by Steve Richer
He wanted to burn the world for what they’d done to her. He felt queasy.
“I won’t ask again, Rogan. Your gun, on the floor.”
“Why did you do it? Why did you turn your back on me, the FBI, everything that’s not wrapped up in this shit?”
Cass shrugged. “I’d like to say there’s this great cause but I can’t lie, it’s all about the money. And a little bit the power too, I suppose. Do you know the feeling of being untouchable? Do you know what it’s like to do anything you want and know there will never be any consequences? Being protected?”
“You’re fucking crazy.”
“Oh are you a doctor now? Crazy is having the means of getting rich and powerful and not going through with it. I went through with it. Anyway, enough of this chitchat. Put your gun down or watch Gregor make British sushi.”
Out of the blue, there were footsteps in the passageway and a guard showed up in the door. Rogan was taken by surprise and his reflexes took over. He twisted his body toward the door and fired twice into the man.
That was the opportunity Cass needed and she raised her weapon toward Rogan. It happened so fast that she squeezed the trigger without thinking. The bullet caught Rogan in the shoulder and he was thrown back against the wall, painting it red.
“Now, that’s better, isn’t?” she asked, taking a step closer, her pistol aimed squarely at her former partner who had slid down the wall and was now sitting on the floor. “Very gently, unhook the strap from your rifle and chuck it toward the door.”
There was no other way, Rogan concluded. There was no scenario where he could survive this, not now. He did as he was told and raised his hands in the air in spite of the pain from the bullet wound. The fact that he could lift his arm a little meant it wasn’t broken. Take comfort in the little things, he reminded himself sarcastically.
“Wonderful, Rogan. Thanks for playing. Do you know where your sweet bride sent the file she has on the group?”
He was about to reply that he didn’t know, Shiloh hadn’t gotten that far before being kidnapped, when an idea came to him.
“She sent it to my account. It’s in my phone.”
Cass snorted. “You dressed as a frogman and brought a phone?”
“I swear. Let me give it to you and let my wife go.”
“Okay… No wait! This is one of your traps. Gregor, go get his phone.”
The big man – Rogan saw that it was more muscle than fat – got off the bed and came to him. Most importantly, he didn’t have a knife to Shiloh’s throat anymore. For her part, Cass kept the gun on him.
“Where’s the phone?” he asked as he bent over the federal agent.
“Next to the mags, on the side. There’s a waterproof pouch.”
Gregor reached down and found the pouch. He retrieved a small object from it.
“That’s not a phone…”
That’s when Rogan jumped into action!
Chapter 52
Rogan grabbed the henchman by his shirt collar and pulled him down. It wasn’t hard to make him tip over because of his size. He fell on Rogan’s legs and lost the knife.
“Ugh…”
Cass was enraged and extended her arms further to shoot the intruder in the head.
Pressing his luck, Rogan grabbed the little black box from Gregor. He rapidly turned a switch and pushed the blue button. Instantaneously a deafening explosion rocked the boat.
“The fuck is that?!”
That was what had been in Rogan’s netting bag of goodies, what he had brought down with him from the Hercules aircraft. He had carefully placed the plastic explosives around the hull prior to his raid.
Cass was knocked off balance but she squeezed the trigger anyway. Rogan cowered behind Gregor who received most of the bullets, killing him right away.
At the same time, Rogan drew his own pistol, a Glock 19. From there, all that was required was muscle memory and that never went away. He lifted his hand, took a bead on Cass Carranza, his former partner, his former friend, and he put seven bullets in her head. She was thrown backwards, landing hard against the nightstand. She was dead.
Shiloh groaned and writhed. He was desperate to go to her.
“I’m coming, sweetheart.”
He pushed off Gregor and holstered his weapon. He picked up the knife and hurried to the bed. The first thing he did was remove her gag.
“Rogan,” she said hoarsely. “We’re tilting. Are we sinking?”
“Yeah, a little bit. I’m going to try to go fast.”
