by Jack Rogan
Meanwhile, all he could do was hope that Angie cared more about saving her own ass than she did about Dwyer. All she had to do was trigger the PLB. Not break him out, not even bring the beacon to him. If she could find it, she could signal Voss and have the FBI, Coast Guard, and ICE here in a couple of hours at most.
But that was a big “if.” And if she got caught, or the Rio brothers even suspected she was trying to help him, Angie would end up in the rec room with him.
“Shit.”
Josh rolled onto his side and swung his legs off the Ping-Pong table. With deep regret, he set down the soda can. It had started to lose some of its chill, but still his battered face throbbed painfully the instant he took the cold metal away. A couple of hours ago, it had been so swollen that it almost felt like the skin would split. In comparison, the pain didn’t seem quite so bad now.
He cracked the Mountain Dew can and took a long drink, gulping down half the can in seconds, then rested it on the table again. Quietly, he walked to the corner of the room and pressed his face to the louvered shutters, trying to get a glimpse of whoever had been posted as his latest guard.
At first he thought the door had been left unattended, but then he heard a low sigh and readjusted his position so that he had a slitted view of the walkway in front of the door. Anton Pinsky lay stretched out, eyes hidden behind sunglasses, five days’ stubble instead of a beard, and a tall plastic bottle of water by his head. Anton was a little guy, no more than five foot six, with eyes that always seemed to hint he’d rather be elsewhere.
Josh knew he could get past Anton. He had planned to wait until dark to try something stupid, but if Angie didn’t at least get some kind of word back to him in the next couple of hours, something stupid might have to be bumped up on his list of things to do.
–39– –
Special Agent Rachael Voss stood on the deck of her squad’s seized drug boat and tried to tell herself that Josh Hart was still alive. She’d known agents who claimed to have a kind of sixth sense about such things, that they’d know if something had happened to their partner or their wife or child. It would have been a comfort to believe such a thing, but she’d always thought those people sounded like assholes when they spouted off about spiritual connections and psychic rapports and crap like that.
For all Voss knew, Josh might be floating somewhere out on the Caribbean, feeding the fish. She didn’t want to believe that, but she had to accept it as a possibility. Standing out there in the merciless sun, sweat trickling down her back and between her breasts, eyes squinted against the glare off the water, amounted to Voss punishing herself for not wanting to accept it.
The only reason for Josh not to have set off the PLB by now—so many long hours after signaling that the Antoinette would rendezvous with their gun seller—was that his cover had been blown. Josh was either dead or in no shape to be setting off any beacon. Voss considered the possibility that the Rio brothers had found both the sat-phone and the PLB and tossed them overboard instead of throwing Josh over, but that seemed like wishful thinking.
Her hands started to shake and she crossed her arms to still them.
Last time she’d checked her watch, it had been after two p.m. The Colombian drug lord’s yacht floated in the same waters where the Antoinette had been sailing when Josh had called in on the satellite phone. That meant they weren’t that far from the rendezvous point for the gun buy. How far away was the Antoinette now? The only things on their radar were tiny, scattered islands. Nothing moving. No sign of the container ship.
Standing out on the deck meant more than one kind of torment for Voss. The scorching heat was hot enough, but the glare of the people on the other boats around hers burned her just as badly. There were four Coast Guard craft and two Immigration and Customs Enforcement ships, and the commanders of those vessels were getting more than a little impatient.
“Rachael.”
Voss hung her head and surprised herself by laughing, but she didn’t turn around.
“Christ,” Pavarotti muttered. “Special Agent Voss.”
She turned to look at him. The younger agent had taken a lot of crap from her this time out, and he’d put up with all of it. Now, though, even Pavarotti looked like he was on edge. And why not? They were all tired and ragged, wondering if this deal was going to fall apart, and if they’d left an agent out in the field to die.
“What’s up?” she asked.
Pavarotti stood up straight, like he was a jarhead reporting to his commanding officer. “Supervisory Special Agent Bosworth contacted me and asked me to pass along a message.”
