Zane: A Navy SEAL Romantic Suspense Page 10

  “No. It’s all about busting these crooks. The bigger the crook we can parade in front of the cameras the more funding we get. The voters remember the work so they’re OK with the budgeted funds.”

  “How many funds are we talking?”

  “We’ve got 10,800 people. Over half are special agents. It costs money.”

  “How much money?”

  “Two billion.”

  “Exactly one hundred times the SEAL budget.”

  “True.”

  “Or the entire GDP of Liberia.”

  “A country we’re really going after now. Trafficking is on the rise there.”

  “From South America?”

  “Yep. Cocaine.”

  “But we’re in Greece. And we have the Turk to deal with now. When can you get me the name of the owner of the café?”

  “Later today. It should be an easy pull.”

  “And some clothes and gear?”

  “I’ll check a bag at the daily storage at the port. It will have everything. I’ll drop off the claim ticket in your post box.”

  “Too risky. They might have eyes on me. They don’t know where the ski is. You can put the ticket there. Just tape it up on the front.”

  “Can’t somebody get it there?”

  “It faces out to sea. It makes no sense to look there. It sways in the tide, but nobody goes over there.”

  “OK.”

  I told her where the ski was. She reached her hands across the table. Laid the back of her hands on the table and opened her hands. I took them in mine. We had had total eye contact since I had arrived. It was more of the business kind. Now it was more personal. She tilted her head to the side. Neither of us spoke. We just stared into each other’s eyes. It felt like time felt still. Then I remembered we were working against a ticking clock.

  “I have to go.”

  She didn’t say anything.

  “I really have to go.”

  “I know.” She seemed so at ease with her answer. Calm like she would say it but it didn’t matter because the only thing that mattered to her was staring into my eyes and me into hers. I felt the same. She leaned across the table and kissed me gently on the lips. She leaned back into her seat.

  “Thank you. And be safe.”

  “Always.”

  “I stood and our left hands came apart. Our right hands were still holding. I started to walk away. To the lockers. Our hands stayed joined until the last second when the tips of her fingers left the tips of mine. This had to work. Not just tonight. The whole thing. I had to do this for her. For Agent Johnson. And for myself. I wanted Claire Abbey more than anything. When a SEAL wants something they stop at nothing to get it.

  I removed the GPS device from storage and went to the café. Now the waiting game. Hurry up and wait. A popular term in military. A favorite amongst Marines. I sat in my office most of the afternoon. I played through the events of tonight in my head, but often found my thoughts drifting. Drifting to Abbey. I had to stay focused now to make her mine later. The long game. Just think about the long game.

  Late afternoon I made my way to the jet ski. I found the ticket taped right where I asked. She had added a winking smiley face on the back side. A nice touch. I claimed the bag and went for a coffee. It didn’t make sense to sit in the café all day and as an active guy it was driving me crazy. After the coffee I dropped the bag at the café and went for a run. I kept the GPS device on me. I headed up the hills. I didn’t detect anyone tailing me, but that doesn’t mean anything. They could easily have guys stationed in the area. It was packed with tourists. Who was I to know who was who? Doesn’t matter how smart or observant you are. Have to be realistic too.

  I returned from the run and took a shower. It was time for sunset. I was ready to grab an early meal and watched the sun fade into night. I had found a calm place for dinner. It was that off time to eat. Still a little too early for a late summer dinner. I had the restaurant nearly to myself. All I could think of was how perfect it would if there was one more guest to share it with. Abbey. I paid the tab and headed back to the café. Time to catch some shut eye before the middle of the night wake up call.

  My phone vibrated at 0220. Right on time. The message said: Go now. Just enough time to roll out of bed. A quick stretch and head call and head to the jet ski to cross the sea to that rock. I’d arrive there right at 0300. Right on schedule.

  Everything was smooth as silk. I had no trouble finding the area where the rock was. I pulled up and saw five people squatting down. Faint smiles came across their face when they realized who I was. They were excited, but they still knew what laid ahead.

  I pointed to the mother. Then one daughter. Then one son. I mimicked the motion of putting on a lifejacket. They quickly fastened their orange and yellow life jackets. Bright colors, but nothing I could do about it now. The father and the other daughter would be the second trip. This way there were no girls left alone and one parent in each group.

  I wanted to keep the weight centered as much as possible. I had the youngest girl slide in behind me. Behind her was her brother. The mother was in the back. I turned to the father and gave him a thumbs up sign. I motioned with my hand towards Kos, then back to the rock on which he was standing, then back to Kos. I pointed to my watch. I held up my index finger and then moved it in the direction of a circle. One hour. One hour to get everyone across safely. I expected much less, but better to set expectations on the safe side in case we ran into something. It would keep everyone more relaxed.

