Hijack, page 9
Connor maintained a sharp watch on his surroundings. A couple of Rollerbladers were speeding along on the path ahead. A pair of rainbow lorikeets screeched in the branches above. A blond surfer with his board tucked under his arm strutted past. He gave Emily the eye until he noticed Connor staring at him.
As they strolled along the shaded avenue of towering pine trees, Emily studied Connor out of the corner of her eye.
“Why do you keep looking up?” she asked eventually.
Connor, who hadn’t realized he was being so obvious, replied, “Dropbears.”
Emily did a double take, then let out a short burst of laughter—her first genuine expression of good humor.
Connor furrowed his brow. “What’s so funny?”
“You are,” she replied. “Dropbears of all things!”
“But my Aussie friend Jason said they were really vicious.”
Emily searched Connor’s face and saw only genuine concern, which made her laugh even harder. “You actually think they’re real. It’s just a joke Aussies tell tourists to scare or confuse them. You Brits are so gullible!”
Connor felt his face flush. He’d been suckered by Jason’s dropbear story. And now he looked like a fool in front of his Principal. This was not a good start to the operation. Emily would think he was a total idiot.
He was snapped out of his thoughts when Emily’s laughter suddenly turned to a scream.
22
The attack happened so fast—and so unexpectedly—that for a split second Connor failed to react . . .
Then his bodyguard training took over. Seizing Emily’s shoulder with his left hand, he wrenched her away from the threat and stepped forward to shield her with his body.
The Rollerblader was a blur as he barreled into Connor. The man grabbed Emily’s Gucci bag and attempted to rip it from her shoulder. His forward momentum spun Connor and Emily around, almost pulling them off their feet.
In an effort to break the Rollerblader’s fierce grip, Connor drove his knuckled fist into the tendons of the man’s wrist. The man, a bare-chested brute with a roaring lion tattoo on his right bicep, grunted in pain but hung on tenaciously. Spinning them around again, he caught Connor across the jaw with his elbow. Connor’s head rocked back, and he tasted blood. The Rollerblader yanked at the bag, and the strap snapped. Emily tumbled to the ground, Connor sprawling on top of her.
“Are you . . . all right?” Connor gasped as he watched the mugger skate away, his loot in tow.
She nodded, then stuttered, “M-my bag . . .”
But the high-speed thief didn’t get far.
Ling, who’d witnessed the attack from a distance, snatched a board from a passing surfer and swung it hard at the escaping thief. The edge slammed with full force into the man’s gut. A pained exhalation burst from his lungs, and he lost his grip on the bag. Nose-diving into the concrete, the skater careered across the path and into a nearby tree trunk.
But no sooner had Ling dealt with this attacker than a second Rollerblader charged in Chloe’s direction.
“Watch out!” Connor bawled at the top of his lungs. But Chloe just stood there, wide-eyed, like a rabbit caught in the headlights.
The Rollerblader, a dome-headed black man with wraparound sunglasses, sped toward her with the force of a battering ram. With only seconds to react, Ling discarded the surfboard and launched herself into his path. Small as she was, she collided hard enough to knock him off course. They both struck the concrete sea wall and toppled over the side. Pile-driving into the sand below and crushing a child’s sand castle, Ling and the Rollerblader fought to disentangle themselves.
Meanwhile, Connor rushed over with Emily to her sister in readiness to protect them both if he had to.
“Stay close to me,” he ordered the girls as Ling and the second Rollerblader battled it out on the beach.
Wrestling in his grip, Ling flipped her head back, catching the skater under the chin. His teeth rattled in his skull, and he roared in fury. Shoving a large hand into Ling’s face, he pushed her away, rolled on top and used his weight to crush her. Ling was pinned, but Connor couldn’t go to her rescue. If he did, he’d be leaving both their Principals unprotected.
He shouldn’t have worried, though. As the man attempted to subdue her, Ling reached down and pinched a nerve point in the middle of his inner thigh. He yelped like a kicked dog and leaped off Ling as if he’d been electrocuted.