Voss sighed, and gritted her teeth. “Go on, Joe. What did Chauncey say?”
“Supervisory Special Agent Bosworth—”
“I’m gonna break your nose, Plausky.”
Pavarotti allowed her a smile. “I quote, ‘Tell Voss if she doesn’t answer her phone I’m going to come out there and shove it down her throat.’ He also mentioned that SAC DelRosso would be on the line the next time your phone rang.”
Voss had continued to communicate with the guys coordinating the interagency efforts for the Coast Guard and ICE, but she had stopped picking up Chauncey’s calls a little before noon. Now she looked at Pavarotti.
“We’re not leaving Josh out here,” she said.
Pavarotti nodded once. “I’m with you. But at some point, the rest of these guys are gonna be called away.”
“What else did Chauncey have to say?”
“He had other choice words for you, but honestly, Rachael, they were halfhearted. He’s got more on his mind than just being pissed off at you for not responding.”
Voss shook her head and looked out to sea, back turned to Pavarotti and all of the other ships who had gathered there to wait for some signal, any indication that Josh Hart might still be alive, so they could rush in and save his ass and bust some assholes responsible for putting automatic weapons on the streets of America.
DelRosso was the special agent in charge. The only reason Chauncey would get him involved was to hammer home a point, or to take this case away from her. Probably both. And that meant only one thing.
“Ed Turcotte’s come to town?” she asked. But it wasn’t really a question.
“He and his squad left St. Croix an hour ago,” Pavarotti said.
Voss swore under her breath, then turned to him. As she did, her phone began to ring. She flinched, her heart racing, and started to reach for it. Her hand froze.
“You’ve got to answer it, Special Agent Voss,” Pavarotti said.
The boat swayed under them. Voss stared at him. “Oh, now you’re all fucking official?” she asked bitterly. “DelRosso’s going to tell me to stand down, Joe. He’s going to tell me to wait for Counter-Terrorism to get here and turn the case over to Turcotte the second they arrive.”
“Answer it, Rachael. Tell him whatever he wants to hear. Turcotte’s not here yet. It’ll be hours yet. Until then, we do whatever we have to do to take care of Josh.”
Taking a deep breath, Voss answered the phone.
–40– –
You’re a survivor, Tori. That’s what you do. You make it through.
She held such thoughts close to her, repeating them over and over like a mantra. Whatever had happened to the people whose bones now rolled in the surf as the tide went out, Tori refused to end up like them.
“Hey,” Gabe said quietly, stepping up beside her. “It’ll be okay.”
Tori nodded, but would take no comfort from him. She kept her distance now from all of them. When they had discovered that the FBI was onto them, that Josh was an agent and they might all be going to prison, she had thought they were screwed right then. But whatever this was, she knew it was worse. They had scoured half the island and seen no sign of anyone living, and if the Antoinette had picked up ships returning—pirates or raiders or whoever had killed the Mariposa’s crew—Miguel would have signaled Gabe. As the shadows grew longer and the breeze off the water picked up, the sense of
foreboding she’d had for hours now only increased.
Despite who he was, Tori liked Gabe Rio. Ironically enough, she also liked Josh. If she thought about it, she’d grown fond of most of the Antoinette’s crew during the voyage. Boggs, Tupper, Angie Tyree, and a few others she could do without, but guys like Dwyer and Kevonne and Bone made her smile. They were in this together, and she’d do whatever she could to help get them all out of it.
But she had felt herself closing off the doors between herself and the others ever since she and Gabe had seen those bones in the grotto. As they had lugged the gun cases through the trees, she had thought about her father’s cruelty, and the way her mother had turned a blind eye, and she knew that had been a lesson. Marrying Ted had been another. Tori could not rely on anyone except herself. When she had found kindhearted George online and he had helped her to escape from Ted, she had thought of him as her rescuer. But she had found George, and asked for his help, and she had taken what he had to offer and then moved on.