Using the blade, he cut the ropes that were holding her in place. His own pain was forgotten but he was nauseated again witnessing her wounds.
“I’m okay,” she said. “I’m okay. Let’s just get away from here, shall we?”
“I love your plan.” He finished slicing the ropes. “Can you walk?”
“I think so.”
She sat up and flexed her limbs. In spite of her broken rib, she nodded that she was good to go. Rogan picked up Cass’s pistol and handed it to her before getting his own carbine.
“Let’s go, I saw some boats we can use.”
Rogan discovered it hurt his shoulder to hold the carbine so he dropped it and instead switched to the Glock. He changed magazines and then motioned for Shiloh to follow him.
They left the room and went up the corridor. They could see water bubbling up in the stairs leading below deck. Right then, someone was coming downstairs. Rogan knew why, the tenders were on this level.
“You, stop!”
The guy had the trademark windbreaker of the faction guards. He fired a volley from his MP5 and Shiloh only needed one round to kill him. Rogan took a step forward and saw the hatch leading to the storage room.
“Victoria, take his clothes while I get us out of here.”
“My name is Shiloh.”
He ignored the comment and walked past the stairs to the door leading into the storage room. It was like a fancy garage with two tenders and a jet ski. He looked around and found the button to open the hullside door. He pushed it and the door swung up sideways to the ship, like a DeLorean.
Straightaway water began to pour in as the yacht was sinking. Rogan forgot about that and headed for the jet ski since it would be more maneuverable. The keys were in and the gas tank was full.
“Come on, gotta go!”
A second later she was entering the storage room. “I could only get his jacket.”
He looked at her. The black windbreaker stopped mid-thigh and she had zipped it up halfway. It was most definitely not the most opportune moment to say this but she had never looked sexier.
“Let’s go!”
He pushed the jet ski and she came to help. What he didn’t tell her was that something was wrong with his explosives. The detonation had been substantial but it should’ve been bigger. That meant some charges hadn’t gone off and they were liable to blow up at any moment.
They ultimately hit the water and Rogan sat on the watercraft. He extended his good arm to help Shiloh get on behind him.
“Hold on!”
She wrapped her arms around his waist and they were off. As they escaped the storage room, The 2679 was at the tipping point. They had to duck to avoid hitting the ceiling. Rogan gave it some gas and they sped out of what was about to become the most interesting shipwreck in the Caribbean.
Rogan didn’t want to stay to admire his handiwork. There could still be some people aboard hell bent on shooting them and there was also the possibility of being pulled into the vortex as the yacht sank. He made it go as fast as he could, disappearing into the night.
They had to be about 300 yards away when the ship exploded. It was a combination of the secondary charges going off and the fire reaching the fuel tanks. It was Hiroshima on water, a colossal fireball consuming the whole superstructure and rising into the night sky.
“Whoa,” Rogan said when neither of them could help themselves and turned to look at the spectacle.
“You certainly don�
�t see that every day.”
When they were far enough, Rogan turned off the engine. There was no need going farther when they couldn’t see where they were going. His compass and GPS had been discarded along with the jumpsuit when he had first boarded the ship. The smart move was to save gas, to wait a few hours until sunrise.
For several minutes they were silent, watching the burning vessel as it disappeared into the abyss. They were both exhausted on every level.
“Thank you,” she whispered, putting her head on his good shoulder.
“Don’t mention it, buy me a drink sometime.”
“I’m so sorry for everything I’ve done to you.”
“Victo… Shiloh, stop it.”
“Spying on you, lying to you, bringing you into this.”
He shook his head. “You didn’t bring me into this, my job did. If anything, you saved my life in that apartment with Cass.”
“Okay but I don’t think I’m the kind of girl who deserves a man like you, Rogan. You flew a thousand miles and assaulted a bloody ship by yourself to rescue me.”
“Ever occur to you that maybe it’s because I love you?”
“No one can love someone that much.”
