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“Using a spotter, about three or four times the entire length of the island that we are going to,” Anthony answers on his behalf. “Today we’ll set up only a couple hundred meters out though with the intent of providing defensive cover. Hopefully we won’t need to fire a shot.”
“You won’t,” Crusher replies, sliding a clip into his 9mm pistol and slapping it into it’s holster.
“We aren’t here to take him out,” Anthony huffs, giving him the evil eye. Crusher simply grumbles, grabbing the shiny black box from it’s resting place.
“He’s on the beach, less than a klick southeast of the main building. There’s a small grove of trees just to the northwest of them, so that’s where you and I will set up,” Anthony instructs Bolt.
As I watch them get ready, I still can’t believe that Tommy thought he could simply flee the country and not suffer any consequences for all that he has done. Did he honestly think he could get away with stealing over four hundred million dollars? He is so delusional.
The boat slows down and comes to rest about a hundred meters out and the captain sets anchor. The small island that Tommy has chosen is only about a half-mile off the coast of Roatan. Bolt, Anthony and Crusher each grab their gear and we transfer to the smaller boat to go ashore. The captain maneuvers up to an old wooden dock that will serve as our entry point to the island.
“I can’t wait to see the look on his face.” I smile at the thought of him being greeted by Crusher. He is looking extra intimidating today in his t-shirt as he is literally bursting out of it.
As soon as the captain gives the all clear, three sets of boots hit the old dock, moving swiftly onto the island. Mandy and I follow behind in silence as they quickly survey the terrain looking for the best place to hide the detonator. Crusher stops at a large boulder that looks it would weigh several hundred pounds. “The three of us will lift and you shove it into the ground,” he instructs me.
I pull the spike shaped detonator from the case and as all three men combine their strength to lift the edge of the rock. I quickly jam it into the sandy soil. “That’s good,” Crusher, grunts as they slowly lower the rock back down, pushing it the rest of the way into the ground.
With the detonator securely hidden, we continue our advance toward the beach where it appears that Tommy is located. “Over there,” Anthony points to a small grouping of shrubs, showing Bolt where he wants him to set up. “I’ll take the crest over here,” he says, pulling out the spiked feet of his sniper rifle before nestling it firmly on the sandy surface. “The sun is to our backs, so this is perfect.” He looks over at Bolt, waiting for the signal that he is situated. Seconds later, Bolt gives him the thumbs up.
“It’s show time,” Anthony declares in a hushed voice while scanning the beach with the scope of his rifle. “There appears to be two men and a woman about one hundred meters out,” he tells us. “The one on the right is definitely Tommy, but I only have a rear view of the others. Proceed with caution. Crusher, you take the lead. Mandy, you stay with me.”
Mandy lets out a sigh, so Anthony removes the binoculars from around his neck and hands them to her. “I guess I’ll watch from here,” she says in a tone of resignation.
I follow Crusher past the trees and over the crest. I can see three beach chairs and two large umbrellas situated about a hundred meters in front of us. “I’m sure he’s got protection,” Crusher says, handing me the black box and pulling a second 9mm pistol from its holster.
We continue to walk undetected and I can feel my heart pounding as the anticipation continues to build with each step. Crusher holds out a hand and slows his pace, walking as softly as possible once we reach the halfway point. I begin to regret that I haven’t been working out as we trudge through the deep sand toward our targets. If I had to run in this shit, I would be screwed. Of course, two expert military snipers are covering us, so there isn’t much to worry about.
Crusher looks back at me, as if he can sense that shit is about to get real. A split second later, a man springs from the chair on the left rolling out onto the sand pointing a pistol in our direction. “Hit the deck!” Crusher yells, both of us diving face first into the sand.
Three shots fire and then all is silent. I raise my head just enough to see what has transpired and Crusher rolls on his side letting out a groan. “Damn, that fucker was fast!” he says looking down at his bleeding forearm. With one swipe he rips off his t-shirt, wraps it around his arm and ties it in a knot, using his teeth to pull it tight.
