The Butcher's Bill (The Linus Schag, NCIS, Thrillers Book 2)

by Martin Roy Hill

  His pistol still trained on Jürgen, Schag approached the mercenary, kicked the AK away from his body, and made certain he was dead. He holstered his weapon again, and walked back to Butcher. Yolanda was at Bill's side, cradling his head, sobbing. Schag pulled an Israeli dressing from a gunshot kit on his vest, opened Butcher's shirt, and did his best to bandage the entry and exit wounds. All the time, he kept muttering, "It'll be okay. It'll be okay," as if it were a mantra.

  Butcher reached up and touched his friend's shoulder, a slight smile on his lips.

  "No," he said, "it won't, and you know it." He glanced at his wife. "Forget about me and get her out of here, Lin."

  Schag looked at Yolanda and immediately knew she wasn't leaving her husband's side. He glanced at the overhead where Jürgen's rounds had punched holes. A slight haze drifted down from them. Fumes, he thought. Explosive fumes. He looked back at Butcher, shaking his head.

  "Not without you, Bill," he said.

  With Yolanda's help, Schag got Butcher to his feet, raised the ex-SEAL's arm over his own shoulder, stooped, and grabbed his leg in a fireman's carry. Butcher was a good thirty pounds heavier than Schag, and at first, the agent thought he would collapse under the weight. One look at the appreciation in Yolanda's eyes, however, steeled Schag. He motioned to Yolanda to head for the stairs, while he followed close behind with Bill.

  It was warm in the engine room, and Schag was already sweating from the exertion of the escape and the gun battle. Carrying Butcher's limp body up the flight of metal stairs to the changing room made the perspiration soak his clothing and roll down his face. Sweat stung his eyes and flooded over his glasses. The muscles in his legs screamed with each step. The climb was no more comfortable for Butcher, who groaned in agony with every movement. At each utterance, Yolanda turned to comfort her husband. Schag urged her on.

  The climb from the changing room to the main deck was easier, partly because the stairs were wider, and partly because Schag's fear of an eminent explosion pumped his body full of adrenalin. Still, Schag completed the last part of the climb blinded by the sweat stinging his eyes and smearing the lenses of his glasses. When they reached the starboard side of the deck, he lowered Butcher into a sitting position. Yolanda went to Bill's side. Schag took a triangular bandage from his gunshot kit and used it to wipe his own face and glasses, then studied the next leg of the trip. The path from the deckhouse to the companionway leading down to the port services boat was flat but had to be half the length of a football field away. Carrying Butcher down those stairs would be as hard as the climb from the engine room.

  Schag reached to pick up Butcher again when something caught his eye and made his blood turn cold. A half mile from the ship was a boat. Schag could tell from the position of the running lights—the portside red light on the left, the green starboard light on the right—that the boat was heading away from the ship, not toward it. Leaning over the side of the ship, he looked for the port services boat tied up to the companionway. It wasn't there.

  Yolanda saw the look on Schag's face. "Lin, what is it?" she asked.

  Schag leaned heavily against the railing, his head down.

  "The boat Bill and I came out here in," he said. "It's gone. Those two Gideon men who fled must have taken it." He pointed to the running lights in the distance. "That's it there."

  Schag turned and faced Yolanda.

  "That was the only way off this ship," he said.

  CHAPTER 33

  SATURDAY

  Aboard the Mars Venture

  Anchored off the San Diego coast.

  0627 Hours

  SCHAG LOWERED HIMSELF INTO A sitting position on the deck next to Butcher and leaned his head back in exasperation. He stared at the bottom of the deck above. A hundred ideas flooded his head, but each ebbed away. Could they swim to shore? Maybe if they had lifejackets? Bill would never make it, not in his condition. Hell, it was doubtful he or Yolanda would make it to shore, he decided. It was winter, and even in San Diego, the coastal waters were cold enough to cause lethal hypothermia. Maybe he should climb up to the bridge again and use the radio there to call the Coast Guard? Maybe they could get a helicopter out to them before . . .

  There was another rumble from deep below decks, another flashover, probably spewing flames into the engine room.