He grinned. “Try me.”
He leaned in and they kissed. They kissed for a very long time.
Three hours later, a SH-60 Seahawk helicopter from the US Navy located them. A rescue swimmer jumped into the water and one by one they were winched up. As it turned out, Admiral Gelhausen had alerted Fourth Fleet vessels patrolling the Caribbean that a maritime rescue mission might be required.
Rogan and Shiloh were taken to a frigate where their wounds were treated. They were allowed to sleep most of the next day and then were airlifted to Coast Guard Air Station Miami.
Chapter 53
Minor surgery was required for his shoulder but Tuesday morning Rogan was out of the hospital, dressed in clothes Shiloh had gone out to purchase for him. For her part, she was strapped up to mend her fractured rib and the Vicodin helped her cope with the pain. They flew back to Washington and headed straight for another hospital.
The halls of George Washington University Hospital were busy but it became less hectic as they went upstairs. Rogan was about to ask a nurse which room to go to when he saw a DCPD officer in uniform standing down the hall. The cop held them up but Rogan flashed his credentials and was promptly let in.
It was a private room and sunshine was coming in to make it bright and warm. In the bed, the patient turned. The disheveled and unshaven young man looked tired but aside from an IV and various harmless monitors, he wasn’t hooked up to any science-fiction life-support machines.
“Hey, kid. Heard the Boy Scouts are about to give you the invincibility badge, they say you can’t be killed.”
Gary Nero turned toward the visitors and smiled. “Hey!”
“How’s the Jell-O?”
Rogan came further into the room and so did Shiloh though she kept a few feet back. The probie had survived the gunshots after all. A passerby had witnessed the assassination attempt and had promptly called 911. They hadn’t been able to track the van and rescue Rogan, but an ambulance had come in time for Gary.
“They say I was lucky.”
“Of course you’re lucky, you had me as a partner. And if you play your cards right you might get even luckier.” The young man instinctively looked at Shiloh. “Stop that shit, my wife isn’t about to give you a sponge bath. I was thinking more along the lines of a strip-o-gram.”
“That exists for real?” he asked with unexpected enthusiasm.
Rogan winked. “Everything exists for real if you believe in it hard enough.”
“Wait… Did you say she’s your wife, I thought…”
“It’s a long story and I promise to tell you everything once you get back to Alaska.”
“About that, I’ve been thinking. They say that once I’m fully recovered I can transfer out.”
“Yeah?”
Gary nodded. “I’ve really liked working on this case, the Russian hookers?”
“I bet you did.”
“Anyway, it’s a lot more exciting than the cases we usually have. I spoke to some people and they said I could transfer to Washington when I’m better.”
“That’s great, kid,” Rogan said, meaning it. “You’ll make a great G-man.”
Gary was beaming and Rogan shook his hand. For a while they talked about hospital food, hockey, and the daytime TV lineup. Rogan noticed that Shiloh was busy texting with someone. It was good to talk about mindless things for a change after the crazy week he’d had.
He considered actually sending Gary a stripper, mostly for a laugh, but he wasn’t still well enough. Maybe in a few days. This made him think about his credit card.
He had indeed canceled it, except he gave the pilots much longer than 24 hours to spend his money. He had checked his statement and instead of the high-roller suites in Vegas or luxury watches he had expected them to buy, the only thing they had charged was a night of drinking at a Key West bar. So Rogan made a note to send them something nice as a thank you.
“You take care of yourself, all right? Maybe one day I’ll have to call you sir.”
“Thanks for coming, Rogan. I really appreciate it.”
They shook hands.
“We need to talk,” Shiloh whispered in his ear.
~ ~ ~ ~
It was with mild surprise that Rogan discovered he still had his room at the Fairfield Inn. He’d been looking forward to change into one of his own suits until he remembered that his luggage had been in the executive jet that had crashed in the Virginia mountains.
