Deep Shadow by Nick Sullivan

Author:Nick Sullivan [Sullivan, Nick]
Language: eng
Format: epub
Tags: kindle edition
Publisher: Wild Yonder Press
Published: 2018-04-24T22:00:00+00:00

Still out of sight of the lighthouse, Darcy brought them to a stop in the shallows south of the halfway point of the three and a quarter mile long island.

“Is it possible that was a Venezuelan Coast Guardsman?” Rick asked.

“Hiding in the girders with a sniper rifle? Not likely,” Darcy said. “No, more likely it’s a Cartel de los Soles operation. They have people in the Coast Guard so they may have rotated in their own men. The lighthouse garrison is very small—even nonexistent, some of the time.”

“Well, should we call someone?” Ron asked.

“Who are we going to call?” Darcy replied. “The Navy and Coast Guard have been infiltrated by the Cartel—add to that the fact that we’re trespassing in Venezuelan waters. We’re as likely to be arrested as they are. More so.”

“Hey guys?” Emily called out. She was scanning the shoreline ahead with Darcy’s binoculars. “I see someone waving at us.”

Boone grabbed his own binos and aimed them where Emily was looking. A woman with jet black hair stood on a beach ahead; clad only in a bra and shorts, she held a white shirt in both hands, frantically waving it over her head. “It’s a woman,” he said.

“Why is she waving that cloth like that?” Emily said. “In both hands? Looks weird.”

It did look odd. Normally, one would wave a distress flag with one arm while waving the other hand the opposite way. As they drew closer, Boone could see the distress on her face and soon saw the reason for the unorthodox arm waving. “She’s handcuffed! We need to help her. Darcy, what’s your draught?”

“Just over a meter.”

“Don’t ground her but get me in closer.” Boone scrambled toward the bow, waving toward shore to let the woman know she’d been seen. She stopped her own waving, swayed, then dropped to her knees behind a large piece of driftwood. After a moment, she collapsed sideways, vanishing from view. By now they were close to shore and Boone hurled himself into a dive, knifing through the water and emerging from the surf at a run. As he neared the driftwood, he could see her moving behind it.

“Miss? Señorita? Are you alright?”

“I will be,” the young woman said in Spanish-accented English as she rose from behind the driftwood. “Once you give me your boat.”

Boone was staring down the barrel of an assault rifle. Though she held it somewhat clumsily across her chest, the gun propped against the crook of her elbow, at this range she could stitch his body with bullets, handcuffs or no. A white tank top dangled from the chain between her wrists. He held his hands out. “Easy, Miss. We’re here to help.”

“And you shall. Tell your captain and passengers to disembark and wade to shore.”

Boone turned toward the boat and was greeted by another gun barrel. Darcy DaSilva was standing on the gunwale, a futuristic looking assault rifle braced against the side of the cockpit.

“Señorita Muñoz! Please lower your weapon. We’ve already had enough of your cartel’s guns pointed at us today.

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