Chasing the Lost (19 page)

The Mark-19 was trained hard about, aimed right at them.

All the machine guns were also trained at the
Fina
.

“Gator,” Chase called out in a calm voice. “If it comes to it, you take out the Mark-19. Riley, you’ve got Karralkov on the bridge, and then work aft. I’m going to start with the M-60 below the bridge and work forward. If we have to fire that ship up, remember, they probably have Cole belowdecks, so let’s aim high.”

“What do you want me to do?” Erin asked, Riley’s HK in her hands.

“Where’d you get that?” Chase demanded.

“Don’t get shot,” Riley yelled at her. “Get behind the cockpit wall.”

The distance was down to one hundred and fifty meters. Karralkov yelled something in Russian and the MK-19 chugged, spewing a string of forty-millimeter grenades.

“Hold fire!” Chase yelled.

A series of plumes blossomed in the water in front of the
Fina
as a dozen grenades exploded on impact with the ocean.

“Fuck him,” Gator said and he fired, a string of fifty rounds, every fourth one a tracer, arcing just past the
Shashka
’s port bow.

“Cease fire, damn it!” Chase yelled. “Gator, keep it under control.”

The two ships were a hundred and twenty meters apart.

Karralkov yelled something in Russian, and the MK-19 gunner suddenly swung the weapon around to the starboard. The distinctive chugging noise on the automatic grenade launcher went on a bit longer. They could all see the tiny dots of the string of grenades rise into the air and head toward the oncoming cabin cruiser.

“Oh, my God!” Sarah screamed as the first couple of grenades hit short, but then the boat was ripped to shreds as at least a dozen forty-millimeter grenades went off on it. The echoes of the explosions rolled across the waves. The MK-19 swung back around to aim at the
Fina
, which was now ninety meters away.

“I am serious!” Karralkov yelled. “Halt!”

“Hold weapons!” Chase yelled. “Gator, hold! He needs the heroin. He won’t fire on us.”

Riley’s hands were tight on the M-249, not as optimistic as Chase. He expected to see a string of grenades coming directly at them. At this range, there would be no missing.

Eighty meters.

Seventy meters.

They were inside the arming range for the grenades.

Riley and the others all breathed a sigh of relief.

That lasted for all of a second.

The screech of a rocket engine from above ripped into their ears.

Gator instinctively pressed the triggers on the twin fifties, a warrior swinging his sword on his way to Valhalla.

A Hellfire missile flashed by, a deadly blink, tore into the
Shaska
, and then detonated.

Kono spun the wheel as the blast hit the protective glass.

Erin dove to the deck.

Chase had time to wrap Sarah in his arms and turn his back to the explosion.

The blast wave knocked Riley back from the machine gun, tumbling him across the
Fina
and overboard.

Riley regained consciousness via the very painful process of inhaling seawater. Gagging, he flailed about for several vital moments, his body armor taking him under.

He unbuckled, unzipped, shrugged off the weight, and kicked for daylight.

The pain in his lungs was unbearable, but he continued to kick and claw for the surface, and finally broke into sunlight and oxygen. He gasped for air, every breath painful and grateful. He stared up into the light blue, savoring the sunlight. He saw a glint of light on something metal, far overhead, and knew immediately what had happened.

He kicked over to the metal ladder welded into the side of the
Fina
. Clambering onboard, he surveyed the immediate area. All that was left of the
Shashka
was a debris field, along with an oil slick. The remains of Walter’s boat were even less visible.

Kono was struggling to his feet, dazed, but hands groping for the controls that he’d instinctively shut down as he collapsed. Chase was unwrapping himself from Sarah. Erin was looking out from her oversized body armor, her head barely poking out, like a red-headed turtle.

Forward, Gator was slumped over in the turret. Riley ran forward. He grabbed the big man and pulled him back. Carefully, and with every ounce of strength he had, Riley pulled Gator out of the turret and laid him flat on the forward deck.

“Erin!” Riley called. “Get your kit. We’ve got a bleeder.”

A splinter of wood protruded from Gator’s neck, and dark blood was oozing out around it. Riley knew not to try to do what most would: pull the wood out. It was the only thing keeping Gator’s carotid from pulsing out all his blood. Riley pressed both hands around the wooden spike as Erin, having discarded the body armor, came forward.

“Bandage it in place,” Riley ordered. “Tight.” He considered the wounded Ranger, then he pulled a pair of zip ties off Gator’s MOLLE vest and, with great difficulty, managed to cuff Gator’s hands to his belt, so that if he regained consciousness, he wouldn’t pull the wood out himself.

Sure Erin was on-task, Riley quickly moved back to the cockpit.

“Nearest hospital?” he demanded of Kono. “We have to drop Gator ASAP.”

“Parris Island,” Kono said, already getting the
Fina
restarted. “Hide the guns.”

Riley looked over the deck, and knew that hiding the guns was only going to help a little. The bullet-resistant glass around the cockpit was shattered, but it had held structural integrity, and most likely saved those behind it. There was debris from the
Shashka
strewn all about the deck.

