Capture (Butch Karp Thrillers) (36 page)

Spring glared at Leonard, and when he didn’t speak said, “No, what you said is good enough.”

“So how much of what you said do we know to be true or can prove to be true?”

“Like I said, Mr. Karp,” she replied, “I did my best to give my professional opinion. I will leave it up to the jury whether to accept that as fact.”

Karp smiled widely. “Now
that’s
a fact, Ms. Spring. No further questions.”

During the lunch break, Karp went back to his office alone. “I need to make a couple of calls,” he told Katz and Blanchett, who’d sat in the courtroom all morning. “Why don’t you guys go grab a bite?”

Karp entered his office and sat down in his chair. His cell phone had not gone off during the morning session. He pressed a button twice on the small transmitter in his pocket—“
twice to chat, three times in an emergency,
” the tech had said.

Suddenly, Jaxon’s voice was in his head. “Yeah, Butch, anything?”

“Nope,” he replied. “Just testing. How about you?”

“Nothing yet. Hang in there…. And Butch?”

“Yeah?”

“Sorry I got Lucy into this,” the agent said, his voice faltering. Uncle Espey had known Lucy since childhood.

Karp felt tears in his eyes. “She’s a big girl,” he said. “I hope after this, she’ll decide that being a rancher’s wife is plenty exciting. But it’s her choice.”

The rest of the lunch break, Karp sat back in his chair with his feet on the desk and his eyes closed. He tried to focus on the next witness, but instead, images of Lucy flooded into his head. The pre
cocious child who talked to adults like they were the children and she the old soul. But not too old that she didn’t love to crawl into bed with her parents and snuggle down. There was the egghead who by the age of seven spoke seven languages and was beginning Chinese, and was well ahead of her classmates in just about every other subject, too. And the young teen who’d cried on his shoulder until his suit coat was soaked because some boy at school told her she had “a face like a horse.” He recalled the young woman working in soup kitchens, who’d taken the pantheon of sociopaths, terrorists, and killers who’d threatened her or her eccentric family in stride.
The woman who’d looked so happy the night she and Ned announced their engagement.

Karp started at the sound of a knock on the door. He realized that he’d actually fallen asleep. “Yeah, come in,” he said, glancing at the clock.

Katz opened the door. “You ready to go?”

Karp swung his feet off the desk and stood. “I’m always ready to go,” he said.

N
ADYA
M
ALOVO WATCHED AS THE
U.S. C
OAST
G
UARD PATROL
boat came alongside the wallowing ship just as the sun was creeping above the pink-tinted horizon.
Red sky at morning, sailors take warning,
she thought.
An appropriate bit of folklore for today
.

As she made her final preparations, Malovo automatically assessed the enemy’s strength.
Eighty-seven-foot Marine Protector Class coastal patrol boat, burns 165 gallons of diesel an hour at top speed of twenty-six knots. Armament consists of two .50-caliber machine guns fore and aft, and small arms distributed to ten-member crew. Can launch an inflatable boarding party boat out a ramp at the back while under way.

Malovo whirled to where Stupenagel and Tran stood handcuffed next to each other, guarded by two men with AK-47s. Tran’s face was bloody and swollen from the beating he’d taken from Malovo. Stupenagel was none the worse for wear, except that her long blond hair had been cut short and her face washed clean of makeup. “Take these two below and keep them where we discussed until the ship is under way again.”

“Then what?” said the younger of the two guards, a small man with unsteady, red-rimmed eyes who nervously fingered the trigger of his assault rifle.

“Shoot him,” Malovo said, pointing at Tran, “but in the legs. I want him alive when you dump him overboard for the sharks to finish. Good-bye, whatever your name is, little Vietnamese man. Too bad Ivgeny is not here to try to rescue you this time. I would like to feed him to the sharks, too…piece by piece…. Ah, well, someday perhaps.”

“What about her,” said the older guard, a big man with an enormous belly.

“When the Coast Guard leaves, bring her back and tie her to the rail at the front of the bridge so that she is easy to see,” Malovo said. “She is my understudy. Don’t you think that from a distance, she looks like me? Her hair is short like mine. She’s a little fatter, but they won’t get too good a look before it’s too late. Then when she is gone, in their eyes, Ajmaani will be, too.”
And they will stop looking for Nadya Malovo
, she thought.

The big blond shook off the little man’s hand. “Touch me again and I’m going to kick your ass over the railing,” she snarled, and then looked at Malovo. “See you in hell, bitch.”

Malovo grinned. “Save me a spot next to the fire when you get there first,” she said, laughing.

As the guards hustled the two prisoners below, Malovo turned to the captain and Omar Abdullah. “I’m going to my cabin,” she said. “You both know what to do.”

“It will be done,” Abdullah replied. “The great day is upon us!
Allahu akbar
!”

“
Allahu akbar
!” the other men on the bridge responded.

