Barracuda

by Richard Turner

  Makris stopped and looked over at Cardinal. He hesitated for a second then nodded his concurrence. Together, they disarmed the killers and dragged their bodies away from the road. Cardinal dug out his cell phone and made a 9-1-1 call.

  A moment later, they stood over the two wounded men. “You’re not as tough as you think you are,” said Cardinal to the leader.

  “Screw you,” replied the obese man.

  Makris was not going to kill the man. However, that did not prevent him from being rough. In a flash, he shot his right foot into the man’s stomach, causing him to wince in pain. “Wrong thing to say. Now, who are you and who sent you here?”

  “I ain’t answering any of your questions.”

  Makris shrugged his shoulders. He calmly turned his shotgun on the other wounded man. “Answer my questions, or I’ll blow your brains out.”

  The man, who looked to be barely out of his teenage years, stared up at the shotgun aimed at his head.

  “Keep your mouth shut!” cried out the leader.

  Makris cocked the forestock on his shotgun, ejecting an empty shell and loading a live one. “I shan’t ask again.”

  “I didn’t kill the cop…that was Don. He killed her,” stammered the youth.

  “We’ll get to that in due time,” said Makris. “Now, who hired you, and why?”

  28

  Sam’s quad sped through a stream, sending a wall of water up and over the engine compartment. She had driven numerous all-terrain vehicles in the past, and found the one she was currently seated on was the best. Its powerful engine and wide tires helped to keep it moving over the rough ground. She had not let up on the accelerator since she had left the barn, and the quad had barely bounced at all, even when they’d gone over the rocks in the riverbed. Before long, they were back up on the narrow game trail, speeding towards the highway.

  Elena’s knuckles had turned white from hanging on. She turned her head, and said as loudly as she could, “Do you know where you’re going?”

  “Not really,” replied Sam. “I know the road is due west of the cottage, so that’s where I’m heading.”

  “How long do you think it will take to reach the highway?”

  “No more than a couple more minutes at this speed,” replied Sam, as she took a sharp bend in the trail, sending up a plume of dirt and rocks behind the speeding quad.

  A minute later, the quad came out into a clearing, scaring a couple of deer, which ran for cover. Up ahead, Sam could see where the trail led back into the woods. She turned the steering wheel over in her hands and aimed the front of the vehicle at the narrow path.

  Over the roar of the engine, Sam heard the unmistakable crack of a bullet. She turned her head. Parked just inside the tree line was a dirt-covered pickup truck. Two men stood on either side of the vehicle, aiming their rifles at the quad. Without hesitating, Sam spun the wheel around and drove straight into the woods. Branches and twigs battered the sides of the all-terrain vehicle as it forced its way into the forest.

  She cursed herself for not anticipating a cut-off team. Obviously, someone had some military training in their background. The killers had waited, expecting them to make a break the highway via an alternate route.

  Elena cried out when a branch snapped and hit her hard in the head. Had she not been wearing a helmet, she could have suffered a serious injury. Instead, she had only been frightened.

  Sam spotted another trail and steered right for it. She knew the gunmen would not stay where they were. They would surely come after them. Unfortunately, their quad had far less horsepower than a truck. All Sam could do was hope that they could not follow them through the woods in their pickup. The second the quad’s tires gripped the path, Sam jammed her foot down harder on the accelerator, willing the vehicle to speed up.

  She was not sure which way she was driving anymore. All she cared about was losing the armed men.

  “Look out!” yelled Elena when she saw the pickup truck bash its way out of the woods and onto the trail right in front of them.

  Sam’s heart leaped in her chest. She had barely enough time to steer the quad off the trail and around the truck blocking their path. The sound of bullets hitting the spare tire mounted on the back of their vehicle made her duck down as she drove. She wished that she had a gun, just to even the odds.

  “They’re coming,” warned Elena, looking behind them.

