The Athena Project: A Thriller Page 6

  “Sit tight!” Ericsson ordered. “We’ve got company.”

  Cooper let loose with another round of fire from her MP7. None of the rounds seemed to be able to penetrate the Donzi’s windshield. “I can’t drill through their glass,” she shouted.

  “Keep trying,” ordered Casey, who had her free arm wrapped around Bianchi’s torso to make sure he didn’t get pitched out of the boat with all the high-speed maneuvering they were doing.

  Cooper ducked as another volley of bullets let loose from the men in the boat chasing them. Preparing to return fire, she was almost tossed from the Zodiac when Ericsson spun it hard to the left to avoid hitting yet another watercraft on the crowded canal.

  Ericsson spun hard left again and sent their boat flying down a different, narrower canal. The powerful Donzi followed right behind, gaining on them.

  “You really need to do something about these guys, Coop,” yelled Ericsson.

  “I’m trying! The bullets are just bouncing off them.”

  “Well, find a spot the bullets don’t bounce off.”

  “Thanks, Jules. Great idea,” said Cooper as she raised her weapon and fired again.

  Casey shook her head and called out to Ericsson, “We need to go back to the palazzo!”

  Ericsson spun their boat to the side in order to miss hitting a trio of gondolas. “Are you crazy?”

  “It’s the only way we can get rid of that boat behind us. We’ll blow the scooters.”

  Blasting down another canal, the women had to duck as they went under an extremely low bridge. Ericsson thought for sure the Donzi wouldn’t even attempt it, but she watched in amazement as sparks literally flew as the boat scraped its way underneath.

  “That might have weakened their windshield,” Ericsson called out to Cooper.

  “I’m on it,” she replied, lifting her weapon and squeezing the trigger. Immediately, the men in the Donzi fired back, and Ericsson jerked the boat hard to the left and then back right just in time to keep their boat from being torn to shreds.

  She removed a small black transmitter and handed it over to Casey. “Palazzo Bianchi, coming up!”

  Casey wrapped her legs around Bianchi so she could have at least one hand free. Putting the tip of the antenna between her teeth, she extended it to its full length and then flipped the power button. “Whatever you do,” she ordered, “don’t slow down!”

  “Roger that,” replied Ericsson.

  “Okay, everybody hold on.”

  Cooper lowered her weapon and grabbed hold of one of the Zodiac’s grips. Their boat skidded out into Bianchi’s canal and raced toward his palazzo. They didn’t need to look behind to know that Bianchi’s men were still on their tail.

  “We’ve got men on the dock! Men on the dock!” Ericsson suddenly shouted as she saw that some of Bianchi’s security team had commandeered a boat that must have just arrived at the party.

  Cooper leaned over the edge of the Zodiac and strafed the security team with a burst of full auto from her weapon. She succeeded in nailing two and sending the others leaping into the canal in a desperate attempt to evade harm. Little did they know that the water was now the most dangerous place of all.

  Casey tightened her grip on the transmitter and made ready. The timing of what she was about to do had to be absolutely perfect. The Donzi was right behind them now; practically on top of them. As they drew even with the dock, she depressed the transmit switch and prayed to God she’d properly judged the distance. “Everyone down!”

  As they passed the pier and drew even with the doors of Bianchi’s boat garage, Casey felt a sudden surge of panic that she had pressed the button too soon. She braced for the inevitable, but it didn’t come—at least not until they had sped past the palazzo entirely.

  She turned her eyes from the houses alongside the canal to the Donzi barreling down on them from behind. It passed above the submerged scooters at exactly the right moment. Attached to the bow of each propulsion device was a classified, British-made BAE Systems “stonefish” mine meant to destroy any evidence that could point back to the team if the scooters had to be abandoned.

  When the explosives detonated, the Donzi was right above them, and was tossed by the concussive pressure wave. They watched as the speedboat lost control and slammed bow-first into the next pier.

