Off Course (16 page)

Though her eyes remained closed, Emily could sense them moving and could hear them talking. The young one was anxious, she could tell by the tone of his voice. The older one was trying to settle him down.

She ventured a look as the voices grew distant. They were dragging Sarah’s chair closer. Then she heard a slapping sound and tried to scream. The younger one was slapping Sarah’s face to wake her up. She was not responsive, so he began to shake her and scream. Powerless to stop them, Emily could only watch as the young bully grew more impatient. Finally, the older one showed up with a syringe in hand. After he injected her arm, Sarah’s eyes popped open and she began to bob and sway in an agitated frenzy.

Emily’s eyes met Sarah’s, which were wide open and darting about in a frenzy until they locked in on Emily. She watched Sarah’s brow furrow and a look of sorrow and pity overtake her countenance. Sarah’s head shook and her mouth moved. Unintelligible sounds came through the tape, though it was obvious that Sarah wanted these two men to stop what they were doing.

The older one with the tattoos was holding the younger one with the spikes at arm’s length and speaking strong words to him. Then a phone rang somewhere in the background and both men moved toward the sound. A conversation ensued that Emily could not understand, but yet she could. Instructions were being given by the man in charge for how this torture and assault would go down and how it would be filmed. They were going to show it to Collin as a means of punishment. The thought wrecked her. Anyone seeing her like this would be the ultimate disgrace, but for Collin to witness what was about to take place would completely undo him. She was supposed to be helping him. How could she be strong knowing what was coming and knowing Collin would be forced to watch it?

Western Caribbean Sea, 3.5 miles north-northwest of Providencia Island

June 15, 7:45 p.m. Caribbean Time

The sun hung above the western horizon, though they could not see it. The storm had swallowed nearly all of the sunlight by day’s end with its ominous black clouds and heavy showers. The
Admiral
slogged through thickening darkness and relentless wind and rain. Only through the miracle of modern technology and the gadgets onboard, along with Captain Sewell’s knowledge and experience, had they managed to make it this far in these conditions.

Less than four miles to go. Three and a half treacherous, perilous, life-threatening miles. At their current rate, it would take roughly half an hour to reach the harbor. That felt like an eternity to Captain Sewell as he fought through the mounting swells and the lashing winds. He had ordered all sails furled and all hatches battened down, choosing instead to use engine power. It was the only safe way, if you could call it that, to navigate in these conditions. Their progress would be, necessarily, much slower. He threaded the
Admiral
through the maze of shoals with the hearty fortitude of an old sea dog. But it was a wearying task.

The swells came at the
Admiral
head-on and had grown to ten feet in height. In the shallow water around the shoals, the waves were amplified, being squeezed up from the rising ocean floor and pinched on the sides by the reefs and rocks. Climbing the face of each wave and fighting the increasing current, had slowed progress to a crawl.

Although the
Admiral Risty
was well-equipped for severe weather, including some retrofits to the bulkhead and mast for storm-ready sails, the winds had become too powerful and unpredictable for sails. The Captain and crew, like the ship itself, were experienced and prepared for such weather; their captors were not. The three hijackers above-decks clung to the railings near the cockpit, trying to maintain a vigilant guard. Guns drawn and ready, they let the Captain know they were wary and ready to shoot.

Noting their vigilance, the Captain, using a mix of nautical terminology and dialectic Spanish, spoke directly to his crew, warning them to be careful. One wrong move would spell disaster for them all.

The real danger now was the natural surroundings. So far, they had successfully navigated through several miles of shoals and reefs, but were still surrounded by multiple rocky spits and islets, barely discernible on the Captain’s instruments. The waters were shallow, the winds blew at gale force from the east, and the seas were rougher than ever. The peaks and troughs were closer together, making the swells steeper and more treacherous to navigate, and much less comfortable for all on board.

*              *              *              *

Below-decks, neither Stinky nor Collin had the strength to continue their fight. Stinky rolled to his side and retched violently. Although exhausted and parched, Collin had managed to land a knee to Stinky’s gut as the two tussled about on the floor of the cabin, causing the intense reaction. When he was done, Stinky struggled to his knees, braced himself against the bunk, shimmied his way to the galley, and found the store of water bottles in the refrigerator. He gulped one down, then opened another. He drank another mouthful, then crawled to where Collin lay half unconscious.

