Brute Force

Chapter 43

Thibodaux let his body glide in the wake of the skiff as Benavides turned wide to come up alongside the prison boat, a looming shadow in the black water.

A halogen light turned on at their approach, illuminating Joey Benavides and a slouching Emiko Miyagi, who wore the cutout hood and held her hands together behind her back as if she was restrained. In truth, she held the short sword vertically under a light jacket to keep it out of sight. With the scuba regulator in his mouth, Thibodaux was able to stay low on the shadowed side of the skiff, with just his mask and the top of his head above the surface.

Two men, each wearing uniform navy blue polos and khaki slacks, waved up the new arrival, their grins visible in the light as they saw it was a female prisoner. Both had short weapons Jacques thought were H&K UMPs, but he couldn’t be sure from his vantage point.

“Who’s this?” One of the men said, throwing Joey a line.

“Miyagi,” Joey said. “She’s wanted as part of all that shit with Winfield Palmer.”

“Good catch.” The other man whistled under his breath. “Maybe this will calm down the boss. He was in a pissy mood when he got here and then that Cuban bitch killed Stig.” He snapped his fingers at Miyagi, ordering her to stand up.

“I… I am afraid I’ll fall,” she said, shuffling her feet. Jacques swam under the skiff, waiting just beneath the boarding steps.

“Clumsy bitch,” the man nearest the skiff mumbled, reaching to grab a handful of Miyagi’s shirt. Lurking in the shadows at the rear of the skiff, Thibodaux watched as the man dragged her aboard, assisted by the second guard. Neither of them checked her handcuffs, but Thibodaux knew that only postponed their deaths until they were past the cameras that covered the boarding ladder. Joey Benavides was all knees and elbows as he followed Miyagi up on deck — his face stricken with fear. He looked like he might topple overboard at any moment.

Once he knew Miyagi had everything well in hand, Thibodaux ducked beneath the surface and swam through the dark water to the aft swim-step where he would have a clear line of fire to the agent standing night guard up on the top deck. Bracing his elbows on the edge of the step, he tilted the barrel to let any water drain, then aimed at the orange glow of the cigarette where it illuminated the guard’s sweating face. He fired once, watching the man sway for a moment before slumping forward to disappear behind the metal railing. Far from Hollywood-quiet, subsonic ammo and a heavier recoil spring would render the suppressed Glock’s single report little more than a question mark to anyone who happened to be listening out on deck. The thud of the guard falling above was likely to raise more suspicion.

Less than half a minute from the time Miyagi stepped aboard, Thibodaux returned the Glock to the holster. Still in water, he shrugged off the dive gear and clipped it to a cleat on the rear corner of the step, leaving it accessible in the event he and Miyagi needed to make a wet exit in a hurry.

The dry suit didn’t absorb water like neoprene so he was able to move quickly once he’d pressed himself up on the fantail. He left the Glock holstered, relying on the MP 10 now that he was aboard. The suppressor on the H&K was really more to protect his hearing than silence the weapon. Harsh experience had taught him that the adrenaline-pumping environment of close-quarters battle made it all too easy for someone to assume they hadn’t been shot if they didn’t hear a loud bang — even with three or four slugs in the belly. Oh, they would go down eventually, but a man could stir up a lot of mayhem before he realized he was actually dead.

Miyagi met Thibodaux as he rounded the corner of the main house, padding up the narrow companionway past the boarding gate to the main entrance to the vessel. He had to step over the body of a very dead Joey Benavides.

He looked up at Miyagi.

“He lost his nerve the moment the door opened,” she whispered. “As I knew he would.”

Thibodaux wasted no more thoughts on the sleazy turd, following the little Japanese woman in through the open door.

Boats, even relatively small vessels in the seventy-foot range like this one, made acceptable black site prisons because they could be moved. They were basically surrounded by their own moat, making them difficult to approach. The disadvantage was lack of space, with no room for the two-door mantrap-style entries of a conventional prison facility. On a prison boat, there might be a camera on the main door and a guard behind it, but once inside, you were right on top of him. Miyagi had taken care of the inside man, the guards who had greeted her, and Benavides the moment the door had opened.

According to Benavides, they were holding Garcia belowdecks, forward, where Agent Walter liked to do his work. There were supposed to be other prisoners as well, behind the engine room in tiny cells that ran on either side of the boat all the way aft. Senator Gorski would be there if she was still alive.

Miyagi led with her blade, moving silently. Thibodaux brought up the rear, ready to employ the H&K when it became necessary. A circular staircase ran downward to their right, disappearing into darkness. It would lead to the cells Benavides told them about. A wooden bulkhead obscured the view to their left, toward the bow of the boat. Thibodaux could hear voices, laughing about something. It soon became evident they were playing some kind of card game.

Miyagi inched sideways, cutting the pie until she could get a visual on what was around the corner. She ducked back and held up three fingers — letting Jacques know there were three guards. The knocking thrum of the auxiliary engine, along with their own conversation, left the guards unable to hear their compatriots fall less than twenty feet away.

Miyagi let the blade of her short sword trail behind her, as if she was dragging it along. Thibodaux had watched her do such a thing many times, just before she attacked.