UndercoverSurrender (14 page)

“Vik!” She surged out from her hiding place and threw her
arms around him, burying her face in his shoulder to avoid the sight of the two
black-clad bodies on the floor of the bathroom, that telltale red-purple pool
beginning to form around their heads.

Vik let her hug him for a second and then disengaged
himself. “Come on. We have to get out of here. They weren’t alone.”

He was still whispering and so she did the same. “Who were
they? They weren’t…here for me, were they?”

“Yeah. But not to rescue you.” He took her hand. “Now come
on.”

Vik hadn’t gotten much from the one left alive for a minute.
Just that their orders were to kill everybody, but especially him and the girl.

Christ, what the hell had happened?

They crept along the passageway as stealthily as possible,
which was to say
not so much
with Samantha dogging his heels and bumping
into him every two seconds. After what she’d been through, though, he didn’t
have the heart to mention it.

The sounds of Czechoslovakian drifted down from the upper
deck. They weren’t bothering to be quiet, whoever they were, the shots from
below evidently signaling to them that the last of their targets were dead.
That must mean Santiago and all the rest of them had already been knocked off.

It was to his surprise, then, that he heard Santiago’s
voice. “Shit. Don’t any of the rest of you speak English? Spanish? Anything
other than this gobbledygook? Where’s the one of you that spoke English when
you came on board?”

“I speak English,” one of them said.

“Good. ’Cause what I want to know is when do I get my money?
It ain’t my fault that asshole was a cop. So what I want to know is do I get
everybody’s share now they’re all dead?”

The rapid fire of a machine gun was his answer. Then the
thud of Santiago’s body hitting the deck could clearly be heard.

“No,” one of the Czechs said and there was a sound of
laughter all around. Vik tried to tell from the volume how many there were, but
all he knew was there were too many. He spared a glance at Samantha who was
practically glued to him now. He looked beyond her to the porthole on one wall.
A motorboat was moored alongside.

“You swim, right?” he whispered.

* * * * *

Samantha shivered in the black water next to him, both of
them keeping as little of their heads above water as they could and still
breathe. He actually couldn’t believe they had managed to get off the yacht,
creeping to the end of the salon and slipping up the stairway that led into the
kitchen. When they lowered themselves into the water, no one was around, but if
someone had been, Vik would have killed them. He had killed the two who’d
ambushed them in their room, and he would do everything humanly possible to get
them to safety. In the water, he towed Samantha, their hands joined, along the
side of the yacht, so close that someone would have to be looking over the
railing to notice them. When suddenly a motorboat was in sight, he stopped,
turning around to whisper, “We have to get on that. Both of us. But if there’s
someone on it, I have to take care of them. So you’ll need to drive.”

“Drive where?”

“Anywhere. Just away. If it’s empty, I’ll handle it, but if
it’s not, you’re the driver. Understand?”

She nodded.

Christ, it would be a fucking miracle if they didn’t get
splattered back into the sea as soon as they tried this, either by someone left
guarding the motorboat or by someone on the deck of the yacht. But they had to
take the chance. There was no other choice.

It was a good sign as they edged toward the motorboat that
nobody came to lean over the side. But when they were right upon it, Vik saw
there was a black-clad figure in the driver’s seat. When behind him Samantha’s
slight stroke in the water made a sound, he tensed, sure the guy would whip
around, gun in hand. But he didn’t.

Some watchdog.

Well, there was no point in putting this off. The motorboat
was loosely tied to a hook on the side of the yacht. “Go untie that,” he
indicated to her. “Then jump in the boat right away, and drive.”

She nodded, not questioning him. She had seen the man in the
boat as well.

