The Tahitian Pearl: A John Otter Novel (John Otter Novels Book 2) Page 10

  Faris felt a darkness in his peripheral vision and pulled his gun left to bear on John. As Faris pivoted, he felt a sharp pain in his hand from his slashed thumb and it slowed his reaction time just enough. Faris pushed through the pain and continued to turn on their attacker. As he did, he brought his front into range making John’s target that much bigger.

  John squeezed the spear gun trigger. He felt the spear gun kick back, as shots of white-hot pain exploded in his wrist as the three heavy bands shoved the spear forward and jammed his wrist back. Faris's eyes looked stunned as the heavy spear found its mark, slamming into his stomach and throwing him back across the speedboat before burying itself in the fiberglass.

  John was completely off balance when he touched down on the ski. He'd leaned too far to his right to make the shot, and he paid the price dearly. He felt his right ankle give as his 225-pound frame put its entire weight on the tilted appendage at an awkward angle. The ski had too much momentum, and he slid off its back and into the tepid sea.

  Abdul was so focused on the Russian he could clearly see in the chopper in front of him that he only noticed something was amiss when Faris stopped shooting.

  "Faris, keep firing!" Abdul yelled. That's when he saw his friend. He was alive and clutching at the spear that was protruding from his belly. Abdul dropped down leaving the boat's motors in gear as he grabbed desperately at the spear trying to pull it from his friend. Faris screamed as Abdul tried to work it free from the fiberglass that the spear tip had lodged itself in.

  "Stop! Please, stop!" Faris spit out as hot bright red blood shot out of his lungs and over his shirt. "It's over," he said.

  It was then that Abdul noticed the razor thin steel wire protruding from the spear's base. The high tensile wire was used to recover speared fish and prevent them from swimming off. Abdul grabbed the wire confused and looked aft where the wire traced by Jamil's leg then off the stern of the boat. Jamil was busy shooting at the ski and didn't notice the coil of wire his left foot was standing in. Abdul looked back at the speedboat's engine throttles, all three outboard engines were still heavily engaged, propellers spinning at thousands of revolutions a second.

  He screamed at Jamil and lurched back towards the controls trying to get the engines out of gear. Jamil turned toward Abdul with confusion on his face when it happened. The spear gun wire was pulled into the outboard motor propeller, sucking the wire in at a thousand feet a second. The cable came taught instantly, and like a guillotine, removed Jamil's left foot in a surgical cut, three inches above his ankle. He didn't feel any real pain until his new stump smashed heavily into the deck and he toppled over off balance. The wire, once taught, tugged at the spear, making Faris scream. But it was too well lodged in the boat to come free, and, instead, caused the engine to stall.

  Hamoud rushed to Jamil's aid, but it was pointless. He'd bleed to death within minutes. Abdul was furious. In less than two minutes his odds of success had been severed like Jamil's still twitching foot.

  He grabbed Faris's AK-47 and turned on the rider-free, jet ski. He could see a head bobbing not three hundred feet from him and the ever-turning ski. He took careful aim and fired.

  John felt the pain before he heard the shot. It was sharp and radiated from his left shoulder to his neck. He immediately dove down deep, his years of free diving for fish made it second nature for him. He knew that diving even eight-feet down under the surface of the water and he was safe from the AK-47s heavy slugs. The high muzzle speed of the gun was actually saving his life. Each speeding bullet was obliterated by the water on contact, no different than hitting concrete at those speeds. The irony was that if the pirates used a slow muzzle speed weapon, like a pistol, he would have been killed several feet underwater.

  He opened his eyes and felt the familiar sting of the saltwater on his eyes; however, through his blurry vision he could see the white bubble circle his ski was making as it whirred endlessly in a circle. The ski had a rider loss feature that if its rider fell off, it would stay close-by, taking slow, lazy circles.

  Abdul saw the head disappear below the surface and he stopped firing while he waited for John to surface again.

  John reached out with long strokes of his right arm coupled with powerful scissor kicks. He reached the middle of the circle of bubbles, and, even though his lungs ached, begging for release, he waited until the ski was between him and the shooter before he surfaced and reached out for it.

