Vigilante Assassin

by Mark Nolan

  Jake aimed the shotgun at the raft and focused his thoughts. He had to make sure his target pointed the RPG downward. They weren’t far from shore; a high shot could send the explosive round on a long arc where it might hit a boat, a house, an apartment building or a restaurant on the nearby shoreline and cause civilian casualties.

  Jake shook his head. That was not going to happen on his watch. He would take whatever steps were necessary to stop an enemy combatant armed with a military weapon who was attacking America’s coastline.

  He flipped on the spotlight and red targeting laser mounted on the shotgun, and purposely blinded his opponent. “Drop your weapon or I’ll open fire!”

  The bearded man’s eyes widened in surprise, but he ignored the warning as he stood up and raised the launcher.

  Jake didn’t hesitate. He fired at the man’s hands, where they held onto the launcher. He shot down and to his left, shredding the man’s left hand and knocking the weapon downward and to the side.

  The man pulled the trigger with his right hand, and the rocket-propelled grenade fired into the water of the Bay. Moments later, there was a bright flash underwater as the RPG exploded. Dead fish floated to the surface, along with air bubbles that smelled like war.

  The familiar scent triggered Cody’s memories of battle and he let out a fierce growl, struggling to follow Jake’s orders to take cover.

  The man dropped the empty grenade launcher into the raft and groaned in pain, holding the wrist of his injured hand tightly.

  Jake kept the red targeting laser trained on his enemy’s chest. “Who are you? Who sent you?”

  The man cursed in another language, and spat in Jake’s direction.

  In the years since Jake’s first deployment overseas at the age of nineteen, he’d seen many men just like this one—and he’d killed them. “I should blow your head off, but I’ll give you one chance to lie facedown and put your hands on the back of your neck.”

  The man just sneered, then drew a pistol with his uninjured hand and opened fire. Jake fired at the same time. He pumped a blast of buckshot into the man’s chest, and then another. The man fell onto his back in the raft, which began to lose air.

  Jake set the shotgun down on the patio table, pointing its powerful flashlight at the sinking raft, and then used his encrypted black phone to take pictures. He zoomed in to get a shot of the man’s face before the raft went under. The assassin’s legs were caught up in ropes and netting, and he was pulled down along with the dingy by the weight of the electric outboard engine and the RPG launcher. Now the only visible signs of the battle were the dead fish floating on the surface of the water, and they would soon become shark food.

  “That’s a shame about those fish,” Jake said.

  Looking at the man’s face on his phone, Jake took several deep breaths in an effort to calm his simmering rage and push back memories of dead friends killed by men just like this one. The fierce animal inside of Jake could rise to the surface at any given moment if it was provoked, but he tried to keep it under control as best he could.

  Cody stood up on his hind legs and put his front paws on the aft rail, sniffing the air and growling.

  Jake noticed that Cody’s back leg was trembling again; it was a telltale symptom of his PTSD.

  He gave Cody a command to stand by. The last thing he needed was for his dog to dive into the Bay right now, for no reason other than that he wanted to bite the throat of a dead killer.

  He texted the photos to Secret Service Agent Shannon McKay. She worked at the White House, but was currently in San Francisco. McKay had requested a lunch meeting with him at noon. They’d originally had the meeting scheduled a month ago, but they’d had to postpone it until today.

  With that done, Jake stood there staring out at the dark water and dark sky. No boats were nearby, so if anyone on shore had been staring out into the dark, all they might have seen were a few flashes of light. But there was a dead body in the water, and a fishing boat might pull it up in a net. He hadn’t planned on killing a man before breakfast. What should I do now? The correct thing would be to call the cops, and sit here until the police boat SF Marine 1 arrived. Jake knew Captain Leeds, and he was good man. But some over-eager rookie prosecutor in the DA’s office might put Jake and Cody behind bars. Jake could end up in a jail cell, while Cody sat helpless in a cage at the dog pound, hoping to be adopted and avoid the needle. No, Jake would never let that happen to Cody.

  Maybe they should just cruise away, avoid the government bureaucracy, and protect the most precious commodity in their lives—their freedom.

  Cody looked at Jake and barked once.

