Ryker and Brock resurfaced a little over fifteen minutes later, both of their oxygen tanks running on empty. The city looked as distant as it had before, but the surroundings had definitely changed following their underwater swim. Most notably, jostling on the water not twenty yards from them was a huge yacht, over a hundred feet long, its sleek bodywork glistening in the moonlight.
Ryker saw no one in sight at the back deck of the craft and hardly any lights on inside. As expected, given Karaman and his main entourage were partying in the city.
Ryker and Brock glided through the water to the back and, as quietly as they could, pulled themselves out of the sea. They both placed their diving equipment into their backpacks as they remained crouched, looking around, alert to any movement on or off the yacht.
‘OK, let’s get this thing secured and ready,’ Ryker whispered.
Which meant incapacitating anyone who remained on board so they could lie in wait for Karaman to return.
He received a nod from Brock before the two of them moved stealthily toward the closed doors on the lower deck. On the approach, Ryker heard noise above and signaled for Brock to stop. Ryker pointed up. Brock nodded again. Whoever was on the upper deck was coming down the stairs. Ryker and Brock both disappeared into the darkness, Brock closest to the foot of the staircase.
The man’s legs came into view. Dark-clothed. When he was halfway down Ryker spotted the barrel of his rifle, pointed to the floor. Brock sent Ryker a look. Ryker shook his head and only hoped the message was understood.
The next moment and the man reached the bottom of the stairs and turned toward them – still unaware of their presence – and Brock burst into action. And for a big guy, he was remarkably spritely. The guard didn’t see him coming until the last moment and couldn’t even get his hands around the grip of his weapon before Brock prized it away and smacked the guy around the face with the hefty metal butt. It sent him to his knees and Brock lifted the weapon and pummeled the man’s face with it.
‘Stop!’ Ryker hissed and Brock paused midair with the rifle, his teeth bared like a mad dog.
Brock slung the rifle strap over his shoulder and grabbed the man around his neck, choking him.
‘How many of you?’ Brock barked at the captive as Ryker moved over.
No response so Brock took out his knife and stabbed it through the man’s thigh and forced his gloved hand over the guy’s mouth to stifle his scream. Ryker stood there dumbfounded when what he really wanted to do was grab Brock and toss him overboard.
‘I said, how many?’ Brock demanded.
‘Three.’
‘Where?’
‘In… side.’
‘Let’s get him out of sight,’ Ryker said. He took the tranquilizer from his backpack, getting ready to jab it into the guard’s neck.
‘He’s better off awake and talking until we find the others,’ Brock said.
‘Too risky,’ Ryker said. Mainly because he saw no need to allow Brock to torture the guy anymore. He sank the pointed end into the guard’s neck and he squirmed for a few moments, perhaps unsure what was happening to him, before his body went limp in Brock’s grip.
Brock looked angered.
‘Come on,’ Ryker said.
Ryker led the way. Brock cable-tied then dragged the guard through to a kitchen and dining area where they found a storage cupboard to hold him.
Then they both stood there, listening.
‘I don’t hear anyone else,’ Brock said.
Nor did Ryker. But it was a damn big boat.
‘Maybe he’s the only guard,’ Ryker said. ‘Maybe the other two he mentioned are crew.’
But they were standing in the kitchen and there was no sign of anyone else – a cook or waiter – no sign that anyone had been preparing food in there at all.
There was a clunk from somewhere outside. Toward the front of the yacht.
‘Let’s go get him,’ Brock said.
Ryker nodded.
Brock exited first, Ryker a step behind. Ryker and Brock silently signaled to each other, one to go left, the other to the right.
Having split up, Ryker was on the starboard side of the yacht, facing east toward the city lights.
He’d only moved a few yards when he spotted the object in the water. Coming toward them at speed. And he had no way of alerting Brock.
Ryker sped up, moving toward the front of the yacht. With any luck, he’d get there and out of sight before anyone on the approaching dinghy spotted him.
That was the plan, at least, but he was still a few yards from the end of the cabin when he heard banging and then groaning voices ahead. A scuffle. He flinched and ducked when a barrage of gunfire erupted, and he pulled himself up against the wall of the cabin. He looked to the dinghy, only fifty yards away now. They must have heard because a spotlight turned on and pointed his way. Brock burst into view in front of him, rifle in his hands. No sign of who he’d tackled but blood spatters covered his face.