  No time to call the Coast Guard, Schag concluded. Maybe swimming was their only chance. Maybe he could find a Stokes litter with a flotation collar to put Bill in. Schag stared at the bottom of the deck above them and banged the back of his head against a stanchion, trying to shake loose a solution. Nothing came.

  Schag felt a tap on his leg. He turned to find Bill looking at him through half closed eyes. His hand was making weak movements up and down. The agent looked away again, and again felt the tapping on his leg. Butcher's hand made the same up and down motion, as if he were trying to gesture. His lips moved, but made no sound.

  "What is it, Bill?" Schag asked, leaning closer.

  "Life . . ." Butcher whispered. "Life . . ."

  "What?"

  "Li . . . boat . . ."

  Schag finally understood the hand gesture. Butcher was pointing to the boat deck above them where the ship's single lifeboat stood in its free-fall davits.

  "Damn it," Schag cursed, jumping to his feet. "Of course."

  Yolanda jumped at Schag's voice. "Lin, what is it?"

  "There's a lifeboat two decks above us." Schag pointed to the ladderway. "Get up there now and get the entry hatch opened. I'll bring Bill."

  Schag again lifted Butcher into a fireman's carry and started up the ladder. He felt neither the pain in his legs nor Butcher's weight. All he felt was an elation that there was, just possibly, a way off this death ship.

  When he reached the lifeboat, Yolanda was turning the last of three dogging levers that made the hatch watertight. With a grunt, she heaved the door open and stood back as Schag eased Butcher through.

  Two rows of high-backed chairs ran the length of the boat, separated by a single aisle. Designed to secure survivors as the boat plunged into the ocean, each seat faced the stern and had a four-point harness.

  Schag lowered Butcher into the first seat and strapped him in, noticing for the first time the blood soaking through his bandage. Butcher's breathing was labored, and his skin spectral white. His eyes opened and looked at Schag, and he muttered something the agent could not hear. Schag leaned closer.

  "What, Bill?"

  Butcher's voice was a croak, but strong enough for Schag to make out the curse.

  "I'm still goin' . . . to get that bastard . . . Bennett," he said. "You'll see. I will . . ." Butcher's clenched fist tapped Schag's arm. "I will get him."

  Schag nodded and continued strapping Bill in. Yolanda sat in the chair beside Bill and strapped herself in. When Schag finished, he swung the watertight door shut, and slid the dogging levers in place. Stooping, he rushed forward to the boat's cockpit, a raised platform from which the coxswain launched and steered the vessel. As he strapped himself in the cockpit, Schag glanced out of the aircraft-like windshield at the ocean dozens of feet below, and he felt a moment of vertigo. He scanned the instructions on the instrument panel, choked the engine, and pressed the starter. The motor roared to life.

  "Hang on!" he yelled to Yolanda.

  He pulled the launching lever, and the boat slipped toward the ocean below.

  The lifeboat cleared the ramp at the moment the ship exploded. The shock wave slammed into the stern of the small craft, flipping the boat over as it hit the surface and driving it deep underwater. Schag could hear Yolanda's screams behind him as the inverted boat landed in the water. Only the safety harnesses prevented them from flying about the interior of the boat. Schag watched frothing seawater skid past the windshield as the boat sank deeper. He thought briefly of submarines and crush depths, and wondered how deep this little boat could go before the water pressure crushed its hull.

  He felt a heaviness press him hard into the straps of his har
ness. At first, he thought it was the crushing force of the ocean, but then he realized it was gravity pressing him against his harness. The boat had stopped sinking and was rising toward the surface, increasing the g-forces on its occupants.

  The boat broached keel up and after a moment of hesitancy, righted itself. Seawater streamed down the windshield. When it cleared, Schag could see stars outside. After rocking side to side, the boat settled, and bobbed gently in the swells.

  Unbuckling his harness, Schag slid out of the cockpit and inspected the boat for leaks. The motor stopped while submerged, and the only light came from two small emergency lanterns. Schag took one from off its mount and studied the deck and the watertight hatch for leakage. The boat was dry.

