Operation Turtle Ransom: A suspenseful, wild-ride-of-an-adventure on a tropical beach in Mexico (Poppy McVie Mysteries Book 4)

by Kimberli A. Bindschatel

  We were headed out to sea.

  Well, crap. Not good.

  Chapter Nineteen

  Hansel and Gretel didn’t seem phased by this change in direction. Why would they? They knew exactly where we were headed. I was the one wishing I had breadcrumbs to leave behind. All I had were electronic crumbs, twenty minutes between signals, if they were working at all. Nope. I wasn’t going there. They were working. Every twenty minutes. Sending my location to Dalton. They had to be.

  The tick-tock of a timer started in my head. I wanted to estimate how far from shore we got. But somehow, I knew my sense of time had gone all out of whack. Might have been related to the shaking of my hands and my shortness of breath. This was a bad idea. From the beginning. Dalton had been right. How was he going to find me now?

  After some indeterminate time—fifteen minutes?—of pounding against the surf, the land behind us threatening to disappear below the horizon, a boat came into sight. A big boat. Some kind of offshore cruiser, one of those yachts the drug lords owned in the ‘80s. A fifty-footer with a flying bridge and a high bow. White with no identifying features. A plain old boat that no one would notice or be able to describe.

  Our driver made a zig zag pattern, a signal I assumed, as we approached.

  The henchmen rose to tie lines to the bigger vessel. Definitely not sailors. It’s a wonder we didn’t all end up in the water.

  Soon enough, they hauled me out of the skiff and onto the big boat.

  I was shoved into a seat at the stern. The stink of mildew and fish wafted up from my seat in a puff.

  “Make yourself comfortable. You’re going to be here a while,” Hansel sneered.

  Gretel sat down across from me. He must have been my designated watcher.

  As we rolled in the waves, Hansel helped Captain Jack tie off the fishing boat at the stern.

  Well, damn.

  This vessel was set at anchor. So we couldn’t be in too deep of water. Must have been a sunken island or sandbar. Well, if we moved again, at least hoisting the anchor would take a few minutes. More time to get another ping off to Dalton.

  So far there was no sign of anyone else on board. Maybe Captain Jack, who picked us up in the dinghy, was the captain of this boat? But they wouldn’t leave this vessel at anchor without a crew. Not if their kidnapped victims were on board. No, there had to be others, at least one other, below decks.

  I had to admit, a boat was a pretty clever place to hold a captive for ransom. It would be difficult for any rescue team to sneak up on them for a surprise attack and there was no way I could run. Swimming seven miles to shore, at least that was my guess at the distance, without being found by them, and, not to mention, the possibility of crocodiles patrolling the shoreline, was not something a sane person would even consider.

  But was this the final holding place? Did that mean Doug was on board as well? Or would they be moving me again? Wait—what if Doug were on board and they kept the boat moving all the time? Dalton wouldn’t know I’d found him. And with the twenty-minute interval between signals from my turtle tracker, he’d have a difficult enough time finding us anyway. Well, crap.

  All that was assuming the turtle GPS was even working. I had no way of knowing. The fact was, I couldn’t rely on Dalton finding us at all. I had to assume I was on my own. I had to come up with a plan, and fast. One thing was sure: my only option was to commandeer the boat. I had to overtake the crew. However many there were. With my hands zip-tied behind my back.

  As soon as I knew Doug was on board.

  My stomach felt light and there wasn’t enough air.

  Okay. I can do this. I just need to improvise. I needed a look around, to see what I was up against. I rose to my feet and inched toward the wheelhouse.

  “Sit down,” Gretel snapped.

  “Just trying to get out of the sun,” I said and gave him a pleading expression. “This skin can’t take another minute.”

  He stared at me, then conceded. Whew. Maybe Gretel had a compassionate side. Good to know. I moved to the shade of the flying bridge. Maybe I could learn something from the condition of the boat. Like whether she was actually sea worthy. Maybe this old boat never moved.

  The helm area was clear of anything personal. Just a pair of binoculars propped on the dash and a hand-held GPS unit. The controls looked like the originals. No electronic chart monitor. No radar. Not even a radio.

