Going Overboard (38 page)

“Three minutes to drop point, commander.”

The two SEAL teams lined up, their faces intent and their eyes hungry for action.

They were the best, McKay knew. He'd cursed and

sweated alongside them in swamps, jungles, and stormy seas. He knew there were no better fighters anywhere on God's green earth.

“One minute to drop zone.” The warning thundered over the intercom. McKay closed off all personal thoughts, all worry and indecision as the jumpmaster moved into place near the C-130's scuffed loading ramp.

The jumpmaster signaled sharply as the green light flashed. McKay's mind was clear and deadly focused as he stepped out into the screaming air thirty thousand feet above the ocean and felt the icy wind grab him.

Daphne screamed as her fiancé jerked beneath three fast bullets, then toppled to the cold floor only inches from the inspector.

Carly knew he was dead.

Only fury and outrage pulled her out of her shock. She caught Daphne, preventing her from dropping to her knees next to Halloran's fallen body. Vronski was beyond reason now, shattered by his son's betrayal, and if she and Daphne didn't stay calm, they would die just like the two men on the cold cement floor.

At least Halloran had cut the wires at her hands and slipped her his knife. Later, she would grieve for him and wonder about a father who valued his son less than scraps of elaborately printed paper.

But right now she had to think.

She inched toward Daphne and pulled her closer as Vronski barked out a torrent of orders in Russian.

“The animal. David—” Daphne shuddered, her eyes wide and unfocused.

Carly pressed a hand to her mouth and shook her head, afraid to draw Vronski's attention. “Think of the baby. David would want that,” she whispered.

Daphne nodded, one hand pressed against her stomach. After one last, agonizing look at her fiancé's body, she forced her gaze to the door.

Outside, a line of men were carrying boxes along the corridor, their feet shuffling on the bare cement. Vronski gestured to his aide, then pointed to his son's body, his eyes full of weariness. Turning back, he stared at Carly and Daphne, then gave an order in Russian.

The two women were shoved toward the door.

“He was your son,” Daphne said sharply, fighting her captor. “How could you kill him?”

Vronski turned the black videocassette over in his hands, seeming to shrink inward lost in a world no one else could see.

“I have no son,” he said tightly. “Perhaps I never did.” He did not look up as the two women were pushed past him into the dusty corridor.

They were herded into the back of a truck filled with boxes, then locked in with a muscular blond guard whose gaze never wavered as the truck wound through the crowded streets of Santa Marina.

When the truck bumped to a halt, the big guard pushed them into a metal cargo case. Neither woman was foolish enough to argue while he held an ugly assault rifle inches from their faces. Carly wrapped her arms around Daphne, cushioning her body as the cargo case was hauled over what felt like a dozen steep steps.

Finally they stopped and the lid swung open.

The blond guard motioned for them to get out. Carly and Daphne obeyed in silence as they were pushed into the galley of the Brandon yacht, bound back-to-back with heavy electrical tape.

The guard glanced at his watch, then strode to the door. A bolt clicked, and his heavy footsteps echoed up the companionway.

Carly released a slow, painful breath. “We've got to get out.”

Daphne nodded, white faced still struggling with the horror of what she had just witnessed. “We've served our purpose,” she said flatly. “Just like David and Inspector

St. John.” She pressed her lips together hard. “What about our hands?”

“Move closer.” Carly searched until she could touch the knife hidden in her pocket. After long, agonizing minutes, she worked the blade out and hacked away the tape, then ran to the door.

It was locked, as she had feared.

No windows. No other exits.

“There's an air vent above the stove,” Daphne said as Carly went to work on her bound hands. “Father had it put in last year after we had a grease fire down here. We might be able to crawl through to the upper deck.” When Carly freed her hands, she rubbed her wrists, frowning. “It won't be pleasant, I warn you.”

“Who needs pleasant?”

Footsteps hammered somewhere over their heads. An outboard motor roared to life.

Carly pulled away the aluminum grating over the vent, then climbed onto the closest counter. “It's going to be close,” she said, peering inside.

Daphne nodded, following Carly on hands and knees into the darkness. Overhead, the deck was silent. The roar of the outboard motor had faded and Carly suddenly had the sense that they were alone on the yacht.

You know what to do there.

Remembering the Russian's cold instructions, she climbed quickly, urging Daphne to do the same. The guard had left them alone, and Carly didn't want to hang around to find out why.

She tried not to think of an explosive charge ticking beneath her as she crawled through the rough metal duct, with Daphne close behind her. Her knees were scraped raw when she finally saw a square of light six feet ahead, blocked by a heavy grate. She froze and listened intently, but heard only the angry cry of a seabird against the wind.

She looked back at Daphne and together they shoved at the grating. One side shook, then swung free. When there was no shout or sound of alarm, they attacked the other side.

It seemed like an eternity before the heavy aluminum plate pulled free and plunged out of sight, landing in a splash somewhere below them. Her knees burning, Carly crawled to the four-foot opening and saw that they were about twenty feet above the water. The jump would be uncomfortable but not dangerous, though she was worried about Daphne.

She gripped Daphne's hand. “We jump from here. It's only a few feet down. When we're in the water, we'll check our location and swim ashore. If they haven't moved the yacht, we should be only a quarter mile out.”

Daphne nodded weakly.

“Hey, you okay?”

“Scared. What if my father won't give them what they want?” Daphne had been schooled since childhood in security precautions and knew exactly what danger her father faced. She also knew his stubbornness and absolute refusal to deal with criminals.

“McKay and his men are on the way,” Carly whispered. “Let them handle Vronski.” She inched toward the vent. “I'll be waiting for you below. Be careful. The opening is sharp.”

