Targets of Revenge (10 page)

Monter was anything but calm in his response. “What is this, some sort of joke?” He was so angry he was having trouble spitting the words out. “You’re telling me that one man has compromised your operation, killed four of my men, and stolen my boat? One man?”

He was hollering so loudly that Alejandro pulled the phone away from his ear. Adina could hear the man ranting, and he responded with a slight nod at his lieutenant.

“Yes,” Alejandro said.

“And you want me to find him? One man, one boat, in a lake the size of an ocean? That’s what you’re telling me?”

Adina stood and took the phone from Alejandro. “That’s exactly what we’re telling you.”

The sound of Adina’s voice brought the raving to an abrupt end. “But . . . but . . . ,” the man sputtered.

“But nothing, Oscar. I assume, at the very least, you want your boat back, eh?”

“Of course.”

“Good. Because this man is probably coming toward you. Unless he’s going to dock somewhere along the shore, which I doubt, his only escape is to head north through the inlet and into the gulf, am I right?”

“Well yes . . .”

“And nobody knows these waters better than you and your men. And you’ll certainly recognize your own boat.”

“Of course. But . . .”

“And I would think there will be a limited number of Fountains running full throttle at this hour, heading directly at you. You would agree?”

“What you say makes perfect . . .”

“Good. Then why are we wasting time talking? I want this man, and I want him alive. You understand?”

“Yes.”

“Excellent. Now, if he is running at anything near top speed, he could already be less than an hour from you. So, it is time for action, yes?”

“Of course,” Monter agreed, then heard the line go dead.

S
ANDOR WAS NOT
running the Fountain at top speed. For one thing, he did not want to draw unwanted attention from any local authorities. He also did not want to make himself an easy target for anyone who might have organized a search. Finally, and most important, he wanted to give Raabe and Bergenn time to find him.

The GPS link would tell them he was at sea. All they needed to do was to fix his position and arrange a pickup.

If only things were that simple,
he told himself.

Sandor steered a steady course to the north, making it appear he was approaching an oil rig he could see in the distance. He figured that was his best bet, appearing to be some sort of transport en route to one of the derricks, which is how he was going to play it until help arrived.

————

Bergenn picked up the signal.

“It looks like he’s on the move.”

“On the move?”

“And fast.” Bergenn plugged in the coordinates. “He’s on the water,” he said as he electronically charted the path Sandor was traveling. “Looks like he’s heading north-northwest.”

“In a boat?”

“If he’s swimming this fast, we’re entering him in the next Olympics.”

“Where the hell did he get a boat?”

“Sandor? You really want an answer to that?”

“Never mind,” Raabe conceded. “How far are we?”

Bergenn did some math, then said, “If he keeps coming north and we stay on this vector, we’re less than ten minutes out.”

————

Monter’s men at the port in Cabimas boarded a Fountain 47 foot Lightning. It was fitted with a pair of Mercury 850 engines that could propel the boat at speeds reaching 120 miles an hour.

Unlike Sandor, these three men were not worried about attracting attention when they cast off. Situated at the far end of the marina, they were at the northern entrance to this enormous lake and they made fast work of negotiating the short canal that led out of the harbor. Once clear of the docks the man at the wheel promptly throttled up. The nose of the sleek speedboat rose in the air as the twin screws dug in. They lurched forward, accelerating across the top of the placid water.

They had no information about where their missing boat might be, other than the suspicion it would be heading north toward the narrows between Cabimas and La Concepcion. That was the only route leading into the Gulf of Venezuela and, ultimately, to the relative safety of the Caribbean. The sister boat they were hunting for was a forty-two-foot model of the Lightning, its bright yellow hull unmistakable on a clear day like this, providing they got close enough to spot it.

There was discussion about waiting, trying to ambush the hijacker once he came within range of the inlet, but that was risky. The narrows always attracted a lot of boat traffic, and a high-speed chase might become a problem. There was also concern about the sort of firepower the hijacker might have with him or how many other men he might have arranged to pick up along the way.