  The boat had that familiar musty odor, the one all old, seagoing vessels have—a combination of mildew, salt, and diesel fumes. That, and the stink of fish guts. Someone had been living aboard and spending his days fishing.

  I tried to move where I could get a look down below. There could be more thugs down there. I had no idea. But I couldn’t see much. Not helpful. There are a lot of nooks and crannies on a fifty-foot vessel. Even if I walked the length of it, topside and below, I wouldn’t see someone who didn’t want to be seen.

  First things first. I needed confirmation that Doug was on board. If not, all my planning would be for nothing. Down below was likely where they were holding him. But how was I going to get there? Would they be taking me soon enough? And if so, would I even be able to see him? They could be holding him in one cabin and stick me in another.

  Hansel plopped down next to me. Did that mean we’d be on the move?

  Captain Jack headed down below. What for, I had no idea.

  The boat pitched and rolled, bobbing in the waves.

  Maybe if I could get these men to talk, they’d give something away. Anything. “So, you boys didn’t mention you were sailors,” I said, all snarky.

  Hansel looked to Gretel and smirked.

  Gretel looked a bit green.

  “The cool ocean breezes. It gets in your blood.”

  They ignored me.

  Okay, another tack. “Do I really need my hands tied?” I leaned forward, twisted at my waist and pushed my wrists toward Gretel. “I mean, where am I gonna go?”

  Nothing.

  “I could really use a drink of water. Please. After all that hiking in the hot sun.”

  He looked at me. Frowned.

  I was getting nowhere.

  Jack appeared from below deck, Coca-colas in hand.

  I ran my parched tongue across the roof of my mouth. An ice-cold Coke sounded like heaven right now, even though the jolt of sugar would probably send my head into a buzz rush. He passed them around. None for me.

  Fine. God, I was thirsty. And tired. And hot.

  I looked out over the ocean. Nothing but blue water and blue sky in any direction. The dolphins were long gone. If ever I was on my own, it was now. I had only my training, my skills.

  And my wit.

  “So your boss is shy, not big on meeting out in busy, public places. I get it. Not a problem,” I said. “This is a fine location to have a meeting. Now, we can start with proof of life. I want to see Doug.”

  Hansel smirked again.

  The men kicked back, relaxed. It was clear. We were waiting. Waiting for something or someone.

  There was no question in my mind—whatever or whomever it was, my fate came with it.

  Chapter Twenty

  A man came up the companionway from down below, shouting in Spanish.

  So, there was someone else on board.

  Hansel rose from his chair with a start, but Gretel stayed seated, his gaze fixed on me. I didn’t quite catch what the other man was saying, but it sounded like something on radar. Did they have modern, sophisticated systems hidden below decks?

  All eyes looked to the north where a boat appeared on the horizon. It slowly got larger as it approached, the bow bouncing against the waves. The new guy brushed past me. I had to stifle a gag from his body odor—a mixture of days old sweat and dried fish guts. He was definitely the one who’d been living on board.

  He scoped the boat with binoculars, then mumbled something that sounded like “El jefe.” The boss.

  Just as our driver had done, this boat made a zig zag pattern as
it approached. It looked to be a runabout powerboat—the kind weekenders use to pull water-skiers—with maybe three people aboard. All unrecognizable.

  Whatever was going to happen was going to happen soon. I tugged at my wrists. The zip-tie there was snug. Breaking free from it wouldn’t be easy, especially with my arms pinned behind my back. Back in agent training, I’d learned a technique for freeing myself if bound in front, which involved slamming my arms down to my sides, the force, theoretically, enough to break the plastic ties. I’d even practiced. But behind my back, I wasn’t sure what to do. It was such an awkward angle and I couldn’t raise my hands high enough to get the downward thrust needed to break free.

  I scanned the horizon for another boat, hoping Dalton had figured out that I was out to sea. But even if he had, would he have been able to get a boat of his own quickly enough? On our op in Norway, I’d gotten myself on board the whaling vessel of a criminal killer whale thief we’d been tracking, and Dalton had followed in a sailboat. Right there in case I needed him. But we’d planned that all along, knowing the thief had a boat. This was different.

