NEPTUNE ISLAND, page 14
Maxwell turned the drive over in his hand and glimpsed the worn image engraved on the stick. He angled the stick toward the light and squinted. The engraving had worn flush with the surface of the plastic. He brought the drive up to eye level and instantly recognized the trident design. Neptune’s trident.
“Your friend Sienna gave you this.” He dropped the gun to his side. “All this time we’ve been chasing you, and all we had to do was wait. You came to us.” His laughter echoed throughout the room. The guards exchanged sidelong glances, uncertain as to how to proceed.
Michio, stricken with anger and despair, drew the last ounce of energy from his body and threw himself onto the guards, grabbing a holstered pistol as they stumbled. He fired at Maxwell. The round caught Maxwell in the upper-chest. He fell to the floor, unconscious.
Lincoln spun around and gave the first guard a powerful uppercut to the chin. The guard’s head snapped back before he, too, crumpled to the ground, out cold. As the second guard scrambled for his sidearm, Lincoln elbowed him across the face, breaking his nose. After a swift jab to the solar plexus, the guard collapsed against the wall, gasping for air.
Lincoln grabbed Maxwell’s weapon and the USB drive. He pocketed the security-card and knelt beside the winded guard. Lincoln relieved him of his firearm, saying, “You’re alive because we have no beef with you, but if you ring the alarm, we’ll come back and finish the job. Understand?” The guard nodded, still panting for breath.
Michio lay on the floor moaning in agony as pain pulsed through his weakened body. Lincoln lifted Michio gently and helped him to the door. As they passed Maxwell lying in a growing pool of his own blood, Lincoln lifted his gun and took aim.
“Do it.” Michio watched for his moment of vengeance, but Lincoln considered the consequences. Past hasty decisions still haunted him and would for the rest of his life.
“I’ve done a lot of shitty things in my life, things I’m not proud of,” Lincoln said, lowering the gun. “But I’m not a cold-blooded killer.”
Michio understood Lincoln’s reluctance. The past always had a way of catching up. He snatched the gun from Lincoln’s hand and placed the barrel against Maxwell’s forehead before Lincoln could react. Maxwell stirred but remained unconscious. With pure hatred etched across his face, Michio pressed the gun deeper into Maxwell’s brow.
“Mich,” Lincoln said calmly.
Michio sneered at Maxwell, “You killed Sienna, you asshole.”
“We’re not like him—” Lincoln spoke quietly, trying to ease Michio’s anger, “—and we never will be.”
Michio coughed, and the pain shot through his body again. Slowly, he lowered the gun.
“Good choice.” Lincoln grabbed the gun from Michio and propped him against the wall. He removed the unconscious guard’s shoes, then undid his belt and began pulling his pants down.
“What you do in your private life is your business, but right now we don’t have time for that.” Michio chuckled, appreciating the distraction after the intensity of the last few moments.
“Very funny.”
Exhausted and drained, Michio nevertheless watched with curiosity. “What the hell are you doing?”
The pants finally released their grip on the guard’s stocky frame and jerked free. “I’m getting us off this stinking island, and you’re going home.”
31
9:32 a.m.
“We’ll get cancer and die before we get out of here,” Enheim complained as Roland lit another cigarette.
Roland inhaled. “It relaxes me, you know. Ve need to relax and stay calm, in case you’ve forgotten vere ve are.”
Enheim swiped away the acrid smoke drifting toward Napoleon. “Oh, I know exactly where we are. We’re one step closer to getting bloody cancer.”
“Ve’re locked in a cell on an island in the middle of the Pacific Ocean.” Roland took another drag of the cigarette. “I deal vith people like this all the time, you know. Ven they vant information, they opt for the tried-and-true method—torture. Most likely,” he said, his hand shaking as he took another puff of his cigarette, “they vill torture me first.”
Enheim took the bait. “Yeah? Enlighten me. Why?”
“Logic,” Roland said, relishing having the floor. “They vill save Katya for last. She vill be their trophy. You? You have a thick skull. They know a brute like you will be tough to break, so you vill be second on their list. I, on the other hand, have a low tolerance for pain. I have delicate features, you know.” He waved his manicured hands. “They vill see I am refined and highly educated. I vill break easily, you know.”
