“You okay, Higgins?”
“Yep, locked and loaded.”
“That door is boarded up so we’ll have to enter through a window. I’ll pop it with this.” He held out the counter and continued, “You climb in first. I’ll stand watch while you enter then follow you in.” Clearing his throat, in a low voice, he said, “The lunatic that owns this house is pure evil. He might be inside but I don’t think so. Our SWAT team swept it clear yesterday. Be vigilant.”
“Copy that,” said Higgins
“Let’s do it,” he said opening his door. Rather that run straight to the front, he swerved in the driveway looking up at the widow’s walk until it came into full view. He could see through the cracks in the flooring that no one stood there. It was clear.
“Get up here, Keller! I’m going in.” Higgins shouted.
Seeing Higgins standing alone by the window panicked him. He started running trying to catch up. Panting, he arrived behind him just as Higgins kicked in the window. Glass shattered inward, scattering across the hardwood floor. Suddenly a shot rang out, echoing through the house. Higgins fell to his knees, moaning, grasped his chest, and toppled into the shrubbery.
Oh my God, he’s still in there, he thought.
Then it came; the second shot felt like a pinprick to him. Keller reached up to his forehead and drew back a bloody hand. Red fluid quickly streamed over his eyes, blurring his vision. He wasn’t sure what had happened, but he felt no pain. Then the light began to fade, darker and darker until it went black.
Two hours later, thirty minutes after their expected return, Victor began to worry. It was not like either of them to miss a deadline or at least call in a delay. He checked with Dispatch; they had heard nothing.
The radio was quiet after he called out to them. He tried again, “Keller, Higgins do you copy?”
Again silence. Jamming the talk button, he called urgently, “All units near Ocean Drive in Dana Point, please respond.”
The return, distorted, roaring, and garbled as units talked over each other, told him nothing.
He keyed the microphone, and replied, “Those units responding, please go to 1124 Ocean Drive for backup. We have two deputies on the scene that may be in trouble. Approach with caution.”
Sun setting out his office window, Victor sat waiting, praying that his men were okay. Shortly, the call came through, not what he wanted to hear, “Dispatch, Units 512 and 498, 10–23. We’ve got two deputies down. 10–79. Subject has escaped; repeat subject has escaped.”
“Shit!” he screamed. The 10–23 told him that his units were on the scene, and the 10–79 requested a coroner. He knew he had sent them to their deaths. Bowing his head in prayer, he silently began to weep.
The call came just after dinner. Dover was tidying the kitchen, pitching the plastic container from his frozen pot pie and wiping crumbs from the table. He grabbed the vibrating phone. “Dover here.” He was still chewing his last bite.
“Ensign Dover, this is Deputy Johnson at the Sheriff’s marina. We just found the Sea Ray about two miles out, still drifting westward. Good thing the tide was turning or it would have gone further.”
“Um-hmm. Did you bring it in?”
“Yeah, we’ve got it back in D-22. Chained this time. Whoever did that is going to need a cutting torch to do it again. Do you want to search it now? It’s getting dark out. We have work lights on the pier if you need them.”
“Anything different when you brought it back… besides the cut mooring lines, I mean”
“We did notice the GPS unit looked like it had been bashed in, as had the hull and deck. There were dents all over and the GPS had a cracked screen. It was hanging by its cords. Someone must have taken a hammer or baseball bat to it. The boat is a mess. Strange.”
“That son-of-a-bitch Fogner got in there and did this. He must be alive.”
“Well, do you want to come check it out?”
He considered the offer, then realized his buddy Strong was out of touch. He had no way to contact him. “No deputy, I don’t know where Strong is tonight. I think I’ll pass.” Reliving his anger at its loss, he added, “Think you can keep it there overnight so we can do it in the morning?”
“Oh, for sure. We put a motion alarm on board. If anybody steps into the cockpit, all hell will break loose. We’ll know.”
“Good. I’ll trust your security to do it right this time. I’ll contact Strong in the morning and we’ll be out there at, say, ten a.m. Okay?”
“Sure ensign, we’ll be here and so will your boat. Have a good evening.”
“Thanks for the call Deputy Johnson. Thanks for locating the boat, too.”
“You can thank your group. Your Coast Guard Station found it. Beat us to it. You guys are pretty damn good. Goodbye, see you tomorrow.”
He smiled, signed off, and grabbed a beer from the fridge. In the den, he slammed his body into the brown recliner, took the remote and switched on the television. His hometown’s Houston Rockets battled the New Orleans Hornets in the Big Easy. Houston was losing.
R/VX TRIDENT TINE
Unexpected, it came early waking him from a sound sleep. He reached out for the phone, then fumbled it. In an instant, he held it to his ear and muttered, “Matt Cross here.” Rubbing his eyes, he yawned and looked at the clock. It told him, as did the still darkened windows, that it was too damn early for a call.
“Mr. Matt Cross, this is Commander Norton, U.S. Navy, NWS Seal Beach.”
His schedule flashed in front of his eyes. Wondering if he’d forgotten an appointment or scheduled dive, he cautiously answered, “Yes sir. That’s me. What can I do for you?”
Cross, a six-foot athletic twenty-nine year old with blue eyes, blond hair and the features of Gerard Butler, had become a master DSV pilot at the Mid-Bay Ocean Research Corporation, a small but well respected diving contractor on the Monterey Bay coast, some three hundred miles north.
“I just got off the line with Carlos, your boss. He wasn’t happy with the hour of my call either, but he listened, as will you.”
Cross didn’t like his tone, but at least he had cleared the call with his boss before calling.
“Yes sir, go on.”
We have a severe state of emergency on one of our national coastlines. I’m not at liberty to tell you more, but we need your diving expertise--with your Canyon Glider.”
“Well, it’s not really mine, it belongs to MBORC, but we have grown together over the years. It’s become an extension of my body.”
“So I understand, Mr. Cross. That’s what we’re looking for.”
The awkward silence after Norton’s comment tweaked his curiosity. “So what exactly can I do for you, Commander?”
Lindy, his gorgeous Jennifer Lawrence-esque wife of two months, who stood 5’10” with blue eyes and streaked golden-blonde hair, began to rouse at key words in the conversation, suspecting another clandestine mission. She had experienced them before, not knowing where he was going or when he would return; she dreaded the lonely days and nights. Offsetting her loneliness, he usually pulled in big money, well exceeding her small-station TV reporter’s pay. She closed her eyes and listened.