  As we pulled away from the rock I could feel the passengers shifting. I half turned to take a look. The mother was blowing kisses back to the rock. Her husband was returning them. The kids were all waving to each other. I should have pointed to them to face forward. Stay steady. But how could you do that in a moment like this? When the family is separating with no guarantees they’ll ever see each other again. Some strange man on a jet ski just took your wife, daughter, and son. The other point of view being that same strange man had just taken you and left your husband and daughter on a rock in the middle of the night on the side of the sea. Luckily for them I was a trained SEAL. They probably didn’t know for sure if they were going to arrive safely on the other side no matter what, but they were. I was going to see to it.

  We pulled out of the cove and I looked for Turkish Coast Guard boats. All seemed clear. They had started to patrol without lights, but a trained eye can still spot them from a reasonable distance. All good.

  We slowly made our way through the area they patrol. Time was ticking. Within ten minutes we were half way. I hit the gas and approached the Greek side. Abbey told me in the note the Greeks were on our side tonight. Just stick to the direct route and they’ll make sure they’re out of our way. True to plan the coast was clear. We pulled up right to the coast and docked. The family looked a mixture of elated and surprised at how easy it had been. I helped them off and walked them to the café. No hostage march tonight. Now, we were on the same team.

  I opened the café and let them in.

  “You have arrived safely. Everything is OK for you in Greece now. Now, I must go back.”

  “Thank you. Thank you. Thank you,” the just kept repeating.

  “Don’t thank me yet. We’re only half way finished. There are beds upstairs. The couch is here. A toilet there,” I pointed. “Make yourself at home. I will return shortly, but you must remain one hundred percent quiet. No talking at all. And I must lock you inside.”

  “It’s OK,” the mother said.

  “Don’t worry. I’ll be back with your husband and your daughter,” I said and I opened the door, locked it, and made my way back into the night.

  Everything was going to plan. I approached the Turkish coastline and cut my speed. I spotted a boat in the distance. No lights. I was best to wait it out. I cut the engine. It was crawling along. Northwest to southeast. Less than five knots. Lets than six miles per hour. Based on the length and shape it had to be a KAAN 29-class patrol craft. Commi
ssioned in 2001. Almost thirty-five yards in length. A top speed of about sixty knots. The Turkish Coast Guard wasn’t messing around tonight. They had a big boy out. Big but fast. But not showing off that speed at the moment. This was going to take a minute. I sat patiently and waited. And waited. And waited. I didn’t see another boat behind it. It didn’t seem to be a decoy first boat. I fired up the engine and made my way to shore.

  I found the father and daughter waiting on the rock. They were elated to see me. I noticed something new. Something that wasn’t there the first time. Three bags. Likely stuffed with the standard trifecta. Clothes, cash, and coordinates. Things to wear, cash and things like jewelry that convert to cash, and journey essentials like maps and Ziplock bags. And of course two lifejackets for this one water crossing. I was able to get one of the bags stowed away in the seat. They would have to have the other two on their laps. I put the son behind me and the father in back. I was more concerned about weight than about streamlined height distribution. We probably looked like a reverse camel hump on that ski. Didn’t matter. Crude is often effective. We were all loaded up. I turned and looked at the rock. Empty. I turned back to the father and gave him the thumbs up. He returned my gesture with the same. We were off.

  The minute we came out of the cove I knew something was off. A flare off to our right lit the night sky. I yelled, “Hold on,” and I gunned it. I could see it in my peripheral. A KAAN 15 Class. A Coast Guard favorite in these parts. It would have been a fair fight it if was just me and my weight on the ski. No way an overloaded jet ski stood a chance. Plus I had lives to protect.

  When life gets primal I think back to my time in Africa. You don’t have to be the fastest gazelle, but you can’t be the slowest. That and I knew they didn’t want an international incident. They weren’t going to fire their weapons. No way, but I still didn’t want to put them in a position where a trigger happy guy looking for a little action under the cover of darkness now has an excuse. A chase at high speeds on the sea is only going to make the testosterone pump harder. I veered left. I remembered that the pick up spot was chosen because it’s a location other refugees weren’t using. They were further down the coast, but not much. And at this hour the sea was sure to be packed with rubber rafts making the journey.

  I kept the speed solid, but safe. I’m sure the KAAN 15 Class was wondering what I was doing. I only needed to make it a mile. I looked down at the speedometer. Fifty-two kilometers per hour. Just over thirty-two miles per hour. A distance of one mile takes one minute fifty-two seconds. One fifty-two at fifty-two. I started counting.

  The KAAN 15 Class was closing the distance. I zigged right. Waited. Waited. Waited. The KAAN 15 Class zigged right. I zagged left. The KAAN 15 Class had a decision to make. Where was I going and what was my strategy? Would I take the likely path I was on when they first found me? Would I continue south to who knows where? Or would I zig and zag my way to nowhere fast? That and how much gas did I have? I was fueled up. I was good there. I was back on Plan B path.

  The KAAN 15 hadn’t zagged yet, until it did. It was back in pursuit. I continued on my way. I wasted a full fifteen seconds on my cat-and-mouse game. I was still well over a minute out, but closing distance fast. The KAAN 15 Class was closing on me even faster. I had to cut speed. We were getting close to a dangerous area.

