Zane: A Navy SEAL Romantic Suspense

by Gunn, Autumn

  Abbey was frozen still. Just listening and processing what I was saying.

  “Devlin is visiting all these areas to either check up on his businesses or to entertain wealthy clients. He was into drugs, but what he’s really skilled at is pinning people into a corner. Like he did with those American politicians. Put them in a spot where they’re basically blackmailed. He’s surely got that set up here. Probably invites in some prominent guys and then records it. That and the other thing he specializes in. Transportation routes.

  The reason why he was so successful in Colombia wasn’t because of the drugs. There are a ton of places manufacturing cocaine. He became so powerful and so successful down there because he mastered the transportation. Instead of going by air, he was going by river and sea. And not just by river and sea. Underwater. Undetectable submarines. And if they were detected, he could just blackmail the politicians. He didn’t master the drug game. He just mastered the transportation routes.”

  “But what about this condom business? That’s perfect for transporting drugs.”

  “If we check the production is probably pretty small. It can be used to launder some of the money they’re making. That’s for sure. I wouldn’t be surprised if the boxes of condoms we found on the boat represented a large part of their quote unquote inventory.”

  “And those condoms had no drugs inside,” she said.

  “Exactly. Because they’re not being used to transport drugs.”

  Abbey’s eyes left my face and faced forward. Her eyelids drooped and she looked frozen. Her stomach emptied seafood across the bed.

  This animal was already beyond terrible six years ago when I killed him. Somehow he had found a way to become even worse. So much worse I couldn’t even put it into words. There was only one thing left to do. I was going to kill him again. This time, for good.

  The population of LaJolla Farms in San Diego is less than 140. It’s not nearly as well-known as LaJolla Village or even LaJolla Shores. It doesn’t even have beachfront. What it does have is some of the best views on earth. While the residents of LaJolla Village may have beachfront they are packed in. Beach homes on cramped lots. LaJolla Farms doesn’t have the beachfront, but they don’t have the crowding either. The estates there have land. Lots of it. Land high up on the cliffs. Even more important to Devlin was the number one advantage of living at the Farms. One that easily outweighed living on the beach. No one can get up from below.

  Six years ago we had tracked Devlin to an estate in LaJolla Farms. He wasn’t there often. He used it more for a personal sanctuary. Surveillance even showed he practiced yoga and meditation. It was likely to relieve the stress of running literally billions of dollars of cocaine from the Colombian jungles to California.

  All to the knowledge of Washington and their numerous law enforcement bodies readily available. Even with that knowledge and ever resource possibly imaginable, law enforcement couldn’t be called in to bring down the biggest criminal. The one who hid in plain sight. Rubbing it right in their face. It’s easy when you have a nice chunk of Washington blackmailed.

  I took the lead on the recon of the Colombian hideout the day after he shot and killed Smith. Seventy-two hours later we had authority to burn it down, and that’s what we did. I felt little joy in the temporary setback we had caused. Before we lit the match we stormed the compound. Half of the guys went down firing. The other half surrendered. Most wouldn’t talk. The few that did told us Devlin was gone. He had left on a plane just three hours prior. We had pushed and pushed and pushed for the authority to go in there. Pushed for over seventy-two hours. The guy with the pen took three hours too long to put the ink to the paper. Devlin had escaped. But he hadn’t. I knew where he was going.

  I requested twenty-one days liberty. The Lieutenant Commander approved it immediately. I had worked my butt off for him. Just like he had for me. I had accrued so many liberty days I had to use them or lose them. It was an easy request to approve. Rodriguez knew where I was headed. He didn’t wish me luck. I didn’t need any.

  I was surprised to find no guards at Devlin’s estate. I guess he thought he was untouchable. I made my way around the fence and into his house. I couldn’t believe how easy it was. Or how arrogant a man could become.

  I waited in his house for eight days. A chandelier above my head. A pistol on my lap. Spanish marble tiles under my feet. I sat in the entryway and waited for that door to open. I waited for eight days. I only took breaks to use the toilet and eat. I started with the food from his refrigerator. When that ran out I started in on the MREs I had in my backpack. I had my little MRE heaters right there on his Spanish marble tiles. The house he had paid $37 million dollars for three years earlier. I sat in that monstrous house and ate package MRE food that was designed to have a shelf life of almost a decade.

  As I sat in that chair in the entryway all I thought about was Smith. Getting payback. I knew it was even bigger than that though. With Devlin out of the way the politicians he had blackballed would be free to go about their ways. I’d be issuing them a get out of jail free card. So they thought.

  Devlin had a list of names and numbers right on the kitchen counter. There was code for different deals he had in place. Code that was very elementary that even a high school student could figure out. Numbers for letters. Letters for numbers. He didn’t even scramble the order. The audacity of the guy.