The decision was made to search for the boat in the open waters, hoping to spot him before he saw them. The pilot took the Fountain on a southwesterly course while his compatriots stood on either side of the small cockpit, balancing themselves and peering through binoculars as they raced ahead at more than eighty miles an hour.

————

Sandor did not have the luxury of a lookout, nor could he do much on his own to scan the horizon, except with the naked eye and an occasional look through binoculars. He had a half-conscious man on the deck behind him, unfamiliar waters to navigate, and a rendezvous to arrange. At the moment, his principal focus was the enormous oil rig that appeared to be just a couple of miles ahead, off his starboard side.

He checked his watch. It was after eight, and he knew Raabe and Bergenn had to be somewhere in the area by now. They had agreed that radio silence was his safest course, but now it was time to try to reach them.

He slowed the boat and made a quick check of the Mexican. The man was moaning but still seemed to be out of commission. Sandor grabbed some of the rope on board and bound the man’s hands behind his back. He then reached for the binoculars and had a look at the sky around him. It was a bright morning, and he could make out a couple of high-altitude aircraft.

But no seaplanes.

Pulling the small satellite phone from his vest pocket, he switched on the power, waited for the keyboard to light up, and then punched in the code.

Out of the corner of his eye he spotted the Mexican crawling toward the port gunwale.

In two large strides Sandor reached the man, drove his heel into the small of his back, and sent him facedown again onto the hard fiberglass.

“You trying to go swimming with your hands tied? You must really be some kind of water-treader.”

The man muttered something obscene in response.

“I’m not sure exactly what you said, but I think it’s anatomically impossible, am I right?” There was no reply. “Look, I already told you I don’t want to have to kill you, and I’d hate to give you a second concussion in less than fifteen minutes, but you’re really testing my patience. Now, you either lie still for a few minutes or I’m going to have to rap you across the skull again.”

The man understood enough to say,
“Tranquilo.”

“Excellent.” Then, for good measure, he grabbed the end of the rope that was binding the man and secured it to the port railing. “You jump overboard and I’ll keelhaul you.
Comprende?
” Just then Sandor’s cell phone began to buzz. “Now shut the hell up and stay put.” For emphasis he jammed his foot down on the man’s ass again, forcing him flat on the deck. Then he hit the green button on the phone. “Vinny’s Pizza.”

“Funny man,” Bergenn said. “You all right?”

“Peachy.”

“Our friend?”

“Still among the breathing, unfortunately, but I have a lot to tell.”

“Can’t wait to hear it. Meanwhile we’re working on your coordinates. You rent a boat for a day cruise?”

“Something like that.”

“We’ll be joining you in less than five minutes.”

“Copy that. I’m less than two miles south of some gigantic drilling platform. Water’s calm here, you can probably set down and not make a ripple.”

“We see the rig coming up on the screen, we should be in your range of vision straightaway.”

“Great. I’m bringing someone home for dinner with us.”

“The man himself?”

“Sadly, no. But it’s someone who should be helpful when I tell my tale. Now listen, I’m not sure what they might be doing to track me, but several of their people are down and I’ve borrowed one of their very pricey little dinghies, so you be careful coming in. I’m sure they’re looking for me.”

“Roger that.”

“Look, in case I don’t make it for any reason, you need to know why I aborted the mission.” Bergenn began to say something but Sandor stopped him. “This is important. They have an underground lab there.”

“Explosives?”

“No. Seems our friend has gone into the pharmaceutical business.”

“Narcotics?”

“Yes, but it gets worse. Anthrax.”

“I dread to ask the next question.”

“What he’s doing with cocaine and anthrax? I don’t know yet. That’s what we’ve got to find out. Since I raised hell, I’m sure he’s already called in the movers, so we’ve got some work to do on this.”

“All right. Keep your phone on; we’re approaching the rig now; you should be able to have us in your sights soon.”

