Clive Cussler - Pirate

“Near the water about ten to fifteen minutes south of Beaufort.”

“Do me a favor. Don’t do anything rash. I’ll try to get backup from Beaufort and meet you out there.”

He disconnected, and Sam pulled over to the side of the road. “Guess all we can do now is wait.”

Remi reached for the door handle. “We might not have fifteen minutes.”

“Remi,” he said, reaching out, grabbing her arm.

She stopped, looked over at him.

He leaned in, kissed her, and said, “You didn’t think I was going to let you go out there alone, did you?”

“Of course not.” She smiled at him and opened the door. “Now let’s go find my friend.”

Sam slipped his revolver from its case clipped to his belt, then popped the trunk. Remi stood watch, ready to warn him if there was any movement. And though he hoped that they wouldn’t need any weapon, his instincts told him otherwise. There was only one vehicle seen on that roadway. If Bree wasn’t at the beach house, then she had to be in the SUV as it drove past. And, since they couldn’t see her, chances were good that she was either injured or dead.

They both turned their cell phones on vibrate. Remi kept hers in hand — just in case — and Sam shoved his into his pocket. Sam gave Remi his Smith & Wesson, then took a tire iron from the trunk. “Ready?” he asked.

“Ready.”

He peered around the corner. “Clear.”

The wind gusted as they walked to the dock just beyond the first warehouse, the only sounds their footsteps on the wooden planks and the cry of the gulls as the water lapped against the pilings.

There were no boats at the dock nor anyone working nearby. On closer inspection, the warehouses appeared abandoned, the windows broken, the doors padlocked shut from the outside.

The perfect place to take a kidnap victim, Sam thought as he and Remi made their way, keeping close to the side of the warehouse.

A faint sound caught his attention. He stopped, signaling for Remi to do the same. “Listen,” he whispered.

“Sort of a rusty, squeaking sound.”

He nodded toward the end of the warehouse they stood against. A gull cried out overhead, startling Remi as it dove down into the water just a few feet away.

Sam gave her a thumbs-up signal.

She nodded, then trailed him as he started forward again, following his lead as he ducked beneath a window to keep from being seen — on the chance someone was watching from within that particular warehouse. Unfortunately, the dock was long, and they didn’t know which warehouse they might have gone into.

When they reached the end of the building, Sam peered around the corner, saw the SUV parked between buildings. A door of the warehouse on the far side of the vehicle stood slightly ajar. He stepped back. “It’s there.”

“Anyone in it?”

“Doesn’t look like it,” he said. “The door is open on the next building. I’m taking a stab that’s where they are.”

Remi nodded, then glanced back in the direction they’d come, hoping to see the deputy’s car speeding their way. Sam didn’t bother mentioning that he was at least ten minutes behind them. They were on their own.

He watched the warehouse a few moments, wishing he had something beside a tire iron.

His gaze strayed to the SUV, realizing they’d only seen the two men in the front. No other passengers.

Sam motioned for Remi to stay put. He crouched down and moved over to the SUV, rising just enough to peer into the tinted back windows.

Bree was there on the floorboard, her hands bound behind her, a gag over her mouth, her feet tied.

He tapped on the window, relieved when she looked up at him. He put his finger to his lips to let her know that they weren’t going to leave her there.

Bree nodded, and Sam tried to open the vehicle’s door. Locked, of course. He gave her a smile of encouragement, then checked to make sure it was clear before returning to Remi. “She’s in the car.”

“Is she okay?”

“Tied-up, but appears okay,” Sam said. “We need to get a look into that warehouse first. Find out what we’re up against.”

They made their way to the warehouse near the open door.

Sam put his ear against the side of the building, but couldn’t hear anything. “What I wouldn’t give for that mirror from your purse right now.”

“For what?”

“To see inside that door without breaking cover.”

She held up her phone. “How about a camera lens?”

“As brilliant as you are beautiful.”

“Flattery will get you—”

“Everywhere?”

“A cell phone,” she whispered as she accessed the camera feature, then handed it to him.

Sam set the tire iron on the ground, then squatted down as he held the camera close to the floor. He angled it about, using the lens to see in, as he took a movie of the interior. After about a minute, he rose, stepped back, and played the recording.

“There,” he said, pointing. They saw three men leaning on a workbench, at least two with guns in hand, looking down at something — probably the map book that Remi had turned over to Bree. The picture was small but clear.

“Our two fake cops from the hotel,” Remi said.

“And our robber from the bookshop.”

Wait? Or move in? He weighed the risks. One gun and a tire iron against three armed men. So the odds sucked. But Sam had Remi, and when it came to capable partners, he’d take her over some brainless thug any day. He grabbed the tire iron and pulled Remi away from the doorway to the other side of the vehicle. “First thing,” he whispered, “is we get Bree out of this car.”

His thought was simply to smash the car window — until he glanced over and saw the red light flashing on the dash.

“Plan B?” Remi asked.

Actually, his initial plan might still work. The vehicle looked like a base model, one he hoped didn’t come with what was often an added feature to the standard motion alarm — a glass-breakage alarm. He dug out his little knife and gave it to Remi and she put it in her pocket. “You cover me while I break the window. If the alarm doesn’t go off, wait until I’m at the back of the SUV before you unlock it. If it does go off, they’re going to run right toward us. You may only have seconds to cut her ties and get out of here while I rip off a few shots to slow them down.”

She moved by the front fender, aiming his gun toward the warehouse door.

Sam stood in front of the driver’s window, hefting the tire iron. Vehicle safety glass was designed to shatter yet hold together under impact — which meant he had to hit it in the right spot to get it to break. He’d have one chance. The alarm would definitely be set off by movement. He pulled back, then rammed the tip of the iron into the lower right corner. It shattered, diamond-like bits raining down onto the driver’s seat.

Silence. So far, so good. He set down the tire iron, took the gun from Remi, and hurried to the back of the SUV. When he was in position, his aim on the door, he nodded at her.

She reached in, popped the locks. The moment she opened the back door, a deafening wail filled the air. From the corner of his eye, he saw Remi ducking down, trying to cut Bree’s ties.

Sam braced himself. The warehouse door swung open. A figure burst out, his gun aimed at the SUV and Remi.

“Hey!” Sam cried. His .357 revolver barked. The shot struck the man in the face and he went down. Something flew from his hand. The car keys.

Sam dove, scooped them up, then stood, shouting, “Remi. Keys!”

He flung them over the top of the car.

She caught them, then pushed the back door shut, opened the driver’s door, and slid in. The engine revved to life. Sam jumped into the passenger seat. He slammed his door shut just as the other two men raced out of the building, firing at the SUV.