I’m good. More later.
He put the phone back in his pocket.
David passed Chinatown and Gilbert Park then made a right turn toward the water. The marina was a little north of the piers with the big commercial ships. He drove through the gates and along the dock to pier nine, which was the last one. A mix of motor yachts and sailing vessels docked here, various pleasure craft the idle rich could not only afford to buy but also to maintain and park here at the marina. David’s father had been fond of repeating a saying he’d heard about boats. A boat is a hole in the water you throw money into.
If that were true, then Dante Payne’s motor yacht Avenger was the biggest hole in this part of the water, although David didn’t doubt Payne had enough money to fill it. The Avenger was docked along the left side of the pier, taking up most of the available space, her stern facing toward him. He parked across from the pier and killed the lights.
It was getting late, and the marina was mostly deserted, but the Avenger’s lights were on and a trio of men carried boxes and bags up a short gangplank. Charlie’s assessment of the situation looked solid.
David considered it from Payne’s point of view. Sooner or later the police would find David. Eventually Amy would have to surface. Payne could hide out in comfort on his yacht in the middle of Hudson Bay until everything blew over. The clock was working for Payne and against David.
Payne would have men with him. How many? How good? David could only make lousy guesses based on incomplete information.
So yeah, business as usual. Just like Charlie said.
The men who’d carried aboard the provisions came back down the gangplank and began casting off ropes. David needed to make his move, and he needed to time it just right. There was a swimming platform at the stern, one of those flat landings for zero entry into the water. That would be his best access point.
They were pulling up the gangplank now. The engines turned over, and water churned behind the yacht.
They were leaving.
David took the Airweight and Gina’s little automatic out of his Windbreaker pockets and dropped them on the car floor. They weren’t the sort of weapons he found particularly useful, and he didn’t want them clanking around his pockets if he had to move fast.
He checked the magazines in his automatic pistols and the load in the shotgun. He scanned the dock, and when he didn’t see anyone, he got out of the Dodge.
The yacht picked up speed, and David jogged down the pier after it. It would have to make a sharp left-hand turn when it reached the end of the pier, and that would be his best shot. If he didn’t time the jump exactly right, the result would be very embarrassing and very wet.
The yacht started its turn, and David ran faster.
He hit the end of the pier and launched himself, just as the stern of the ship passed below him. He easily flew the distance, holding the shotgun close to his chest, and hit the swimming deck, tucked and rolled. He came up with his back against the large transom. He paused to listen, but couldn’t hear anything over the engines.
He touched the Bluetooth, made sure it was still in place. “Charlie.”
“I’m here.”
“I’m aboard. I’m going to keep the channel open, so you can follow along.”
“Understood. I’m not going anywhere.”
So, you’re Dante Payne on a luxury yacht. Where do you go? Up on deck to get some air? Down below to get a drink? Do you retire to your stateroom with some floozy to blow off steam?
It was a big boat, but it could get really small really fast if they all came at him at once. He stood and peered over the transom. He didn’t see anyone, but he discovered that the transom lowered to allow the launch of inflatable dinghies with small outboard motors. There were also a couple of Jet Skis.
Payne would surround himself with his hired muscle. Maybe there was a way David could get rid of a few. Even the odds a bit.
“Charlie, can you pull up the specs on this yacht?”
* * *
Yousef stood next to the Avenger’s captain on the bridge. “You’re on course? All is well?”
“Up the East River as you directed,” the captain said. “You still want to go to North Brother Island? Nothing is there but abandoned buildings and birds.”
“Good,” Yousef said. “I want someplace secluded.”
Yousef had assured Dante Payne that David Sparrow would be captured alive and interrogated. He would be made to tell the whereabouts of the flash drive, if anyone else had seen the contents of the flash drive, and where his wife could be located. Afterward, he would be cut into many pieces and the teeth would be pulled from his head to prevent identification via dental records. His remains would be scattered, never to be found. Yousef would gleefully attend to these matters personally.
Yousef knew Sparrow wouldn’t give up any information about his wife. His certainty stemmed from the fact that in this respect Sparrow was a man like Yousef. No amount of pain would make him betray the woman he loved although Yousef would still make the best effort possible to force Sparrow to talk. One still needed to go through the steps after all.
Yousef would have given anything, endured any torment, to have saved his wife and daughters. Sparrow had taken this opportunity from him, had assured him his family was safe. Lies. Through his connections, Yousef had learned the fate of his family, raped and humiliated before finally being butchered. Sparrow would suffer, and before he died, he would be made to understand that his wife would suffer the same fate as Yousef’s family.
If there were time and opportunity perhaps he would also hunt down the man’s children.
But …
Best not to think too far ahead.
For now it sufficed that his man back at the marina had seen Sparrow arrive, park and board the Avenger. Even now Sparrow crouched behind the transom, preparing to make some move, unaware that preemptive actions had already been taken. Reagan and a half-dozen of Payne’s guns for hire waited hidden where they could easily capture Sparrow if he showed himself. If Sparrow resisted, they would likely suffer losses, but the men had been given explicit instructions to take their target alive.
