The End Game

14

A popular misconception is that spies are always armed. The spies we all know-James Bond, Napoleon Solo, Jim Phelps, even Maxwell Smart-didn’t just have guns, they also had cigarette cases that turned into grenade launchers, belt buckles that were also lasers, cars that doubled as nuclear submarines, watches that contained antishark sonar and tuxedos that morphed into rocket packs.

The truth is that spies are rarely armed. Operate in a country like China and be found with a gun on your person and you’re going to prison. Chinese prison. Get found in Russia with a gun on you, you’re likely to find yourself breaking ice in Siberia.

Gun laws in Florida aren’t exactly friendly, either. No American state looks kindly on people shooting up city blocks, and diplomatic cloak only goes so far if you happen to embarrass the right people. Generally, the government doesn’t want its people to be aware of the fact that counterintelligence is going on right under their nose. Get arrested for carrying in Miami and you’re likely to stay in jail until your handler can figure out a way to fake your death. You’ll get out eventually, but it might be no easy task.

Being a burned spy carries no such assurances of safety from criminal prosecution. Shoot someone in broad daylight and people are going to ask questions.

I might have guardian angels, as Alex Kyle said, but even they answered to someone; someone who likely would not want to answer to widespread carnage on the streets of Miami.

Use a gun in international or domestic waters, however, and it’s an entirely different standard, particularly if you’re on one boat and the person you’re shooting at is on another. You can be tried as a pirate. Contrary to Jimmy Buffett songs and Disney movies, this is not a good thing.

Piracy laws over the course of the last five years have been modified so that you’re not just committing maritime crimes, you’re actually being looked at under a standard normally reserved for terrorists.

Which is why I wasn’t about to put myself in that situation. But was happy to put Alex Kyle and Christopher Bonaventura there.

It was eleven forty-five a.m. and Biscayne Bay was filled with boats-pleasure yachts, sailboats, catamarans-and revelers. The marina at the Southern Cross Yacht Club was alive with partygoers. The Hurricane Cup, racing from Miami to Nassau over the course of two days, was a traveling party. It started here, in Miami, and over the next twenty-four hours on the open sea, boat to boat, it kept on.

The course was buoyed so the racers would know where to go and the partyers would know where to park. From Miami to Nassau harbor, drinks would roll down throats, money would change hands, and for most people worth millions of dollars, nothing would seem untoward.

Sam was aboard the Pax Bellicosa, but someone important was missing. “Dinino is nowhere,” Sam said when he called from the marina.

“What do you mean nowhere?” I asked.

“Gennaro says he’s always right in the marina for a launch, playing the big guy, but he’s not here.”

It didn’t make sense. He would either be watching the race or..

Up above, I heard the familiar whoop-whoop of a helicopter-there were several in the air covering the event, which made things even more likely to be newsworthy today-and a thought occurred to me.

“Why don’t you ask Gennaro if the family has a helicopter,” I said.

“You think he’s flying to the Ottone yacht?”

“That would be my play. Kill the girls himself if he has to.”

“Not even Bonaventura would let him do that,” Sam said.

“That’s the hope,” I said. In the background, I heard an announcement telling all the racers to make final preparations. “You better get moving.”

“Right. And hey, Mikey?”

“Yeah Sam?”

“If it turns out everything is aces here,” he said, “I’m just letting you know I’m prepared to give a portion of my cut of the winnings to a charity of your choice.”

“Still not happening,” I said and hung up. The reality of the situation was that I wasn’t convinced Gennaro could win on his own regardless. Once everyone was safe, once he knew his wife and child would be fine and that he wasn’t looking at running from Christopher Bonaventura the rest of his life, the odds were that he’d relax, lose that laser focus of fear and would probably just race.

In a fairytale, he’d win. But I felt I knew Gennaro now and if he said he wasn’t as good as the best on the water, I was inclined to believe him.

A large, all black party boat came up along our stern, rock music blaring. I looked and saw bodies writhing on the top deck. It was as if a nightclub sprung out of the clear blue ocean. No one seemed the least bit concerned about anything, which is perhaps because they hadn’t yet noticed the rickety boat from the mid-1970s floating nearby, the only passengers Fiona and me… and Virgil.

