In Harm's Way (A Martin Billings Story Book 3) Read online

  “No, but if you and I make a fuss and get his attention for even a little bit, that will give Martin a chance to jump him from behind and take him prisoner,” Bill said.

  The Inspector frowned. “On a yacht at anchor, they got a clear view all around.”

  Bill pointed a finger at him. “See, that’s where the bad guys make their mistake. He will be looking for other boats, or for folks to try to come from shore to try to sneak up on them. They often discount the obvious.”

  “We will sure be obvious,” Jeff said.

  “Picture it,” Bill said, putting a meaty paw on the young man’s shoulder. “Your boat happens to be wonderfully loud, so we will go in noisy.”

  “Can’t go in no other way,” Jeff said

  I started getting Bill’s drift and smiled.

  Bill nodded. “And that’s how people go when they are out to have a party.”

  “After we rescue Gazele we gonna have a hell of a party,” Jeff said. “Count on it.”

  “But this one is a pretend party. Now around here, a party is about the furthest thing from suspicious. I see us roaring into the bay, playing some loud music and whooping it up. Like all obnoxious partiers, on our way to the beach for the party, we swing by his boat, let our wake rock the yacht. At that moment, we shove old Martin here over the side and keep going. While we go ashore and set up our party, he swims underwater to the boat. Then, when he has a chance to get into position, we kick up a serious fuss that gets Nick to look at us and gives Junior his opportunity to sneak on board and triumph over the evil doer.”

  The Inspector scowled. “You can do that?”

  I didn’t look him in the eye. “If Bill says so. I guess I can’t let the side down.”

  “You really were a SEAL?”

  “For years. A team leader. I burned my certificate a while back, but I’ve swallowed enough of the various oceans in my time to prove it.”

  “Will you need dive gear?” Bill asked.

  “No, just a mask and fins,” I said. “If you are drawing his attention he won’t see me, and the water probably isn’t deep enough to hide a scuba diver. All that gear would get in the way for a fight.”

  “I got mask and fins in my boat,” Jeff said.

  “There you go.”

  “What about weapons?” Jeff asked. “It’s a sure thing he gonna have them.”

  I reached down and raised the leg of my cargo pants and showed him a Gerber tactical knife strapped to my leg. “This is all I need.”

  “They gonna have guns, I bet,” Jeff insisted.

  “They? Nate is dead.”

  Jeff shrugged. “That don’t mean this Nick be the only other one on the team.”

  He had a point. “That doesn’t matter. I’m better off with this. If I go in with guns blazing it risks Gazele getting shot, either by them or us. We don’t want that. No, Bill’s professional-quality distraction and some stealth on my part will have to do the trick.”

  “The trick?” Jeff asked. “What trick?”

  “The trick of managing to make sure that there is some distance between Nick and Gazele when I go for him. I want him far enough away from her that she won’t get hurt, and he can’t put a gun to her head and tell me I need to leave.”

  “That wouldn’t be good,” Bill said. “An outcome like that sorta defeats the purpose of all the high-class skulking.”

  “That doesn’t sound like much of plan,” the inspector said.

  I straightened up, starting to get excited about the possibilities. “That’s okay. It’s only about ten percent plan and ninety percent improvisation,” I told him. I always did my best work free form, or at least I was convinced I did and wanted others to think so too. From my perspective, this plan was workable. “Finally knowing where the boat is, and with the boys in the band creating a distraction, I’ll have a chance to use my overpriced, government-funded skills for something good for a change.”

  “Just that little opening is enough?”

  “Fortunately, Nick has been sitting out there for a time, waiting for Nate to tell him what to do next. I imagine he’s good at waiting, but anytime you have to be alert all the time, well, it’s just impossible. Your attention will flag and you drop your guard. By now Nick will probably be getting a little careless. If we make a surgical strike, that should be enough.”

  “Probably getting careless?” Inspector George asked.

  I’d been hoping he’d focus on the phrase about surgical strikes. That always has a confident ring, as the best bullshit does. “Sure. Even the best plan has to depend on a little luck to run your way. There are too many unknowns for it to be otherwise.”

