Don Pendleton - Enemy Arsenal

The two opposing thoughts had consumed him until their next date, but he’d managed to contain his fear and desire while stretching his scant budget to the limit to take her out to dinner at Ibiza.

Toward the end of their meal, some of her friends had stopped at their table, and although they were perfectly polite, James sensed the way they were looking at him. Rachel had ignored the pointed looks and narrowed brows, and it was only afterward, when they were sharing a glass of ten-year-old port she’d insisted on buying, that he’d worked up the nerve to ask her the question he knew had been on her girlfriends’ minds.

“Why am I with you?” She had smiled when she heard it, and James felt himself standing at the edge of an unfamiliar precipice, teetering, either about to fall over or step back, depending on her next words.

“First, you know who I am, and you haven’t asked about my father, except once, when you wanted to know what he did for a living. Second, this is our third date, and you still haven’t tried to get into my pants yet—”

That hadn’t been for a lack of desire on James’s part, but he hadn’t dared to even attempt a move like that, not wanting to destroy the romantic illusion he’d been enjoying so far.

“But most importantly, when I look at you, I see a man who hasn’t sold his soul to anyone yet. That’s why I’m with you.”

Soundlessly, James toppled over the edge, falling head-over-heels in love with her in that very moment.

They had been inseparable for the remainder of the school year, with James even winning over a few of her friends, and surviving a nerve-racking holiday weekend at her parents’ palatial mansion upstate, where he’d only gotten lost twice. Her three older brothers had been protective of her and skeptical of him, but James hadn’t given them a single reason to doubt his sincerity toward Rachel. And he’d spoken the truth about her father—he did like the man, whom, he hoped, saw a kindred spirit in James. The elder Kirkall had also built himself up from practically nothing, striking it rich in shrewd foreign investments, then bringing his hundreds of millions back home to reinvest in America’s infrastructure. Barrett had made it clear he wasn’t expecting a handout, that he was just happy to be with Rachel, and fully expected both of them to make their own way, whatever that might be and wherever it might take them. He didn’t know if it had been his directness or his honesty that had made the difference, but when Rachel’s family had invited him along on their Southeast Asia cruise at the end of the term, he’d jumped at it.

But at that precise moment, thoughts of her father, his last year at Yale or anything else for that matter were the furthest thing from his mind. Keeping one hand around her waist, he let his other one creep up toward her breast, cupping it gently, his touch making her tremble and mold her lithe form even closer to him. While they enjoyed each other’s lips again, her hands roamed, as well, slipping underneath his shirt to caress his broad chest, making James even more thankful he’d made the effort to stay in shape over the school year. He managed to set the champagne flute on the railing and curved his arm back around her, moving his fingers down to her finely sculpted rear and squeezing gently.

Rachel broke their kiss with a soft gasp. “Hey now, what do you think my family would say if they came out here and saw you taking liberties like that?”

James didn’t relinquish his hold on her for a moment. “They’d see a man who is head-over-heels in love with you—which just might get my ass kicked, depending on who saw who first.”

“Fortunately for you, the masters of the universe are still backslapping each other belowdecks, leaving us with a few more minutes....” Rachel tilted her head up again, sending an invitation James didn’t hesitate to accept. He leaned down again, his lips about to hungrily devour hers when something on the ocean caught his eye.

“Mmm, what was that?” Despite the glorious distraction right in front of him, Barrett raised his head to try to get a better view of what he’d spotted.

“With me warm and willing in your arms, you pick now to find a dolphin?” Rachel mock-teased him, turning in his arms to look off the starboard bow.

“It wasn’t a dolphin. It looked more like a bunch of driftwood, but with something on top. Hang on a sec.”

James disentangled himself from Rachel’s embrace and walked to the other railing, grabbing a handheld battery-powered searchlight as he approached the rail. Flicking on the million-candlepower light, he swept the incandescent beam back and forth across the water.

“There!” Rachel grabbed his hand and redirected the light. “Is that it?”

“Yeah. Jesus, someone’s out there!” James played the beam over the small mass, which looked like a crude raft cobbled together out of scrapwood and two oil barrels lashed together. What might have been a small pile of rags on top was actually a child’s body, lying motionless on the small platform’s surface. The makeshift float drifted toward them in the calm water, about thirty yards ahead off the right side.

“Holy shit! Call the bridge, have them turn to starboard. I’ll see if I can snag it.” Rachel grabbed an intercom handset from the wall while Barrett snatched a long boat hook from the wall rack and ran to the back of the vessel. Feeling the deck shift slightly underneath him, he realized the captain had turned toward the raft.

As he passed by a door, it opened and a crew member stepped out, followed by Stuart, one of Rachel’s brothers. “Can I be of assistance, sir?”

“Yeah, there’s a kid on a raft to starboard. I’m gonna try to snag him as we pass.” Barrett led the two men to the rear of the boat, where he stepped onto the flat deck used for launching smaller boats or personal watercrafts.

“Would you rather that I take care of this, sir?” The mate was as insistent as he could be under the circumstances, even gently reaching out for the pole with one hand.

James shook his head. “No, I’ve got it, but I’d appreciate some backup just in case it’s heavier than it looks.”

“Careful. You don’t want to take a dip out here, James. Sharks, you know.” Nattily attired in khaki shorts and a pressed tropical shirt, Stuart lounged against the wall, drink in hand, content to let the other two men take the lead.

“Just make sure I don’t go in with it.”

“I’ve got you, sir.” The mate was polite, with a subtle British accent. Barrett tried not to think too much about how he was being supported, with the man’s arm around his waist, but his eyes focused on the raft, now just a few yards away. He reached out with the pole and caught a board, only to have it tear free when he tried to draw the rickety vessel closer, making it rock back and forth.

“Careful, James!” Rachel, her robe wrapped around herself, watched from the walkway.

“I’m trying, dear. Almost...got him...” Barrett stretched out again and wedged his hook into a gap between two boards, hearing the scrape of metal on metal. He pulled the pole in, watching the platform move closer. “Get ready to grab him.”

“Right.” The raft bumped the corner of the luxury yacht, and the steward reached down and plucked the huddled boy, who remained curled in a ball, on board. “I’ve got him.”

“Rachel, get some food and water. He’s probably dehydrated.” James pushed the raft away, sending the rickety pile of wood and barrels spinning into the night.

“I’m on it.” She disappeared into the ship.

“We’ll probably need a blanket, as well—” Barrett’s words were interrupted by the kid, who suddenly unfolded himself and wriggled out of the crew member’s arms. What was even more surprising was the ugly black pistol he pointed at the man, the weapon large in his small hands.