“Thanks for inviting me to the party,” Virgil said.

“My pleasure,” I said.

We’d departed from South Beach hours before but were just a few miles outside Government Cut, waiting for the racers to launch and come our way. They all moved at the same leisurely pace until they hit the open water and then the competition actually began. The first leg out of Miami was strictly show. A floating nightclub would only go so far. Right here was about the limit.

Our main goal was just to locate the Ottones’ yacht. Now more than ever, with the idea that Dinino might be aboard, I needed to make sure Bonaventura’s men got there. They might kill Dinino, but they’d never touch Maria and Liz.

The yacht was due to come through this shipping lane any moment now en route to the mouth of Government Cut for Maria to see her husband, which was her ritual. There was only another eight miles of sea between here and international waters, which meant I had a very narrow amount of ground to work in. I was confined to Miami by the government, but I was also confined by my enemies.

Both would shoot me.

Not much of a party.

“How’s your mom doing?”

“Good,” I said.

“I haven’t been able to see her for a bit,” Virgil said. “I’ve been doing some business in Pensacola.”

“Good,” I said. Fi and I were looking through binoculars now for any site of the Ottones’ ship. If Maria and Liz were going to be at Government Cut in time for Gennaro to stream by, that meant Bonaventura was likely to make his move immediately, too. All he needed to do was secure the ship.

And that would be enough to get him arrested.

But I needed to be there in case something, anything, went wrong. I’d promised Gennaro his wife and child would be safe and I wasn’t going to leave it solely in the hands of Christopher Bonaventura, or Alex Kyle, to make that happen. Plus, as soon as Alex Kyle saw us coming close, he was sure to redouble his efforts to stop the Ottones’ ship.

“She said you two were going to start doing more bonding exercises,” Virgil said.

“Uh-huh.”

“Just want you to know I am in absolute support of that,” he said. “Man to man. It’s good to have positive relationships with your mama. Know what I mean?”

“Virgil,” I said, “no offense? But this isn’t a conversation I really want to have with you right now.”

“No problem, Mike,” he said. He put a big paw on my shoulder. “Whenever you want to talk.”

He walked back to the front of the boat and I kept my eyes on the water, as did Fi.

Everyone was silent for a time.

“He’s just trying to be kind, Michael,” Fi said.

“Not talking about this,” I said.

“You know, that’s your prone position, Michael,” Fi said. “It’s like that fellow from Target. What was his name?”

“Davey,” I said.

“Right. Now there was a person just trying to connect with you and you were just rude to him.”

“Fiona,” I said, “can’t this wait?”

“All we’re doing is staring at the sea. We can talk and stare.”

“Fine,” I said.

“Fine,” she said. Now she was mad. It’s never easy to work with people you used to sleep with. She was silent again for a time. Virgil was now spitting dip into a small cup, which I guess is how he relaxes in tense situations. “I’m just saying,” she continued, “that it would be nice if every now and then you admitted that it was your fault when lines of communication break down.”

“Are we talking about us or about my mother and I or about me and Virgil?” I said.

“All of it,” she said.

“Fine,” I said. I was scanning back and forth across the horizon, as was Fiona, which was good since that way we didn’t have to look at each other. “From now on, I’m an open book.”

“I’d find that more convincing if…” she stopped. “Five o’clock. Do you see that?”

Cutting through the water was a gold Chris-Craft Cobra speedboat. I trained my binoculars on it. I couldn’t make out faces, but I could tell there were five men on the boat and none of them had body types that screamed pleasure seekers.

“Virgil,” I shouted, “that’s our target.”

He put down his dip cup and came next to me. “Fast son of a bitch.”

“It’s from this century and everything,” I said.

The best boat to have in a situation like this would be a boat made for stealth tracking. Something like a Night Cat, a twenty-seven-foot boat with twin 300 horsepower engines that purr instead of roar, so that the person you’re tracking doesn’t get the impression that a Nimitz Class is on their ass. A Night Cat can turn at 41 degrees per second, which makes it about as responsive as the muscles that make you blink.