  Schag heard sobbing and made his way aft. He founded Yolanda and Bill still strapped into their seats. Yolanda held Bill's left hand to her cheek. Tears streamed down her face. He didn't need to look at Bill to know why.

  Bill Butcher was dead.

  Schag choked back his own grief, and made his way forward to the coxswain platform. He climbed into the seat and thumbed the engine start button. After three tries, it kicked in. He engaged the engine and pressed the throttle forward. As the little boat made way, he turned the rudder to port and brought it about until he could see the Mars Venture. The massive superstructure of the ship was splayed open. Flames licked at the remains of the deckhouse. The ship was heavy by the stern, already taking on water and sinking.

  The agent roused himself from the spectacle and turned the boat out to sea, making a long, slow arc around the ship, looking for survivors. He found only debris and patches of burning fuel. With Yolanda's sobs echoing from the stern, he turned the boat toward the harbor entrance and headed for shore.

  CHAPTER 34

  MONDAY

  Shelter Island

  San Diego, California

  1000 Hours

  MORNING BROKE LIKE THE CALM after a storm. The sun shone in a cloudless sky. Only a pillar of black smoke from the still smoldering hulk of the Mars Venture marred the view.

  It had been two days since the massive oil tanker exploded. Once they had reached the harbor, Schag steered the lifeboat to the San Diego Harbor Police docks at the tip of Shelter Island. Harbor policemen were running back and forth, preparing the fire-fighting equipment on their boats to battle the blaze aboard the Mars Venture. Schag was pleased to find the stolen port services boat tied up to the police docks, and the three Gideon mercs—Gott, Kasitz, and, Melito, ship's guard he and Bill left tied up in the cabin of the service boat—handcuffed and sitting in the back of a patrol car. The three had been caught by a harbor police boat alerted to the theft of the workboat.

  Schag and Yolanda spent the two days since telling and retelling the whole story of Bill Butcher, from Gideon's botched attempt to kill him, to Yolanda's kidnapping and subsequent rescue, and ending with the explosion aboard the oil tanker. In trying to explain their possession of the stolen boat, Gott, Kasitz, Mielto unwittingly confirmed the story Yolanda and Schag told investigators in separate interrogations. When the local police and the Coast Guard finished with Schag, it was time for the NCIS's own internal watchdogs to talk to him. After explaining his actions to them, he provided a few answers to questions they hadn't asked.

  When Schag made it back to his hotel at the sub base, he found his room ransacked, his laptop and all other computer equipment missing. Base security and the local police chalked it up to a routine burglary, but Schag knew otherwise. Schag later learned Butcher's motel room had also been searched, and his laptop computer stolen.

  Schag knew there were still loose strings left dangling in this matter, and he was about to pull on them.

  No longer fearing the wrath of Bill Butcher, Bomber Bennett took up residence in a hotel on Shelter Island. Schag walked through the hotel's parking lot holding in his hand a compact disc. The search of his hotel room had been thorough but the information the prowlers sought wasn't there. Expecting such a move, Schag had left the CD with Bill's files on Gordias taped to the bottom of a drawer in Tom Riley's own desk, the same desk Schag had been working at before meeting up with Bill to rescue Yolanda, and the last place he knew anyone connected to Gordias or Gideon would look.

  A flash of his shield convinced the desk clerk to answer Schag's questions about Bennett's whereabouts. Schag found him ensconced in a meeting room with members of his war council, discussing strategies to ensure approval of his appointment as defense secretary. As Schag opened the door, a tableful of hostile eyes turned to inspect him. Two beefy men in ill-fitting business suits rose to stop his entrance, but Schag stopped them with an outstretched arm, a withering look, and a flash of his badge.

  "This is a private meeting," one of them said.

  "Not anymore," said Schag. He strode the length of the table until he reached Bennett, and tossed the disc onto the table in front of him. "Is that what you wanted?"

  Grumbles rose from the men sitting around the table, but Bennett hushed them with a raised hand.

  "Agent Schag, isn't it?" Bennett said, recognizing Schag from the VTC teleconference only days before. He picked up the disc and examined it. "And what is this?"

  "That's what your goons were after when they trashed my hotel room and stole my computer," Schag said. "It's what Bill Butcher died for."

