by Sam Sisavath
“That’s a good boy,” Keo said.
“Don’t kill me,” the captain mouthed.
“Now why would I do a thing like that? You’ve been so cooperative.”
The captain glanced down at his bleeding leg.
“Oh sure, that,” Keo said. “You’re not the type to hold a grudge, are you?”
The captain looked uncertain about answering, so he didn’t.
“Let’s put that behind us and move on,” Keo said. “Start with this: How many of you are on the boat?”
The man stared back at him, sweat dripping down his forehead despite the cooling mid-October weather. It was still hot in the day, but at night Louisiana dipped to fifty and sometimes hit the forties. Right now Keo felt a slight chill; then again, he had been submerged in the lake not all that long ago, so that probably factored into it.
“Numbers,” Keo said when the man didn’t answer fast enough. “I need numbers, el capitan. How many are on the boat with you?”
The captain seemed to be seriously brooding over the question. It wouldn’t have surprised Keo if the man thought his life might be at stake, depending on his answer. He was a man in his late thirties and wore a beard that was flecked with white strays, and he actually did look like a ship’s captain. The only thing missing was a pressed white uniform like the one worn by that guy from The Love Boat.
“Come on, spit it out,” Keo said. “You don’t know, or you don’t want to tell me?”
“Sev—eight,” the captain finally said.
“Sev-eight? I must have been absent from Mrs. Krapthorpe’s math class that day. How many is sev-eight again?”
The captain swallowed. “Seven.”
“You sure?”
“Yes.”
“I think you’re lying.”
Keo pushed the barrel of the shotgun against the man’s wounded leg. The captain let out what sounded like a low-pitched squeal. Keo didn’t know what to make of that noise, but it seemed to be working so he added more pressure.
“Seven or eight?” Keo said. “Think carefully.”
“Eight,” the captain said, almost shouting the word out.
Keo lessened the pressure slightly. “Rod the sniper is one.”
“Yes…”
“Where is he?”
The captain’s eyes shifted up to the ceiling.
“Still?” Keo said.
A shrug and a look of uncertainty.
“And the others?” Keo asked.
“Below.”
“Doing what?”
“Guard—”
Keo heard a soft tap! and glanced up, reaching forward and clamping one hand over the captain’s mouth at the same time.
Tap…tap…
It was coming from the roof.
Rod, the sniper.
Keo pulled his hand away from the captain and took two, then three quick steps toward the middle of the bridge. He leaned the shotgun against the nearest wall and unslung the MP5SD. He traced the sound as it moved from the back of the roof toward the front. Slowly, carefully, because Rod the sniper was that kind of a guy.
A second later, an elongated shadow draped over the windshield. It was in the shape of a human head.
Keo fired into the ceiling, stitching it from west to east, then north to south until he had emptied half of the magazine. The only noise was the cyclical whine of the German weapon’s parts as it unleashed a series of 9mm rounds. The clink-clink-clink of bullet casings flicking and bouncing off the floor was louder than the actual gunshots themselves, thanks to the built-in suppressor at the end of the barrel.
There was a soft thud, followed by a pair of arms dangling out the windshield where the glass met the roof of the bridge. Blood dripped from the fingers and ran in thin rivulets along the smooth surface all the way to the bottom.
Five down, three to go.
Keo moved quickly to the door and pressed up against it. He stopped breathing entirely and listened, flattening his hands against the wall to search for any hints of vibrations that would signal the impending attack he had been waiting for.
To his surprise, he continued to hear nothing and felt nothing. Either these guys were incredibly patient, or they weren’t willing to risk their necks to regain control of the bridge. Frankly, Keo didn’t know whether to be impressed by their sense of self-preservation or irritated by it.
He looked over at the captain, who was staring back across the room at him. The man’s face was slicked with a new coat of sweat. That was either all fear, or the man was just a perspiration machine.
“Three to go,” Keo said.
The captain’s lips trembled slightly, as if he wanted to say something but was too afraid to.
“Catfish got your tongue?”
He got a confused reaction that time.
Keo nodded at the largest chunk of the destroyed two-way radio on the floor next to the first mate’s body. “Got another one of those?”
The captain followed Keo’s glance, then looked back at him. The man gave Keo a look that convinced him the guy wasn’t sure if he should cooperate. Or maybe he was wondering what was in it for him.
Keo decided to help him out and drew the revolver from his waistband, cocking the hammer back. The loud click! seemed to echo through the large room.
The captain’s entire body went rigid.
“I think that’s a yes,” Keo said. “But you don’t want to tell me where I can find it. Now, normally I’d make you show me how to use the boat’s radio, but that console looks awfully complicated, and I’m just not a very techie sort of guy. So…where’s the backup radio?”
“Under the console,” the captain said.
“See? That wasn’t so hard.”
