The Toymaker (30 page)

How could he have been so stupid? Now he was in a firefight in the middle of the sea. It was three armed men in a smaller, more maneuverable boat against him.

He knelt down behind the seat, resting his rifle on the railing for as much stability as he could get in rough seas. The gray outline of the fishing boat skipping across the tops of the waves seemed ominous as it closed in on his craft but it also offered him a good target. He took careful aim and squeezed off more rounds. He heard the rounds make contact with the smaller boat, and then it swerved taking a parallel track across the water.

More muzzle flashes and he ducked. Holes ripped through the port side, splintered wood fragments flew across the deck. He could make out the silhouettes of the three men, two holding rifles, one piloting the boat. He fired another burst and all three men ducked out of sight. Right where he wanted them, he thought.

The first shadow to reappear was the man at the helm. Khan had a clear shot and he took it. The man fell out of sight and the boat veered away and slowed.

One down. Two to go.

Three more shots hit the back of the cruiser. With each flash, Khan saw the outline of the boat. It was coming directly from behind. Not an ideal angle. He ducked and crawled to the back transom. As he reached the stern, he raised the rifle and leveled it at the boat. For the first time, he noticed fishing rods in rod holders whipping on the back of the boat. The boat was twenty meters behind and gaining. He readied the rifle and fired, unloading round after round into the hull of the boat until the rifle clicked.

Empty.

He made his way to the helm, keeping his body low, grabbed his ammo, reloaded the rifle and readied it for firing. He still had plenty of ammo and a handgun stored below deck. He returned to the rear transom and looked out. The boat was gone.

Three shots rang out from the right side of the cruiser. One grazed his left shoulder. He’d been in gun battles before, but not on a boat in the middle of the sea. He suppressed the pain and aimed the rifle toward the fishing boat. He fired and both men ducked. One of the outboard engines on the fishing boat burst into flames. He kept firing. And screaming. Screaming at the infidels.

Two men in the boat rose up and fired, one right behind the other. Semi-automatics. Inferior weapons to his automatic yet effective with the cadence the two men used to return fire. He heard one of the fishing boat’s engines groan and the boat lost speed. Both men turned toward the failing engine so he unleashed another hailstorm of bullets. The cruiser pulled away from the boat and within seconds was out of sight.

He got lucky and he knew it.

The cruiser made a correction to starboard—to the right—as programmed into the autopilot.

His backup plan. He’d eluded his pursuers. Eliminated the women.

Now for his escape.

CHAPTER 61

J
AKE COULDN’T BELIEVE he’d just watched Khan send the two women into the depths of the sea. They were gone, with no chance of rescue. By now, they were already several hundred feet below the surface and, if they weren’t dead before, they were now. Khan just killed two more innocent victims. He would pay for that act of cruelty.

As Perez steered the fishing boat, Kaplan took a shot at the cruiser in an attempt to disable the vessel, then Khan unleashed a barrage of bullets into the side of their boat. All three men ducked for cover. Perez steered a course parallel to Khan. With the cruiser to their right, Jake and Kaplan fired. A window shattered and Khan disappeared.

A moment later Khan reappeared and peppered their boat with a spray of bullets. Perez went down. He’d taken a round in his right temple and his lifeless body crumpled in the middle of the boat. As Perez’s body fell, the boat turned hard left almost knocking Jake overboard. Jake grabbed the railing as he was being thrown over then pulled himself toward the helm as the boat swerved out of control.

Regaining control of the helm, Jake piloted the craft directly behind the cruiser. He used the hull for protection by keeping the bow high in the water. By the time Jake realized his mistake it was too late. Khan opened fire and bullets pierced through the bottom of the wooden hull allowing water to stream into the boat.

Jake steered right and accelerated alongside the cruiser while Kaplan fired into the cruiser’s hull. He thought he saw Khan take a bullet, but he definitely heard him yelling despite the roar of the engines. Then Khan reappeared and fired. The fishing boat’s left engine exploded from the barrage of bullets but Jake kept pushing the engine, grinding out every last bit of power. Khan couldn’t get away. Khan had to be stopped.