  As we came upon it, I couldn’t believe my eyes. Raft, after raft, after raft of refugees and migrants. I had never seen anything like it. It was beauty and chaos at the same time. The struggle to escape from which you came. The struggle to get where you wanted to go.

  I had to cut speed more and look for an opening. I couldn’t risk a few miles per hour and then accidently sink a raft. The Turkish Coast Guard couldn’t risk a public relations nightmare. I veered left even more. Back to the coast. The line of rafts was long and thick. I saw an entry point ahead. No more than thirty meters. I slowly approached and veered right to enter the hole. It would put a wall between the Coast Guard and me.

  As the rafts realized what was happening they began to cheer. It was strange, but I felt like a hero. Like superman. We were all in this flight to safety together. I just had a little bit bigger horse. A big, winged, white Pegasus. They started waving. We waved back. I made it through the boats and we turned right. Back in the direction of Greece. We sputtered along. Slowly passing each boat. Offering each one smiles and waves. Unspoken encouragement. I also kept an eye on that Turkish Coast Guard boat. He no longer followed me. He had slowed to a stop. Pulled out his megaphone and began shouting at the rafts. They didn’t care, and I wonder if the Turkish Coast Guard did either.

  We made our way past the last boat at the front. Nothing behind. Nothing to the right. No surprises from the left. If the Turkish had called me in at this point it didn’t matter. I was coming up on half way. They weren’t going to try anything with me in these waters. I was Greece’s problem now. Out of their hair.

  I righted the ski and headed back up the coast to our original path. I knew we had a small window of safe passage up there. That and easier and more direct access to the café. As we got closer to the shore you could see the lights. I could feel the father reach over his son to pat me on the back. We did it, he was saying. Not with words. With emotions.

  I parked the ski and within minutes we were walking in the door. The family united in one big hug. There were smiles, laughter, and tears. Handshakes for me. Handshakes delivered with two hands. I hadn’t had one of those since I rescued a two-year-old in Benghazi three years earlier. The kind of handshake where you know what you’re doing matters. The kind where you know the world is good. The kind that rip at your heart and strengthen the resolve of your soul at the same time.

  But this was no time to get emotional. These were likely high-end drug dealers. Sure they were people, but the products they offered ruined the lives of people they didn’t know. People all around the globe. Enjoy it now, I thought. I’m going to take your whole operation down. Me and Claire Abbey.

  My phone vibrated around lunchtime. The message was simple. Next ferry to Bodrum. You take. It was from the Turk’s number. I had dropped the family off at the asylum application office about two hours ago. They had surely called in their successful crossing. The only question was how much information about that crossing had they provided. I was about to find out.

  That wasn’t the only discovery of the day. I was also going to find out the contents of their luggage. Abbey had texted me and provided me additional information. The metal locker was actually an x-ray device. I couldn’t open their bags and look. It would raise too much suspicion. I could offer to store their bags in my locker. Just in case someone should try and break into the café. They hadn’t resisted. They were too busy celebrating their crossing. When they eventually passed out I hit the button on the back of the locker, which ran the scan. Today we’d be finding out just what they were transporting. Finding out and documenting. First I had the meeting in Bodrum.

  I had a case of Groundhog’s Day when I arrived at the dock. Same flow of tourists scampering off the boat. Same grandmothers’ offering accommodation. Same guy by the phone booth waiting for me. This time he didn’t have a newspaper. He was just standing patiently. About as non descript as you could be. He did have aviators. Certainly a Ray-Ban knock off. They’re everywhere in Turkey and although you can’t always tell why they’re not the originals, you know they’re quite right.

  There was no need for hand and arm signals today. He started on the same path as before. Before I knew it I was being ushered into the same shop on the same little street. That’s where the similarities ended.

  When I entered the shop the Turk was there. To his left was a new figure. Well dressed and relaxed. He wore Gucci loafers. The ones with the horse bit. I had seen them before in Milan. The supplier to a big fashion house we were watching couldn’t seem to take them off his feet. We even had surveillance photos of him in his temporary apartment at night in them. Them and only them. With a retail north of €500
I guess they counted as an entire wardrobe all unto themselves. He wore white cotton pants. His shirt was a blue polo. It looked expensive. I wondered if he was a value shopper simply taking advantage of his geographic location being so close to Egyptian cotton and Turkish clothing factories, or if fashion was his business. He stood to shake my hand. He did not offer his name. I didn’t ask. The Turk also offered his hand.

  “Please sit down.”

  I sat. A different young girl came and left us each with a small tea. Again the server ducked behind the curtain leading to the back as quickly and efficiently as she had appeared. As always the tea was scalding hot. Too hot for any normal person to drink for at least another ten minutes. The Turk and his guest each immediately took a sip.

  “I heard about last night.”

  I didn’t say anything. He seemed serious, but also happy.

  “We must thank you for what you did.”

  My first thought was who were the we he was referring to. The second was what did he hear.

  “You were fast with your thoughts. That could have been a big problem for everyone, but it was not. Thanks to you.”