Rising Water

by Wayne Stinnett

  “It… it just seemed like… such a waste.”

  Sunna’s eyes flashed. “I want to get this straight, Ronald,” she said in a slow, measured tone. “Are you telling me that you killed the boyfriend in front of her, then had your way with the girl before disposing of her?”

  Ronald hesitantly nodded, dread in his eyes at what she might do.

  Sunna rose quickly. “I’m going to the cliffs. Dante, you come too, and send word to have the two suspected thieves brought down. I want them kneeling on the mat before me by dawn, as well as this tall man. We’ll take care of him, his partner, and whoever is stealing our product all at the same time.”

  Ronald rose slowly. “Am I to come with you?”

  At the door, Sunna turned, looking up at the two men, both nearly a foot taller. “Yes.” Then she took a step closer to Ronald. “Forcing her to watch as you killed her boyfriend, knowing what her fate would be, was wrong. Next time, Ronald, do it in the right order. Let him watch.”

  After discovering what we’d guessed was some sort of an execution spot, Jerry and I spent nearly an hour searching both sides of the deep fissure with no luck. If any body parts got past the hungry sharks, they’d drifted out to sea. The shore was just too steep for anything to remain there.

  So, with the moon setting off to the west, we swam back out for the pickup. That was where the new mask really made a difference. John was able to bring the boat straight toward our location, though we were ten feet underwater. He made his approach from the east, following the GPS signal until he could see the float right in front of Floridablanca.

  When he stopped, Jerry and I clambered up onto the swim platform and into the cockpit, with the boat blocking anyone who might see us. Once aboard, we started to shed our gear.

  “Keep your heads down,” John said over the comm. “I’m seeing movement up on the cliff.”

  I quickly dug one of the night-vision goggles from my shoulder pouch and put it on. Three figures stood on the edge of the cliff. After a moment, several more joined them.

  “I count eight,” John said.

  “Me too,” I replied, as the boat motored slowly to the north.

  One of the people on the cliff was much smaller than the others and wore a flowing robe of sorts, which caught the wind and outlined the trim figure of a petite woman. In the gray-green of the night-vision optics, her hair was nearly white. I’d seen her before. The woman who led the craziness at the compound, Sunna Johannsdottir.

  We rounded the tip of the island and the people on the cliff disappeared as John turned the boat west.

  “Just leave the gear on the deck for now,” I told Jerry, as I kicked my Lycra suit off my feet.

  Staying low, I entered the salon, continuing forward to the command bridge. Jerry was right behind me.

  “That was close,” John called back from the bridge deck. “A couple of those guys had rifles.”

  “Too close,” I said. “But the boat was never in range of those hunting rifles.”

  “What do you think that spot they don’t want anyone seeing is used for?” John asked, as we joined him at the helm.

  I looked back somberly toward the high east end of Norman Island. “Executions.”

  “You really think that’s what it’s for?” Jerry asked.

  “I can only guess,” I said. “But it’s very doubtful it’s used for cleaning fish; the drain sluice is huge. Who wants to carry a giant grouper all the way up there to clean it? You’re the one who said it was blood on the wood.”

  “I should have gotten a sample.”

  “Any word from DJ?” I asked John.

  “He climbed up to hibernate for the night about an hour ago. Said he found a spot about halfway up the hill from the gate, where he can see the compound and the guard shack. He texted me a half hour ago that several people arrived at the guard shack and were quickly ushered up to the commune on the hill. Two were bound.”

  “Let’s get back to your house. Is Lettsome still there?”

  “He left just before midnight.”

  “You told him what we’d found?”

  “Yeah, he went back to get a warrant. They’re going to raid the place tomorrow.”

  “What time? We need to get DJ out of there.”

  “As soon as Bryce can get the warrant and get back here with more troops.”

  I sent a message to DJ telling him to leave the property as soon as it was prudent to do so and return to John’s house. He had the coordinates.