  Cooper let out a cheer and flashed Casey a thumbs-up as Ericsson pointed the Zodiac toward the Rialto. Hailing Rhodes over the radio, she said, “Sixty seconds.”

  “Roger that,” replied Megan.

  Fifty-eight seconds later, they were at Venice’s historic Rialto Bridge. Ericsson slowed just enough for Rhodes to jump in. Already they could see blue flashing lights in both directions and hear the sirens of Venice police boats. They had Nino Bianchi, but their job was only half done. They still had to get him to the rendezvous point and hand him off. And to do that, they were going to have to completely expose themselves.

  CHAPTER 10

  As they sped out into the open water, Gretchen Casey powered up the special encrypted radio she’d been issued for this part of their assignment.

  Once it had reached full strength, she depressed the talk button and said, “Norseman, this is Hollow Point. Do you copy?”

  She released the transmit button and waited for a response.

  “Hollow Point, this is Norseman,” said a man’s voice. “You’re coming in loud and clear. Do you have the package?”

  “Roger that. Hollow Point has the package.”

  “What’s your status?” the man asked.

  “Hollow Point is fifteen minutes out, but we’ll be coming in fast. Lots of local interest,” said Casey, referring to all the police activity they were seeing and hearing.

  “Understood. Norseman will leave the back door open for you.”

  “Roger that. Hollow Point out.”

  Turning off the radio, Casey tapped Ericsson on the shoulder to get her attention and then motioned for her to open the Zodiac’s engine all they way up again. The sooner they delivered Bianchi, the better.

  Ericsson expertly piloted the Zodiac through the waves. Despite several hard slams, Bianchi remained unconscious.

  At fifteen minutes on the dot, Ericsson pointed to a sleek three-deck, forty-four-meter metallic luxury motor yacht that looked as if it were straight out of a Batman movie. Her name was the Isabella.

  As the Athena Team came around from behind they found the Isabella’s transom garage had been left open, just as promised. Ericsson headed straight for it.

  “Everyone hold on!” she shouted as they got closer.

  Lining up the bow, Ericsson drove the Zodiac up and into the space that contained the yacht’s tender and various other pieces of water-related equipment. The minute they were inside, the transom door began to close and Casey hopped out of the boat.

  “Stay here and keep an eye on Bianchi,” she said. “I don’t want to move him until we know where he’s supposed to go.”

  The other women nodded as Casey opened the door out to the deck. Coming down from the upper level was the man with the call sign “Norseman.” He was several inches taller than Casey, with sandy brown hair and penetrating blue eyes. A former Navy SEAL who now worked for a private intelligence agency funded by the Defense Department, his real name was Scot Harvath.

  Gretchen and her team had worked with him recently, taking down a terrorist network involved with attacks in Europe and the United States.

  “Where is he?” asked Harvath.

  “We haven’t seen each other in months and that’s your first question? No, ‘Hi, Gretch. How’s it been?’”

  “I’m sorry. Hi, Gretch. How’s it been?”

  “Not too bad. You know the way—”

  “Is he still in the boat?” interrupted Harvath.

  “Yes, he’s still in the boat, but—”

  Harvath didn’t bother to wait around for her to finish her sentence. Opening the door, he stepped into the transom garage. As he did, someone else came down from t
he upper deck—Riley Turner. She was in her early thirties, tall and fit, with reddish-brown hair, blue eyes, and a wide mouth with full lips.

  A doctor and semicompetitive winter X-Games athlete, she had been one of the earliest recruits to the Athena Project. Casey had been looking forward to seeing Harvath again, but she hadn’t expected to see Riley. Though it was unprofessional, she felt jealous seeing them together. She gave Riley a hug anyway. “It’s good to see you,” she lied.

  “You, too,” replied Turner.

  “You’re going to want to take a look at Bianchi.”

  “Why? What’s wrong with him?”

  “We chucked him out a third-story window into the canal.”

  Riley didn’t like the sound of that. “You what?”

  “We had no choice. He’s been unconscious since he hit the water. And by the way, he’s under the influence of Flunitrazepam.”

