Freezing,” Nicole said.
“Not to mention scared,” Jake added.
“You’re such a ninny,” she said.
“Me?”
“I wasn’t scared at all. I knew Ray would show up.”
Billy Ray remained up front while Tommy dug a couple of blankets from the rear locker and handed them to Jake and Nicole. “These’ll help.”
Jake wrapped one around Nicole and the other around himself. The rain was now hard, the swells even bigger. Lightning streaked overhead.
“The Sea Witch has come to a stop,” Megan said.
“Guess the captain decided running wasn’t in his best interest,” Ray said. “With the admiral down and all.”
“What now?” Megan asked.
“Wait on the Coast Guard,” Ray said. “Ball’s in their court now.”
Ray sat down next to Jake. “You guys okay?”