  I was several miles out in the ocean, at least four men on board and what looked like three heading this way. Seven men. Not good odds.

  And where was Doug?

  Hansel and Gretel, who’d been tough-guy henchmen, became fidgety. Hansel paced, his eyes on the incoming vessel. Gretel picked at his cuticles. Whoever was on that boat made even them nervous.

  As the boat got closer, I slowly rose from the seat, trying to get a look, but Gretel was on edge. He kept me seated with a glare.

  “Good idea. I’ll just wait for him to come to me.” I sat back down and flipped my hair back. “Like the royalty.”

  This act was getting tiring. I got the feeling it wasn’t going to work on el jefe there in that boat. I needed to convince him that we could get the money. We just needed more time. Two days wasn’t a reasonable amount of time to transfer funds of that amount. He had to know that. It wasn’t an outlandish argument. Negotiate. That’s what I needed to do. If it were about the money, it would be worth the time to him. What was one more day?

  If it were about the money.

  As the runabout pulled alongside this vessel, Jack and Hansel moved to help catch the lines and get whomever it was on board.

  Soon enough, Hansel had ahold of someone’s arm and hauled the man up and over the rail.

  I jumped up from my seat. “Doug!” I found you!

  He gave me a wary look, glanced at Gretel, then back at me. He stayed where he stood.

  Right. He’d been their captive. He’d learned already to be cautious, do as they say.

  He looked good. Healthy. Not seriously harmed. That was a relief.

  Then I noticed. He had no restraints. Weird. Maybe he’d shown he wouldn’t resist and had gained their trust. He was an actor after all. Maybe he’d played up being cooperative. That was good. If we could maneuver close to one another, maybe he could remove my zip-tie. It would be hard without some sort of tool, though. I scanned the deck once again for anything that might cut the hard plastic. Could I be so lucky that Captain Jack had left a bottle opener on the table or something?

  Then Hansel heaved backward, pulling someone else from the runabout up and over the rail.

  My mouth dropped open. Well, hell. It was Comandante Garcia. El jefe. I should’ve known! Damn.

  His eyes bore into me with a complex mixture of disdain and amusement.

  He straightened his black, button down shirt and stood there, assessing me while the Captain ran below, soon to emerge with another ice cold Coca-cola. Garcia took a long sip, licked his lips, before he said, “You’ve been quite the little pain in my ass.”

  The runabout cast away from our vessel and took off, full throttle, bouncing over the waves. So much for that as a getaway possibility. That left at least five men on board. I couldn’t take down five men, and maybe more I hadn’t seen yet, with my wrists zip-tied behind my back.

  “¡Arranque los motores!” Garcia hollered to the captain. Start up the engines.

  “Sit down,” Garcia said, and Doug and I both moved to seats as the engines rumbled to life.

  “Doug, are you all right?” I asked. “Have they harmed you?”

  Doug’s eyes moved from Garcia to me. His mouth opened, but then he hesitated.

  “So, we meet again,” Garcia said, giving me a scrutinizing once over. “You took down both of my men here.” He crossed his arms, sat back, a hint of respect in those dark, dangerous eyes. “No ordinary woman does that.”

  I gave him a big, exaggerated shrug. “I wasn’t much for piano lessons, so karate it was.”

  His expression showed no sign of amusement. He turned to Doug. “She’s the one, right?”

  Doug’s eyes fell to the floor. He nodded.

  Garcia sat back, shifted his weight to get comfortable. “Well, you and I have a little problem then.”

  Doug raised his head. “What?”

  “This sweet little señorita’s boyfriend is a cop.”

  My stomach clenched. Crap. When Dalton had come to the jail to bail me out, he’d told Officer Ramón he was a fellow police officer, trying to get me released. Not good.

  Doug put up his hands. “What? No. She’s just my friend’s girlfriend, here on vacation.” He forced a chuckle. “He’s not a cop.”

  Stop talking, Doug. You have no idea the trouble we’re in.

  Garcia rubbed his knuckles, eyeing Doug. The big, fat gold pinky ring glinted in the sun. “This complicates things. Adds more risk.”

  “No, no—you’ve got it wrong,” Doug said, his voice cracking. “I told you, he’ll pay for her.”