Without further hesitation, Vik swam the last few yards to
the boat, quickly, with strong fierce strokes, not bothering to be quiet since
it only took a few seconds to reach the boat. By the time he’d pulled himself
on board, the guard was reaching for the gun he’d put down and Vik launched at
him, kicking it out of reach. With half his brain, he heard the thud of
Samantha pulling herself on board and as he grappled with his opponent, the
motor came alive. Unfortunately, so did the rest of them on the deck of the
yacht. Just as Samantha was pulling the motorboat away, and just as Vik was
snapping the guard’s neck, he heard shouts above him.

The bullets sprayed them, and Vik lunged forward through the
violent rocking of the motorboat coming to full speed, to push Samantha to the
floor and take the wheel himself.

Shit. He hoped to hell there was a full tank of gas.

* * * * *

The assassins were out of range now and there was no way the
yacht could keep up with the speed of the motorboat. Vik only wondered how the
hell he had slept through its approach. They must have cut the motor and swam
to the yacht and then Santiago, the fucking idiot, had welcomed them on board.
Either he’d received word they were coming or he swiftly ingratiated himself
once they had, at least enough to live a little longer than the rest of the
crew.

Oh shit.
A bug. Exterminators.
That was what Samantha
had been trying to tell him. He looked at her sitting in one of the back seats,
clinging to the railing as she had ever since he had paused to fling the dead
guard over the side. He sure as hell owed her an apology. If he hadn’t been so
dismissive of her, he might have figured out what the message meant and been
forewarned. Instead he had concentrated on belittling her. Oh, and fucking her
brains out. He was surprised either of them could even walk after the bout of
sex they’d had only hours earlier. He smiled. They made a pretty good team.

Vik headed west. He didn’t dare head toward
The Victory
.
Whatever the hell Damien Reynolds had done to try to rescue his daughter, it
had blown Vik’s cover and before any rescue mission could show up, the Czech
assassins did. He had no way of knowing whether the traitor was on
The
Victory
at this very moment. He had to somehow get Samantha safe first, and
then contact Crenshaw to be brought in.

* * * * *

J.D. Kates, in the standard operating black wet suit of a
navy SEAL, removed his night goggles.

“Clear,” one of the men called from the can. “Just two
stiffs in here.”

J.D. flicked the lights on and went to check out the bodies,
crouching next to the one who appeared to have been half in and half out of the
shower when he was shot. He pulled the man’s sleeve up and saw the tattoo on
his forearm that confirmed he was an assassin.

He stood. At least Vik didn’t seem to be on board.

Unfortunately, neither was Samantha Reynolds. Her father and
brother had moved heaven and earth to get this task force here in record time.
But it looked as if they were too late. Just these two bodies and the bodies of
what looked to be the original pirate crew.

To be absolutely certain, though, before he returned to
The
Victory
to deliver the bad news, he barked, “Search every foot of this
bloated toy and make sure they’re not here.”

Michael Reynolds disembarked from the helicopter onto the
deck of the Interpol ship. Ushered into a salon as luxurious as that on
The
Samantha
, but not as big, he thought for a minute his father wasn’t there.
Just an old man and what appeared to be the captain of the vessel. When he
realized that the old man
was
Damien Reynolds, he almost rushed forward
to hug him. God, he looked as though he had aged twenty years. But Michael
didn’t hug him. Damien would not appreciate the gesture.

“Michael. Good. You’re here. Maybe you can make some sense
out of this damn fucking fiasco.”

“What happened? Couldn’t the SEALs get on board? Was
Samantha…was she hurt?”

“No, they got on board all right. But Samantha wasn’t
there.”

“They took her off the yacht?”

“I’m Ryan Chaps, the captain.” The other man in the salon
held out his hand and Michael shook it.

“Where is my sister?”

“I’m afraid we don’t know, Mr. Reynolds. She and our agent
weren’t on board when the rescue force took the yacht.”

“Well, what happened to them? Did you question the others?”

“They were all dead,” his father barked. “Dead.”

Michael looked to the captain.

“It appears, Mr. Reynolds, that assassins may have boarded
the yacht before we could and murdered the crew, all but our agent and your
sister.”

“And they took them?”

