Zane walked out of the gal ey, leaving his friends there, tied up and possibly badly hurt, with nothing to defend themselves but a fucking three -inch army knife.
The man rose, oddly elegant. There wasn·t a speck of blood on him. Which made Zane think he hadn·t done the dirty work himself. So there was at least one other person on board with a meaty fist and a big gun. ´Do you have my chip?µ
´What do you think the chances are of
that
happening? Finding something the size of a microchip in the Caribbean Ocean,
especially
after that storm? Try slim to none.µ
Ńot for an experienced salvager like you, Cutter. Besides. You
do
know exactly where the container is.µ
Zane heard someone at his back a second too late. The man behind him wrapped his arm around Zane·s throat and squeezed. He felt the hard barrel of a gun being pressed into his kidneys. Black specks danced wildly in his vision.
´Wrong.µ
Pink shirt motioned to the guy squeezing Zane·s air pipe. Zane found himself facedown on the floor, a knee pressed hard against his back, a gun to his head.
´You have two choices, Mr. Cutter.µ Al Zane saw from his prone position was the man·s white deck shoes. Éither hand it to me now if you·ve already retrieved it, or go down and get it.µ
Ór what?µ Zane·s lungs were severely constricted as the man holding him down applied more pressure.
Ór your uncooperative behavior wil be the death of your friends.
And
your pretty girlfriend.µ
´You·re aware that
your
friends on St. Maarten have been apprehended by the police by now?µ Zane felt a curious calm come over him and spoke quietly and succinctly. ´The authorities are aware of the location of the crash. Aware of what·s on board. Aware that it was stolen and prepared to do whatever necessary to ensure
you
don·t get it. Not to mention you kil ed three Federal Agents.µ
He heard a creak as if the guy had bad knees, then got a closer look at the white hem of his pants. Another gun was pressed to Zane·s temple. Hard enough to bruise. The man said tightly, ´Then I suggest you retrieve the Alphachip as quickly as possible so that everyone stays alive. Get him up.µ
Zane was hauled unceremoniously to his feet. The man behind him clamped his fingers over the wound on Zane·s upper arm. He almost passed out from the sharp pain. Hot blood seeped between the guy·s fingers to run in rivulets down Zane·s forearm. A flurry of black snow danced in front of his eyes.
´How the hel am I supposed to do that when you·ve knocked the crap out of my team? I don·t have anyone to help me.µ
´Four of my men wil dive with you. You have thirty minutes to locate the chip and bring it to me, or you wil secure the Cessna in the crane·s harness, and we wil search for it here, on your deck.µ
´That·s not enough time or enough people. And I w ouldn·t give you great odds of the wreckage staying intact long enough to haul it to the surface.µ
´Then you have only two choices, Mr. Cutter. Find my Alphachip where it lies, or make sure the Cessna remains viable so we can bring it on deck and search for the chip here. If the chip is not found³by you³in the next two hours, I wil dedicate the remaining time it takes you to locate it to inflicting unspeakable pain on your lady friend. It behooves you to hurry.µ
He glanced at Zane·s bloody arm with obvious distaste. Ćan·t have the sharks coming after you because of al that blood. Slap a Band-Aid on that, Mr. Cutter, then suit up.µ
* * *
She rubbed her bruised jaw as she paced, impatiently waving aside anyone who accidently moved into her path. She·d been taken by surprise on the
Decrepit
.
Heard the sound of what she later realized was a couple of gunshots. She·d raced out of the engine room to find out what the hel was happening when she·d slammed into some strange man. He·d slugged her before she could get away.
She·d come to with six high-pitched female voices weeping and wailing and slapping wet washcloths in her face. As if being punched in the freaking face wasn·t enough to give her a headache.
The stateroom was fairly large; two queen-sized beds, a private head. A porthole facing the wrong damned way and four out of six women who didn·t have half a brain between them.
Teal figured she could jimmy the lock. She searched the head first. Bottles of expensive shampoo and conditioner, assorted bottles of bubble bath, a half empty tampon box in the drawer, a melted down candle, a book of matches with two matches in it, and a smal bag of M&Ms.