“Cole!” Sarah shrieked. She was standing, staring over the side at the debris field. “Where is Cole?”

Chase was shaking his head, trying to clear it. “He’s gone, Sarah.” Chase glared at Riley. “What the hell?”

Riley jabbed a finger upward. “Predator strike. That was a Hellfire.” He removed the starboard M-249 and shoved it belowdecks.

Sarah was wailing that they had to stay, that Cole could be alive in the debris, but Kono had them heading toward Parris Island. Riley had seen it before: she’d gone past the breaking point.

Riley took care of the port machine gun.

Chase held Sarah in his arms, trying to comfort her, but Riley could hear no coherent words. The abrupt ending to their quest, in a way they could never have foreseen, had all of them in shock. He didn’t even bother asking Chase for help with the dual fifties, breaking them down himself and just shoving them in the bottom of the cockpit, which was splattered with Gator’s blood.

They roared up to the dock at Parris Island where an ambulance was idling, alerted by Kono’s radio call. Several young Marines waited there, supervised by an old Gunny Sergeant.

Kono pulled up perfectly, bringing them to a halt. Chase finally let go of Sarah to help Riley lift Gator and bring him to the side, where the young Marines waited with a stretcher.

“What the hell happened to you?” the Gunny asked as four Marines struggled to carry Gator to the ambulance.

“Propane tank blew,” Riley said.

The Gunny surveyed the damage, the gun pintles, their gear, and nodded. “Sure.” Then he spat. “Whatever.”

“He’s a Ranger,” Riley said. “Take care of him.”

“We take care of our own.”

And then Kono pulled them away, back onto the open water.

* * * * *

Erin was sitting in the rear of the
Fina
with Sarah, doing a better job of comforting her than Chase had been able. Kono was driving, a muscle on the side of his chiseled black face jumping, whether from worry about Gator or just coming down from the near-death experience.

Riley was in one of the jump seats, slumped back, exhausted.

“Kono, you need to keep the cooler full,” Riley said as they headed toward the Intracoastal and home.

“Combat mission,” Kono said.

“Especially for a combat mission,” Riley noted.

“What the fuck happened?” Chase said, although pieces were starting to slide into place in his brain.

“Your buddy Cardena, most likely,” Riley said. “Took out everyone’s problem.”

“I told him there was a kid involved, damn it,” Chase said.

“Guys like Cardena see the bigger picture,” Riley said. “A kid in this bigger picture didn’t matter to him. Of course, it might have been someone else, maybe even Farrelli, but I doubt old ‘Can of Tomatoes’ has a drone armed with Hellfires flying over the coast of the US. Maybe even another enemy of Karralkov’s. Doesn’t matter,” Riley concluded. “It’s over.”

“I’ll kill him,” Chase vowed.

“You’ll never find him,” Riley said. “Start thinking with your brain, Horace. This was fucked from the start. In a way, we’re lucky the slate got wiped clean. The odds Karralkov was going to hand over Cole were slim at best, and the way Walter was coming in didn’t bode well. It was a clusterfuck. I’m sorry about Cole, real sorry, but we did the best we could. Let’s hope Gator makes it through surgery.”

Erin came forward, leaving Sarah sitting, knees pulled to her chest on the after deck.

“She’s in bad shape,” Erin reported. “We might have to take her to the hospital.”

“Shock?” Riley asked.

“Yes,” Erin said. “Extreme shock.” She shook her head. “We were so close. Cole was all she had. She wrapped her world around him.”

They passed around the northeast corner of Hilton Head, keeping a wide berth due to sandbars in the area.

Everyone was silent for a while as the
Fina
planed along, the wide, flat beach of the island far off to their right, a handful of tourists wandering about, off-season, having no clue what had just happened a dozen miles out to sea.

Chase slumped down in the other jump seat. He felt empty, all the energy that had been driving him for forty-eight hours gone. “Maybe Cole wasn’t on the ship,” he speculated. “Maybe Karralkov was keeping him in a separate place, and was going to give us the location.”

No one replied to this forlorn hope.

“Oh, my God!” Erin cried out and jumped to her feet.

Sarah was standing on the port rear of the
Fina
, a needle in one hand, the tip hovering over her arm. She jabbed the needle into her arm and pushed the plunger. As she did so, she tumbled over the side.

Kono had the
Fina
slowing and turning in an instant. Chase kicked off his shoes and ran forward. Riley joined him and they searched the water for her.

“There!” Chase cried out, spotting her body in the water about forty meters away. Kono brought them to Sarah as skillfully as he’d done every maneuver, stopping just three meters short.

Chase was diving over before the
Fina
came to a complete halt, Riley right behind him. Chase felt the water hit him with a slight chill as he sliced through it. He swam to Sarah and secured her, his arms under hers. He began kicking, heading back to the boat as Riley came alongside, and rendered as much assistance as he could. They got her to the side where Kono waited with a rope, already looped on the end.

Kono tossed it, and Riley got it on the first try. He slid it over Sarah’s head, then made sure it was secure. He gave a thumbs-up to Kono and the Gullah pulled Sarah up, out of the water.