“Maybe. Two of the assassins were killed, though, in what
appears to have been Miss Reynolds’ room. So it’s possible…”

“What?”

Chaps seemed to be weighing whether to continue. But then he
said, “Our agent is highly trained. It’s possible—and I don’t want to get your
hopes up—but it is just possible our agent may have gotten Miss Reynolds away
and that’s why they weren’t there with the rest of the bodies.”

“Or they could have been taken.”

“The dead assassins came from a Czechoslovakian sect that’s
very elite, very ruthless. I’d be extremely surprised if they were hired for
anything other than to kill. Kidnapping is not their forte.”

“Yes, it’s just Interpol’s,” his father cracked.

“If your man had somehow gotten away with my sister,
wouldn’t he have brought her here? He knew this ship was in the vicinity,
didn’t he?”

“Yes. That’s a part of the puzzle I admit doesn’t make much
sense.”

“None of this makes any sense.”

“Why Czechoslovakian? What was your agent investigating?
Piracy?”

A pause. Then the captain said, “Only as a means to an end.”

“And the end?”

“Human trafficking. Vik was trying to infiltrate a human
trafficking ring run by a very powerful Russian oligarch. Young girls sold into
sexual slavery.”

His father gasped. “Oh, my God. Is that what happened to my
Samantha?”

Another man entered the salon. “Not if Vik has a breath left
in his body. I can assure you that.”

“Oh, Kates,” the captain said. “Come in. This is J.D. Kates,
the SEAL who led the rescue team.”

“I’m sorry it didn’t turn out to be much of a rescue,” the
man said, shaking hands with him. His father declined.

“I’m sure you did everything you could,” Michael said. No
point in blaming this man for the fact they were too late.

“Well, I just want to say I’m sure Vik did.”

“Our agent,” Captain Chaps clarified.

“I’ve worked with him on more than one mission and I got to
tell you, he’s the best chance your sister could have, Mr. Reynolds. He’s a
mean, smart son of a bitch and if there was a way to save her, he’d have found
it.”

Michael hoped to God the man was right.

“I’d recommend doing aerial surveillance,” Kates suggested.
“Maybe they got away in a raft like the pirates set your father and the rest of
them adrift in.”

“Do you think that’s possible?”

The SEAL shrugged. “It’s worth a try.”

“Tell the pilot to take off immediately then.” Damien
instructed the captain quickly.

“I’m afraid that may not be possible, Mr. Reynolds.” A man
Michael had forgotten was right behind him spoke up. “He tells me there’s some
weather in our path and that he’d have trouble flying out of it at this point.
He’s advising we sit tight and wait it out.”

Damien glared at the man who looked as if he had stepped off
the set of West Wing. Blond, clean cut, too handsome to be a real politician,
Avery Windom, the undersecretary of something or other at the State Department,
was obviously a sycophant of the first order. When Michael made the call that
produced this rescue mission in short order, Avery, far, far underneath the
level of the man who’d arranged it, was ordered to go along and Michael didn’t
care one way or the other. But now the man dared to interfere?

“I don’t care what the pilot wants to do or doesn’t want to
do. I’m not spending another second having my daughter out there alone.”

“Vik is with her,” Kates said quietly and Damien roared,
“Don’t anyone mention that man’s name to me again! If he had done his job
properly, my daughter would have been with us on that raft instead of left
alone to deal with cutthroats and assassins and…” His voice choked.

Michael said, “I’ll talk to the pilot.”

“Yes sir. Of course, sir,” Windom stammered. “I’m only
saying it—”

“Never mind,” Damien snapped. “I’ll talk to him myself.”

Chapter Six

The captain had hurried out after Damien Reynolds.

Michael uncharacteristically put a hand to his throbbing
head. What now? Where the hell was she?

“I meant what I said, Mr. Reynolds.” The SEAL was still
standing there.

Michael looked at him, confused for a moment. “Oh, about
the, ah, the agent. Yes. I’m sure he did, is doing, his very best.”