  When we reached the mooring field in Bight Bay, there was a boat at the small dock that I hadn’t noticed before. A center-console with twin outboards.

  “Keep your eyes and ears open,” I said, bringing my dinghy to the stern.

  I’d only slept a few hours the night before and was running on adrenaline for a second night. I felt like a horse that’d been ridden hard and put up wet.

  When we reached the beach, we unloaded some food and drinks from Floridablanca’s vast stores into John’s cart to take up to his house.

  “You go ahead,” I told them. “I’m going to clean the gear and catch a few zees on the boat.”

  “Ankle okay?” John asked.

  “Yeah,” I said. “Call me when Lettsome is on his way here.”

  In minutes, John had the little electric cart headed back up the trail toward his house. I pushed the dinghy back out into deeper water and climbed in.

  Once aboard Floridablanca, I rinsed the dive gear and took everything down to the lazarette storage, where I hung it up to drip dry.

  The wooden platform and the long slide that ended over the water kept coming to my mind. Lettsome had said the body had been dismembered using a chainsaw. The gruesome part was that it wasn’t the first time I’d encountered such abhorrent behavior in people.

  As I sat at the laptop in the pilothouse, my sat phone buzzed an incoming message. It was from DJ: Near the house. Something not right.

  I typed out the single word, What? And hit send.

  Moving quickly, I pulled on pants and boots, again tightening the laces to try to immobilize my right ankle as best I could. It would be an arduous hike.

  DJ didn’t strike me as the kind of man who raised an alarm unnecessarily.

  My phone buzzed again: 4 men, 1 woman, 2 carts.

  Sunna, I thought, as I quickly typed, Armed?

  His response came immediately, as if he were already writing before I asked: 2 rifles, at least 1 handgun. too far away to engage.

  “Dammit,” I mumbled as I went down to my stateroom below the pilothouse. I quickly pulled the bottom drawer out of the dresser and set it aside. It wasn’t a deep drawer and looking behind it, you could see the hull curving toward the keel. At least, a casual observer would think it was the hull.

  Reaching in, I pressed a small button on the inside face of the dresser and the “hull” rose up, revealing a space behind it.

  I pulled the case out of its hiding spot and undid the clasps. It only took a few seconds to assemble the rifle and optics. I slung it over my shoulder and went to the galley, where I’d left the Glock and holster I’d given to Jerry. I grabbed my phone again, typing hastily, On my way.

  In seconds, I was racing across the bay toward the beach, landing the dinghy hard at a spot nearest the path up to John’s house.

  I couldn’t run and had to force myself to remain at a fast, limping walk. Halfway up the hill, my phone vibrated in my pocket. I took it out and quickly read DJ’s message. They left, took friends.

  Pushing harder, I tried to type on the little screen, asking DJ if they’d left John’s cart. He replied that they had.

  I was wearing night-vision, and the memory of the spill I’d taken was fresh in my mind as I hurried up the trail.

  The pain was returning, too. I could feel the tape slipping. Having been submerged and stretche
d by my finning action, it was no wonder. I pushed the pain down, ignoring it, as I increased my pace to a slow trot.

  This part of the trail was well-worn compared to the path that led up to the Onayan compound. I moved faster.

  When I reached level ground near John’s house, a figure emerged from the shadows. My handgun was up and leveled at him in an instant.

  It was DJ. I holstered the Glock and moved toward him, limping. “The Onayans?”

  “Bunch of hipsters in blue? Yeah. They took John and the others.”

  “Nine people on two carts?”

  “Eight,” DJ replied. “They left one man behind as a lookout.” DJ lifted a scoped Winchester. “Can I keep his gun?”

  Fortunately, John had left the keys in his cart. I turned it on and checked the battery level. Not fully charged, but close enough.

  “Here,” I said, handing DJ my phone. “Call Ambrosia and have them connect you to Detective Lettsome, wherever he is.”

