Primary Target

46

After refueling the helo late in the afternoon at Daytona Beach, Jackie and Scott continued searching for the elusive yacht. They passed a number of Coast Guard and Navy helicopters that were zigzagging in search of the 126-foot Broward. Scott and Jackie also encountered the Coast Guard cutter Legare, the CG patrol boats Metomkin and Key Largo, and the Navy frigates Taylor and Samuel B. Roberts combing the waters along Florida’s stunning upper east coast.

Abeam the Ponte Vedra Inn & Club, Scott trained the binoculars on a distant yacht. “Come port about ten degrees.”

“What is it?” Jackie asked as she made a small heading change.

“Here,” he said, handing her the binoculars. “I’ll take it for a minute.”

She relinquished the controls and focused on the ship. “It looks like the same one, with a different paint scheme and name.”

“Let’s check it over,” Scott said as he gave her the controls. “Figuring their normal speed against ours, this may be the jackpot.”

“I hope you’re right.” Making a gentle descent, Jackie rapidly closed on the yacht and looked at the name boldly painted across the transom. “Sweet Life sure doesn’t look like the one we photographed.”

“That’s probably why no one has been suspicious of it.”

Jackie made a small course correction to fly by the right side of the yacht. “You’d think someone would have at least investigated it.”

“Not if it doesn’t fit the description,” he suggested. “Yachts can spell trouble for a skipper, especially if you stop one and find a bevy of congressmen on a ‘monkey business’ cruise.”

“Yeah, that could destroy a career, depending on who happened to be onboard the yacht.”

As they approached the ship, Scott caught sight of a pair of shapely blondes lounging on the large sundeck. “That’s interesting,” he said lightly as the young women waved at the helicopter.

“Well, don’t fall out,” Jackie teased as Scott returned the friendly waves. “This is obviously not the same one.”

“I don’t know,” Scott said as he placed his Sig Sauer next to his right leg. “There isn’t anyone else on the deck.”

“So?”

“Have you ever seen two attractive young women on a boat — any kind of boat — who weren’t surrounded by guys?”

A long silence followed before Jackie banked the LongRanger to the left and headed back to the yacht. “I never thought about it that way.”

“That’s because you’re used to it.” Scott chuckled. “You’ve always been surrounded by guys who were drooling over you.”

Her glance sliced to him. “I haven’t seen you drool.”

“I only do that late at night,” he said with a brief smile. “Let’s slow down and circle this baby a couple of times. Maybe someone will come out on deck to see what we’re about.”

“I don’t want to get too slow,” Jackie cautioned as she banked into a gentle turn. “It’s too hard to regain energy quickly enough.”

“You sound like a fighter pilot.” He grinned good-naturedly.

She turned her head and gave him a slow smile. “That’s because I am a fighter pilot.”

After a slight hesitation, Massoud Ramazani reached for an AK-47 and stepped to the side of the short passageway leading to the bridge. He glanced at the captain and saw the fear in the man’s eyes.

“Stay on course,” he ordered as his heart pounded a little harder. “There’s something familiar about the people in that—” He stopped in sudden shock when he recognized the woman. “It’s them, the man and woman who were flying the floatplane!”

Temporarily paralyzed, the skipper found his voice a few seconds later. “The people who flew over us after our helicopter left?”

“Yes,” Ramazani said curtly.

“What are we going to do?”

Ignoring the question, Ramazani checked the ocean in every direction. The closest boat, a smaller yacht, was at least two miles from Sweet Life.

“Come left five degrees and slowly increase our speed.” If I walk out on deck, they’ll recognize me.

“I’ll take the wheel,” Ramazani said as he stepped toward the captain’s chair. “Take our guests some water or something, and wave and smile at the helicopter.”

“Are you sure?”

“Yes,” Ramazani snapped in a sharp voice. “Act like you’re having the time of your life.”

The nervous skipper looked confused.

“Do it!” Ramazani ordered as he selected VHF on the aircraft scanner and increased the volume of the VHF marine radio. He noted the side number of the helo and gradually advanced the throttles. Just go away and don’t cause any problems.

Jackie and Scott were about to start the second circle when a man with four gold stripes on each shoulder walked out of the bridge, waved a couple of times, then headed toward the built-in wet bar on the sundeck.

“If he isn’t from the Middle East,” Scott said with concern in his voice, “I’ll buy you dinner every night for the next month.”