Keo moved back across the room, maneuvering around the still-wet glistening pools of the first mate’s blood and brass casings that were now everywhere, and slid back a compartment under the large console that controlled every facet of the yacht. Inside, he found a first aid kit, supplies, and, near the back, another two-way portable radio. He fished it out and spent a few seconds trying to recall the frequency the islanders were using.
Keo turned the dial and pressed the transmit lever. “Lara, come in.”
Five seconds of silence went by.
Then ten…
Had he tuned into the right channel? The island was well within the radio’s reach, so that couldn’t have been it. Of course, if they didn’t recognize his voice, they might not respond. Maybe they were wondering who the hell had just broken into their lines of communication—
“Keo,” a voice finally said through the radio. Lara. “You’re still alive.”
“Surprised?” Keo said.
“Just worried. What’s going on over there? What’s your situation? We heard shooting. Was that you?”
“It wasn’t Santa Claus. Watch out for snipers. I took one out, but there might be more.”
“I was wondering what was hanging off the bridge’s roof.”
“That would be Rod.”
“You talked to him?”
“I heard the captain and his first mate talking.”
“What else did you hear?”
“Remember our talk? That if I started shooting, there’s a damn good reason for it?”
“I remember.”
“Well, there’s a damn good reason I started shooting.”
She didn’t answer back right away. After a while, she said, “We’re getting ready to head over and board the boat right now.”
“I wouldn’t do that.”
“Why not?”
“There are still three more of them running around outside the bridge. I have no idea where they are at the moment. That means they could be lying in wait for you, so there’s no point in taking the risk. At least, not yet.”
“What about you? Are you under attack?”
“Not right now. They seem to be hanging back.”
He looked over at the door just to make sure. It would have been a hell of a jinx if th
ey burst inside as soon as the words came out of his mouth. But the door was still closed, and there were no telltale vibrations of approaching men.
These guys are either the most patient assholes left in the known universe, or they’re quaking in their boots right now.
“What about the yacht?” Lara asked. “It stopped moving.”
“I killed the engines and dropped anchor. At the moment, I have possession of the bridge. That means I control where the boat goes; or, in this case, doesn’t go. But I don’t have eyes on what’s happening outside or on the two lower decks.”
Another long pause from her. He could almost imagine that brain of hers working, turning over her options, trying to come up with a plan that wouldn’t get her people killed. The kid leader was definitely impressive.
“All right,” she said finally. “We’ll stay back for now. What are you going to do next?”
“I’m going to stay up here and wait for them to make their move. If they’re smart, they’ll realize they’re beat and take one of the life boats and abandon ship.”
“And if they’re not that smart?”
“I got plenty of bullets,” Keo said. “And since I’m surrounded by water in this floating tub, this is one time where the night’s my friend.”
*
The night settled down into a crawl, with the only noise coming from the occasional slapping of Beaufont Lake’s lazy waves against the hull of the Trident. It always amazed him just how dead the world was at night. Now mostly devoid of the loud excesses of humanity, there was a peacefulness here that, were he a peaceful-loving kind of guy, he might have appreciated.
Now, though, the pervading silence, with armed men somewhere outside the bridge door waiting to kill him, just made him irritable.
Keo glanced down at his watch. 12:51 A.M.
Six hours before sunrise.
He looked over at the captain, who was trying desperately not to pass out in the corner next to him. Keo didn’t know why the man was even fighting an obviously losing battle. In his experience, people sometimes hung onto things when they didn’t have to. But then again, most of the world’s population didn’t see things the way he did. Too bad, because Keo was sure he was right and everyone else was wrong.
“You got a name, cap?” Keo asked.
The man blinked sweat from his eyes, but the prospect of conversation seemed to give him new energy. “Gage.”
“As in 12-gauge?”
“Gage. G-a-g-e.”
“Cute name.”
“What’s yours?”
“This isn’t a date. I ask the questions and you answer them.” Then, “This your boat, Gage?”
“It belonged to this Mexican guy we worked for.”
“What happened to him?”
Gage shrugged. “He didn’t need it anymore.”
Keo smiled. “Gee, I wonder if you had anything to do with that.”
“I didn’t,” Gage said. His eyes flickered to the headless first mate across the room from them. “But Johns did. I…just went along with it.”
“Sure you did.”
“I had to. Johns was in charge.”
“Hey, I believe you,” Keo said, though he assumed Gage knew differently by just looking at him. He had heard the two of them talking earlier. They sounded more like partners-in-crime than boss-and-lackey. “What about the others? What were they doing when this totally mutual exchange of boat ownership went down?”
Gage decided to start drifting off at that moment.
Keo stuck a hand in front of him and snapped his fingers. “Hey, wake up. This is no time to be falling asleep, pal. Especially not in the middle of a Q&A. That’s just rude.”
Gage’s eyes opened back up. “What?”
“You were giving me a very good reason why I shouldn’t just put you out of your misery right now.”
The other man looked alarmed. “I was?”
“Yes. And let me just say, you’re doing quite the shitty job of it.” Keo drew the revolver with its five bullets and laid it across his lap, tapping the trigger guard with his forefinger for effect. “Wanna try harder?”