“Leave me alone, you wildcat!” he shouted, shocked by her combat abilities.
As Ling flipped to her feet and advanced on him, he snatched in desperation at a handful of sand and threw it into her face. Too close to avoid the attack, Ling staggered away, half blinded. By the time she’d wiped the grit from her eyes, the Rollerblader had stumbled along the beach and up the steps to the boulevard.
Stunned beachgoers stared at the four teenagers, trying to make sense of what had just happened.
“Are you okay?” Connor called to Ling.
“Yes,” she replied, still spitting sand. “Are the twins safe?”
Still buzzing with adrenaline, Connor scanned the area for further threats. Just because they’d fended off this attack didn’t mean the danger was over.
“Yes, it seems all clear.”
The lifeguard was sprinting over, calling the police on his walkie-talkie. A group of beach bums were applauding Ling’s fighting skills as she made her way up the steps. The blond surfer near Chloe was kneeling beside his board, checking it for damage.
But the two Rollerbladers had vanished.
So too had the white pickup truck.
23
“That was no random mugging,” said Connor, nursing his lip with a bag of ice from the hotel’s minibar. Having called Mr. Sterling’s chauffeur, they’d escorted the girls back to their home, a gated mansion on Point Piper. Then the two of them had been dropped off at their hotel in Circular Quay.
“Thieves often work in pairs,” Ling observed as she settled back on her bed and flicked through the TV channels.
“Don’t you think it’s a little suspicious that both the girls were attacked?”
Ling shrugged. “Not really. They were carrying expensive designer handbags. That made them targets. Hey, cool, a Bruce Lee movie!” She tossed aside the remote.
Connor set down his bag of ice. “How can you be so relaxed about all of this?”
“We stopped them. Job done,” said Ling, folding her arms behind her head and focusing on the TV screen. “Now stop worrying and watch the movie.”
“I disagree. There’s everything to be worried about. It can’t be coincidence. The attack had to be planned. What about those men in the pickup truck? Perhaps my instinct was right. Maybe they were carrying out surveillance on us.”
Ling glanced over. “For what purpose?”
“To test our skills.”
Ling sat up and muted the TV. “Are you suggesting that Mr. Sterling would have his own daughters mugged?”
Connor nodded. “Either that or someone else has a personal grudge against the girls. If it’s the latter, then we have a real problem on our hands.”
There was a knock at the door. Connor got up, checked the peephole, then unlocked the latch.
Colonel Black strode in and turned off the TV. “I just got off the phone with Mr. Sterling.”
Connor braced himself for the fallout. Although they’d protected the girls, he knew he’d been slow to react. That stupid dropbear prank of Jason’s had distracted him at the crucial moment. If he’d been tuned in and in Code Yellow, he would have noticed the Rollerblader’s approach, questioned his diversion from the bike path and taken action to remove Emily from the danger zone before the attack. Only Ling’s speedy intervention had kept the Rollerblader from escaping with her bag.
“So what did he say?” Ling prompted.
Colonel Black offered one of his rare smiles. “He was delighted with your reactions today.”
Relieved, Connor slammed a fist into his palm. “I told you!”
The colonel’s brow knotted with puzzlement. “What are you talking about?”
Connor explained his suspicions about the mugging being a setup job.
Colonel Black glanced out the hotel window at the opera house and rubbed his chin. “You have no firm proof. And, judging by my conversation with Mr. Sterling, I’d be surprised. So we must assume a hostile party is involved. Could you identify the men?”
“Yes. Mine had a distinctive lion tattoo on his arm,” replied Connor.
“And I won’t easily forget how bad my guy’s breath smelled!” said Ling, waving a hand in front of her pinched nose.
“But the men in the truck, no,” Connor admitted. “Their bandanas and shades covered most of their faces.”
“Then this is our wake-up call,” said Colonel Black, fixing them with his flint-gray eyes. “Operation Gemini has to be watertight. In the Seychelles, you’ll be surrounded by sunscreen and bikinis, but you must remain focused on the job. Remember, you are not on vacation.”