  “’The best laid schemes o’ Mice an’ Men, gang aft agley, an’ lea’e us nought but grief an’ pain,’” Bill said. “Bobby Burns wrote that. Of course, Bobby was talking to a mouse, but that poem still reminds me of the wisdom of an ancient Hebrew proverb.”

  “I suppose I have to hear that too,” Inspector George said.

  Bill nodded. “Man plans, God laughs.”

  “Sounds right to me,” Jeff said. “But after we execute this plan, I expect to be the one laughing.”

  “Count on it,” I told him with all the confidence I could summon. “Now it’s time to go.”

  22

  I didn’t want to give much thought to Bill’s plan for the distraction. Having the gist was enough and honestly, I was happy to let him stage manage that part of the program. As he and Jeff loaded the boat, I changed into a pair of swim trunks Jeff loaned me and focused on getting myself psyched for my approach, ensuring my gear and I were combat ready — prepared to make the swim quietly and efficiently.

  Whatever Bill cooked up for his distraction, it seemed to involve bringing along Sally, a friend of hers, a boom box, and a cooler. As we roared out of the yacht basin at excessive speed, I put on the fins, spit in the mask and rinsed it in salt water, adjusted the snorkel and double checked the Gerber tactical knife in the leg sheath.

  Even though salt water is a second home for me, going into a combat operation of any sort, even one this simple, you need to remember that swimming complicates things. Without meticulous reconnaissance and preparation, you can’t accurately predict how the current and visibility in the water will affect things.

  I took a page out of Epictetus’ book and put my attention on the one thing I could control — setting my head to be ready for battle.

  The mental part is critical for me. I don’t like hurting people, but that attitude doesn’t work when you need to rise to an occasion that’s likely to get dicey.

  When I was still in high school, I read a detective novel, in which the tough guy, the protagonist said: ‘You never take out a gun unless you are willing to shoot, and never shoot unless you are trying to kill.’ That stuck with me; struck me as great advice, a philosophy to live by. Since then, I’ve learned to generalize it to any sort of combat situation, in the sense that you don’t go into battle without being totally committed. If you choose to fight, then fight to win. Too often, that means you better be ready to kill. That’s how you survive. Anything less and you hesitate, and hesitation gets you killed.

  If it came to it, if anyone had to die, I needed to make sure it wasn’t Gazele. From where I sat, the best way to do that was to ensure that the one who died was Nick.

  It was nine am when we rounded the point. If we were lucky, if Nate hadn’t given Nick any updates on the situation or special instructions, we had three hours before the deadline. I steeled myself to the idea that we had no idea if they would stick to it. We just had to act as if Nick would keep her alive until then… just in case.

  Good skipper that he is, Jeff immediately cut the throttles back as we rounded the headland and the boat came down off the plane, slowing rapidly, yet surging silently forward through the water.

  Bill nudged me. “There she is,” he said, pointing at a tiny dot that bobbed on the swell.

  I picked up J
eff’s binoculars and let out a sigh of relief as I saw DANCER floating at anchor. This far away, even if Nick spotted us, we were no threat. A boat off the point could just be fishing.

  “That’s a decent distance to swim, even for you — and you have gills,” Bill said. “Care to give your colleagues an estimate of how long it will take you to get there? It would be helpful to have an idea of when to expect fireworks on board so we can join in.”

  “Too long,” I said. “If he’s paying half attention, he’d see me coming before I got halfway there. Even with the swell… the damn water is too clear.”

  “Those damn crystal-clear waters look just like the tourist brochures say they are supposed to,” he said. “What’s that about? More importantly, how do we deal with it?”

  He was right. “We need to modify the plan ever so slightly. Tell me about this distraction you have in mind. What can I count on from you?”

  He laughed. “Like I said, we will start the party going. We are going to put some good island soca on the boom box and high volume, then buzz their boat, laughing like maniacs. That’s for fun and to get him paying attention to us while you make your approach. After that, we beach the boat, and start a very loud, disrupt-the-neighbors kind of party.”

