Agents In Harms Way (2 page)

Mallory tossed the keys to Kip as she slid into the passenger’s side of the unmarked Chevy they had picked up from the motor pool. Soon the two agents were heading towards Sycamore Point, a map folded open on the seat between them. Mallory, her mind racing to plan the mission, decided to make a quick stop at their motel. They would have to change into something less conspicuous for the beachfront. They took a blanket with them, a camera, and a pair of binoculars they had picked up at the motel’s gift shop. Their service revolvers, tucked under their seats, could be retrieved quickly if needed. The two girlfriends would attract no attention — just more tourists in shorts and sunglasses, a couple of working girls out for a day at the beach.

The white Chevy headed northwest towards what, on the map, was clearly marked as a major Marina. They could smell the salty tang of the sea long before they got to it; feels the warm ocean breeze. Both girls were tense and alert; by now they had lapsed into silence. Kip, her hair tucked under a baseball cap, wore a pair of denim cut-offs that she thought might be a bit snug and were definitely too short to be wearing on a job, just like her electric blue tank top was a bit too showy. But they were only the casual clothes she had managed to pack. She glanced over at her companion, admiring the transformation in Mallory. The dark-haired woman had let her hair down, nonchalantly shedding her work clothes to slip into a thin T-shirt and a pair of safari shorts. The baggy shorts did nothing for her figure but they did manage to reveal a generous expanse of those long, tapering legs — bare all the way down to the white cotton socks and thick-soled sneakers. Mallory, her sunglasses pushed back high on her head, had turned to look out the right side window. She seemed lost in thought, idly watching for the first sight of the bay.

The two good-looking girls explained how they wanted to take some pictures of the bay from offshore. The smiling blond kid at the boat rental office, wearing nothing but a low-slung pair of ragged shorts, filled out the papers, handed over the keys with a decided leer, and offered to personally show them the sights once he got off from work. They smiled back, and politely declined.

On their way down the pier to slip number 6, they made inquiries from the locals they met. Two guys, working on their boat, stopped to point to the third in a line of three impressive craft riding high on the horizon. They laughed about the big boats belonging to drug dealers. The
Big Wizz
was a yacht of considerable size, with an elegant prow, sleek lines, its white paint gleaming in the sun so brightly it hurt your eyes to look at it.

Mallory felt her pulse racing, as she raised her binoculars to scan the deck and superstructure. A couple of radar dishes, and quite a rack of antennas. No signs of a crew, but they’d have to get closer to be sure. They could join the little fishing boats; just a little boat that bobbed about out on the bay, drift closer, and keep the big boat under surveillance. They needed a closer look. They needed to watch and wait, and to be very, very careful.

Mallory took the wheel as Kip jumped down to slip the noose from the dock. The engine started easily, and settled into a smooth purr. Mallory was impressed. She had done a bit of sailing when she lived in Hyannis with Keith, and she was confident that she could handle the small runabout. The bay was spacious but calm; sheltered on almost all of three sides. The wind was light, the weather, perfect. The kid at the boat shop had warned them to stay well clear of the shoals just outside the harbor to the south, but they had no intention of going in that direction. Mallory had set her eyes on the gleaming white prize.

As they wove their way through the small craft in the inner harbor, Mallory eased back on the throttle, so that the engine was just turning over as the boat edged close to
Big Wizz
. Both women were scanning the deck; there was still no sign of life.

They began taking pictures, snapping off tourist shots of each other posing with the bay in the background, and occasionally, panning the camera so that the
Big Wizz
was “inadvertently” included in the frame. Mallory’s plan was to scout out the scene; if it looked suspicious, or there as the chance they would meet really serious opposition, they would head in to shore and call for backup. If, on the other hand, it looked as if they could handle it themselves, she certainly meant to try. If they were incredibly lucky, there would be no one aboard. Then it was a quick dash in, a search of the vessel, and back out, with no one the wiser.