“So you’ll fold like a cheap suit.” Enheim shook his head in disgust.
“Stop talking like this,” Katya protested, cupping her hands around Napoleon’s ears. “You’re scaring the baby.”
Napoleon, still in the harness around Enheim’s chest, lolled his head and yawned.
“Uncle Roland is a big asshole, isn’t he?” Enheim spoke in his baby voice as he drop fed Napoleon some water. “But we’re tough. He doesn’t scare us, does he, Napums.”
They stiffened. Outside the room a scuffle sounded. Roland’s talk of torture had them on edge. The shuffling ceased.
Enheim’s eyes lit up. “I’ve got a plan!
“Vat is it?” Roland asked, without conviction.
“Okay. Katya stands next to the door. When the guard comes in, I distract him, and she hits him as hard as she can.”
“Me hit him? Why not you hit him?”
“I can’t. I’ve gotta protect—” he indicated Napoleon, “—you know who.”
“Why can’t Roland hit him?”
Roland shrugged apologetically. “Like I said, I haf delicate features. These hands—” he gazed at them admiringly, “—vere not made for hurting people. Furthermore, I don’t vork out every day. You do, you know.”
Katya had to admit that he’d made a good point. She crossed to the door and readied herself flat against the wall and waited. Roland inhaled one more time and butted the cigarette. The door opened.
As the guard stepped into the cell, Katya swung with all her might. With lightning speed, the guard blocked her fist inches from his nose. Katya stared. “Lincoln!” she cried, throwing her arms around him.
“It’s good to see you guys, too,” he gasped as Katya hugged him tightly.
Dressed in the guard’s black military uniform, Lincoln stepped through the door with Michio propped under his arm. The stocky guard’s clothes hung loosely over Lincoln’s lean frame. Even the guard’s black cap, with the Neptune logo emblazoned across the brim, was a loose fit. Roland and Enheim helped with Michio.
“All right, who’s the strongest here?” Lincoln asked.
Roland and Enheim looked at Katya.
Grudgingly Lincoln agreed. “Okay, everybody, this is the plan.”
32
9:40 a.m.
Lincoln inserted the security card and the outer doors slid open. The group emerged from the underground complex and marched up the ramp. The storm had subsided, and the warm orange glow of the mid-morning sun washed over the compound. Roland and Enheim, their hands on their heads in the classic surrender posture, led the group, followed by Katya supporting Michio under her arm. Behind them, pistol in hand, Lincoln brought up the rear. They marched across the complex toward the southern boundary.
The guard operating the closest sentry tower a hundred feet away observed them as they crossed the compound. Ex-military and a body-builder, the guard’s muscles bulged through his uniform. A snake tattoo starting on his hand appeared to run under his black military garb and up his arm, and ended at the back of his shaved head. Resting his M-16 on his shoulder, he followed their progress around the maintenance building near the cliff’s edge.
Lincoln noted the tower guard in his peripheral vision. He gave him a friendly nod and, without arousing suspicion, casually lowered his baseball cap to hide his features. To add to the illusion, Lincoln whispered, “Sorry, guys. Have to make it look real,” and shoved Katya in the back with his nightstick. She and Michio stumbled but regained their footing.
“Bastard!” Katya yelled, rubbing her back with her free hand. In a whisper she added, “Understood.” The tower guard waved back to Lincoln, giving him a thumbs-up.
Although Lincoln knew he had to make the situation appear as realistic as possible, he cringed as he shoved Michio across the shoulders. Michio let out an agonizing groan and collapsed to the ground.
Curious, the tower guard picked up his walkie-talkie as he continued to watch the show. The radio at Lincoln’s side came to life. “Where are you taking them?” he asked.
Think fast. Lincoln glanced around the compound. Dozens of men in security uniforms or safety coveralls were going about their business. The chance of the guard recognizing Lincoln from his downward vantage from the tower was slim. The odds of the guard being able to identify everyone’s voice on the island was also a long shot.
