Free Off Course by Glen Robins Page B

did a dance after reviewing the footage. “It’s him! It’s him! The little bugger’s alive!” he shouted into the darkened and empty cube farm.
    Cutting his celebration short, Nic sat down at his computer, not wanting to waste any time, and forwarded the email with the link to Reggie Crabtree, then dialed his cell phone. “I found him,” he said when Reggie answered. “You were right. He went back to Grand Cayman and withdrew another half million dollars. The link I just emailed to you shows him in the bank. Sure, he’s in disguise, but I know it’s him.”
    “Have you run it through FRS yet?” asked Reggie, referring to facial recognition software.
    “I haven’t yet, but I will,” said Nic, trying to maintain an air of professionalism. Overly enthusiastic rookies got mocked and he didn’t want that.
    “Well, it may be a moot issue anyway. The cell phone he’s been using to communicate with the girlfriend places him nearly two hundred miles south by southwest of Grand Cayman as of one hour ago. We’ve also picked up reports of armed men boarding a sailboat in the harbor and heading out to sea.”
    “Any description of these gunmen?” asked Nic, feeling somewhat deflated that his news was not the most earth-shattering of the day, but trying to assert himself.
    “Nothing conclusive, just that they appeared to be Asians, dressed as tourists, and in a big hurry,” said Reggie.
    “Is there video available? Or photos?”
    “Nope. Neither. Only eyewitness accounts. The best thing we have is that cell phone, which will be very useful until the battery dies,” said Reggie.
    “I’d imagine, though, that we’ll get a pretty good sense of where they’re heading before that happens.”
    “We think they’re heading to Panama. We must try to intercept that boat before anyone gets killed.” Reggie’s voice was grim and urgent and Nic could hear the tapping of a keyboard in the background as he spoke. “We’re working to get help from the US Navy on our end. See what you can do on your end. Once these guys have what they want, no one onboard stands a chance.”

Chapter Seven
    La Jolla, California
    June 14, 3:08 p.m. Pacific Time
     
    The driver with all the ink on his neck checked his watch and nodded to his passenger. Speaking in his native Malaysian dialect, he rattled off the list of items to report to the boss. The young passenger stared at him and curled his lip.
    “You want me to talk to the boss?” he asked, a thinly veiled tremor in his voice.
    “I drive. You talk. If I drive and talk on a phone here, the police will pull us over. That would be a very bad thing. You talk. Tell the boss we are ready for either scenario.”
    The passenger hesitated. He looked at the driver, then at the phone in his hand, then back to the driver, who nodded calmly, providing the assurance he needed.
    The call lasted ninety seconds. The passenger sighed as he turned to the inked driver and said, “The boss says to go to Plan B.”
    The driver nodded, his countenance ice cold as he continued to drive through the streets of La Jolla. “First, let’s make sure Plan A is still operational in case he changes his mind.”
    “But what if we miss our chance to initiate Plan B?”
    “We will have many opportunities to initiate Plan B, but we will have only one chance to set up the original plan. We will go there now,” the driver mumbled. He first checked the GPS on his phone, then dropped the shifter into Drive and pulled away from the curb.
    The passenger shrugged and pulled the duffle bag onto his lap and began raking his hand through the bottom of it. He pulled out four similar packages, each containing a video camera no larger than the eraser at the top of a pencil. Next he searched for the right wires and the super-extended life batteries that would supply power for up to sixteen hours. He tore open the packaging and began connecting wires to batteries and transmitters.
    By the time they reached their