  Jake felt like Cody was reading his mind. He went upstairs to the bridge, manned the controls, raised anchor, and started the twin engines.

  The sixty-foot power yacht was large enough to be seaworthy and cruise the ocean, yet small enough that it could be handled by one skilled sailor. Jake always said it was a good vessel for a loner who liked people, but only in controlled doses.

  He glanced at the GPS display and took a picture of it with his phone.

  As he steered the vessel toward the yacht harbor in Sausalito, he tapped the contact “Grinds” on his phone and sent a text to his friend Terrell Hayes that simply said, I had a situation, but it’s all good now. I’ll give you a report in person.

  Terrell was an early riser who existed mainly on coffee, cigarettes, and the occasional sandwich from Molinari’s deli. In combat, he’d sustained a traumatic brain injury, and now suffered a headache every day of his life. He often claimed Jake was the source of his headaches, not the TBI. His text in reply was a single word: Sigh.

  Jake nodded when he saw the text. He often put his friend through a lot of trouble. But that’s what best friends were for, right?

  His encrypted black phone buzzed with a reply text from McKay: I ran the photos through Homeland’s facial recognition system and got a positive ID. I’ll tell you more when we meet at noon.

  Jake watched the sun begin to rise, peeking over the Marin headlands and painting the morning sky and water with brushstrokes of purple and gold. It was another beautiful day on the Bay, except for the fact that somebody had tried to kill him.

  Would he ever have a normal, peaceful life? Or had fate doomed him to a violent struggle against the bloodthirsty killers of the world?

  He had a strange feeling he was about to find out.

  Chapter 3

  Lauren Stephens stood in the kitchen of her Pacific Heights mansion, overwhelmed with doubts and fears. Had her husband run away and abandoned her? Had he gone for a walk and gotten mugged? Maybe he’d snuck out to have an affair and ended up having a heart attack in bed. Since the alarm hadn’t been disengaged, none of those seemed possible, but he’d obviously gone somewhere.

  She didn’t really have anybody to turn to for help. If her mother was still alive, she’d say, When the going gets tough, the tough get going. Both of her parents would want her to soldier on, keep her chin up, and be strong and proactive.

  She hadn’t become a successful businesswoman by being indecisive. She closed her hands into fists and spoke to the nanny.

  “Isabel, please get the kids up and dressed, and feed them breakfast. If they ask about their father, tell them he had to go to work early.”

  “Of course, Mrs. Stephens.” Isabel’s brow furrowed in concern as she walked quickly toward the kids’ bedrooms.

  Lauren turned to Todd. “Can you stick around for a while?”

  “No, I’m sorry; I have to get back to work.”

  “My company will hire you right now and double what you’re making.”

  He shook his head. “That’s generous of you, but my uncle owns the firm, and I can’t just quit on him like that.”

  “I respect your loyalty. Does the firm have somebody else they can send over here?”

  “No, we only do security for corporate buildings. You want a firm that offers personal security to individuals, families, and homes.”


  “Is there one you would recommend? I want the best.”

  “Executive Security Services LLC is the best in town. Let me give you their information.” He wrote down the company name and website on the back of one of his business cards and handed it to Lauren.

  She glanced at the card. “Thank you. I appreciate it, and that you came over this morning.”

  He nodded, said his goodbyes and left.

  As soon as he was gone, Lauren locked the door and pulled up the website on her phone.

  Executive Security Services LLC. A private security firm for high-net-worth individuals. Reliable. Discreet. Providing you with maximum peace of mind. Call us when you demand the absolute best security that money can buy.

  She called the number.

  Chapter 4

  The sunrise continued to paint the sky and water as Jake navigated the Far Niente across the San Francisco Bay and headed toward Sausalito. He opened a window of the enclosed flybridge, letting the salty breeze blow through his hair, and feeling the unique joy of cruising on the open water. It was so much better than traveling on land. There were no painted lines, traffic cops, or commuter car lanes. He felt that freedom deep in his bones.

  Upon arrival at the marina, Jake pulled into his boat slip and tied up. He went through the sliding door into the Far Niente’s galley and salon area, heard the shower running and Sarah singing the song “Free Falling.” He smiled, remembering the first night they’d spent together, four weeks ago, when he’d played the song on his guitar for her—and then they’d made love.