But that would only be if you didn’t want to be seen. I needed Alex Kyle to see me. To know we were making our move on Maria and Liz.

“Let’s rock and roll!” Virgil bellowed and gunned the engine, or as much as you can gun an engine on a fourteen-foot Pinecraft whose best days were probably pre-disco. A plume of blue smoke belched from the engine and a sound like an entire NASCAR race starting soon followed.

The men on the Cobra turned their heads. It was that loud. And that was fine.

“Don’t worry,” Virgil said. “Once she gets moving, she moves.”

“Ship on the horizon,” Fi said. “Six o’clock. Practically the size of an island.”

Through my binoculars I could see a boat of at least four hundred feet in length. It was black from the waterline, its steel hull looming with uncommon grace. Above the hull were five floors of living space (and likely, entertainment) space. The floors were a blinding white, which gave the entire ship the appearance of a tuxedo in the water.

“You need to get that Cobra as close to that ship as possible; push it right into its line,” I said to Virgil.

“That wasn’t part of the deal Sam put out,” Virgil said. “I thought we were just intercepting.”

“We are,” I said. “And pushing.”

“I’d like to avoid jail time for causing a death on the sea,” Virgil said.

“Not going to happen,” I said. “All we want is for the men in that Cobra to stop the Ottones’ ship and board it. You get that Cobra into a position to make that happen.”

Virgil smiled. “You’re a devious man, Mike.”

I checked my watch. The time was now. We had calls and e-mails to send. I called Gennaro. I had five minutes before he’d launch. “I can see your wife’s boat,” I said.

“Is she safe?”

“She will be.”

“What do I do?”

“Race,” I said. “Just race. Win or lose. It’s on you alone now.”

“And my wife is safe?”

“Yes,” I said. Now I just had to make sure it happened. Gennaro put Sam on the phone. “Tell Darleen these coordinates,” I said and rattled off our location. A woman like Darleen was already waiting somewhere out in the water, so it would only be a matter of moments, I was certain, for this to all happen.

“Got it, Mikey,” he said. “Be safe.”

“What fun is that?” I said. “See you after you get back from Nassau.”

I called Barry and told him to begin the flood. In minutes, a crime family with terrorist connections, that Nicholas Dinino was transferring large sums of cash to, which was probably placing large sums of money in illegal betting on the Pax Bellicosa losing, would be under investigation by every bank in the world.

“Send the pictures,” I said to Fiona, which she did from her cell phone. In a few seconds, Nicholas Dinino wouldn’t just be in trouble with the mob and terrorists, he’d be in the process of getting cut out of the Ottone empire, probably before he ever saw land again.

We’d caught Nicholas Dinino. Now it was about finishing the race.

The difference between chasing someone and intercepting someone is all about angles. When you chase someone, you’re naturally in a passive position. You can only act when they act. You have no control over the flow of the chase.

But when you’re intercepting someone, you dictate the angle of pursuit. Which is why instead of trying to catch Alex Kyle’s Cobra from behind, we were actively pushing it toward Ottones’ ship, cutting across the water at a 45-degree angle, so that we would T-bone the Cobra. The goal was to ensure not that they were forced to engage us, but that they were forced to make the Ottones’ ship stop, that they would board the ship to protect Maria and Liz, likely find Nicholas Dinino, and, if all happened in good timing, do so in front of the FBI.

But first it had to happen.

We sliced through the water, the front of the boat bouncing into the air as we crossed over whitecaps, the Cobra coming clearer into view, the Ottones’ ship looming larger in the distance.

And then my cell phone rang.

It wasn’t a number I recognized.

“You’re getting very close to the edge,” a woman’s voice said when I answered.

“Not much farther,” I said.

“You have three minutes.” This time it was a man.

I tossed the phone into the water.

“Your mother?” Fi said.

“No,” I said.

She dug into a cabinet at her feet and pulled out a life vest. “Put your floaties on,” she said.

“I’m fine,” I said.

