Piranha

17

When Linc got the call from Eric, he and Eddie were approaching Ian Fleming International Airport, named to honor northeastern Jamaica’s most famous resident. They were only a few miles away from the GoldenEye resort, Linc on his custom-built Harley and Eddie on a top-of-the-line model rented from Montego Bay’s new dealer. The plan was to get a prime spot at the pool bar, consume a burger and a martini, shaken not stirred, and take in the view of both the oceanographic and bikini-clad varieties. Instead, they’d have to turn around and head straight back to the Oregon. But they first had to contend with the tail they’d picked up.

During the winding trip along the coast, they’d tested the limits of their bikes, dodging other drivers who paid only minimal attention to the rules of the road. It was a laid-back ride until they reached Ocho Rios, where two guys on a pair of Suzuki crotch rockets had fallen in behind them, careful to maintain a respectful distance. Instead of a T-shirt and shorts, each of them was wearing a black leather jacket that was far too heavy in this heat.

Linc and Eddie had spotted them almost immediately. It was certainly possible that they were simply motorcycle enthusiasts out for a nice jaunt like they were, but a little variation of speed confirmed that the Suzuki riders were mirroring their pace. Eric’s call about the two run-ins with attackers made it clear that these tails would attempt to succeed where their colleagues had failed.

In this case, Linc thought the best defense was a good offense.

He voice-dialed Eddie. Both of them were equipped with cell phone earbuds under their helmets. Linc related the situation from Eric.

“That’s what they get for underestimating Linda,” Eddie said.

“Now we have to figure out what to do with our two buddies behind us. What do you think they’re planning?”

“If I were them, I’d make it clean and simple. They’re probably waiting for us to stop. Double taps with pistols. Those bikes lend themselves to an easy getaway.”

“You think they know we’re unarmed?”

“They’re probably assuming it.”

“True, but uncertainty is our friend.”

“The sniper has to be making the same type of warning call to them that Eric gave us,” Eddie said. “Which means whatever they’re planning is going to happen sooner rather than later.”

“What do you say we make it sooner than they think?”

“It sounds like you have an idea.”

As they passed the airport, Linc outlined his plan to Eddie. They couldn’t simply outrun the gunmen. The Harleys were quick, but the Suzukis were faster and more nimble. Shooting from a moving bike was a challenge, but if their pursuers got close enough, all it would take was a couple of lucky shots to take down Linc and Eddie.

“I give it a fifty-fifty shot at working,” Linc said. Actually fifty-fifty might have been optimistic, but they didn’t have many options.

“I’ll take those odds when we’re not even bringing knives to the gunfight.”

“The map showed a hairpin turn about a mile before the resort,” Linc said. “That’ll be the best place to try this.”

“It’s all in the execution.”

“When you put it that way, it doesn’t sound so good.”

“Let me rephrase. It’s all in the implementation.”

“Better.”

They kept pace behind a produce truck that was puttering along. The Suzukis stayed back a hundred yards, two cars behind them. No doubt the two riders were talking about advancing their timetable.

No matter what they had in mind, it wouldn’t be soon enough. The hairpin was just ahead.

“Ready?” Linc asked.

“Ready.”

“Let’s go.”

Linc gunned his bike and snapped around the produce truck with Eddie hot on his heels. They pulled in front of the truck just in time to avoid getting smashed by another semi heading in the opposite direction. They continued accelerating around the curve until the Suzukis disappeared in his rearview mirror.

With one hand, he flipped open his saddlebag and snatched up two chains that he used to lock up the wheels of his bike when he went riding in more unsavory ports of call.

Eddie nudged close enough to take one of the chains from Linc. Fifty yards from the end of the hairpin, they skidded to a stop and made a U-turn. Since Jamaica’s roads were left-oriented like the British, Linc got into the left lane while Eddie drove along the right shoulder so he could wield the chain while keeping his hand on the bike’s right-hand throttle. Linc would have the tougher task of whipping the chain over his head. He could feel his knuckles crack as his left hand gripped the end of the chain.

As they expected, the Suzukis barreled around the hairpin ready to give chase. The surprise of seeing their targets heading toward them provided enough hesitation. Their hands plunged into the jackets and came out with semiautomatics, but it was too late.

Eddie spun the chain around sideways like a lasso and let it fly right as the Suzuki was passing him. The chain caught on the front fender of the bike and wrapped itself around the spokes. The Suzuki launched its rider over the handlebars into the air, cartwheeling end over end before it landed on the screaming gunman, who went silent.

Linc twirled his chain over his head as he rode at his pursuer. The gunman got off two wild shots that missed their mark before Linc’s chain smashed him in the helmet. The man’s head snapped backward and he somersaulted off the bike, which kept going as if it had a phantom riding it before veering off into the trees.

Linc returned to his assailant. If possible, they needed to find out who was behind these attacks and how they had known exactly where everyone in the Oregon crew would be.

When he got to the gunman, he saw there would be no interrogation. His neck was bent at an impossible angle for a breathing human being. Linc jogged over to Eddie and found him kneeling over the other Suzuki rider. Eddie had removed the rider’s helmet.

“Is he alive?” Linc asked.

“Not for long.”

Linc could see why. The Suzuki had crushed the man’s stomach. The internal injuries had to be extensive.

“Who are you?” Eddie asked him.

The man spit back in French.

Linc looked at Eddie. “Do you know what he’s saying?”

“I don’t speak a word of French. But we’ll find out.” He subtly glanced at his phone. The recording light was on. The gunman babbled for another twenty seconds, then coughed up blood and gurgled out a death sigh.

Traffic was slithering around the carnage, and crowds had started to gather.

“Let’s get out of here,” Eddie said.

“I’d take the guns, but I don’t think I want to explain how we got them if the police stop us.”

“Good point.”

Once they were on their Harleys and heading back toward Montego Bay, they called Eric.

“We got rid of our tail,” Eddie said matter-of-factly. “No casualties on our side.”

“Is everyone accounted for?” Linc asked.

“Mark’s still trying to raise Juan and Max,” Eric said. “Linda and Julia just arrived at the dock. That leaves Hali, MacD, and Mike Trono.”

“Where are they?”

“Still at that bar on the Hip Strip. MacD texted me that they have a situation.”