One Minute Out Page 25
“Like rape? I’m sure I could get that at home.”
Claudia frowned. It was clear to Roxana that this line of reasoning from the doctor had worked before, and the older woman was frustrated by Roxana’s reluctance.
The doctor said, “We will need to spend quite a lot of time together, you and I. I promise, by the time you reach your destination, you will be so happy about everything that has happened to you, and thankful to me for helping you digest it all and appreciate it.” She smiled broadly. “You have to be at least a little excited that you’re getting to come to America?”
“What makes you think I want to come to America?”
“Every little girl’s dream where you come from.”
Roxana cocked her head. “Maybe my mother’s. Not mine. Romania is actually a very nice country now.”
“I’m certain it is, dear.” It was the most disingenuous-sounding thing Dr. Claudia had said so far. “But the West Coast is magical, you will see.”
“Does every American think that the rest of the world is just dying to immigrate? I’m not. I was in school; I come from a good family. I didn’t want to be kidnapped.”
The American woman sighed. “It is so crucial that we make progress. There are eyes upon us.”
“What does that mean?”
“It means, if you come along in this process with a more positive attitude, then it will only help you.”
“So . . . I should play a role in my own abduction?”
Claudia looked to the ceiling, obviously frustrated. She said, “Good things are in store for you, young lady.” Then she darkened considerably. “But, please, for your own good, listen to one piece of advice from me.”
“Which is?”
“The South African. John. Do what he says, when he says it. He is not a gentle man. He would fall in great disfavor with the Director if anything happened to you, but the Director would forgive him in time, and John knows it. The organization needs him to keep the operation running smoothly, so that won’t protect you. Trust me, John is the cruelest person I’ve ever met and, frankly, dear, in this organization, that is saying something.”
She added, “I am here to help you along your path, but this path will have some bumps along the way. John, and the Greek who owns the yacht, they are the bumps you’ll have to contend with before I get you to your final destination.”
Maja didn’t know what the doctor meant by any of this, but she knew it was nothing good.
* * *
• • •
I sleep like the dead until my alarm goes off—no dreams about the girls, but they are the first thing I think about when I wake. I feel the aches and pains of the fight in Dubrovnik, the fatigue of the days of little rest, but at least I’m doing better than I was when I got to town.
I stumble into the bathroom and toss water on my face, then go check on Talyssa. I find her awake, but lying in the fetal position on the bed.
“You okay?”
“Everything hurts. My neck, my shoulder, my arm, my back. I can barely move.”
“Some asshole must have flipped your van over last night.”
She smiles a little at this and makes herself sit up. We both take anti-inflammatories, drinking them down with bottled water, and then she brews coffee in the pot in the kitchen, which we consume quickly, purely for the caffeine.
At nine p.m. we head out the door, our arms full of gear.
At nine thirty we are standing by the speedboat bobbing in its slip at the marina. I have a perfect view of the south from here, so I’m scanning the night with my binos. There are a number of vessels on the water, but my eyes fix on an especially bright light that grows by the minute. It’s a couple of miles out in the sea lane, and while I don’t know it’s La Primarosa, the general size looks about right. It’s a very large vessel, but smaller than a cruise ship or one of the big ferries that deliver people and cargo up and down the coast.
Each minute the vessel nears I become more and more certain I am looking at my target, and I know that if it is planning on coming to port here at Pula, it will change course to put it on a northeasterly heading, and then begin slowing.
But the vessel just keeps heading to the north, making no correction to bring it closer to Pula.
When it is still a mile or so to the south without any noticeable change in course, I can see well enough to recognize the outline of the yacht I saw last night.
I say, “She’s the right boat, but she should be turning this way, and she’s not. Wherever they’re heading, it’s not here.”
Talyssa is crestfallen that her theory is incorrect. “What are we going to do?”
I look at her, then at the boat below me. “No chance you know how to drive one of these, is there?”
She shakes her head in bewilderment. “Me? No.”
I heft my gear bags on my shoulder. “No problem. You’re about to get one hell of a kick-ass lesson.”
“You want me to go out there? On the water? And drive the boat?”
I climb aboard and take her hand without replying. She comes along, but reluctantly.
“Yeah,” I reply. “It’ll be fun.”
I fire the engines and we head off through the marina, slowly and inconspicuously at first, but soon I’m pushing the throttle forward and we pick up speed.
The tiny forested island of Brijuni sits at the mouth of Pula Bay, and I decide to try to shoot between it and the shore in hopes of getting ahead of my target. Passing a superyacht in a speedboat wouldn’t necessarily be suspicious in itself, but I don’t know how alert those on board will be, so I don’t take any chances.
I’m going to follow them from the front, because my boat can turn a hell of a lot faster than theirs, and if they do go into port somewhere up the coast, I’ll have no trouble turning around and keeping up the pursuit.
Soon we’re making twenty, then thirty, then nearly forty knots, while the yacht, now on the other side of the island off to our left, is probably doing about fifteen.
