“We better get moving.”
Five minutes later, the van drove away. Three hundred yards away, Nick quickly packed up his sniper rifle.
Chapter Twenty-Two
“Oh my goodness,” Nick announced in a nearly reverent tone, looking out over the dead calm surface with his digital range-finding binoculars. “Gus, we’ve hit the jackpot, my friend.”
Gus sat ten feet behind where Nick stood, listening to the chatter on the radio. He took off his earpiece and joined Nick at the wheel house observation window. Two miles away, Bidwell’s boat Tequila lay at anchor nearly five miles off the Nassau coast. Nick handed the binoculars to Gus. It took Gus a minute to sight in the vessel, where a party had been going on for the last three hours. A speed boat had brought four bikini-clad women, along with two men Nick did not recognize, out to the Tequila. Until this time, Nick had only spotted Jason Bidwell and two crewmembers.
“What am I looking at besides a wild night on the high seas?”
“See the guy with the blonde comb over and pot belly?”
“Yeah, he’s doing some kind of dance with one of the women. That’s just…disturbing.”
“He’s Max Stoddard. It appears Tanus and Fletcher may not have been rivals. Either that or their CEOs decided the better part of valor is party time in Nassau.”
“Oh my, that does work out well for you, doesn’t it? Do you think Frank knew about Stoddard?”
“He knew.” Nick took the binoculars back from Gus. “You can bet he tracked us by satellite the moment we entered Bahaman waters. Bidwell’s the one putting pressure on him back in Washington. I believed Frank about Bidwell making him the scapegoat. At least we don’t have to worry about my buddy trying to take us out before I get Bidwell.”
“I’m not happy about sacrificing my baby to this mission.”
Nick laughed. “Your baby? Gus, this tugboat looks like that scow they used to go after ‘Jaws’. I’ll buy you a brand new boat. If you think Frank will be acting honorably towards us after I off Bidwell, then stay with The Loose Lady.”
“My boat’s name is The Lucky Lady, you cretin,” Gus corrected him.
“Not after tonight.” Nick grinned, focusing on the ship again with his binoculars. “These clowns ought to be passed out soon. The ladies will be on their way back to shore in a few hours, hopefully with those guys they came on board with and a couple of the crew.”
“You were never this picky about collateral damage before.”
“I’ve been domesticated. What’d you think of the boat I picked up on Andros Island for us to get home in?”
“It’s a damn glorified rowboat, you cheapskate. My skiff is bigger,” Gus needled him.
“Beggars can’t be choosers, buddy. Your master mariner rep is on the line,” Nick said, taking a break from watching the Tequila. “You went over the boat from stem to stern and gave me the thumbs up on throwing away twenty grand on it. Can we sail the glorified rowboat home or not?”
“Don’t get all huffy, Captain Ahab. Weather willing, I’ll get us back to St. Pete.”
“Ahab? This is the tropics, brother. I’m like James Bond in
“James Bond, huh?” Gus chuckled. “Who would I be?”
“You’d be like James Bond’s sidekick in
Gus brightened, leaning forward. “He was the go to guy for anything Bond needed. A tough guy who…hey, wait a minute! Quarrel gets killed.”
“Oh, sorry, Quarrel… My bad.”
Nick zipped up his wetsuit. The Lucky Lady floated in darkness, while the Tequila anchored with running lights, as is common practice to keep from being struck by another ship. Gus helped Nick with the one piece buoyancy compensator and tank vest, which also incorporated a weight belt. Nick checked his gauges. He took a couple practice breaths with his regulator, setting it for minimum air flow.
“I still don’t understand why you didn’t blow their heads off with your long range cannon,” Gus said irritably. “You’re taking this James Bond stuff too far.”
“Like I’ve never approached a boat with scuba gear before,” Nick retorted, fitting his mask into place.
“Sure you did,” Gus agreed. “But you attached enough C4 to vaporize the boat. Why assault the damn guys in the boat?”
“Finesse, my dear Quarrel, finesse,” Nick said in his best James Bond voice. He put on his fins and positioned himself aft. “I have chloroform, plastic ties, stun gun, and my trusty H &K.45 in the waterproof pack. Stoddard being on board with Bidwell makes me think there may be more to this get together than sex, drugs, and rock & roll. When you look through the sight of my sniper rifle, you’ll see real fast why taking potshots from a rocking boat ain’t an exact science. Remember, don’t fire that damn thing unless I’m dead. Chances are you’ll kill me.”
“Ha, ha, very funny. That’s a long swim, genius. Why don’t we -”
“Bloody hell, Quarrel, mind your business.” Nick put the regulator in his mouth, clasped his hand over the mask and went into the ocean off the fantail.
Gus shook his head. He waited for Nick’s thumbs up to hand down the grappling hook and line, followed by Nick’s equipment bag.
Nick took a final reading with his compass, built into the gauge pack. Allowing enough air out of the buoyancy compensator to take his dive down to fifteen feet, he then headed toward the Tequila. Breathing in and exhaling with measured discipline, he kicked forward at a steady pace in the absolute darkness. He popped up every few minutes, ensuring his course still intersected with the lighted boat.
Nick looked up in relief when he reached the Tequila. They had left the aft ladder in place. After discarding the grappling hook, he aired up his buoyancy compensator and slipped out of it. He fastened a compensator strap around the ladder base, leaving it floating in the water. He pulled his mask down around his neck, undid his fins while clinging to the ladder, and climbed up slowly. Peeking over the fantail, Nick waited a full five minutes before boarding the Tequila. After setting aside his mask, fins, and bag, he took off his gloves. He extracted the H &K.45 caliber automatic, silencer in place, and set it down within reach. Nick eased out of his wetsuit, using a towel from the bag to dry off.
He found the crew members first, asleep in the wheelhouse on cots. He retreated to his bag, and then returned silently to the wheelhouse with H &K.45, chloroform, and a large gauze pad soaked in chloroform. He kept his weapon trained on the crewmember to the left, while holding the chloroformed pad lightly over the other’s nose until his breathing changed. Nick pressed the pad tighter, until the man breathed no more. He repeated the process with the man on his left. Padding down the ladder carefully in his bare feet, he cleared his head with deep breaths.
Bidwell and Stoddard slept the sleep of the wasted downstairs. Nick took his bag with him down into the cabin area and gave each of them a light chloroforming before flipping each one over and plastic-tying their wrists behind their backs. He plastic-tied the ankles next, adding one tie between ankles and wrists. Nick went up to get some air, and returned to the cabin. He found an ice bucket holding empty bottles of Champagne. He took the bottles out and poured a little ice water over each man until they groaned their way into consciousness. Nick placed a chair near the bunks and kept up his ice water treatment.
“Wha…what the hell?” Bidwell spluttered, looking around wildly. He saw Stoddard bound as he was across the narrow space between bunks. “Stoddard!”
Stoddard blinked stupidly and threw up. Nick doused him with ice water, and pulled him off the bunk to the