Stinky grabbed Collin by the shirt and pulled him close as he wrested the Uzi out of Collin’s feeble grip. While bracing himself and holding Collin steady amid the jostling of the sea, Stinky studied Collin’s face, paying particular attention to his eyes. “My boss says you must live,” he muttered as he began pouring the water on Collin’s face. At first, Collin gagged at the stench emanating from Stinky’s mouth as he spoke. His breath was hot and foul, his face far too close to Collin’s. But Collin’s need for water was powerful enough to overcome the gag reflex. Instincts kicked in and Collin opened his mouth to catch every drop possible, licking and lapping like a starved dog.

The water was refreshing and renewing, but far from adequate. He needed much more. “Thank you,” he said sincerely.

“You have been very clever, Mr. Cook,” Stinky said. His energy was zapped and the statement hung in the air. “But my boss is cleverer. You will not beat him.”

“I don’t feel the need to.” Collin was lying, but his lack of vigor hid that fact. He sounded desperate and beaten, much like Stinky.

“You should not have hidden his money. My boss is a very stern man. He will do bad things. Your mother and your girlfriend will suffer and so will you. I will kill you then, slowly.”

There was a period of silence between the two men, filled only by the sounds of the intensifying storm outside, the clanging of objects in the cupboards and closets, and their labored breathing.

Collin spoke slowly and clearly, his voice loud enough to be heard over the din, but hoarse and strained. “Only I can get the money out in person. Without me, the computer codes are useless. That account has no Internet access. I wanted it to be completely secure, so a retina scan is required. Then the codes. When we get to Panama City, I will get the money. But only if my mother and friend are released, unharmed. I told you guys this.”

“That is for Mr. Penh to decide.”

There was pause in the conversation as the ship slid down the face of another large wave, then up the side of the next. Both men were braced on the floor, using each other, the walls, and the table legs for leverage to prevent themselves from careening out of control. “Why does he want my money?” Collin asked. “He’s shown that he can skim money from any major bank in the world. I’m sure he has plenty of money for his little cyber jihad. Why can’t he leave me alone? I’m a nothing.”

Stinky’s voice was harsh and condemning now. Any trace of humanity or compassion had vanished. “That is not your money. You must first realize that fact. You must also realize that Mr. Penh does not tolerate thieves like you. You have proven that all Americans are filled with greed. Money. It is your god. Your family and friends will also pay for your greediness.”

“I am not the greedy one here,” Collin said with more strength than he thought he had. “And my family and friends should be left out of this. Justice was served and Penh’s insurance company paid what was agreed upon as compensation for my loss and the neglect of his client. All of this,” he said with a wave of his head, “is proof that your boss’s greed is far more insidious than any greed you might think I have.”

“You are wrong, Mr. Cook,” Stinky snapped. “Americans are all greedy. They steal from poor countries like ours so they can get richer.” His eyes bored into Collin’s. “We must bring it to an end. Our cause is just. You are an American scum—a thief and a cheater. You and your family are like vermin that must be exterminated.”

Another wave hit the boat from the side and the two men were knocked from their positions of balance into each other. They clamored and kicked as they slid, banging into the opposite wall then back again.

“I will watch you suffer, Mr. Cook. You, your mother, and your whore girlfriend.” Stinky’s words spewed out like foaming acid that burned Collin’s insides, making him sick to his very core.

Collin shook his head slowly and clinched his jaw. The two men glared across the cabin at each other, bracing against the constant rolling action of the sea. Neither spoke another word.

The Captain’s voice above them grew in volume and urgency. His orders were crisp and clear, fueled with authority. Those orders were followed by indiscernible activity on the deck. Scrambling, knocking, and whirring. Metallic pings. Ropes whistling through pulleys. More clanging. More yelling.

The
Admiral
pitched forward, leaning hard to the left. It was then thrown upward, bending sharply to the right.

These motions repeated themselves over and over for what felt like interminable hours, although it was only minutes.

Collin saw Stinky’s eyes widen and his body tighten even more. His face had become ashen. He looked up and all around as everything inside the
Admiral Risty
banged and clattered with the violent motions of the storm-whipped sea. As if a thought struck him, Stinky whipped his head in all directions, searching for something. He crawled across the floor on hands and knees, eventually standing and stepping down into the galley. Emerging with the satellite phone in his hand, Stinky studied its screen. He tapped on it and muttered to himself as he turned and pointed the device to the sky in all directions, presumably trying to find signal.