  DJ made the call while I drove the cart up into the hills with the lights extinguished.

  “He’s coming,” DJ said, handing the phone back. “But he’s still on Tortola. Said he’d be here before dawn.”

  The cart kicked up stones and dust behind us as I raced eastward on the rutted trail. Soon, a glow became visible ahead; the headlights from the Onayan’s carts.

  I knew the compound was up the hill to our left, but the lights were moving off to the right.

  “They’re heading to the execution site,” I said, trying to will the cart to go faster.

  “We can’t just go riding in there,” DJ said, hanging on to the handle in front of his seat. “There’s at least four, and they probably have reinforcements now.”

  “That should even out the odds,” I said, through gritted teeth.

  I visualized the gently sloping meadow where the platform was rigged out over the fissure in the cliff. I remembered seeing a large boulder near the tree line on the south side of the clearing. I didn’t know if there was a path the cart could take, but that bit of high ground was the position I wanted.

  The lights disappeared ahead and I braked to a stop, listening. I heard voices, but they were too far away to make out. I moved the cart slowly forward, the silent electric motor and soft all-terrain tires barely making a sound.

  When we came around a slight bend, I spotted the carts ahead, stopped, nobody around them. Not two carts, as DJ had said, but three.

  “This way,” I whispered, getting out and grabbing my rifle.

  I moved off the trail, picking my way carefully. I could hear the Onayans talking, giving orders. I could also hear the crash of the surf against the rocks below the cliff.

  DJ and I moved stealthily just a little south of due east, and soon reached the edge of the clearing. The boulder I’d remembered was slightly to our right, so we moved that way.

  Working our way up onto the large, flat rock, I took up a prone position, flipped up the front and rear sight covers, and turned on the optics.

  The scene before me looked like something out of a movie. John, Mitzi, and the Snyders were being marched out to the area where the platform was. Two men with rifles walked behind and to either side, with the woman and another man leading the way. It was the same woman I’d seen leading the crazy rage-fest orgy, but a different man.

  Beyond them, I could see four other people standing around a small fire; a black woman and three white men. One of the men looked vaguely familiar, but through the gray-green of the night optics I couldn’t tell who he was. He was average height and build, a little flabby around the middle, with longish hair and a weeks’ stubble on his chin. Both he and the black woman had their hands behind their backs.

  DJ squirmed up next to me, an NV monocular at his eye. “Range is roughly 440 meters,” he whispered. “Declination three degrees. A light wind on the nose, no value, maybe three miles per hour.”

  I made a slight elevation adjustment, taking into account the distance beyond what the rifle was zeroed at and the downhill angle.

  “What’s your plan?” DJ whispered.

  “To keep any of our people from getting hurt.”

  DJ moved slightly as I continued watching. “It’s an hour before dawn,” he whispered.

  “An hour before the cavalry gets here. Send a message to Lettsome and give him this location. Tell him there’s a small, protected beach just to the south, where he can land his boats. Tell him this is going to be over before the sun comes up.”

  With the wind blowing directly at us, I could pick up an occasional word or phrase, as the two groups became one. The riflemen forced the four prisoners to kneel on the mat.

  Then Sunna turned and faced the four who had arrived earlier. “One of you is a thief,” I heard her say very clearly.

  The black woman and the man I thought looked familiar both began protesting loudly, drowning each other out.

  From their body language, I gathered that they weren’t there voluntarily. That and the fact that the two men standing with them were both armed.

  “Silence!” Sunna shrieked.

  There was a change in the posture of the men who’d apparently brought the man and woman out there using the third cart. They both stepped away from their charges and drew handguns. Five guns.

  “This doesn’t look good,” DJ whispered.

  “Keep an eye on John and Jerry,” I said. “If John sees an opening, he’ll make a move.”

  “I wish there was some way we could signal them that we’re here.”

  “There is. Tell me when John is looking at the woman wearing the robe.”

