Page 62 of Wild Tempest

“It has a camera,” she defended.

The phone was dead. It looked like a newer model and was hopefully waterproof, or at least water-resistant.

I bagged it and slipped it into my pocket.

We continued through the woods, then made our way across the clearing back to the campsite. From there, we marched toward the beach. Mission accomplished, or so I thought.

As we made our way through the trees back to the shoreline, I realized we weren't alone.

37

Several bandits had landed on the shore. With faces concealed by bandannas, they patrolled the area, clutching machine guns. A few of them examined the Raptor, looking at it with envy. I wouldn't be surprised if they were thinking about stealing it.

In the shallows, a 27-foot motorboat with a slate gray hull and white trim was anchored next to a semisubmersible. The clandestine vehicle was painted in shark gray and fabricated out of homemade fiberglass. Built in a jungle somewhere, it could easily become a death trap. Powered by a diesel engine with an exhaust port, two guys had piloted this thing all the way up from Colombia or some other Latin American country. The top deck was flush against the water with a small conning tower.

These kinds of vessels were hard to spot. The Joint Task Force did a good job of interdicting the semisubmersibles, but still, 95% of shipments got through undetected. Perhaps more. Maybe the Joint Task Force guys were being optimistic about their 5% hit rate.

These makeshift semisubmersibles could carry 100, 200, sometimes 300 kilos of cocaine or heroin. The pilots of these boats would make several hundred thousand dollars a run. But it was dangerous business, and many of them didn't make it.

A crew unloaded the dope from the semisubmersible and transferred it to the motorboat.

These guys were pretty brazen to do this right here, out in the open in the bay. Especially at this time of year. Especially with our boat right there on the beach. Then again, who in their right mind would mess with these guys?

Teagan and I crouched low in the underbrush, watching the transaction. She trembled with fear, clutching my arm. "I've got a bad feeling about this."

“It would have been helpful to know about this bad feeling before now,” I whispered.

“I didn’t have the bad feeling until now.”

"Stay still and don't say a word.”

"What are you going to do?”

"What part of don't say a word did you not understand?”

She stuck her tongue out at me.

With a slow, silent movement, I pulled my pistol from its holster. I wasn't about to engage these guys, but I wanted to be prepared if something went down.

The goons searched the area, looking for the owner of the Raptor. It didn't take them long to find us. Several thugs surrounded us in the woods. Eager barrels of semi-automatic weapons stared us down.

I set my weapon on the ground under a shrub without anyone seeing, then raised my hands in surrender.

Teagan and I stood up, and the goons marched us out of the wooded area to the beach.

The thugs patted us down, took my wallet, keys, phone, and the phone we found. They found my badge.

“He’s a cop,” one of them said to the ringleader.

“Looks like you’ve got bad timing,” the ringleader said to me, taking my badge and other belongings.

He was a character. With long flowing black hair, a straw cowboy hat that had seen a lot of action, and sunglasses, he was part wanna-be rockstar, part drug lord. A black bandanna covered his face, like the others. He wore a faded metal T-shirt, and a few silver skull rings adorned his fingers. He wasn’t that tall or muscular, but had a commanding presence over the others.

“You might be the one with bad timing,“ I replied.

He laughed. “How so? I don’t see any of your friends.” He looked around and glanced at the sky. “I don’t see any helicopters.” His eyes darted around the bay. “I don’t see any boats. Nobody’s coming to get me. I just see you, all alone on this island with your girlfriend.”

Teagan took my arm and huddled close.