24
Mr. Wi-Fi whistled in admiration as he examined the Orchid’s specifications online. “This is one fine yacht: one hundred and fifty feet of pure French style and craftsmanship.”
He scrolled down the page, his small rounded eyes sucking in the information.
“Four decks, six guest cabins, a range of four thousand nautical miles, cruising speed of twenty-four knots.” He glanced over the rim of his glasses at the mighty bulk of Spearhead. “That’s fast for its size! Carbon-reinforced hull and superstructure, hot tub, sauna, gymnasium, speedboat, Jet Skis—”
“Just give me the weaknesses,” ordered the pirate, who sat cross-legged beside the computer whiz in Oracle’s makeshift operations room. No more than a whitewashed concrete box, the airless room had a red tiled floor, two barred windows and a bare electric lightbulb that hung from the cracked ceiling like a withered fruit. The bulb flickered, a slave to the fluctuating output of the compound’s generator, and its pale yellow light dimmed over the two plotting men.
Mr. Wi-Fi sucked his teeth thoughtfully. “Well, her top speed is twenty-eight knots. That means your boats will be hard-pressed to outrun her. You’ll need to sneak up in the blind spot of their radar”—he indicated the rear of the vessel on the laptop screen—“to have any hope of getting the jump on them.”
“Leave the battle tactics to me,” grunted Spearhead. “What’s the height to the deck?”
Checking the boat’s dimensions, Mr. Wi-Fi frowned. “The freeboard is quite high for a yacht, over fifteen feet. That might cause some probl—”
“Pah!” Spearhead dismissed, swatting at a mosquito on his neck. “I’ve scaled far higher. No problem.”
“Still, I’d advise taking the Orchid from the stern,” said Mr. Wi-Fi, angling the screen for the pirate to get a better view of the yacht. “See where the hull slopes over the tender garage? That’s her weakest point.”
Spearhead nodded, his marble-smooth brow shining in the glow of the buzzing lightbulb. “How many crew?”
“Ten,” replied Mr. Wi-Fi, pulling up an internal layout of the boat. “Their quarters are in the bow on the lower deck. The bridge is on the upper deck. This plan doesn’t show a citadel, but I’m guessing the best location for a safe room will be either the crew’s quarters here”—he pointed to an area in the bow—“or the master cabin on the main deck. The yacht’s equipped with a satellite Global Maritime Distress and Safety System, DSC radio and EPIRB, so you’ll have to ensure all of those are disabled as soon as you board.”
Spearhead snorted. “Shame we can’t sabotage them beforehand. What about defenses?”
Mr. Wi-Fi laughed. “It’s a pleasure boat, Spearhead. No razor wire or water cannon. You won’t be impressing us with your war stories this time.”
“Where’s the challenge, then?” he said with a sly grin, his teeth appearing like a crescent moon in the twilight.
Mr. Wi-Fi peered over his glasses and replied, “There isn’t any. Compared with a cargo ship, the Orchid’s a sitting duck.”
25
As Connor and Ling stepped from the gangplank onto the main deck of the super-yacht, a portly gentleman in a crisp white short-sleeved shirt with gold insignia, navy-blue trousers and a peaked white cap greeted them.
“Welcome aboard the Orchid. I’m Captain Thomas Locke,” he said, tipping his cap respectfully at Ling. “This here is my chief officer, Danny Fielding.”
A large bearded sailor with a tanned face, wrinkled by sun and salt water, saluted in greeting. “A pleasure to meet you,” he said in a deep, gravelly tone.
The captain gestured toward the third man who completed the welcoming party on deck. “And this is Brad Harding, our ship security officer.”
Tall with a sharp crew cut, Brad appeared every inch the textbook security officer. He possessed a well-honed physique that threatened to split the seams of his white polo shirt. With his anvil-like jaw, he looked as if he could chew through steel. When he offered a calloused hand to shake, Connor all too easily felt the iron strength in the man’s grip.
“I’ve never worked with nippers before,” said Brad, his Australian twang prominent as he beamed a lopsided smile, “but I expect we’ll get on famously.”
