ABOARD THE VAGABOND
MEDITERRANEAN SEA
COMMANDER STACEY THOMAS, CAPTAIN of HMS Iron Duke, led the boarding party himself, somewhat chagrined at having been ordered to stop and search the sparkling yacht of Sir Geoffrey Cornwell. The Type 23 frigate of the Royal Navy rode easily in the deep waters, parallel to and only 150 yards off the port side of the white pleasure vessel Vagabond, which had been ordered over the radio to heave to.
Awaiting him on deck was Cornwell, the legendary former SAS colonel, now an international businessman. Cornwell was casually dressed, and, although he was still confined to a wheelchair from his injuries in a terrorist attack, his welcome was warm and friendly. No sign of animosity for being confronted by the military. That came as a relief for Commander Thomas, who did not want to make an enemy of this influential man.
“Welcome aboard, Commander Thomas,” Sir Jeff said, extending his hand. “Allow me to introduce my wife, Lady Patricia.” An elegant woman in a casual blue and white deck outfit, with a white scarf around her neck, gave a cheerful smile.
The naval officer saluted, then accepted the offered handshakes. “Thank you, Sir Geoffrey. Lady Patricia. I am terribly sorry for this intrusion.”
Cornwell waved away the apology. “You have your orders, sir, so why get all bothered with legalities when what you seek is not here? Come and join me at that table beneath the deck awning while your lads conduct a thorough search. They may have the run of the ship. My crew will help if asked. It is important to clear this up as soon as possible.”
Stacey Thomas issued the command, and the five armed commandos spread fore and aft, scaling ladders and descending belowdecks. The entire crew of the Vagabond stayed together on the bridge for ease of identification. There was more polite chitchat; then Commander Thomas said, “May I get to the point, sir?”
“Certainly. Some tea first?”
“Not at the moment, sir. Perhaps some other time, when things are not as tense.”
“Then let me answer your question before you ask: No, we have neither seen nor heard from Kyle Swanson. I was delighted to learn that he had escaped from custody in Pakistan, for we-Pat and I-will never believe Kyle is guilty, or even capable, of mass murder.”
“That would be simply impossible, Commander,” said Lady Pat in a pleasant voice. “Kyle is always very particular about whom he shoots.” She removed a small gold case that snapped brightly in the sun, took out a slender cigar, and lit it. She blew the smoke away from them.
“Kyle is also a very bright and resourceful boy, Commander Thomas. He knows that Pat and I would automatically be viewed as having a hand in protecting him. And that would be true… if he had asked, which he has not. He will not turn to us for help.”
“May I ask, then, why the Vagabond is out here? I do not doubt your word, but this yacht would provide a valuable refuge for a fugitive.”
Sir Jeff slid a notebook filled with diagrams and photos in plastic sleeves across the table to the commander. “This is one of the latest projects. We call it the Bird and Snake, and it is designed to be a low-cost and pinpoint weapon against pirates. So we are conducting some sea tests. It is a Top Secret project, sir, so I must trust you to keep it confidential, other than for need-to-know personnel.”
The sailors were emerging from belowdecks and reporting nothing unusual. The cabins and workspaces were all clear; the engine room, galley, and communications shack were in order. All personnel on the bridge had proper identification and valid passports, and there was no evidence that Kyle Swanson had been aboard.
“I can have my captain show you the Bird and Snake setup we have below, if you wish. Our computer hard drives contain proprietary data that I should not release to you without a proper court order. Nevertheless, we would welcome an electronics technician with proper security clearances to come aboard and review the contents, should you so desire. He would have to sign a separate and stringent government nondisclosure form, of course.”
Commander Thomas checked his men. All five were ready to return to the Iron Duke. “No, Sir Geoffrey, that will not be necessary,” he said. “The Americans are running this manhunt, not us. I imagine we were tasked to this irksome duty just as a warning that they are covering all angles.”
“Naturally,” said Sir Jeff. “Well, then, sir, it was nice to meet you and watch your team work. I always enjoy seeing the operations of a well-trained unit.” He smiled. “Have a pleasant voyage, and do not hesitate to notify us if you need us again. We remain at the queen’s service.”
“Thank you, sir,” Thomas said, giving another salute. “Good day, Lady Patricia.” The boarding team returned down the side staircase to the inflatable speedboat and shoved off as soon as Thomas was seated.
“Nice enough chap,” observed Jeff as the boat sped away. He stayed at the table with Pat, drinking tea and nibbling an apple pastry as they watched the big frigate haul the inflatable boat back aboard, then slowly pull away, gaining speed as it went. He turned to the Vagabond’s captain, William Styles, and said, “Bring them up.”
TWO FIGURES WITH UNDERWATER breathing gear treaded water in the silent twilight world about twenty feet directly below the hull of the Vagabond, their rising air bubbles unnoticeable at the bow, where the water was rippled by gentle swells moving against the boat. For Kyle and Lauren, swimming together, the grumpy loud noise of the British frigate getting under way meant their watery exile was about over, unless some Royal Navy sailors had been left on board, which was very unlikely.
Treading water for thirty minutes, with weight belts and big flippers, was easy for both of them. Lauren Carson had been diving for years on vacations and had been on a swim team as a kid, and she held her position with no trouble. She looked through her face mask at Kyle, about ten feet away. His military training in underwater warfare and his passion for surfing had left him with an effortless stroke, and he appeared as a virtually stationary silhouette in the water, breathing easily. She thought about how normal people paid good money for scuba diving trips in the sunny Med.