In order to buy themselves more time, the girls decided to loll away a few hours sunning themselves on the rear deck lying side by side in such a way that they could keep their eyes on the yacht. Neither woman had brought a swimsuit, but Mallory was not loathe to make it more realistic by stripping off her T-shirt to expose herself to the sun in nothing but her shorts and a light mesh bra through which her pink nipples were dimly visible.

Kip shrugged and followed suit, nonchalantly peeling off her tank top even though she hadn’t bothered with a bra. She gave her companion a mildly embarrassed smile, but it felt nice to go around bare-breasted. Her nipples tightened with their sudden exposure to the salt air. Mallory noticed that the girl’s small-mounded tits were taut, high-set, with thick nipples, slightly up-tilted. As she reached down to lay out the blanket, her shifting breasts melded into two neat handfuls beneath her bent torso. Mallory looked away.

Mallory was lying back, lulled by the warmth of the sun and the gentle breeze, she had closed her eyes for a few minutes, when an abrupt poke in the ribs brought her to instant attention. “Look!” Kip hissed. Raising herself halfway up, she saw a man emerge from below decks, a thick, stocky guy with a shaved head. Mallory watched him from behind her sunglasses. He was dressed in work clothes; he turned to say something to someone below him. A second man emerged: tall and rangy. He needed a shave, and his thick blond hair was windblown, but he was good looking, in a rugged sort of way. His muscles rippled under his light T-shirt.

The two men went aft, threw over a rope ladder, and climbed down into a skiff that rode alongside at the stern. The abrupt roar of a small engine came across the water and the skiff pushed off, curved wide, and turned towards shore, and following a course that would pass the two agents at too close a distance. Both girls quickly turned over on the blanket to lie on their bellies and flatten out against the deck as the skiff roared by and headed in to shore, its wake leaving them rocking gently.

Mallory waited, her gaze on the high riding yacht; checked her watch. She had originally decided to let a full hour pass, but once the crewmen had left, they could detect no other signs of life. The afternoon was well along, They would have to make their move, or go back to shore and call in. The two agents talked it over. They would be taking a chance without a warrant, but they felt the tip gave them “probable cause” to investigate the scene. Mallory knew Kip would agree with whatever decision she made, but she sensed the young girl’s eagerness, even rashness. She had to be cautious, yet she too felt the heady stir of excitement, and that hint of danger, that licked through her like a knife. This was real police work! “Let’s do it!” she said.

The sudden growl of their engine startled them, shattering the quiet air with a roar that would get anyone’s attention. Mallory quickly throttled back and spun the wheel to angle in towards the big boat, heading for the still hanging ladder near the stern. As they neared, she neatly cut the engine and let the runabout drift in until so that Kip could grab the ladder. It was done with the precision of a born seaman. Hurriedly, the boat was tied to the ladder.

Kip slipped on her T-shirt and grabbed for her gun in one quick motion. She paused to look quizzically at Mallory. The senior Agent nodded her consent. Like many of the female agents the girls preferred the snub nosed .38 to the bulkier and heavier 9-mm that now was standard issue. The .38 didn’t have the stopping power of the bigger gun, but it fit more neatly into a smaller hand. Plus, it was accurate, and just as effective at close range. Mallory slid her weapon into the big pocket of her shorts; her ID billfold into the other. Kip stuck her weapon down the front of her waistband, feeling like a pirate about to board an enemy vessel. Thus armed, they felt as ready as they would ever be. They gave each other encouraging smiles, and the two agents scurried up the ladder.

For a second, the two of them stood there, perfectly still, feet planted wide on the gently rocking deck. The tide was kicking up, but the big boat took it in stride, swaying only slightly. Except for the gentle lapping of waves, the only sounds were the screech of seagulls circling far overhead. Cautiously, with gun drawn, Mallory began to creep forward. They would announce their presence, flash their ID’s, and try to bluff anyone they met into letting them look around, even though they didn’t have a warrant.

Mallory nodded to her partner, and called out a crisp ‘hello’. There was no answer. She tried again, louder this time. Again, only the eerie silence; the faint screech of seagulls. She took two steps down the staircase that led to the cabins below. Again, she shouted out. They waited. No response. Emboldened, the two agents crept down the stairs, guns at the ready, walking stealthily on crepe-soled sneakers.

