Ghosts of Havana (Judd Ryker #3)(62)

Judd trudged along the sand in silence until the man grabbed his wrists to hold him still. The sun was hot on Judd’s skin. Then Judd felt a violent shove and, unable to balance with his hands, he felt himself going down.

In the instant that he fell, he didn’t scream or yell or cry. He didn’t think about the cliff or the hole or the rocks that could be below. He didn’t think about Cuba or Landon Parker or his mission. In that flash of an instant, handcuffed and hooded, in the hands of an unknown assailant, in some unknown corner of a forgotten island, as he fell helplessly to his fate, the only image in his mind: Jessica.

That’s when Judd hit the soft rubber and bounced gently. An inner tube? Then the unmistakable sound of an outboard motor being started. Now what?





60.


FORT LAUDERDALE, FLORIDA

FRIDAY, 11:08 A.M.

Mommy!” Noah whined from the pool.

Jessica didn’t hear it. She had just hung up the phone on the Deputy Director of the Central Intelligence Agency. She had just told her boss—the man who held the future of her career in his hands, one of the most powerful men in Washington, one of the most powerful people in the world—to f*ck off. She had refused to help him find out what Landon Parker was doing in Cuba. What Judd was doing. She had refused to spy on her own husband.

Was she being righteous? Or just stupid?

“Mommy! Mommy!” her son cried again, now standing next to her, soaking wet and dripping.

She had put herself at risk. Hell, Ricky Green had shot at her. He’d tried to run her down in his cigarette boat just the night before. But Jessica wasn’t worried about the risks to herself. She could handle that. What tore at her was the idea that she had put Judd in danger. That somehow her actions, even if she thought she was helping, had helped to deliver Judd into the arms of the Devil.

“Mommy!” Noah poked her.

“Yes, Noah,” she said, snapping out of her thoughts, “what is it? Are you hungry?”

“Cold,” he said as he danced in place, the water pooling in a puddle beneath him. His older brother Toby was still splashing obliviously in the pool.

“Well, let’s get you all nice and warm,” she said soothingly as she wrapped him in a large blue towel and pulled him onto her lap into a bear hug.

“Is that better?” she asked. “You’re all warm and safe now. Mommy’s got you.”

Noah nodded. “When’s Daddy coming?”

“Soon, baby.”

“When?”

“I don’t know, Noah.” She kissed him on his head. His hair smelled of coconut sunscreen and chlorine. “I hope Daddy’s coming soon, baby.”





61.


OFFSHORE EASTERN CUBA


FRIDAY, 11:11 A.M.

The Zodiac bounced up and down rhythmically as it raced out to sea. Judd sat low and braced his feet against the soft sides of the watercraft to keep his balance. He hadn’t heard any other people, so Judd assumed he was still in the custody of the taxi driver, but the man hadn’t spoken another word. All he could hear through his hood was the high-pitched whine of the motor and the sound of the wind.

After what seemed like an eternity, the engine roar eased and the bouncing slowed. Distant shouting in Spanish, the thunk of banging metal, the splash of waves, and then Judd was hauled to his feet.

“Arriba! Arriba!” someone demanded, and Judd was lifted up by the armpits until his feet settled on a hard metallic surface. A ship?

“My name is Judd Ryker,” he said firmly. “I am here—”

“Silencio!” demanded a brusque voice.

Judd was pushed along the steel deck. He could feel the gentle rocking of the swell. Yes, a ship. But where? He was led down a flight of stairs and through a door, then forced into a chair by firm hands. He heard a heavy metal door slam shut and the clang of a lock. Am I alone?

Then Judd heard the gentle breathing of someone nearby.

“My name is Judd Ryker,” he said. “I am here—”

The hood was snatched off and Judd shut his eyes to the sudden bright lights. As he squinted hard, he felt the handcuffs releasing. Adrenaline rushed through his body. Without looking, Judd turned and swung hard with a primal roar, his fist colliding with the side of someone’s skull. He ignored the pain in his hand and pivoted for another blind roundhouse punch just as arms wrapped him tightly. Judd twisted to break free from the vise, but the other man was stronger.

“Relajé!” the voice whispered. “Relax, amigo.”

Judd thrashed for a few seconds more, but the adrenaline surge receded and the futility of struggling sank in. Judd dropped his head and exhaled.

“And remove that ridiculous beard,” said a voice with a heavy Spanish accent.

Judd took off his disguise and forced his eyes open. He focused on the face now in front of him. Black eyes, chiseled jaw, broken nose, a short man with thick arms. The taxi driver.

“Who—?” Judd started.

“I apologize,” the man interrupted, rubbing his jaw. “This is not how we treat guests in Cuba. It could not be helped.”

“Where . . .” Judd started to ask, noticing with relief that he wasn’t in a cell. There was a table set for a meal, a desk, a bar with an array of bottles. This looked like a captain’s quarters.