“That’s the same kind of boat, no question about it,” Jackie said as she kept the turn fairly tight. “What do you make of the blondes onboard?”

“Who knows? Most men — regardless of their persuasion or age — enjoy attractive young women.”

She studied the yacht for a few seconds. Other than the color of the paint, how many yachts look like the one we saw in the Florida Keys? Not many of this size. “Maybe we should notify the Coast Guard and keep this guy in sight until they can check him out.”

“That’s probably the best thing to do,” Scott agreed as he reached for the handheld marine radio, then keyed the transmit button to talk to the closest vessel they had seen. “Coast Guard cutter Legare, this is Bell Three-Niner-Five-Tango. Coast Guard cutter Legare, LongRanger Three-Niner-Five-Tango.”

Ramazani’s eyes flashed cold fear when he heard the call go out to the Coast Guard. Reacting from a combination of instinct and desperation, he grabbed one of the two portable antiaircraft missiles and raced for the passageway leading to the door. Without slowing down, he ran out on the wide sundeck and launched the missile at the LongRanger.

The missile tried to make a tight course correction, but it had been launched too close to the helicopter. When it flashed by the cockpit, Jackie and Scott flinched.

“Whoa,” Jackie exclaimed as she instinctively lowered the nose to gain speed and put some distance between the helo and the yacht. She was nursing maximum power out of the LongRanger when another missile slashed over the top of the helo.

“Stay low and accelerate!” Scott insisted as he turned to look at the yacht. “Let’s get tail-on to him!”

“Who’s flying this thing?” Jackie exclaimed.

“I believe we just found Ramazani,” Scott said loudly as he reached for his Sig Sauer.

“You really think so?” she asked with a hint of sarcasm.

He twisted around to catch a glimpse of the yacht. “Start a level turn to the left and we’ll approach from the bow.”

“Are you nuts?”

“Not completely.”

Pulling all the power she could muster from the Allison turbine, Jackie banked the helo into a tight left turn.

The marine VHF radio suddenly came alive. “Bell helicopter calling Coast Guard cutter Legare, say again.”

Scott grabbed the radio. “Bell Three-Niner-Five-Tango has come under fire from the motoryacht Sweet Life three miles northeast of Ponte Vedra Beach! There are terrorists onboard the Sweet Life, and we request immediate assistance! Do you copy?”

“Stand by,” the startled radio operator said.

“We don’t have time to stand by!” Scott shot back. “I need to speak to your commanding officer! This is an emergency!”

The urgent request was met with silence.

“Damn,” Scott said as he tossed the radio aside and looked at the two women. “They don’t have a clue,” he said to Jackie as the two college students scrambled down a ladder leading to the yacht’s wide transom. “We have to try to persuade them to jump before Ramazani kills them.”

“Or takes them hostage,” she added, glancing at the frightened women. “He’s on his way to the transom!”

Scott raised the binoculars to his eyes. “He’s carrying a rifle, so they may be out of missiles.

“Start a climbing left turn to take us over the yacht,” Scott said as he unlatched the door. “At the apex of our climb, let it drift over the top while I fire straight down on him.”

Jackie nodded as she called Jacksonville Approach Control and flew the helo into a position where Scott could get a clear shot.

With the AK-47 in his hand, Ramazani was crossing the open aft deck when Scott opened fire, startling the Islamic militant. He fled into the main salon as the two women cowered in a corner of the transom.

“Make a low pass across the stern,” Scott said as he gave Jackie the marine radio, then clambered into the back of the helicopter.

“Here we go,” Jackie warned Scott as she explained the situation to the surprised air traffic controller.

Scott opened the aft door and waited until they were almost directly behind the yacht, then shoved the door open and put his hands together in a diving motion.

Confused and panicked by the sudden arrival of the helicopter and the unexpected chaos, the women froze in place.

“Oh, shit,” Scott said as he saw Ramazani emerge from the salon and wave the rifle at the women. Scott opened fire, striking Ramazani in the right forearm.

“They jumped,” Jackie exclaimed as the two women leaped off the stern. ‘They’re in the water.”

“I’ll toss them our raft!” Scott said as he reached for the bright yellow carrying case. “Put me slightly upwind from them.”

“You got it,” she said, ignoring the Coast Guard calls and the Jacksonville approach controller. “I have to get on the sat-phone and see if I can reach Hartwell.”

Before Scott could answer, a round shattered the right passenger door window while small geysers of water began erupting around the women.