  Sam prayed that they could make it to the road before the killers caught up with them. A couple of seconds later, the pickup truck rammed into the back of the quad, causing it to jump forward. She was about to turn off the path and head deeper into the woods, when they burst out into another clearing. In front of them was a steep hill.

  A plan instantly jelled in Sam’s mind. Rather than run for cover, she drove straight at the hill.

  “What are you doing?” Elena asked, her voice full of fear.

  “Hang on,” called out Sam, as she kept the quad racing toward the incline. It soon began to climb up the steep slope. “Are they following us?”

  Elena glanced back. “Yes.”

  “Good,” replied Sam.

  Behind them, the pickup slowed, very quickly finding itself unable to climb the sandy hill as easily as the all-terrain vehicle.

  Sam could see the top of the hill approaching. “Where’s the truck?” she asked Elena.

  “About twenty meters back.”

  “Okay. Pray that this foolish scheme works,” said Sam as she turned the wheel over and drove the quad at a precarious angle along the side of the hill.

  The driver of the pickup saw the move and tried to follow. However, unlike the all-terrain vehicle, the pickup truck’s center of gravity was higher. Slowly, but steadily, the truck began to slide on the slope, its tires fighting a losing battle. With a loud crash of compacting metal and shattering glass, gravity won the fight, and the pickup rolled over.

  Sam watched what was happening and turned the quad down the hill. They sped past the truck as it tumbled, end over end, until it came to a sudden, jarring halt at the bottom of the slope. Dust and smoke covered the pickup. There were no signs of movement from the truck. Sam fought her inherent medical training and the urge to stop and see if anyone was still alive in the crushed cab. She still had Mrs. Milos to protect.

  Sam turned the wheel and headed for one of the trails. Less than a minute later, the woods opened up, and the highway came into view. Both women could have leaped for joy when they spotted a military vehicle parked on the side of the road. Sam pulled up right next to the truck. Two soldiers were busy changing a flat tire.

  Sam turned off the engine, climbed out of the quad, removed her helmet, and walked over to the soldiers. “Boy, am I glad to see you guys,” said Sam.

  A young corporal saw Sam, smiled and said. “I think it’s the other way around.”

  “We need your help. But before I explain, would you have a cell phone that I could use? I forgot mine back at the lodge.”

  The corporal nodded and handed her a phone.

  Sam dialed Cardinal’s number. She had never been so happy to hear his voice. They quickly traded stories and agreed to remain where they were until the police arrived. There was going to be hell to pay for the murder of a police officer. The authorities would want answers. No one was flying to Albany any time soon.

  29

  Container Ship - Patricio

  South Pacific Ocean

  Mitchell looked out over the ship’s railing. The cold, dark waters of the Pacific Ocean stretched out as far as the eye could see, mirroring the somber, gray skies above. Behind him, Jackson stood with his arms crossed, glaring at the cordon of armed men that guarded the two prisoners.

  Mitchell felt a chill run down his back when he saw Beck walk out onto the helipad. He could not decide if it was the cold wind coming off the ocean, or the evil glint in Beck’s eyes that bothered him. Mitchell could never understand how men who had loyally served their countries for years could so easily turn against them for mon
ey. He shook his head and turned to face Jackson. “Nice day for a flight, wouldn’t you say?”

  Jackson shrugged. “If you say so. I can’t wait to get back onto dry land give our host a taste of his own medicine.”

  “All in good time.” Ryan pitched his voice lower. “For now we have to play ball and hope that Yuri is already looking for us.”

  “And if he isn’t? Then what?”

  “We’ll cross that bridge when we get to it.”

  The distant sound of a helicopter’s rotors cutting through the air ended the conversation. Both men turned to look up. A couple of seconds later, the running lights of a helicopter came into view.

  “Step back,” growled one of the guards.