“He’s about the only guy I know who could take on two Czech
sons of bitches like that and make it out alive. I know the cap there said not
to get your hopes up, but I wouldn’t count old Vik out just yet.”

The annoying secretary of state fellow puffed up his chest.
“I wouldn’t say he’s exactly done a very good job of it so far.”

The SEAL cocked his head at him. “Well, we’ll see about
that, won’t we?”

Vik hoped to God they’d run into land soon. The morning sky
had turned black. A storm was brewing and to top it off they were almost out of
gas. Trying to conserve the last little bit, he had switched the motor off and
let the boat drift with the tide.

Samantha was asleep on the cushions in the back of the boat.
For somebody who should’ve been a spoiled, whiny bitch, she had been remarkably
uncomplaining and resourceful. At some point in the night, when he had been
trying to decipher a configuration of stars to better get his bearings, she
piped up with the name of the constellation that had been eluding him.

His surprise must have been written on his face because she
laughed. “What? I know a little about the stars too.”

“Oh yeah? Did they teach that in finishing school?”

“No, but if they had I wouldn’t have learned it. I have a
strict rule about never earning a grade higher than a C, preferably a C minus.
Anything I learn, I learn on my own, for myself.”

“Me too, the learning on my own part anyway, but that’s a
kind of funny thing to hear out of you.”

“Why? Because I’m rich?”

“I guess it’s because you’ve had every advantage in the
world. Advantages most people could only dream about. It’s kind of funny you’d
want to, ah, squander them I guess you’d say.”

In the starlight, she bit her lower lip. He’d hurt her
apparently. But then she surprised him again. “You’re right,” she said quietly.
“I’m going to remember that if I ever get out of here.”

“You’ll get out of here,” he whispered fiercely. “I
promise.”

Again, he was very good at lying, but he had hoped he wasn’t
doing it right then. And now, hours later, she was asleep as the clouds
gathered and a light rain started to fall. She stirred as he gently tried to
cover her with a piece of tarp. Rubbing her eyes, she sat up.

“I didn’t mean to wake you,” he apologized softly.

When she took her fists away from her eyes, she pointed over
his shoulder. “Look! Land!”

He glanced over to where she was pointing and thought for a
minute she was hallucinating. But through the little light that was left from
the darkening sky, he saw there was a sliver of what appeared to be sand. Only
a sand bar, maybe, but what the hell? He got up to go back to the driver’s seat
and flick on the ignition, heading in that direction.

By the time he’d cut the motor again, he saw it was more
than a sandbar. A little island maybe? There was a sandy beach and then farther
off trees, but as far as he could tell no civilization. Since there were
hundreds of uninhabited islands in the vicinity, he figured the chances were
pretty good that this was one of them. But it was better than drifting in the
ocean. He beached the boat, driving right into the sand, then grabbed a piece
of the tarp, and the few supplies of water and energy bars left on board, and
hopped with Samantha on to the sand just as the rain started pounding really
hard.

Hand in hand, they ran toward the trees.

Avery had certainly done his part. Couldn’t those goddamn
Russians or Czechs or whatever the hell they were do anything right? Did he
have to do all of the heavy lifting himself?

He’d sent the messages to the man on board as to the
anticipated timing and the identity of the agent. The orders had originally
been for the man on board to just kill the girl and the agent, but apparently
the coward had demurred, not sure he was up to the job. Oh well, he’d sealed
his own fate there. Those that were up to the job, hired assassins, would take
him out as well.

Now it turned out even the hired assassins, who were
supposed to be professionals after all, couldn’t seem to get it right. From the
communication he’d gotten before he even stepped foot on the Interpol ship with
Michael Reynolds, the undercover agent had managed to escape with the girl. The
Czech assassins had helicoptered out shortly thereafter, claiming it was too
dark to try to search for them.

Just a fiasco all around.

