Storm Surge: A Fast Paced International Adventure Thriller (Storm Thriller Series Book 3)

by Steven Becker

  They stood frozen, waiting for the blare of sirens, until the device went dark.

  Relieved, Mako again held his phone in front of them as they navigated the hallway where the body of the priest had lain only hours earlier. Entering the chapel through the side door by the altar, he glanced up at the forgery of the Burial of Santa Lucia. The recessed light fixtures surrounding the painting were the only illumination in the chapel, making it hard to see in the nooks and crannies of the old church. Inside the enclosed area, Mako turned on his phone’s flashlight, and moved toward the small niche where they had hidden the journal. The space appeared to be undisturbed.

  He could feel Saba exhale on his neck as she came up behind him.

  “They could have put it back,” Saba said, moving around Mako and kneeling in front of the stone they had hidden the journal behind.

  43

  Key Largo, Florida

  The flame-kissed water felt warmer than she remembered from her dive. It might have been the fire’s effect on the surface, or her internal temperature, which was probably through the roof from standing on the burning deck. Either way, it didn’t matter.

  Before Alicia had fallen over the side with the ends of the rope in her hands, she’d seen Jen floating on the surface grasping both BCs. Her plunge wasn’t graceful, but all she could manage considering her bound hands and feet. Kicking like a mermaid, she reached Jen and waited. The burning fuel slick was still growing, and would until the bilge pump burnt up, or the tank emptied. This forced them to continuously kick away from the boat—and TJ—hoping the water would protect the inch-thick rope from the flames.

  “Do you think anyone’s seen us?” Jen asked, scanning the skies.

  Twilight was closing in, probably obfuscating the smoke plume and any chance it could be seen from land. The fire itself would be visible to any boats in the area, but burned too low to the water to be seen from the mainland. There was a formula for determining how far away something was visible along the horizon, but it escaped her now. Their chance for rescue decreased with every minute that passed, as the light diminished with the sunset.

  Alicia’s expectations were low, as the fire had totally consumed the foredeck and flybridge, and she expected the boat to be underwater in minutes. Rotating her body in a circle, the water around them appeared empty. In this case, the same formula worked backwards; anyone within range with a higher perspective might be able to see her. While it seemed like hours since the “adaptive” divers had set the boat on fire and taken off, it had likely been less than five minutes. Help could be minutes away—or not.

  Their attention was drawn to the boat, which belched out a large black cloud laced with sparks. At the same time the rope in her hand, the lifeline to TJ, went limp.

  It meant one of two things: either the fire had severed their connection and TJ was engulfed in the conflagration on the rear deck, or he had fallen through into the water when the deck disintegrated.

  Alicia started to swim closer, entering the field of flames to find out TJ’s fate. A hand grabbed her shoulder and pulled her back.

  “There’s nothing you can do without killing yourself in the process.”

  Alicia still held the ends of the rope in her bound hands. One thing she could do was pull, and hope she was still connected to TJ. To help, Jen kicked backwards to counteract the effect of the retrieval of the line.

  Their bound hands restricted their movements, making the attempt futile. When Alicia stopped to regain her bearings, something jabbed her stomach. Realizing what it was, she called Jen over.

  “Can you grab this?” Alicia swept the BC to the side, revealing the hilt of a sheathed dive knife clipped to the vest. Jen worked her way toward it, trying to decide whether to use her teeth or hands—there was only going to be one chance.

  “Use your hands.” Alicia made the decision for her.

  Alicia, having already released her BC to expose the knife, was frantically treading water. Jen rotated enough to grab the hilt and, with a grunt, pulled the knife free of the sheath, but in the process fell off the BC. They were both drifting freely now, with their equipment barely in reach.

  The women struggled into a back-to-back position. Gritting her teeth, Alicia felt the cold steel against her wrist, then her arms were pulled down. The sawing motion continued. As badly as she wanted to try and pull free, she restrained herself, knowing that any unexpected movement might knock the knife from Jen’s hands, and drop it into the depths.