  Mitchell and Jackson moved off the helipad and turned away, as the powerful downdraft from the descending helicopter washed over the pad. The sound of the engines drowned out everything else. Mitchell felt a hand on his arm. He turned and saw one of the guards motioning for him to follow him. Mitchell tapped Jackson. Together they walked towards the yellow, squat-looking Eurocopter. Mitchell, Jackson, and the two men climbed into the back of the helicopter, while Beck got into the co-pilot’s seat up front. To ensure they did not try to escape, Mitchell and Jackson were first cuffed together, and then handcuffed to their seats.

  “Trusting lot,” said Mitchell to Jackson.

  The door to the crew compartment slammed closed. The whine of the helicopter’s powerful engine steadily grew as the Eurocopter slowly lifted up off the helipad. Within seconds, it was climbing high up into the sky. The pilot banked his craft over and headed straight for the mainland.

  Mitchell sat back in his seat and let out a deep sigh. He had no doubt that his captors intended to torture then kill them. For once, he wished that Jackson were someplace else, safe and sound. He had a family that needed him. If Mitchell was going to die, he wanted to do so alone. “Hey, Ryan, what time do you think it is back home?” said Jackson, interrupting Ryan’s dark musings.

  “I think there’s an hour or two’s time difference,” replied Mitchell. He was about to ask Jackson why he cared, when he caught sight of his friend’s wristwatch. In an instant, Mitchell’s despondency evaporated. Jackson was wearing a company watch. Mitchell had foolishly forgotten to wear his. Built inside was a tiny transponder capable of being detected by satellites in orbit high above the Earth. With only a twenty-four-hour lifespan, Jackson had waited until the very last second before boarding the helicopter to turn it on.

  Fighting to keep the grin off his face, Mitchell looked out the window of the chopper as it flew towards the lights of a small fishing village in the distance. It was now a race. Would Yuri find them before their captors killed them? Yuri had never let his teammates down before. Mitchell knew that once Yuri knew where they were, he would move heaven and Earth to get to them. With this glimmer of hope to sustain him, Mitchell channeled his energy into bracing himself for the coming interrogation, which, knowing their captors, he expected to be brutal and sadistic.

  30

  Polaris Headquarters

  Albany, New York

  Mike Donaldson rubbed the sleep from his eyes. The muscles on the back of his neck were so tight, it felt like they were going to snap.

  It was unbelievable how things had gone so spectacularly wrong over the past twenty-four hours. First, there was the attempt on Mrs. Milos’ life, which—thankfully—had failed. But now he also had people missing. Donaldson stood looking, unseeing, out a window, his mind thousands of kilometers away. Yuri had called him and passed on what had happened, and that he was heading to Punta Arenas to see if he could find and rescue his colleagues. Donaldson had not left his office in the past day. He ate infrequently, and slept for only a couple hours at a time on the couch in the room, with a phone right beside his head should anyone call. Fahimah and Jen, naturally, had not left either, both women wanting to spend every minute trying to help the rest of the team.

  After calling General O’Reilly, who told him that he would wrap things up as quick as he could in Seattle and return home, Donaldson had phoned a couple of his friends to ask for contacts in the Chilean military who might be able to supply them with information. All he could do now was wait.

  There was a knock on the open door.

  Donaldson turned about. Fahimah and Jen stood there, Jen holding a tray that contained three cups of coffee and several Danish. Both women smiled at Donaldson as if they had just won the state lottery. “Come in.”

  “We have news, Mike.” Jen placed the tray down on a table then handed Donaldson a cup.

  “What is it?”

  “An hour ago Nate’s transponder went live,” Fahimah said. “The signal initially came from just off the southern coast of Chile. They must have been on a ship.”

  “Just as Yuri told us they would be,” added Jen.

  “And now?” asked Donaldson.

  “The signal is still moving,” said Fahimah, “and it is heading straight towards Punta Arenas. Yuri’s contact called it correctly.”

  Jen said, “I just got off the phone with Yuri. He is already in Punta Arenas and is waiting for us to give him the coordinates to find Mitchell and Jackson.”