“Yes, God is great,” Malovo said as she left the bridge.
But I’ll take the money over religion any day.

A few minutes later, Chief Warrant Officer Ron Adkins stood where Malovo had been, looking over the passports of the men on the bridge. He was accompanied by six armed seamen, four of whom checked the passports of the remainder of the cargo ship crew on the deck.

The U.S. Coast Guard chief handed the passports back to the
man who’d identified himself as the captain. “What seems to be the problem?” Adkins asked.

The milk transport had radioed that it was having difficulty with steering and requested permission to head for the closest ship repair facility, which happened to be the Brooklyn shipyards on the East River. Adkins’s ship was patrolling in the area and responded to the distress signal for a quick security check before allowing the ship to proceed to Brooklyn.

Adkins was well aware that vessels entering American waters are supposed to provide advance notice to the Coast Guard of at least twenty-four hours—ninety-six for liquefied natural gas tankers. In addition, they are required to provide the ship’s cargo list, the names and passport numbers of each crew member, details about the ship’s ownership and agents, and a list of recent ports of call. But there wouldn’t be time for this vessel.

“We’re having difficulties with the electrohydraulic drive for the rudder,” the captain said. “We do okay on smooth seas, but I worry if we run into foul weather, the helm may lose control.”

Adkins looked at a clipboard. “It looks like you’re headed to Nova Scotia? With milk and milk products?”

The captain nodded. “Yes. Fortunately, there is no problem with our refrigeration units.”

“Why in the world would anyone ship milk from Trinidad to Nova Scotia?” one of the sailors with Adkins asked.

“Who knows, Jamieson,” Adkins responded. “Ours is not to reason why…”

“Yes, sir.”

“Okay, Captain, your papers appear to be in order,” Adkins said. “But let’s have a look around. Jamieson, check the cabins. Rodriguez, you come with me.”

The captain escorted Adkins and his man on a quick but efficient check of the remainder of the ship, including a cursory glance at where some of the men were working belowdecks on the hydraulic drive. Neither Adkins nor Rodriguez was familiar enough with the terrorist watch list to recognize Omar Abdullah, nor interested in a small storage room in which Tran had been left bound and gagged.

When they came to the refrigeration units for the enormous stainless steel milk tanks, Rodriguez whistled in admiration. “Boy, this is state of the art, especially for an old tub like this.”

“New owners want to provide only the freshest milk.” The captain smiled.

Rodriguez looked closely at a temperature gauge. “Thirty-six degrees Fahrenheit,” he said. “Man, a glass of cold milk sounds real good about now. Don’t suppose these babies come with a spout?”

The captain laughed. “Oh no, no sipping allowed.”

When the three men arrived back on the bridge, they found Jamieson standing with a beautiful blond woman. She looked frightened.

“I found her hiding in one of the cabins, sir,” Jamieson said. “Her passport is a little shaky.”

Adkins stepped closer to look at the woman. She was obviously in her forties, though proof positive that some women improve with age. Her skin was tan, her blue eyes clear and steady, and she had a body most twenty-year-old women would kill for, he thought.

No wonder the old geezer is willing to pay big bucks to sneak her into the country,
he thought.
That and whatever they’re hiding in those milk tanks…cocaine, probably, with the money they’re paying me. But the old boy wants this fine little piece of ass off the ship before they deal with U.S. Customs.

Adkins was a career man, but he was looking at retirement in five years on a pension that would barely keep a roof over his head. But a simple act of helping an old man sneak his Russian mail-order bride into the country and looking the other way during this security inspection was going to buy him a nice place on Nantucket, where he’d spend the rest of his days fishing from a new boat, swilling beer, and chasing women. What did he care if the niggers in Harlem smoked crack from Trinidad until they OD’d.

“Weren’t you aware that you were supposed to present your passport?” he asked after he’d perfunctorily glanced at hers. “And I didn’t see any Mary Blithe on the crew list.”

“I didn’t think passengers had to,” she said with an accent that didn’t fit the name Mary Blithe.

“A passenger? On a milk transport?” Jamieson said.

“Stand down, sailor,” Adkins ordered.

“Yes, sir.”

“So why are you hiding on a milk transport bound for Nova Scotia?” Adkins asked.

The woman began to cry. “I’m sorry,” she wailed. “I just want to see my family in Canada but I cannot receive visa because of onetime mistake in Moscow…for prostitution.”

Adkins acted as if he needed to think about it for a moment, and then reached a decision. “Mr. Jamieson and Rodriguez, please escort Miss…Blithe to our vessel. I’m sorry, young lady, but I’m going to have to ask you to come with us. If the INS doesn’t care, you can reboard this vessel when she departs from the ship repair facility and let the Canadian authorities deal with you.”

Turning to the captain, Adkins said, “You may proceed to the Brooklyn shipyards. When you approach New York Harbor, you will be met by tugboats to guide you in. You are to maintain the course my navigator sends you and not deviate from it. Do you understand?”

