37
"So no one else has this video?" Styles asked Phillips.
"Somebody has something, but no one has this infrared version. The only reason President Williams had it was because we gave it to them. I'm not giving this to anyone."
From all appearances, the people on the yacht Oceaneer were relaxing on holiday. Two men could be seen fishing. Three women were sunbathing. Other individuals could occasionally be seen going about yacht business. Anchored within fifteen miles of the spot where the American president had just been killed, there weren't the emotional feelings that might have been expected. It was this observation that had roused Darlene Phillips's suspicion.
J. C. had piloted the group back to their home airbase, where the group transferred to their chopper. While on the ground. they had been able to pick up five hours of much-needed sleep.
"We need to come up with an idea on how to get aboard that yacht," Starr declared.
"Without drawing a lot of unwanted attention, either from the yacht or any onlookers," Phillips added.
"You know the adage about how sometimes the best place to hide is out in the open?" Styles queried. "Maybe an open approach is our answer. I've thought about going in after dark and other scenarios, but this idea has me intrigued."
"That being…?" responded Starr.
"What if we faked being the Coast Guard? Somehow we come up with a small Coast Guard boat; under that guise, we board them, and the rest is history."
"Who would go?" Phillips probed.
"Starr, you, and me. We'd have J. C. monitoring all radio communications with interested parties."
Nodding, Starr remarked, "You know, that's not half-bad. Anyone watching might show a curious interest, but I wouldn't think much more. Assholes on the yacht aren't going to start any shit with the Coast Guard. Yeah, it gets us on board where we can take control. I like it."
Phillips added, "I should be able to finagle any paperwork making us appear legitimate. I second the idea."
"That's it, then. Phillips, start doing your magic and see where we might borrow a Coast Guard boat. Since it's an international port, it shouldn't be too much of a problem," Styles directed. "Okay, let's go inform J. C.!"
Phillips had researched the activities of the Coast Guard and was well versed on their plan of action. They were conducting a second stringent investigation of the boats in the area but were behind the curve on information regarding the Oceaneer.
Starr had gone to a local army/navy surplus store and bought clothing that would pass for Coast Guard attire.
"I've got the perfect boat, guys. It went in for repairs at a local service yard and is scheduled to be picked up tomorrow. We'll grab it early. I've already got the paperwork ready, including a full set of orders to carry with us."
"I'll retrieve the boat myself. Marv, you don't look military enough," Starr said, chiding him about his appearance.
"Fine by me," he said without looking up. "We'll be decked out and waiting for you at the dock. I'm glad this is a civilian facility. We shouldn't be bothered."
Christman had landed the team's helicopter after swapping over from their jet near the service yard in an area where they were unobserved.
Starr walked straight toward the office while the other three offloaded the gear they intended to bring. All of it was contained in duffel bags, with Styles, Phillips, and Christman shouldering AR-15s. Phillips was also carrying two medium-size metal briefcases containing three of her laptops. They were on the dock less than ten minutes when service yard employees brought the twenty-six-foot center console equipped with twin Yamaha two-hundred-horsepower outboard engines and tied it off twenty feet away from where the group was standing. Without giving them a second look, they hurried away as the three started loading the boat. Four minutes later, Starr joined them.
"Who's running the boat? Probably look weird if 'White'," Christman said, referencing the officer in command, "pilots the craft."
Styles agreed. "I'll run it, or J. C., you can. Doesn't matter to me."
"I'll take it. I'd feel better with your attention on everything else."
Six minutes later at exactly eight in the morning, the foursome was heading out into the harbor.
Phillips had inserted all the proper requirements into the local Coast Guard computers if anyone might happen to check. Unless delved into deeply, their cover would hold.
Styles, using binoculars to scout the area, saw one other Coast Guard boat heading off in the opposite direction. "We don't seem to have a lot of company other than where the helicopters went down, which was on the opposite side of the bay. Lot of activity over there."
"That area will be closed off for a while," remarked Starr.
Within fifteen minutes, they were in sight of the Oceaneer.
"Okay, guys, game faces on," Styles directed.
Rather than use the radio that would be overheard, the decision had been made to hail the large yacht by bullhorn.
"Oceaneer, this is the United States Coast Guard. Prepare to be boarded," Starr instructed in a no-nonsense tone.
Two crew members appeared from the rear of the main salon, located middeck on the triple-decked craft. Both walked over to the rail.
"What do you want?" the older of the two men yelled back.
"General inspection of craft and documentation," answered Starr.
"That has already been done."
"It's going to be done again. We are boarding your vessel."
In emphasis, Styles and Phillips unslung their AR-15s, holding them across their chests.
"I will get the captain."
"You do that. Make it quick."
J. C. brought the boat to the rear landing platform and expertly guided it right next to it. Styles, with two lines in hand, jumped off and tied up the boat, with Phillips still holding her assault rifle at the ready. The boat secured, Starr and Phillips joined Styles on the landing deck. Styles had his rifle back in hand. Starr was standing between them with a large clipboard in hand. All three had cross looks upon their faces. Christman, with the motors shut down, was busy checking radio traffic.
The man who had met them at the rail returned with the captain of the boat, a man in his midforties and of heavy build. Two blonde women had come out on the deck above to observe the scene.
Styles muttered low, "The women are European, the men Middle Eastern."
The captain came down to greet them. "What is this about? We have been thoroughly checked out, and there are no problems. Why must we go through this again?"
"Because I said so," snapped Starr. "I want to see your ship's documents, passports of everyone on board, and I want everyone in your salon in ten minutes. Anyone who is not there is leaving with us. Now!"
"Follow me," the captain retorted, grumbling.
"What is your name, Captain?"
"Madid."
"Unusual name for a boat registered in Greece."
Captain Madid turned and faced Starr. "I'm not aware that a captain has to be from the country that his vessel is registered."
"I didn't say he did. I just made an observation. Is there a problem here?"
"No. No problem."
"Captain, the sooner we complete our task, the sooner we'll be off your boat."
"That is fine with me."
Starr, Styles, and Phillips stood impatiently in the large, lavishly decorated salon as Captain Madid ordered his first officer to immediately have everyone join them.
"Be sure they bring their passports."
"Yes, sir," the first officer said as he left to find everyone.
"How many people are aboard, Captain?" probed Starr.
"Eleven. Five are crew members, and six are guests."