Sandor gave his prisoner another quick look, then lifted his binoculars. Before he could make out the Otter flying toward him from the northwest, he saw the speedboat bearing down on him from the northeast.

I
T DID NOT
take long for Monter’s men to locate their missing speedboat. They had a pretty good fix on the approximate time Sandor would have launched the forty-two-foot Fountain from just south of Barranquitas, right after they lost all radio contact with their team. Assessing his route was not complicated since there were limited choices that would ultimately lead to the narrows. Staying close to the western shore would have been too risky—there was the possibility of being spotted or even attacked from land. Heading east and then back north would have wasted too much time. That eliminated a substantial search area and sent them on the diagonal vector most likely to cross paths with their target.

When they spotted the speedboat, their only surprise was that he had not pushed it faster and was still so far to the south.

The pilot held his course as the other two men threw open the lockers along the bulkheads and prepared their weapons for the assault. They were told that the man was to be taken alive. They were warned that some of their own men might still be on the boat. And they were ordered to avoid destroying the speedboat itself, if at all possible.

That said, these were not men suited to tasks requiring finesse. They figured their job was to get this
maricon,
one way or another; to try to save their boat; and—most important—to survive the event themselves.

————

Sandor grabbed the cell phone again and hit the speed dial. “Mayday, mayday, we have hostiles bearing down from the east.”

“Have they shot at you?” Bergenn asked.

“Not yet, but I don’t think we’re more than sixty seconds from the fireworks. They’re not racing here at ninety miles an hour to have a chat.” Hearing the discussion, the Mexican in the back of the boat began to stir. Taking the phone away from his ear, Sandor yelled, “You move another inch and I’ll start the festivities by taking you out first.” Then, speaking to Bergenn again, he warned, “You guys better chill until we see what kind of toys they have with them.”

“Understood, but we’re not about to stand down and leave you there to fry.”

“No worries,” Sandor told him. “I’ll be right back to you.”

Returning his attention to the prisoner on deck, he said, “Tell me what you have on board in the way of long-range weapons.” When the man shook his head without speaking, Sandor lunged toward him, grabbed a handful of the man’s hair, and shoved the barrel of his automatic into his neck. “Now, you listen very carefully. In about sixty seconds your friends are going to start shooting at us, which means you and I will suddenly be playing for the same team. So if you don’t tell me what I want to know, they may or may not get me, but you are most certainly a dead man.”

There was a slight hesitation, which was followed by Sandor leaning a bit harder on the S&W.

“In there,” the man said with a very slight turn of his head.

————

Sandor’s prediction, that he was only sixty seconds from being shot at, was not off by much. As he ran toward the compartment in the rear of the boat to see what munitions they had stowed away, the first spray of automatic fire whistled overhead. The other speedboat was closing fast, and the men on board began the attack by trying to hit Sandor before resorting to tactics that would destroy the speedboat in the process.

As the shots were fired Sandor dove to the deck, then crawled the rest of the way toward the cabinet and flung the lid open.

Meanwhile, the two men shooting at Sandor had some sort of long-range rifles, and they were not sparing the ammunition. Fortunately, they were still not aiming low enough to damage the boat.

Sandor was on his knees, rummaging through the store of armaments that were on hand. There were automatic rifles—likely the same variety as those being used against him. There was a grenade launcher. He found some sort of primitive flamethrower. And, most critical to his predicament, there was a rocket launcher with one projectile in place and a second wrapped and ready to go.

“You,” he said to the Mexican, “what would their orders be?”

“How would I know?”

“You can do better than that.”

“To blow your head off, what do you think?”

Sandor nodded. “I’ll try not to take offense. What I want to know is whether they’re willing to shoot up this boat in the process.”

The man managed to roll onto his side just enough to have a look at his captor. “Not at first. They’ll try and take you down. But they’re not going to stay with that for long, man. Too many
federales
in these waters.”