Undone, page 15
"American government?" He asked.
She shook her head and said, “Let her go or I'm going to kill you."
But the man only hunched, ducking behind the woman, using her as a shield. The other woman was still moving back, trying to keep distant.
Cora stood frozen to the spot. "Are you the man known as the Merchant?"
He didn't deny it but also didn't affirm it. Instead, he said slowly, "And who is asking?"
She looked him dead in the eyes. "I'm the one that's going to shoot you if you don't let that woman go."
Another growl of thunder. More flashing lightning. Cora shifted uncomfortably, wincing as she did.
There was no clear shot. The large man was bowed behind his victim. The woman with the blood streaming from her nose was still hyperventilating, the skin on her neck pressing harder against the knife. A slow trickle of blood fell down her throat.
Cora was shivering now. The wind coming through the open door behind her speckled her shoulders and arms with more droplets of freezing rain. She was still dripping, standing in a puddle she had caused.
"Where is Caitlin Johnson?" Cora snapped.
The moment she said the name, two reactions caught her attention. The second woman who had been tending to the victim's bloodied nose glanced over, sharply. The man with the knife, though, didn't seem to register the name at all. Instead, he wrinkled his nose in contempt and growled at her, "Lower that gun, or I slit her throat!"
Cora felt another jolt of rage. But also, he looked as if he was serious.
Amidst the room full of swirling steam, on either ends of a pool on the third level of a luxury yacht, the tension raged.
Cora didn't lower her weapon, and she didn't blink.
The man with the knife glared back. The two of them held each other's gaze, until at last, the large man snarled and spat, “Fine!”
And then with a heavy shove, he sent the woman stumbling forward. At the same time, he used the momentum to push off her, racing back through the door he had used earlier, stepping into a cloud of billowing steam.
CHAPTER NINETEEN
Cora rushed forward, feet hitting wet tile as she nearly slipped. She caught her balance, arms waving, hastening past the woman struggling in the water.
Cora took one second to drop to a knee, grab the woman's wrist, and pull her back onto the tile.
As she did, the other woman, on the opposite side of the pool, met Cora's gaze. She still had that strange look of recognition.
Cora shot a look towards the steaming room, but then glanced back at the woman. "Do you know Caitlin Johnson?" she insisted.
The woman swallowed, shooting a nervous look towards the steam. But then, rapidly, in a whisper, her eyes fixed where Cora was helping her friend out of the pool, she rattled off, "The name sounds familiar. The new girls go to a compound, though.”
“Compound, where?”
“Umm...I...Please...”
“Tell me where!” Cora insisted. “You're safe. I promise.”
The woman swallowed, then continued, “It's on a small island near Columbia. The jurisdiction is shaky. That's why he likes it." She had an educated, articulate way of speaking.
Cora was pushing back to her feet, gun pointed towards the steamy room. "Does the compound have a name?"
The woman continued at a rapid pace, "They call it the Silver Bracelet. Once a woman comes through there, they're trained…" She trailed off, a look of shame and rage in her eyes, "And then sent to international clients. United Arab Emirates or places in Mexico. If I remember right, the next shipment is heading out in two days.”
Cora was breathing heavily, nodding as she did. A few days? Had Caitlin already been shipped off, lost in the world? Or was there still a chance? Two days wasn't long, not at all.
She gave a quick nod of gratitude towards the woman, pointed at the injured lady, and whispered, “Take care of her.” Then, Cora hastened away from the fallen woman as her new source of information hurried around the pool to help.
Cora approached the steam-filled room. She had her gun in front of her, her heart pounding.
She stepped into the room and was assailed by the murky atmosphere. She couldn't see more than a couple of feet in front of her.
She crouched, keeping her head low, just in case more than a knife was waiting for her in this sauna.
The ground was now made of black tile. Her feet thumped against the floor.
It was as if the steam itself had a muffling effect; she could no longer hear the woman behind her. But she also didn't detect any sound from within this new room.
Cora tried to trace the layout and was able to make out marble benches carved into the wall.
Her feet continued to slap against the slick floor. She thought she saw movement and fired; she heard a loud hiss. And then a sudden sound of a slamming door.
She bolted towards the noise.
There had been another door in the back of the room. As she pushed through, she suddenly darted back, a knife swiping at her face.
She dodged, slamming the door again, and braced behind the door, tense. She waited a second and then tried again.
This time, as she pushed through the second door, she found her fingers pressing glass and a sudden cold chill of rainwater as she emerged at another set of metal stairs.
She heard the thumping of footsteps against the stairs. A sudden, loud voice. "Stop her! Shoot her!”
She tried to aim. Glimpsed a silhouette moving down the stairs. But as she sighted, two more figures emerged. One of them raised his gun.
She redirected her aim. Fired. Caught the man in the shoulder, sending him wheeling off the ship; he plummeted into the choppy sea.
But she had missed her opportunity to hit the Merchant. He was now out of sight on the second deck somewhere.
She pressed her teeth tightly together but had ducked back out of sight. Bullets rattled off the underside of the metal platform. The second man was more cautious than the first.
