Chapter Seven
Port de Sóller
Mallorca, Spain
Crouched behind a cluster of rocks, Caspian watched, his grip tight around the gun in his hand, as the Azimut cut through the bay, leaving a foamy wake as it gained speed.
The sun, glaring off the ocean’s surface, sent a blinding shimmer across the water, forcing Caspian to narrow his eyes as he tracked the yacht’s retreat.
Shit. There’s no way I’m gonna get to the yacht or to Hobb now.
Someone had seen him. Caspian was sure of it. Why else would the yacht be pulling away with two missing crew members? The timing was too convenient. Now the real question was if they had gotten a good enough look to identify him.
Damn it.
Caspian turned around and scanned the surrounding cliffs and vegetation, looking for movement. The last thing he needed was another surprise. The woman had nearly gotten the best of him. He wasn’t about to let that happen again.
Okay. What now?
His initial plan, clearly too ambitious and bordering on reckless, had been to intercept the yacht before it pulled away.
He had hoped to force the woman to drive him to the Azimut on the Jet Ski, using her as cover.
With luck, the yacht’s crew would have assumed he was the woman’s colleague.
That hope had lasted all of five damn seconds.
It had been a poor concept from the get-go—he was aware of that—but it had been the only thing he could come up with at the time.
Now, he was stuck on the shore, left with two unconscious crew members and no clear way forward.
With the yacht speeding away, his only viable option was to call the authorities.
And for that, he had to get closer to town.
Caspian felt his pulse tick higher. Time was running out.
The fastest way back to Port de Sóller was by water. He looked in the direction of the Jet Ski.
That’s an option.
Then a low groan pulled his attention to the woman.
She stirred, her face contorting briefly in pain before she stilled again.
He hadn’t searched her yet, so he patted her down and found nothing of interest apart from the waterproof bag she carried across her back.
He opened it and pulled out a cell phone, which had a small magnetic leather case attached at the back.
Inside was a license to carry and a bank card.
Also in the bag were a spare magazine for the pistol, three pairs of flex-cuffs, a bottle of water, and a satellite phone.
Caspian smiled. He could use the sat phone.
He powered it on and waited for the signal. While it booted up, he secured the woman’s hands with one set of flex-cuffs, then used a second pair to tie her to her unconscious colleague. It wasn’t perfect, but it would hold them long enough for him to get away.
The fact that they were both carrying flex-cuffs hinted they might have been working with the crew who had grabbed Paul Hobb.
Caspian’s thoughts drifted to the reporter. He had seen enough to know that Hobb’s captors weren’t interested in a polite conversation with him. The thought of what Hobb might be enduring at that very moment made Caspian cringe.
The satellite phone beeped. It had acquired a signal.
Caspian bit his lip as he considered his next step. He could call the Mallorcan authorities and report the abduction.
But that’s gonna open up a world of complications.
Two incapacitated, tied-up people on a beach and a missing journalist. The police would ask questions. Questions Caspian didn’t want to answer. Now that his opportunity to rescue Hobb was gone, he preferred not to get actively involved further, at least until he knew more about the situation.
He knew what he had to do, who he had to reach out to.
Samantha Ranger.
She had told him—very explicitly—to stay out of trouble.
And he had fully intended to do just that.
Ranger wouldn’t be happy about the call, but she’d understand, and she would get the locals moving.
Caspian knew that if anyone could get the right people involved, people who wouldn’t demand a sit-down with him or Liesel, it was Ranger.
Then he thought about Liesel. She was going to be pissed, no doubt about it. But the truth was, if the roles had been reversed, if she had been the one who had witnessed Hobb dive into the water with his hands bound, she wouldn’t have turned her back either.
She would have done the exact same thing I did.
Still, a sinking feeling settled over him.
Vacation’s officially over.
Caspian shook off the thought and looked at the sat phone.
It was an unknown variable. He couldn’t be sure who would be listening in, but he had to assume it was being monitored.
He couldn’t call Ranger’s direct line with it.
In his mind, he scrolled through several numbers she had had him memorize, trying to remember which one he was supposed to use for this situation.
He dialed a number, not convinced it was the correct one.
If he had picked the right number, the call wouldn’t go straight to Ranger.
Instead, it would bounce through a chain of randomized virtual nodes—an encrypted relay network designed to obfuscate both the origin and the destination of the call.
Each hop would strip metadata, encrypt the next leg, and reroute through another anonymized node.
Even the most advanced surveillance systems would struggle to trace the call or listen to it. Or at least that’s what he’d been told.
The line rang once. Twice. A click. Then it rang again.
“Tell me you’re calling from a beachside bar with a drink in your hand,” Ranger said, her voice coming through somewhat computerized.
Caspian glanced at the two people he had knocked out, then gazed at the distant white trail of the Azimut.
“No such luck,” he said. “I need your help with something.”