Chapter Twenty-One
One Mile South of Cabrera Island
Mallorca, Spain
A voice barked commands in rapid-fire Spanish through a bullhorn.
“This is the Guardia Civil. We will be boarding your vessel. Keep your hands where we can see them.”
Any remaining hope that Verena had that this might have been a regular maritime inspection vanished. Though she spoke Spanish fluently, she decided she wasn’t about to reveal that fact to the boarding party.
Twenty seconds later, the hull of the patrol boat nudged against the Azimut’s.
Verena scowled and shouted in English over the engine noise. “Careful there! Any damage will come out of your pocket!”
Moments later, four figures stepped aboard—three men and one woman—all in Guardia Civil uniforms. They wore dark green coveralls, black bulletproof vests, ball caps, and bright orange personal flotation devices.
The woman carried a shotgun, and one of the men held a compact submachine gun. The other two had holstered sidearms.
No one was pointing a weapon at her yet, so she took that as a small victory.
“Can you turn this away from me?” Verena asked in English, motioning toward the spotlight. “It’s blinding me.”
An officer with a well-groomed beard stepped forward. “I’m Capitán Molina. You the owner?” he asked in heavily accented English.
Verena gave a dry laugh. “I wish. It’s a charter. Captain Burton has all the documentation,” she said.
She gestured for Burton, who was standing beside her, to hand over the papers.
“It’s a two-week charter, Capitán,” Burton said, offering the charter agreement. “We’re scheduled to return to Valencia in nine days.”
“This vessel was seen near Port de Sóller this morning,” Molina said, flipping through the manifest.
As he spoke, Verena noticed that two of the officers were fanning out across the deck.
“That’s right,” she said. “We anchored about two miles south of there. Gorgeous diving site.”
“Are you aware an American journalist was abducted in Port de Sóller earlier today?”
“Today?” she repeated, feigning surprise. “In Port de Sóller?”
Molina gave no reaction. He just stared at her.
He was tall, trim, and looked to be in his late twenties.
Verena wished she knew what Molina had been told about Veloce and what his orders were.
She assumed that if the Guardia Civil knew Hobb was aboard the yacht, they would have sent more than one patrol boat and maybe even a chopper for support.
“How many people aboard?” Molina asked.
“Three. Myself, Captain Burton, and the chef. He’s asleep in his cabin.”
“So . . . you’re the only guest? Miss . . . ?”
“Verena Kaine.”
“It’s a large yacht for just one person.”
“Didn’t realize that was a crime,” she replied.
Molina flipped another page on the manifest. “This shows six guests and two crew members.”
Verena shrugged. “Yeah . . . well, they’re in Palma. Club-hopping is my guess.”
“Are there any weapons on board? Anything me and my team should be made aware of?”
She tilted her head, as if offended. “Of course not!”
“Then you wouldn’t object if we search the vessel, would you?”
A bolt of anxiety crawled up Verena’s spine. “I mean . . . don’t you need a warrant for that?”
Molina smirked, crumpled the manifest, and tossed it overboard.
“Not in this case,” he said. “You’re missing proper ownership documentation.”
The man’s action gave her pause. Was this a bribe shakedown? She’d expect that in Mexico, but not in Spain. Still, it was an option worth exploring. If all this could be solved with cash, she was willing to play the game.
“I’m sure we can come to a reasonable arrangement, Capitán Molina,” she said, letting a faint smile touch her lips. “I’m sure these nighttime boardings can be stressful—”
The smirk on Molina’s mouth vanished. “Are you suggesting a bribe?”
Verena was caught off guard. She’d clearly misjudged the situation.
“I . . . I certainly wouldn’t call it that,” she replied. “But I understand operations like this aren’t cheap—”
“Search it!” Molina snapped, gesturing for the two officers patrolling the deck to get inside the yacht.
Verena scratched her ear, taking the opportunity to subtly tap her earbud once. Bernard would hear what came next and would get ready.
“You want to search it, then search it,” she said, then added, “but do you really need four officers to do it?”
Molina studied her for a few seconds, then he smiled, though it was devoid of any warmth.
“Thank you for giving us your consent, Miss Kaine.”
“Of course. We’ve got nothing to hide.”
Verena could see that Burton was getting anxious beside her, shifting his weight from one foot to the other.
“While my team sweeps the boat, I’d like to see the ship’s log.”
“The logbook is in my quarters,” Burton said. “You can follow me.”
Before anyone could move, the patrol boat’s spotlight was suddenly powered off. Verena didn’t move right away, her instincts telling her something had just happened. Her pulse spiked, and her pupils contracted, then widened again as her eyes tried to recalibrate.
And then she saw it, movement on the patrol boat.
A small silhouette, more like a shadow, really, had appeared on the Rodman-55’s deck.
Verena blinked. Were her eyes playing tricks on her?
No, it was real. The silhouette darted across the deck, moving impossibly fast. The figure was dressed entirely in black, easily blending into the night.
Verena heard two muffled pops.
And then everything turned into chaos.