Storm Rising

by Steven Becker

  Using the cover of the moored boats, he wove his way through the harbor in a seemingly random pattern, slowly working toward the customs dock, where the ship was tied up. He thought about the plot Alicia had laid out as he closed in on the yacht, but several things didn’t add up. What was Mei Li’s involvement, and why was her daughter with her? And why here?

  The Chinese women’s presence could be easily explained if China was in fact sponsoring Cyrus’s plan. That made sense. He would need a powerful ally, and China needed Iran’s oil. The other question vexed him, and he had to put it out of his mind as he neared the Shahansha. Leaving the phone in the baggie, he fumbled through the screens to the camera and started the video. With one hand on the camera and the other on the steering handle extending from the engine, he closed on the yacht, trying to look like a tourist. He was within a dozen feet of the ship when he heard a guard above him yell to move away. He waved back and turned back to the harbor.

  Mission over, he headed back to the sailboat. Once he was back on board, he called Alicia, who handed him off to Cody. With the speaker on, he followed the instructions to upload the video and asked to speak to Alicia. He wanted his questions answered.

  “We need to find out where they are headed. The ship’s at the customs dock, and I suspect they will clear out as soon as they open in the morning. We need to get Mako out now.”

  Before she could respond, he heard a boat approach, larger than a dinghy by the sound of the motor. He stuck his head out of the cabin and saw the twin-engine outboard coast to a stop. It drifted close enough for him to see the outline of a woman standing in the bow.

  “Permission to come aboard?” she asked.

  Storm was not sure who she was or what to do. “I think you’ve got the wrong boat,” he said, trying to discourage her.

  “No. The Escape Yourself. Right boat. Wrong guy, maybe. Where’s Mako?”

  He should have known, but that didn’t help. Without waiting for permission, she motioned the driver forward and jumped from bow to bow. Storm watched her nimbly hop between boats and make her way back to the cockpit.

  “I talked to Vinny and saw the note on the wall of Corsair’s. Is he in trouble?” she asked.

  “And who are you?”

  “Hillary,” she said, and extended a hand.

  He shook it and looked her in the eye. This was not Mako’s typical barfly kind of girl, he thought. “Maybe we should talk,” he said. “I’d offer you something, but all that idiot stocked up on is booze and Cheetos.”

  “Never mind that. I could tell there had been a fight in the bar, and Vinny’s drinking himself into some kind of stupor. I did get the story from him and saw where Mako scrawled something on the wall.” She took a cocktail napkin out of her pocket. “Shahansha? What does that mean?”

  Storm figured he might as well play along. “Shahansha.” He pointed over to the yacht. “He’s being held there.”

  “What kind of business are you guys in? I’m just a pilot looking for a few days of fun.”

  He suspected there was more to her than that. “Where’d you learn to fly?”

  “Navy, why?” she asked.

  After years of running agents, he could tell talent when he saw it. “Don’t suppose you’d care to help save the world?”

  She gave him a look and smiled. “Been a little bored lately. Whatever.”

  John found a bottle of water mixed in with all the alcohol in the galley and handed it to her. She sat across from him and drank as he explained their predicament.

  “So you guys are CIA? Never would have known it from Mako.”

  Storm shook his head. “Point taken,” he said.

  “Maybe it’s just a good cover,” she said.

  He could never figure out how Mako did it. He directed the conversation back to the present. “My concern is that if the yacht gets into open water—and it’s wide open out there”—he looked toward the mouth of the harbor—“we wouldn’t have a chance of following in this boat, and satellites can only cover so much ground. Their transponders been on so far, but they’ve been playing by the rules, and you’d expect that. Once they clear customs, the rules change.”

  “Then we disable him and he’s stuck here.”

  He knew he had seen something behind those eyes. “Exactly. The local marine store, if they even have one here, wouldn’t stock parts for that thing.”

  She finished her water and looked at him. “What are you asking me to do, exactly?”

  That was a big unknown, but he figured he would take it a step at a time. “You get uncomfortable and you’re out—no questions asked.” She nodded and he continued. “I’ve been watching her for an hour now. There are two guards on deck and probably several more armed crew out of sight. I would assume they are well trained—special forces level, from the importance of what he has on board. And don’t forget the women. Mei Li is a known factor and extremely dangerous. Her daughter Mei Lan is an unknown, but I would expect the apple doesn’t fall far from the tree.”

  “Sounds like we’re up against it.”

  “As far as boarding—yes. My idea is to get in the water and disable her from underneath, maybe something to the propeller or shaft.”

  “I’m not very good in the water. Most of my time is spent well above it,” she said.

  “I can handle that part. Just need some gear and tools.” He looked toward shore, wondering what he could round up. “Want another water?” he asked as he went below for the cruising guide.

  “Maybe something a little stronger—for the nerves, if you’ve got it.”