The Cobra was now only about fifty yards from us, close enough that I could make out the faces of the men on board. It was easier when Alex Kyle turned and smiled at me. The Cobra banked left, then right, trying to shake us but Virgil’s little engine could and we kept up, drawing closer to their flank.

The Ottones’ ship let out a bellow. We were both getting perilously close to it at this point.

Virgil looked back at me, worry on his face. “Go,” I said. “We have to make this happen or everyone dies.”

It was a fact I hadn’t quite considered, but that was seeming more and more true, now that I could make out a helipad on the bow of the Ottones’ yacht, a forest green chopper sitting at rest.

I was certain it was Nicholas Dinino.

If I didn’t get Alex Kyle and his men on that ship, there was no stopping Bonaventura from exacting vengeance, sometime, somewhere, for all of this. And if those men didn’t get on the ship, there was a good chance Dinino would kill Maria and Liz. Bonaventura most likely told Kyle to watch the boat, make sure I didn’t board it. Make sure I didn’t kill anyone.

Alex Kyle knew the truth. He knew what I was capable of and what I was unlikely to do, but he was following orders. We had to make it look like we were heading for that boat to do what we had to do.

Overhead, I heard the whooping of helicopters. The sky was alive with them now, television coverage beaming images around the world, but there’s a different sound between the nice choppers TV stations use and military transports.

Alex Kyle looked up, too, and pointed. And then turned and pointed at me, like a warning.

And maybe it was.

Fi’s cell phone rang.

“Don’t answer it,” I said.

Virgil’s cell phone rang and he just tossed it overboard. “I got the message,” he said.

The Ottones’ ship bellowed again. We had twenty yards between us and the Cobra, another three hundred before we were in the path of the cruise liner.

“Turn,” I said very calmly to Virgil, “put us right in the path of the ship.”

“We’ll have maybe fifteen seconds and that’s it,” he said. “This girl doesn’t do tricks.”

“That’s all we need,” I said.

Virgil spun our boat towards the Ottones’ ship.

My assumption was that the ship’s captain would make the only correction he could-back towards the Cobra, which it did. The Cobra was a gymnast; it would be able to draw back and around the big ship without a problem.

Well, some problems.

“Get us out,” I yelled to Virgil and he cranked us back towards Miami, the boat lurching, the engine spitting out more blue smoke into the air.

We could hear the engine on the Ottones’ ship sputtering. If the captain were smart-and if the Ottones’ employed him and he wasn’t in the tank to kill Maria and Liz, he was-he’d throw the engine into reverse and kill it, stopping the forward momentum as much as possible. Which is what it sounded like was happening as the engines of the big yacht ground audibly, the captain trying to get it to decelerate any way he could.

The Cobra was fast enough to get out of the way and then circled back around the lumbering ship. I watched the Cobra pacing the cruise liner, which had slowed considerably. Through the binoculars I could see Alex on the radio and his men standing upright with shoulder-fired spearguns aimed above the hull of the ship. They were dressed to rappel, which meant they were planning to board shortly.

“It’s too bad,” Fiona said.

“What is?” I said.

“That Alex Kyle fellow,” she said. “He seemed like the kind of person we might like in a different situation.”

“Maybe he’ll come back and try to sell some plutonium,” I said. I was still watching when he gave the signal and his men fired their spears into the deck of the boat. They weren’t shooting to harm, but to set up rappelling lines. Within seconds, Kyle’s teams was scaling the side of the hull.

“Nice form,” Virgil said.

“We never get to do fun things like that,” Fi said.

“I have a feeling this will be the last time these men get the chance,” I said. Just then a military helicopter swept down in front of the ship and hovered above the stern. Another came to the bow. There were three in the air now and I could make out a Coast Guard cutter screaming in from the east, another from the south. “I think they’ve just acted as pirates in the service of a Mafia boss.”

Fi’s phone began to ring and she handed it to me.

I looked at the caller ID. Restricted. Big surprise.

“Hello?” I said, as chummy as possible.

“Stay,” said the woman’s voice. “Enjoy the race.”

“I think I will,” I said and then tossed the phone into the sea.