‘I got them both!’ Brock shouted. ‘Go!’ He charged toward Ryker who spun and raced for the back of the yacht.
Shouting came from the approaching boat. Then a cacophony of gunfire. Bullets zinged and clanked all over. Ryker hunkered and then dove for cover on the back deck as Brock opened fire with the rifle.
‘Ryker, take this!’ Brock shouted, careening around the corner and tossing a handgun toward him.
Ryker caught the gun, checked it over.
Brock continued to exchange fire with the dinghy which was all of ten yards away now. Ryker peeked out, gun at the ready, then pulled back for cover again when a bullet lodged in the metalwork right by him.
Then silence. Except for the lapping water at the side of the yacht, and the whir of the dinghy’s engine. Only a whir now, not a roar. Idling.
‘Brock,’ Ryker said.
‘I’m… good.’ Brock came around the corner and slumped down next to Ryker, clasping his upper left arm.
‘You’re hit?’ Ryker said.
‘I’ll be fine. Karaman?’
‘Shit,’ Ryker said.
He jumped up just as the now driverless dinghy nudged against the side of the yacht. It was carnage on there. Four men. Three were riddled with bullet holes and likely dead. Karaman lay slumped at the back, tuxedo on, breathing heavily as a dark patch widened on his white shirt.
‘Told you I was a good shot.’
‘You fucking idiot!’ Ryker shouted a moment before he jumped over the edge onto the dinghy.
Yep, the three others on the boat were definitely dead. But Karaman…
Ryker rushed over to him, crouching down.
‘Let me see.’
He pulled Karaman’s limp hands out of the way, lifted his shirt. The bullet had gone into his side more than into his gut. Good news.
‘We should just finish him off, the terrorist scumbag,’ Brock said. Yeah, Karaman was a terrorist scumbag. But Ryker wondered exactly how much this guy knew of their target because he was sure Winter would have kept things brief, and Ryker certainly hadn’t talked to Brock about it.
He turned and glared as Brock stood on the edge of the yacht, rifle at the ready.
‘You kill him, I kill you,’ Ryker said.
‘You haven’t got it in you,’ Brock said. ‘From what I’ve seen you haven’t got anything at all. I’ve just taken out six men while you sat cowering.’
‘Because this wasn’t a mission to take anyone out! It’s an extraction. Simple as that.’
‘No. You’re just a coward.’
Ryker jumped up and strode over and hopped back onto the yacht and went straight for Brock. The big guy looked undecided, as though he couldn’t tell if Ryker really was about to attack him. Until the last moment when Brock brought the rifle barrel up.
Too late. Ryker grabbed the barrel and swiped Brock’s left foot from the floor. He took hold of Brock’s injured arm and with the man already off balance, twisted the limb around, forcing Brock down as he tried to avoid a broken bone. With Brock’s arm pushed to bursting point, Ryker held his gun next to Brock’s half-ear and pulled the trigger.
Brock screamed from the deafening sound so close to him. At least until Ryker sank down and dug his knee into his neck, all but cutting off his air.
Ryker twisted on the arm a little more and Brock grimaced and groaned in pain as blood dribbled from the inside of his ear.
‘Have I proven myself to you?’ Ryker asked.
Brock said nothing. He couldn’t, really, with Ryker’s weight pressing down on his throat.
‘I asked you a question.’
Brock still didn’t attempt an answer but bucked a little as though he still thought he could fight Ryker off him.
‘An A-OK with your good hand will do,’ Ryker said. ‘Then I get off you.’
Brock hesitated then reluctantly lifted his hand and gave the signal.
Ryker let go and climbed off him.
‘I said no one needed to die,’ Ryker said.
‘They shot first,’ Brock croaked before coughing.
‘Whether that’s true or not, if you don’t follow my orders again, I’ll tear your throat out next time. Got it?’
Brock glared. He glanced from Ryker to the rifle on the yacht’s deck, as though weighing up if he could get to it and fire at Ryker.
‘And if you get the stupid idea to sucker punch me, now or at any point… A whole world of shit will come your way whether you succeed or not. Just do your job, get your money. We won’t ever see each other again after tonight. Yeah?’
‘Yeah,’ Brock said.
‘Now help me get Karaman on board. It’s time to get out of here.’