As the noisy engines of the frigate faded, Kyle held up two fingers, estimating they would remain down for only about two more minutes. For security, they had not carried radios when they had changed quickly and gone into the water at the approach of the naval vessel. All signals were made by hand.
She could see the plain, bright surface above, and the dark sleek shadow of the yacht that had been her home for the past two days. Kyle had arrived yesterday. Two international fugitives from justice, hunted by every intelligence service in the world, and they were catching tans and eating well. It was not like she had imagined.
Another sound reached her, a sudden dull thunk, as a set of doors in the bottom of the Vagabond opened. Kyle immediately kicked toward the new rectangle of light, Lauren followed, and they broke the surface in the oblong launching well of a weapon she had never before seen, something called a Snake. Crewmen helped them up and took off the vests, tanks, and other gear and handed them big towels. “Sir Geoffrey asks that you join him in the main salon as soon as you have changed,” said a young woman, trying not to stare at their bodies. Miss Carson was perfectly shaped and toned, while Mr. Swanson bore numerous scars. She had heard tales about this American, a familiar figure aboard the vessel who was a business associate and close friend of Sir Jeff and a deadly sniper for the United States Marines. As he stood nearly naked in his baggy shorts, the jagged marks on his flesh bore out the truth of those stories.
Lauren, in a T-shirt and blue shorts, was already with Pat and Jeff in the spacious cabin when Kyle joined them. He flopped into a chair and popped open a chilled bottle of water. “Man, it’s good to be here. Even dodging the Royal Navy is a lot more fun than being locked in that damned cell.”
“I dare say,” agreed Jeff. “Keeping you out of another prison is going to be difficult.” Reading glasses were balanced precariously on his nose. “The visit by that frigate was a close-run thing. Next time, we might not have the advantage of seeing them coming twenty miles off.”
“They won’t give up, will they?” Lauren’s voice was low. Her legs were crossed, and a sandal dangled from her toes.
“No, they won’t,” said Kyle.
“So, what do we do? Just keep running?” Her eyes were bright and watery as she considered the enormity of the opposing forces. Navy ships? Satellites? Paratroopers?
Lady Pat went to the bar, poured a stiff dose of whisky, and handed her the glass. “Drink up, Lauren. It will steady you a bit. It is understandable for you to be nervous.”
Lauren tasted the amber liquid and then drank deeply. “I’m a wreck, and the rest of you don’t even look very concerned.”
“Well, dear, we’ve been through much worse,” Pat said, getting a drink for herself.
“Lauren, there is a big difference,” Kyle said, “between running away from something and running toward something. There is absolutely no way that we can evade capture for any extended length of time. Sooner or later, the odds will catch up with us. So we cannot just remain static. We have to be aggressive, and careful.”
“True.” Jeff rolled his wheelchair closer to her and leaned forward, resting on his elbows. “Never you fear, young lady. We will get you out of this jam.”
Kyle locked his hands behind his head and worked his neck muscles around.
Lauren thought that he looked incredibly fit after such a short recuperation time. A bit of freedom and sunshine and getting out of prison was all he had really needed. Now he was eating like a horse and sleeping soundly. He showed no sign of being worried. “Do you have more magic up your sleeve, Jeff?” she asked. “Like bribing Kyle’s way out of prison?”
“Ha! I didn’t use my money. I used his!”
“But Pat said that you paid a half million dollars.”
“Came right out of Kyle’s shares. A little accounting sleight-of-hand, but any trace will indicate that he arranged the deal himself.”
“You have that kind of money?” Lauren stared at Swanson.
“I guess. Never use it.”
“So we aren’t totally broke when we have to run?”
“No,” said Pat. “He is a major shareholder and will be a part owner of our entire business some day when he leaves the Marines. Meanwhile, his earnings are secured away in trust accounts and other financial vehicles. But quite a bit of it has been made liquid and available at the moment.”
Jeff rolled over and tossed some loose papers into Kyle’s lap. “The CIA is being clumsy with their internal communications. Lieutenant Commander Freedman in Trident is keeping tabs on them. First, he discovered that Jim Hall is still alive, and now he can confirm that Hall is making a very strange deal. The Agency will leave him alone and he will leave them alone. Slaughtered a poor woman in Dubai and took down an important network there, and yet they have agreed.”
Lauren stood abruptly and crossed her arms as she stalked to the long side window and looked out. “They give him a free pass but are coming after us! That’s not fair!”
“Fairness has nothing to do with it, dear girl.”
“And they still haven’t figured out how much money he has stolen over the years. They don’t know the half of it.”
“We will let them know at the appropriate time,” said Jeff, “but let’s deal with the here and now.” He turned to Kyle. “You cannot stay aboard the Vagabond much longer. They will have our communications strictly monitored and will keep the yacht under surveillance. It’s too dangerous.”
Kyle nodded. “Yeah. I agree. We need to get off the boat if we want to find Jim and take him down. That will make all of the troubles go away.”
Lauren turned toward them, and this time tears were on her cheeks. “How? Jim knows what he’s doing, and he was a great field agent.”
Kyle rose and walked over to her, putting a strong hand on each of her arms and locking onto her eyes. “We’re partners in this, Lauren. Putting the two of us together was Jim’s first mistake and probably his biggest. No offense meant, but you were once his mistress. I was once his student and his friend. Between us, we know this guy in every way possible, both personally and professionally.”
Lauren opened her arms and put them around Kyle, hugging him close, with her face against his chest. There was warmth there. And safety. “What are you going to do?”
“I’m going to kick his ass and put him in the grave,” Kyle said, returning the embrace and rocking her back and forth.