[ Pobierz całość w formacie PDF ]
out toward the yacht. It was a distance of almost half a mile, and Rodrigo was uneasy. But Micah had
been a champion swimmer in his school days, and he held some sort of record for being able to hold
his breath underwater. He looked very tired, though, and that was going to go against him. Odd,
Rodrigo thought, that a man who'd just gotten out of bed should look exhausted. And after the culprits
had been dealt with so quickly and effectively, which couldn't have tired him. He hoped Micah would
succeed. He checked his watch, glanced at the bound and gagged captives in their underwear, and
shrugged.
"How sad for you, compadres, that your futures will be seen through vertical bars. But, then, your
choice of employer leaves so much to be desired!"
He turned away, recalling that Micah had told him to phone the police an hour after he'd gone. But he
hesitated to do that, orders or not. Timing was going to be everything here. If there was a holdup
planting the charge, and if Lopez had someone on the payroll in Nassau, the show was over. Lopez
would get word of the failed kidnapping attempt in time to blow Micah out of the water. Micah
couldn't have been thinking straight. Rodrigo would do that for him. He would watch Micah's back.
Now he prayed that his boss could complete this mission without discovery. If ever a man deserved
his fate, it was Manuel Lopez. He gave Mexicans a bad name, and for that alone Rodrigo was anxious
to see him go down.
It took Micah a long time to reach the boat. He was exhausted from the mindless pleasure Callie had
given him.
Making love with her just before the most dangerous mission of recent years had to be evidence of
insanity. But it had been so beautiful, so tender. He could still hear her soft, surprised cries of
pleasure. The memory was the sort a man wouldn't mind going down into the darkness for. Of course,
it wasn't helping him focus on the task at hand. He forcibly put the interlude to the back of his mind
and swam on.
He paused as he reached the huge yacht, carefully working his way toward the huge propellers at the
stern, which were off right now but would start again eventually. If they started while he was near
them, he'd be caught in their turbulent wake and dragged right into those cruel blades to be
dismembered before he set the charge. Not the end he hoped for.
He kept himself in place with slow movements of his fins while he shone an underwater light hooked
to his belt on the bomb package enclosed in the waterproof bag. He drew it out, very carefully, and
secured it to a metallic connection behind the propellers. It stuck like glue. He positioned the light so
that he could work with his hands while he wired the charge into the propeller system. It was
meticulous work, and he was really tired. But he finally secured the connection and double-checked
the explosive package. Yes. The minute the turbine engines fired, the ship would blow up.
The problem was, he was almost too tired to swim back. He was going to have to give himself thirty
minutes to get back to the shore, and pray that Lopez didn't have his men fire up those propellers until
he was out of harm's way.
He gave the ship's hull a gentle pat, with a momentary twinge of regret at having to destroy such a
beautiftil yacht. Then he turned and moved slowly, cautiously, around toward the bow of the ship.
There was a ladder hanging down from the side. He passed it with idle curiosity and held onto it while
he floated, letting his body relax and rest. He just happened to look up while he was hanging from it.
Just above the surface, a man was aiming an automatic weapon down at him through the water.
He couldn't get away. He was too tired. Besides, the man wasn't likely to miss at this range. Salute the
flag and move on, he mused philosophically. Nobody lived forever, and his death would serve a noble
cause. All he had to do was make them think he'd come aboard to use the knife on Lopez, so they
wouldn't start looking for bombs. They had enough time to find and disarm it if he didn't divert them.
The waterproof bag on his hip was going to be hard to explain. So was his flashlight. Fortunately the
light fit into the bag and weighed it down. He unhooked the bag and closed it out of sight while the
man above motioned angrily for him to come up the ladder. He let the bag drop and it sank even as he
started the climb to his own death. He might get a chance at Lopez before they killed him, because
Lopez would want to gloat.
He padded onto the deck in his breathing equipment and fins, which the man ordered him in Spanish
to take off.
Micah tossed his gear aside, carefully, because the man with the gun was nervous. If he had any
chance at all to escape, he could make the distance without his equipment if he swam-assuming he
wasn't shot to death in the process. He had to hope for a break, but it wasn't likely. This was the
situation that every working mercenary had to consider when he chose the lifestyle. Death could come
at any moment, unexpectedly.
He stood glaring down at the smaller man. Even with his automatic weapon, the drug lord's man didn't
seem too confident. He backed up two more steps. Micah noted the hasty retreat and tensed to make
his move. But only seconds later, Lopez and two more men-armed men-came up on deck.
