“Ladies. You’re shameless. Move inside and let the games begin. And save some love for Papi!”
The security team studiously avoided looking up at the transom of the huge ship, preferring to scan the periphery for signs of intruders. Papi ’s love for the high life was well known and by now the men had seen everything. It was all fun until he couldn’t perform or things turned nasty after too many drugs and the girls ended up begging for forgiveness. They’d had to bury their fair share of young strippers who had failed to judge his moods correctly. He was infamous for being mercurial. A career as a playmate for a narcotraficante was a high- risk, high-reward proposition in a world where the men were inured to violence and thought nothing of snuffing out life on virtually any pretense, including because it amused them to do so.
A pelican rustled its feathers at the water’s edge before taking flight, swooping low over the water as it searched out more tranquil surroundings. Two of the sentries swung around at the sound, ready to engage whatever enemy presented itself. They exhaled with relief when they saw the huge bird lumber into the air. Everyone’s nerves were raw from the last week’s duty, moving from danger zone to danger zone while Contreras partied without a care. They were in friendly territory but that counted for little when he was exposed like this. Every moment held the possibility of an attack by enemies who were every bit as vicious and determined as Papi, and when he wasn’t in his fortified compound back home, the risk-factor went through the roof.
The men were working in shifts, eight guards each shift, four hours on, eight off, so they could get rest and stay alert. After four hours of high-intensity patrolling, acuity fell off markedly and human error became more likely. The cartel game was one where you only got to make one mistake – your last. Papi was paying the highest rates in the world for his security; they wanted for nothing; but in return, he expected them to keep him safe no matter what, and if that meant every member of the team taking a bullet for him, so be it.
That was the gig.
The sound of the party from the boat was a headache for them, although no one would dare mention it to Papi. But he might as well have painted a big bulls-eye on the super yacht’s bow for any hostiles in the area. The head of security, Alberto, clenched his jaw as the women laughed, each squeal of ecstasy an invitation to disaster…in his mind. Let the old pervert bang around with his doped-up teenagers inside the fucking boat. Why did he need to make such a public display of it? It was recklessly endangering them all. He sucked down his frustration and concentrated on the job at hand, eyes scanning the surrounding dock area and the buildings for any hint of latent danger. They’d be back at the compound tomorrow afternoon, and so far there had been no attacks; with any luck they’d make it home safe, where the routine drill would be executed in a more controlled environment – where they knew everyone and owned the town. This was making him nervous – exposed – on the water, a million miles from nowhere with the boss kite-high on powder and bellowing into the night sky as though he was safe in his own living room.
A cat scurried after a large rat on the slick-wet concrete path by the shops at the far end of the marina, setting Alberto’s nerves further on edge. He didn’t want to think of how wound-up his men must be after almost ten days of constant vigilance. All he needed was a trigger-happy lapse and they’d have the police and military landing on them, which would be a little awkward given that Papi was the number four most wanted man in Mexico. Money obviously bought selective vision where he was concerned, but it would only go so far. Gunfire at a six star hotel’s exclusive marina could raise the wrong eyebrows and the last thing Alberto needed was an all-out gun battle with the military in the dead of night.
He silently cursed Contreras for being so careless, then exhaled a sigh of relief when he heard the drug lord call his whores back inside the boat with him. Alberto had six men on land, two on the boat, and one on each side of the bridge keeping watch for any potential menace that they might miss from the dock. It would be impossible to approach the yacht from the water in the still of the night – a boat would be immediately detected, even if it was being rowed. But he wanted to ensure that all avenues of attack were covered, so even the waterside was being watched. Contessa was docked on a side tie, her port side fastened to the pilings and the starboard side facing the harbor opening, beyond which the bay stretched into a black nothingness. If there was going to be an assault it would have to come from the land because they’d have enough warning from the ship’s radar to take positions on the waterside and cut any encroaching vessel to pieces.
