Page 73 of Under the Radar
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The deck of the Sanctuary vessel named The Liberty bustled with activity. Wetsuits replaced clothes. Mooney busied himself checking oxygen tanks. Derek distributed night-vision goggles, and Beck cleaned off a table that had been set up with energy snacks. Every few seconds, you heard the sound of ammo loaded and chambered.
Mac’s phone joined to a military computer that monitored Mo’s location with a visual update every few seconds. According to the GPS, their ETA was thirty-five minutes. Mo’s vessel was moving quickly and the chop was low. They’d use that low chop to their advantage to move faster.
Mac stepped onto the bridge and increased their speed. He returned the control to Ethan and waved for everyone to form a tight circle around the bridge.
“Welcome to The Liberty. I realize that three of you have never worked on a Sanctuary vessel previous to tonight. She’s a state-of-the-art combat medical rescue ship with a stealth hull. The three people you saw go below deck earlier are a military surgeon and two nurses. You will not see them again unless there are injuries that require their assistance. When we are fifteen minutes away from our target, the deck goes silent and we operate without lights. We’ll communicate with hand signals on deck and earpieces in the water until we execute the rescue. Double-check that your personal GPS is activated and your earpiece is at a comfortable volume for you. I’ll direct this rescue from the nest, as I’m the only sniper here with open water experience. I’ll assign positions once we’re closer to our target and know the number of enemies onboard the vessel.”
Mac stepped off the bridge and swung his rifle over one shoulder and his pack on the other. He zeroed in on Liz, who was efficiently replacing one prosthetic foot with another. He walked over to her. “Are you sure that foot is strong enough in rough seas?” He scrubbed a hand across his face. “I don’t want to be worried about you too.”
Liz patted her prosthetic. “Well now, Commander, I’ll assume that question is simply a gentlemanly concern for my welfare. I’ve got one hell of a flipper foot—damn near bionic. Shows us all what Walter Reed and Johns Hopkins can do when they work together.”
He nodded. “Impressive. Thank you for your help.”
“Glad to be on the team.” She hefted a small pack over her shoulder. “I’m going to sit quietly on that bench over there for a few minutes. I like to get the dolphins in a circle before I swim.”
* * *
Mo fought to control her breathing as panic clawed at her lungs. She kept checking the horizon hoping to see a rescue ship heading their way, but the only lights were far away from anchored vessels. Her heart bottomed out. She must have lost the GPS earring because otherwise, Mac would already be here. What if he was listening and had no idea where she was? How awful. She hoped he couldn’t hear her because it would destroy him.
Jason picked up her unfinished bottle of water and the rest of her sandwich and tossed them overboard. Then, he grabbed the heavy metal crate she’d been in and heaved it over the side too.
Mo felt for the knife she’d stowed under her right thigh. “Why are you throwing things overboard, Jason?”
He gave her a satisfied smile. “Destroying evidence, if you must know.”
“What are you going to do with me? We’re all the way out here on the water. I can’t get myself untied, and you’re in charge. What do you want from me?”
He strode back to the table and spun the iPad to face her. It was open to the Reardon Industries main accounts page. “You are going to enter your pin number and transfer $30 million to this bank account.” He showed her an index card with bank routing and account numbers.
He’s going to steal from the company?“I can’t do that. I don’t even have access to that account.”
“Oh, yes, you do. Six weeks ago, I had you sign some papers. I told you to remember the pin and guard it with your life. Remember?” Of course, she remembered. But hell would freeze over before she told him the number. Mo shook her head. “I don’t remember.”
Jason shrugged. “Alright. It’s your choice. No more Mr. Nice Guy.” He reached into his jacket, pulled out a gun, and pointed it at her head.
Mo’s fear morphed into anger. “I’ve been running from drug dealers for the past week, you moron! My apartment’s trashed, I’ve been kidnapped, drugged, and there were people shooting at me in Nassau. What is wrong with you? You want thirty million? Get in line, buddy. The bank of Reardon is open for business. You’re supposed to be helping me get out of this situation, and now you’re holding a gun to my head demanding money? Are you crazy?”
He cocked his head to the side and sneered, “You really don’t get it, do you?”
Yeah. Sadly, I do.“Get what? What are you talking about, Jason?”
“You were running from me, sweetheart. It would’ve been a lot easier for my guys to nab you in Nassau considering extradition, the FBI, yadda-yadda, but your Boy Wonder kept getting in the way.”
“What?” She shook her head. “You’re the head lawyer for Reardon Industries, not a drug dealer.”
“Everybody moonlights these days—it’s required to make ends meet.” He shoved the gun in his jacket pocket.
“Yeah, right,” she scoffed. Your base salary is a million dollars before bonuses. Tell me another fairy tale. I live on fifty-three thousand a year, and it isn’t hard to meet my obligations.”
“Believe what you want, but some of us like a little luxury. It’s always bugged me that you take the money for granted. It means nothing to you.” He snapped his fingers. “You just ask Daddy, and he gives you whatever you want.”
“Stop it, Jason. I don’t ask my parents for anything. You know how important my independence is to me.” If only she was the one with the upper hand right now, she’d bitch slap him into tomorrow.
“I had to design an alternate retirement plan. I wanted to retire at thirty-nine, and here I am five years later and still working. All because you wouldn’t stay with me and share the money. Well—fuck you, Maureen.”
Mo rubbed her face. “So, you want me to transfer thirty million to your retirement account?”