GHOST_4_Kindle_V2 (21 page)

“Undoubtedly,” I replied. “But the other ship troubles me. It’s a variable we’ll have to handle on the fly.”

“Story of my life,” Rez muttered, half to herself.

“Hey,” Darcy said, slinking over to the rail. “You want us to radio the Coast Guard for back up or something?”

“Only if you don’t hear from us in an hour,” I said. “Once we’re aboard Gray’s ship, things are going to move fast. If you don’t hear from us in an hour, there’s a pretty good chance we’ll be history.”
 

Rez and I slipped silently into the water.

Chapter 19

“I like movies,” Erica cooed. She raised her chin a little and swayed.
 

Jack readied his blade, took his position behind Erica, and waited. Dr. Gary started the camera and then nodded. Jack held Erica’s chin. He could feel the pressure in his palm, the dead weight. She was fading fast. He pressed the knife blade to her throat…but pulled it away sharply.
 

There’d been a sound somewhere on deck. A muffled thump.
 

“What the heck was that?” Dr. Gary asked.
 

“I don’t know,” Jack hissed. “Go, go check.”

Dr. Gary stopped the camera, went to a drawer, and withdrew a compact, brushed metal handgun, a Ruger SR1911 .45 caliber. “I’ll be right back…but I don’t think she’s going to last.”

Erica mumbled a string of unintelligible syllables, ending in two clear words: “I’m sorry.”

* * *
   
* * *
   
* * *
   
* * *

There were lights on inside the cabins of both ships. But fortunately, for our boarding purposes, the upper decks were shrouded in shadow. We clambered aboard at the aft rail of the Sun Odyssey, past the name
Company Gold
, written ornately on the transom, and now crouched on deck a few feet from the cabin steps.
 

“It’s going to be close quarters in there,” Rez whispered. “Not a lot of room for missing.”

“I’ll go first,” I said. “I can take a few rounds if need be.”

Rez frowned. “I know that. I saw. But I’m talking about the women. If Smiling Jack and the accomplice have the women aboard, an errant shot will kill them just as dead as Jack’s knife. We can’t afford to miss.”

“Point taken,” I said. “But I’m going first. I know this ship’s layout and…I don’t miss.”

“I’ve heard that before,” Rez replied. “From a former partner. Listen, Ghost, what do you expect me to do, shoot under your armpit? You’re wider than the ship’s doorway.”

“Once I’m in and things happen, you’ll have room. I’ll make sure.”

I tucked the Edge inside the waistband of my soaked khakis and reflexively checked the load of the PNP. The meter showed three green bars. It was ready.
 

I was ready.

Or so I thought.

My fingertips had barely brushed the handle of the door when the handle turned and the door flung open. A paunchy man with dark, short-cropped hair, frosted blond, gawked at me for just a few split seconds less than I gawked at him. In those few seconds, I tried to place the man’s face with Smiling Jack. It wasn’t him, but it might have been his accomplice. There was no way to know.
 

My hesitation proved costly. Frosty put a knife blade into my upper arm and struck a nerve. I dropped the PNP. He drew back the knife to strike again, but this time, I was faster.

I drew the Edge, depressed a switch, and heard the hiss of pressurized air as the emanation rod extended. About as long and as thick as a fencing rapier, the Edge crackled to life. Alternating serpents of blue and white energy spiraled instantly up the rod until reaching the fusion cap. The rod pulsed electric blue and emitted a warbling buzz. The Edge had reached battle charge in two heartbeats. By the third heartbeat, I’d severed Frosty’s arm at the elbow. The limb—hand still holding the knife—fell at his feet with a muted splat, like a dead fish.

There’d only been a spattering of blood because the Edge cauterized the blood vessels and flesh almost instantly. Mouth hanging open with incomprehension and shock, Frosty reached down for his severed limb. I almost felt sorry for him. Almost.

I slammed my knee under his chin and heard several sharp snapping sounds. He sprawled backward against the forecastle and crumpled into a messy heap.
 

“Go!” Rez shouted.

She was right. We’d made too much noise. Smiling Jack wouldn’t be surprised like his accomplice, and every second that passed could be life’s blood.

* * *
   
* * *
   
* * *
   
* * *

Jack put down the knife. No pulse. No point. He began to lower Erica’s body to the cabin floor. SLAM!