  Turner pushed past Casey into the transom garage to examine Bianchi.

  Gretchen shrugged and headed upstairs. She wanted to get out of her wet cocktail dress and into some dry clothes.

  She checked all of the staterooms until she found the one Riley had taken. After satisfying herself that she and Harvath weren’t sharing it, Gretchen helped herself to some of Riley’s clothes and got dressed.

  Grabbing some clothes for Cooper to wear, she stepped back into the passageway. When she did, she nearly ran into Megan and Jules, who were helping Scot and Riley carry Bianchi on a backboard. She stood back as they took him into a room at the end of the passageway.

  Cooper came walking up behind them. “Here you go,” said Casey as she tossed her the clothes she had picked out.

  “Where’d you get these?”

  Casey jerked her thumb over her shoulder and then asked, “What’s wrong with Bianchi?”

  “We don’t know. Riley’s just being careful.”

  “If he’s paralyzed, I’m not going to lose any sleep over it. It’ll serve him right. Do you have any idea how many people that animal has helped kill?”

  Cooper nodded in agreement as Harvath came back down the passageway.

  “Nice outfit,” he said to Casey.

  “What? This old thing?”

  Harvath smiled and stepped past her. “I’m going to get us underway. There’s food in the galley if you want it. When you’re ready, you can come up to the bridge. I know Hutton’s going to want to debrief you.”

  “I’m sure the feeling’s mutual,” interjected Cooper.

  Harvath looked at her questioningly.

  “De-brief. Get it?” she said as she pantomimed pulling someone’s pants down.

  “No,” Harvath replied, deadpan. “And I don’t think I want to.”

  Casey shot her teammate a withering look, and Cooper refrained from any further remarks. Instead, she said, “I think I’ll change and get something to eat.”

  “Delta,” said Harvath, shaking his head with a wry smile as he turned to go up to the bridge.

  “What’s that supposed to mean?” asked Casey.

  He waited till he was on the stairs before replying. “It means all you think about, whether male or female, is sex.”

  Casey’s jaw dropped, but she couldn’t fight her smile. “I can’t believe I just heard that. I dare you to come back here and say that to my face,” she challenged, but Harvath had already walked upstairs.

  Stepping into the doorway of the stateroom where Cooper was, Casey said, “Did you hear what he said? Unbelievable. And coming from a SEAL, of all people. Do those guys do anything but drink and chase women?”

  Cooper was standing in front of an open closet that had been stocked with clothing. “I wouldn’t mind him chasing me.”

  “You know what? That’s a good idea. It’d be good practice for you.”

  “Don’t worry,” Cooper said with a grin. “I’m not going to cut your grass.”

  “My grass?”

  Cooper shook her head. “I’ve seen the way you look at him.”

  “You think I’m after every guy I look at.”

  Holding up the outfit Casey had given her, Cooper changed the subject, “I don’t know where you found this, but they already put clothes for us in the closet.”

  Casey was about to tell her not to worry about it when Riley came down the passageway and stopped at their stateroom. “Where’s Scot?”

  “I think he’s upstairs,” replied Casey. “What’s wrong?”

  “Tell him Bianchi is starting to wake up.”

  CHAPTER 11

  DENVER, COLORADO

  As far as geeks went, Vicki Suffolk could have done worse; much worse. At least Ben Matthews was a halfway decent-looking geek. One of those Colorado guys into road biking, mountain biking, and backcountry skiing, he had a killer body, and that helped boost him from a seven to a solid eight in her eyes. Not that his rating on a one-to-ten scale mattered. Matthews was simply a means to end.

  “So?” Suffolk asked as he poured her a glass of wine. She was sitting on a stool at the kitchen counter of his loft wearing jeans and an almost see-through peasant blouse. “What are we celebrating?”

