Page 18 of Beaches

“No.”

Dragging the three men toward the tarp-covered structure, their hands were nailed to the supports with the machetes once again. The man with one hand was secured by his remaining limb. Then Trak disappeared, returning a few moments later with the whip that Rikovsky had used on the girl.

He whipped the razor-sharp strands around the three bodies, their screams seemingly unheard by the other men. When they were secured, Trak set several charges around the compound.

“You’re fucking crazy,” gasped one of the men. “Everyone always said you were fucking crazy.”

“Oh, you haven’t even met crazy,” said Rory. “Crazy is still at home. But they’re coming. They’re all fucking coming for your boss, and we will find him.”

“Please, please don’t do this,” he pleaded.

“Where is the island?” asked Jean. The men froze, staring at their tormentors. “Last chance. Where is the island?”

“We don’t know,” said the now one-handed man. “We were never there. Only they go.”

“They?” frowned Whiskey.

“Him and his brother. That’s all I can say. We don’t know where the islands are.”

“Islands? Well, aren’t you full of surprises,” growled Jean. “You’ve fucking started. Finish this!”

He stubbornly shook his head, and Jean just stepped back, staring at the three men.

“Do it,” he said, nodding to Trak. “And if it’s possible, make it slow.”

As the men walked toward the road, the slow explosions behind them sent thunderous clouds of smoke and fire into the air. Not one of them said a word. Quietly moving toward their ultimate target. They would find the men in charge, and they would find those islands. When they did, they would exact a pain on them the likes of which their sick imaginations had never conceived.

CHAPTER THIRTEEN

Trak, Whiskey, Jean, Rory, Cruz, Otto, and Vince were on the boat as the sun rose the next morning. They’d had very little sleep but didn’t need it. What they needed was to find that island before the men were killed.

“Good morning,” said Ace into comms.

“It’s after midnight for you, Ace,” said Rory.

“I know, but it’s morning for you. I might have some good news. A mega-yacht registered in Malaysia was reported missing two weeks ago during a horrible storm. His last known GPS location was somewhere in the Philippine Sea between the islands and Taiwan.”

“That’s a huge fucking area, Ace,” said Rory.

“I know, but hear me out. The owner of the yacht was Colonel Lawrence Kaplan. His brother is Lt. General Levi Kaplan.”

“Holy fuck,” muttered Jean. “Ace, please tell me you have some islands for us to search. If he was out there in the middle of nowhere, there has to be a reason.”

“I have one island with no inhabitants and possible survivability. One. I’m sending the coordinates now.”

“Ace, if this is the island, you’re the one that deserves the medal, brother,” said Whiskey.

“Just bring those men home.”

While they finished eating their breakfast, Otto turned the boat toward the coordinates and fired into stealth and RMM. RMM was the newest technology from G.R.I.P., Rapid Movement Mode, and allowed their boats, cars, and other land and sea-based craft to move at high speeds without detection.

By the time they neared the island, they knew they were at the right location. In the distance, they could see a fire burning on the beach.

“We’ve got coral reefs that will slice the boat to pieces,” said Otto. “How are we getting there?”

“I’m the smallest,” said Cruz. “I can use the G.R.I.P. wetsuit. It will protect me from the coral and allow me to administer first aid if they need it. I can carry three suits in my pack and get them back here safely. They’re likely to be smaller than me, given the conditions. Just get me as close as you can.”

Otto maneuvered the boat as close to the reefs as he could, anchoring her securely to the sea floor. Bringing up the detailed mapping of the sea, he pointed to the trail for Cruz to follow.

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