He and Kaplan looked at each other and nodded. They lifted their guns over the railing and fired. They alternated shots with such a pace that it was almost as effective as an automatic weapon—right up until the left engine sputtered, coughed, and died.

Khan and the cruiser disappeared into the night.

Jake threw his rifle onto the deck of the fishing boat. “Shit, the son of a bitch got away.”

Kaplan kept firing. Firing into the darkness.

For the first time since he had taken control of the helm, he looked down at Perez. It was a clean exit wound, in the right temple and out the left. Perez was dead. His blood drained toward the back of the boat, swirling into the ever-increasing amount of seawater seeping through the bullet holes that had penetrated the hull.

Kaplan yelled and threw his rifle onto the deck. “Now what?”

Jake had already turned the boat toward shore. “Back to San Sebastian. Let’s hope the starboard engine holds, it doesn’t sound good.”

“How far to shore?”

“Twenty two miles. At this speed.” Jake made the mental calculations. “If the engine holds up, probably an hour. More if we start losing power. But we have bigger problems than that.” Jake pointed to the deck. Three inches of water was standing, loose items floated toward the stern. “ The marine radio took a bullet and my cell phone is dead.”

Kaplan pulled out his phone. “Mine too. What about Perez’s phone?”

Jake searched through the dead man’s pockets. He held up the phone and water dripped out. “Drowned. And if we don’t plug a few leaks, we won’t make shore before we sink.”

† † †

Khan dropped to a sitting position on the deck while the autopilot guided him toward his backup escape route. Everything went awry because he had gotten sloppy. A mistake he won’t make again. As the adrenaline from the shoot out wore off, the reality of the last few minutes sank in. His chest tightened, he couldn’t breathe.
Relax. Relax.
He tried to use reason and calm himself down but nothing worked. He felt his pulse race. He forced himself to take long, slow breaths. He curled into the fetal position on the open deck. Khan considered himself brave, but he’d never been so close to death.

Khan didn’t know how long he’d lain there. Did he pass out? When he mustered enough energy to climb back to the helm, he could see lights dotting the shoreline. He checked his GPS—twenty kilometers to go—he’d been out for over half the trip, twenty-eight kilometers had passed behind him already. At his current speed, he’d make Orio in thirty minutes.

† † †

Jake fought the growing swells as the crippled fishing boat made its way toward shore. It didn’t take Jake long to figure out that every time the boat planed out, it took on water faster. He had to slow his speed so the boat would ride in bow-high thus extending how long it would take to reach shore. Kaplan was bailing water non-stop with the only bucket on board, a one-gallon bait bucket. The big problem was the boat took on almost a gallon by the time he could bail a gallon.

Over the course of the last thirty minutes, he and Kaplan had exchanged duties several times. Kaplan was bailing again.

The boat was sitting lower in the water. A rogue wave washed through the vessel adding another five inches of standing water.

“This is hopeless.” Kaplan shouted. “I can’t keep up with it any longer.”

“Take the helm, I’ll bail some more.” Jake ordered. “We’re still ten miles out.”

“Forget it.” Kaplan pointed at the engine. “We’re not going to make it.”

Jake followed Kaplan’s finger. The starboard engine was smoking and leaving a trail of oil in the water. As the rpm’s slowed, Jake added more throttle until it was all the way forward. Five minutes later, the motor spit its last breath and the boat was now at the mercy of the sea.

“We’re still nine miles out, give or take.” Jake said. “How far can you swim?”

“Tonight? Nine miles. Give or take.”

Jake had more in-the-water experience than Kaplan and was mentally prepared for what was in store. A long, exhausting, and laborious swim in cold water. With water temperatures in the sixties, exhaustion time was two to seven hours. Cold water robs the body’s heat 32 times faster than cold air. As the body’s core temperature dropped, Jake knew what to expect. At 96.5 degrees, shivering begins. Amnesia at 94 degrees. Unconsciousness at 86 degrees and death at 79. Once they hit the water, they had to keep moving or drown.

Under normal circumstances, they would be motionless in the water, conserving energy while they waited to be rescued. But these weren’t normal circumstances. They were nine miles out to sea, no one knew where they were, but most of all, they had to stop Khan.

Jake grabbed his duffle letting the water drain from the bag. He dug around and pulled out six Snickers bars. “Here. Start eating.”

