Blank Slate (A Kyle Jackle Thriller) (22 page)

The frozen look on their faces told the story. I looked at Reginaldo as he stripped off his shirt and began to put on his gear. “I thought you told me you couldn’t dive anymore?”

“The doctor-what do he know? My boat, the Liwa Mairin named after goddess of the deep. She protect me. And that lady too beautiful to die below.” With that he slipped on his fins, adjusted his facemask and dropped into the sea.

Finding the submarine was easy. He had almost dropped the anchor on it when he had located it on the depthfinder. In the crystal clear water, the open hatch was clearly visible at the stern of the submarine. After a couple of failed attempts, he gave up on trying to enter the confines of the hatch with the tank on his back. Not a concern-in the days when he dove, he could regularly dive to fifty or sixty feet on a single breathe and work under water for as long as three minutes. He strapped the tank to the side of the hatch and swam into the darkness with only the flashlight leading the way. Thirty feet-he reached the bulkhead door. Another few strokes and he could see his flashlight reflecting on the trapped air in the hull. Reginaldo broke the water’s surface and found himself eye to eye with Tasha who seemed ready to crush his skull with the wrench clasped tightly in her hand.

“OK. Let’s get it done.” Tasha took several deep breaths as she had watched Kyle do before and Reginaldo grabbed her by the hand and began guiding her through the flooded submarine. She was terrified, but instinctively knew she could trust Renaldo to get her safely to the surface. By the time she squeezed through the hatch, Renaldo had the mouthpiece of the regulator extended to her. She stuck it in her mouth, cleared it and greedily sucked in a mouthful of air.

Reginaldo ascended slowly with Tasha in tow. He couldn’t tell how long she had been at eighty feet, but knew the risk of a too rapid ascent without waiting for the bubbles in the bloodstream to dissipate. After a few minutes, they emerged to find an anxious group waiting to help them over the rail.

“Welcome back to the world,” I said giving her a hug with my one good arm. She smiled, grateful to feel the warm sun on her face again. The sound of a thud behind them attracted their attention. Reginaldo had fallen against the bulkhead and had a stunned look on his face.

His expression cleared for a moment and he whispered something about Liwa Mairin that sounded almost like a prayer with his face tilted upwards toward the sun. His eyes closed and one final breath eased from his chest.

“I can’t believe he died trying to save…” Tasha was interrupted by a whistling noise as a round from the deck gun of the Lucia Marie screamed in toward the ship.

Everyone froze for a moment as the shell exploded harmlessly twenty yards off the bow. “Everyone to the port side!” I yelled.

We all scrambled out of the wheelhouse to the port side to place the bulk of the ship between the incoming fire and us. The next round arrived on target ten seconds later. The wheelhouse disappeared in a fiery explosion of metal and glass. Rivera grabbed Miller who had almost been blown overboard from the concussion of the impact.

“We’ve got to get off this ship now. Everybody in the RIB!” I said. No one needed a second invitation. They quickly scrambled down the dive ladder and piled into the RIB low on the port side. “We have to wait for the next round to hit-can’t take the chance of us being hit by a stray round in open water. It takes about fifteen seconds for them to reload. We’ll take off in between shots.

The next few seconds seemed like an eternity as they anticipated the impact of the next high explosive round. We held our breath as we heard the whistle of the incoming round and then were pounded by the force of the concussion as it exploded through the starboard side and into the fuel tanks forward of the engine room. Miller wasted no time-the second the force of the explosion dissipated, he dropped the last line securing them and roared away from the Liwa Mairin just as a fountain of fire erupted from the ruptured fuel tanks. The RIB was racing full bore at sixty miles an hour within a couple of hundred yards.

“Miller, hold a course straight away from them for a few seconds,” I said. “We want to keep those gunners guessing. I’ll watch for a muzzle flash-when I tell you, turn hard to port.”

“OK, I hope you know what the hell you’re doing,” Miller said as he gripped the wheel while the veins in his temple throbbed with the strain.

“Hard to port!” I yelled as the flash bloomed on the foredeck of the Lucia Marie. Miller threw the wheel hard over at sixty miles an hour and the big RIB carved a path through the water like it was on rails. Five seconds later the round arrived in the spot they would have been had they continued their original course.

A few seconds later, another flash. “Hard to starboard!” No hesitation-Miller threw the wheel over and the passengers held on with a deaths grip as the centrifugal force tried to throw them into the sea.

I almost thought I could see the blur of the shell on its downward arc. It splashed down harmlessly a couple of hundred yards short of our position. I finally smiled and smacked Miller on the shoulder. “That’s what they deserve for using a piece of crap Soviet deck gun-range is only a little over seven thousand yards. Looks like we’re just outside of that.”

“Kyle, how can you know that?” asked Miller.

“I’m not sure-seems like most of my long-term memories are beginning to pop back into place. Still a little fuzzy, but the short term is still almost nil. In the meantime, it really pisses me off to have guys shooting artillery at me. Those guys,” I said pointing at the Lucia Marie that had just weighed anchor and was beginning to motor south, “are going to be stopped here and now.”

“I agree,” Miller said. “What do you have in mind?”

I pointed off the port bow. “The Dolce Vita is about a mile ahead-we need to drop by and pick up a couple of things.”

Within minutes we were bumping into the side of the Dolce Vita and tying fast to the rail. I scrambled aboard and rummaged around down below for a few minutes before reappearing loaded down with enough weapons to start a small war.

“Careful with this one,” I said handing over the XM25 Grenade Launcher to Miller.

“Very nice,” said Miller hefting the weapon as he examined it closely. “I assume the disaster you created outside of Fort Lauderdale was courtesy of this little toy?”

