Sleeper Cell Super Boxset Page 3

  “Whatever you’re doing. Whatever you’re planning. I won’t have any part of it.”

  “That’s because you lack the proper incentive.” The pirate smiled and pulled out a small square of faded paper, and when he flipped it around and placed it in front of Dylan for him to see the faces of his children, Dylan lunged for him but was too slow, and the side of a pistol smacked into the back of his head. “Our GPS is no longer functional. You will take us to the coordinates on the map, and if you don’t, then I will kill your children myself.”

  The pirate dropped the picture, and it twirled in a spiral to the deck. Dylan retrieved it from a small puddle and wiped the photograph on his shirt, drying its worn and faded edges. He gently rubbed his thumb over their faces then tucked the picture safely into his pocket as the pirate who’d held the knife to his neck shoved him violently.

  Dylan jumped to his feet and gave a forceful shove back. The pirate raised his pistol, but before it escalated any further, the head pirate spoke in their foreign tongue and then untied Mark and Billy’s restraints, taking their blindfolds off.

  “You two all right?” Dylan asked.

  “Yeah,” Mark answered. Billy simply nodded, eyeing the bloodstain on the deck where Tank had been shot. Dylan handed Mark the map as the three reboarded their ship, now heavy with four pirates and whatever else the pirates had stored below deck while they were tied up.

  While Mark and Billy untied the ropes from the cleat connecting the two vessels, the pirates exchanged their pistols for AK-47s, and each of those barrels was aimed at one of them at all times. The lead pirate joined Dylan in the wheelhouse, and once the distressed vessel was behind them, both Billy and Mark were sent below deck with their guards.

  “How long?” the pirate asked.

  “We should get there before morning,” Dylan answered, although he was in no hurry.

  “It needs to be before sunrise.”

  “I can’t make any promises.”

  “Then neither can I.” The tone was threatening, as it was meant to be. “Turn the lights off,” the pirate demanded.

  “There’s a lot of traffic out here. If I can’t see anyone, and they can’t see me, that’ll do more harm than good.”

  “No. Lights.”

  Dylan flicked off the bow and stern lighting, sending the ship into darkness, with the exception of the moon and stars above. Even the cabin lights were off. “I can’t get us to the destination if I can’t see the map.”

  The pirate turned on a flashlight and shone it over the nautical gear then flashed it off. “Just keep us on course.”

  The hours that passed felt more like days. Above, clouds flashed lightning, and it danced across the sky. Dylan remembered the weather forecast from earlier. The projections had them missing the storm, but if an alert had come through while he was blindfolded, he would have missed it. A light rumble accompanied the flashes of hot light in the clouds, and Dylan heard the pirate shift uneasily behind him. For the first time in his nautical career, Dylan found himself wishing for rain.

  Thunder boomed and lightning clashed the closer they moved toward the shoreline. The first few drops of rain splattered against the windshield, and the bow rose up the side of swells and then sped down the opposite slope. Waves crashed over the front of the boat as the wind picked up and howled. “You need to let my crew tie down the gear.” Dylan gripped the wheel hard as the rain thickened.

  “No, they stay where they are,” the pirate answered, the resolution in his voice refusing to break.

  Another bolt of lightning and crash of thunder sounded simultaneously as Dylan steered the boat into the wall of water careening toward them. The force of the wave sent fishing lines and weights crashing into the windows of the cabin, and with it the water from outside.

  The rain whooshed through the broken panes of the cabin’s window and pelted Dylan’s face and the pirate, who finally turned to his men and yelled at them in his native tongue, then looked to Dylan. “If your crew tries anything, I will kill them.”

  Dylan examined the dripping pistol in the pirate’s hand. He shouted through the window to Mark and Billy below. “Stow the lines and put out the anchors!” But before he could even finish his words, Mark was already barking at Billy to do just that. The two men hurried around the ship, doing their best to stay upright in the howling wind and rocking waves of the storm.

  The engine of the boat whined and strained to follow Dylan’s commands, but the captain willed the boat forward, pushing it beyond its limits. Mark finally lowered the anchors on either side of the ship, giving the vessel some stability. The Wave Cutter charged through the storm, and Dylan fought to keep them on course.