Kaplan grabbed the packs. “You really did have Snickers in there.”

“Boy Scout motto. Be prepared. Eat it all, you’re going to need all the energy you can muster.”

The next five minutes were spent in total silence. The only sound was the waves slapping the sides of the sinking fishing boat. The two sat, ate, and rocked with the boat. Jake could see the apprehension in Kaplan’s face as the boat sank lower and lower into the water.

“How good a swimmer are you?” Jake asked.

“At this point, what does it matter?” Kaplan stuffed his garbage in a side pocket of the console on the boat. “You’re in charge, I’ll just follow you.”

“It’s all about pacing.” Jake wasn’t good at giving words of encouragement, but he felt Kaplan needed to hear something positive. Jake was a strong swimmer, very strong, and as a child competed in swim tournaments with the school swim teams. “We’ll take it slow and steady.”

“Slow and steady. Roger that.” Kaplan sat on the rail and unlaced his boots.

“What are you doing? Leave your boots on.”

“But I can kick better without them.”

“Trust me on this.”

Kaplan laced up his boots. Jake grabbed two life jackets and tossed Kaplan one. Next he grabbed two flotation-approved seat cushions. He rummaged through the boat’s compartments, found a flare gun and stuffed it, the weapons, and ammo into a wet bag then sealed it tight.

“Put the life vest on, get a good grip on the cushion, and let’s go. Remember, keep the cushion underneath you for extra buoyancy. We’ll need all the help we can get.” Jake sat on the edge of the railing. “The water will be cold.”

Kaplan sat next to Jake on the railing. “Tell me something I don’t know.”

Jake smiled. “You see, you did keep your sense of humor.”

CHAPTER 62

D
ARKNESS STILL DOMINATED the night sky except for the twinkling of stars and galaxies millions of light years away. He studied the sky, doing his best to recognize some of the constellations he’d learned as he prepared for the final phase of his mission.

The engines droned on, rpms out of sync. Still no sign of dawn. The closer Khan got to shore, the rougher the seas, but the cruiser handled them without yielding. He’d feared the damage from the hailstorm of bullets might have compromised the vessel.

The cruiser’s GPS guided him right to the mouth of the Ria del Orio where he had to negotiate a ninety degree left turn into the river’s channel behind the rock mounds of the jetties. Walls of water crashed into the jetties as the relentless incoming tide pounded against the rocks. Once in the channel, however, the waters became tranquil. Smooth as glass. A welcome relief from the nonstop tossing of the waves over the last few hours.

 He eased the damaged cruiser through the channel and behind the breakwater walls of the marina. Using only one engine to reduce the noise, he nosed the cruiser straight into the reserved slip, a prior arrangement he was glad he’d made. Thank Allah.

The marina’s slips were on multi-fingered floating docks. By request, his slip was located at the end closest to the mouth of the breakwater, which unfortunately meant he had to walk past dozens of boats to exit the marina. Sound carried in marinas, he knew, and at 4:00 a.m. it would be easy to attract unwanted attention unless he was very quiet. The last thing he needed was a nosy boater to come up on deck to see who had just motored in so early in the morning. He must avoid detection.

Tying off the bow and stern with lines required him to jump off the boat on the floating finger piers. He gingerly stepped out, tied off the port stern then the port bowlines followed by the starboard side in reverse order, securing the lines taut to keep the cruiser secured in the middle of the slip. He didn’t have the luxury of time. He needed to make a pass through the cabin and deck, removing all items that might tie him to the missing women, grab his personal articles, and leave. He anticipated he had two, maybe three hours at best, before his bullet-riddled hull attracted attention at the marina and law enforcement officials would be summoned to the scene. They would scour the cruiser from bow to stern looking for clues to indicate what had happened…and to whom.

Barefoot, Khan tiptoed down the floating dock carrying every identifying article he could find. He’d kept his room at the Hotel Maria Christina clean. Whenever he left, he carried everything he needed with him in a backpack just in case he had to make an unanticipated getaway. He could never be too careful. Khan followed the winding sidewalk and up the pedestrian ramp leading to the marina parking lot where his leased car and new identity waited underneath the autopista del Cantabrico bridge.