Tori had finally reached a place of peace and confidence inside her head, and a moment in her life when she felt she really could start over. The intensity of her attraction to Josh and the chemistry between them had felt like the result of that, or even a reward for finding her own inner strength. How long had she dreamed of a man she could really trust and believe in?
Now, with the new life she’d been trying to build falling apart around her, and with a heart full of dread like she had never known, she had to learn the lesson all over again.
Was she a damsel in distress? Damn right. Her whole cursed life.
But there were no heroes on this beach, and none on the Antoinette, Josh included. So she would go along with whatever Gabe wanted to do, and help where she could, as long as her best interests matched his. But the only person she could rely on was herself.
Standing on the beach, just a few feet from where the waves swept across the sand, she thrust her hands into her pockets to keep them steady. Tori could taste the fear on her lips, but she didn’t mind so much anymore. She’d known fear intimately in the past, and thus far it had kept her alive.
“Watch it, you idiots!” Gabe shouted, storming down to the water.
Boggs had left his two lackeys to move the three boxes of guns from the beach to his lifeboat, heading back into the trees with Pang, Kevonne, and Bone, to retrieve the last two cases. Gabe had let the two sailors rest for a while, since it would take time for the others to return with the rest of their salvaged cargo.
Now they’d nearly dumped one of the cases into the water, and Gabe waded into the surf, looking like he might be itching to use one of those guns himself. The two sailors apologized profusely as Gabe steadied the heavy case and they finished loading it. Tori had been feeling bad because she didn’t know their names, but from the way he dealt with them, she got the idea that Gabe wasn’t quite sure what to call them, either, and he was the captain. She didn’t blame him, or herself. The two guys—she thought one of them was called Mitchell—kept quiet, and mostly to themselves.
Once they had all three cases loaded, they stayed in the lifeboat, talking quietly, stealing nervous glances between the island and the Antoinette. Tori understood those glances. What are we waiting for? they said. Let’s get the fuck out of here.
They were still sitting like that, and Gabe and Tori were together on the beach, talking about everything except their tense circumstances, when Pang and Bone staggered out of the trees with the fourth case.
“Thank God.” Tori sighed.
“For Christ’s sake, Bone, what took so long?” Gabe asked.
As he spoke, Boggs and Kevonne trudged out of the brush with the last of the salvaged cases. The chief’s face had turned bright red and sweat dripped down his forehead and scalp. He looked like a steamed lobster.
“All due respect, Captain,” Boggs said, “but we were moving our goddamn asses.”
Tori happened to agree with him. The four men had really not been gone that long, all things considered. But since she hated Boggs, she wasn’t about to defend him. Gabe spent a couple of seconds looking like he might get pissed off at Boggs for the back talk, but then he waved a hand and the moment passed.
“All right. Let’s just get going.”
Grunting, sweating, looking altogether like they might just collapse there on the sand, the four of them struggled down the beach. They made it a dozen feet before Kevonne stumbled.
“Watch it!” Boggs snapped.
“Hey, Chief, can we just set these down for a minute?” Bone asked. “Get a better grip, okay? I don’t want to end up dropping these guns in the drink.”
By that point, Bone and Pang were already lowering their case to the ground. Even if the chief wanted to yell at them, it’d be too late. Instead, Boggs started to lower his case as well. When he and Kevonne set it on the sand, his groan of relief made him sound like an old man.
Tori glanced at Gabe. She could feel his impatience, and she shared it. By silent, mutual understanding, they had all avoided talking about the bones and skulls that rolled in the waves just offshore, but each of them was anxious to get back to the ship.
“Chief,” Gabe said. “Your lifeboat’s ready to go. Start back. We’re right behind you.”
Boggs visibly relaxed. “Yessir, Captain.”