They’d covered all possible approaches yet he was still worried. Maybe it was the place, or maybe because it was the last night of Papi ’s latest binge. But Alberto had an ugly feeling in his guts – and it wasn’t something he’d eaten. He sensed there was something out there coming for them. And whatever it was, it meant them harm.
He called to his men for their radio check-in; everyone responded immediately, sounding alert and precise. They were the best. Seasoned professional killers from a half dozen countries, making thirty-five grand a month each to lay their lives on the line. He didn’t like the odds of anyone foolish enough to take them on in the dead of night.
But his gut still told him they had a problem.
The assassin checked the bright luminescent face of his stopwatch, noting with satisfaction that he was on schedule. He listened for the sound of the party at the marina, which was still some distance away. Faint gusts of music muttered a vague cadence over the water. The target was making it almost too easy for him. Perhaps it was just providence calling time on Papi. But whatever the wheels within wheels of cruel nature, he thanked his lucky stars that he’d taken this contract – one of the largest he’d ever been offered, at a million and a half dollars.
He’d planned the attack to the second and researched everything from the marina layout to the surroundings, even going as far as locating blueprints and a schematic for the ship and committing them to memory. This was his specialty – the impossible to carry-off execution of untouchables was his stock-in-trade. It had made him infamous in a relatively short time. But this would be the most difficult sanction yet, due to the heightened vigilance of the security team he knew would be on-edge the final night of their rough duty, which concluded in a vulnerable location. He’d thought through all possible ways of terminating Contreras, and when he’d decided on his final plan, even he was impressed at the ingenuity of it. Now he just needed his contractors to be on time and to do their job, and Papi was better than dead.
He slipped below the surface of the water and submerged to a depth of fifteen feet. That would be sufficient for his purposes. The small waterproof GPS unit he’d programmed with the coordinates of the dock glowed orange with just enough luminescence to be readable from three feet away. By his calculations, he would need ten minutes to swim to his starting position before the plan engaged, and he’d allowed himself fifteen, just in case. Better safe than sorry on a night like this. His tank held sufficient air to breathe for an hour, which he hoped would be far more than necessary.
It had been difficult arranging for all the pieces he’d need to end the life of the brutal cartel boss; expensive too, but sometimes cost was key. He’d learned through harsh experience not to pinch pennies or cheap out. By the end of the night he’d be far richer, so in the end, whatever his sunk costs were would have paid for themselves. He was nothing if not pragmatic about the job.
His easy, practiced stroke propelled him smoothly through the warm water as he neared the private marina. He sensed he was close when he felt a current heralding the mouth of the harbor, as the surging tide pulled him through the broad opening.
Visibility was zero in the inky darkness so he was flying entirely by his instruments, which told him he had another hundred and fifty yards to go. Contessa was berthed at the dock closest to the harbor’s entrance, commanding the entire length, so there was no cover or alternative to doing the dive. This was the only way to get close.
A commotion from the sea bed startled him with a cloud of muddy sediment. A large stingray rose from the muck and glided by him, nudging his neoprene-encased legs with one of its wings. He more sensed the creature than saw it; he was momentarily caught off guard. His respiration increased as he flailed in alarm, causing a rush of bubbles to hurtle to the surface. Battling for control over his breathing, he struggled to slow his heart rate – after a few seconds of inward composure, he had it back to beating at a moderate pace. He didn’t pause long to dwell on the near-miss, beyond musing that it would be ironic if his meticulously-plotted assassination fell apart due to surface froth from a panicked brush with a bottom-dwelling Myliobatoidei.
Another glance at his watch confirmed that he still had five minutes to go. By his reckoning he should be sixty or so yards from the front of the boat, and ninety from his targeted position. After a few more moments of swimming, he dimly registered the hull of the massive ship above him – an opaque outline floating on an already- dark surface, faintly illuminated by lambent swirls of the surrounding marina lights. Carefully calculating the distance, he moved to the spot his schematics told him would be the correct one for his purposes.