Something hit the boat. Hard. Jack picked up the knife again and stared hard at the cabin door. He heard footsteps on the deck. Then, the cabin door burst open, and a dark figure dropped to the floor.

* * *
   
* * *
   
* * *
   
* * *

I leaped down into the cabin, and saw a man crouching on the floor next to a reclining woman.
 

A knot of three other men and several women were tangled in the cramped room beyond. They began to untangle and guns came up.
 

“FEDERAL AGENTS, PUT DOWN YOUR WEAPONS!” Rez screamed behind me.
 

They fired. The doorjamb splintered. Rez fired, and I actually felt the heat of the gun’s discharge beneath my arm. One of the men went down, cursing in Spanish. I wheeled right, flung one of the women behind me and put all four knuckles of one hand into another shooter’s cheek. He was out cold before he hit the ground. The women were screaming now. I took my eyes off the other two guys and took a slug in my shoulder.
 

Rez’s Sig Sauer barked once, and the man fell back into the compact sofa. He uttered a string of obscenities so vile I wished I didn’t understand Spanish. Blood leaked from his shoulder, but he tried to raise the gun. I slashed the Edge and took his hand off at the wrist. His pistol sailed backward over the couch.

The last man dropped his gun, raised his hands high, and yelled for us not to shoot—in English, this time. Rez was on him instantly, producing cuffs, and slamming the guy against the cabin wall. It was then that I noticed the cameras. Two of them, expensive HD video recorders, on tripods aimed at the couch from different angles. Drug paraphernalia littered a low rectangular coffee table, and a mixed puddle of spilled drinks grew larger by the moment.
 

I heard a muffled cry from topside and then an engine.
 

“You good?” I called. I didn’t wait for Rez’s answer. I knew she would be. I snatched up my PNP and thumped up the steps. I reached the deck in time to watch the ship that had tied up along side the
Company Gold
race away into the darkness. I steadied the PNP and fired once. The expelled charge raced soundlessly away. There was a flicker of bright white light on the back of the ship. But I’d likely only hit a rail or a hatch. The ship sailed on.

I went back down below. The young women were wrapped in blankets and huddled in the ship’s master bedroom. And Rez had all four assailants zip tied and seated on the couches. Two of the men were still out cold. The man who’d lost his hand was awake but making fish faces, clearly in shock. Rez stood behind the only man who was still conscious and lucid. She nodded me over to the corner by the wet bar, and I knew what Rez would tell me before she said a word.
 

“We got the right ship,” she said, “but the wrong criminals. These guys are sex traffickers. La Compañía, Cuban mafia.”

I stared through the door at the women. Two of them looked like they could still be in high school. I shook my head at the innocence lost.
 

“That’s right, La Compañía, you pathetic cop bastards!” The man on the couch crowed. “You know what that means?”

I took a step toward him. Rez put a hand on my chest. “Don’t,” she said. I pushed past.

“You Gray?” I asked.

“Stupid cop,” he replied. “You don’t know my name do you? I will tell you something: you will know my name. I’ll have it carved into your lily white, cop chest. You’ll be whispering it through bloody bubbles when I have you gutted. La Compañía! You don’t know who you’re—”

I was around the couch and loomed over him, my face just inches from his. I held back the full-blown Netherview, but let my eyes do their thing. The irises went from pale blue to jet black. The pupils shrank to a pinprick of light, but I knew they blazed like distant stars going nova.
 

“Now you listen to me,” I said, my voice, deep and menacing, spoken right into his mind. “You might cow teenagers with this lame Al Pacino, Scarface shtick, but I can see you. You are a miserable little boy. You’ve been lost for a long, long time, and the way out has become so narrow, it’s barely there. I hope you find it. Because if you don’t, I might come for you.”

Just then, white light flared from my wounded shoulder.
 

Gray sat back and gaped. If I’d filled his mouth with dish soap, he’d be blowing bubbles.

Rez stared as I approached. “Holy smokes, Ghost! Gray went from arrogant wise guy to zombie. What did you say to him?”

I avoided eye contact with Rez and said, “It was something he needed to hear.”