Lincoln raised the receiver to his mouth and lowered his voice to give it a universal male tone. “Maxwell said to feed them to the sharks.” He signalled the guard by drawing a finger across his neck. “He wants them out of the way.”
“Shame,” the tower guard’s voice sounded over the two-way radio.
Lincoln followed the guard’s line of sight to Katya’s athletic body bent over Michio as she helped him to his feet. His cap still low, Lincoln turned back to the tower guard and gave him the universal what can I do gesture.
“What a waste. We could’ve had some real fun with her,” the guard said, his tone lecherous.
Lincoln mock fired his gun at the men in the group, then grabbed his crotch and thrust it toward Katya. “No one said anything about getting rid of them right away.”
After a pause, the guard answered, “If you get bored, let me know.”
I’ll let you know all right, with a bullet to the head. Lincoln waved a goodbye salute to the tower guard and continued across the compound.
They arrived at the concrete shaft. Lincoln waved them down onto the ladder. One by one, they descended into the bedrock of the cliff, and disappeared from watchful eyes above.
Lincoln brought up the rear, this time heading down into the shaft. “Well done, everyone,” he said, congratulating the group.
Michio’s hands and feet repeatedly slipped from the metal rungs as his condition worsened. Katya kept an eye on him from above, and Roland, directly beneath him, kept watch from below.
Lincoln climbed to the other side of the ladder and pulled up next to Michio. He grabbed Michio’s arms and slung them around his shoulders saying, “Hold on.”
Michio, his pale complexion evident even in the shadows of the shaft, groaned. “Always the friggin’ hero.”
With Michio hanging from him piggyback style, Lincoln edged down the ladder to the ocean below. Just a little further. Lincoln paused and took a deep breath. Sweat trickled into his eyes, and his hands were clammy with perspiration. His pulse rate soared as his heart pounded in his chest, not from the added weight on his back or the responsibility of getting his injured friend to safety—Lincoln could deal with that—but from what he couldn’t deal with: the sight below.
Far below.
Don’t look down.
Focus on the rungs.
Focus on getting Michio out of here.
Focus on getting everyone out of this mess.
Whatever you do, don’t look down.
Michio needs you.
Don’t let your old friend down.
The idea of his old friend dying outweighed his psychological issues and allowed him to will his acrophobia to the back of his mind. He made his way down the ladder, slowly but steadily, the anxiety locked away.
The shaft’s concrete walls disappeared, exposing them to the elements. A metal safety guard, mounted to the rock flank, surrounded the ladder and continued all the way down the cliff to a landing at sea level. Lincoln flinched at the open sky above and the ocean waves far below.
Oh, shit.
Don’t panic.
Focus.
Lincoln cleared his head and climbed down the ladder one step at a time, his gaze fixed on the rusted metal rungs.
33
9:48 a.m.
The concrete landing at the base of cliff face was covered with barnacles and guano. An outcrop of rock, head high, partially surrounded the landing and sheltered it from the ocean swell.
Lincoln rested Michio against a mooring post. He stood trembling from the ordeal and wiping the sweat from his eyes. Made it. Lincoln took slow, deep breaths and began to relax. His heart rate eased and the adrenaline racing through his bloodstream subsided, but Lincoln had no time to congratulate himself on overcoming his personal fears. Michio needed medical attention.
Michio lapsed in and out of consciousness. The wound had re-opened. Blood trickled down his arm and dripped from his fingers to the concrete floor. Lincoln checked his pulse. His blood pressure continued to drop at a steady rate.
Lincoln unwrapped the bandage and examined Big John’s laceration. The cut had widened. Lincoln squeezed the excess blood from the bandage and finished redressing the wound.
Roland tapped him on the shoulder and pointed toward the ocean. Thousands of sea-faring vessels were scattered across the waters from horizon to horizon. Dozens of circling helicopters buzzed the morning sky. With the reduced exclusion zone, the flotilla of boats and aircraft surrounded the south end of the island, one mile from the shoreline.
Hidden from view, a twenty-foot runabout anchored in a rocky alcove a few hundred feet from the landing. The name Big Richard adorned the bow.