  “It’s through!” Jen swam back around to face Alicia.

  Alicia, feeling her restraints fall free pulled her hands apart. Relief was short-lived, as their equipment and the two ends of the rope connected to TJ floated just out of reach.

  Alicia grabbed the knife from Jen’s iron grasp, cut the rope around her ankles, then quickly freed Jen. Seconds later they retrieved their equipment. With one arm through the shoulder strap of her BC, Alicia grabbed the two ends of the rope.

  Slowly she started to haul the slack line in. With each pull her heart dropped, knowing the odds of TJ being on the other end were slight.

  Ten pulls in, tears streaking her cheeks, she continued. At fifteen pulls, she imagined she felt something. Fighting off hopelessness, she yanked with all her pent-up frustration. At first she thought the line was just snagged—until she felt it pull back.

  44

  Church of Saint Lucia, Syracuse

  “We need to see if it’s still here.” Saba reached for the stone they had dislodged earlier.

  Mako knew she was correct. With his father’s and Faith’s lives in jeopardy, the disposition of the journal would be key in getting them back.

  “Okay, we look, take it, and get out of here.” With Burga holding the hostages, Mako badly needed some leverage over her. He looked at Saba, who was trying to extricate the large stone, and wondered what would happen if the journal was there. After taking advantage of him at the original exchange, Saba somehow still managed to hold all the cards.

  Pulling the gun from his waistband, she saw it and he caught a flicker in her eye that told him she hadn’t made up her mind about what to do. He hadn’t intended on scaring her, and swung the pistol grip in his hand. Removing the magazine, Mako drew back the slide and caught the round as it fell from the chamber. Without any live rounds to accidentally discharge, he took a firm grasp on the barrel, and used the butt to hammer away the loose material.

  Small pieces of dirt fell onto the church floor as Saba pulled at the corners of the stone. It yielded easily, much more so than when they had first extracted it. That meant little. With a final pull, Mako removed the stone. Before he could set it down, Saba reached into the void between the interior and exterior walls.

  Her hand came back empty.

  “Shit,” faintly echoed off the stone walls, as they both said it at the same time.

  Mako picked up the gun. Saba had fooled him once, and he was not going to let it happen again. With the barrel pointed down, he motioned her to the side and reached his free hand inside the niche. There were no tricks this time, for he felt only loose pieces of rubble and chunks of old mortar.

  “Shit,” Saba said again.

  “They found it,” Mako said.

  “It appeared that they were fast friends,” Mako said. He set the gun down and replaced the stone. Rising, he scuffed his foot along the floor to scatter the sand and dirt. Stepping back, he couldn’t tell that anyone had been here.

  “We’ve got to follow them,” Saba said.

  “We have a slight transportation problem. It’s almost four a.m.” Mako pulled out his phone and checked his Uber app. “If they even have Uber here, there’s no one working.”

  Saba pulled out her own phone. Mako peered over her shoulder and saw that she had opened the maps app. “They’ve got to be heading for the yacht. The harbor’s less than a half mile.” She started for the side door.

  Leaving the church, Mako and Saba took off through the sleeping city. They ran past the si
lent two- and three-story masonry buildings, the apartments above the stores and restaurants on the main floors dark. Crossing a wide avenue running parallel to the water, they stood at the old stone balustrade and scanned the harbor. The ship was nowhere in sight.

  “What now?” Mako asked. He pulled out his phone and tried Alicia.

  “It’s three-thirty in the morning. Who are you calling?”

  “Alicia. It’s only nine-thirty there.” The shrill ring of the phone echoed in his ear. Finally, the call went to voicemail. Mako left a message, probably the tenth since the last time they had spoken. “I’m worried something’s happened to her. I haven’t been able to reach her or TJ since yesterday.”

  “I’ve got some connections in Miami. I can make a few calls and have someone check on them.”

  “Cool.” Mako shared Alicia’s contact info, realizing after he sent the message that Saba probably already had it. She knew way too much about him and their operation.