The water is choppier here between the two land masses, and the faster we go, the harder we slam back down on the surface. It’s a rough ride, and our aching bodies protest every single moment of it, but once I’m clear of the island I find myself slightly north and about two miles east of the vessel. It’s open water now, so I throttle up even further and head slightly west, converging slowly on the yacht’s current heading.
I begin coaching Talyssa on how to operate the twenty-four-foot speedboat. I save a little time in my tutorial by skipping the safety features, because what I have in mind tonight is so fucking unsafe I’m not terribly concerned about her burning her hand on the outboard or slipping on the wet deck. Instead, I just give her the basics.
Soon I’m confident she can pull off the simple task I have for her, and she sits there and stares at the megayacht. She’s holding on for dear life and looking sicker by the minute as we bounce along the slowly undulating sea, but I can tell she’s still thinking about her sister.
I figure it’s a hell of a thing to not know if your sibling is alive or dead, but to know, either way, that you were the one who put your sibling in peril . . .
But then I remember that I know exactly what that feels like.
I have skeletons in my closet, too.
* * *
• • •
Dr. Claudia Riesling entered the main-deck saloon of the Primarosa and sat down next to Jaco Verdoorn. The South African was finishing a dinner of pork tenderloin, and while he ate he communicated to his men, already at the yacht’s final destination in Venice. She heard him talk about the American man who had been causing difficulties to the pipeline, and their efforts to lay traps for him around the Venice market the next evening.
She planned on remaining on the yacht during the market, as she did most trips. It would give her more time to work with Maja, w
ho would not be going ashore because she was one of two items on the boat that were not for sale.
Maja needed a lot of work still. Riesling had just left her small berth after another frustrating session, and this was the reason she wanted to speak with Verdoorn.
Riesling waited for the security chief to end his call, then waited a little longer for him to give her his attention.
Riesling was a psychologist, but she knew she didn’t have to be a psychologist to pick up on the fact that Verdoorn hated women. She’d seen him brutalize, heard of him killing, and listened to him while he gave orders that ensured the roughest treatment of the women around him. She didn’t think he ever even had sex, which he easily could have done as much as he wanted considering his power in the Consortium along with his unfettered access to the merchandise.
Riesling realized quickly after meeting the South African that she was completely afraid of him, and she reasoned it to be a healthy fear.
Finally, he looked her way. “What is it?”
She said, “This Maja . . . she’s a difficult case. She’s utterly defiant.”
He nodded impassively. She saw that he was unsurprised. “The recruiter said her family unit was strong. She was intelligent, no drug use, no sexual abuse in her past. These are the tough cases, but that’s why you’re here.”
“I’ve been working with her all day. If anything, she’s only become more recalcitrant.”
Jaco shrugged, as if the conversation bored him. “The Director likes her stubbornness. He’s looking forward to draining that out of her.” When Riesling made no reply, he cocked his head. “But you are saying something else, aren’t you?”
The doctor nodded. “Even the most obstinate ones respond to my tactics. I am beginning to think this one is here to make trouble.”
“But . . .” Jaco was confused. “We took her, she didn’t just show up. Saying she is here to cause trouble would indicate she willfully came along with some sort of plan.”
“I’m not saying that. I am saying she is not like any of the other recruits. She understands this better than she should be able to. That or she’s just incredibly wily, but I’m worried about this one.”
Verdoorn said, “If you think the Director will just change his mind about seeing her in Venice, or about bringing her to Rancho Esmerelda, you can forget it. He is a hell of a lot more headstrong than this stupid whore we’re transporting below.”
Riesling sighed. “I know. It’s up to us to have her ready for him.”
“Are you making some sort of a request?”
“I think some additional . . . intervention is warranted.”
The South African said, “You want her beaten? I can do it, but the boss won’t like it. He’ll want her healthy for his visit tomorrow.”
The American woman shook her head. “No. Not beaten. I need to create some sort of a bond with her quickly, so it might help if we could initiate some trauma of a . . . of a more personal nature. This will help her look at me as something of a lifeline, a kindred female. Right now I’m just another of her captors as far as she sees things.”
Verdoorn nodded as he ate his pork. “You want her sexually defiled, and then you want to come to her side to tell her you had nothing to do with it but can help her cope with what has happened.”
“That’s it exactly.”
“The Director won’t like that, either.”
“I can give him my professional opinion that this was the prudent move.”
Verdoorn thought this over, then nodded. “He will defer to your expertise.” After a sip of beer, he said, “I can send one of the Greeks into her cabin tonight.”
Riesling thought it telling that Verdoorn immediately said he could beat her, if necessary, but when it came to sex, he suggested someone else.
“I think that might prove extremely effective in cooling the fires of resistance in her. I suggest Kostopoulos himself. I know how he is with the girls. She will need a lot of help in her recovery after a night with him, and it will only make my job easier.”
Verdoorn agreed. “I’ll talk to him. No doubt he’ll be happy to do his duty for the cause.”