She waited, counting slowly before she broke into a sprint, taking the stairs three at a time. She repositioned on the next landing.
The man directly below her tried to fire through the floor. For one horrible moment, she wasn't sure if the metal would hold. It punctured, like gofer holes, but the bullets didn't hit her.
She pressed her gun against one of the holes and fired twice.
A sound of pain, and then a dull thump.
Cautiously, heart in her throat, she moved down the stairs.
Her mind was spinning. If the woman upstairs was correct, then Caitlin Johnson only had a couple of days until she was lost for good.
Where was that corpulent trafficker?
She hurried down the steps now, gun in front of her. Another soldier lay on the ground, dead.
And then, she heard a new sound. It wasn't the rumble of thunder, but more like the growl of an engine.
Her heart fell.
A boat was scything away from the large ship.
She blinked, stunned. A speedboat, sleek and white. A billowing bathrobe whipped the air behind the pilot. The boat skimmed off a rising wall of water and hit the other side with a calamitous splash.
She stared as the boat cut a white wake, hastening rapidly away.
He'd had an escape route. She felt a jolt of fury. Normally, she would have been far more knowledgeable about the options on a mission field, but she simply hadn't had time.
And now, the one man who could lead her directly to Caitlin was escaping.
CHAPTER TWENTY
Cora watched from over the railing, hidden in the shadows beneath the stairs in the dead of night. She'd been the one to make the distress call from the bridge's radio.
And now, an hour after the Merchant had escaped, she watched the fruit of her labor.
A fleet of coast guard boats hastened towards her, flying across the water. The flashing red lights from the boats illuminated the roiling ocean; the storm was coming now, and the lightning had vanished.
This aided her in staying on scene.
She waited until the boats came alongside the yacht. Ropes lashed to the side of the larger vessel. Men and women on bullhorns called out to each other.
Cora waited, tense, exhaling slowly.
She watched as members of the Coast Guard moved up the ladders on the side of the large vessel, swarming the ship.
Footsteps clamored against the stairwell above her head, serving as her shelter.
As the first wave moved past her, leaving her unseen in the shadows, she slowly emerged.
She slipped down the side of the boat, using the same cold metal rungs they had utilized to board the ship, and then she clambered down to one of the smaller vessels.
In that moment, no one spotted her; she heard shouting, radio chatter, and more footsteps as other members of the Coast Guard reached the opposite side of the ship. The bodies were no doubt being found.
She hit the deck of the smaller vessel, cut the rope, and, shivering, disengaged the GPS and onboard locating system.
Wires pricked at her fingers as she tugged them loose, and then gunned the engine; she began to dislodge from the main boat. A voice called over the radio, "Unit three—come in, unit three—where are you going?"
But she switched off the radio and pushed full throttle.
She cut away from the large vessel, slicing through the water and hastening out to sea.
With this done, she shot a look over her shoulder. The wind caught her hair, the spray from the ocean flecked her cheeks. No one was in pursuit.
She sped away, heart in her throat. Once she was sure that no one was giving chase, she unzipped the bag on her shoulder, withdrew her phone with numb fingers, and quickly placed a call. "Johnny, can you hear me?" She said, her voice shaking.
"Cora? I can't hear you."
She hunched a bit at the helm of the boat skimming over the waves. She shouted, louder, "Can you hear me now?"
"I can hear you. Did you find what you were looking for. Shit, there's all sorts of radio chatter where you're at."
Cora frowned. "If I didn't know better, I would have thought you were concerned for me."
He chuckled a bit. "Good to hear you're still kicking. Did you find him?"
"He got away," she said, her voice tinged with bitterness. She tasted salt and spat. She then said, "I need another favor." Before he could bellyache about this, she continued the ask, "There's a compound, near a small island off the coast of Columbia. It's called Silver Bracelet or something like that. Apparently, there's some sticky jurisdiction. I need the coordinates."
"All right, give me a second. I'm in the john, anyhow."
"Charming," she retorted.
She heard the sound of movement, silence, and then a few minutes passed. She continued over the water, speeding across the ocean with no sign of pursuit.
Then, Johnny spoke again. "Cora, you hear me?"
"Do I want to? Don't forget to wash your hands."
"Very funny. Look, you can't go there."
She was surprised by the severity of his tone. "What do you mean?"
"Which word are you struggling with? Maybe I can define it."
"Do you have the coordinates or not?"
"I mean it, Cora, you don't want to go to this place. It's bad news. I'm looking at some surveillance photos taken by the CIA, and from what I can tell, there's at least thirty armed men there. It's not so much a compound as a militia outpost. You should stay clear."
"No can do. Coordinates."
A heavy sigh. Then, more insistent, "Can't you send this along to someone? What about the FBI?"
"Not happening. The FBI isn't going to listen to me. I'm not exactly in their good graces. Look, I have to do this. You know as well as me, especially if there's jurisdictional gray areas, the American government isn't going to do anything about a few unlucky, lower-class women. Now, coordinates."
"Why are you so damn muleheaded?"
"Maybe it's contagious. I must have learned it from you. Now give me those coordinates, Johnny. I'm serious."