  He was surprised but brought her a small glass of rum. She took it, but set it down without touching it. He liked that in a partner. They huddled around the small light built into the table and studied the guide. Jost Van Dyke had much to offer in the way of bars, but not much for services.

  “That’s a cute dive shop,” she said.

  He would have totally missed it. The picture showed a shack on the beach with sign posts and stuff. “That’s where we start.”

  She tossed the rum overboard. “Ready.”

  ***

  Mako leaned against the steel bulkhead. They were not taking any chances and had tied his hands and feet with a tether attached to a bolt in the wall, its length barely long enough to allow him to sit. Squatting in total darkness, insulated from even the repetitive slapping of the small waves against the hull—it was sensory deprivation at its finest. He had lost track of time. The bindings cut his wrists whenever he moved and jerked him awake whenever he tried to sleep. With nothing else to do, he stared into the darkness, wondering who was out there and what they were doing.

  Storm would be watching, and knowing the old man, he had seen everything. That was good. Alicia was probably clueless, though, her skills unable to penetrate the steel hull surrounding him. He was dressed for a night of partying, not captivity. He didn’t even have a belt to hang himself with.

  Settling for an awkward position against the wall, he prepared to wait out his destiny. Bored, he kicked off his flip-flops and remembered the bottle opener built into them. Encouraged, he used his feet to slide the sandal close enough to reach. He twisted and grabbed it with both hands, turning it over. The rubber bottom of the right sandal had a small molded cavity in it that held a bottle opener.

  Bringing the flip flop to his mouth, he dug into the rubber with his teeth. He spat out small pieces as they came off, and finally he felt the metal loosen. He worked it back and forth until it came free. He dropped the sandal and took the small metal piece from his mouth. It wouldn’t do as a weapon, but he had another idea.

  CHAPTER 16

  Storm followed the shore, looking for an inconspicuous place to beach the dinghy. He wanted to avoid the busier docks toward the right side of the town, still crowded with partiers, and land near the dive shop. Motoring slowly toward the west, he saw the small storefront across the street and looked around, deciding on a spot between two larger boats pulled onto the beach
which would provide cover. There were small waves breaking, not enough to cause any worry of swamping, but if he could catch the right one, they could surf the dinghy high onto the beach and avoid having to pull it out of the water. He steered for the opening between the boats.

  Timing the wave, he gunned the throttle. The engine responded with a cough and then accelerated. The small boat crested the wave, and he backed off the power. At just the right second, he pulled the dead man’s key, lifted the locking pin and swung the engine from the water, raising the propeller before it struck sand.

  “Well done,” Hillary said and jumped from the still-moving boat. She grabbed the painter and pulled. The wave receded, and the dinghy sat high and dry, well above the tide mark.

  Storm joined her on the beach and they walked to the sandy road, looking both ways for anyone that might identify them later. This far from the bars, the street was quiet. They crossed and hurried to the cover of the dive shop. The area around the small building was illuminated by several spotlights, allowing them to see. They looked into the windows of the shop and saw only merchandise. There was nowhere for a compressor or storage for rental gear. He looked around and saw a small barn-like building behind the shop. That had to be it. He nodded to Hillary and put his fingers to his eyes, telling her to wait and watch.

  The area around the barn was thick with low palm trees, and he did his best to stumble through the brush without making noise. Stopping every few seconds, he couldn’t see anyone taking an interest. With this terrain, they would have to be well hidden to see him. Staying low, he crossed the small open area to the shed and slid across the front of the building to the door. The padlock was a good sign that he had guessed correctly, and he looked around for another way in. Around the side he found a window. On his tiptoes, he slid it open and hoisted himself over the sill. The shop was dark and he didn’t want to risk a light. It was common in the islands for owners or managers to live on premises—any light or sound might bring an investigation.

  He searched in the dark, easily finding the tanks. They were in two groups, one with tape over the O ring at the valve, indicating the tank was full, and another without—the empty ones. Grabbing a full tank, he carried it to the window and carefully lifted it through the hole. It dropped soundlessly to the sand. A buoyancy compensator vest, regulator and weight belt followed, and then he swung up and through the opening. With the BC on his back and the regulator around his neck, he walked across the road to where the dinghy was beached, carrying the tank in his arms like a baby.

  Hillary met him there, and with the gear aboard, they swung the dinghy bow to the water and pulled it into the surf. The weight of the tank and gear in the bow made their hurried exit from the beach less graceful than their entry. Clear of the swells, Storm jerked the cord to start the motor. It coughed and died as a large swell lifted the small boat, threatening to toss it back onto the beach. He pulled again, and this time the motor started. Storm sped towards the customs dock while Hillary bailed the water that had come over the bow.

  The dinghy bounced over the waves, taking on water with each one, finally reaching the calmer water beyond the beach. He slowed a hundred yards from the yacht and steered closer to the pier. It was substantial, built by the government, not the local bar owners, and had plenty of clearance underneath. The sound from the engine echoed. Storm shut off the motor and grabbed the two oars.