  Saba texted someone and looked up at Mako. “What would she do if you find her?”

  Mako thought for a second. They had been in a similar circumstance on another job. “There’s some kind of program that shows the location of all the commercial and many recreational vessels. Takes their location from their radar transponders or something. Maybe we can find Longino that way?”

  “It’s AIS. Stands for Automatic Identification System. There’s an app for that.” Saba started working her phone.

  Another Alicia, was all Mako could think while he watched Saba peck at her screen. Again, he wondered what had happened to her and TJ, thinking it might be time to call Mac. A glance at Saba confirmed she was still concentrating on her phone. Mako turned away, found Mac’s number in his contacts and hit connect.

  It was a surprise when he heard the gruff voice mutter hello.

  “Mac, it’s Mako Storm.” He let that sit for a minute. They’d met previously and there weren’t many Mako’s out there. A second later it registered.

  “Hey. What’s up?”

  That was Mac. No small talk—ever. Mako explained his concerns.

  “You think tomorrow’s soon enough to run up there?” Mac asked.

  Mako would have liked to think so, but decided to take a stand. “It’s been too long since either of them has answered.” With three pages of confidentiality clauses embedded in their contract with the CIA, Mako tried to keep the details sketchy.

  Mac sensed his artifice. “Look, Mako, I’m happy to check on them. They’re friends of mine, but I need to know what I’m walking into.”

  Mako thought about it for a second and told him everything.

  “On it. I’ll run under the Seven Mile Bridge and follow the coast up to Key Largo. Not the fastest way, but there’s a good chance they’re on the water. I’ll be in touch.”

  Mako heard the call disconnect. He’d spent enough time in the Keys to know that traveling by boat between the hundred-plus islands was often the best route. It was definitely the one that Travis was most comfortable with. Feeling better about the situation now that Mac was involved, he turned back to Saba.

  “Anything?”

  She was pinching, panning, and zooming her phone. “If I knew the name of the ship it would be a lot easier.”

  “Describe it to me,” Mako said.

  After a thorough description, Mako started entering search terms into his phone’s browser. After entering “largest private yachts” and hitting images, he handed the phone to Saba.

  “That’s it.” She clicked the picture, which took her to the designer’s website. “Largest private yacht in the world—Squalo.” Handing Mako back his phone, she entered the name into the search bar of the AIS app. “Here. It’s heading this way.” She handed the phone to Mako.

  The enlarged icon showed the name, registration information, course, and speed of the vessel. She was right. Doing the math based on their current location and speed, he figured they’d be here at dawn.

  “There’s not much we can do until it gets here. Burga and Maldonado have gone to ground, but they’ll waiting for the yacht to arrive. Maybe we should get a few hours sleep?” Saba asked.

  “Or talk.”

  45

  Key Largo, Florida

  Alicia tugged the line harder this time. She felt the resistance as well as the counter force of Jen trying to hold her out of the flames.

  “Kick hard and we’ll pull him out,” Alicia called over her shoulder. She had never realized how loud a fire was and waited for some kind of confirmation that Jen understood. When the younger woman called back and Alicia felt the turbulence from her kicking feet, she followed suit.

  Doing the best they could to avoid being dragged back into the flames, they pulled together. Thankfully the resistance didn’t waiver, nor did their sense of urgency. Alicia felt like her face was sunburnt and realized they were pulling themselves into the fire, not pulling TJ away. They were only feet outside the ring of flaming debris burning on the water. Panic came over Alicia and she stopped pulling.

  Devastated, Jen swam around to face her.

  “We can’t give up. There’s something on the line.”

  “Feels like it’s just dead weight. He’s gone,” Alicia wailed, the ends of the rope hanging loosely in her hands.

  Their circumstances didn’t allow her to wallow in pity for more than a few seconds. Finally, she regained her composure and noticed the current had pulled them away from the flames. With little wind, the incoming tide would eventually take them toward shore—if it didn’t turn first. Alicia was too low in the water to see the twinkling lights yet, but she had been out here many times for night charters and knew safety was just over the horizon.