  He was able to grab the side rail of the slippery jet ski before his one-handed grip slipped and he slid to the back of the ski. He latched onto the stern handle easily but was being dragged around like a rag doll again in a large circle. He tried desperately to move his left arm to steer the ski, but it only budged a little.

  Abdul saw the man grabbing the ski and his fury boiled over into a rage. Abdul began relentlessly raking the back of the jet ski with bullets sending shards of fiberglass into the air.

  John realized he didn't have much longer. He screamed in pain as he brought his left hand up onto the side of the ski and pulled himself along towards the steering column. He almost lost consciousness from the blinding pain in his shoulder, until he grabbed the steering column. He straightened it out and dragging his body in the water on the side hidden from Abdul, he aimed the ski at the helicopter. He pulled the gas lever a little and barely held on as the ski accelerated towards the chopper.

  Chapter 36

  Abdul was shocked when he saw the ski take off again. Hamoud was still trying to stem Jamil's bleeding but it was pointless. "Hamoud, leave him and shoot that man!" Abdul said pointing at the jet ski.

  Abdul reengaged the boats throttles on the two remaining engines and pushed the boat on towards the helicopter. Hammond started shooting at the ski, hitting it in the middle a few times, but, mostly, missing wildly. John felt a sharp pain as a shard of fiberglass from the ski drove itself under the middle of his hand, but he gritted his teeth and refused to let go. He was only twenty feet from the helicopter, where he could see Alexi hanging off the helicopter, briefcase in hand.

  There was no protected side of the helicopter, unfortunately, from the vicious onslaught. The helicopter had shifted in the seas, and Abdul was facing it head on. It was only the ski that was providing John protection. John could hear bullets banging into the ski and finally heard it begin to sputter. It was over. Smoke started spewing out of the ski just as the ski pulled up to the helicopter. John let go of the steering handles finally giving in to the pain as his head slipped below the surface. Suddenly he felt a vise grip around his chest as Alexi grabbed him and pushed him to the surface.

  "Hold on, John," Alexi said.

  Alexi took John's stance hiding below the ski and pushed the still sputtering ski on. John grabbed a hold of Alexi and the ski rail. They were slowly getting away from the chopper when John turned and saw the bow of the pirate boat right above them. A kid, not more than a teenager aimed right at John. There was no way he'd miss. John refused to close his eyes; he stared instead with white-hot hatred at the kid. And then he heard the shot.

  Chapter 37

  The Ivana was making twenty knots on a beeline course towards Alexi and Otter, if he was still alive. The pirate boat was so close to them that Dmitry could barely make out the jet ski anymore. Dmitry had a stern view of the pirate boat, as the Ivana was coming up directly behind it. Dmitry panned the scope and saw Faris with a spear lodged in him, and another pirate lying in a pool of blood on the stern. He had to give Otter credit. He saw the other boy aiming his gun point blank down low off the front of the pirate boat, probably at Alexi's head.

  Hamoud thought he’d pulled the trigger. He couldn't understand why the man in the water was still looking back at him, very much alive. He aimed again with his left hand and mentally pulled the trigger with his right. Nothing happened. The gun felt heavy in his left, and he looked down to figure out what was wrong when he saw the problem. His right arm was swinging free, free from the hole where his shoulder had once been. He
was stunned, he felt no pain. He turned to his left to Abdul and opened his mouth to speak, when the second massive bullet ripped into his back and exited the center of his chest. In place of what used to be a heart, a massive dinner plate sized hole remained.

  Abdul was splattered in the face with hot sticky body matter, and he instinctively knew the mission was over. He whipped the boats steering wheel hard over, turning away from the helicopter and ducked underneath the boats steering wheel. Crouched there he was only covered partially by boat’s side. He made himself as small as possible and tried to hide from the large caliber, sniper rifle.

  Dmitry hit the boy off the mark. He had inaccurately calculated the range to the target and the 10 knot cross wind. Of course, he was already at the very long end of the gun’s usable range, so he couldn't complain too much. Besides, the hit was very effective anyway: with the boy's arm being blown clean off. Dmitry adjusted his shot to the left and snapped off another quick shot. There was no point in making him suffer. He hit his mark, dead center torso and the bullet ripped out a crater in the kid, killing him instantly.

