Читать книгу Sheikh Defence - Ryshia Kennie - Страница 10

Chapter Three

Saturday, June 11—9:00 a.m.

It had been more than eight hours since the US Coast Guard had received the call from the missing yacht. And despite the time that had passed, they couldn’t pinpoint where the yacht was. They assumed that the vessel’s AIS, Automatic Identification System, a standardized system that would provide the identity, type, position, course, speed, navigational status and other safety-related facts about the vessel, was compromised. Whether that was due to criminal intent or was accidental was yet to be determined.

Faisal had checked the coordinates between Paradise Island and the continental United States. So much could affect the outcome. If it was foul play, that would change everything. If they were suffering engine failure, it could again change everything. And if they were moving under their own steam—doubtful—again, it changed everything. But with nothing to go on, they had to start somewhere.

He glanced over at Craig Vale, the only one of the Nassar team to make this trip with him. Craig was heading north after this to New York to meet up with other members of the tech team. But in the meantime, it was nice to have a researcher on the case. That so rarely happened. They were usually a distant voice via a phone or computer connection.

Faisal shifted his thoughts, focusing on what was ahead. He didn’t like any of it. He was flying into a no-win situation. Yet, despite that, this was what he did and what he thrived on. He might not like it but his adrenaline was kicking in. The personal connection would no longer be at the forefront. In order for this mission to be successful he had to lead with his head, not his heart. It was no different than when his sister, Tara, had been kidnapped. He’d let his oldest brother lead the charge and he’d done the hardest thing he’d ever done in his life. He’d stayed here, managing their business thousands of miles away from that heartache. In the end, that decision had been the right one. Tara was home and safe.

He dropped the thoughts from his mind. Now, his mind was solely on this case. Rehashing probabilities and possibilities would get him nowhere. In a way, taking the thoughts from his mind, focusing on what was important, was like meditation, which was something he utilized at the beginning of every case. It was a practice he shared with his oldest brother, Emir, and Emir’s wife, Kate, who had introduced him to it. It was something his whole family now practiced. It had made both their business and their family stronger and tighter as a result.

Thoughts of meditation fled as his phone beeped. It was only a notification that they were minutes from landing. He looked out the window of the private jet. Traveling by private jet was one of the many perks that came from wealth. It was also one of many he didn’t give much consideration to. If asked, he would have admitted that he was privileged, lucky in the manner of his birth. It wasn’t something he ever discussed or thought about. It was a fact that had always been. That part of his life, his family’s inherited wealth and status, had been unchanging. He’d been born into wealth that had accrued over generations. It was what he’d always known. But it was this part, Nassar Security and his position as head of the Wyoming branch, that allowed him to play out his dreams of adventure. He couldn’t imagine that anyone had a better life and there wasn’t a day that he wasn’t grateful.

Today was different. Today he faced a tragedy that could touch every member of his family. His phone rang, breaking into his thoughts. He froze and his heart leaped despite his training, which usually allowed him to maintain a cool facade. He held the phone for a split second for Craig to see. It wasn’t a number he recognized. What unknown caller would phone now? He didn’t believe in coincidence and yet he answered, praying to hear Dan’s or Ava’s voice.

Silence and something else. There was a sound that was as recognizable as it was disturbing. It was the sound of waves lapping against a dock or the bow of a boat.

Craig nodded, his blond ponytail bobbing where it skimmed over his collar. His nod confirmed the suspicion they had both had. His full pouty lips seemed at odds with a strong jaw. It was as if nature hadn’t been sure if it was creating a tough guy or pretty boy. Either way, these conflicting traits belied his thirty-five years and made him look more like twenty.

They both held their breath, hoping the connection would hold, that they could get a trace.

“Hello,” he repeated. “Dan?” There was nothing, only silence. The only surety they had was Craig’s confirmation that this was Dan’s number, but was it Dan? What were the odds that the search would begin on a lucky note? On finding a survivor before they’d even landed?

“Who are you? Tell me.” He kept talking, hoping to keep the connection going.

He could hear something that sounded like the crash of a wave. It was different from the first one. This time it was rather like when one wave rolls down into another that is just building to a crest. It was a sound he was familiar with having spent time on a yacht with his family as a child.

He listened closely. He barely dared to breathe, as if even that might drown out other sounds, other clues. He heard what sounded like a soft breath. It wasn’t much but what he’d heard sounded feminine. Feminine and indistinguishable.

The sound of water, the pattern of waves and the call of a seagull. Then there was nothing, only silence.