  I had sat for eight days. I had thirteen more days of leave remaining. I’d sit there the whole thirteen more. If I had to I’d call in and request an extension. I knew Lieutenant Commander Rodriguez would grant it. And I knew Devlin would be home soon. He was out of places to hide and just like an animal with nowhere to run, it runs somewhere it knows. Somewhere it feels safe. Devlin would come to his sanctuary. I’d be waiting.

  Chapter 8

  I have someone who wants to meet you.

  That’s all the text said.

  When? Where? I replied.

  Tomorrow. Three in afternoon. My office.

  I’ll be there. I typed.

  I had picked up a new disposable Nokia from the corner shop. Something I could use to communicate with Abbey. It made more sense to stay at my bungalow, even if I was being watched. If I disappeared it could throw up red flags. Even worse they might find Abbey’s location.

  I texted Abbey this new info from the Turk. She called right away and suggested we meet at Mastichari Beach. A good sixteen kilometers from Kos Town.

  I arrived in a cab. The beach was beautiful. Soft, white sands with emerald waters. A perfect choice. There were a few sunbeds stretched out along the shore. I scanned them. Mostly foreign tourists. Half way down the line of beds was a woman. She had on simple bikini, simple sunglasses, and an intelligent look. She smiled. Abbey. She was keeping a low profile.

  “Is this sunbed taken?” I said as I arrived to her area.

  “I’m sorry,” she said. “Unfortunately it is.”

  “That’s a shame. He must be a lucky guy.”

  “Very, very lucky. But then again I’m a lucky girl.”

  We both busted up laughing. Not that we didn’t feel that way. It was just too much of an act to continue, or to take too seriously.

  We had a day to kill. And only a day to plan. Since we didn’t know if Devlin would be the man to show at the meeting we had to plan for all circumstances. We discussed safety points, exit strategies, takedown strategies, and even deadly force. We didn’t want to play our hand too soon. It felt like we were getting close to the top of the syndicate. We didn’t want to fall a foot short over a misstep.

  We got the best plan in place that we could. We parted ways and agreed to see each other tomorrow morning. Abbey would take the ferry over before me. Scope out the Turk’s area and then have a coffee by the Turk’s shop when I was to arrive. It would give her a chance to see what goes on when I’m not there. Also she would be able to listen live to our meeting with the tiny microphone she had installed in the tongue of my boat shoes. If things went awry she c
ould step in. Her and her Glock 23.

  Everything was going according to plan. The ferry ride over was as usual. The man who met me at the dock was the same as usual. The walk to the Turk’s office was as usual. The entry into the Turk’s office was as usual. The sit down and offer of tea from a young girl was, unfortunately and now blood boiling, as usual. I swore to myself I wasn’t going to ever see another young girl in this office again. And not the Turk either. This was going to be it.

  But then we hit a snag.

  “As I said in my text message, I have someone who is interested in your proposal,” the Turk began.

  I said nothing.

  “Someone who thinks this idea could work.”

  The Turk was pausing after each sentence. He was giving me time to reply. I wasn’t going to say anything. Just let him talk.

  “And to my surprise, he has agreed to meet with you.”

  The Turk took a sip of tea. He clapped his hands twice loudly. A young girl came running from the back room. She bolted out from behind the curtain and took a posture of servant to its master. It was a different girl than had served us tea just minutes before. As always, it was a different girl than any I had ever seen before.

  The Turk said something rapidly in a language I couldn’t put a finger on. If I had to guess I would have said Dravidian. Dravidian would make a lot of sense under the circumstances. Everything was making complete sense now. Validating my strong assumption from the hotel room two days prior.

  I wasn’t sure if she was going to return with a man who wanted to kill me or the gun that the Turk planned on killing me with. Instead she had a phone. A mobile phone on a server’s tray. I had never seen anything like it.

  He picked up the phone and pressed the number one. The number one and one only. He had him on speed dial. When I heard the voice on the other end of the line I knew right away who it was. A voice I’d never forget after that evening at his estate on LaJolla Farms.

  I was sitting in chair in the entryway. It was the eighth day. Eight days of waiting. Eight days of anger building. He walked in with a bag of groceries in his left hand and his keys in the right. He was whistling a cumbia beat. Spanish, Native American and African all rolled into one. Originally from Colombia’s Atlantic Coast and only percussion and vocals. When he saw me he dropped the groceries and reached behind his back in one fluid motion.

  “Stop!” I yelled. My Sig Sauer P226 Navy pointed center mass.

  His hand froze in place.

  “Your hand. Slowly move it from behind your back and extend it out from your side.”

  He didn’t move.

  “You will do it now or I will shoot you twice in the chest and once in the head before you even hit the Spanish marble tiles beneath your feet.”

  He complied.

  “Your left hand. Same.”

  He complied.

  “Let’s go for a walk,” I said. The SEALs rely on checklists. Any successful military organization does. Gear prep. Checklists. It’s why we have acronyms. Acronyms help us not to forget. I forgot. I forgot to pat him down for additional weapons. All I could think about was Smith.