  At twenty-five, Vicki was about four years younger than he. They had met in a café not far from her apartment. It was one of the free wi-fi places she used so that her internet traffic couldn’t be reliably traced. She had noticed him a few times before, but she noticed everyone when she walked into a room, just like she noticed where all the exits were. It was simply how she had been trained. But it was the book he was reading on one particular visit to the café that had caught her attention. The title was very interesting, American Conspiracies: Lies, Lies, and More Dirty Lies That the Government Tells Us by Jesse Ventura. She filed it away in her mind and did nothing about it, until the next time she saw him. By then, she had read the same book, as well as four more listed in the bibliography, from cover to cover.

  He appeared to be a creature of habit, always sitting at the same table in the corner, away from the windows and most of the bustle of the café. He struck her as a bit of a loner, which made him an even more perfect mark.

  On the day she had set to make her move, Suffolk arrived at the café earlier than usual. When she got there, she took a table in the same corner and discreetly baited her trap.

  Twenty minutes later, Ben Matthews walked in, ordered his usual large coffee, and sat down at his usual table.

  Vicki had dressed down for the occasion; a lot more geek than chic. Her long, black hair was pulled back in a ponytail and she was wearing glasses. She had on a tight black sweater and jeans.

  She didn’t need to look up to know he was looking at her. She had noticed him checking her out before. He might have been a loner, but he was still a man and he definitely found her attractive.

  Looking over at him, she asked, “Can I help you with something?”

  Matthews immediately dropped his eyes. “No.”

  “There must be something you want, because you haven’t stopped looking at me since you sat down.”

  “Actually,” he said, “I was looking at one of your books.”

  Suffolk had a couple of conspiracy theory books, a notepad, and her open laptop on the table in front of her. “What about my books?” she asked.

  Ben pointed to one of them, The Mammoth Book of Cover-Ups. “I read that one about a year ago. It absolutely opened my eyes to what’s going on in the government.”

  She reached over and picked up the book he was referring to. It was one of the titles listed in the bibliography of the book she had seen him reading. “This one?”

  He nodded.

  “It’s not bad,” she replied. “I think Jesse Ventura’s book was better, though.”

  “You’ve read Ventura’s book?” he exclaimed. “I’m reading him right now.”

  Suffolk smiled and, thawing the frostiness in her voice, said, “Now that was an eye-opener.”

  Pointing to the chair across from her, Ben replied, “Do you mind?”

  Suffolk invited him to s
it and with that, she had him hooked. Matthews fell for her instantly.

  From just that one book she had seen him reading, she had learned everything she needed to know about him. He was perfect for her plan.

  Now, sitting at his kitchen counter with a glass of wine, Vicki hoped he had good news for her.

  “Ben,” she said. “You’re killing me. What are we celebrating?”

  Matthews smiled.

  Vicki looked at him, her eyes widening. “You got it?”

  Nodding, he reached into his back pocket and pulled out his new Transportation Security Administration credentials.

  “You got it!” she squealed, throwing her arms around his neck. “You got the promotion!”

  Ben laughed. “Can you believe it?”

  “Of course I can. They should have promoted you a while ago.”

  “I don’t know about that,” he said. “I haven’t been there that long. But pretty cool, considering it all started over a random box of pizza.”

  Suffolk smiled to herself. There was nothing random about it. The TSA was so hard up for employees that they had actually started advertising on pizza boxes. She had picked the pizza delivery place on purpose. Everything she did she did for a reason.

  The TSA ad was the perfect segue for suggesting that Ben take a job at Denver International Airport. If he could get wide enough security clearance, Vicki Suffolk would be only steps away from the most innovative attack the United States had ever seen.

  “You know what this means, don’t you?” she said.

  Ben nodded, and an even bigger smile spread across his face. “Lots more airport access.”

  Vicki stole a glance at her watch. This was a huge development, and she needed to let her handler know. None of them had expected Ben to get promoted this quickly. But now that he had, they needed to decide what their next move was going to be. They were finally going to have someone who could get all the way inside the airport.

  “Earth to Vicki,” Ben said, waving his wineglass in front of her. “Are we going to toast or what?”

  “Absolutely,” she said, getting control of her thoughts. “Here’s to your promotion.”