Perry grinned. “Nah. He’s like a brusque old grandpa. His bark is way worse than his—”
“Damn it all to hell!” Moore exploded onto the deck like a prize bull out of a rodeo gate. “My life can go suck a dick.”
Burke laughed. “What’s the matter, Chief? The ex-wife upping your alimony?”
“You’d have to specify which ex-wife,” Perry said.
“Keep your little jokes to yourself,” Moore growled. “That was Dot on the horn. It seems that innocent little recon mission designed to train Charlie Perkins has the potential to turn into a real shit storm. We’ve got to head back.”
“Well, that blows,” Burke said. “Any other details?”
Moore shook his head. “That’s all I got out of her. She wasn’t talkative and then I lost the call. But that’s not the worst of it. While I was down there, I checked the weather. Freak storm headed our way. Looks like it could be a bad one.” Moore shielded his eyes against the water’s glare and then pointed at the horizon. “You can see it rolling in.”
Burke followed the point and saw dark storm clouds gathering.
“Perry, you stay at the wheel,” Moore said. “Burke, you and I will get started reefing the sails.”
Burke raised an eyebrow. “Do what to the what-now?”
“Reef the sails. Come on, it’s about time you learned something.”
6
The Wolf was beginning to feel that the drive was taking an inordinately long time, and Zmaj knew it. He was hoping it would set the man off-base enough to enable him to extract a little more information. The Wolf was clearly cautious about what he revealed, answering in masked responses and partially cloaked details. But Zmaj had dealt with men of this type before. Not, perhaps, of this caliber, but certainly of the ilk.
Suddenly, the Wolf said, “Are you sure about these coordinates?”
“I think I should know where I live, don’t you?”
“As a matter of fact, I know every inch of County Dublin. We’re nearing Drimnagh.”
“We are.”
“I wouldn’t have thought a man of your… stature would be staying in one of the hovels there. Or at a farm.”
“Neither actually.”
“Well, then where? There isn’t much else in Drimnagh. I would like to know where we’re going.”
The hint of an aggravated growl in the Wolf’s voice was musical to Zmaj. “Just follow the GPS.”
They rode in silence for several minutes, then came over a slight rise. In the distance was an imposing stone structure, by far the largest building in the village.
“The castle. Drimnagh Castle.”
“Ugh. By no means.”
“Good, I thought that a little much for even you.”
“Oh no. You misunderstand. That’s exactly where we’re going, but when I purchased it, I gave it a name much more fitting with my character. Mr. Wolf, welcome to Castle Grimstark.”
Wolf slammed on the brakes and the Rolls shuddered to a lumbering stop on the gravel drive, which led to the eight-hundred-year-old building. He turned and looked directly at Zmaj, allowing him to see his face full on for the first time.
“You bought a castle. This castle.”
“A man needs a place to lay his head at the end of a long day.”
“And why rent an apartment when one can as easily purchase a castle,” Wolf mused.
Zmaj smiled. “Says the man who lives in an abandoned factory.”
“Oh, there’s more to that factory than meets the eye. Perhaps one day I will have the pleasure of properly showing you around the facility.”
“I look forward to it,” Zmaj lied. He had no desire to ever visit the factory again. It reeked of provincialism. He much preferred both the accommodations of and the statement made by his castle. “In the meantime, I will introduce you to my abode. I think you will find it both enlightening and comfortable.”
“Castles are notoriously drafty. I trust you’ve taken care of that?”
“The structure has been entirely modernized, I assure you. From the inside, you’d never know you were living in a centuries-old building.”
The Rolls moved forward and soon they were in front of the castle tower. Even before the car had come fully to a stop, a man was hustling from the castle. He stood beside the car and, once it had halted, opened the back door. Zmaj half stepped, half rolled out, and assumed the vertical with more than a little effort.
The Wolf exited the driver’s seat, stood up, and stretched. The man who had opened Zmaj’s door looked quizzical.
