Off Course (8 page)

Collin closed his eyes and started unraveling the problem by first reviewing the conversation he had just heard between Jaime and Rojas. They were sending him a message so he could prepare as much as possible. A storm was coming and the crew planned to use it to their advantage. This both buoyed his spirit and filled him with dread, not knowing how severe the storm would be or what he would be able to do to help. And in his impaired condition, he wondered how he’d survive if things got too dodgy.

Next, he thought about Lukas. Surely Lukas was monitoring his movements by pinging his iPhone. Remembering he had the phone attached to an external battery charger eased Collin’s concerns, knowing it could send a signal, even out at sea, for up to forty-eight hours.

The memory of Stinky as he appeared to be getting seasick flashed across his mind, bringing a small measure of hope.

Another bright spot was that Captain Sewell and the remaining crew members were veterans of the sea. They could handle the weather much better than the hijackers could and turn it to their advantage.

The storm could prove to be a blessing, but Collin had no idea how far away it was or how large. Knowing the Captain and crew anticipated it, added to his tentative but rising level of comfort. The hardest thing to do was waiting for it to arrive. Freedom beckoned and pulled at him, like a dog owner tugging on a leash. Collin was not unwilling to follow the call; he was unable. He wanted to end his captivity now and avoid suffering the excruciating angst of being held inside in a cramped space for days on end.

With his mind spinning on the potentially positive outcomes, Collin’s painful memories receded into the background. Time slipped away and Collin was lost in dreams of seeing the sun again and moving about freely and not worrying about being struck repeatedly. As the moonlight streamed into the cabin of the boat, he drifted deeper into a dream-like state where he saw his family and friends standing on a shore at the edge of his vision. He could just barely make out the faces on the figures in the distance.  But they kept changing. At first, he saw his wife. Then the face changed to his mother. Standing next to her was his father, who then became Lukas. In his dream, he looked away, then looked back. When he did, the faces were Stinky, Mr. Green, and Pho Nam Penh, laughing and jeering while a fire burned in the background. Then it was Tog lying in a pool of blood just a few feet from him.

Collin woke with a start, breathing hard and sweating. The cabin was dark, except for the streams of gray light filtering through the round, tinted portholes in the wall next to the upper bunks and above the dining table. Half of Mr. Green’s face was illuminated. His eyes were shut and his body swayed with the gently rocking waves.

With his guard at rest, temptation skittered through Collin’s mind. How easy it would be to knock out Mr. Green. A swift kick to the side of the head ought to do the trick. Collin sat up and eased himself to the edge of the bed, calculating the movements required to execute his scheme.

The second phase of his plan was still murky and required cooperation from the other hijackers. If they came down to the cabin one at a time, he would simply ambush them as they came down the stairs. He felt he could handle any of them one-on-one as long as he had the element of surprise working for him, as well as his hands. That was a problem. Surely Rojas and Jaime would jump in and defend themselves. If they could cut his hands loose, it could be a fair fight―three on three―except for the weapons.

Collin summoned courage from his vast reservoir that had only grown deeper over the past few weeks. It was now or, perhaps, never. A sleeping guard presented an opportunity he could not pass up. He reviewed his plan of attack in his head one last time as he adjusted his body into a perfectly balanced position, then rose to his feet. As he stood for the first time since early in the morning, another wave of nausea overtook him. He closed his eyes to fight it back, his body reeling with the swaying of the boat. Instead of making panther-like treads toward his unsuspecting victim before he pounced on him, he lost his balance and knocked into the wall next to the bunk bed. His feet slapped the floor as he struggled to regain his equilibrium.

It took only a few milliseconds for Mr. Green to launch his counterattack. Collin didn’t see it coming. A powerful kick to his abdomen knocked him backward and forced the air out of his lungs. It was followed by a blunt object striking the side of his face. He didn’t remember anything else and didn’t wake up until the cabin was full of sunlight late the next morning.

Washington, DC

June 14, 11:55 p.m. Eastern Time

“C’mon, Rob, pick up your phone,” Lukas muttered to himself.

The phone continued to ring until Rob’s cheery, pre-recorded voice answered saying, “This is Rob Howell. I’m unable to answer the phone at the moment, but if you’d kindly leave me a message, I’ll get back to you as soon as I can.”

Lukas did not leave a message. He was on a secured, untraceable line deep within the NSA’s main office complex. There was no way Rob’s incoming call would be routed to him. He dared not use his cell phone with civilians, even lifelong friends like Rob, despite the fact that he was one of only two people outside of the clandestine government agency network who knew Lukas was alive. Collin was the other. They were the only two people on the outside he trusted and the only two people still living that he loved or cared for enough to contact. Rob, Lukas, and Collin were practically inseparable in middle school and high school. After graduation, each had chosen a different path, but no amount of time apart, no amount of distance between them, nor tragedy, nor intrigue could break their bond.

After two minutes of rapping his knuckles on the table and reliving memories of his youth with his buddies, Lukas dialed again. This time, Rob answered on the first ring. A groggy voice came on the line. “Lukas, is that you?”