  With the rifle nestled in the crook of my left arm, and the reticles centered on Sunna’s back, I moved my right hand from the grip to the scope.

  “He’s looking up in her direction.”

  Quickly, I switched the laser sight on and off, followed by three longer pulses; the letter J in Morse code.

  When I moved the scope to our friends, kneeling on the mat, I saw John nod his head, then shrug his shoulders. He was asking me what I was going to do.

  I knew that when I fired the first shot, the remaining Onayans would dive for cover. But they’d have no way of knowing where the shot came from. I could probably get one or two more before they zeroed in on my and DJ’s location.

  The dark-haired man Sunna had walked into the field with moved toward the black woman. Sunna said something and pointed at the man beside her.

  The two guards with handguns pushed the man and woman toward the cliff. The woman went willingly, but the man seemed to be pleading, though I couldn’t hear him at all.

  “Who are those two?” DJ asked.

  “Not my circus, not my monkeys,” I replied. “My concern is to protect John and the others. Range me again. The two men with rifles.”

  DJ moved slightly. “Range to the nearest man is 437 meters, declination three-point-two-one degrees. Zero wind value.”

  I made the adjustment in my head. If I had to fire, the riflemen were top on my list. I moved the scope to Sunna and the others, now standing at the edge of the cliff.

  My ears picked up the high-pitched sound of outboard engines, far away and moving fast.

  The man was no longer pleading but now had more of an arrogant attitude. I heard him shout, “Do you know who—?” The rest was cut off by a crashing wave. As it receded, I caught the words South Carolina and attorney.

  Couldn’t be, I thought.

  An old girlfriend and the mother of my youngest daughter, Florence, had an ex-husband who was an attorney and she was from Beaufort, South Carolina. I’d only met the man once, years ago, but the guy I was staring at looked similar. Except for his shabby clothes and unkempt appearance.

  To her credit, the black woman stood with her back to the sea, head up, looking defiantly at Sunna.

  Tactically speakin
g, they’d made a mistake in leaving the two long guns to guard our friends. I didn’t see any sign of a handgun on either rifleman. In close quarters, a rifle is unwieldy and difficult to bring to bear, and the bolt action of the Winchesters required quite a bit more time to fire a second round, compared to the semi-automatic handguns the other three men had. The handguns were now too far from John and the others to be effective.

  Sunna took the gun from the dark-haired man’s hand, pointed it at the woman and fired. Before she went over the cliff, Sunna turned the gun on the man and fired again, sending him sprawling.

  Moving my scope back to our people, I saw one of the riflemen shoulder his weapon, aiming it at Jerry. With only two rifles covering them, I made my decision. The M40 roared, splitting the quiet night air.

  When the scope settled back to the group, I saw a mist explode from the nearest rifleman’s back. I quickly racked the bolt, ejecting the spent casing, and putting another 7.62mm cartridge in the chamber.

  The second rifleman hesitated, having heard the heavy report of my rifle. He looked toward the hillside far to our left as he raised his rifle in that direction. I fired again. When my scope settled back on him, the rifleman spun, dropping his Winchester. Apparently, he’d moved just as I’d fired or my aim hadn’t been true, and my bullet had hit him in the left shoulder.

  “John has the first man’s gun!” DJ said, as the sound of the racing outboards grew louder.

  I moved the scope to the others, out on the cliff. Even though my two shots had rung out in a matter of seconds, all of them seemed frozen, staring back at the fire pit. So much for situational awareness.

  When I moved the scope back to our people, I saw Mitzi on top of Alicia, covering her, as Jerry jumped on the injured man who was reaching for his rifle.

  In seconds, Jerry had clobbered the guy and was now pointing the rifle toward those on the cliff. “Police! Don’t move!”

  It took several minutes for Lettsome and his police force to land the boats and climb up to the hilltop clearing. By then, Jerry and John had disarmed Sunna and the remaining two men.