Andrew Peterson - Forced to Kill

He pulled the Predator knife from his ankle sheath. “This is all I need, but to make you happy, I’ll duct tape my Sig to my left calf. Don’t worry. I’ll shake the water out before I shoot anyone.”

“Well, that’s comforting. Do you realize how dangerous this is? That yacht’s got a huge screw. It’ll suck you down and chew you up like hamburger.”

“Not if I’m careful. I’ll grab the safety rail or the mooring cleat on the rear deck and tuck my legs up. I’ll be okay.”

“I have no desire to push your wheelchair around for the next forty years, assuming you live through the mutilation and don’t bleed out on the swim back. Come on, Nate. This is reckless at best, suicidal at worst.”

“And?”

Harv shrugged. “So let me do it.”

“I’m the stronger swimmer and you hate cold water.”

Harv turned left onto Gleason Road. “I’ve got a bad feeling about this.”

“Just keep the yacht in sight for as long as possible. If it heads for open ocean, drive out to the jetty.”

They raced past a four-story hotel on the left. The right side of the road featured diagonal parking with a strip of grass paralleling the sandy shore of Mission Bay. The water looked like hammered pewter. Nothing a little mind over matter couldn’t overcome.

“This is becoming a habit.”

“What?”

“Jumping headfirst into ops without any intel or plan. Montez can’t escape. Where can he go? Even if he makes it into open water, the Coast Guard can easily intercept him.”

“Harv, everything you said is true. I won’t deny any of it, but there are children involved. What’s the first thing Montez will do if he thinks he’s cornered?”

“They may not be on the yacht. You could be risking your life for nothing.”

“Think about it. Would Montez try escaping like this without hostage insurance? I saw one of the girls in the van.” He pointed. “Park right here, next to this little building.” Nathan pulled off his shirt, but left his pants on. “There’s some wind chop. He’ll never see me through it. Plus, I’m going to swim most of it underwater.”

“Listen to yourself. You’re not superhuman. I’m seriously thinking about pulling executive override.”

“Harv, we agreed to never implement EO except in the direst circumstances. If you call this off, I’ll honor your decision, but you’re forgetting another promise we made.”

“What’s that?”

“We promised Cantrell to keep this under the radar. We can’t do that if the harbor patrol or Coast Guard gets involved.”

“Is that really why you’re doing this?”

He taped the Sig securely to his calf and tightly wrapped its entire length. “You know it isn’t.”

“Is there anything you’d like me to say at your eulogy?”

“I’m sure you’ll think of something.”

“Plan B?”

“If I can’t get aboard, or I’m blown trying, we’ll fall back and call the harbor patrol. Like you said, where’s he gonna go?”

Harv took Nathan’s cell. “Better get swimming. The yacht will be rounding the corner any minute. If he heads in the other direction, toward Crown Point, we’re screwed. I’m calling the harbor patrol if he does.”

“Agreed, but I think he’s heading for the open ocean to dump the Daltons. Alive.”

“Good hunting, partner.”

Harv watched his friend wade into Mission Bay and begin swimming. At this time of year, the seawater temperature near the shore would be in the high sixties, max. But if the cold shocked or bothered Nathan, it sure didn’t show.

Harv got out of the car, crossed the street, and hunkered down in the cover of a small group of palms. This position offered a clear view of where Nate would attempt to board the yacht. The hotel rooms directly behind him raised some concern, but at this early hour of the morning he doubted anyone would be up. He didn’t smell any cigarette or marijuana smoke, and didn’t hear any late-night partiers. If a police cruiser happened to swing through, he could easily duck deeper into the landscaping.

He brought his field glasses up and spotted Nate. He’d already swum twenty yards. Pulling executive override wouldn’t have gone over well and he knew Nate would resent it, probably for the rest of his life.

He took a deep breath and tried to relax.

A shiver raked Nathan’s body as he began a breaststroke in order to maintain the best possible forward speed while keeping a low profile. A crawl would be faster, but not stealthy. Because he possessed a low body fat ratio, his buoyancy was more negative than most. He found he couldn’t keep his head above water and maintain a good pace, so he made three strokes per each breath of air. He felt the resistance of his pants, Sig, and Predator on his lower legs, but boarding the yacht unarmed wasn’t an option.

During the next three strokes, he tried to clear his mind of all distractions, especially the cold. Something bothered him, and it wasn’t the approaching yacht or even the knowledge of whose home they’d been in. It was something else entirely. Something important.

What is it? Think, Nathan.

Trying to understand this odd burst of intuition, Nathan reviewed how they’d gotten here. First, he rewound to Senator Kallstrom’s house. It seemed his unease began there.

What did you see? Clear your thoughts and go back .

He took a breath and began his next three breaststrokes.

Inside Kallstrom’s house, Harv went upstairs while he worked the ground floor. There hadn’t been any sign of a struggle, but that wasn’t unexpected. Duane Dalton probably agreed to turn himself over to save his family. The furniture looked normal, albeit expensive, but it didn’t reflect any sign of a struggle.

We ended up in the small study. The door was closed. We checked for booby traps.

Visually, he moved to his sprint toward the driveway. Montez blowing that infuriating kiss good-bye from the van’s passenger seat. The van. A white Ford van. A minute ago, he’d spotted a similar white van as Harv turned into the Bahia. It was backed into a stall with its rear doors facing the grass.

Nathan surfaced, took a gulp of air, and submerged for three more strokes.

Once again, he rewound back to Kallstrom’s residence, to the closed study door. Inside the study, he’d destroyed an expensive Tiffany lamp. Rage overwhelmed him and while everything became a blur, Harv helped him control his anger. Then what? He calmed down and looked around the office again. This led him to connect many of Montez’s recent tactics to water. He opened his eyes and pointed at the photograph of the yacht. Harv understood immediately and broke into the file drawer, but the file wasn’t there. It lay on top of the desk. Had Nathan subconsciously seen it before thinking about Montez and water? Before pointing at the photo? He wasn’t sure. Why did it matter? What was it about that damned file? Its owner?

He took a deep breath and went under for three more strokes. When he broke the surface again, he looked left and saw the yacht rounding the corner.

To his surprise, it was cutting through the water far slower than he’d anticipated.

He ducked below the surface for three more strokes.

A visual of Kramer sinking to the bottom of Lake Powell invaded his mind. Fueled by anger, he stroked harder before resurfacing for air, something Kramer hadn’t been able to do. The horror and fear the man must’ve felt had to be the worst imaginable. Knowing death was the only escape. How long had he held his breath before inhaling water? A minute? Longer?

Montez, you lousy piece of shit.

No. Calm down. Think back .