  More complaints rose from the table, but they abruptly stopped when Bennett stood.

  "Gentlemen, let's take a break," he said. "Mr. Schag and I need to speak in private."

  With a smattering of murmurs, the men pushed back their chairs and filed from the room until only the two bodyguards remained.

  "You two also leave," Schag said. "You're both out of jobs now, anyway. Federal agents from Alcohol, Tobacco, and Firearms raided the Gideon compounds here and back east this morning looking for illegal weapons, like AK-47s."

  The two mercenaries glanced at each other but stood motionless, their faces blank. Bennett motioned for them to leave, then sat back down and looked at Schag. "What is this about, agent?"

  "It's about everything on that disc," Schag said. "About how you destroyed Bill Butcher's life over it."

  Bennett raised his eyebrows in innocence and shook his head.

  "Aidan Black told us everything before he died," Schag said. "Or should I say before he was murdered?"

  Bennett simply stared, saying nothing.

  "At first," Schag continued, "I thought Jürgen was trying to kill Bill and hit Black by mistake. Later, I realized with the way Black was stitched across the chest, Jürgen had to be aiming at him, not Bill. I wonder if Black ever suspected you might think of him as a loose end that needed taking care of?"

  "And why would I wish to kill Aidan?"

  "Black and his mercs did all your wet work," Schag said. "They stole the nine billion in American cash from Iraq on your orders. They planted the bomb on the helicopter the state department investigator was using after he found some of the money in Lebanon. They hired that private investigator to find dirt on Commander Clarke because you were afraid her work might interfere with your profits from agueloquine sales. Then they killed him when they thought he could lead me back to Gideon."

  "And why would I care about Gideon? I'm only one of many clients they have," Bennett said, glancing at his watch as if bored.

  "Gordias owns Gideon," Schag said, "and you own Gordias."

  Bennett made a sour face and shook his head. "Agent, I am merely an investor in Gordias, one of many. I'm a capitalist. I have investments in many corporations, many of which have investments in other corporations. That's the American way. Free enterprise."

  "If I remember my college economics correctly," Schag said, "There's a difference between free enterprise and capitalism."

  "Enlighten me," Bennett said.

  "Free enterprise is providing a service for a fee. Karl Marx was the first to coin the word 'capitalism' to describe those who abused the free enterprise system to amass wealth and power, and subjugate the masses. Peop
le like you."

  Bennett's demeanor changed abruptly. He slammed his fist on the table and stood. "Who the hell do you think you are talking to me like that?" he demanded. "Do you understand who I am?"

  "Oh, I know who you are," Schag said, nodding. "And what you are. You're Charles 'Bomber' Bennett, a Vietnam draft dodger, born rich and who grew up to start wars for his own profit. Where I come from, they call that a hypocritical coward."

  Bennett's mouth tightened and his face crimsoned. "I don't have to stand here and be insulted."

  "Then I suggest you sit down," Schag said, kicking Bennett's chair into his knees. Bennett fell back into the chair. "I came here to give you that disc because I want it to end here. Bill Butcher was an idealist. He believed in things many people don't believe in anymore. Like service, sacrifice, and justice. So, he went tilting at windmills. Unfortunately, it was your windmill, and you destroyed his life for it. I wish I were half the man Bill Butcher was."

  The last time Schag saw Yolanda Butcher flashed across his mind. It was only the day before. He had driven her to the airport for a flight that would take her and Bill's ashes to her parents' home in Texas. She gently kissed Schag on the cheek and said good-bye. From her eyes, Schag knew it was the last time he would ever see her. Yolanda would not allow Schag to keep his promise to Bill.

  Schag shook the memory from his head.

  "Well, I want none of that," he said. "I had my fill of sociopaths like you when I was a lawyer on Wall Street."

  Schag recognized the look that flashed across Bennett's face—disbelief that someone would leave a lucrative Wall Street job for the bread-and-butter pay of a government employee. Well, maybe I tilt at windmills, too, he thought.

  "That's why I brought you that disc," Schag explained. "That's everything Bill knew about Gordias and the theft of cash from Iraq. It's yours. Keep it. Just leave me alone."