He had to resort to a quick trip to Bloomingdale’s where he purchased a nice business suit and tie. He felt underdressed because he hadn’t been issued a new service weapon yet but at the same time he felt safe. No one would dare go after him now.
His arm in a sling, he took a cab to a downtown hotel and sat in the lobby. It was warm and cozy. Just sitting down in the comfortable wing chair was a nice change of pace. He was by himself, waiting. He didn’t keep busy on his phone, didn’t read the newspaper. He just relaxed.
He stared through the glass doors and saw FBI Director Thomas Hephner’s car pull up to the curb. He got out from the backseat and walked by himself into the hotel. At that moment, a blond woman came up to him.
“Hi, Thomas!” she said with an Eastern European accent.
He was caught off guard by her familiarity. She was wearing a very short skirt, thigh-high boots, and her faux fur coat was hanging loose so that her impressive cleavage could be glimpsed from a country mile. She pressed herself against him and kissed him on the cheek.
“I’m sorry, I think you’ve mistaken me for someone else.”
She frowned. “I think you are right. I’m sorry.”
She walked away, leaving him nonplussed, and he walked ahead after spotting Rogan. He sat in the chair next to him.
“Special Agent Bricks, you don’t know how happy I am to see you again!”
“Thanks. Happy to be alive as well. There’s just something about not being dead that is really appealing to me, you know?”
The Director laughed heartily. “You did great work, Bricks. The Bureau owes you a debt of gratitude.”
“A debt of gratitude and $300 million. You know about that, right?”
“I’ve read the statement you gave to the agents in Miami. I’m sorry about that.”
Rogan nodded. He wasn’t holding back anymore. He had told his entire story, from his theory about the faction to his rescue mission in the Caribbean.
“How much of the $300 million was supposed to go to you, Director?”
“Excuse me?”
“You know the great thing about having a crazy hot wife who also happens to be a crazy hot former MI6 intelligence officer? She knows how to find shit. She knows about the little databases it would take cops two weeks to find. She knows how to convince people to talk in places like – oh, I don�
�t know – Bahrain.”
Hephner swallowed. “What are you talking about?”
“I’m talking about the fact that you were in on this. You were among the fuckers trying to kill me.”
“No, I wasn’t.”
“Oh, that’s right! All you wanted to do was steal my money.”
Without warning, the old man jumped on Rogan!
Hephner didn’t hurt him, didn’t even hit him. He dug into his pocket and removed his phone, snapping off the battery. Then he patted the younger agent down.
“I’m not armed,” Rogan said.
“Are you wearing a wire?”
“What is this, The Sopranos?”
The FBI Director produced from his pocket a small device with an antenna and ran it up and down Rogan. When he was done, he flipped a switch and put the little box on the low table in front of them.
“You can never be too careful. This will jam the signal if anyone tries to record us. So what do you think you know about me?”
“You’re part of this, Tom.”
He shrugged. “I’ve already told you I was part of the faction. We were trying to make the world a better place.”
“Except that it’s a little more complicated than that, isn’t it? You’re part of this GOPS scam.”
“You’re insane.”
“The consortium bidding for this project, the Joplin Initiative, is made up of JWO and Associates, Ware-Robinson Engineering, the Clonmel Analytics Group, and the Hyman Bedford Foundation. Surprise surprise, all of these companies are fronts registered offshore. They’re shell companies within shell companies using proxies and middlemen and fucking Santa Claus to hide the real owners.”
Hephner exhaled. “Is this gonna take a really long time? I have a cocktail party scheduled for a fundraiser tonight.”
“Keep listening, it’s getting interesting.”
Chapter 54
Rogan went on. “You thought you had covered your tracks. You and, let me get my list…” He pulled out a piece of paper from his pocket and read. “Katrina Heald, Yi Liao, Gabriel Barton, Rabulas Trujillo, Jordan MacIntosh, and Edward Tedbury. All captains of industry and famous rich people. Yet they conspired to steal billions from the government.”