  I walked him out through the kitchen. Out through the back patio. Down to the edge of the property. I had it all planned out. Up the steps. I motioned with my Sig up the stairs. He went.

  It was just me and Devlin. We were standing on the side of his infinity pool. The one he had built with his dirty money. The money he made from supplying drugs to Americans. The ones I had sworn to protect and defend. I was carrying out that promise.

  But I had another promise. One to my brothers. To protect and defend them as we protect and defend our great country. As a team we weren’t able to protect and defend Smith that day in the jungles of Colombia. I was going to make sure that something like that never happened again. I was going to put out the fire at its source. And I was going to put it out by dousing water on it.

  Devlin would have no chance against me in the water. Once I took him under he wasn’t going to come back up with air in his lungs.

  “You see this pistol?”

  Devlin nodded.

  “I’m placing it on the deck right here.” Below me was one of the narrow ends of the pool.

  “You see that end over there?” Across from me was the other narrow end.

  Devlin nodded.

  “You’re going in. Right there.”

  Devlin didn’t move. He knew there was more to come.

  “Once you get in, I get in right here. You swim towards me. You get past me and the gun’s yours. All you have to do is get past me and climb out of the pool. You get the gun you can do whatever you want with it. You understand?”

  Devlin nodded.

  “Say it. Tell me you understand.”

  “I understand.”

  “What do you understand?” I said.

  “I understand the rules,” he said.

  “Understand this,” I said. “You’re about to die.”

  He stared at me like he had other plans.

  “But that doesn’t matter because there’s no way in hell you’re going to get to it. You try and climb out the side. You try anything tricky. I get out right away and shoot you dead. Game over. I walk out your front door. No one ever finds me. They just find some rich drug dealer lying face down in his swimming pool. I’ll shoot you right in the mouth. It’ll look like you did it yourself. My aim is that good.”

  Devlin didn’t move.

  “You want to take off your shirt so you can swim better? Go for it, but once you’re in that water the fun begins.”

  Still no movement from Devlin.

  “Now get over there and let’s play!”

  Devlin walked over to the opposite edge of the pool. Never taking his eyes off me.

  The pool was incredible. It probably cost more than any house I had ever been in. It was thirty yards long. Another five yards wide. Devlin hadn’t been here in who knows how long, but the pool was still immaculate. Maybe it had some sort of self-cleaning mechanism. It had a light smell of chlorine. Not too strong, but not weak either. It had blue tiles and it wrapped around the top of the cliff perfectly. It had been designed to match the landscape. The architect must have had a field day with so many resources at his disposal. I’m sure Devlin had had plenty of great memories here in his pool. Here at his estate. Now it was time for one more memory. But the memory wouldn’t be his. The memory would be mine. The memory of killing him just like he killed my best friend. My SEAL brother. Devlin had lived in this palace for three years. In the next three minutes he was going to die here.

  Devlin had stripped to his underwear. He dove into the pool headfirst. I put the gun on the deck. Stripped to my skivvies. Dove in headfirst to meet him.

  I could see him swimming straight at me. I was surprised he could make it this far on one breath. His last breath.

  I powered towards him. We were on a collision course. At two yards I extended both arms forward to grab him. He reached forward with his left hand to meet mine. His right hand had been resting on top of his underwear. It came around from the right in a wild manner. Nothing like a swim stroke. His right hand swung at the side of my lungs. In it was a fixed blade knife.

  I moved back just in time. He swung through and missed widely. The weight of the water around us allowing me the extra time to avoid a puncture wound. On the follow through I locked his blade hand. Doing so I lost contact with his left hand. His left hand took control of the knife from his right. He jabbed the knife down towards my back and head. I pushed up with my right forearm just in time to stop the jab a few inches into its motion. He hadn’t generated enough force to cause much damage, but my right forearm had been cut as he pulled the knife back. He was a shark and he smelled blood.

  I remembered back to that day in Colombia. That Caiman. I thought how Smith always watched Animal Planet. More than even Shark Week, he loved Croc Week. I had an idea.

  I bear hugged Devlin at head level. His arms extended. I wrapped my leg
s around his upper body. And then I began to roll. I rolled sideways and squeezed with my legs. Squeezed his chest as hard as I could. I rolled him and squeezed the air out of his chest with my legs. It would be a battle to see who could hold their breath the longest. And who would pass out first from the barrel rolls.

  I rolled, and rolled, and rolled. Five times. The battle ended in a tie. I was out of air. I had to breach. I kept my hold on Devlin’s upper body and kicked with my feet. I breached the surface with a tremendous gasp for air. I breached with so much force I came out high enough that his head also breached. We both had one breath. And we were both back under. As we came back down our bodies separated. I couldn’t see if he had the knife or not. He darted towards the side of the pool. The wrong side. The side closest to the house. The side that had a high wall. Not the cliff side which had the infinity pool view. He was trying to cheat. To escape out the side. But the wrong side. Maybe he had more tricks in his pool. It didn’t matter. I wasn’t going to let him win.