And now old man Reynolds was planning some kind of air
reconnaissance. Goodness, we couldn’t have that. Good thing he’d unscrewed some
thing-a-ma-dingy in the engine of the helicopter before he even came into the
salon. Now even if the old man did get the pilot to go out in the face of this
weather, his tampering would delay it somewhat.

In the meantime, he had to check in with the powers that be.

Extracting his double-coded security-proof cell from his
pocket, Avery started to tap out a message.

The island wasn’t deserted. That was the first thing Vik and
Samantha saw as they ran straight into the trees.

The second was it might not necessarily be very safe.

A primitive guard tower, built of wood and looking rickety
but serviceable, stood about a half a mile inland.

“Maybe it’s for spotting fires,” Samantha suggested when
they paused in their sprint. “You know like in the Northwest.”

They were both getting soaked through in the heavy warm
rain. They couldn’t stay out in it. He needed to get her dry. But they were a
long way from the Northwest U.S. and he doubted the tower was for fire
spotting. Even from here, he could see a machine gun fastened through one of
the slits.

Was it possible this, wherever they were, was somehow
connected to Visto? He had always assumed the hidden lair of the sex trade
operation was a big port, big enough to accommodate the yachts they stole to
sell to the sheiks and other rich perverts who purchased the girls. But he
might have been wrong about that. Interpol had never been able to find it on
their own and wouldn’t a big port be easier to spot? Perhaps it was a simpler
operation than he’d imagined, hidden on a remote island.

Or perhaps he was letting his imagination get the better of
him.
Face it, Vik, your mission’s screwed.

Well, whatever that guard tower was for, he doubted they’d
just welcome them in and give them a hot cup of tea. Not with that machine gun
as their lawn sign.

He looked around the trees, but saw no other shelter.

“Let me go see what that is,” he told her.

“I’ll come with you.”

“No!” The way he’d said it apparently clued her in to his
unease.

“Is this where the, ah, the bad guy lives? Whatever you
called it? Visto?”

“I don’t know,” Vik said honestly. “I just know it looks
like there’s a gun in that tower, so I think I should go check it out first.”

“But if there’s a gun, you shouldn’t go.”

“That’s what I’m trained for.”

“What?”

He really did have to get around to telling her who he was,
especially since it probably didn’t matter anymore. But he couldn’t take the
time now.

“Just stay here.”

“I’m not going to stay here while you—”

“If there was something you could do, I’d let you, wouldn’t
I? When I’ve needed your help, driving or, er, or hiding—”

“Mostly hiding.”

“I’ve asked for it, haven’t I?”

“I guess. Yeah. I guess you have,” she said, her voice
getting a little stronger. “Okay. You win. I’ll just wait here.”

He pushed her down gently. “Crouch down. You never know when
they’re going to come to the window. And if I don’t signal you within ten
minutes, run like hell back to the boat and get out of here.”

She nodded and he was surprised she didn’t object. Good
girl. Maybe she was finally starting to take orders.

Getting through the foliage to the tower without being seen
was a bit of a challenge. Much as he hated to, he kind of slunk along the wet
ground until he could get right under it. The fact that he hadn’t been blown to
bits in the effort at least
suggested
he’d been successful at going
unseen.

But he had no idea who was inside. Not surprisingly, there
was no staircase or ladder. But he could make the sheer climb pretty easily,
scaling along one of the legs of the tower. Now, managing to climb in the
window without being seen was probably more of a challenge. But there was
nothing left to be done. He had to do it, if Samantha and he had any hope of
getting out of this. He wondered as his hands latched onto the bottom of the
open-air window frame whether having Samantha with him was throwing him off,
making him less cautious in his fervor to rescue her.

The machine gun suddenly at his neck as he climbed up that
last little bit gave him his answer.

Uh, yeah
.

