Baja, California
F
lash narrowed his eyes against the sun’s sharp reflection on the bobbing waves ahead. The boat’s engines vibrated beneath his feet. The right side of his head throbbed. He took his hat off, folded it and shoved it into his back pocket. His eyes felt hollow and scratchy from lack of sleep, and the farther he got from San Diego, the harder it was for him to hold it together.
This was much worse than any deployment he’d ever had.
At least he’d made Gilbert pay a little. After driving the guy’s blue sedan down the street and parking it next to the Porsche, he’d left it sitting with the keys dangling in the ignition, hoping someone would steal it. Then he drove the Porsche back to the dealership, parked it next to a side door and put the keys in their drop box.
As he walked away, the knowledge that there might not be a way for him to save his career crashed over him. He saw everything he’d worked for, trained for, ending because of Gilbert, and wanted to go back to the apartment and beat the crap out of the asshole.
He should have done it.
His phone vibrated against his hip. Grateful for the distraction, he pulled it free and pushed the button. “Hold on a minute.” He eased the cabin cruiser back to a lower idle speed so the engine noise wouldn’t disrupt the call.
“I have coordinates for you,” Travis said and rattled off latitude and longitude. “Me and Javier will be waiting on you.”
“Thanks, Travis.”
“How’s the head?”
“A little better.”
“I always said you were a hard headed son of a bitch.”
Flash smiled, though he didn’t feel like it. “I remember.”
“How bad are things?”
Flash closed his eyes with a grimace. “I may not be able to get back from this, Trav.”
Travis remained silent for a moment. “We’ll think of something.”
“I’ll see you around noon,” Flash said.
“Okay. Watch your six.”
“Roger that.” He closed the phone and shoved it into his pocket. He reached for the nautical GPS and programmed in the latitude and longitude coordinates Travis had given him.
He’d be there before Travis and his son Javier, which would give him time to check out the digital feed from the cameras in Gilbert’s apartment. He hoped the son of a bitch had ended up spending the whole night tied up and waiting for someone to come looking for him.
Flash tried to allow the bounce and roll of the boat to ease away his frustration and rage. He had to focus on other things or he’d go crazy. He needed to use his skills to find out what was really going on and then figure out how to get back to his team. But before he could do that, he had to take a step back and create a plan of attack.
Travis was the best strategist he knew. He’d certainly undermined every plan of attack Flash had come up with as a teenager.
The two of them working together would be able to find a way out of this mess. They had to. The thought brought him some comfort.
He glanced at the GPS and adjusted his heading. Twenty minutes later he’d arrived at the coordinates. Flash gazed toward the coast. Mexico was a mile further south. The water was so clear and blue it almost hurt to look at it. He dropped anchor and set up a fishing rod with a lure, cast it, and set it in the support built into the deck chair.
He visited Travis and his foster family in Baja whenever he could, but it had been some time since he’d had enough of a break in training rotations and deployments to do so. And now he was here in the worst possible circumstances. If it looked like he was going to bring trouble to the Gallagher’s’ door, he’d bug out and go it solo. But where?
If he had a contact in the Naval Criminal Investigative Service it would make things easier. He’d have to develop a contact. But how could he do that and avoid arrest?
He hadn’t done anything wrong!
Well, technically he had broken into the agent’s apartment and bugged it, but only in self-defense.
Flash went downstairs into the cabin to retrieve his laptop. He took a seat on the deck and tapped into the satellite system on board. Reaching the remote unit he’d set up, he typed in the command to check the two cameras he had installed in Gilbert’s apartment. The feed was running real time. The living room and kitchen were empty, but things appeared out of place. He frowned.
Accessing the laptop stored in the crawlspace of Gilbert’s apartment, Flash downloaded the video he’d recorded in the last eight hours and reset the program to continue recording.
He set up the video and started scanning it while he waited for Travis to arrive. He came to a section where crime scene techs were dusting for fingerprints.
Good luck with that, guys.
He knew he hadn’t left any. He’d even wiped down the inside of the television after installing the camera and given the commode handle a going over after he’d used it. Gilbert could say he’d been there, but there’d be no proof…other than this feed. And he’d only be sending out the segments of the video that would help his cause.