She listened for the drone of the circling boat, but heard only the slap of water against the yacht's hull. With a deep breath, she rocked forward executing a crisp dive that plunged her deep into the crystal water.

Daphne was waiting when Carly broke the surface. Closing her eyes, she followed.

A quick assessment showed that they had no more than a twenty-minute swim before them. Their only company was a motorboat cruising at the far side of the cove.

Two men stood in the stern. Carly saw the flash of metal as one of them pointed toward the yacht.

Some sharp instinct made her grab Daphne's hand. “Swim. We've got to get away from here.”

She set off toward the beach, keeping Daphne in sight, glad for all the summers they had spent exploring the broad, shimmering cove.

Out of the corner of her eye, Carly saw the man on the boat gesture, calling to his companion. She shouted for Daphne to dive, then jackknifed and headed deep. Water churned and sea seemed to growl and claw at her as a wall of water slapped her up into the air like a huge, angry fist.

Then there was only darkness.

Metal fragments and burning timbers raked Carly's back. Opening her eyes, she fought her way toward the glimmer of light high above her, veiled by swirling debris.

She had no idea how much time had passed since the explosion that had tossed her up, then sucked her down again. Turbid water churned around her as she hit the surface with a deep, wheezing gasp, fighting desperately for air. Her throat was too raw to speak, so she treaded water in a circle, searching every shattered piece of teak and metal that swept past. Clutching at a passing wood fragment, she finally spotted Daphne afloat on a piece of deck. There was no sign of the two men who had been cruising the far side of the cove.

Carly closed her eyes with a prayer of thanks, then pushed off into the shifting debris.

Something brushed her foot. Not wood or metal, but smooth and pulsing.
Probably a fish
, she thought.

Another powerful movement brushed along her leg.

A
big
fish.

Blocking an immediate image of a shark, she forced herself to stay still, presenting less of an attraction to a hungry predator.

This time something shook the water and bumped her side.

Carly shrieked as spray churned and a dozen grotesque forms rose from the debris-filled sea around her.

N
ot grotesque.

   
Not a shark
, Carly realized as rubber-gloved hands gripped her waist.
A man.

Behind him more soldiers floated on the water wearing wet suits equipped with high-tech goggles and sleek breathing equipment.

Carly gasped wildly as muscular arms caught her close and crushed her against a hard body.

The goggles and mouthpiece slid away.

“McKay,” she whispered.

Glinting amber eyes bored into hers as he searched her face. “Honey lips and dearheart,” he muttered lifting her onto a shattered plank from the ruined yacht. “You're a damned hard woman to find, Sullivan. If you ever sneak off on me like that again, I'm going to tan your sweet behind from here to St. Thomas and back.”

“Nice to see you too, McKay.” Carly heard her teeth chattering. She clung to both the rocking piece of wood and McKay's shoulder, crushingly weak now that the danger had passed. “Impeccable timing. But where's Daphne?” she croaked in panic.

“She's in good hands. My medic is checking her out now.” McKay nodded toward the wooden plank where Daphne clung with the aid of one of the SEALs, her head nodding or shaking in reply to his questions. Somehow the medic was also managing to take her pulse and check her pupils.

“Think of everything, don't you?” Carly managed a lopsided smile, feeling the first letdown after the mother of all adrenaline rushes.

“I try.” For a moment, emotion burned in his eyes. Then his face turned impassive. “We've got a Zodiac nearby.”

“A what?”

“Inflatable boat. We'll get you two aboard and out of harm's way. Izzy will keep an eye on you from there.”

“What about you?” Carly whispered.

“Brandon's being held somewhere on the estate. We're going in to spring him.”

It was exactly the answer Carly had expected—and also feared, knowing the terrible danger involved. “How will you get past the guards? Every inch of the fence will be watched.” Despite her weakness, she was thinking fast, dredging up every scrap of information that might help him.

“We'll wait until dark, if possible. If things start falling apart sooner—”

Carly shook her head, cutting him off. “Things already have. Vronski is unstable. He—he killed Inspector St. John when the two argued.”

McKay's face hardened. “So St. John
was
the leak.”

“There's more,” she said grimly. “David Halloran is— was—Vronski's son.” Carly closed her eyes. “Vronski shot him, too.”

McKay cursed softly. “If he's losing control, we can't take a chance on waiting until dark. We'll have to go in through the drainage pipes from the beach, near the back of the compound.” He gestured sharply to one of his team, then issued several terse commands into a small black radio. “Izzy should be here in the next ten minutes.” He studied Carly's face, the deep creases on his forehead betraying his worry. “Can you hold on here until then?”

“Go. I'll take care of Daphne if you'll give me a push over to her.”

McKay gave her a smile of encouragement and one

slow brush of his lips. “Vronski's men are all at the estate. The two who set the bomb on the yacht put to shore as soon as the boat blew. You'll be safe here. Sit tight and wait for Izzy.”

Carly nodded as McKay gestured to the other SEALs floating amid the wreckage. Then he slid his mask back into place and the group vanished beneath the churning surface of the sea as silently as they had come.

A low rumble echoed over the water.

Daphne and Carly were clinging to their fragment of deck when they heard the approaching growl of an outboard motor.

Izzy's face appeared over the passing bulk of a shattered deck chair, looking cool and professional in a headset with a small microphone. He was speaking rapidly as he approached.

“Made it… I'll get them aboard ASAP. Give the bad guys a whack or two for me.” He leaned down and extended his arm. “Welcome aboard, ladies. Who goes first?”

Since Daphne was closer, she gripped his hand and squirmed over the side of the black rubber boat. Within seconds, Izzy had them both settled aboard, wrapped in warm blankets. He handed them each a thermos.