  The storm clouds had blocked out the moon and stars, and all Dylan could see in front of him was blackness with the lightning from above flashing, occasionally illuminating their path. “I need to turn the spotlight on.”

  “No! No lights!”

  “If I can’t see a swell coming, then we run the risk of capsizing! If you’re worried about getting caught, no one is going to stop us in this storm.” Dylan’s wet shirt clung to his chest with an icy grip, the rain soaking him through to the bone. The wind sent rain droplets speeding through the broken windows, which stung his exposed face and arms. The pirate finally nodded, and Dylan flicked the light switches and grabbed the spotlight attached to the roof of the wheelhouse, which he could operate with the handle that jutted down just above his head.

  Dylan rotated the beam of light, bringing it onto the waves and rolling seas. He turned the wheel hard right, avoiding a swell that threatened to knock them sideways. “Hold on!” Gravity pulled them backward as the vessel pushed its way up the side of the wave. The boat creaked and strained and crawled to a stop as they reached the crest.

  Dylan jammed the throttle down harder, giving the ship the needed boost to peak over the wave and slam onto the choppy waters below. He wiped the rain from his eyes, looking for any more rogues that threatened to take him out. A hand gripped his shoulder, and he ripped it off, only to find that it was Mark. “Captain! The gear’s tied down, but we lost a lot of line.”

  “You and Billy get below and grab the life vests. I don’t know how much worse this storm is going to get or when it plans on stopping.”

  Mark nodded and then carefully descended the ladder of the wheelhouse, almost falling into the ocean a few times before he made it to the deck. Dylan looked back at the pirate, drenched from head to toe but still gripping his pistol. Lightning flashed in the reflection of his eyes. He kept that scowl, watching Dylan’s every movement, the same granite expression that he’d had since they boarded his ship. In that moment, the finalization washed over Dylan: the pirate truly did not care whether he lived or died, so long as his mission was complete.

  Dylan continued the push forward through the storm, the rain and waves peaking after an hour of battling. He felt his body sag from fatigue as the raging downpour turned into a light rain that pattered the windows and deck of his ship. The waves calmed, and the lightning and thunder that had done their best to crush them turned into nothing more than echoes in the distance. Water sloshed back and forth in the wheelhouse, and Mark and Billy used the bilge pump to help clear it out.

  With the storm safely behind them, the pirate forced Dylan to turn the ship’s lights back off. “You’re good at what you do. My thanks.”

  “Keep it.” The thought of it disgusted Dylan, but he didn’t do it for them. Billy and Mark were still alive, and he’d be damned if he let any more of his crew members die because of his decision making.

  Dylan checked his watch, and the clock face read 5:00 a.m. They had less than ninety minutes before the sunrise. “When we make it to the shoreline, I won’t be able to take you all the way to land.”

  “What?”

  “The location you showed me.” Dylan jammed his finger into the soaking-wet map. “The waters are too shallow for my boat to make it all the way to shore.”

  The pirate yel
led through the open window, and after a few short commands, one of the men descended into the fish cellar and emerged with a radio. He extended the antenna and tuned the dial to whatever frequency his comrades on the other end were listening to. A few minutes later, he was in communication and then yelled something back up to their leader. “Keep course. We’ll have a boat come and meet you in the deeper waters.”

  The rest of the trip was uneventful. Fatigue and the fact that everyone was soaked to the bone seemed to have leeched everyone’s remaining energy. But once the shoreline was in view, the pirates’ energies resurged, and Dylan became painfully aware of what would happen to them once the pirates had completed their mission.

  “Slow,” the pirate said, holding the gun to the back of Dylan’s neck.

  Dylan brought the ship to an idle and kept the lights off as instructed. Two of the pirates down on the deck kept a lookout for whatever dinghy was meeting them. If Dylan was going to get himself and his crew out of this alive, then he’d need to do it quickly. The nearest port was thirty minutes north. If he timed it right, he might be able to get both him and his crew there safely.