The captain saluted. “Yes, I understand. No deviations. Straight for the shipyards. Thank you very much, sir.”

“What kind of speed are you making?”

“No more than ten knots,” the captain replied. “More than that and she is difficult to control.”

“And Captain,” Adkins said with a wink no one else saw. “If it turns out that there are problems with Miss Blithe, you may have some explaining to do.”

“I am sorry I ever agreed to give her passage,” the man replied. “She offered a great deal of money and showed me a passport. How was I to know that she was a disgusting prostitute trying to sneak into Canada? I am just a poor ship’s captain.”

“Yeah, yeah, just hope you don’t have to explain it to the FBI,” Adkins said. “Now if you’ll excuse me.”

Jamieson spoke up. “Chief Adkins, do you want me to radio over to the ship and have one of our women standing by to search her?”

Adkins thought about it. The old man, Dean Newbury, had given him specific instructions; no one was to search the woman or her things. He’d hinted that she might be carrying contraband dia
monds from South Africa.
So maybe she’s a courier, not his mistress,
Adkins thought.
No matter, it’s not my business; I’m being paid good money to follow instructions
.

“I don’t think it will be necessary, Jamieson,” the chief warrant officer replied. “She looks harmless enough, and it’s probably not going to go well for her. We’ll turn her over to Immigration when we get back to port; until then place her in one of the cabins and put a guard on the door.”

“Yes, sir,” Jamieson replied.
Boy, is the chief getting soft in his old age
, he thought,
but I have to admit, she is one good-looking MILF. Wonder if he’s hoping to tap that before we get back to shore.

Jojola awoke at the sound of a large engine starting up. It took him a moment to realize in the dim morning light that the engine belonged to another boat.

Good guys or bad guys?
he wondered. Just then a large swell passed beneath the reefer, rocking it like a baby in a cradle, and his stomach flopped. He was lying among a dozen or so life jackets hanging in a heavy net above the fantail deck of the ship, which had the unfortunate habit of swaying even more than the deck or his previous hideout in the lifeboat.
I hope it’s the good guys, because I can’t take much more of this. Please, spirits of the earth, if you let me live long enough to return to the land, I will never leave it again.

He wondered how Tran was faring with Malovo. When his friend didn’t show up that night, he’d gone looking for him and saw his capture. There was nothing he could do at the time; while his hunting knife was a formidable weapon, it was no match for Malovo and a half dozen men with automatic weapons.

The fact that Malovo had not killed Tran outright and hauled him off with his wrists tied together gave Jojola reason to believe that she would at least keep him alive for questioning. The old Viet Cong guerrilla was a tough old bird; Jojola just had to hope he’d last until he could do something to rescue him.
Tonight when it’s dark and I have a fighting chance,
he thought,
or the good guys show up! I wonder what’s keeping Jaxon
.

As much as he wanted to believe that the sound of the engine
he heard might be Jaxon and a boarding party, he knew that the lack of resistance from the reefer meant that help had not arrived. The other boat’s engine suddenly roared louder and then began to recede.
Whoever it was,
he thought,
they’re leaving. At least I won’t have to fight two ships full of terrorists.

A few minutes later, he heard an even larger engine crank up and head away.
Hope I didn’t just blow my chance to call in the cavalry.
He’d cut partway through the ropes to one side of the net so that if he was discovered, a quick slash with his knife and he’d be able to drop to the deck and at least make a last stand.

He knew after Tran was captured that search parties would scour the rest of the ship; Tran wouldn’t give him up, but they’d come looking just in case. But he also hoped that the search would be cursory and the crew preoccupied with whatever evil plan they were hatching with a milk transport ship filled with liquefied natural gas.

So he stayed away from the lifeboat and hid himself as best he could among the life jackets. The expected search parties had passed below, but as hoped, they only glanced around and none of them looked up. One of the searchers pulled out a pipe and lit up a bowl of what smelled like hashish that he passed around.
Smoke up, boys,
Jojola thought.
I can use all the help I can get
.

Jojola was contemplating getting down from his perch long enough to stretch and work some of the kinks out of his muscles when he heard voices coming from inside the ship. A few moments later, Tran appeared below him followed by two men with assault rifles. The big one pointed his gun at Tran.

“Go stand over near the railing,” the man ordered.

“Go fuck yourself,” Tran replied, turning around to face his assassins. “I’m not going to make this easy. You’re going to hurt your back when you have to bend over and pick me up and throw me over the side.”

The big man scowled and started to aim when the smaller terrorist put his hand on the man’s arm. “Let’s smoke some hash first. Then you shoot him in one leg, and I’ll shoot him in the other. It will be more fun watching the sharks eat him when we’re high. Besides, tonight we’ll be in Paradise, and they may not have any hashish there.”

The big man smiled and nodded. “They have everything in Paradise,” he said. He kept his gun pointed at Tran. “I’ll watch him. Go ahead and get it ready.”