And if some of Payne’s men were killed, then so be it. That’s what fodder was for after all.
A red light blazed angrily on the control panel next to the ship’s wheel, accompanied by a harsh alarm buzz. The captain immediately throttled back, and Yousef felt the ship slow.
“What are you doing?”
“Somebody’s lowered the transom,” the captain said. “We’ve got to stop, or we’ll take on water.”
He knows. Somehow Sparrow knows we’re setting a trap for him.
Reagan burst onto the bridge. His pistol was drawn. “He’s getting away!”
Reagan turned and ran, and Yousef followed, drawing one of his own Glocks. They ran down the portside all the way to the stern where four of Payne’s gunmen looked out across the water. Yousef followed their gaze and saw one of the inflatable dinghies motoring away fast, skipping along the waves.
“Shit,” Yousef spat.
With the transom down, the water was ankle deep in the launch area at the stern of the ship. Yousef jerked the anchor straps loose from one of the Jet Skis and floated it out in front of him. He threw a leg over like he was mounting a horse and cranked the engine.
“Take charge here,” Yousef told Reagan. He pointed at one of Payne’s men. “Get on the other Jet Ski. You other two launch the other dinghy and follow as fast as you can.”
Yousef didn’t wait to see if they obeyed. He cranked the accelerator and shot from the stern of the Avenger after Sparrow. He had a good lead, but the Jet Ski was slowly gaining. Water sprayed his face. He glanced back and saw the other Jet Ski following. It was too dark to make out the second dinghy, but the Avenger’s running lights glowed brightly across the black water.
He faced forward again, raised his pistol as he steered the Jet Ski one-handed. On dry land, he would have been within range, but bobbing o
n the East River made the shot difficult. He forced himself to be patient, and a minute later he pulled alongside.
Yousef lifted the pistol, aimed at the broadest part of Sparrow’s back. It would be easy, and maybe the smart thing. Kill him now. Finish it. But Yousef was too in love with his plan for Sparrow, too eager to inflict long, drawn-out revenge upon the man he’d hated for so long. For his wife and for his daughters, it would go hard and slow for David Sparrow.
He shifted his aim from Sparrow’s back to the sputtering little outboard that propelled the dinghy. He fired once and sparks flew, a ricochet. He squeezed off two more shots, and the outboard coughed and belched smoke and died.
Yousef noticed Sparrow hadn’t flinched at all at the sound of gunfire.
Without the motor, the dinghy eased to a stop, the current spinning it around. Yousef blinked at Sparrow’s hunched figure.
Only it wasn’t Sparrow.
A Windbreaker had been draped over a pile of life jackets, something stuffed in the sleeves for arms, a small round dive buoy with a watch cap stretched over it.
“Son of a bitch!”
The other Jet Ski pulled up behind him.
Yousef pointed at the dinghy and the pile of life jackets. “Bring that back with you.”
He turned his own Jet Ski around and sped back toward the Avenger.
CHAPTER TWENTY-ONE
Charlie had been spot on when he’d pulled up the specs for this make and model of luxury yacht, and he’d been able to talk David through exactly what he’d wanted to do. Lowering the transom had indeed sent an alarm to the bridge, which resulted in bringing the ship to a full stop.
David had hastily built the dummy out of life jackets and his Windbreaker, a buoy and a watch cap, yanked the cord on the little outboard and sent it across the water. He’d barely had time to fold himself into the storage locker where he’d found the life jackets when Payne’s goons came stomping around the elevated lounge area, splashing and yelling. He couldn’t see them, but they’d obviously spotted the departing dinghy.
There was a brief noisy frenzy during which David deduced they were preparing the Jet Skis and the other dinghy for a hasty pursuit. Engines cranked, and somebody yelled instructions. Soon the Jet Ski engines faded. He heard a man say something to another, then shallow splashes as one of them moved away.
David held still, listened, clutching the shotgun to his chest. He was pretty sure one of them was still out there. He hoped there weren’t two because unless they were standing together, the situation could rapidly get awkward.
He waited twenty more seconds but didn’t hear anything helpful.
David cracked the locker door, which allowed him to see back toward the elevated lounge but didn’t see anyone there. He opened the door and slipped out of the locker, pivoting toward the stern, the shotgun raised and ready.
A man stood smoking a cigarette. He was looking out over the water, but turned to look at David as he approached. For a long second, the man seemed not to understand what was happening, puffing the cigarette. A moment later his eyes went wide as he realized David wasn’t somebody he recognized, and his hand went into his jacket for a gun.
But David was already moving forward fast. He brought the butt of the shotgun down hard, smashing it across the guy’s mouth. Blood and teeth flew, and the guy spun back into the water. David watched him float a second, satisfied he wasn’t coming back.
He hit the button to raise the transom, and an electric motor hummed to life, the transom moving slowly back into position with a clank. He paused to toss a coil of yellow rope used for dive buoys over his shoulder.
David headed up the stairs to the elevated lounge, stepping lightly. He wanted to stay quiet as long as possible, but he gripped the shotgun, ready to cut loose. It would have to get bloody eventually.
He moved along the starboard side and climbed a short set of stairs to the bridge, entering quickly.
