Zane turned on his earpiece again. “Brett, you there?”
“Yes, I’m here. Something wrong?”
“Not yet,” Zane whispered so that Danielle couldn’t hear. “Security just seems a little tighter than I thought. I’m going to leave my device on until we get past the gatekeepers.”
“Copy that. I’m here if you need me.”
When they arrived at the podium, the man in the Hawaiian-style shirt held out his hand. “Welcome. IDs, please.”
Both Zane and Danielle handed him their passports.
“A hot job out in this sun,” Zane said in his best French accent.
“Thankfully, it’ll be over soon.” After spreading open both passports, the man turned to the screen. “Mr. and Mrs. Bergeron, let’s see what we have.”
Michel Bergeron was one of several false identities Zane used when working undercover. He knew Bergeron’s life history almost as well as he knew his own, so it was the one he used most often. The fictitious Bergeron was a French-Canadian businessman who owned a firearm accessories company. That worked well for Zane, who had a deep knowledge of the industry.
Danielle was posing as Bergeron’s American-born wife, Sophie. To simplify things, Sophie’s background was essentially that of Danielle, only with different cities and names. It saved her from having to memorize a lot of detail.
The man frowned as he stared at the screen.
“Is there a problem?” Zane asked.
After staring at his laptop for a moment longer, the man said, “I’m afraid your name isn’t on the list.”
Out of the corner of his eye, Zane saw the man in black turn in their direction. The issue had immediately drawn his attention.
“What are you talking about?” Zane raised his voice slightly.
The man looked at Zane. “Could it possibly be under another name?”
The man in black stepped closer. The situation couldn’t be any worse.
Before Zane could answer, Brett spoke in his ear. “I heard what he said, and I think I know what happened. Tell him you were placed on the supplementary list.”
Now you tell me.
“I think we’re on some sort of supplementary list.” On a whim, Zane pulled out his phone. “Do I need to call Jonas about—”
The man at the podium held up a hand. “I’m sure everything is in order.” He tapped on the screen several times. A few seconds later, he said, “There you are, Michel and Sophie Bergeron.”
Zane grunted as though grudgingly pleased.
The man returned their passports. “My apologies, Monsieur Bergeron. Enjoy your stay.”
After taking back their identification, Zane and Danielle walked up the ramp and boarded the ferry. There were indoor seats as well as an open area near the stern with another bar. Some of the guests sat down inside, while others continued on toward the bar.
“Can we go get another drink?” Danielle asked. “And this time, I’m going to drink the whole thing.”
“I was just thinking the same thing,” Zane said.
Once they arrived at the bar, the two quickly ordered another round of cocktails. Zane led Danielle over to a cushioned bench, where they sipped in silence. Ten minutes later, once all the guests were checked in, the craft eased away from the dock and picked up speed as it moved out into the bay.
“Let’s just stay out here, if you don’t mind,” Danielle said. “The breeze will do me some good.”
“Enjoy it while you can.” Zane used his drink to point at the dark clouds that were almost overhead. “Looks like we’re in for some wet stuff.”
“That would be par for the course.”
“Be positive.” Zane took a sip of his cocktail. “The good news is these Caribbean storms are often over pretty quick.”
“Let’s hope so.”
Zane looked at her. “You doing okay?”
Danielle held up her cup. “I will be soon.”
Zane laughed. “Remember, pace yourself.”
“Not yet.”
As Zane leaned back against the rail, he felt eyes on him. Turning to his right, he saw someone inside the main seating area, staring at him through the glass. The reflection made it hard to see much detail, but Zane could see enough to realize it was the man in black.
CHAPTER THIRTY-SIX
JAMES BULL PRATT led the team of operatives silently down the forested slope. They walked in single file: Pratt was in the lead, followed by Skinner. Mortensen brought up the rear. The rain had begun to pour just minutes before, so they stepped carefully, trying to avoid the slick patches of mud that had already formed. Time was of the essence, but the last thing Pratt wanted was for one of his men to fall and twist an ankle.
On arriving at the beach, the operatives had pulled the pontoon boat across the sand and into a grove of trees. After covering the craft with branches, the three had followed an animal trail over the ridge to the interior of the island. It had taken them thirty-three minutes to reach their current position. That meant they would probably arrive at their destination in slightly over their allotted time, but Pratt wasn’t going to sweat it. The safety of his men was of utmost importance. If one of them were injured, it would put the whole mission in jeopardy.
Soon the ground leveled off and the forest thinned out, allowing the operatives to walk side by side. According to the GPS in Pratt’s visor, the perimeter fence should be only about twenty yards away. Once there, they would reach out to Brett.
Pratt glanced over his shoulder. He had done so at least a half dozen times since they arrived. Although he hadn’t told the others, he had a strong sense that someone was out there in the storm. Following them. Watching them. The feeling had started soon after they had hidden the boat and started up the trail. At times, it was so intense that he half expected to turn and see someone standing there.
Mortensen tapped Pratt on the shoulder and pointed. Pratt looked through the heavy rain, and the perimeter fence was looming a few yards away. He checked the time. They were a little late but not enough to be concerned about. So far, everything was going according to plan.
“Ten o’clock,” Skinner hissed.
Pratt turned to the left and saw what the operative was referring to. Inside the fence, about fifty yards away, two flashlight beams shone through the trees.
“Foot patrol,” Mortensen said. “I guess even the storm won’t keep them inside tonight.”
Seeing the guards were moving in their direction, Pratt pointed at a nearby bush. “Get down.”
After crouching behind the plants, they watched the guards continue down the fence. As best Pratt could tell, there were only two of them. Soon the men continued on and passed out of view.
“Good timing,” Skinner said. “My guess is there won’t be another patrol coming by for a while.”
Pratt turned on his earpiece. “Brett, you there?”
“Yes.”
“We’re at the entry point.”
“Okay, give me a sec.”
The plan was for Brett to shut down Brehmer’s security for several minutes. While it was down, the operatives would use the time to cut through the fencing. They weren’t sure if the fence had sensors along every stretch, but they couldn’t take any chances. Once they were through, Brett would boot the system back up. He would also send a signal indicating a power surge had caused the problem.
“All clear,” Brett said a half minute later.
“Copy that,” Pratt replied.
After coming out from behind the bush, the three operatives moved quickly to the fence. By prearranged plan, Pratt kept watch while Skinner and Mortensen used heavy-duty bolt cutters to open a hole that was three feet wide and two feet high. The operatives had performed the task hundreds of times before and were able to finish in just under two minutes. After sliding through, Pratt replaced the piece that had been cut out. It didn’t need to look perfect, just good enough to fool someone walking by in the darkness.