She took the candy and gave it to one of the girls to share . They fel on it as if they hadn·t eaten in a month. Teal shook her head and went back to pacing around like a tiger, opening and closing drawers, shooing her idiotic roommates out of her way as she went. There wasn·t a nail file in sight.
Í don·t suppose any of you have a credit card on you?µ
Several of them said no, but a woman with champagne-colored hair and enhanced «
everything
, gave Teal a puzzled look. Í don·t think there·s a gift shop on board.µ
Teal gave her a sour look. She bet when the girl was born her parents were sure she was going to be the first female president of the United States. Good thing she was pretty. Teal kept searching. And while she looked for something to use on the door, she tried to figure out what to do with the six women.
She
was going to steal the
Slow Dance
·s tender and hotfoot it into St. Maarten to warn Zane.
She sighed. She supposed she·d have to somehow load them al on board, without anyone seeing or hearing them. This was going to be like herding freaking cats.
´Would this work?µ the brunette in the patriotic bikini asked. There wasn·t a hint of breathiness in her voice now. She handed Teal a glossy, laminated diving brochure. Teal took it absently as she strained to identify the sound of a powerful engine approac hing.
Fast
.
Zane. Damn it, she had to warn him!
The only view she had through the porthole was open water.
That was
not
the sound of Zane·s 205 Sport. Teal didn·t know whether to be relieved or more freaking worried than she was already.
She used the brochure to jimmy the lock. It took just under a minute. Not that anyone was timing her, but it
was
her personal best. ´Janel e and Maria, right?µ
Teal motioned for the two women who had brains in addition to their kil er bodies and wide-eyed flirtatious looks. They nodded. Áre either of you familiar with driving a powerboat?µ There was no point running through the
Slow Dance
like chickens with their heads cut off. She needed a plan.
Í can,µ the brunette, Maria, said calmly.
´Me too,µ the other woman said.
Ókay.µ Teal spoke quietly so her voice didn·t carry across the room to the others. ´We have to get al of you to the back of the boat and down onto the dive platform.
Without
anyone seeing you.µ
´They have guns,µ Janel e, a voluptuous blonde in a mini scule green bikini, told her nervously.
Of course they did.
´Know how many men there are?µ Teal asked, chewing her pinkie nail down to the quick.
´There were nine or ten when they invited us on board at St. Maarten,µ Maria offered. ´But then Mr. Werner took five guys on the smal er boat over to your boat a couple of hours ago.µ
Yeah. She knew about that. One of them had a fist like a sledgehammer, and her jaw was stil aching.
Ĺet·s pretend that not everyone on board have shown their faces,µ Teal said, practical y.
Ĺet·s go with at least a dozen armed men lounging around waiting for some action. How do we distract them and get them looking somewhere we·re not?µ
Teal was talking, but her brain was already sorting through and discarding various scenarios.
´They·ve seen practical y al of us already,µ Janel e said dryly. Śo flashing them wouldn·t get any kind of rise out of them whatsoever.µ She smiled, before sobering. ´What we need is a big «
something
.µ
´Yeah,µ Maria chimed in, Śomething they·d al respond to that would get them to the front of the boat while we get into the motorboat and get away, but what?µ
Á big explosion,µ Teal said, practical y rubbing her hands together. It was her favorite idea.
´Weeeel , yes,µ Janel e said dubiously. ´But I haven·t a clue how to make something explode, do you?µ
Oh, yeah
. Ĺet me put it this way,µ Teal told her, grinning. Í·d kil for a little ammonium -
nitrate and a can of gasoline. But since fertilizer isn·t going to be lying around on a boat, alcohol wil work in a pinch. Ladies, we·re going to make a couple of Molotov cocktails.
Where can I find the booze?µ
This was something they knew. ´Two doors down on the right,µ Maria told her.