“That would be correct,” I said, handing over the other H&K, pistols and ammunition. “I think it’s time to pay our final respects to Escabado and company.”

“Agreed,” said Miller, “but keep in mind, we are federal agents-we do need to give these guys at least an option to surrender. On the other hand, if they resist, I have no problem buying them a one way ticket to hell.”

“I can work with that,” I shrugged. “Let’s go run these guys down.”

Miller gunned the big Mercury outboards and they rapidly began to close the six miles that separated them. “This looks fairly easy so far,” said Miller as he ran the boat hard over the waves toward the Lucia Marie. “The problem with their bow mounted deck gun is they can only fire forward and to the side, not to the rear.”

“That’s not exactly good news,” I remarked. “See-either a lookout saw us or they just picked us up on radar. They’re turning in a circle to port. They know they can’t outrun us, so now they have to stand and fight.”

“We’re a mile out now,” said Rivera. “What’s the plan?”

“It’s not like we’re dealing with a highly trained gun crew, they probably fired more rounds today than they have since the gun was installed. Has to be optical aiming only on a gun that old. I’m not even sure they can track us moving sideways at sixty miles an hour. So, run let’s like hell at an angle to the ship. When they fire, head straight for the ship until you see the gun crew is ready to fire again. I’ll call the shot and then you dodge to either port or starboard. They’ll have time for three shots at most before we’re too close for them to be depress the gun to track us.”

Miller looked back at Kyle. “I really had forgotten what a crazy bastard you are.”

I smiled while loading the first round in the XM25. “I’ll have to take your word for it, but sounds like you have me pegged. You ready? Looks like the gun crew is loading the first round.”

“Call it!” said Miller.

A couple of seconds later, “Firing!” I yelled, immediately followed by a hard turn to port by Miller. Almost immediately, there was a terrific explosion of water fifty yards away followed by the boom of the gun reverberating over the water. “Head for them again.”

Miller corrected his course and charged for the Lucia Marie again. Only a half mile away now. I kept calling out the progress of the gun crew. “Loading a round. Closing the breech. Gunner starting to track us. Change course!”

Miller snapped the boat over so hard that the rear almost broke free as he dodged to starboard. The round impacted the water no more than fifteen yards away and everyone aboard was soaked by the spray from the explosion. “A little too close on that one,” said Miller grimly as he corrected again and steered a course directly for their bow.

“Everyone to the rail. I want these bastards stopped!” ranted Escabado as his face turned purple with rage and spittle flew from his lips.

“Nice call, Kyle,” said Rivera from his position on the .50 cal. “What next?”

“Looks like the crew is gathering below the bulwark on this side. Considering we’re basically driving a big rubber boat, why don’t you lay some rounds down to discourage them from poking holes in us.”

“I can do that,” replied Rivera with a wolfish smile. He squeezed the butterfly trigger on the machine gun and watched as the rounds chewed down the length of the metal bulwark. The crew of the Lucia Marie had been lying in wait for the signal from Escabado to attack with their mix of old AK47s from the war two decades before. They thought they were safely sheltered behind the quarter inch of steel plate on the side of the bulwark.

From the RIB, we witnessed the path of destruction caused by the .50 caliber rounds. The heavy jacketed rounds cut through the steel plating like butter, spraying shrapnel as they exploded out the backside. I even felt a twinge of sympathy at the sight of the crew’s blood being sprayed high on the wall behind the bulwark as the rounds took their bloody toll.

It was time to shut them down permanently. I lased the range to the window of the pilothouse, added four feet to ensure it penetrated inside before exploding, and fired a round from two hundred yards away. A little recoil and muted pop as the 25mm smart munition left the tube. Arriving on target a second later, it punched through the thick glass of the pilothouse and exploded in midair killing the bridge crew and Pedroza instantly.

I glanced around the boat. “Everyone OK?” Got an affirmative nod from everyone. You think they may be ready to surrender now?” I asked glancing at Miller.

“I’m not too sure you left anyone still breathing, but I guess we need to check it out,” said Miller. “No way it could have gone down any other way.”

We cautiously approached with Rivera on the gun and me standing by with the XM25, but it appeared that everyone had been either killed or was cowering below deck. I tied off the stern of the RIB and Rivera took the bow. I had a little problem managing the climb up the boarding ladder to the deck with one arm, but finally reached the top rail and swung my leg over.

Each of us was armed and ready, but all we found was a ship full of dead men. After taking one look at what remained of the crew behind the bulwark and deciding we couldn’t get through that way, we walked down the center of the ship and circled on the catwalk one level above to reach the pilothouse. Stepping into the pilothouse was no better. The aerial burst had served its deadly purpose and killed everyone on the bridge except the engineer. He had only been wounded because the bulk of a chart table had sheltered him from the worst effects of the blast.

Tasha had seen enough. She stepped outside onto the port wing bridge to put the bloody sight out of her mind. A moment later, I heard a scream. We turned as one and froze. Standing in the door, with blood dripping from one blind eye was Escabado with his arm wrapped around her neck and a pistol pointed at her head.

“I leaving on Bandito with my little friend. You follow me, I kill her. Put your guns down now,” he said in a ragged voice that revealed he was more severely injured than he appeared.

We hesitated. No one was going to put down his weapon in the face of this madman. He pointed his gun toward us to emphasize his point. As he extended his gun hand forward, Tasha drove the knife she had concealed by her side deep into his thigh. He roared with pain and as he doubled forward, she whirled and slit his throat from ear to ear. The raw wound gaped open wide and a fountain of blood joined the others on the wall and floor as he swayed upright for a moment and then collapsed.

There was complete silence in the room as Tasha bent over and casually wiped the blood from her knife off on Escabado’s shirt. She folded the blade and the knife disappeared again.