Connor and Ling smiled back, a little in awe of the man’s sheer physical presence. “I’m sure we will,” said Ling.
“You’ll be reporting to Brad while on board,” Captain Locke explained. “He’s fully briefed me about your ‘purpose’ on my ship.” His tone hardened slightly. “But as captain I have ultimate authority over all matters of safety and security. If you see something suspicious or there is a security breach of any sort, you’re to report it immediately to either Brad or myself. I do not want you operating on your own. Do you understand?”
Connor exchanged a glance with Ling, both aware they’d need to report any such incidents to Colonel Black and Alpha team too.
“Yes, Captain,” he replied, the correct form of address seeming to allay Captain Locke’s concern.
“Good. Then I expect Mr. Sterling’s vacation to go smoothly,” he said with a satisfied nod. “The rest of the crew, whom you’ll meet tomorrow, aren’t aware of your credentials. They’ve been told you’re special guests of Mr. Sterling’s. I think this is best to maintain your cover and your security function.”
“That’s how we prefer to operate,” said Ling.
Captain Locke tipped his cap again. “Then I’ll leave you in Brad’s capable hands.”
The captain and his chief officer strode off toward a flight of steps leading to the bridge.
“I guess you must have had a long flight,” said Brad, nodding at their crumpled clothes and washed-out faces.
“Twenty-seven hours and three flight changes, to be exact,” replied Ling wearily. Dark shadows ringed her eyes, not surprising given the fact she’d binge-watched movies and only catnapped. Connor had barely slept either, the mysterious double mugging still preying on his mind.
“Well, I’ll just give you a brief tour of the yacht before showing you to your quarters.”
Picking up their bags, Connor and Ling followed Brad across the expansive aft deck. He opened a set of bay doors, and they exchanged the balmy warmth of the tropics for the cool interior of a large salon.
“This is the main living area,” explained Brad as Connor and Ling stared openmouthed at the luxurious decor. White leather couches with lemon-zest scattered cushions took center stage around a low-slung coffee table. At the far end, a white-oak dining table was complemented by a mirrored cocktail bar. Floor-to-ceiling windows on either side let in reams of natural light while offering unbroken views of the Indian Ocean to port and, to starboard, the leisurely comings and goings of the island’s main harbor.
“That’s some view!” gushed Ling, peering through the window at the mist-shrouded peaks of Mahé’s mountains, their lush forested slopes seeming to tumble into the glassy waters of the bay.
“But isn’t this lounge a little exposed?” Connor observed, his bodyguard brain noting the security flaw.
Brad arched a wiry eyebrow at him. “Not bad observation skills, nipper, considering your jet lag. But these are smart windows. Mr. Sterling has a thing for them. Flick of a switch and they become obscure.”
Reaching over to a wall panel, Brad pressed a button and the windows instantly turned white.
“Cool,” said Ling.
Brad ushered Connor and Ling into a large hallway with a curving staircase, one flight leading up, another heading down.
“On this main deck, we also have a galley, study, cabin for Mr. Sterling’s personal bodyguard and, up front”—Brad opened a sleek wooden door—“Mr. Sterling’s personal master suite.”
He stepped aside to allow them a peek into a spacious leather-upholstered bedroom. A wide panoramic window offered a captain’s-eye view of the ocean from the comfort of a king-sized bed. As Connor and Ling tried to take in the sheer opulence of the room, Brad continued his tour. “On the upper deck is the sky lounge, a VIP guest room, the captain’s cabin and the bridge. Above that is the sundeck with another bar, beach chairs and a hot tub.”
“It’s like a five-star hotel!” Ling gasped, unable to believe her eyes or ears.
“For Mr. Sterling and his guests, it certainly is,” Brad replied, winking at her. “But it’s a little more cramped in the crew’s quarters.”
“And that’s where we’re staying?” asked Connor.
Brad laughed. “No, you lucky dogs! For security reasons I’ve kept you close to the girls.” He directed them down the curving staircase to the lower deck. “Emily’s and Chloe’s rooms are just down the corridor from you. These are your cabins.”