The tech guys should have found the camera in the kitchen and disabled it. That would have certainly scared the shit out of ol’
Bert
. He rewound the image back a couple of hours and watched the man struggle against his bonds. Then a door slammed, the sound loud and clear on the camera. Two men entered the room, one tall and slim, the other wide-shouldered and very big. Flash’s stomach sank. What if the crime scene techs were there because Gilbert had been killed?
One of the men laughed, the other stood back out of view of the camera. The man within view of the screen looked six feet tall with dark hair and olive skin. He appeared Hispanic.
“How many people have you pissed off today, man?” The large guy out of camera range asked.
“Someone broke in and tied me up. Cut me loose.”
“Fuck you. Where’s our stuff?”
“I haven’t got it. But I will.”
“The money’s been paid, cabrón. We want it now,” the Hispanic man said.
“I’ll have it for you soon. I explained to Caesar that someone attacked the couriers and ripped off the merchandise. I have more coming in this week. As soon as it’s in hand, I’ll deliver it to you myself.”
“The boss sent us here to pick it up tonight.”
“But I don’t have it”
“Then I suppose we will have to give you something to remind you not to be late next time, cabrón.”
Gilbert’s head tilted back and he tensed. “That isn’t necessary. I’m not trying to stiff you, I just need an extension on the time to deliver.”
The Hispanic man punched him in the face, hitting his cheekbone.
Gilbert swore and shook his head. “You don’t have to do this.”
The man aimed more carefully this time, hitting him in the nose and mouth. Blood bloomed from both to run down his face.
“Stop,” Gilbert demanded.
The man struck him again and again, and each time, Gilbert’s head jerked back. After the sixth blow, Flash regretted having tied him up quite so thoroughly.
“Enough!” The man who had remained off camera stepped forward into the frame. He was shorter than the Hispanic man, but brawny, his skin a duskier hue, and his hands huge. His hair hung down on each side of his face at chin level, partially blocking his features. He threw out a hand to halt the next punch, grabbed Gilbert’s hair, and pulled his head back. Gilbert didn’t appear conscious. The man tapped his cheeks to bring him around.
“We will be back, Gilbert. The next time you see us, you had better have the shipment,” he said.
“Ah…” he answered.
“Cut him loose.” The big guy said.
Hispanic guy produced a switchblade from his back pocket and flicked it open. He cut the twist ties, releasing Gilbert’s hands and feet. The half-conscious man slid out the chair to the floor and lay still.
The two men left him lying there and exited the apartment.
Flash fast-forwarded the film until he saw Gilbert struggle to his feet. He staggered out of the frame. After five minutes or so he appeared again, holding a wet towel to his face. He stumbled into the living room and out of sight. He returned a few minutes later with his cell phone.
Flash’s stomach took a sickening tumble
. The zip ties.
He hadn’t wiped down the zip ties. He knew exactly what Gilbert was going to do.
Gilbert connected to someone on the other end of the phone. “Carter, send a forensic team. Carney just broke in here and knocked me around.”
Flash hit the escape button and set the computer aside. He paced the deck, every combination of cuss word he could think spewing from him. He grasped the ladder leading up to the fly bridge and pulled against it, wishing it was Gilbert, and he could rip him apart.
The sound of a boat approaching tugged him out of his frustration-induced rage. He recognized the white hull with blue trim, and drew several deep breaths to calm himself. Scooping up the laptop, he took it downstairs and stuck it in his backpack. By the time he was topside again with his gear, Travis had aligned his fishing vessel, the J.G., close to Bowie’s cabin cruiser.
Travis stood on the sky bridge, feet braced apart. His six-foot-two frame carried at least a hundred ninety pounds of solid muscle and his features looked like he’d used it all in a boxing ring. His arms were covered with a collection of tattoos, all linked together in a theme of military service, and his gray hair was tied back in a ponytail. Flash raised a hand. “It’s good to see you, old man.”
“Old! We’ll see how old you think I am once you’re over here.”
Flash laughed. He already felt lighter just seeing Travis’s ugly face.