  “I got that. You get ready,” Hillary said and set the oars into the locks. She adjusted herself and started to row slowly towards the shadow cast by the yacht’s hull.

  ***

  Mako heard someone outside the door and contorted his body enough to stuff the metal bottle opener in his pocket. The mess on the floor was another matter, and he used his bound legs to sweep it toward his body in an effort to conceal it. Just as he finished, the door opened and the overhead light came on, temporarily blinding him. Squinting into the light, he saw two figures but was unable to identify them.

  “You will tell us what you and that traitorous woman know,” the voice said.

  He thought he could identify the voice, but his eyes were still adjusting to the light. “What are you talking about?” he said—his stock answer to just about any question about anything.

  A bare foot kicked him and he looked to its source. His eyes had adjusted now, and he saw Mei Lan standing over him with her mother at her side. She wound up for another kick, and he did his best to curl into a fetal position to protect himself.

  “Stop,” the older woman called out. “You need to learn when force is effective. All that partying and playing you do clouds your judgment. First you try and seduce him, now you want to hurt him.”

  Mei Lan moved away. Her mother stood in front of Mako. “You see, I am your friend, yes?”

  The interchange between the women would have been entertaining if not for his predicament. Mako nodded. He would do anything rather than suffer the man-hating kicks delivered by her daughter.

  “Mako, that’s correct?” she asked.

  “Yes.”

  “Very good. This is progress.” She looked at her daughter as if to teach her a lesson. “This woman. Alicia Phon.” She said the last name with disdain. “You work with her?”

  Mako looked around. She should already know the answers to these questions. He wondered if she was probing now, and how much she actually knew. “Who?” he asked.

  Mother turned to daughter and nodded her head. The spin kick came so quickly he didn’t have a chance to react, and his body crumpled when the side of her callused foot struck his temple. The rope tethering him to the bulkhead was the only thing that kept him upright. Mei Lan glared at him, ready to strike again.

  “Now, should I leave you two lovebirds alone, or do you want Mama to chaperone?” she asked.

  Mako couldn’t believe the change in the younger woman. From flirting and dancing with her the other night to stone-cold jujitsu man-hating machine. “I work with her,” he confirmed. If he had to talk, he would dish out the information piecemeal, hopefully giving Storm or Alicia time to do something.

  “And you are under contract with the CIA?”

  “Yes.”

  “To what end?” she asked.

  He paused for a second, wondering if she was simply looking out for herself and her daughter or if this was really about the contract. “It is to recover the encryption code that Cyrus placed on Lloyd’s computers.”

  “That is all?” she asked.

  He had been right. “There was nothing about you two.”

  “Time will tell if you are lying or not.” She turned and left the cabin, looking back at Mei Lan.

  The younger woman stared at him with pure evil in her eyes, and he knew at some point, and probably soon, he would have to face her. Mei Li gave her a look and she followed. The door slammed behind them, and he was almost relieved as the locks engaged.

  ***

  The darkness under the pier enveloped them. Storm had some dive experience but was by no means an expert. He fumbled assembling the gear, and when he finally got in the water, he was unable to find the air vent on the BC. The trapped air forced him right back to the surface, and he floundered there, losing his regulator in the process. Clinging to the dinghy, he caught his breath. “This isn’t going to work.”

  “Maybe we should come back in the morning, when it’s light?”

  “If we can see them, they can see us.” He eased out of the gear and climbed back onto the dinghy. “We need to figure another way to get aboard,” he said. He watched her as she pulled on the oars, bringing them out of the cover of the pier. Looking at her, he had an idea. “You have your uniform on the sailboat?” he asked.

  “Yes, but.…”

  “Well, I won’t fit in it. Unless you have a better idea.”

  She paused for a minute. “We need to get out of here anyway. Give me a few minutes to think about this.”

  He stowed the gear and started the engine. She would have to make her own decision. The smal
l outboard purred behind them as he made his way back through the mooring field and found the boat. They boarded, leaving the gear in the dinghy. He laid out his plan, and they sat silently across from each other in the dark cockpit.

  Finally she spoke. “If there’s no other way.”

  “I can’t think of anything. You board like you belong there. Tell the guards you’re a pilot on standby in case the helicopter is needed,” he started to explain.

  “Just like that. With my Cape Air uniform?”

  “This lot doesn’t fly commercial. They’ll just see the uniform,” he explained, knowing her looks wouldn’t hurt either.

  “And what do I do?” she asked.

  “Have them take you to the top deck where the helipad is to do a preflight. Take your time. Have some coffee, relax.”

  “Right. That’ll be very relaxing. And where will you be?”

  He hadn’t worked out all the details yet. “One, maybe two of the guards will be with you. I can take the other out if necessary and find the engine room. There should only be three on duty now. I’ll disable her from there and hopefully find Mako in the process.” It sounded good, but he would need help to disable the ship.