Chapter 50
When I peeled open my eyes, I saw nothing. It was pitch black inside the crypt. The damp smell of concrete filled my nostrils.
I kicked around, probing the walls of the crypt.
There was no telling how long I’d been out for. It could have been minutes or hours. It was disorienting, to say the least. There wasn’t a lot of room in the crypt. I wasn’t sure if they had shoved me in headfirst or feet first.
I shouted to Jack, hoping my voice would carry through the stone.
“I’m still here,” he shouted back.
They’d put him in the middle crypt and Mickey and Flynn in the far right. Jack’s voice came from the left of me, meaning I was probably in head first.
“The spiders!” Flynn shouted. “The spiders. Let me out!”
Talk about a bad trip.
There was some ventilation to help with moisture, but the oxygen supply would dwindle soon. CO2 would build up rapidly, leading to a blackout. I guess that was a better way to go than starving to death in here. It wasn’t going to be pretty when the need for a bathroom break arrived.
Cuffed behind my back, I managed to reach my hands around and fish out my keys from my pocket. They hit the concrete as I fumbled for the handcuff key. My fingers scraped for them. When I finally had it between my fingertips, I managed to get the tiny key into the slot and unlock the cuffs.
My wrists swung free, but there wasn’t much room to move around.
I dug my cellphone from my pocket. The glow of the screen lit up the chamber.
With hope, I looked at the screen.
No signal.
Hope dashed.
The reinforced concrete walls of the crypt acted as a Faraday cage. Combined with the concrete, it blocked the signal.
I shimmied toward the mouth of the crypt and kicked the marble faceplate. It was only half to 3/4 of an inch thick.
A dozen heavy kicks rattled my shins. A dozen more, and the stone chipped around the rosette screws. A few more, and the brittle marble snapped and fell away. It crashed against the ground with a clank.
A gust of fresh air rushed in.
I shimmied out of the crypt and grabbed the cordless drill that had been left behind. It buzzed as I unscrewed the faceplate of Jack’s crypt, then helped him climb out.
“Thanks, brother. I appreciate it. That was a little on the cramped side.”
I released his cuffs, then proceeded to free Flynn and Mickey.
Flynn’s eyes were wide like saucers. “Now that was some messed-up shit.”
I helped them both out of the narrow chamber and cut away their zip ties with a pocket knife. They both filled their lungs with panicked breaths. The confinement had been intense for them, burning through oxygen twice as fast.
We may have been alive, but Mickey had a look of sheer despair on his face. There was nothing to negotiate with. No money. Pedro would most likely kill Kendra.
I called Isabella and asked her to track all cellular devices that had pinged the tower from the mausoleum.
Her fingers tapped the keys, and a moment later she said, “I’ve got four burners, apart from your phones.”
“Where are they now?”
She gave me the address as we hustled out of the mausoleum.
The four of us weaved through the tombs and hopped into the Revenant. Jack fired up the beast and banked a U-turn. The EV all-terrain vehicle barreled through the cemetery. We made it out before they locked the main gates.
We raced back to the marina at Diver Down. The thugs had taken our weapons, and I thought it best to drop off the psychonaughts before we engaged the hostiles.
Jack found a place to park, and we hurried back to the boat. I told Mickey and Flynn to stay put while we prepped our gear. We grabbed pistols, extra magazines, AR-15s, tactical vests, and anything else we thought we might need.
Isabella had tracked the money to a house on Pelican Crest—not the one in Stingray Bay. The one in Jamaica Village. Most people didn't often confuse the two.
The intel I had gathered from Isabella couldn't be used to obtain a warrant. The money was dirty and would be seized. Once again, Jack and I were operating in a gray area. Maybe it wasn't so gray. I kept reminding myself that Kendra's life was at stake.
Dressed in black, decked out in tactical gear, Jack and I took the Porsche to Jamaica Village.
We spotted the battered blue-gray cargo van parked in front of the crappy house on Pelican Crest. The yard was surrounded by a chain-link fence, and a withered palm stood guard.
The yard was dry and patchy, and the cream stucco siding of the house was dingy.
Without gutters, prior rainfalls had splattered the ground and kicked up dirt, staining the siding.
The house was in desperate need of a power wash.
We parked about halfway down the street and surveyed the house for a few minutes. It looked like the crew was inside, celebrating their new score.
Sixty duffel bags full of cash were heavy. Lugging them around was enough to wear anybody out. I hoped they had been too lazy to unload the van.
JD and I pulled on black balaclavas over our faces. With wireless earbuds, we had encrypted comms over a secure network. Under the cover of night, we slipped out of the Porsche and hustled down the block toward the van.
Crickets chirped, and a dog barked a block over.
I tugged on the door handle to the driver’s side of the van, but it was locked. So were the cargo doors and passenger doors. But I had come prepared. I took a Slim Jim, slipped it through the weatherstripping, and unlocked the door within a matter of moments.
The dome light on the interior flicked on when I opened the door. I reached up and disabled it. Then I hit the power locks. Jack pulled open the creaky back cargo doors and surveyed the loot. The van was stacked to the brim with black duffel bags.
"Looks like everything," he said in a whisper.
"Those punks still have our guns,” I said.
I wasn't too keen on the fact that cartel thugs had our pistols, and I really didn't feel like explaining to the sheriff how they got them.