´Mr. Werner·s stateroom. I saw a tray of liquor in there when I passed earlier.µ
´Janel e, there are three giant bottles of bubble bath in the head. Empty them until there·s only about a third left in the bottom. Maria, grab the box of tampons and the matches. When that·s al set, start drawing anything you can remember about this boat. I·m thinking stairs, companionways, cabins « any escape routes or hiding places between here and the back of the boat.
Everyone
contribute to that drawing. Our lives are going to depend on it.µ
´Be real y careful,µ Maria whispered.
Śure. Be right back.µ Teal opened the door a crack and looked right, left, and right again.
Then she stepped into the empty companionway and darted two doors down to the owner·s stateroom as the door clicked softly behind her.
* * *
He held his mask in place and jumped into the water feet first, his four watchdogs hot on his heels. He looked at his dive watch. Five minutes after three.
On his own timetable, he had three hours before al hel broke loose. On Smiley·s³five.
Sunlight streamed through the clear water. A decent dive day despite visibility only being about thirty feet, but it would have been a pleasure to work over the
Vrijheid
. Zane turned off the fear, the yearning, and the anger.
Focus
.
Somehow, he had to get rid of these guys. Get rid of them long en ough to swim to the
Slow
Dance
and find Teal.
Slow Dance
had a smal motorboat tied in back.
The other boat·s faster speedboat was tied to the
Decrepit
.
His goal was to find Teal, send her to St. Maarten to safety, and have her send help. Zane knew he couldn·t leave Ryan, Ben, and Saul unprotected, neither was he going to abandon his boat. Or his wreck.
The plan was simple, the execution problematic.
One against four was sucky odds at best. He figured he had about thirty minutes to come up with a game plan. If they didn·t surface with the chip by then, Pink Shirt expected him to secure the Cessna to the rigging of the crane. That gave them at least ninety minutes of air before the man on the
Decrepit
would expect to see them again.
These men didn·t know that he knew exactly where that damned Alphachip was. Nor did they know that the only way to reach it was with the use of an underwater cutting tool.
So that meant hauling the highly explosive plane onto his boat, which he had no intention of doing for several reasons. One, he wasn·t going to aid and abet them in blowing his boat to hel , and two, once they had the plane, they wouldn·t need him or his crew or his boat.
He·d be dead before the Cessna hit the deck. He led the men to the plane and swam backward, extending his arms wide in a gesture that encompassed the whole ocean.
Have at
it, assholes.
Teal quietly closed and locked the door behind her. This stateroom was larger than the one they·d stuck al the women in. It smel ed strongly of Kenzo, the same expensive men·s cologne Denny used to favor. The smel of cardamom and grapefruit stil made her eyes water or maybe it was just the freaking memory of Denny. Whatever it was, the familiar scent made her even more jumpy.
She ran over to the large porthole and got a view of the
Decrepit
. A yel ow-and-white Sea Ray was tied up. She·d barely been able to hear the engine of the speedboat approaching over the whine of the women and had hoped it was the cavalry coming to the rescue. Had Maggie and Colson decided to come back? But no, she saw that this was a newer model. Not Maggie, thank God. Maggie and Cols on were safely on St. Maarten. Waiting for news.
There was no sign of Zane·s red Sport. Shouldn·t he be back by now with the cutting tool?
She glanced at the bedside clock. He should·ve returned a good half hour ago, if not before.
Worry ate at her. She wanted him back so she·d know where he was. She wanted him to stay the hel away because al the bad stuff was on the
Decrepit,
lying in wait for him.
Had something terrible happened while he was on the island? He·d met with another government type. Al those guys were trained professionals with ful y loaded guns. She pressed her fingers to her pounding temples. No. She had to believe that Zane was okay and on his way back with the Broco.
´Don·t buy trouble,µ she whispered, taking another searching look at th e
Decrepit
for any signs of life. There were none. The women had told her that Werner and his men had taken the launch over to the
Decrepit
. What had they done to the guys?
Her
guys? Ryan, Ben, and Saul?
Someone had knocked her out and brought her over to the
Slow Dance.
Did that mean her guys had been brought here as wel ? Real y. This freaking kidnapping crap was getting old.