The captain saw him, eyes popping. He opened his mouth to say something, but David shut him up by raising the shotgun.
“Start the engines,” David told him. “Get us underway.”
The captain hesitated, but a glance down the gaping barrels of the twelve gauge convinced him. He took the ship’s wheel in one hand and the throttle in the other. “What course?”
“Upriver.”
The captain turned the wheel slightly and pushed the throttle forward to half speed.
David looked ahead of them at the river, saw something low and lumpy ahead on the water. “What’s that ahead of us?”
“A garbage barge,” the captain said. “Don’t worry. It’s in a slow lane. I can go around it easy enough.”
“Head for it,” David said.
“Head for it?”
David jammed the shotgun into the captain’s ribs.
“Jesus.” The captain brought the ship in line right behind the barge. It was still some distance away, but the Avenger closed slowly.
“How long to catch up to the barge at this speed?”
The captain considered. “Seven or eight minutes.”
David grabbed the throttle and shoved it forward from half speed to full. He felt the vibration of the engines grow more pronounced beneath his feet as the ship plowed the waves forward.
“Are you trying to kill us?”
David motioned with the shotgun for the captain to step back and sit in his chair. The captain obeyed, and David tied him securely with the rope.
“You’ve got to listen to me,” the captain said. “We have three minutes. Maybe a little more before we hit. I’m not sure what you want to happen, but at this speed it’s not going to be pretty.”
“Whatever happens, you’ll have a good view of it,” David said. “Charlie.”
“Here,” Charlie said in David’s ear.
“Give me a countdown from three minutes. Let me know every thirty seconds.”
“You got it.”
David left the bridge, taking an interior spiral staircase to the deck below, the shotgun up and ready to blast anything that moved. His heart beat hard and fast like it was trying to get out of his chest.
Calm down. Breathe in and out. Take care of business.
He was in a cabin with a small table, charts, a coffeemaker … maybe some kind of office for the captain. He moved aft, as quickly as he could, sighting down the shotgun barrel, ready for anything that might pop out at him. He exited though a hatch, moved through a breezeway and into another hatch. A big room with an open-floor plan, low couches and a bar and an air hockey table. Pinball machines. Some kind of party area.
“Two minutes and thirty seconds,” Charlie said in his ear.
Shit.
The Avenger was a big boat. David regretted pushing the throttle to full speed. He sped up his search in spite of the risk. Down another staircase to the deck below, a hall with doors on either side, presumably sleeping cabins.
He kicked open the doors to the first three, the sinking feeling creeping into his gut that he’d made a mistake.
“Two minutes and counting,” Charlie said.
The corridor on this deck spanned the length of the ship, and David was already approaching the stairway at the other end. He’d come up empty. There was no doubt now. Payne wasn’t here. Sure, there were still a few places on the yacht he hadn’t checked, but his gut instinct told him something had gone wrong.
“One minute, thirty seconds and counting.”
He paused at the stairs leading back to the deck above. Time to get off this overgrown sardine can before—
The pressure of cold metal at the base of David’s skull. He froze. David knew what a pistol felt like.
“Don’t move,” said the voice behind him. “Don’t blink. Don’t even fart.”
David caught the accent. “Chechen?”
“Smart,” he said. “But maybe not so fucking smart, eh? I was told you were a real fucking badass. You move, I blast a hole through your fucking skull, badass. You get me?”
&nb
sp; “You’re the boss,” David said.
“Damn right. Toss down that scattergun.”
David did as he’d been told.
The cold pressure against the base of his skull vanished, and the Chechen said, “Turn around.”
David turned. The man was younger than he’d thought, but there was still a cold experience in his eyes. He was close enough to shoot David point-blank but had stepped back just far enough to make going for his gun a bad idea.
“Take out the pistols,” he said. “Very slowly. Forefinger and thumb. One at a time.”
David plucked each pistol from each shoulder holster one at a time and dropped them on the deck as instructed. The Chechen kicked them back skittering down the corridor.
“One minute and counting,” Charlie said in the Bluetooth.
“Pull the pant legs up,” the Chechen told him.
David did it, exposing the ankle holster and the .380.
“Get rid of it.”
David unstrapped the holster and tossed it aside.
“You’re a lucky man.” The Chechen had his pistol pointed straight at David’s face. “They want you alive. Me? I don’t much care. They told me to be careful of you. Because you’re a bad man. I guess you’re clever. Maybe. I’m not impressed.”
“I’m out of practice,” David said. “But I can load a dishwasher better than anyone you know.”
“I don’t get that joke, bad man,” the Chechen said. “But points for trying with a gun in your face.”
“What’s Payne paying you?” David asked. “Maybe I can do better.”
The Chechen laughed. “This is Payne’s boat. That should give you an idea how big his wallet is.”
Good point.
“Thirty seconds and counting,” Charlie said.
“So what happens now?” David asked.
He motioned up the stairs with his pistol. “Not up to me. We go topside and the boss can decide. You stay well ahead of me out of arm’s reach, you understand?”
David counted down in his head. Twelve … eleven … ten …
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