“Where’s Hodges?”
Before Zmaj could answer, the Wolf said, “Hodges came to a fork in the road and took the wrong turn.”
The man frowned, confused, and looked to Zmaj for direction, who shook his head in an attempt to warn the man against further questions. Unfortunately, the man seemed to have flunked out of Social Cues 101.
“And who might you be?” he demanded. “And why are you driving the Rolls?”
The Wolf’s voice lowered. “Zmaj, put a leash on your minion or the afterlife won’t be as lonely for Hodges as it once was.”
The man visibly started. “Hodges is dead?”
Wolf reached into his jacket for a weapon, but Zmaj barked out a warning. Wolf scowled.
“I don’t like the direction this is going, Zmaj. No man tells me not to draw my weapon.”
“If you draw that pistol, you’ll be dead before you get off a shot.”
The Wolf laughed and gestured around at the empty darkness. “And who’s going to take the shot? Is this your resident fast draw expert?”
“This? No, no, this my head valet, Higgins. No, I was referring to the approximately thirty combined gun barrels that are even now pointed directly at your center mass.”
“I’m afraid you’ll have to back up that claim, Mr. Zmaj. I don’t like being sold a bill of goods. Makes me feel as if you think I’m someone you can toy with.”
Instead of answering, Zmaj clapped his hands together twice in quick succession. Almost immediately, small lights began flicking on, some in the courtyard and some around the castle, including the top of the structure.
“Castle guards,” Zmaj said. “They are turning on the lamps of their tactical headgear. And let’s not forget that.” He motioned to the top of the castle tower, where a larger light had turned on, illuminating a reinforced gun emplacement with the deadly maws of two heavy caliber weapons jutting from protective metal shielding.
“Very nice,” the Wolf said, looking genuinely impressed.
“You haven’t even seen the mortar installations or the anti-aircraft guns in the rear.” Zmaj clapped twice more and, as one, the lights turned off.
“I would definitely say you’ve taken castle defense technology beyond what Drimnagh ever saw in its history.”
“Did I not say the entire structure had been modernized?”
“Yes, but I thought you meant the interior decorations or perhaps central heating.”
“Well, I’m happy you like it,” Zmaj said. “This bodes well for the remainder of the tour.”
The Wolf grinned, the expression looking more malevolent than merry. “I can’t wait to see it.”
Zmaj began walking forward to the main entrance and the Wolf followed.
“Park the car, won’t you, Higgins?” Zmaj said to the man who’d come from the castle. “And then serve something light in the library.”
“Yes, Mr. Zmaj.”
As they walked, Zmaj regaled the Wolf with little tidbits of information regarding the castle. They passed under the large archway and into the tunnel area and Zmaj pointed upward.
“You might notice a small opening overhead. That’s known as a murder hole. Ancient defenders would use that opening to drop things on invaders, like boiling oil or water, rocks, arrows, whatever they had.”
“Clever,” the Wolf said. “Although I can’t imagine it would be of much use these days. I would think you’d have that covered up.”
“But wouldn’t that destroy this part of the castle?”
“No. I’ve had the tunnel walls reinforced specifically to withstand that type of explosion. Additionally, the grenades have been modified and set to dispense in a manner that would focus the blast out toward the courtyard. This also maximizes the chances of shrapnel injuries to any support troops not yet in the tunnel.”
“Oh, I like the way your mind works, Zmaj,” the Wolf said. “I must admit I thought the stories about you to be rather...shall we say, silly. But you’ve gone a long way toward rectifying that impression.”