Javier Gallagher, Travis’s nineteen-year-old son, launched a small rubber raft over the side and paddled over. Flash accepted the line to tie the raft to a cleat and offered him a hand up over the starboard side of the vessel.
Javier eyed his face and breathed an emotional, “Fuuuuck, bro. They did a number on you, didn’t they?”
“Pretty much.”
The two of them spent a moment bumping shoulders and pounding each other on the back in greeting.
“Dad said you needed a favor.” Javier’s gaze, liquid and dark like his mom’s, was steady, his expression solemn. “So, I volunteered.”
Flash frowned as second thoughts tumbled through his mind and tightened the knots in his stomach.
“It’ll be okay, Flash,” Javier said.
He shook his head. “I was hoping to avoid involving anyone here. But I can’t keep Bowie’s boat. It’s his baby. And besides, if they start looking for it and it’s found here, it’ll lead them straight to me.”
Javier nodded. “We’ve got it covered, bro.”
Emotion suddenly clamped a hand around Flash’s throat. He nodded once. “Look, I just need you to drop the boat back at the marina. When you leave it there, keep your hat on and your head down so none of the cameras catch your face. If they identify you, they’ll come here to your mom and dad.”
“Have there been any alerts on the news? Anything like that?” Javier asked.
“Nothing. They’re keeping this on the down low as far as the public is concerned. But I know they’re hunting me. They’ve frozen my bank accounts and flagged my credit cards.”
Like that was going to do any good when he had a hundred thousand dollars of illegal money to spend.
They’d probably found the safety deposit box with all his orders in it as well. “They’ve searched my apartment and impounded my car. You can’t be associated with me, Javier. If anyone stops you and asks, tell them I paid you to sail the boat back to the marina.”
“No one’s going to ask, Flash. I’m going to drop the boat off, hightail it to Mom and Dad’s house, spend the night, pick up your motorcycle and drive it back here. It’s going to be fine.”
“Don’t stay at the house. They’ll be tracing my telephone calls and checking on every person I’ve contacted.” His calls to Travis and Juanita were sporadic, but he did call every couple of months to check in.
He drew a deep breath and swallowed back the frustration and rage that careened through his system. “Be careful. I don’t want this FBI fucker giving you, or your mom and dad, shit because of me. I don’t think anyone knows how close we are and I want to keep it that way. It’s been over ten years since Travis and Juanita took me in. And there was never any formal paperwork connecting us.”
Javier gave his shoulder a squeeze. “Dad’s going to help you figure things out. He always does.”
“Yeah.” Flash bobbed his head in agreement. If Javier got caught, they’d arrest him.
He’d be helping harbor a fugitive.
He’d go to jail.
Jesus, he couldn’t ask him to take that chance. He couldn’t put Travis’s son in harm’s way. “There has to be another way.”
“Flash, I can do this, man. You’re not the only one who can sneak around without being seen. I had my moments when I lived at home. If I can handle Dad, I can slide right by the dudes at the marina.”
Flash started to thrust his fingers through his hair, then remembered the injury and jerked his hand back down. Before he could change his mind, he stuck his hand in his front pocket and withdrew two one hundred dollar bills and a piece of paper. “I’ve written down the berth number. I haven’t ridden my Triumph since I got back from Iraq. You may have some trouble with it.”
“No, I won’t.” Javier grinned.
Flash narrowed his eyes. “All right. As long as you don’t wreck her, I’m down with you borrowing her now and then.”
“I won’t put a scratch on her, I promise.”
“Good. She’ll be my primary mode of transport until all this is settled. Treat her kindly. The registration is in—”
“Dad told me where it is. He said it was in his name. What’s up with that?”
Flash shrugged. “If something happens to me, it makes things less complicated. I’ll get my gear.”
Javier’s features blanked. Then he came back with, “I’ll hold out for the car.”
“I haven’t gotten around to that, since I just bought it before my last deployment.” And now it was locked up in the impound lot.
And peppered with bullet holes.
He went below and returned with his backpack and a duffle with a few clothes and the money. He’d debated whether to leave the cash hidden on board Bowie’s boat, but worried he might get Bowie in deep water should the FBI discover he’d been on board.