GHOST_4_Kindle_V2 (46 page)

Chapter 39

“Whoopie!” Midge exulted in the ship’s motion.

“Wee bump,” Carrie cooed. “This is such fun.”

Jack looked questioningly at Dr. Gary. He was the real seaman of the two.
 

“No problem,” Dr. Gary said. “Storm’s not on us yet, but even if it breaks overhead, we’ll be fine. This is a thin line of thunderstorms; not a hurricane.” He laughed. “It’ll roll through and be gone.”

Jack’s mouse hovered over the connect button. “This is it, then,” she said.
 

“Do it,” Dr. Gary replied.
 

Jack clicked the button, and Dr. Gary exhaled. As Jack had explained it, there would be no status message, no progress bar. This wasn’t an upload. It was a command of release, as if tens of thousands of caged wild animals were simultaneously turned loose.
 

“We’ve done it,” Jack whispered. “We really have.”

“Why are you crying?” Midge asked.

“This isn’t a time to be sad,” Carrie mumbled, swaying slightly with the motion of the boat.

“No,” Dr. Gary said. “Carrie’s right. This is a time for celebration.”

Jack wiped away her tears. “You’re right, of course.” She minimized the connection window, and checked a few graphic gauges. “Signal strength couldn’t be better,” she said.

“Time to go live,” Dr. Gary said. He stood and in turn, placed a hand on Carrie and Midge’s shoulders. “Well, girls,” he said, “are you ready to meet the world?”

“Oh, I am!” Midge said, eyes glimmering.

“Me too,” Carrie replied. “Can I go first? Can I?”

“I don’t see why not,” Dr. Gary said. He nodded at Jack.
 

She stood, went to a port-side drawer, and withdrew Cain’s Dagger.

* * *
   
* * *
   
* * *
   
* * *

I stood on the deck of
The Sirocco
and gazed out into the darkness, waiting for Adderly to pass me the binoculars.
 

“Yup,” Adderly said. “That’s an Oyster 625. Bet my life on it.” He handed me the binoculars, and said, “See the bank of vertical windows at midship, kind of rounded rectangles, right? That’s an Oyster thing. Beautiful ship.”

Between the rolling waves and, in the intermittent flashes of lightning, I saw what Adderly was talking about. They weren’t round like typical portholes, not like La Compañía’s customized Sun Odyssey. But Adderly seemed certain about the ship being an Oyster.
 

“It’s them,” I whispered, lowering the binoculars. “Rez, it’s them.”

Thunder rumbled ominously. “Mr. Adderly,” Agent Rezvani said. “Anchor here. And I mean, stay anchored here until we flash a light three times. If—when—we do, it’ll mean that everything is secure, and we’ll need you to come alongside.”

“Got it,” he said. “Don’t worry, I’m nobody’s hero. But the guys at the yacht club won’t know that. Heh.”

Darcy slapped him playfully on the shoulder. “You old sea dog,” she said.

“Easy on the
old
talk, Darce,” he said.

Shrugging out of my tuxedo jacket, I turned to Rez. “We need to go.”

“Like that?” Adderly asked, incredulous. “I mean, she looks ready for a fight, but ah, you look like a penguin.”

“We didn’t really have time to prepare,” Rez explained.

Adderly winked at Darcy. “Take the wheel, would’ya, Darce?” he asked. “I need to take Special Agent Spector down below for a moment.”

She winked back mischievously and padded over to the wheel. Rez hung back with her, and just before we disappeared below, I thought I caught that canny glimmer in Rez’s eyes.

Below deck, Adderly took out a ring of keys and opened a very new, very secure-looking footlocker.
 

I grinned. “Mr. Adderly,” I said. “Have you been shopping?”

“Well…after those La Compañía types got all upset,” he said, “threatening me, my family, and my family’s family, well, I figured I needed a little something more. For home protection…you understand.”

Adderly’s footlocker looked like it might have been lifted from a Navy Seal supply depot. “That’s a Benelli Super 90,” I said, pointing to the sleek black 12-gauge, semiautomatic shotgun.
 

“Already loaded,” Adderly said. “Cost a bit, that one.”