“Oh, hi,” Vik said in Taiwanese, just guessing the language
of the wiry little man who held the machine gun pointed at him, as he put his
hands up in an exaggerated way, backing from the window. When the man didn’t
respond, Vik tried Russian. “I got caught out in this storm and beached here. I
was just trying to get out of the rain. I’m sorry if I’m trespassing or
something. I’ll just be on my way.”

A radio in the corner crackled, a voice coming out in
English.

“Oh, you speak English?” Vik tried, pretending he hadn’t
heard the mention of Samantha’s name.

“Where’s the girl?” the man responded in the same language.

“What girl?”

“You fucking moron. God, I hate Interpol. I’d spray your
brains all over here if the boss didn’t say to keep you alive to see how much
you know.”

Well, that was nice to hear. Talk about a fucking moron. The
guy had just let him know that he was probably going to be left alive long
enough to maybe overpower him. Machine gun or no, Vik thought he could take him
pretty easily.

The two men who came out from the back, guns in hand, looked
a little harder to take. Without the element of surprise, he might have a
challenging time overcoming all three of them.

But he was very motivated.

“Oh, hi,” he greeted the newcomers. “Friends of yours?”

“Shut up.”

“So is this Visto? I have to say I’m disappointed. I was
expecting something a little more luxurious.”

The three men ignored him as they conversed with each other
in yet another language, not Czech, not Russian, not Taiwanese. Ah, Tamil.
Well, nothing like a taste of home. What a cosmopolitan operation this sex ring
was.

The men were conferring as to whether to “take him to their
leader”, as it were, or knock him out first, maybe with a shot to the knees,
although they thought he looked pretty heavy and didn’t relish trying to carry
him.

“I’ll walk myself. Promise,” he volunteered in what he
always thought of as his native tongue.

They glared at him, just as some kind of missile lobbed
through the window, catching one of them on the side of his head. Vik lunged
for the gun of the downed one as another missile—
was that a coconut?—
whirled
past him toward another of the men.

With the gun he’d whipped up and the second man down, he
shot them both, without hesitation, leaving only the third one, who was
shooting wildly toward the window. Since Vik had half a notion who was down
there, he took little time to put a halt to that. The third one went down with
a clean shot to the head as well. With one last look just to make sure they
were all dead, he dropped the gun and went to the window. Nobody was there,
just a few stray coconuts lying on the ground.

“Hey there,” he called down. “I’m ready to be rescued from
the tower now.”

She popped her head out from where she must have dove at the
shots, underneath the tower.

“All clear?” she asked.

“What part of ‘stay where you are and then run to the beach’
didn’t you get?”

She came out from under the tower and, before he could stop
her, started climbing up the tower, more competently than he would have given
her credit for. Of course he wouldn’t have given her credit for an arm like a
quarterback either, but she apparently had one. He pulled her up that last
little bit and through the window. Heaving, she bent over to catch her breath.

“I have to say, that was darned impressive,” he said.

She grinned until she saw all three bodies on the floor. “Oh
no. Did I do that?”

“No. I did, but I wouldn’t have been able to if I hadn’t had
the expertly executed great coconut distraction.”

He crouched down next to the bodies, searching their pockets
for anything that would give him a clue as to their identities or where they
were. The pockets were empty.

“Did you have to kill them?”

He glanced up at her. He really was a hardened old bastard.
It was good to be reminded that killing wasn’t an everyday thing, even if it
was necessary. “I’m afraid I did, Samantha. I couldn’t risk trying to take them
as prisoner and if I let them get away, I’m afraid they’d warn whoever’s in
charge of this place.”

“Oh,” she said in a forlorn little voice, for all her
bravado with the coconuts. “I see.”

A noise from a back room startled him into standing,
grabbing one of the discarded guns. Jesus, he really was losing it. The first
thing he should have done was to check the rest of the structure for anybody
else who might be here.

He held the gun aloft in front of him and started to round a
corner when she cried behind him, “Don’t shoot!” She scrambled in front of him
and scooped up some little mongrel thing. “Look, they couldn’t have been that
bad. They had a puppy.”