  Donaldson wearily smiled. “This is all good news. However, we know nothing about Yuri’s mysterious contact. What did you learn from Yuri about the man?”

  Jen and Fahimah exchanged a look. “I’m sorry. With everything going on, we forgot to ask,” said Fahimah.

  “That’s all right. I’m not sure I would have remembered to ask, either. Next time you’re on the phone with Yuri, try to get him to tell you if he trusts this man. Right about now, unless they work for us, I’m not going to trust anyone.”

  “Are we going to bring the Chilean police in on this?” Jen asked.

  Donaldson shook his head. “If things are as I suspect, the local cops will be in the back pocket of the people involved. If Yuri feels he needs them, I’ll make the call to our Embassy and see what they can do for us. Until then, I think it’s better that we handle things ourselves.”

  “Have you heard from Sam and Gordon?” asked Jen.

  “Yes, they’re still being interviewed by the Canadian authorities,” replied Donaldson. He took a long sip of his coffee. “Sam said she’d call back later today with an update.”

  “At least they’re safe and sound,” said Fahimah.

  “For now.”

  “What do you mean by that?” Jen asked.

  “Mrs. Milos still intends on attending the conference in Portugal. Sam believes that she will ask her and Gordon to accompany her there as added security, just in case the terrorists make another attempt on her life.”

  “What does the general think about that request?” asked Fahimah.

  “For now he’s willing to go along with it. It’s not unreasonable. Besides, the ship where the meeting will take place will be surrounded by Portuguese Special Forces. It is highly unlikely that they would try anything until the conference is over. After that, Mrs. Milos will be on her way back to Greece and will become their responsibility.”

  Jen’s phone buzzed. She checked her messages. “Looks like the Bundesarchiv has found something.”

  Donaldson had totally forgotten about their requests for information on the missing submarine. Doing something constructive would take all of their minds off the waiting game they found themselves trapped in. “Okay then, let’s get back to work. Fahimah, continue to monitor the signal and keep Yuri in the loop. I want to know the instant they stop moving.”

  “Can do,” replied Fahimah. “I’ll also do some digging into the Hyperborea Shipping line and see what I can find out about them.”

  “Jen, please see what the German authorities have sent you. Any clue, no matter how small, may give us an advantage over the people we are running up against,” said Donaldson.

  “Got it,” Jen replied before taking a nibble of her pastry.

  Jen and Fahimah stood, grabbed their coffees and left to get to work.
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  Donaldson felt a bit better than he had before the women had walked into his office. He no longer thought he was going to be sick from all the stress. Instead, he just had an upset stomach. The older he got, it seemed the less he was able to deal with the nerve-wracking life or death decisions he once had been able to make. Donaldson could not wait for all of his team to be back home safe, and the mission behind them. He was beginning to wonder if O’Reilly had made the right choice in promoting him. It was a conversation he planned to have with the general when the time was right.

  31

  Punta Arenas, Chile

  Ryan Mitchell bolted awake. The noxious smell of ammonia stung his nostrils. His heart raced wildly. He blinked his eyes, trying to focus on the dark shape standing in front of him. Slowly, the image of a man appeared. In his hands was an open packet of smelling salts.

  “Now the next one,” said a voice from somewhere in the dark.

  Mitchell took a deep breath, trying to clear the fog from his mind. Behind him, he heard Jackson cough loudly, then spout of a stream of invectives at their captors. At least we’re still together, thought Mitchell. He tried to move, but found that he was tied securely to a chair. His arms were behind his back, and his feet were tied to the legs of the metal chair he was sitting on. He tried to recall what had happened when they landed in Punta Arenas. Mitchell vaguely remembered getting out of the helicopter and walking towards a waiting truck. After that, he couldn’t remember a thing.

  He shivered. The room they were being held in was cold. He doubted that it was much above freezing. It was dark all around him, except for the bright light shining in his face. He did not doubt that Jackson had one on him as well. It was an old interrogation trick. Your interrogators could see you, but you could not see them.