I took the shotgun. I had The Edge, but not everyone recognized the threat of my weapon right away. Shotguns had a nice way of getting people’s attention. I also took the Navy Mark 3, 6.5 inch combat knife. Most often called the Ka-Bar, the Mark 3 sported a non-reflective black oxide finish so as not to reflect light. The handle had a blunt face that could be used to smash things…if such a need arose. I recalled Dr. Gary’s smug grin and thought smashing might be useful indeed.

I took a Beretta M9 pistol and three clips for Rez. I knew she had one already…since she pointed it at me on shore, but extra firepower couldn’t hurt. I took a black Condor tactical vest and leg rig. I picked up a pair of neoprene water shorts and a set of fins.

“Mr. Adderly,” I said. “You might have just earned yourself a crown in heaven.”

He laughed. “Well, that’s the best news I’ve had all day,” he said. “Good thing, that crown. Heaven knows I’ve got a lot of…” He coughed. “…a lot of regrets. Things…well, let’s just say I have a bit of a past.”

“We all do,” I said, putting a hand on his shoulder. “We should talk some time…after all this.”

“I think I’d like that,” Mr. Adderly replied. He left me then to change into the gear.
 

A minute later, I came topside and involuntarily ducked at a crack of lightning that split the sky overhead.

“That was too close!” Darcy said.

Rez stared up through the rain to the mantle of darkness above. Then, she looked at me. “Where’d you get all that?” she asked. “Mr. Adderly?”

He shrugged.

“Here, this is for you.” I handed her the Beretta and the clips.
 

“Locked and loaded!” Darcy said, making an awkward attempt at a Weaver stance.
 

Rez zipped the weapon and ammo into her vest. “I’ll keep it close to my heart,” she said.
 

“Same as last time,” I said. “We make sure the women are safe first, but after that…”

Rez nodded. The set of her jaw was firm, but her eyes seemed restless. They flicked south to the Oyster; then north over my shoulder. I glanced. There were plenty of lights on the distant shore, but also a couple running out on the Gulf.

“Anything you need to tell me?” I asked Rez.

She glared at me but said nothing. My mind churning with new variables, I slid over the side of
The Sirocco
and dropped into the water.

Chapter 40

Dr. Gary said, “We’re on in five…” He counted the rest with his fingers.

The green light lit on the remote camera. “Good morning,” he said. “My name is Dr. Garrison Lacy. I am a board-certified obstetrics surgeon with twenty-two years of experience in the field. You may find my research articles and their findings in JAMA, including the salient abstracts…well, you’ll find those in your email boxes and on all relevant social media sites. I am a human rights proponent. And given the terrible direction of our federal government, you might even call me a revolutionary.”

Dr. Gary paused, and Jack spoke on cue. “I am Jacqueline Gainer. And I am a victim of the oppression supported by this nation’s leaders and lawmakers. At age thirteen, I became pregnant, but due to the ignorant laws then, as well as, the fanatical beliefs of my parents, I was denied the right to do with my body as I pleased. I was denied the right to a legal abortion, and so, I sought help at a local college. Unfortunately, the med students who performed my procedure lacked the training and equipment. I was maimed and nearly died. In an emergency hysterectomy, my uterus was removed. Motherhood was stolen from me.”

Dr. Gary spoke again. “Over the last two decades, we have witnessed a periodic shift in this nation’s politics, a tragic shift to barbarism, manipulation, usury, and criminal ignorance. During such times, we have waged a silent war against the so-called Pro Life agenda. And through our good works, we have won back the rights for all of mankind’s women to control their bodies. But, they turned out to be short-lived victories. And now, we stand on the brink of the worst travesty in American History since the first slaves were forced onto this continent. If current trends are not reversed, then the landmark of liberty, Roe v. Wade will be repealed.”

“By taking away our right to choose,” Jack continued, “you steal a woman’s sovereignty. You gouge away our humanity, just as my womb was torn from me. When you take away our right to choose, when you take away our humanity, you take our lives. And so tonight, we will deliver our final act of revolution: a protest written in the blood of women.”

Dr. Gary used the remote zoom and focused in on Midge and Carrie. Jack continued to narrate: “I’d like to introduce two young women this nation gave up on a long, long time ago. In unconscionable hypocrisy, a so-called Pro Life nation, abandoned these two daughters…left them for dead. And dead they will be…to show you, to teach you, what a backward culture does to its people. Ladies and gentlemen, these women are modern martyrs. Do not forget their blood.”