  He turned the rifle to the driver, but he was clever and had already ducked while turning the boat sideways. The side of the boat was effectively hiding Abdul, while he crouched low and steered the boat from the very bottom of the wheel. Dmitry shouted on his radio to Sweeney who was following the Ivana on his jet ski.

  "Go! I'm keeping him down."

  He saw Sweeney’s ski shoot out from behind the Ivana as the pirate boat veered away from the helicopter and Alexi. Dmitry aimed and fired another three shots at the engines, hitting two. He refocused and sent the last bullet through the remaining engine. The pirate speedboat slowed aimlessly, as it became unmovable after the loss of power.

  Sweeney pulled up to Alexi and John. John was bleeding badly as Alexi helped push him onto the back of Sweeney’s ski. Alexi pulled himself up the back of the ski, holding John between him and Sweeney, and they raced back to the Ivana. Captain Brown slowed the Ivana, as Sweeney docked the ski on the stern swim platform. Ingrid, also the ship’s medical officer, was standing by with the medical kit. They laid John on the back deck before he finally passed out.

  Alexi grabbed the radio from Sweeney and spoke to Captain Brown.

  "Captain, everyone is aboard, get us out of here!"

  "Yes, sir. Is everyone, ok?”

  "Otter's been shot, we need to assess the damage. What is the status of the navy? Tell them we need a Medevac."

  "Roger!"

  Alexi looked up at Sweeney. "Get on the bridge and get us help." Sweeney didn't want to leave John, but the look in Alexi's eyes left no room for discussion.

  Dmitry shifted his position as the Ivana turned away and watched and waited, but Abdul hid well. Instead, Dmitry slammed three shots into the base of the boat's hull on the port side. The heavy shells knocked brick size holes through the cheap fiberglass, and he watched as the water rushed in. Dmitry had sealed Abdul's fate.

  "Dmitry, helicopter please," Alexi said over the radio.

  "Roger!" Dmitry said. He turned back and aimed at the large yellow floatation pontoons that had kept the Ivana’s helicopter afloat the whole time and punched quick holes in them. Large volumes of air rushed out of the inflatable floats as they drained, and the helicopter quickly slipped beneath the waves.

  John's jet ski bobbed in the waves, looking pretty dead with AK-47 rounds having raked it back and forth, but Dmitry wanted to be sure. He shot the engine three more times before turning back to the sinking pirate boat. Dmitry saw some movement from Abdul who was still hiding under the helm, but it wasn't enough to get a kill shot. Dmitry knew Abdul was fucked either way, but it appeared Abdul would rather take his chances with drowning than a bullet. He could suit himself. Dmitry packed his rifle up and headed below decks to take a look at Otter.

  Chapter 38

  Abdul waited, crouched under the steering wheel, until he saw the stern of the Ivana pulling away into the distance. The water was ankle deep now, sloshing around with each passing ocean swell. He rushed over to the three holes on the boats port side where the blue ocean water was pouring in. He grabbed one of the seat cushions and managed to wedge it into the first hole, slowing that one to a trickle. He hurried around and did the same to the second hole.

  The third hole was a problem. There were no more cushions, and it was about the size of small dinner plate. He looked around the boat desperately. There was nothing to stop it. He put his foot over the hole, but the aqua water poured in around it nonstop. He needed to find something to jam into it. If he didn't, he would be sunk in less than fifteen minutes. The water was now sloshing around the boat shin high. Jamil's lifeless body was just beginning to float enough to slide from one side of the boat to the other with the slow rocking of the waves.

  The water was beet red. Hamoud’s, Jamil’s, and Faris's blood was staining it as it seeped out of their bodies. Faris was dying slowly, he clutched the spear pitifully and groaned periodically as the boat rocked and caused him to shift on the spear. Abdul knew his situation was dire. He turned and looked at Jamil's body again. He had an idea.