  “I’m glad someone came along to do the hard work,” I said.

  “I didn’t divide up the tasks for this mission,” he pointed out.

  “True. I did that.”

  Jeff scowled. “Running close by him might annoy the shit out of him.”

  “As long as he focuses on us, and not Martin, that’s fine. It isn’t like he’ll call the cops on us.” Bill looked at me. “When you are ready to board the boat, Jeff and I will suddenly start a fight. A loud, noisy one. That’s why I asked how long it’s going to take for the swim.”

  I sighed. “That would be hard to sustain. So here is a minor modification. Jeff, you make the run at them, as you planned. When you get about 20 meters away from DANCER, I’d like you to make a little swerve to port and accelerate.”

  He grinned. “Why’s that? You want me to act like I might ram him?”

  “That’s fine, but that little swerve is for me. I’m going to be in the water, hanging onto the port side. When you swerve, I’ll let go of the gunnel and be near his boat.”

  “And you want the stern going away from you,” he said, catching on.

  “That would be nice. I’d rather not get chopped to mincemeat by those monster motors when I fall astern. Once I’m clear, hit the throttle again. I want your wake rocking the shit out of DANCER. That will keep him focused on not falling over and shaking his fist at you, not looking for someone in the water.”

  “It also means you have a short swim, you lazy bastard,” Bill said.

  “That too.”

  Jeff liked the plan. “Well, yeah, mon, I can do that thing.”

  I put the mask and snorkel on and slipped over the side, gripping a rope that ringed the gunnel. I looped my wrist in it. “Okay, I’m ready and you guys have a party to get to.”

  Jeff turned on the engines and they roared to life. I braced myself as he hit the throttles, launching the boat forward and turning directly toward DANCER.

  The force of the water tugged hard on my arms and as the boat came up to speed, the water pressure threatened to pull my borrowed, slightly large trunks down. I didn’t give a damn in the scheme of things, as long as they didn’t wind up around my legs.

  From low down on the port side, I couldn’t see the approach, but as we got close Jeff shouted out: “A boat called DANCER should be dancing, mon.”

  He accelerated and turned the wheel at the same moment. As the boat swerved, I inhaled, caught my breath and let go, pushing myself straight out from the hull, then tumbling in the wake. As the boat roared off, I dove, kicking hard toward the white sand bottom.

  A quick look up at DANCER’S hull, a dark shape looming overhead, was enough to orient me. The position was perfect. I relaxed and floated, focusing on my buoyancy, allowing myself to drift slowly upward, moving toward the yacht. I didn’t need to move a muscle.

  I heard the high-speed screws of Jeff’s boat come to an abrupt stop, and I knew he’d switched off the engines and beached the boat. That unleashed an incredible, peaceful quiet as I floated up and my hand touched the bottom of the yacht’s rudder. I paused there, resting and looking upward, watching for any sign that I’d been spotted.

  I heard nothing from on board. Saw no movement.

  I let myself drift up to the surface at the stern and took a long, slow, silent breath, filling my lungs with a fresh supply of sweet salt air.

  I knew the yacht — the make. It was a sleek 40-foot Beneteau Oceanis, popular with yacht rental companies. One of the attractions is a lovely swim platform on the stern that makes it easy for vacationing sailors to get in and out of the water. When it’s down, you can climb out of the water onto it, and step directly onto the stern, right behind the dual helm stations. I doubted Nick and Gazele were doing a lot of swimming and, as expected, the swim platform, like an airplane seat for a landing, was in the upright and locked position. Raised up, shut tight, it was ready for getting underway.

  I looked up the smooth, vertical fiberglass and couldn’t see anything on the boat.

  A loud blast of raucous music from the beach shattered the quiet of the bay. Ugly Bill was getting to work.

  “What the fuck is that?” I recognized Nick’s voice. “Is that those assholes that buzzed us?”

  “Seems like. They are having a party on the beach, like people like to do,” Gazele told him, her voice calm. “What you think it is?”