* * *
   
* * *
   
* * *
   
* * *

I stayed submerged for as much of the swim as I could. Once, I surfaced for air and thought I heard a strange buzzing sound, but a thunder blast obliterated any chance of identifying it.
 

In the darkness and murk, there was no way to tell if Rez was keeping pace. I saw no sign of her on the surface, so I swam on. The water gave me some additional rejuvenation but, as much as my body ached for it, I could not stop, could not open up to the resetting I really needed.
 

I surfaced near the heaving keel, paddled around to the transom, and waited. Rez appeared a moment later. Lightning flickered and slashed overhead. The thunder crashed and rolled and never seemed to end. In the span of our several hundred yard swim, the weather had gone from threatening to murderous. The irony was not lost on me.
 

Rez and I exchanged grim glances but said nothing. It was no small task to clamber up the landing’s half ladder in the rolling Gulf. With the storm raging, we found the deck predictably empty. But through the sheets of rain, lights gleamed angrily ahead.
 

We moved as quickly as we could across the lightning-strobed, endlessly tilting deck; which is to say, we didn’t move quickly at all. By the time we reached the door to the main cabin stair, it felt like we’d crossed the yacht’s 62.5 feet six times.
 

Unlike the movies where ships seemed to somehow have multiple ways of ingress and egress, there were only two ways in. And the cabin stair was the only way we could enter standing up.

I wiped the rain out of my eyes only to have the wind toss another bucket-full right into my face. I glanced at Rez. With her gun raised, her hair plastered to her dark and rain-streaked flesh, she looked like a Comanche Indian warrior. I wondered briefly about the wisdom in letting her stay behind me, but there was nothing for it. I raised the Benelli Super 90 with my right hand, opened the door with my left.

Getting down the stair without slipping was a chore, but we took it slow. We found ourselves in a spacious living area, lit warmly in the corners and with recessed lights above. Bench seat couches lined both sides of the room and a dining table cozied up to the couch on the right.

I was a little surprised to find no one in the room. Even in a luxurious 62ft., yacht there was only so much living area. Beyond the living room, there was a very narrow, very short hall…and light beyond. I nodded to Rez, tucked the shotgun into my shoulder, and crept forward.
 

The door just ahead was cracked about two inches, and I couldn’t immediately tell what was on the other side. But I heard voices. One of them sounded slurred, drunken.

“My turn, my turn, myyyy turn.”

The other voice was low and gritty but clear enough.

“…if the Supreme Court cannot recognize the inherent authority of a woman over her own body, it has left the path of reason. A woman with no choice is reduced to chattel, enslaved…breathing but still dead. Antiquated monotheistic ideologies must not be permitted to once again dictate the rule of law. This determined initiative to overturn Roe must be defeated utterly. Let the blood of…”

That was all I could bear. I kicked open the door, stepped inside and, in an instant, took in the entire scene. It might once have been a bedroom, but it had been retrofit to become a studio. There were bright lights overhead and digital lights blinking on banks of electronics ahead. Nearest us, was a large digital motion picture camera, and in its view, there sat four people.
 

Dr. Garrison Lacy was on the left. Smiling Jack on the right. Not Smiling Jack as he…she’d portrayed herself in all the photos and videos. This was Jacqueline Gainer: hair down, make up on, and a shirt tight enough to reveal the bosom she’d kept hidden. In that stunning moment, I felt just a flash of pity…wondering why she had chosen her tragic path. All pity vanished when I saw the Cain’s Dagger in her hand.
 

Jack held the knife to the throat of a young African-American woman. The other young woman who sat between the doctor and Jack had long, sandy brown hair that had been intricately braided. Both young women wore sheer white camis and the same ghastly grin as the other women in the photos. The women who were about to die.
     

All that, in an instant. And before my next breath, I realized my mistake. The shotgun, as intimidating as it was, left me at a huge disadvantage. It lacked precision. Dr. Lacy sat too close to the sandy-haired woman; Jack far too close to the dark-skinned woman.
 

Firing on either killer with the shotgun risked hitting the innocent as well. I could only hope Rez would make the same assessment and train her M9 on Jack.