“Hello.” He wasn’t willing to give up. “Ava? Dan?” He didn’t know if it was either of them. He was only taking a chance and betting on the odds against the fact that it could be anyone else. There’d been two people registered as leaving the dock in that boat.

He glanced at his watch and then over at Craig. As if to confirm his faith in him, Craig nodded and gave a thumbs-up less than a minute after the connection broke.

“I have the coordinates,” Craig said.

Forty minutes later they landed. He left Craig to his own devices as he transferred to a sea rescue helicopter.

“I’d say it was good to see you, but unfortunately I can’t—the circumstances suck,” the pilot, Jer Keller, said. They’d flown together on a number of rescues. Jer was the same age as Faisal. He had married young and already had twin toddlers with his childhood sweetheart. But despite the differences in their home life, they both shared a passion for this. If Nassar Security hadn’t existed, Faisal would have chosen a career in sea rescue. Getting the opportunity to be involved, as rare as it was, was usually a thrill. Not this time.

“At least we have hope that someone lived.” He shook his head. Somehow the way he had pronounced those words sounded grim.

Sam Sanders, a blond man in his midforties, came up to them and shook each of their hands. He was an early retiree from the Coast Guard, an experienced member of Search and Rescue who had helped out as winchman in previous rescues.

“Sam,” Faisal said and clapped his hand on the man’s shoulder. “Wish we met under better circumstances.”

Sam nodded in his quiet, rather stoic way. “Hopefully we’ll be successful and you’ll have use of me.” It was pretty much the last thing he said for the duration of the flight.

They’d been in the air for five minutes when Faisal moved to the back where the side doors were open.

“Better view or just being hopeful?” Jer asked through his mic.

“Both,” he said. There was no way to predict how this was going to turn out despite his hopes. All he knew was that there was a storm brewing. Already the air seemed heavier, more humid. It was the intensity of the feeling, not the humidity, that reminded him of home, of Marrakech. But it had been a long time since he’d been home for anything more than a short visit. Wyoming was home now and humidity wasn’t an issue. Not like here. He could feel the air, thick and difficult to breath. He loved the feel of open spaces, the small population, the sweeping plains and the blessed winter. The congestion of a city like Miami or the one of his birth, Marrakech, overwhelmed his senses. He’d known that since he was a boy. It was the reason why, for almost the last decade, he’d lived in Wyoming. It was a vast state with a sparse population that fit his personality like nothing else. He loved the town of Jackson. It was small, a good place to dig in one’s heels. He could never imagine going back. Big cities were fun in the moment but anything more than a day or two and he was antsy. Unfortunately he was here in Miami for as long as it took to solve this case.

They’d been flying for well over an hour. Jer and he had caught up on where each of them were in their lives. For five minutes they flew in silence.

“Do you see it?” Jer asked.

“I do.” He was hanging half out of the chopper. Ahead of them and slightly less than fifty miles off the coast of Paradise Island was a speck that didn’t fit. A minute later and it was clear that it was a small dark gray dinghy.

“Bang on, Craig,” he said as if the tech was actually present. His coordinates had been near perfect, for the craft was only a mile away from where his tech had tracked it. It was barely visible as it rose and fell in waves that were growing larger with every minute.

“Raft,” Jer said unnecessarily as he read off the coordinates. “We may have us a survivor.”

The helicopter buzzed closer and it was hard to tell who or what they might be faced with. Faisal could only hope that there were at least two people in that life raft, the right two people—Dan and Ava Adams.

Tension mixed with excitement settled within the confines of the helicopter. The odds that this could be anyone else, considering even what little they knew, were remote.

“It’s loaded,” Jer said as he dipped the helicopter and lost altitude.

His gaze swept the area while never letting the life raft leave his sight. Dan and Ava had to be alive. He refused to accept another scenario. He looked at his watch as he estimated the hours they might have been in the water.

Faisal got into position to be dropped down. The flight suit he’d donned an hour earlier seemed both familiar and restrictive. He should have a wetsuit but he hadn’t thought of that. Emotion had blinded him. He wiped perspiration from his forehead and let the adrenaline fire him up as it always did.

“One occupant,” Faisal muttered a few minutes later as he slipped the harness on and prepared to be dropped. His heart sank. That meant that one of them might not have made it.

He wasn’t going to assume anything. This could be Ava Adams or Dan Adams or it could even be someone else who had been on that yacht, someone he wasn’t aware of. For now, he was focused on rescue, nothing more.

Whoever was in the raft hadn’t moved. And it was impossible to tell from this distance if they were alive or dead.