  “All I know is that your friends better get here soon with that bitch Donna.”

  “You keep saying that.”

  “Well, they better. If they don’t find her for us, Nate says we don’t need to keep you around, do we?”

  “Where is your pal?” she asked. “He been gone a long time.”

  “Taking care of business. Maybe he will find Donna without your pal’s help. He’s probably got a lead and if he finds her, then you are toast, little bitch.”

  “Asshole,” Gazele muttered.

  I heard the girls ashore shrieking with laughter. It sounded like a fine party. “Those fucking people,” he muttered.

  “Why shouldn’t they have a good time. How them people supposed to know you busy concentrating on an important job of kidnapping over here?” she asked.

  “You shut up,” he said. “I’m tired of you talking.”

  “Is that so? Then we best not even get started on talking about what I be tired of, asshole.”

  I heard a smack. Nick had hit her.

  I understood what she was doing. Gazele had seen who was on that boat — she wouldn’t have been able to miss them, or the fact that they ignored her existence and pretended they were just on their way to a party. Even without knowing the plan, Gazele was doing everything she could to give them a chance to take action — to get on with whatever they intended to do. If incurring Nick’s anger helped, she’d do it.

  It sounded like Nick was the lone captor on board, but I couldn’t count on that. As Gazele wouldn’t know I was lurking under the hull, she wouldn’t know to say something to indicate how many people were on board.

  I didn’t trust Nick to keep his cool. I figured he was out of his comfort zone and that could make him unpredictable. That meant I needed to get on board fast. Even if he intended to keep her alive, even if that’s what Nate had told him to do, he might still decide to hurt her.

  I looked up again. About halfway up, I spotted a stainless-steel bar embedded in an indentation that crossed in the middle of the stern. The designer probably intended it to provide a hand grip for someone getting out of a dinghy and I decided it might help me as well. It was a couple of feet up. That put it just out of reach, but low enough that I should be able to reach it if I kicked my fins hard and lunged upward.

  If that worked
and I managed to grab it, I could pull myself over the stern and into the boat. Of course, if I missed it, the splash I’d make when I hit the water again would ruin the element of surprise.

  I didn’t see any other options, and the damnable clean lines of this boat meant hunting for other points of entry would be a waste of time. This would be my only option.

  In the best of all possible worlds, before attempting a dramatic, one-shot entry into the cockpit, I would have preferred knowing where Nick and Gazele were. But I didn’t have that luxury. Waiting wasn’t going to improve the situation; it was time to get the show started. Enter, stage left.

  I knew Bill would be watching from shore, looking for a clue when to start the diversion. I had to find a way to let him know I was ready to go. Unfortunately, the position of the damn boat blocked my view of the beach… and his of me. If I swam around to where I could signal him, then I’d be too far from the stern to get on board and it would take too damn long to get back in position.

  As I hesitated, hoping Gazele wouldn’t antagonize Nick, and trying to find a way to signal Bill, I felt the tide change. The current had been slack; now it was reversing and coming in. “Patience,” Sally had counseled me, and she was right.

  As I hung there in the water, the incoming current began to turn the stern of the yacht toward shore. The boat’s shallow draft keel and the rope rode that connected her to a small anchor offered little resistance, and she swung around easily. Without my moving a muscle, the beach came into view. Dumb luck sometimes works for you.

  I couldn’t see anyone on shore, just figures there, but I raised a hand and waved it, hoping Bill could see my signal. I did it once more, then focused my attention on that silver metal bar.

  Suddenly Bill’s big voice boomed out from the shore: “You asshole!”

  I smiled to myself, knowing he’d seen me. I coiled myself like a barracuda ready to strike and kicked out as hard as I could, my feet snapping like scissors closing on cloth. As the powerful kick catapulted me upward, I reached one hand out over my head. At the peak of my jump, just as my fingers slapped the slippery fiberglass and I started to fall back, the fingers of my other hand touched the bar. I grabbed at it, wrapping my fingers around it and dangling there.