  Alicia continued to grasp the ends of the rope. There was little resistance, and all she could hope for was that whatever—or whoever—it was attached to was drifting with them. Finally, they reached an area far enough away from the burning boat that even if it exploded they would be safe. Handing one end of the rope to Jen, they started to retrieve the line again. It was time to find out what was on the other end.

  As they pulled the resistance increased, taking them back toward the flames. They were twenty feet away from the outer edge when a bulge appeared on the surface. It looked like one of the manatees that frequented their canal in the winter months. The bright yellow T-shirt that TJ had been wearing identified the bulge as human. Now they had to see if he was alive.

  Alicia dropped the line and swam, using her BC as a kickboard, toward the inert body. Reaching it, she found Jen by her side. TJ lay face down on the surface. It took both women to roll him over.

  “We’ve got to get him in a BC,” Jen said.

  The inflated vest would act like a flotation device and allow them to evaluate TJ’s condition without him sinking. “I’m a medium, you’re a small. Not much help with Mr. Extra-large here.”

  “It’s the best we’ve got,” Jen said,

  Alicia released the tank and BC she had been using. Jen grabbed them, raised the inflator hose out of the water, and released enough air to allow them to wiggle the vest under TJ’s body. There was no point in trying to squeeze him into the too-small shoulder straps, so Alicia pushed his arms backwards through the shoulder strap and fastened it like a bandolier. The buckle clicked and Jen inflated the BC, leaving TJ bobbing on the surface. The tank acted as a counterweight, rolling TJ onto his back.

  While Jen freed TJ’s hands and feet, Alicia wasted no time. Positioning herself directly above his face, she followed the blow, tap, talk, or BTT protocol, that she and TJ taught in their freediving classes. Blowing lightly on his eyes, she tapped his cheeks, and spoke his name, all with the hope that he had not inhaled any water during the rescue. If he had, it would be for naught. The protocol called for three taps, but she continued on, slapping him harder out of frustration.

  A harder breath caused some movement behind his eyelids. Reinvigorated, she continued the procedure until TJ opened his eyes. They were not out of the woods y
et, but it was a start.

  “Talk to me, TJ, talk to me,” Alicia pleaded.

  Saltwater spewed from his mouth. “I’m good.”

  “Thank God. Take it easy now. We’re a safe distance from the boat, floating toward shore.” She didn’t want him to look back at his beloved vessel, which was now only a low line of flames on the water. The boat had probably sunk and within a few minutes, when the diesel burned off, there would be no sign of it at all.

  “The boat?” he asked.

  “Gone. We need to focus on getting to shore. Are you hurt?”

  “Shit, everything hurts.” He paused and wiggled his extremities one at a time. “I seem to be in one piece.”

  Alicia couldn’t hold back. She put her arms around him and planted a big kiss on his mouth. As she began to move away, she noticed that the combined buoyancy of TJ’s body and the inflated BC held her out of the water. That gave her a few seconds to relax and think.

  They were safe, and afloat. The calm seas and warm water were no immediate threat, either. Alicia knew the key word was immediate. Despite the temperature being in the mid-eighties, over time the ten- or twelve-degree difference between their bodies and the ocean would put them in danger of hypothermia. Added to that, they were five miles from shore. There was a very real chance the tide would turn and, instead of gently taking them toward land, pull them back out to sea.

  Marathon, Florida Keys

  Mac Travis set the phone down and hopped out of bed faster than his knees would have preferred. Mel, his long-time girlfriend, rolled over, pulling the sheet over her head, and ignoring him. As Mac was a part-time salvor, part-time commercial fisherman, and part-time boat bum, she was used to his early rising and erratic hours. Mac slid his feet across the Southern yellow pine floor to find his flip-flops and avoid any lurking scorpions, thinking that Mel might actually prefer it when he was gone.