“About time you picked up. Did I wake you? Awfully early for a mover and shaker of your caliber to be sleeping. Shouldn’t you be working on the next deal?” Lukas said in his gentle Austrian accent.

“At what, 4:55 in the morning? I’m in London, you know. Just got here a few hours ago. Supposed to meet a client tomorrow. Why? What’s up?” Rob tried to sound upbeat and ready to help, but it was a hard sell after only four hours of sleep.

“I’m worried about Collin. Have you heard from him lately?”

This got Rob’s blood moving. “Not directly, no.” He sat up and kicked his legs out from under the covers. “You were the one who passed along the last bit of info I got. Why? What’s wrong?”

“He hasn’t responded to any of my texts or voice messages. When I ping his phone, it shows me that he’s in the middle of the Western Caribbean,” Lukas said.

“Is that bad?” asked Rob, clearing his throat.

“Well, it’s not what he and I discussed last time we spoke. He was going to hide out in the islands, avoid sailing and roaming around, and just doing nothing for a while.”

“Maybe he’s still planning to do that, but is taking a different route,” said Rob.

“If I’m not totally wrong, it looks to me like he’s heading back to Panama,” Lukas said with a tone of exasperation.

“Panama? Why would he go there again so soon? I take it you didn’t instruct him to go there.” Rob’s voice was beginning to sound clearer and his thoughts more coherent.

“No, I didn’t,” said Lukas with a sigh. He stood at his computer and ran one hand through his thick, blond hair.

“Who did?”

“I don’t know. I told him stay hidden in the islands somewhere, but to stay on the lookout because the FBI and Interpol were still leery and still keeping a watch to see if he would return to the same boat. Looks like he did that and is now on the move, going the wrong way.”

“That’s bad news, then, isn’t it?”

“Yeah, and that’s not the worst of it. There are reports out of George Town that four Asian men carrying guns stormed a sailboat in the harbor this morning.”

“Penh?”

“His men, at least.”

“That
is
bad,” Rob groaned. He was now standing at the coffee machine in his hotel room, rubbing his eyes. Is it the same boat he was on before? The
Admiral
something-or-other?”

“The
Admiral Risty
. It appears that way, yes. Last time Collin and I spoke, he was aware that the Interpol agents had not left the island yet. We knew when the FBI guys left, but I was waiting for a contact to confirm on the Interpol guys. I also had people on the lookout for Penh’s men.”

“I thought no one knew what they looked like,” said Rob.

“That’s true, but we knew what to look for in terms of their activities and demeanor. We had built a profile, and it wasn’t just based on race, but never got a match.”

“What’s your theory, then? You wouldn’t call me if you didn’t have a theory,” said Rob, trying to lighten the mood.

“You’re right, I do have a theory,” Lukas said slowly, as if putting the pieces together as he spoke. “If the reports are true, the gunmen jumped out of the boat parked in the slip next to the
Admiral Risty
in the George Town Marina. None of the witnesses―that includes other boat owners, security guards, maintenance crew, the whole bit―ever saw anyone board or leave that boat in the last week or longer.” Lukas snapped his fingers.

“So?”

“So that means Penh guessed first that Collin survived Hurricane Abigail and, second, that he would return to the same boat. Makes sense, right? Collin had spent a couple weeks on that boat in May, then used it again to get away from the FBI earlier this month. Typical of Penh. Probably had guys waiting in Panama, Huntington Beach, San Diego, and a bunch of other places he knew Collin had been or might go.”

“And you think these guys played invisible all that time just waiting for Collin to show up?”

“Makes sense, doesn’t it? Penh knows by now that Collin is pretty smart. He would assume that if Collin were to come back, he would be suspicious, right?”

“Yeah, that makes sense. Collin’s managed to avoid capture all these months. That’s a logical assumption,” said Rob.

“It’s therefore logical for him to assume that Collin would suspect law enforcement to be on the lookout for him, right?”

“I’m with you. So Penh tells his guys to hide out until the cops are gone―probably has a way to know that, too―and alerts them to that fact knowing that Collin is more likely to come out of hiding when the coast is clear,” said Rob, putting the last piece into the puzzle.

“You got it.”

“That’s great, Lukas. Glad we got that figured out. The big question now is: What’s next and how can I help?”

“Do me a favor, OK?” said Lukas.

“Sure, Lukas. What do you need?”

“First, I need you to not use my name.”

“But you’re on a secure line . . .”

“I know, but I don’t want it to become a habit. It’s just better that way. Remember, people think I’m dead.”

“OK, what else?” asked Rob.

“The second thing is I need to gather as much information as I can as quickly as I can. I’m getting limited bits and pieces from the intelligence community. The FBI seems to know where he is, too, but I can’t see that they’ve done anything about it as yet.”

“OK, what do you need me to do?” Rob offered. “Shall I talk to Henry and Sarah and find out what they know?”

“Maybe you should start with Emily. Remember, Sarah’s in treatment for cancer. I don’t want to do anything to upset her.”

“Good point. You’re always one step ahead of the rest of us.”

“That’s not all,” said Lukas.

“Uh-oh, sounds like something really bad is coming.”