  Wait—what? I stared at Doug. Had he offered me up to save himself? Was he worried Noah wouldn’t pay the ransom to save him?

  “He loves her,” he added. “Trust me. He’ll pay.”

  Doug, shut up! “Indeed.” I leapt to my feet. “The money isn’t a problem. It’s the time frame. We just couldn’t get that kind of cash so quickly. But if you’ll let me—”

  “Shut up,” said Garcia, his tone so threatening, I clamped my mouth shut. He stepped closer to me, checked the zip-tie holding my wrists clamped together. “If there’s anything I know about cops, it’s that they don’t know when to keep their noses out of my business. So what do you have up your sleeve?”

  “My sleeve?”

  The clank-clank-clank of the anchor being raised rattled the vessel.

  “Sit back down,” he said and shoved me into the chair. He took ahold of my shoes, yanked them from my feet, then examined each thoroughly before tossing them overboard.

  “Anywhere else you might be hiding a wire?” Garcia said, all business.

  I shook my head. “A wire? I—”

  His eyes locked onto mine. He could see. All the way through me, down to my wrist, to my bracelet where the turtle tracker was concealed. “Get up,” he growled.

  I did as he said.

  He patted me down, sliding his hands over my breasts, down my hips, and around to grab my crotch.

  “Watch it, buddy,” I snapped.

  He took me by the arm and spun me around. With a hard yank, he ripped my bracelet from my wrist. “What have we here.” He shoved me back into the seat.

  Damn.

  He took his time examining the device, obviously perplexed. He’d probably never seen a turtle tracker before. Would he realize it had GPS?

  “What is this?” His voice carried a threat: Don’t mess with me.

  “Oh that. It’s one of those clip-on thingies that counts my steps.” I gave him a half grin. “Gotta keep this girlish figure.”

  He drew in a long breath and I had a distinct vision of a bull in the arena, nostrils flaring as he scuffs the dirt with a hoof, eyes on the red flag. He turned my bracelet over in his hands a few times, examining the device attached to it, then, with a flick of his wrist, tossed it overboard. Into the ocean. My bracelet. From my dad. Gone.

  Yo
u son-of-a-bitch! I was on my feet and leaning over the side.

  He hollered to the captain, “Vámonos!”

  The engines roared to life and the boat surged forward. I was nearly knocked over as I stared after my bracelet twirling toward the bottom of the ocean.

  The wake of the boat rolled and splashed, colliding with the surf. Through the white froth, sinking down, down, gone in the deep ocean below, was the only connection I had left to Dalton.

  “You are no use to me anymore.”

  I spun around.

  Garcia bore down on Doug.

  Doug started to shrink. “What? No, I—”

  Oh, no! Oh, no! McVie, think! Do something!

  Garcia continued, stone faced. “You’re no longer a—” He turned to me. “How do you say it in English? A necessity?”

  Doug’s face turned pale. His eyes flitted about, focusing nowhere. “But I brought you the girl.” He drew in a breath, and brought his eyes to meet Garcia’s, finding some courage. Maybe he’d thought of something with which he could bargain. He pulled back his shoulders, sat up straight. “It was a minor delay. Everything’s back on track. Now you can still get the money. Just like we planned.”

  Back on track? Like we planned? I stared at Doug, my brain on fire. Planned? No way. No. Can’t be.

  “Trust me,” he added. “He’s got the money.”

  Omigod! Doug knew how much Noah was worth. I’d asked Noah the very question: how do they know who can afford a ransom like that? Is this about Noah’s money?

  No. Couldn’t be. But he wanted to build that dream house for Chris. And he was broke. Half of $500,000 would be a good down payment.

  Damn. Was I the target all along? Of course. My red hair. Cabello rojo. Molly thought they’d said caballo rojo. Red horse. They were looking for me that night. But I’d stayed back with Noah. Doug had lingered, trying to get me to come along. Noah had to snap at him to get him to leave. Doug must have known then and—

  “You were in on it!” I couldn’t believe my own thoughts. “From the beginning. You planned this. For me to be kidnapped. For the money. But I wasn’t there that night.”