"Let it go," Jack said. "We got what we came for."
Usually, I was the one talking sense into him. But I was a little hot about this one. Getting sealed in a crypt was hard to let go of. But I took a deep breath and thought better of it.
I crept around to the front of the van, slipped inside, and pulled the door shut with a gentle touch.
Jack hustled back to the Porsche and hopped behind the wheel.
The cargo van was older, built before immobilizers were common. There was no ECU. No chip. I pried off the cover to the steering column, yanked the wires, and hot-wired the van within 30 seconds. The engine turned over and rumbled to life.
I put the vehicle in gear and drove off. At the corner, I flipped on the lights, took a left at the stop sign, and stepped on it.
Jack was right behind me.
We were long gone before the dipshits even noticed the van was missing. They sure were in for a surprise. A sly smile curled my lips.
I didn’t think those idiots would be brazen enough to report their van stolen, but anything was possible.
We zipped across the island to Jack’s bungalow. He’d been renting it to a friend who was going through a divorce. I pulled the van up the drive. JD pulled in behind me and hit the remote to the garage. The door lifted, and I drove in.
Jack’s friend, Travis, was there to greet us.
I killed the engine and hopped out.
“Where’d you get this hunk of shit?” Travis asked. He was mid-50s with short brown hair, sleepy blue eyes, and a bit of a beer belly.
“Don’t ask,” I replied.
“What kind of crazy shit are you two into now?”
“Long story,” I said.
Travis’s suspicious eyes surveyed the battered vehicle. He peered in through the driver’s window and saw the ignition column. “This thing hot?”
“It’s not exactly cool,” JD said.
Travis laughed. “And they gave you two badges?”
“Crazy, right?” JD muttered.
“You want a beer?” Travis asked.
“Not right now,” I said. “Thank you. Got any bleach handy?”
“I’m sure there’s some in the kitchen.”
Jack closed the garage door, and we stepped inside. Two half-naked hotties reclined on the couch watching TV.
Travis introduced us. “Serenity, Crystal, this is Tyson and JD.”
We smiled and waved. They smiled and waved.
“God, I love being single,” Travis said.
In the kitchen, I found some bleach under the sink.
I grabbed a pair of kitchen gloves and a roll of paper towels, then headed back out to the van.
I wanted to keep it handy when the time came to dump the vehicle.
We could burn or bleach it to remove trace evidence.
I’d worn gloves and the balaclava, but an eyelash, a stray hair, or sometimes a few skin cells would be enough to put you behind bars. Why take any chances?
I grabbed a half-full gas can from the garage and set it on the floorboard on the passenger side, just in case we needed to burn the damn thing.
Jack asked me in a hushed voice, “How do you want to play this?”
“Stay here with the van. I’ll go back to the Avventura, check on the guys, and wait to hear from the kidnappers.”
“Travis can look after the van,” JD said.
“No offense, but it’s $150 million dollars. You’re the only one I trust to look after the van.”
Jack nodded in agreement. He said to Travis, “We were never here. None of this ever happened.”
Travis gave Jack a mock salute. “Affirmative.”
Jack gave me the keys to the Porsche, and I hustled down the driveway to the car. I climbed in and fired up the flat six. I put the car into gear and backed out of the driveway.
JD and Travis waved.
I didn’t feel too bad about stealing the thugs’ van. I didn’t feel bad at all. Those clowns had sealed us in crypts and stolen $150 million from us. The van was asshole tax.
I hurried back to Diver Down and parked by the dock. I hopped out and locked the Porsche, then jogged to the Avventura and boarded the boat.
Buddy greeted me as usual. After petting him, I set out to find Flynn and Mickey. They chilled on the sky deck, coming down from their high. Mickey sobbed, and Flynn tried to console him.
“I’m such an asshole,” Mickey said. “I’ve been so selfish. My daughter’s going to die because of it.”
“She’s not going to die,” Flynn assured. “How many things have gone wrong already? Yet we’re still here. Everything’s going to work out. You just have to believe.” Then he added, “Plus, we’ve got the dynamic duo. If anybody can get your daughter back safely, it’s Tyson and JD.”
I joined them with a smile and said, “We got it.”
Flynn’s eyes widened with disbelief. “You got the money back?”
I nodded.
Flynn smiled, grabbed Mickey’s shoulder, and shook him. “See! I told you. You just gotta ride that wave.” He howled, “Woo-hoo!”
“Any word from the kidnappers?” I asked.
Mickey showed me the text. [Go to the lighthouse. In the dispenser for the Coconut Times, there is a burner phone taped to the ceiling. Find the phone. Await instructions. Come alone. No cops. No backup. If you’re followed, Kendra dies.]
They were going to bounce us around from location to location. It would keep us from setting an ambush and let them know if we were being followed.
I told Mickey, "You two stay here. I'll handle this.”
"They're expecting me," Mickey said.
"I'm not going to let you guys go alone and miss out on all the fun," Flynn said.
"I don't want any other cops around," Mickey said to me. “You heard what they said. They'll kill Kendra. What if they know you're a cop?”
"Don't underestimate how much they want the money,” I said.
"What if this is about more than money? What if Pedro wants revenge? You realize they may not have any intention of letting us go.”
"That’s something I had considered.”
"So, what's the plan?”