  The pirates on the bow started shouting as they heard the light rumble of the outboard engine from the smaller vessel heading to meet them. They gave a quick flash of their lights, and Dylan was ordered to do the same. He cut the engines, and the ship coasted until the small sixteen-foot boat, captained by similar-looking men with rifles and pistols, pulled up on their port side.

  They cast lines and tied them off on the cleats. Dylan was escorted down the steps and placed with Billy and Mark in the cabin. Both of them were still soggy from the storm. Billy looked like he was about to fall asleep, while Mark still had a fire stoked in him and looked as though he could set fire to any man he stared at for too long. “You two all right?”

  Billy gave a sleepy nod, but Mark didn’t break his stare on the pirates. One man was left to guard them while the rest of the pirates moved whatever gear they stored below. Dylan heard the splash of the anchor and the thump of boots along the deck. The sounds continued for a while and then finally stopped as their leader shouted something down into the cabin for their captor to hear. He answered, and then the rumble of the smaller boat’s engine sounded. A few seconds later, a second guard came down to join his comrade, and both men took turns aiming their pistols over Dylan, Mark, and Billy’s heads.

  With the rest of the pirates gone and two left to guard Dylan, Mark, and Billy, he realized that the small boat must not have had enough room to carry all of their gear. The pirates would need to make another trip.

  Right now they were two hundred yards from the shore. It’d take the pirates at least five minutes for the trip, and just as long to unload whatever they had, then five minutes for the journey back, perhaps shorter since they weren’t so heavy.

  Dylan’s eyes roamed the cabin, trying to catch anything in his peripherals that he could use, while keeping a watchful eye on the fingers curled over gun triggers. The two pirates watched them like hawks, and each moment that passed was one less second they could be using to get away. “You speak English?”

  Neither man responded. Mark finally broke his gaze on the pirates and turned to Dylan. Billy awoke from his fatigued stupor. “Hey!” Dylan shouted, triggering the pirate’s foreign dialect and the barrel of his rifle to be shoved in his cheek. Dylan shoved the rifle’s barrel away from his face, but the pirate still kept a bead on him. Dylan forced the adrenaline coursing through his body to stop his muscles from trembling, and he gritted his teeth. “I know you can understand me, you piece of shit.”

  The pirate grabbed Dylan by the collar and flung him across the inside of the cabin. He smacked into one of the cabinets, and plates and utensils spilled out. Mark and Billy jerked from their seats, but the pirate’s comrade kept them at bay.

  Dylan fumbled his hands to try and grab a fork that had fallen to the floor. When the pirate lunged for Dylan again, he jammed the fork’s prongs into the side of the pirate’s neck. Blood spurted over Dylan’s fingers as the pirate squirmed and flailed. The pirate’s comrade aimed the rifle at Dylan’s head, and just before he squeezed the trigger, Mark barreled into him, sending the bullet off kilter and into the cabin’s wall. Dylan repeatedly jammed the fork into the pirate’s flesh, each new set of holes provoking fresh blood. More gunshots fired down the cabin hallway, where Mark had tackled the pirate and Billy had gone to help him.

  The pirate Dylan had stabbed twitched, and the struggle slowly faded from his face as Dylan dropped the bloodied fork and pushed the dead body off him. He picked up the pirate’s rifle and stumbled into the hallway, where Mark rested on top of the pirate’s comrade, and Billy was slowly picking him up off the dead body.

  “Mark!” Dylan rushed to help the first mate off the floor. Mark clutched his stomach, his hand covering a bloodied wound.

  “Son of a bitch shot me.” Mark groaned as Billy and Dylan helped him to the seats by the kitchen table.

  Dylan ripped the hole wider in Mark’s shirt to examine the wound underneath then checked his back. “No exit wound. Just hang on, Mark.” He grabbed some cloths and pressed them firmly over the wound. “Keep pressure on it. Billy, with me.”

  The two rushed up the cabin steps and onto the dock. In the distance, he could hear the boat turning around. “They heard the gunshots! Pull up the anchor, now!” Dylan climbed the rungs of the ladder two at a time. He skidded to a stop, his feet almost sliding out from under him. He gripped the wheel for support, and the blood from his hands smeared against the old polished wood.

  “Anchor’s up!” Billy shouted.

