Chapter Fourteen
Horatio stood on the bow of the Coast Guard ship as it began pulling out of the harbor. Calleigh stood beside him; Natalia and Jesse were close by.
The ship picked up speed as they began racing for open water. The bright orange helicopters escorting them circled once, then took off toward the horizon.
The trafficking ship had a big head start on them. If they were going to catch it, they would have to be perfect.
"Horatio?"
He turned to look at Calleigh, who was gazing at the open water with a stone-like expression on her face.
"What happens if we don't catch them before they reach international waters?" she asked quietly.
Horatio didn't say anything. He didn't want to think about the answer.
{•}
"Hope you like fish, Officer Wolfe, because you're about to sleep with them!" guffawed the man who was pushing him forward.
"Wow, that's really clever," Ryan drawled, trying to loosen the rope around his hands, which were tied in front of him. "Did you think of that all by yourself?"
The man chuckled. "I love your American movies. The Godfather? Classic."
The rope burned into his wrists as Ryan continued trying to wriggle free.
"You're not getting out of that," the man said. "We're sailors. If there's anything we know how to do, it's how to tie a good knot."
"Good for you," Ryan muttered.
The two men escorting him were walking him all the way back to the stern. They were going to throw him off the back of the ship; there would be no way for him to grab back onto the ship somehow once they were in front of him. Even if he could swim after them with his hands tied, he could never swim that fast.
They stopped when they reached the very end of the boat.
"Would you like to jump, or shall we push you?" the second man asked.
Ryan thought hard and fast, but few of his ideas were looking too promising. "I'll take the push, thanks," he said, trying to sound casual.
The men laughed. The one who liked American movies pushed Ryan forward so that he was pressed up against the edge of the ship, looking over the railing and down at the foaming ocean.
The man gave Ryan a shove.
Without really thinking, Ryan spun around and slammed both of his fists into the man's nose, feeling it break under his blow. He bellowed in pain. His partner pulled a gun from a side holster under his jacket and aimed at Ryan.
The CSI grabbed the broken-nosed man and threw him in front of him as a shield. The partner was not as quick; he fired two rounds into his friend's chest, killing him. Ryan shoved the dead man into his partner, who wasn't ready for it. He crumpled under the dead man's weight.
Ryan stomped on the hand that held the gun, prying it from the man's fingers. He looked down at the wide-eyed man coldly.
"It was really stupid to tie my hands in the front," he said quietly.
He kicked the man in the head as hard as he could, knocking him out. Ryan panted with the exertion and adrenaline. The rain soaked his leather jacket and his hair, but he barely noticed. With a huge effort, Ryan managed to drag the two men to the side of the ship and tossed them overboard. He watched, oddly detached, as their bodies splashed into the roiling sea and disappeared into the depths.
Ryan shook all over, both from the wet cold and from having just killed two men. He couldn't let himself think about that, though. He had to find Amber.
Ryan found a sharp edge on the deck and sawed the rope off his hands. He rubbed the feeling back into them, wincing at the stinging red welts.
Ryan popped out the gun's magazine and was disappointed to find he only had four bullets left. With a cold jolt, he realized that he only had one bullet per man left on the ship.
He couldn't miss, and he had to shoot to kill.
Ryan tucked the gun in the back of his jeans, pulling his black t-shirt over it. Finished, he steadied himself and began slowly exploring the shipping containers on the deck. He walked between them, listening hard for any sounds of life within.
He was finished inspecting about half of them when a loud bang ripped the air. A dazzling shot of fire blasted through the back of his leg, above the knee. With a yell, Ryan fell to the deck, writhing. He put a hand to the bullet wound; it came away bloody.
The man who had shot him stalked up to him slowly. "Well, well," he growled lowly. "Look who's still alive."
Shestan appeared behind the shooter, looking enraged. "Put him below with the others," he ordered, eyeing Ryan with utmost hatred.