asking difficult questions. Of course, no matter how it played out, there would likely be some kind of inquiry – for instance, the shipping company would want to know what had happened to two expensive lifeboats. And the mobster who’d paid a small fortune to get the man and his daughter to safety would want to know how it went.
It was going to be a difficult week.
The hair on the back of the captain’s neck stood on edge when he sensed Carlos walking behind him, and he was about to turn around when the .40-caliber soft-nose slug blew his brains all over the console. The helmsman froze in shock at the sight of his captain executed without warning, and when Carlos spoke, he could barely hear him through the ringing in his ears.
“Set the autopilot so the boat will drive itself,” Carlos ordered.
“Why? What are you going to do?” the helmsman stammered.
“I’m taking you downstairs where you can’t get into any trouble and locking you in with the crew.”
“Why did you kill the captain?”
“Orders. He was into more than you want to know about. The less you know, the longer you live. Now set the autopilot.” He gestured with his pistol.
The helmsman didn’t need to be told twice. He entered the coordinates that would take the ship back into the shipping lanes, programmed the device, and then sat back. “There. But it’s not safe to have a ship flying blind. The shipping lanes are crowded, even though they look empty.”
“That’s okay,” Carlos said, and shot him in the temple at point-blank range.
He studied the two dead men for a few moments and then gazed out through the windows at the calm sea. Hard to believe that earlier the ocean had been a living nightmare. Now it was smooth as glass, a pleasure to be on.
He used the bathroom and then went below, where he’d execute the crew before launching the lifeboats. Igor’s instructions had been clear – nobody to be left alive who could identify them. It was bad business to leave survivors, and Carlos hadn’t thrived for years in the brutal drug trade as an enforcer, and then a hired killer, by being squeamish about doing what was required.
He and Rafael made short work of the rest of the crew, and then they made their way to the lifeboat and sealed themselves in, ready to launch into the water at the pull of a lever.
Carlos’ last thought as the little craft slid down the tracks and then dropped toward the surface of the sea was that it was a nice evening for a boat ride.
Chapter 11
Frontino, Colombia
Fernanda felt the car slow after what she estimated was ten minutes of winding road that climbed at probably a ten percent grade. So they had to be in the mountains. She cocked her head, listening to the sound of the tires change from running on pavement to hard-packed dirt. The blindfold over her eyes effectively obstructed her vision but not her ability to commit the route to memory. Something creaked outside as they rolled to a stop – a gate, she supposed – and then the tires crunched on gravel for thirty seconds before the vehicle rolled to a stop.
A sour, unpleasant smell hit her nostrils as the thug in the seat next to her reached over and untied the blindfold. She forced herself to keep her hands folded in her lap as he fumbled with the black fabric, battling the urge to incapacitate him with one well-delivered strike.
Fernanda had been unimpressed by the security precautions the two men who’d picked her up had taken – consisting of a cursory search, where the driver’s hands lingered just a hair too long on her curves, and the blindfold. If she’d been so predisposed, she could have killed them both in seconds, but that wasn’t why she was here.
Her contact in Panama had given her the introduction to a man who, he assured her, ran much of northern Colombia, with strong ties to the rebels up in the Darién Gap who controlled that swatch of jungle as much as anyone could – it was dangerous beyond belief,
It was going to be a difficult week.
The hair on the back of the captain’s neck stood on edge when he sensed Carlos walking behind him, and he was about to turn around when the .40-caliber soft-nose slug blew his brains all over the console. The helmsman froze in shock at the sight of his captain executed without warning, and when Carlos spoke, he could barely hear him through the ringing in his ears.
“Set the autopilot so the boat will drive itself,” Carlos ordered.
“Why? What are you going to do?” the helmsman stammered.
“I’m taking you downstairs where you can’t get into any trouble and locking you in with the crew.”
“Why did you kill the captain?”
“Orders. He was into more than you want to know about. The less you know, the longer you live. Now set the autopilot.” He gestured with his pistol.
The helmsman didn’t need to be told twice. He entered the coordinates that would take the ship back into the shipping lanes, programmed the device, and then sat back. “There. But it’s not safe to have a ship flying blind. The shipping lanes are crowded, even though they look empty.”
“That’s okay,” Carlos said, and shot him in the temple at point-blank range.
He studied the two dead men for a few moments and then gazed out through the windows at the calm sea. Hard to believe that earlier the ocean had been a living nightmare. Now it was smooth as glass, a pleasure to be on.
He used the bathroom and then went below, where he’d execute the crew before launching the lifeboats. Igor’s instructions had been clear – nobody to be left alive who could identify them. It was bad business to leave survivors, and Carlos hadn’t thrived for years in the brutal drug trade as an enforcer, and then a hired killer, by being squeamish about doing what was required.
He and Rafael made short work of the rest of the crew, and then they made their way to the lifeboat and sealed themselves in, ready to launch into the water at the pull of a lever.
Carlos’ last thought as the little craft slid down the tracks and then dropped toward the surface of the sea was that it was a nice evening for a boat ride.
Chapter 11
Frontino, Colombia
Fernanda felt the car slow after what she estimated was ten minutes of winding road that climbed at probably a ten percent grade. So they had to be in the mountains. She cocked her head, listening to the sound of the tires change from running on pavement to hard-packed dirt. The blindfold over her eyes effectively obstructed her vision but not her ability to commit the route to memory. Something creaked outside as they rolled to a stop – a gate, she supposed – and then the tires crunched on gravel for thirty seconds before the vehicle rolled to a stop.
A sour, unpleasant smell hit her nostrils as the thug in the seat next to her reached over and untied the blindfold. She forced herself to keep her hands folded in her lap as he fumbled with the black fabric, battling the urge to incapacitate him with one well-delivered strike.
Fernanda had been unimpressed by the security precautions the two men who’d picked her up had taken – consisting of a cursory search, where the driver’s hands lingered just a hair too long on her curves, and the blindfold. If she’d been so predisposed, she could have killed them both in seconds, but that wasn’t why she was here.
Her contact in Panama had given her the introduction to a man who, he assured her, ran much of northern Colombia, with strong ties to the rebels up in the Darién Gap who controlled that swatch of jungle as much as anyone could – it was dangerous beyond belief,
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