Lopez stared at Micah for a minute and then recognition flashed in his dark eyes. "Micah Steele, I [ Pobierz całość w formacie PDF ]
zanotowane.pl doc.pisz.pl pdf.pisz.pl karpacz24.htw.pl
out toward the yacht. It was a distance of almost half a mile, and Rodrigo was uneasy. But Micah had
been a champion swimmer in his school days, and he held some sort of record for being able to hold
his breath underwater. He looked very tired, though, and that was going to go against him. Odd,
Rodrigo thought, that a man who'd just gotten out of bed should look exhausted. And after the culprits
had been dealt with so quickly and effectively, which couldn't have tired him. He hoped Micah would
succeed. He checked his watch, glanced at the bound and gagged captives in their underwear, and
shrugged.
"How sad for you, compadres, that your futures will be seen through vertical bars. But, then, your
choice of employer leaves so much to be desired!"
He turned away, recalling that Micah had told him to phone the police an hour after he'd gone. But he
hesitated to do that, orders or not. Timing was going to be everything here. If there was a holdup
planting the charge, and if Lopez had someone on the payroll in Nassau, the show was over. Lopez
would get word of the failed kidnapping attempt in time to blow Micah out of the water. Micah
couldn't have been thinking straight. Rodrigo would do that for him. He would watch Micah's back.
Now he prayed that his boss could complete this mission without discovery. If ever a man deserved
his fate, it was Manuel Lopez. He gave Mexicans a bad name, and for that alone Rodrigo was anxious
to see him go down.
It took Micah a long time to reach the boat. He was exhausted from the mindless pleasure Callie had
given him.
Making love with her just before the most dangerous mission of recent years had to be evidence of
insanity. But it had been so beautiful, so tender. He could still hear her soft, surprised cries of
pleasure. The memory was the sort a man wouldn't mind going down into the darkness for. Of course,
it wasn't helping him focus on the task at hand. He forcibly put the interlude to the back of his mind
and swam on.
He paused as he reached the huge yacht, carefully working his way toward the huge propellers at the
stern, which were off right now but would start again eventually. If they started while he was near
them, he'd be caught in their turbulent wake and dragged right into those cruel blades to be
dismembered before he set the charge. Not the end he hoped for.
He kept himself in place with slow movements of his fins while he shone an underwater light hooked
to his belt on the bomb package enclosed in the waterproof bag. He drew it out, very carefully, and
secured it to a metallic connection behind the propellers. It stuck like glue. He positioned the light so
that he could work with his hands while he wired the charge into the propeller system. It was
meticulous work, and he was really tired. But he finally secured the connection and double-checked
the explosive package. Yes. The minute the turbine engines fired, the ship would blow up.
The problem was, he was almost too tired to swim back. He was going to have to give himself thirty
minutes to get back to the shore, and pray that Lopez didn't have his men fire up those propellers until
he was out of harm's way.
He gave the ship's hull a gentle pat, with a momentary twinge of regret at having to destroy such a
beautiftil yacht. Then he turned and moved slowly, cautiously, around toward the bow of the ship.
There was a ladder hanging down from the side. He passed it with idle curiosity and held onto it while
he floated, letting his body relax and rest. He just happened to look up while he was hanging from it.
Just above the surface, a man was aiming an automatic weapon down at him through the water.
He couldn't get away. He was too tired. Besides, the man wasn't likely to miss at this range. Salute the
flag and move on, he mused philosophically. Nobody lived forever, and his death would serve a noble
cause. All he had to do was make them think he'd come aboard to use the knife on Lopez, so they
wouldn't start looking for bombs. They had enough time to find and disarm it if he didn't divert them.
The waterproof bag on his hip was going to be hard to explain. So was his flashlight. Fortunately the
light fit into the bag and weighed it down. He unhooked the bag and closed it out of sight while the
man above motioned angrily for him to come up the ladder. He let the bag drop and it sank even as he
started the climb to his own death. He might get a chance at Lopez before they killed him, because
Lopez would want to gloat.
He padded onto the deck in his breathing equipment and fins, which the man ordered him in Spanish
to take off.
Micah tossed his gear aside, carefully, because the man with the gun was nervous. If he had any
chance at all to escape, he could make the distance without his equipment if he swam-assuming he
wasn't shot to death in the process. He had to hope for a break, but it wasn't likely. This was the
situation that every working mercenary had to consider when he chose the lifestyle. Death could come
at any moment, unexpectedly.
He stood glaring down at the smaller man. Even with his automatic weapon, the drug lord's man didn't
seem too confident. He backed up two more steps. Micah noted the hasty retreat and tensed to make
his move. But only seconds later, Lopez and two more men-armed men-came up on deck.
Lopez stared at Micah for a minute and then recognition flashed in his dark eyes. "Micah Steele, I [ Pobierz całość w formacie PDF ]