*              *              *              *

Industrial Complex, 30 miles southeast of San Diego, California

June 15, 5:56 p.m. Pacific Time

Emily’s body went rigid and her insides turned cold when the warm sweaty hands gripped her ankles. Her eyes instinctively shot open to see the young one with the spike in his eyebrow holding her and the older one climbing onto the platform to adjust the camera. He had a phone to his ear again and seemed to be answering questions. The two men had been talking together and to someone on the phone for several elongated minutes while Emily lay tied to the table, filled with fear. A red light atop the camera began blinking as the man with the tattoos stepped down and moved close to her. He held the phone near her ear.

“Good evening, Emily,” came a silky voice with an aristocratic accent. “It’s so nice to have you with us. My men have been anticipating this moment since they first saw you. I wish your friend Collin could join us. After all, he is the one who has brought us all together here. We have him to thank for the pleasure of your company, which we are all about to enjoy. It is unfortunate that your friend is unavailable at the moment. He is apparently preoccupied or too ashamed of the actions he has taken, which have placed you and his mother in my care. But rest assured, my dear Emily, we will record the proceedings and share them with your friend at a more convenient time. Who knows, we may even find a website willing to pay us for such footage. You may become famous, Emily.” Penh’s cackle echoed in the hollow warehouse.

The voice returned to its previous suave and regal tone and said something in another language. The tattooed man nodded to the younger one and he began moving his hands tenderly up Emily’s legs, massaging her calves as he licked his lips and whispered in a pseudo-romantic tone.

The older man barked something and the younger man’s hands stopped and let go. He moved in front of Sarah. Emily couldn’t see what he was doing, but his frame was moving in an agitated fashion. Then she heard another slap, followed by muffled crying.

When he moved away, Emily could see a bright red mark growing on Sarah’s cheek and tears welling up in her eyes. Emily shut her eyes and tried to contain the sobs, but it didn’t work. Pent-up emotions, spiked with horror and dread, burst out. Her own tears began to flow and her stifled snivels made it difficult for her to breathe.

The hands returned to her ankles, but instead of the gentle rubbing and attempted sensuality, the firmness of the grip alarmed her all the more. Then one hand forcefully grabbed the hem of her pant leg, tugging at it so hard it hurt, while the other held up the familiar knife blade—the same one he had used to cut her—so Emily could see it. He said something, then turned to show the blade to the camera. The carnal look in his eyes and devilish grin on his face when he turned toward her terrified Emily to the point her entire body started shaking uncontrollably.

*              *              *              *

Western Caribbean Sea, 2 miles north-northwest of Providencia Island

June 15, 8:08 p.m. Caribbean Time

Captain Sewell checked his glowing instruments again, the only discernible light in the tempestuous night, and confirmed out loud to his crew that they were now less than two miles from the shore of Providencia Island and its safe harbor. He hoped Collin heard him below and that it would keep his spirits up.

They were about to sail between two rocky islets, each one roughly the size of a short city block. Knowing that they were approaching Providencia from the west, the channel between these two tiny islands would essentially squeeze the waves into an even tighter area, further amplifying their height and power.

As he started the turn into the channel, the Captain shouted as loud as he could. “Brace yourselves.”

The crew hunkered into position in anticipation, a mixture of dread and adrenaline pulsing through them with the rhythms of the sea.

While this storm was not the worst Captain Sewell and his crew had encountered in their years of sailing together, he knew it was the most dangerous. To sail through this area was distressing in the best circumstances. At night, in the pouring rain, battling fierce winds, it was downright terrifying. Being a proud man, he projected the eternal air of calm and control. Yet he seethed at the notion of having his boat hijacked and his passengers and crew members threatened. One had been killed and thrown into the sea like refuse. An unpardonable offense.

It was bad form to come aboard a boat without permission. It was even worse to wrest control away from the Skipper and force him to sail into bad weather. Still worse, however, was to hold a gun to him and coerce cooperation by threatening evil things. Nothing irked Captain Sewell more than bullies and thugs. The worst, however, was Tog’s murder. It weighed on him and on his crew like an anchor. There would be retribution. The Karma of the Sea would see to it.