"And here I was, thinking you were joking. All right, I know what you're doing."
"What do you think I'm doing?"
"You know exactly what you're doing."
Cora wrinkled her nose. "Johnny, I'm not in the mood for word games. How about you just give me those coordinates, and I promise I'll stop bothering you."
He made a scoffing sound. "Right, because I'm just going to let you wander off into a compound of soldiers completely unprotected. That's totally going to happen."
Cora frowned. She couldn't quite understand the tone of his voice. He sounded equal parts angry and resigned. But resigned to what?
"Look, you're going to need to resupply anyway…" he trailed off. But then, speaking twice as quickly, if to simply get it out in the air, he said, "Why don't you meet me at the coordinates I sent? It's about thirty minutes away from the compound. But it will give us a chance to tactically assemble."
"What are you talking about?"
"Don't pretend that this wasn't your plan all along."
"What plan, Johnny?"
"Of course, I'm not going to let you go off into a militia compound without backup. What sort of frogman would I be? I want you to hear, for the record, that I've never had any trouble like this from the others."
"Johnny, I'm not asking you to help. Just send me the damn coordinates."
"Sending now. The location is nearby. We'll meet there. I'll bring some body armor, couple of grenades, and maybe some other toys we can use. I mean, Christ, Cora, what am I supposed to do here? Watch you die?"
Cora blinked, partially due to the spray from the ocean, but also in surprise. She hadn't realized Johnny cared. He was always making wisecracks, teasing, and mocking. Besides, the last time they had been together, it had ended like the Hindenburg. She wasn't sure what to make of his offer. In a way, she felt a faint lump in her throat. Standing there, on the boat, at the helm, she realized something. She hadn't taken any pills in a couple of days now. In fact, the adrenaline-laced evening had filled her with a sense of exhilaration that dwarfed the effect of the pills and the alcohol.
Being kicked out of the FBI had only confirmed her worst suspicions—she was alone in this world.
But maybe not as alone as she thought. She hadn't even asked for help. Perhaps, much to her shame. But there Johnny was, offering it regardless.
She said slowly, “You really don't have to."
"Cora, I mean this sincerely, just shut up. I'll meet you there. How far do you think you are?"
"Pretty far. And I'm on a dinky little boat. Full fuel, though. I'd say if I pilot through the night, I should get there sometime tomorrow afternoon. Just send me the coordinates."
And then she hung up, her spine tingling, adrenaline coursing through her system.
CHAPTER TWENTY ONE
Cora watched the blinking light on the map open on her phone. The scent of the ocean had now been replaced with the fragrance of diesel and fuel. The fumes lingered above the wooden docks. A couple of large, rusted ships sat on stilts, halfway up the shore. It was nearly two in the afternoon; now she had been on the move for more than twenty-four hours.
She wondered how many days she could go without a full night of sleep. As tough as her training had been, even a soldier had limits.
She moved with some haste to the side of the wooden dock, coming to a stop where the prow gouged into the splintered wood.
She was too tired to do it properly.
There was the sound of some dockworkers, merrily trading stories and shouting instructions that she couldn't understand.
A few of the men cast glances in her direction.
She ignored them, scanning the dock, looking for—
"Took you long enough," came the leonine voice of her old flame.
She glanced towards a small, wooden kiosk. A man was reading a newspaper clutched in his hand.
The man looked over and she met his gaze.
His hair was longer than she remembered: dark, curling and brushing past his eyes. He had stubble along his chin and a strong, masculine jaw.
He was handsome, though she didn't allow her mind to linger; his hands were calloused and where he was gripping the newspaper, she noted that the pinky finger on his right hand was missing.
He lowered the paper, stretched, and pulled himself to his full height. Six foot even, and he still had the trim physique of an athlete.
"Looking good," he said, nodding slowly and approaching her. There was a wolfish quality to his gaze. An almost predatory look in his eyes that she had always remembered—Johnny was not a safe man. He wasn't a particularly kind man. But he was loyal and deadly.
It was part of what had made their time together fun. Though she wouldn't tell him, part of what was giving her some small sense of gratitude was that he had agreed to come with her. Knowing that he would be at her side was a comfort in and of itself.
He reached into the wooden kiosk and pulled out a larger duffel bag, seemingly made of the same fabric as the one she had.
"Toys?" He asked, raising an eyebrow. He added, "Hohoho."
"All right, Santa," she murmured. "Let's see what you have." Cora watched as he removed the body armor first, handing it to her.
She shot a look at the dockworkers and quirked an eyebrow. He said, "Don't worry about them. They're friends."
Cora took the armor. As she began to tug at her shirt to place the armor on beneath the outer layer, she paused and frowned. "Why are you doing this?"
There was a momentary silence. Even the dockworkers had gone quiet, though Cora could still hear the noise of the water lapping against the dock
Johnny studied her and shook his head. "Why not?"
"No, really. Don't be cute. Why?"
"First, you want me to take you out. Next, you think I'm cute. But for real, I'm not letting you go in alone." Those wolfish eyes studied her, and he flashed a grin that was closer to a leer, showing teeth.
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