Rez waited a beat, probably hoping for more details. I didn’t offer any. She huffed out a breath. “Still, Ghost, be careful. La Compañía isn’t something to be trifled with. They’re heavy hitters down here. Watch your back.”

I said, “Someone already is.” She smiled. I think she thought I meant her. I didn’t correct her. “Take the young women to Adderly’s ship. Get them some decent clothing if you can, maybe some coffee. I’ll babysit these guys.”

She started to leave but paused. “You aren’t…you aren’t going to do something to them are you?”

I shook my head. “Tempting, but I’ll let due process handle them for now.”

Rez disappeared. I knew she’d contact the Coast Guard. I knew there’d be questions. And I knew the Feds would probably get involved. I was glad for the bust, but it was a costly mistake. I just didn’t know how costly.
 

* * *
   
* * *
   
* * *
   
* * *

“What’s the matter with you?” Jack screamed. “Dropping down like that? I almost had a heart attack!”

“I’m sorry,” Dr. Gary said. “I knew what a hurry we were in with Erica…and…oh, she didn’t make it.”

“No,” Jack muttered. “She bled out while you were gone. What took you so long? And what was that crash I heard?”

“Driftwood,” Dr. Gary replied. “Half a tree by the look of it. The current slammed it up against the bow, port side. We’re going to need new paint.”

“What about our plan?” Jack asked.

Gary looked down at Erica’s body and shook his head. His eyebrows knitted tightly a moment, then relaxed. “We can’t film her expiring,” he said slowly, thinking. “Do her throat anyway. Then, get her wrapped up and come topside. I’m going to pull anchor.”

“What are you thinking?”

“Later,” he said, “when we get to the fort.”

* * *
   
* * *
   
* * *
   
* * *

It had been a grueling six hours with the local police and the Feds who had choppered in out of the Jacksonville field office. Agent Rezvani was my shield, vouching for me as a local private detective and hiding my silver case far from prying eyes. Maybe their eyes would have pried a little more if they hadn’t been so overjoyed by the break in the La Compañía organization.
 

Mr. Gray’s real name was Ernesto Guevara Ramírez, and he was a major player in the Cuban mafia’s local sect. He was known on the street as the man who could make anyone’s sexual fantasies—no matter how perverse—become reality, for a price. He was a confirmed violent misogynist, but slippery as an eel, he had been impossible to put away for long. The Feds thought that might change now, and that was probably why they didn’t pay as much attention to me.
 

With one exception. A field agent out of Jacksonville named Culbert was a little too curious about the severed limbs. He had wiry, curled white-bond hair that reminded me of a kitchen scrubbing pad. He wore thick glasses, and seemingly had been born with a permanent, incredulous sneer.
 

“You mind telling me, Mr. Spector,” his voice whiney and grating, “how you cut off one guy’s arm at the wrist, the other at the elbow? Clean as you could want and cauterized too?” He exhaled loudly. “What’d you do, torture them? What kind of blade did you use?”
 

Rez appeared instantly and took Culbert aside, but not quite out of earshot.
 

“Look, Culbert,” she said, “I know you’re just doing your job, but you need to leave this guy alone. He broke this case open. He’s on our side.”

Culbert’s sneer became even more lopsided. “Agent Rezvani, I don’t know how you do things in D.C., but down here, these aren’t the kind of details we leave as loose ends. Did you see those wounds? Whoosh! Right through flesh and bone and sealed right up like a surgeon. What kind of weapon does tha—”

“Leave it alone, Field Agent,” Rez warned, deepening her voice. “Mr. Spector is above your pay grade.”

Culbert bristled. “What the heck does that mean? What is he, a spook?”

Rez looked both ways as if to make sure no one else was listening in. “CIA, NSA are dark right?” she asked. He nodded. “Okay, so Spector belongs to something darker. Leave it alone or expect a visit from the guys in black suits and sunglasses.”

“Crap,” Culbert muttered. “But we’re supposed to be the guys in dark suits and sunglasses!”

Rez shook her head. “You have no idea.” Then she walked away, leaving Culbert in stupefied silence.

They were loading one of the La Compañía gunmen into an ambulance and he yelled to Culbert, “I’m tellin’ ju, mannn, he’s like a freakin’ Jedi Knight, yo. Arrest that dude…‘fore he cut off somebody’s head with dat lightsaber!”