Gage suddenly looked very alert, or was trying very hard to give that impression, anyway. “The boat. I can drive the boat.”
“I thought you said this wasn’t your boat.”
“It’s not, but I was its captain.”
“That explains the hat,” Keo grinned.
Gage didn’t know how to respond to that, so he didn’t.
“What about the other three?” Keo asked. “Your crew?”
“A couple of them. The others, we picked up along the way.”
“Like Rod?”
“Yeah.”
Keo glanced over at what was left of the first mate. “What about Johns?”
“He’s just a friend.”
“He was just a friend.”
“Yeah…”
“Your boat buddies. The ones running outside like busy little mice. Any ideas what they’re up to—”
The rattle of automatic gunfire stopped Keo in mid-sentence. His eyes darted to the door before he realized it had come from behind him—from the direction of Song Island.
He got up and hurried to the front of the bridge and looked out toward the island, just in time to see full automatic rifle fire pouring from one of the piers. It was shooting at something bobbing in the water in front of the Trident. A second rifle was shooting from the beach, both weapons spraying at what he could now see was an orange raft, its color making it nearly impossible to miss in the darkness. The small craft had been moving toward the island when it was fired upon. Now, it seemed to be floating in place and Keo could just barely make out a figure lying inside.
He unclipped the radio from his hip and pressed the transmit lever. “Song Island, come in.” He waited for a response, and when he didn’t get one after a few seconds, “Anyone there? What was the shooting about? Song Island, come in.”
“Keo,” Lara said through the radio. “Are you still on the yacht?”
“Yeah. Why?”
“People were heading toward the island on some kind of boat. They fired at Blaine, so we fired back. It’s orange.”
“I see it. Survivors?”
“Doesn’t look like it.” Then, “Shit.”
“What?”
“I think we might have hit it one time too many; it’s starting to sink.”
Keo saw it, too—the raft was being pulled under the lake’s surface.
“You said you saw two people onboard?” he said into the radio.
“Pretty sure,” Lara said. “Blaine was on the pier, and he had the best view.” Then to someone else, “What did you see, Blaine?”
“Two,” Blaine said through the radio. “Probably two.”
“That leaves one still unaccounted for,” Keo said.
“How many lifeboats does a yacht like that hold?”
“Usually one or two. Hold on, let me ask el capitan.”
“He’s still alive?” Lara said.
“Sort of.” Keo looked over at Gage. “Hey, how many lifeboats do you have onboard?”
The man didn’t answer him.
“Gage,” Keo said, louder this time.
When he still didn’t respond, Keo walked over and crouched in front of him. Gage looked dead and was leaning over slightly to one side. Keo pressed two fingers against the side of his neck and detected a pulse. Weak, so apparently Gage had decided to go with the flow after all.
“Keo?” Lara said through the radio. “What did the captain say?”
“He’s unconscious.”
“What did you do to him?”
“I shot him in the kneecap with his own gun.”
“Now why the hell did you do that?”
“It seemed like the thing to do at the time.”
“Let’s…try not to shoot people in the kneecaps unless we have to from now on, okay?”
“Sure, if you want to take all the fun out of this.”
S
he ignored him and said instead, “So what do we do about the last man? If there’s really only one left?”
“El capitan sounded pretty certain. Then again, he looks like the type that might lie.” He stood up and looked over at the door again. “Sit tight and wait for morning. We’ll figure it out then.”
Lara didn’t answer right away.
“You good with that?” Keo asked.
“I guess I don’t have a choice,” Lara said.
He could hear it in her voice—that burden that came with leadership. He had heard it often enough in people who took on the job that few could do, or wanted to do.
“Relax,” he said. “It’s not coming tonight.”
“What isn’t?”
“The attack you’ve been expecting for the last two days.”
She paused for a moment, then, “How can you be so sure?”
“The bad guys will have heard the shooting. They’ll know something is happening, but they don’t know what. And this boat showing up would have freaked them out. Add all of that with the damage they took yesterday from moi, and if I was them, I wouldn’t attack tonight. I’d wait, because I could afford to wait. It’s not like you’re going anywhere, right?”
“No…”
“And they know that. So my guess is, they’ll wait another day. Which means we don’t have to do anything drastic until then.”
“Captain Optimism, huh?”
“I don’t know what means.”
“Inside joke,” she said. Then, sounding more reassured than a few seconds ago, “Okay. If we’re not moving until sunrise, that means you’ll be on your own for the next six hours. Can you go that long without unnecessarily killing people?”
“No promises.”
She sighed. “I’ll get one of the boats ready, just in case.”
‘Just in case,’ he thought with a smile. The island motto, apparently.
CHAPTER 2
LARA
In the morning light, the Trident’s long, sleek, and sharp features gave it the impression of being a massive white sword, ready to pierce the side of Song Island if it so desired. That seemed to be the only thing the island was good for these days—a target to be attacked.