“If he does it tonight, by tomorrow when we get to Italy, I can all but assure you Maja will be more obedient and ready for the Director’s visit.”
“That’s what we pay you for,” Jaco said, then his attention returned to his meal.
TWENTY-SEVEN
Thirty minutes after Talyssa Corbu and I climbed into the speedboat, the Romanian woman has vomited twice, and I’ve almost thrown up a half dozen times. I came the closest when she didn’t quite make it to the side and puked all over the deck, but I managed to hold my lunch in, and now La Primarosa is at least two miles behind us: still heading north, still a little off our port quarter, with its brilliant lights perfectly visible in the clear night.
I’ve been monitoring my fuel gauge, knowing I’m burning a lot of gas, and now see I’m down below half a tank. Over the sounds of the engine and the waves, I say, “We’re not going to be able to lead them all the way up the coast. We have about thirty minutes of fuel left.” I think it over for several seconds, then spend a few more seconds trying to talk myself out of the plan I’d devised while motoring along.
But the voice of reason can’t break through and put an end to this insanity.
I hold the wheel with one hand while I bring the binos to my eyes, looking to see if there is evidence of anyone standing on the deck of La Primarosa. From this distance, while bouncing up and down on the water, it’s impossible to tell.
With a sigh, I say, “Looks like I’m going to have to try a bottom-up under way.”
“A what?”
“Raiding a ship from the waterline while it’s on the move.”
“That sounds difficult.”
I laugh. “It’s a little challenging, yeah. I’ve done it before, but not without a lot of equipment, and not alone.”
“How will you—”
She stops talking when I throttle back hard, putting the Mano Marine speedboat in neutral. It slows violently, knocking Talyssa and me both forward.
I could have warned her, but I hear the ticking clock in my head telling me I have to act fast. The time to hold her hand has passed. I tell her, “You’re going to have to drive the boat.”
After the ceaseless full-throttle engine rumble and the noise of the boat beating against the waves, the relative silence now is shocking. Talyssa stares at me in disbelief and dread, and I know what she’s going to say.
“Look. You showed me some things . . . but . . . but I’ve never done this before. I still don’t know how.”
“Do you know how to raid a vessel from the waterline while it’s moving at fifteen knots?” She doesn’t answer me, likely because she’s tired of my smartass comments. I add, “Trust me, you’ve got the easy part in all this.”
Talyssa leans over the side and vomits again. I just barely manage to suppress my own desire to hurl while I hold the wheel and focus on the approaching boat. I need to position myself nearly perfectly in the water to have any chance of pulling this off, and to get closer to the vessel’s path, I turn slightly to the west and add a little power.
It doesn’t take me long before I throttle back yet again, and we bob there in the darkness. The yacht is less than a mile and a half away, and closing steadily.
Talyssa sits there, staring at me, and I can feel the trepidation pouring off her.
“How are we going to do this?” she finally asks.
“I’m getting in the water, and you are going to pilot the boat in the direction of those lights on the coastline. Go slowly, one-third power. Make your way about halfway between me and the shore, maybe one mile out, and then throttle back to neutral. After La Primarosa passes by, keep your eyes out to sea, right here. If you see a light waving around in the water, that’s me, and I
wasn’t able to get on board. Come and pick me up. If you don’t see anything for five minutes, head for land. You should be able to beach it easily, but be sure to pick an area where the shoreline isn’t too rocky.”
“I don’t know if I can do this,” she says.
“I can’t do it without you, and if I miss that boat and you don’t come for me, then I’m dead.”
“Don’t put me in that position!”
“Look around you! We’re in that position! We can go home and forget this, or we can go forward. The only way forward is for me to try to hit that boat, right now, while it’s on the move.”
Her meek voice has returned. “I’m just . . . scared.”
My voice isn’t meek at all, but I share her sentiments. “Yeah, me, too. Trust me, it doesn’t go away, but after a while, you get used to it.” I pull a bag of equipment up on the deck, retrieve my wetsuit, fins, mask, and snorkel. I leave my tank and the rest of my scuba gear because, as much as I’d love the ability to breathe underwater, there is no way I can pull myself aboard a swiftly moving boat with fifty pounds of shit on my back.
I also retrieve the small backpack that is holding the rubber-coated utility anchor attached to the braided line, and I stuff my pistol and suppressor in it, along with my knife, a flashlight, and a small red light to use underwater.
While Talyssa watches the approaching yacht, I strip down to my underwear and wrestle into the 7-millimeter wetsuit, pull the hood over my head, and slip on my fins.
She starts to say something to me, maybe to protest again that she has no training to pilot a powerful motorboat on the open sea, alone, at night, but she registers the intense look on my face and realizes I am not a man to be reasoned with right now.
I put the mask on, adjust the snorkel, and sit on the gunwale of the speedboat, facing in. Crossing my legs in front of me, I say, “You’ve got this, and so do I.” Before she can reply, I pinch my nose and put my hand on my mask. I roll backwards off the gunwale, entering the water with the back of my head first, then doing a reverse somersault under the waves before resurfacing.