Lincoln caught Katya’s attention and indicated the small boat. “Katya, I need you to do me a favour.” He averted his gaze from her, embarrassed by what he was about to ask.
“Yes, darlink?”
“I—I need you to get the boat owner’s attention,” he stammered.
She shrugged. “Okay. How?”
“I need you to—” he coughed “—to attract him over here.” He hoped she would understand.
Katya’s brow furrowed, unsure what he was asking.
“You know… show him want you’ve got.”
She frowned, still not comprehending.
Enheim stepped in. “He wants you to flash your tits at that guy in the boat.”
“Oh! Okay. Why didn’t you say so?” She turned to the small boat in the alcove and waved at the male behind the wheel.
The boating enthusiast, a balding playboy wearing a tan and white classic Henley and khaki cargo pants, was adjusting the settings on his camera when he spotted the gorgeous blonde waving in his direction.
Katya lifted her tank top, and beckoned him over.
His eyes widened. Grinning from ear to ear, his male instincts took control. He slicked back his thinning hair and tucked his loose-fitting shirt into his pants. He forgot about his expensive camera and threw it into the passenger seat next to him. Eagerly he gunned the motor and headed toward the blonde.
The runabout pulled up next to the landing. The boat owner tossed a rope around the nearest mooring post and stared at the ragtag group watching him. The blonde had covered herself, and one member of the group lay on the concrete, his right arm covered in blood.
Lincoln hurried over to the boat owner. “He needs urgent medical attention,” he implored, pointing to Michio lying on the concrete.
The boat owner shrugged. “Call the authorities.”
“There’s no time. He’ll die before they get here. I’ll give you a thousand dollars to take him back to Saipan.”
“I’m sorry about your friend, but I’m here to see the show.” He glanced at Katya.
“The show?” Lincoln asked. “What show?”
“Kane’s big unveiling. It’s today.”
Lincoln didn’t care about the grand unveiling. “Look, if my friend doesn’t get to a doctor soon, he’s gonna die.”
“I’m sorry about your friend, but he’s not my problem,” the boat owner replied.
“I’ll give you ten thousand dollars,” Lincoln urged. “Please!”
“Have you got the cash on you?”
“No. You’ll have to trust me,” Lincoln pleaded.
The boat owner looked away, indifferent to the empty promise. “Sure, heard that one before.”
“What do I have to do to get you out of here and back to Saipan?”
He ogled Katya’s perfect body, nodding in approval. “One date with her.”
“Over my dead body,” Enheim fumed.
Lincoln shook the boat owner’s hand. “Deal.”
“What?” Enheim bellowed.
“We’ll take care of this later,” Lincoln said. He turned to Roland, and together they lifted Michio from the concrete landing and carried him over to the edge of the quay. Gently, they rested him in the back of the runabout. Lincoln placed a deck cushion behind Michio’s head.
“Back in the cell, you asked me who I was.” Lincoln paused. “Well… this is it.”
Michio fought back unconsciousness and opened his heavy eyes. He reached up, grabbed Lincoln around the head and gave him a man-hug. They shared the moment, their bond of friendship unbroken. “Still the bloody hero.” Michio managed a small laugh, coughed, and collapsed back onto the deck. Within moments, he was unconscious again.
The boat owner turned to Lincoln. “One date with her,” he repeated, nodding at Katya. “That’s the deal.”
“You have my word,” Lincoln replied. He turned to the others. “Nothing has gone according to plan, so if anyone wants to go now, I’ll understand.”
Enheim, Katya, and Roland glanced at one another. “I can’t speak for these two,” Roland said, indicating Enheim and Katya, “but I’m here for the information on that drive. I stay, you know.”
Katya stood next to Enheim, rubbing Napoleon under the chin to calm him. “Lincoln,” Enheim said, “that asshole in the Armani suit you shot in the cell back there. Was he the guy who ordered the hit on us?”
For a moment, Lincoln flashed back to his days as a police officer. “No. Lieutenants and foot soldiers don’t make those kinds of decisions. An order like that comes from the man at the top. In this case, that man is still here on the island, and I intend to find him.”