  A beeping sound came from a security system speaker and Cody started growling. Somebody was approaching the boat. Jake looked at his phone and saw a CCTV view of a man walking toward the Far Niente as if he was planning to come aboard uninvited.

  The man didn’t appear to be a boater or a deliveryman; he looked like former military or law enforcement. He was dressed in a suit and tie and had close-cropped hair with a dash of salt and pepper on the sides. The man walked right past the signs that said No Trespassing and Beware of Dog as if they didn’t apply to him.

  Jake had seen that type of nonconformist attitude before. It was what he saw when he looked in the mirror. After what he’d already gone through this morning, he wasn’t in the mood for any more surprises. He grabbed a pistol and gave a command to Cody as they went out the sliding door onto the aft deck. Jake then gave Cody a hand signal and they split up. The dog went to the port side of the boat and headed toward the approaching visitor. Jake went down the starboard side and around the bow to surprise him from behind.

  The man began boarding the boat and said, “Ahoy, Far Niente—permission to come aboard?”

  Cody blocked the visitor’s path, baring his teeth while letting out a fierce growl.

  The man stopped in his tracks and said, “Whoa now. Easy there, fella, easy does it.”

  Jake came up behind him. “Don’t move. That’s a war dog, and I have a pistol aimed at your spine. Raise your hands and stand perfectly still.”

  The man raised his hands. “I can explain.”

  “I hope so, for your sake. We’ve had a bad morning, and your surprise visit is making my war dog’s PTSD flare up. I’m not sure if I can control him right now. If you sneeze, he might sink his teeth into your crotch.”

  “I apologize.”

  “State your business and your reason for trespassing.”

  “My name is Howard ‘Levi’ Strauss. I own the Executive Security Services Company.”

  “I think you’ve got the wrong address. And who in the hell would name their kid Levi Strauss?”

  “I’m a friend of Dylan Williams, the owner of this boat. He asked me to stop by because a burglar picked the lock on your door a while ago. I thought he was going to let you know I was coming by this morning, but I apologize if I misunderstood him.”

  “Dylan mentioned he’d call a friend, but that was the last I heard of it,” Jake said. “Can you show me some ID?”

  “Yes, I’m going to take out my wallet and hand it back.”

  “Do it carefully. My dog wants to hurt you. Look at him.”

  Levi glanced at Cody. The dog was growling and staring at Levi’s crotch. Levi held his wallet out behind him until Jake took it, and then put his hands up again.

  “Can you please tell your dog to stand down?”

  “Maybe in a minute. I’m still looking through your wallet; lots of interesting stuff in here.”

  Levi let out an impatient breath but continued to hold perfectly still as Cody watched his every move.

  Jake handed the man his wallet. “Your ID seems to back you up. Dylan said you used to work for the CIA, and you’d be getting in touch with me. But he didn’t say you’d be coming aboard unannounced this morning.”

  “Sorry about that.” Levi glanced at Cody and then slowly turned sideways toward Jake. He kept his hands above his head.

  The two men studied each other with the eyes of trained professionals, appraising strengths and weaknesses, and deciding how they would defend or attack, if necessary.

  Jake said, “My dog knows you’re armed. He can smell your concealed pistol, your adrenaline and testosterone. He’s standing by for orders to disarm or fight.”

  Levi nodded. “That is one amazing dog, and you obviously have a few skills you didn’t learn in college.”

  Jake stared at him but didn’t reply. He commanded Cody to guard the man while he sent a text to Dylan, to verify the man’s identity.

  Sarah came out through the sliding glass doorway with her hair wrapped in a white towel on top of her head. She was barefoot and wearing one of Jake’s button-down shirts with the sleeves rolled up.

  She froze when she saw Cody on alert and Jake pointing his pistol at a man. Her years of martial arts training kicked in and she instantly raised her fists and assumed the on-guard position in the fluid style of Jeet Kune Do, the fighting system developed by Bruce Lee. Her knees were slightly bent, and she was ready to throw a straight-lead punch with her dominant right hand.

