Robert Walker - Darkest Instinct

Finally recovering his composure, Ja added, “It will please her! Your surprising her here in our lush tropical paradise, Mr. Parry.”

Parr›‘ threw up his hands. “I can only hope so.”

“ It will be a shocking good surprise for her, one which will benefit you both, I’m sure. Do you dive as well?”

“ Yes, as a matter of fact.”

“ You must take her to The Wall.” Parry, like all divers the world over, had heard of Cayman’s Wall. He had never been to the Caymans before, and he knew he would love someday to make the dive down the sheer face of The Wall, but for the moment, Jessica alone was on his mind.

“ She, I think, loves you very much, Jim Parry.” Ja’s smile was catching and Parry settled back, smiling in return, giving his attention to the horizon now. There appeared nothing and no one out there, but just as he thought so, his eyes registered the tiny dots of movement over the water-sailing vessels running before the wind like so many dolphins.

At his feet, Parry now saw what it was he was kicking- a coiled rope ladder half hidden beneath the seat ahead of him. Rolling about also was a flare gun, fully loaded.

Damn fools’re going to blow us all up, he thought, reaching down for the flare gun and making sure the safety was on. He snatched the flare from the weapon, rendering it harmless and placing it and the flare back into a metal container jutting from the bulkhead over the seat to his right. He then stared out toward the sailing ships again. Some were taking shape now; but there was no sign of the helicopter Jessica was supposedly out here in.

Despite the ship’s teakwood beauty and its huge, golden- orange, godlike eye-a glowing sunrise against a silken white sail-Jessica saw that it was indeed now eerily deserted, bereft of human occupancy; it was oddly still and silent even as it ran before the wind at top speed. It presented a strange, sleek, modern version of a ghost ship, its colors bright and beautifully new-too new. The other ships in the race showed tattered sails by comparison. Something strange and unusual crept over Jessica as she stared down over the silent schooner. It was as if the ship had a secret life of its own, one which it wanted to tell Jessica all about. She felt a cold stab of ice like a knife blade at her spine. Something rancid skittered about the recesses of her brain. Something told her this was it, Patric Allain’s killing ground, Warren Tauman’s place of revenge on a world that had been too unkind to him.

“ We all three saw someone on the earlier pass,” said Lansing, a master of the obvious, Jessica thought.

“ He’s hiding below,” added Jessica into her microphone. “We know he must have a fully automated ship to sail alone across the Atlantic. The weasel’s hiding in the cabin below.”

Lansing was approaching for a third pass now, but this time he brought the bird into a hovering stance directly over the boat, approximately thirty feet above the bow, then eased her downward. They buzzed about, circling like an enormous bee, each of them staring, searching for any sign of Warren Tauman, a.k.a. Patric Allain, but he seemed to be playing hide-and-seek with them for the moment. Had it been like this with Manley and Stallings out on that fogbound bay? Jessica wondered. This time a clear sky and bright sunshine burned down on the killer, as if God had turned his eye on Tauman.

“ Bring us in closer,” said Eriq. “I’m going to board that ship.”

“ What?” Lansing asked, his amazement complete. “Are you nuts?”

“ There’s a rope ladder coiled at my feet, and I’m readying it to go over the side, and I’m going over after it. “You ever do a thing like that?” asked Lansing.

Jessica knew that Eriq may have trained for such moments in his younger days, but she was certain he hadn’t made such a maneuver in some time, and very possibly never in anything but a simulated situation. “Eriq, are you sure you want to do this?” she asked. “I’m sure. I’m dropping the ladder over the side.” Eriq kicked the small door wide while continuing to shout through his headphones at Lansing. “Take the bird in lower.” But Lansing held the bird in place, the noise from the rotors and the powerful wind filling the cockpit now. “I won’t be responsible for your getting yourself killed, Agent Santiva.”

“ Hey, you’re not in charge here, kid! I am! Now do as I say, now! Bring this chopper closer down over the boat well. I want that ladder kissing the deck. Got it?”

Lansing scratched at the back of his head, looked to Jessica for help and asked, “Why don’t we just follow the guy into Grand Cayman?”

“ We want to take him here, while we’re in international waters.” she reminded him. “Besides, if the guy thinks he’s cornered, given our profile on this creep, he’s liable to either attack or kill himself, if he hasn’t already done so.”

“ But we would’ve heard the gunshot if he’s committed suicide.”

“ Ever hear of cyanide pills. Drano, Tilex? Any of them will clean your clock,” Jessica told Don.

Meanwhile, Eriq had managed to wrestle the rope ladder over the side. Jessica quickly and momentarily glanced back at Eriq, who’d remained frustrated at so many stages of the investigation. He’d had to wait on information to come available; he’d had to run interference for her; and he’d had to act as front man for the politicians throughout the case. He’d been equally frustrated by the killer’s notes and his handwriting, which while it had revealed so much about Tauman had remained useless without a suspect to attach it to. Now, the possibility that Tauman would be taking the quick and dirty and easy way out was too much for him, as it was for Jessica. She understood his need- compulsion, rather-to simply take action.

Lansing began a tentative, downward spiral which was more like an awkward air-machine dance toward the moving boat, since the sea breeze was not cooperative in the endeavor to place Eriq aboard the Smiling Jack.

“ Feed me any cover I might need,” Eriq asked Jessica, who readied her Browning automatic, her eyes now on any movement below, riveted to the windows and the hatches, her weapon pointed. But as the bird hovered and was snatched in updrafts and downdrafts, she would lose targeted points and had to wait to refocus. It wasn’t the best of circumstances by any means, but every minute was taking Tauman closer and closer toward Cayman waters, and she and Eriq both knew that Ja wanted custody of their monster.

Eriq tore off his headphones and started down the whipping ladder.

God, he’s gutsy, she thought. Her memory led her to a fond remembrance of a strong-willed, determined, bull- headed old friend whose like bravado had gotten him killed some four-plus years ago in Chicago-Chief Otto Boutine, with whom she’d been in love. She cared deeply about Eriq; she didn’t want anything happening to him. She also wondered if she’d have the guts to climb out of this chopper while it remained in midair, hovering above the speeding boat. She wondered if it might not come to that should something happen to Eriq, and at the same time, crowding her mind was the question of where Tauman was lurking, if he was indeed on his back from self-inflicted wounds or was merely playing the trapdoor spider, biding his time, preparing an ambush. Hadn’t Kim Desinor called him exactly that? This seemed more Tauman’s style, since he didn’t care for the sight of blood and likely didn’t care for pain of any sort either.