Zmaj bristled at both the word “silly” and the phrase “gone a long way toward,” which suggested the Wolf still harbored some of that early notion. But now wasn’t the time to set the man straight. Everything was going according to Zmaj’s plan to reel in the legendary operative: assert power, withdraw in the face of countermove, passively show off assets. If Zmaj knew anything about human nature, and he liked to think that he did, it wouldn’t be long before the Wolf began suggesting they work together—and thinking it had been his idea all along. At that point, Zmaj knew he would have the man in his grips. Blind loyalty was a pipe dream with the Wolf, but loyalty born from mutual respect might be possible. For now, Zmaj was comfortable making the Wolf feel as if a partnership was simply a matter of mutual benefit.
7
Dot took the phone from her ear and turned to face the women and Connor. “Well, that was even less satisfying than usual.”
“Is it true that he always hangs up without saying goodbye?” Charlie asked.
“Yes,” answered all three women in unison, with Dot adding, “But this time, I’m pretty sure his sat phone dropped the call, as he was in mid-sentence when it ended.”
“What’d he say?” asked Lyndsey.
“Well, after a hearty round of cursing us out that absolutely warmed my heart, he said they’d cut their pleasure cruise short and that he’d ‘fucking contact us when he sailed the fucking boat into fucking Dublin Bay.’”
“Ouch,” said Adabelle. “He doesn’t sound overly thrilled about the prospect.”
“On the money, Brown Eyes. But that’s not the part that’s got my spidey-senses tingling.”
Connor raised an eyebrow at the comic book reference. Unfortunately for him, Dot noticed. “What’s the matter, O’Dickstain? Shocked that the old lady is so hip?”
“Spider-Man isn’t really cutting edge,” Connor said.
Dot glared at him for several moments, and Lyndsey suspected a dozen unspoken belittlements had formed in her mind and she was trying to pick the most withering. But instead of responding, Dot turned back to the women and said,
“His last words were ‘I don’t like the looks…’ and then the phone went dead.”
Lyndsey let out a choking laugh. “That sentence probably ended with ‘...of Burke in a Speedo.’”
“Well, that too,” Dot said, allowing a half-smile. “But it sounded more like he’d spotted some kind of trouble. I dialed back but got the fast busy signal that means something’s not working right.”
Adabelle nodded. “Yeah, that is a little disconcerting.”
Dot focused on Adabelle. In a voice not lowered even a little, she said, “Don’t tell the others, but you’re my favorite.” Then, as if nothing had happened, she continued, “I guess we’ll have to hear what young Connor has to say, assuming he can say anything that doesn’t sound like a farting leprechaun, and then plot our own course.”
THE STORM HIT AS QUICKLY as it developed. No sooner had Moore and Burke finished reefing the sails than rainwater began pelting the three men. Moore went below and returned wearing a rain slicker and a life vest. He held two more of each, which he passed over to Perry and Burke. As they struggled into them, Moore produced two sections of yellow, crimped material with hardware at each end.
“What are those?” Burke asked, having to shout to be heard over the increasing wind.
Moore handed one over. “Tethers. To keep you landlubbers from getting washed or thrown overboard.”
“Is that possible?”
“Without these, it is. You’ll be surprised at the ride you’re in for. These are good for nine hundred pounds, so you should be okay. Just watch yourself and keep ahold of the railings. And listen for my orders.”
“Yes, sir,” Burke said, meaning it sincerely. “But I only see one more tether.”
“I don’t need one; I’ll be fine.” After giving Perry his tether, Moore reclaimed the wheel.
The wind had picked up, creating a gray, angry sea that rolled and pitched menacingly. The rain was pouring now, coming in great sheets of water, affecting vision and giving Burke a feeling of isolation.
“Watch out and hang on!”
At Moore’s shout, Burke turned his head to see a large wave racing toward them. The boat swung into a turn as the wave hit and lifted it into the air. A moment later, the bottom dropped out and the boat fell like a rock into the trough.
Burke leaned over and shouted to Perry, “I think it’s getting worse!”
“Definitely! Where the hell did this thing come from?”
Moore stood at the wheel like Captain Ahab, his face a mask of rugged determination as his eyes probed the storm and tracked the wind, trying to prepare for the next big wave that would inevitably develop.
