He put the phone to his ear. “Riley Donovan isn’t available for at least another three weeks.”
“Really? Is she blond or brunette?”
Riley smiled.
“Neither,” he said to Sam. “A redhead, and we’re related. Don’t go there.”
Sam chuckled, then said, “Had enough sun and sea? Ready for work?”
“Not especially.” But he admitted he was bored silly.
“We have a hand me down job.”
Instantly Riley’s radar went up. “Whose?”
“The State Department, more specifically, the Bureau of Diplomatic Security.”
The law enforcement agency charged with the security of diplomats and just about anyone traveling abroad on State Department business, DS agents were assigned to a hundred-fifty-some foreign offices around the world. They used their diplomatic connections and with in-country police and Interpol, tracked and apprehended international fugitives who posed a threat to U.S. national security and dignitaries.
A heavy hitter, whoever they wanted to retrieve. After Venezuela, did the team really want to do anything remotely connected to government intelligence work again? One thing he knew for certain…“You’re two stepping, Sam, and I’m wondering what’s so bad that you can’t spit it out.”
He heard him sigh through the phone. “It’s Vaghn.”
For a moment, his muscles locked. The name burst with memories he wanted to forget. He turned away from the crew working around the mini sub he’d repaired only yesterday. “He fled the country, didn’t he?”
“Quite easily, from what we can tell.”
Well, he couldn’t say he didn’t warn them. “So why don’t the DS just go get him?”
“It’s a little trickier than that. You need to hear it all first, but it’s your call, partner.”
At least it wasn’t CIA clean up. But the DS weren’t slackers. They knew about his ties to Vaghn before they contacted D1. That meant someone was doing him a favor and he needed to know who.
“I’m about six hundred miles out in the middle of the South Pacific. It’ll take a day to get to land with an airport.”
“Got it covered. Tessa is coming by seaplane. She should be in your sights in a couple hours.”
He looked at the horizon, cloudless and blue. He didn’t ask for details, wanting to take this contract through a filter. He ended the call and tapped the satellite phone against his thigh, remembering the trial; Vaghn smiling when he was sentenced to five years minimum security. He’d planted his fist in the man’s face about a minute later. But beating him wouldn’t make Vaghn care. Vaghn was soulless, bloody arrogant and unfortunately—a brilliant weapons designer. The combination created a lethal genius with the attitude of a psychopath.
Vaghn testified that he’d released the pair of newly designed rifles for field-testing after they were given the required controlled tests. Evidence said he had, but only twice before the weapon was in the hands of Riley’s team. Two of his troops had paid with their lives when the misfired laser weapon struck across their faces, severing their heads at an angle. It was the worst accident he’d ever witnessed. That his friends, his Marines, had died because of Vaghn’s arrogant carelessness and sloppy miscalculations, put him on Riley’s needs-to-die list for a long time. He was off radar till now.
He felt suddenly anxious to get on dry land.
Travis came out of the pilothouse and hurried down the steep metal staircase to the first deck. He held a hand radio. “Riley, something’s wrong.”
Immediately Riley grabbed his binoculars and focused on the shore. There was no sign of Jim and Derek. As Travis neared, he heard the transmission.
Hard breathing came with, “ Can you hear me?…the shore…hurry!”
Riley grabbed his duffle and ran to the rail. Travis followed.
“No, Trav, let Riley handle it,” Bridget shouted, rushing to the rail. But her husband simply blew her a kiss as he went over the side.
A scream came through the radio, cut short, but he was already priming the motor, frustration mounting as he yanked the pull cord once, twice. The engine roared, water swelled around the propellers and as soon as Travis was seated, he gunned it.
“We’ll never make it over the reef,” Travis shouted. He kept the radio to his ear, transmitting they were coming. There was no response.
“We don’t have time to go around.” Leaving the boat and hoofing it wouldn’t help them now.
Riley pushed the throttle down, the rubber craft bouncing over the water toward the reef. He glanced back to the ship, judging the push of his wake, and when white water swelled beneath the lightweight boat, he gunned the engine. The boat sailed over the razor sharp reef to the tidal basin. Riley kept going, rushed the boat onto shore and cut the engine. He climbed out. Travis started to follow.
“Take it back out into the lagoon, keep it running. No telling what spooked them.”
“I’m betting it’s lizards, the weenies.” Though his expression said otherwise as Travis immediately moved into Riley’s position, then tossed him the radio.
Riley grabbed his Glock from the duffle and followed the footprints from the water’s edge. A few yards in, he was at the edge of the jungle.
Nothing moved. The walkie-talkie remained silent.
Riley went left to the jagged rock extending over the shore where they’d first entered the forest. Footprints confirmed it, and he followed them into the darkness, pausing to let his eyes adjust before advancing. The ground was soft beneath his dive boots, a mossy wet odor stirring with each step. And something else he couldn’t put a finger on, but it was rank. About thirty yards in, he came to a small shadowy clearing. They’d been digging here, he realized, but no tools, no struggle. No men.
A rustle made him duck near a tree. Then he saw a figure plowing through the foliage, but couldn’t tell who it was. Riley called out seconds before Jim burst through the darkness, tripped, then regained his footing.
“Riley! Go back, don’t stay!” he said, pushing him, then glanced behind himself. Derek came running full force and Jim caught him, both winded and not wasting a moment to get to shore. “Come on!”
But Riley wasn’t easily spooked and watched the forest, backing away slowly till daylight touched his back. He turned, maneuvering around the rocks to shore.
Whatever scared the two men sent them splashing into the water. Travis motored near, but Riley could tell Jim was having trouble. Riley dove into the water, swimming furiously. He grabbed Jim, pushed him to the boat, then reached for Derek. He shoved his ass up and in, then treading water, he watched the shore. The jungle beyond came alive. From the trees to the ground, it rustled.
Three heartbeats later, it stopped, only the breeze pushing leaves. Something survived the last major storm, he thought, then waved to Travis. He skidded closer and Riley grabbed the ropes and rolled smoothly into the craft. He pointed down the long stretch of lagoon. “We have to go around it.”
Travis headed out of the basin. Jim and Derek lay face down in the bottom of the boat, breathing hard, neither talking. Riley exchanged a look with Travis, then leaned forward to roll Jim on his back.
“Oh, Christ on a cross,” Travis said, releasing the throttle.
There were two bloody slashes across the left side of Jim’s neck.
48 hours earlier, Singapore
With the package tucked under his arm, he watched the deliveryman return down the hall to the staircase, then closed and locked the door. Walking back