Blood List by Patrick Freivald, Phil Freivald Page B
Authors: Patrick Freivald, Phil Freivald
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response. Faced with no real choice, Captain John Ash ordered the ship to fire. The tripod-mounted heavy machine gun obliterated the boat's engine, bringing it to rest almost two miles out. The FBI helicopter caught up and circled overhead. Before agents could rappel down and search the boat, it exploded.
The chopper veered left to avoid the rising fireball. Shrapnel pinged off the fuselage. Captain Ash ordered lifeboats deployed, though he knew no one could survive a blast of that magnitude.
Marty heard the blast from the country club. He stared numbly at the rising fireball. He spoke into his COM. "Gene?" Gene didn't reply.
He tried again. "Sam? What the fuck was that?"
Her voice was soft. "Marty, that was Renner's getaway boat. We had him surrounded. It almost took out the helicopter."
His voice was thick as he replied. "Gene?"
Sam replied. "Witnesses saw him tackle Renner onto the boat."
Marty forced out the words. "But where is he now?"
"Dive teams are en route, Marty."
Under the dock, Paul Renner tossed the remote control and the detonator overboard. He paddled the small sailboat into the harbor, ignoring the pain in his chest as he unfurled the sail. The beach was crowded, both in and out of the water, and despite the odd excitement, people were enjoying the beautiful southern California weather.
Paul lay back and let the sun warm his face and chest. Every breath hurt, but it was tolerable. A new wig crowned his head with long, blond, surfer-dude hair, and light blue contacts changed his eye color. A few hours sunbathing while the feds combed the area, and then he'd be headed home, or what passed as home these days. Not a bad way to spend an afternoon, given the way the day almost went. Not bad at all. He closed his eyes and smiled.
Chapter 11
January 6th, 5:53 PM PST; Unknown location; San Diego, California.
Gene knew he was conscious by the dim haze of red-filtered light. He sucked air into his lungs, then performed a mental checklist of body parts. No torso wounds, right ankle hurts, not broken. Left foot hurts like heck, might be broken. Nose feels as big as a grapefruit. Hands tied, feet tied, and there's something over my head. A quick strain at his bonds brought pain. Wire.
He explored his options. His chair wouldn't budge. Any serious struggling would cause the wire to slice into his flesh. He didn't know how long he'd been under, and he didn't know where he was. It was deathly quiet. His heart hammered in his chest as claustrophobia crept in.
Calm down, Gene. A few deep breaths got him started, then he relaxed his hands. Breathe in. Then feet. Now out. Then arms. Breathe in. Then legs. Now out. He soon had control of his heart rate. His mind cleared while his chin sank to his chest.
"Okay. I give up," Gene said to the room in a voice more calm than he felt. "I'm not gagged, so I assume screaming isn't going to do me any good. What do you want? Why am I here?"
In response, Gene heard a soft ring, like a wet finger running along the top of a wine glass. It was the unmistakable sound of a blade sliding across metal. He clenched his teeth as renewed fear clawed into his gut. He wouldn't show a reaction.
Gene jumped as Paul Renner spoke from the darkness less than a foot in front of him. "I haven't decided yet, Palomini." Cold fear like he'd never known threatened to throw him into panic.
Marty's voice spoke in his head. Don't you give that motherfucker the satisfaction, boss.
Paul yanked the hood off his head. He sat at a dining room table in what looked like a typical, middle-class, American house. Gene looked into the eyes of the man he'd been hunting and realized he wasn't a predator anymore; he was prey. Renner held a large hunting knife in his left hand and scraped the blade up and down his blue jeans.
"Any idea when you're going to decide?" Gene said. Atta-boy, boss. Even though he knew it wasn't there, he took comfort in Marty's voice.
"You
The chopper veered left to avoid the rising fireball. Shrapnel pinged off the fuselage. Captain Ash ordered lifeboats deployed, though he knew no one could survive a blast of that magnitude.
Marty heard the blast from the country club. He stared numbly at the rising fireball. He spoke into his COM. "Gene?" Gene didn't reply.
He tried again. "Sam? What the fuck was that?"
Her voice was soft. "Marty, that was Renner's getaway boat. We had him surrounded. It almost took out the helicopter."
His voice was thick as he replied. "Gene?"
Sam replied. "Witnesses saw him tackle Renner onto the boat."
Marty forced out the words. "But where is he now?"
"Dive teams are en route, Marty."
Under the dock, Paul Renner tossed the remote control and the detonator overboard. He paddled the small sailboat into the harbor, ignoring the pain in his chest as he unfurled the sail. The beach was crowded, both in and out of the water, and despite the odd excitement, people were enjoying the beautiful southern California weather.
Paul lay back and let the sun warm his face and chest. Every breath hurt, but it was tolerable. A new wig crowned his head with long, blond, surfer-dude hair, and light blue contacts changed his eye color. A few hours sunbathing while the feds combed the area, and then he'd be headed home, or what passed as home these days. Not a bad way to spend an afternoon, given the way the day almost went. Not bad at all. He closed his eyes and smiled.
Chapter 11
January 6th, 5:53 PM PST; Unknown location; San Diego, California.
Gene knew he was conscious by the dim haze of red-filtered light. He sucked air into his lungs, then performed a mental checklist of body parts. No torso wounds, right ankle hurts, not broken. Left foot hurts like heck, might be broken. Nose feels as big as a grapefruit. Hands tied, feet tied, and there's something over my head. A quick strain at his bonds brought pain. Wire.
He explored his options. His chair wouldn't budge. Any serious struggling would cause the wire to slice into his flesh. He didn't know how long he'd been under, and he didn't know where he was. It was deathly quiet. His heart hammered in his chest as claustrophobia crept in.
Calm down, Gene. A few deep breaths got him started, then he relaxed his hands. Breathe in. Then feet. Now out. Then arms. Breathe in. Then legs. Now out. He soon had control of his heart rate. His mind cleared while his chin sank to his chest.
"Okay. I give up," Gene said to the room in a voice more calm than he felt. "I'm not gagged, so I assume screaming isn't going to do me any good. What do you want? Why am I here?"
In response, Gene heard a soft ring, like a wet finger running along the top of a wine glass. It was the unmistakable sound of a blade sliding across metal. He clenched his teeth as renewed fear clawed into his gut. He wouldn't show a reaction.
Gene jumped as Paul Renner spoke from the darkness less than a foot in front of him. "I haven't decided yet, Palomini." Cold fear like he'd never known threatened to throw him into panic.
Marty's voice spoke in his head. Don't you give that motherfucker the satisfaction, boss.
Paul yanked the hood off his head. He sat at a dining room table in what looked like a typical, middle-class, American house. Gene looked into the eyes of the man he'd been hunting and realized he wasn't a predator anymore; he was prey. Renner held a large hunting knife in his left hand and scraped the blade up and down his blue jeans.
"Any idea when you're going to decide?" Gene said. Atta-boy, boss. Even though he knew it wasn't there, he took comfort in Marty's voice.
"You
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