And then, it was there, rushing along the water, building as it came. It loomed over the boat and Burke realized with shock that he was having to crane his neck to see the top of it. Up, up, and up they climbed...and then Burke felt the boat’s forward motion stall, replaced soon after by the sickening realization they were now moving backward with the wave. Faster and faster they moved and then the stern crashed down onto water that seemed hard as concrete. The wave rolled over the boat and Burke felt the vessel slip sideways and down. And then they were bobbing, upright and moving again. Burke looked toward the wheel.
Moore was gone.
The wheel turned crazily as the boat lay at the whim of the storm. Burke jumped up and ran forward, but a wave crashed over the side and took his feet out from under him.
“Hold on!” Perry yelled.
Burke didn’t even have to look to know it was another wave, but when he did look, he saw with horror they were broadside. He was a complete rookie at sailing, but even he knew being broadside to one of these massive waves was a bad idea. He scrambled to his feet and made for the wheel once more, planning to turn the bow toward the wave.
But it was too late.
The wave soared, crested, and slammed into the boat, which rolled completely onto its side and then kept going. There was a loud crack and Burke saw the mast snap at its base.
“Perry! We’re going over!”
But he’d lost sight of his friend. Burke tumbled into the water and went under. For a moment, everything was quiet and then his head broke the surface and the fury of the storm returned. He reached back under the water and fumbled with the latch of his tether, at last managing to wrench it free. He looked around, scanning the white froth of the ocean’s roiling surface. Then he spotted a head bobbing in the surf. It was Moore.
The SpyCo chief saw Burke at the same moment and waved his arms. He shouted something, but the sound of rain and water were too loud to hear anything else. Burke began swimming—not an easy thing in those conditions—but managed to reach his boss at last.
“Where’s Perry?” Moore asked.
Burke shook his head. “I don’t know. I was looking for him when I saw you. Are you all right?”
“I’m fine, I’m fine. We have to find Perry. He should still be tethered to the boat. If he’s knocked out, he’ll drown for sure.”
Burke understood and immediately
dove beneath the surface, swimming down under the raging sea in search of his friend. The first thing he saw was the top of the yacht, now submerged. The second thing was Perry Hall floating just beneath it. He was gripping the railing and the tether had somehow become wrapped around his neck. A little cloud of blood was floating around his head.
He must have taken a blow, Burke thought. God, I hope I’m not too late.
He surged forward and, grabbing the tether and following its end, found where it was latched to the boat. He was about to unhook it, when the line pulled tight and he felt himself being pushed forward and into the side of the boat. The boat itself was slowly turning in a somersault move. It was another big wave, rolling the boat over again. Burke knew if it rolled completely over, the entangled tether would either snap Perry’s neck or finish choking him to death.
Burke’s lungs screamed for air, but there was no time for a side trip to the surface. He grabbed Perry around the waist and pulled him flush with his own body. This created a bit of momentary slack without tightening the tether around Perry’s neck. Burke used the slack to wrap the tether around his arm, creating a cinch point. As long as he could hold Perry close enough, the tether would tighten around his arm instead of crushing Perry’s throat.
And then the boat rolled. The force pulled both men completely out of the water by the tether, and Burke found himself wishing the device weren’t so robustly constructed. It tightened around his arm with the strength of a python, squeezing, squeezing—
Burke both heard and felt his right arm snap.
And then they were on the deck of the yacht, rolling and sliding from side to side in a wash of salt water. Burke steadied himself with a handrail and then disconnected Perry’s tether. He yanked it from around his friend’s neck and immediately began mouth-to-mouth resuscitation as best he could on the wallowing deck. After several strong breaths, Burke put his ear to Perry’s mouth—and received a coughing spray of water in the face for his trouble. Perry jerked and rolled onto his side, barfing up water like a broken hydrant.
Assignment- Danger A SpyCo Collection 4-6 Page 21