He headed for the lifeboat. The two sailors, Mitchell and not-Mitchell, straightened up, jumped out of the lifeboat, and started pushing it back from shore before Boggs had even reached them. The chief snapped at them, but even his ire didn’t slow them down, so anxious were they to get out of there. Tori envied them, and from the looks of exasperation on the faces of the others, she knew she wasn’t alone.
Gabe took Boggs’s place and nodded at Kevonne. “You ready?”
“Ready, Captain.”
They lifted together, and started, stiff-legged, toward the other lifeboat. Bone and Pang did the same with the final case. Tori felt fairly useless, but she didn’t feel like she had anything to prove. She had done her share of the lugging with the first three boxes of guns and her biceps and forearms ached from it. If the four guys—all of whom were stronger than she—wanted to volunteer, she wouldn’t argue with them. Gender bias didn’t even make it onto the list of her current concerns.
The motor of Boggs’s lifeboat roared loudly for a second, but then it dropped to a low drone as the chief throttled down. He still had to navigate the graveyard of ships that separated the beach from the open water. Tori watched them go, wishing she had thought to go with them. Much as she hated Boggs, getting off the island quicker would’ve been worth spending ten minutes with him.
“Tori, come hold her steady, will you?” Gabe called.
With a nod, she started toward the men who were gathered around the remaining lifeboat. The gentle surf swayed it only a little. The tide had withdrawn enough so that the front half of the boat sat on the sand now, the anchor line stretched out across damp beach. When they’d landed, one of the guys had dug in the anchor as far ashore as the tether line would reach. Now they didn’t even need the anchor. The lifeboat wouldn’t be drifting anywhere until the tide came back in.
Tori hurried up and grabbed the side of the lifeboat, even as Kevonne stepped into it from the other side. He set the edge of the gun case on the edge of the boat and it tilted hard. Tori used all her weight to provide a counter, tilting it back up again, and Kevonne and Gabe muscled the heavy plastic case into the lifeboat.
The captain helped her keep it steady as Pang and Bone slid the last case into the boat, and Kevonne dragged both of them around on the floor of the lifeboat a bit, arranging room for all five of them to sit. It would be cramped, but they’d manage. Nobody was going to be waiting around on the island for a second trip.
“All aboard,” Gabe said.
“Damn straight. And full speed ahead,” Bone muttered.
Tori climbed into the lifeboat from the front. Pang went up the beach and tugged the anchor out of the sand, then carried it back
to the boat, looping the rope around his forearm. He dumped it in beside the gun cases, then braced both hands against the prow. Gabe and Bone flanked him on either side, and the three of them began to push. The lifeboat rocked a little, but its rear end was still afloat, and it started to slide into the water.
Bone gave a little groan of revulsion and dragged himself aboard, turning to look back down at the water he’d just been trudging in. Tori didn’t look. She knew from the look on his face that the shush and rattle she heard were bones in the surf. The only other sound was the other lifeboat’s engine just offshore, like the growl of a neighbor’s lawn mower on a summer day.
Gabe kept pushing, wading out a little, stoic as ever, either untroubled or unwilling to reveal it if he was. Pang had hidden his own fears behind his sunglasses again, but he’d stashed his iPod somewhere.
He was the first to look up, frowning deeply, realizing something was wrong. The other lifeboat’s engine had started to rev higher, whining.
“What the hell—” Kevonne started to say.
Tori turned just as shouts began to carry across the water to the island. The graveyard of ships filled her field of vision, tangled and jutting and jagged like some bizarre bit of modern art. The angled gap among the derelict ships was like a corridor back out to open sea, and Boggs’s lifeboat had just begun to traverse the gap.
One of the sailors shouted again, the word fuck echoing back to the beach. The motor whined louder. Chief Boggs shoved one of the men aside and knelt at the back, staring down into the water at the propeller, trying to figure out what the hell they had snagged on.
“Chief?” Gabe called from the shore. “What is it?”
Pang hauled himself up beside Tori. Only the captain remained standing—waist-deep now—in the waves. But they were all focused on the other lifeboat, out there amid the ruined ships.