“I’m afraid so. Putting two and two together, I think you need to get back to Huntington Beach. The phone lines are tapped at Emily’s and the Cooks’, so you can’t call them to get this info. And, I think it would be a good idea to keep an eye on Henry and Sarah.”

“What do you mean keep an eye on them, Lukas?”

“I mean protect them.”

“Why?”

“The FBI has a two-man protective team following Emily, so apparently they’re worried about her being in harm’s way. But they haven’t done the same for the Cook’s, perhaps because they think Sarah’s too fragile or because they know Collin risked it all to see Emily in Chicago and they figure there’s some sort of link there that will help them.”

“OK, I’ll get back there as quickly as I can.”

“Thatta boy. But, Rob, whatever you do, don’t tell her or anyone about me or this conversation. It’s extremely important that my cover not be blown.”

“I’m with you, buddy. If there’s anything I’m really good at it’s gathering important information and keeping secrets.”

“I know. That’s why I called you. But remember to stay off the phones and away from their homes. It would be best if you were not seen.”

“Oh, yeah. Good point,” said Rob, stirring some sugar into his coffee. “I’ll charter a flight out of here as soon as I can. I’ll have to cancel my golf game at Carnoustie, too. You know how long I’ve been waiting to play there? We’re talking a PGA Tour course here. I wouldn’t do that for just anyone.”

Lukas tried to muster a chuckle. “I know. That’s a big sacrifice on your part, my friend, but I’m afraid it’s urgently necessary.”

“You’ll call me back, I assume?”

“In twenty-four hours, yes.”

“I’m all over it. All for one and one for all, right?”

“That’s the spirit,” said Lukas, trying his best not to let his exhaustion show through the phone line. “Thanks, Rob. You’re the best.”

“Collin would do it for either of us if the tables were turned. He needs us right now,” said Rob, a sudden seriousness drawing at his tone.

“We’re all he’s got,” added Lukas.

Ninety minutes later, at London’s Gatwick Airport, Rob climbed aboard a Gulfstream 6 headed to JFK in New York, joining an acquaintance and business associate he had worked with a few years ago. The Internet, with its myriad useful websites, provided wonderful tools for connecting people who needed something with people who had something to offer. In this case, a plane ride across the Atlantic. The modern-day, high-tech equivalent of the college ride board.

By 11:45 a.m. the next morning California time, Rob had landed at Lindbergh Airfield in San Diego in a corporate Learjet coming in from JFK owned by a young, high-tech millionaire whom Rob had helped during his company’s start-up phase.

*              *              *              *

London, England

June 15, 8:30 a.m. London Time

Junior Detective Nic Lancaster rushed into Alastair Montgomery’s office precisely on time. He knew his boss was not a morning person, so he refrained from showing up early. Nic’s enthusiasm was hard to tame on a normal day. Today, it reached epic proportions as he contemplated the ramifications of this meeting. He could hardly contain himself.

Nic Lancaster loved the game and loved the idea of getting promoted. His ambitions produced a jittery energy that drove him to excel. Failure was a bad word never to be spoken or considered anything but completely unacceptable. This drive, he knew, irritated the hard-drinking, ready-for-this-career-to-be-over Section Chief Montgomery. Today, however, his energy percolated from the knowledge that he alone held regarding their quarry, Collin Cook. The unsuspecting Alastair would be forced to take Nic seriously or face the shame of a scandal unleashed on YouTube for all the British press and public to consume.

Alastair’s office door was partly open, so Nic knocked once as he pushed his way into Alastair’s cluttered work space. Alastair, coffee mug in hand, eyed Nic from behind a stack of file folders on his desk as he sauntered into the room. “You look ready for war there, Lancaster. What have you got?” His voice was husky, like it often was first thing in the morning. The eyelids were swollen, too. Another common occurrence.

“Me? Nothing. Nothing at all. I’m just ready to start my day, sir.” Nic remained standing, his notepad and pen at the ready. Alastair despised many of the high-tech gadgets that had become common tools in law enforcement, most notably the tablet computer. Anyone who attempted to take notes on one in his presence received a thorough lecture for carrying his brain around in his hands instead of using the one in his head.

“You can’t pull that on me. I’m a detective and have been since you were a tot. Don’t you go forgetting that now.” Alastair tried to clear the rasp from his throat.

“Right. It’s just that I’ve gotten some very good news lately.”

There was a pause while Alastair studied his brightest, most ambitious Cyber Crime Task Force rookie. “Well, out with it now. I haven’t got all day.”

“It’s nothing, really, sir.”

“Can’t be nothing. Not with that look on your face. Let me guess: You’re having a baby?” Alastair cackled out loud at his own joke. The cackling soon turned into a bronchial cough, followed by a round of throat clearing.

Nic clinched his teeth and shook his head. “No, sir. I’m not married. Not even dating anyone at the moment.”

“Married to the job, I know. Problem is, I haven’t seen you this excited since you told me you had that Cook character pinned down in Florida.”

Nic’s head shot up, his face stone still.

“No, you’re not still working on that one, are you? Not after he died out there in the ocean?”

“That’s just it, sir. He’s not dead. He’s quite alive and pulling half a million dollars out of a bank in the Caymans. Just yesterday morning, he did.”