At the bottom of the stairs they found a spacious hallway, paneled with rich teakwood gleaming in the subdued lighting. The handrails of gleaming silver made it look like the passageway on a well-appointed ocean liner. From somewhere far off an air conditioner hummed, the only noise in the strangely silent boat. They quickly inspected a row of staterooms, all plush but overdone with opulent furnishings, as through the place had been designed by the same folks who did gaudy Vegas casinos. The rooms were thickly carpeted, draped in red velvet, with spacious beds covered in golden satin, and heavy, gilt edged mirrors everywhere they looked. The phrase ‘sailing whorehouse’ went through Mallory’s mind.

The soft moan that they heard, froze them in place. The two women exchanged looks, and Mallory pointed with her gun towards the end of the hallway from which the sound had come. Kip nodded, and dropped back a few feet taking her partner’s flank in standard operating procedure.

Mallory heard the grunt just as something hit her from behind like a ton of bricks, sweeping her off her feet and sending her splayed body to the carpet with a hard, decisive thud. The impact sent the agent’s gun scuttling along the hallway away from her outstretched fingers. From somewhere she heard Kip screech; sounds of scuffling behind her. She shook herself and started to rise to her knees. But a split second later a massive weight fell on her, knocking the breath out of her, and crushing her sprawling figure into the thick carpet. Mallory squirmed instinctively, desperate to throw off the dead weight of the grunting man who was grinding her face into the thick rug. She struggled to turn over, to bring into play hands and fingernails, and knees, as she had been trained to do. But though she flailed wildly with arms and legs, the man’s weight kept her firmly in place, pinned to the floor, her cheek pressed to the carpet, struggling for breath.

“That’s enough, baby,” she heard him say, and twisting back she saw Kip in the grip of a skinny guy with a thin, ferret-like face who was now holding a knife at the girl’s arched throat. Kip ceased her struggling and went limp in his embrace. Mallory closed her eyes and groaned as the man on top of her clamped her wrists and drew her arms up high over her head so she was held helpless and flattened against the floor. The man weighed a ton, it seemed; he brought his face was close to her ear.

“You too, bitch. Just shut up and settle down, and no one’ll get hurt.”

She could feel his hot breath on the back of her neck; his heavy breathing evening out. The smell of him came to her nostrils, male sweat mingled with breath that stank of whiskey. He moved up so he lay completely on her outstretched body, no doubt enjoying the cheap thrill he got from lewdly rubbing his groin against her womanly ass as Mallory’s hips wiggled beneath his solid weight

“Take that one into the playpen. Then come back here. This one ain’t goin’ no place.”

She watched Kip being dragged through the large, double-sized door at the far end of the hall.

“Let me uuup, you pig. I’m a Federal Agent.” Mallory blurted out.

“Well, now whadda ya know about that! You know babe, I seen a few Feds from time to time, but I ain’t never seen one with such a sweet ass.”

With that he shifted his weight to jam a hand down between their bodies so as to copiously feel the object of his admiration.

The momentary diversion gave Mallory the opportunity she was waiting for. With a mighty heave, she twisted over and brought her right knee up sharply. But the man reacted quickly, sliding a leg up to protect himself from the attempted knee in the groin. Frustrated she lay back, breathing heavily, seething with anger. Now she could see her attacker’s face: rugged features; dark eyes deep set in a seamed and craggy face. He was bearded; thick lips curled in a vacuous grin. And he kept leering down at her as he reached for her, and without a word, clutched a fistful of hair, and yanked her up off the floor. Mallory screamed, her eyes tearing as she was unceremoniously hauled to her feet.

“Looks like I’m gonna have to teach you how to behave, bitch,” he growled, twisting his fist and pulling her by the hair, until he had her stumbling towards the double doors.

The ferret came out just in time to help, a pair of handcuffs in his hands. In a moment, Mallory wrists were cuffed in front of her, and the two of them roughly dragged the helpless, squirming woman into the room the big guy had called “the playpen”.