  Levi caught sight of Sarah and stood very still. Now there was a dog snarling at his crotch, a man with a pistol aimed at his spine, and a woman who appeared ready, willing and able to kick his ass.

  Jake checked his phone and read Dylan’s response, sent all the way from Dublin, Ireland where it was eight hours later than in San Francisco. He put his pistol away. “It’s okay, Sarah; everything is fine. Cody, stand down. This man is a friend. Don’t bite him.”

  Cody looked disappointed. He barked once but remained where he was, in between the visitor and the woman he would fight to protect if necessary. He never took his eyes off Levi’s hands. Cody was known for being slow to give his trust. Jake told people that you had to earn the dog’s trust and work to maintain it.

  Levi turned to Sarah. “How do you do, ma’am? My name is Howard Strauss, but everybody calls me Levi. I apologize for stopping by here unannounced. It was a miscommunication about my appointment to install a better lock on that sliding door over there.”

  Jake said, “Sarah, meet Levi. He’s friends with Dylan. Levi, this is Sarah Chance. She runs the best veterinary clinic in America.”

  Sarah blushed at the praise. “Good morning, Levi. Now that I’m semi-sure Jake isn’t going to shoot you, may I offer you a cup of coffee?”

  “Coffee would be fine, thank you,” Levi said. He gave Sarah a big smile, which she returned before she went inside to the galley. Levi tried his smile on the dog, but didn’t get the same results. Cody just glared at his crotch and bared his teeth again. Levi got the message: If you bother this woman, it will cost you something irreplaceable.

  Sarah returned with three cups of coffee and set two of them on the outdoor dining table, holding onto one and taking a sip. “Jake, what were those noises I heard earlier when I was in the shower?”

  Jake was thankful his shotgun had a suppressor attached. He shrugged his shoulders and lied to protect Sarah. “When I raised the anchor it clang
ed some and we also hit some wake and jumped a few waves. Oh, and we hit a piece of driftwood. It didn’t cause any problems, just some loud bumps against the hull as it passed by.”

  Sarah looked doubtful, as if she were going to ask more questions.

  Jake changed the subject. “Speaking of jumping some waves, I just love this boat. She’s a Horizon PC60 Power Catamaran with an enclosed skybridge. A seaworthy live-aboard vessel, sixty feet long, powered by dual Caterpillar 715-horsepower diesel engines. I can handle her all by myself without any crew, thanks to the ZF joystick maneuvering system and the fly-by-wire steering.”

  The look on Sarah’s face said she wasn’t buying Jake’s explanation about the noises, but she didn’t want to argue about it in front of their guest. She raised her eyebrows as he ran on, sounding like a salesman, then took another sip of her coffee. “Right—well, you guys go ahead and talk about the fascinating diesel engines, joysticks, and door locks. I have to get ready for work.”

  After Sarah went inside, Levi looked at a few empty shotgun shells that littered a corner of the deck. He gestured toward them and said, “You mentioned having a bad morning.”

  Jake picked up the shells and tossed them in the gun cabinet. As he closed the door, he noticed Levi looking at the modified shotgun with its illegal suppressor attached. “I was doing some target practice,” Jake said.

  Levi looked off in the distance, toward the Bay. He wasn’t surprised about the shotgun, or the fact that Jake was lying to him. He’d learned from Jake’s CIA file that he had a strong protective instinct for women, children, and pets. Jake was like some kind of Good Samaritan with a gun. His file said it was one of his lethal flaws, a soft spot that could get him killed. The CIA had cut ties with him because he was a loose cannon who had his own set of rules and couldn’t be controlled.

  The file also said that one time, in a black ops battle far from home, Jake had killed a gang of terrorists known for beheading women who refused to be sex slaves. The terrorist cell couldn’t be eliminated with a drone strike, because the young female hostages could have become collateral damage. Jake, who’d gone by the code name Troubleshooter, had gone in alone on a semi-authorized mission to hunt down those men in the middle of the night and take them out. Every terrorist in that group died that night, and the hostages survived and were now living in another country under new identities. A psychiatric evaluation in Jake’s file said that he still had recurring violent nightmares about it, and he couldn’t sleep through the night, but he’d do it again if there was no other option.