  Bullets peppered what was left of the shattered wheelhouse. Dylan ducked, cranking the engine to life as he did. He pushed the throttle down, and the boat jerked forward, gunshots continuing to thunder behind them. Dylan straightened the wheel, and when he looked up, the pirate’s boat was right alongside them, firing into his ship’s hull.

  Dylan turned the wheel hard left, knocking the small vessel back, and the driver veered out of their path, but one of the pirates leapt over the edge of the boat, onto the side of a cargo hold. “Billy! Cut the cargo rope off!” Dylan accelerated the boat and maxed out the engines at thirty knots then slid back down the wheelhouse ladder to help Billy.

  The pirate swung the barrel of his rifle over the side of the boat and fired blindly, blanketing the boat deck with lead and tearing holes into crates, the hull, and equipment. Billy ducked behind a cluster of buoys while Dylan stayed behind the cover of the wheelhouse on the opposite side. The firing stopped, and when Dylan poked his head around, he saw the pirate swing his leg over the edge of the hull. Dylan sprinted toward him, and just before the pirate could fire the rifle, Dylan shoved him back over the side. The pirate grabbed the sleeve of Dylan’s shirt on the way down, bringing Dylan off the side of the boat with him.

  The two men clung to the cargo net as waves of salt water washed over them, the boat still plowing forward. The pirate aimed the rifle, and Dylan kicked it away, losing his grip with his left hand and almost falling from the net. The rifle splashed into the water, and Dylan saw the smaller sixteen footer struggle to keep up with them. The pirate pulled a knife and sliced open a cut on Dylan’s arm before he could move out of the way.

  Gunfire broke though the sprays of water puffed from the ocean as the small vessel tried to chase them. The pirate swung his knife violently at Dylan, who kept trying to pull himself up the net, struggling against the chop of the waves. Dylan finally caught the pirate’s arm, locking it under his own, and slammed his forehead into the pirate’s nose. The blade splashed into the ocean, and Dylan flung the man from the net in his disoriented state and watched his body skip across the water.

  “Captain!” Billy peered over the side of the boat and extended his hand. Dylan reached for it but slipped, due to the beads of water slick on his arm. “C’mon, Captain!” Dylan lunged again, and this time the hold stuck, but a loud whistling came through the air, and the
n the water erupted into an explosion five feet from where Dylan struggled to reenter the boat, sending up a geyser twelve feet high.

  The explosion left a ringing in Dylan’s ears, and he almost pulled Billy over the side with him but managed to keep his footing and flopped onto the deck.

  Dylan caught his breath and checked his arm as another explosion rocked the stern on the starboard side of the ship. Dylan rolled to his stomach and pushed himself up, blood streaming down the side of his arm. He looked behind to see the pirate’s craft struggling to keep up, launching mortars from the ship’s bow. “Billy, get below into the cabin with Mark, now!”

  Another long whistling sounded as Dylan rushed back up to the wheelhouse, and the mortar explosion rocked the port side of the boat, this one close enough to shift the vessel right, turning them back around to their captors.

  Dylan reached for the wheel, straightening them out, and then swerved left, trying to give the pirates a harder target to hit. He spun the wheel back and forth in sharp turns, the movements causing the cut on his arm to gush more blood. The throttle was maxed out. Dylan checked behind him, and a mortar exploded directly behind the boat, sending a shockwave through the vessel.

  A few more sporadic gunshots, and Dylan watched the pirates swerve off, giving up their pursuit, the small vessel no longer able to keep pace. Dylan collapsed on the wheel, his own weight crushing him. With the adrenaline subsiding, he suddenly became painfully aware of the burning sensation in his left arm. He ripped off a piece of his shirt and wrapped it tightly around the wound, trying to stanch the bleeding. “Billy! How’s Mark?”

  “He’s okay! A little lightheaded, but he’s still breathing!”

  Dylan let out a sigh and checked the water-and-blood-soaked map on the console’s dash. He adjusted their heading to the northwest and set them on course for the nearest marina. He made Billy give him constant updates on Mark’s condition, but when Billy started screaming that Mark wasn’t breathing anymore, he rushed down to the cabin, leaving the ship on its speedy course to the harbor.