  He jumped onto the bow of the rocking boat, slipping in the mixture of blood and guts that been forced out of Hamoud's body and now covered the foredeck. He grabbed the bow line and tried to steady himself. He uncleated it and slid back into the boat trying not to stare at Hamoud's open eyes or slip again in the pool of blood. He waded in the water back to Jamil's body.

  The boy, now lifeless and nearly pale white, moved with the rocking until Abdul grabbed him forcefully by the arm and stopped him. Abdul felt a twinge of guilt for what he was about to do, but it quickly passed. He grabbed Jamil's left arm and dragged the body over to the remaining hole. He grabbed the boy’s wrist and wrapped a tight knot around where his watch was. Then he took the other end of the line and pushed it through the hole in the boat and into the sea. He turned and looked at Faris.

  "What are you doing?" Faris groaned with confusion.

  "Trying to save us," Abdul said.

  Abdul jumped over the side of the boat and into the ocean. He couldn't help but notice the red streak of water that periodically shot out of the boat’s holes, like bright red food coloring. Blood. He knew enough about sharks to know that he had to be quick. He grabbed the line and pulled on it until he felt resistance. He then placed both his feet against the side of the boats hull and pulled with all his might.

  Jamil's hand came through the gunshot hole, opening with fingers splayed out by the pressure of the knot Abdul had made around his wrist. There was a little resistance as a couple of Jamil's fingers caught on the jagged opening, but Abdul's steady pressure snapped the fingers easily as he pulled the broken hand through the gap. He continued to pull Jamil's arm through the hole, holding his breath to prevent himself from swallowing any more seawater as the waves crashed against him and the side of the boat.

  Abdul grabbed Jamil's forearm in a fireman's grasp and pulled for all he was worth. Jamil's arm was torn open by the shards of fiberglass, and the flesh was ripped repeatedly. Once Jamil’s shoulder was pressed up against the hole opening from the inside of the boat, Abdul stopped pulling. He dropped his feet off the hull and threw the line that was still tied to Jamil's wrist back up over the side of the boat.

  It was then that he felt something brush against his right leg. Looking down he saw the dark shadow of a shark, cruising just underneath him. The blood in the water had been too much.

  Abdul panicked and lurched to his right with strong strokes toward the boats swim platform. He swam as fast as he could, feeling what could only be described as sheer terror _ for the first time in his life. He reached the swim platform and put his hands on it and as fast as he could while kicking his feet and lifted himself out of the water, fearing that any second a shark would tear one of his legs off. He stood panting on the swim platform and turned around.

  He could see the dark shape swimming in slow, lazy circles, not five feet distant
. He knew if the boat sank, he was doomed. He jumped over the gunwale of the boat and waded back into the water that was now above his shins. He grabbed the line and pulled it hard over the boat’s gunwale, bringing up Jamil's wrist and locking the arm in place. He noticed with satisfaction that Jamil's arm and shoulder were plugging the hole nicely and the water ingress had slowed to a trickle. He tied off the line on cleat and stepped back breathing hard. Jamil's eyes were somehow wide open now, and Abdul wondered if it was the desecration of his body or the sloshing water that had caused it.

  "Use us till the very last minute," Faris said.

  Abdul turned and looked at Faris. His friend and ally of twenty years looked pitiful. He shirt was stained a dark brown with blood that he kept spitting up from most likely a punctured lung. Abdul turned and crouched again by his friend.

  "No, brother, I'm going to get us out of here."

  "How? We have nowhere to go. It is over, Abdul. Ten years we were lucky, but I always knew this day would come."

  Faris coughed heavily, as rich, arterial blood poured from his lips and dribbled onto his chin. Abdul felt like crying. He took his shirt and wiped the blood from his friend's face. There his friend was, stuck to a sinking ship. For what? One hundred thousand dollars he'd never see. Abdul bent behind Faris's back to see if he could dislodge the spear. That's when the acrid smell of feces hit his nose.

  Faris had defecated himself, either involuntarily or from the terror of knowing he was dying. Abdul held his breath and saw that the tip of the spear, which was buried in the fiberglass boat, was screwed onto the shaft that protruded from his friend's stomach. If he could turn the spear shaft, he would be able to free Faris.