Riley and Chase climbed onboard, water pouring off them. Erin was already leaning over Sarah, checking her. Chase hovered over the two women, feeling hopeless.

“What was in the shot?” Riley asked.

“Ketamine,” Erin said. “I’ve got no vitals!” She immediately began performing CPR.

The three men stood by, helpless, all their weapons and training and experience useless now.

After five minutes, Erin slowed and stopped.

Chase knelt on the other side of Sarah. “I’ll pick up.”

Erin shook her head, tears flowing. “No use. She’s gone. Her lungs won’t work again. The ketamine did it, not the water. She’s dead.”

Gator sported a bandage around his neck, which he’d already tried to take off twice since Kono had picked him up at the Parris Island dock. But Kono was having none of it, waving his machete and ordering his friend to, for once, listen to some advice. One night was all Gator could take in the hospital before sneaking out.

This was on top of the problem that some of the hospital staff at Parris Island were beginning to ask questions about their new patient, noting that while Gator had dogtags, they couldn’t find him in the Tricare system. This was one case where discretion, and disappearing, were the smarter part of valor.

They made the rest of the journey in silence, negotiating the waters of the lowlands until they arrived at Gullah Island. Gator disarmed all the warning devices and they docked. They walked into the woods, directly to the newest headstone. This time it was Kono who held back as the big Ranger stood in front of the marker. Slowly, he knelt, head bowed. He reached into his pocket and pulled out the expended casing for a .50 caliber round, one of the two high-explosive rounds he’d fired into the bunker.

“I made payback, babe. They won’t take no one else. No one like you.”

And then he hung his head, trying to cover up the sounds of crying.

Kono walked up behind his friend and put his arm over Gator’s massive shoulder. “It all right,
fr’un
. Her roots, your baby roots, they now part of the Earth. Part of it all. It okay to grieve.” He repeated it, as much for himself as for his sister and her unborn baby. “It okay to grieve.”

* * * * *

Riley stood on Bloody Point. The golf cart was parked behind him. He had a six-pack in the sand, three already empty, the fourth in his hand. He knelt down and stuck the beer in the sand, making sure it was secure.

The day after was always a time for reckoning, for tallying the costs and determining what had been achieved, if anything. In the Army, it had meant debriefings and after action reports. Here, everyone had just gone their own way yesterday, their shoulders slumped in defeat.

Riley dug a hole in the same sand where blood had flowed centuries ago, earning the spot its name. When he got down to where seawater was seeping back into it, he reached into his pocket and pulled out Mikey’s dogtags.

Riley dropped them into the hole and scooped the sand back in.

Riley stood up and saluted, before leaning over and picking the beer back up. “Not much of a funeral for a Marine, Mikey, and I have no idea if you were a good soldier or not. But it’s a beach, and many Marines have died on a beach.” Riley then poured his beer on top of the disturbed sand. “Semper Fi, Mikey.”

But he was really saying good-bye to many soldiers he’d known over the years.

* * * * *

Chase sat on the end of his dock, feet dangling in the water. The last twenty-four hours had been a blur, especially after the violent forty-eight that had preceded it.

Upon docking, Erin had had a friend from the coroner’s office waiting for Sarah’s body. Chase had said goodbye, as best one can to a corpse, but it made him realize how many corpses he’d had to say farewell to. In the field, in combat. At airstrips around the world as the dead were brought back home.

But this one was different.

And, being Chase, that line of thinking had him ruminating on the dead he’d never had a chance to say goodbye to. On the dock next to him was the old picture of his father and the letter from his mother. And in the water in front of him, his mother’s ashes still held their place.

And next to those two pieces of his past was all he had of his present. Chelsea whined, her huge chest swathed in bandages. He’d picked up Chelsea earlier that morning, at the same time he said goodbye to Erin. She had been planning on leaving Hilton Head anyway, off to the desert of the Southwest—where, exactly, she wasn’t sure yet, but it was time for change. Especially now. She’d told him that some distant relation of Sarah was claiming the body, and Chase figured forty-eight hours wasn’t enough time to know someone to have a claim on their remains.

It was for the best.

The best that could be built out of such failure.

“Easy, girl,” Chase said, reaching over and running his hands through Chelsea’s long hair.

Then he picked up his phone.

It was answered on the second ring.

“Horace. I’ve been waiting to hear from you.”

“I’m coming for you, Cardena.”

“Now what did I do?” Cardena sounded genuinely mystified. “Seems like you ought to be grateful I took care of your Russian problem like you asked me to.”

“Not like I asked you to,” Chase said. “There was a kid on that boat. The kid we were trying to get back.”

“Horace. Tsk. Tsk. You never could see the bigger picture.”

“That kid’s mother killed herself yesterday, right after you pulled your stunt.”

“A shame,” Cardena said, without a shred of remorse in his voice.

Chase gripped the phone tight. “I’m coming for you, Cardena. I’m going to make you pay for this.”

“Oh, Horace. You’ll never, ever find me. And if you did, it wouldn’t be pretty.”

And the phone went dead.