“Looks like we’ve got movement.” Jake said.
Kaplan grabbed the spotting scope, Perez his binoculars.
“Who is it?” Kaplan asked.
“Khan. And he’s alone.” Jake watched through his night vision spotting scope.
Khan walked midway across the deck, turned around and returned to the helm. The tiki lamps went out and the aft deck plunged into darkness.
“I can’t see anything.” Kaplan said.
“Me either.” Perez.
“I’ll give you the play by play.” Jake zoomed his scope in as close as it would get him. “He’s digging around in the back for something. Wait, he pulled something out and dropped it on the swim platform.”
“He’s not going diving, is he?” Perez asked.
“What’d he pull out?” Kaplan.
“I can’t tell, just two lumpy shadows on the swim platform. We’re a long way away and the lack of clarity with this scope is making identification difficult. Whatever they are, they’re small and compact. Too big for fins, definitely two, though.”
The fishing boat slowly rotated parallel to the swells and the boat rocked side-to-side. “I can’t see shit with the boat moving like this. Perez, fire up one engine and put the bow into the waves.” Jake ordered.
Perez did as instructed and the boat stopped rocking.
Jake located the boat again with his goggles. “Khan just put something large on the platform, maybe a tank or something.”
“You think he’s going diving at night?” Kaplan asked. “Doesn’t make sense.”
“Unless.” Jake drew out the word. “Unless he’s leaving the women onboard and making for shore.”
Perez laughed. “It’s over forty kilometers to shore…twenty-five of your miles, he’d never make it.”
“Maybe someone’s picking him up. Maybe he’s about to blow the boat up and kill the girls.” Kaplan said.
“Nope. That’s not it either.” Jake stared intently through the spotting scope. “He just brought one of the women on deck and laid her across the transom. Now he’s going back inside.”
“What is he doing?” Kaplan.
“He’s bringing out the other woman. He laid her down next to the first one. Neither one is moving.” Jake lowered his scope. “He’s disposing of the women. Fire up the other engine and get us over there ASAP. Full throttle. We take him now.”
Jake reached into the duffle bag and pulled out a sniper rifle. Then another. Then another.
“You weren’t kidding about the rifles.” Kaplan grabbed one from Jake. “Where did you get these?”
“Don’t ask.” Jake studied Khan’s movements on the back of the boat. “He’s wrapping something around their legs. Son of a bitch, we’re not going to make it. We’re not going to make it.”
Jake jumped when the rifle blasted a shot toward the cruiser. He saw Khan look in their direction after Kaplan fired. Khan moved at a frenzied pace. A splash and only one woman remained on the transom.
“Dammit.” Jake shouted. “He dumped one. Explain it to him again, Gregg. Or better yet just kill him.”
Kaplan fired another round. “I’ll never hit anything with the boat moving like this.”
Another splash. “Oh my God. They’re both gone. The bastard killed them both.” He looked at Perez. “How deep is it here?”
Perez fiddled with the depth gauge. “In feet, a little over four thousand. If he weighted them, they’re gone. There’s nothing we can do.”
“Yes there is.” Jake grabbed a rifle and took aim at the cruiser. “We can kill that bastard.”
“No, Jake.” Kaplan yelled over the roar of the two outboard motors. “Alive. We need Khan alive.”
“Fine.” Jake resolved. “We take him alive. Then we torture his ass to death.”
CHAPTER 60
Khan heard the shot off the starboard side of the cruiser in the distance but saw nothing, just a black void across the dark sea. He’d tied the brunette’s feet to the weight when he heard engines roar to life from the direction of the shot. He hoisted her over his shoulder and tossed her in the water. Next he pushed the weight overboard and the brunette disappeared into the black water, plunging her to the bottom of the deep-sea trench known as the Capbreton Canyon.
With renewed urgency, he shackled the blonde to the weight, tossed her into the water, and pushed the weight overboard. She sank out of sight as the weight dragged her down.
Another shot rang out from the right side of the cruiser; the roar of the unknown boat’s engines grew louder in the darkness. He scrambled to the cabin, trying to keep his sea legs while the cruiser pitched and rocked, grabbed his automatic rifle, and returned to the deck. Stopping at the helm, he turned the ignition to each engine and they roared to life. He pushed the transmission levers into forward and jammed the throttles down. The cruiser lurched forward as the bow pitched upward with each new wave. He knew his initial bearing to San Sebastian so he made a sweeping left turn back toward shore. Now the oncoming craft was to port, a better angle for firing from the helm.
More gunshots, bright flashes in the distance, wood splintered down the side of the cruiser. He raised his rifle and unloaded fifty rapid-fire rounds at the mystery boat. He needed to get away; his craft could reach smooth water speeds in excess of sixty kilometers per hour but under these sea conditions, much less — maybe forty-five — if he was lucky. Probably not enough to outrun the smaller craft.
He turned on the GPS-coupled autopilot with his preloaded coordinates and activated it. Now he was hands-free to seek cover and engage the oncoming boat.
Another blast caused a side window on his boat to explode, glass shards rained down across the deck, two of them nicking his face. Close. But the muzzle flash also highlighted the enemy vessel, enough for him to know where to aim, and now he could identify the faint outline of the boat itself. It was the gray fishing boat from earlier in the day. He’d been duped. When he saw the men catch the big fish and start celebrating, he’d erroneously made the assumption they were just men fishing the lip of the canyon. As they trolled their craft away from him toward the horizon, he’d forgotten they existed.
How could he have been so stupid? Now he was in a firefight in the middle of the sea. It was three armed men in a smaller, more maneuverable boat against him.
He knelt down behind the seat, resting his rifle on the railing for as much stability as he could get in rough seas. The gray outline of the fishing boat skipping across the tops of the waves seemed ominous as it closed in on his craft but it also offered him a good target. He took careful aim and squeezed off more rounds. He heard the rounds make contact with the smaller boat, and then it swerved taking a parallel track across the water.
More muzzle flashes and he ducked. Holes ripped through the port side, splintered wood fragments flew across the deck. He could make out the silhouettes of the three men, two holding rifles, one piloting the boat. He fired another burst and all three men ducked out of sight. Right where he wanted them, he thought.
The first shadow to reappear was the man at the helm. Khan had a clear shot and he took it. The man fell out of sight and the boat veered away and slowed.
One down. Two to go.
Three more shots hit the back of the cruiser. With each flash, Khan saw the outline of the boat. It was coming directly from behind. Not an ideal angle. He ducked and crawled to the back transom. As he reached the stern, he raised the rifle and leveled it at the boat. For the first time, he noticed fishing rods in rod holders whipping on the back of the boat. The boat was twenty meters behind and gaining. He readied the rifle and fired, unloading round after round into the hull of the boat until the rifle clicked.
Empty.