Sheikh Defence. Ryshia Kennie
breath, hoping the connection would hold, that they could get a trace.
“Hello,” he repeated. “Dan?” There was nothing, only silence. The only surety they had was Craig’s confirmation that this was Dan’s number, but was it Dan? What were the odds that the search would begin on a lucky note? On finding a survivor before they’d even landed?
“Who are you? Tell me.” He kept talking, hoping to keep the connection going.
He could hear something that sounded like the crash of a wave. It was different from the first one. This time it was rather like when one wave rolls down into another that is just building to a crest. It was a sound he was familiar with having spent time on a yacht with his family as a child.
He listened closely. He barely dared to breathe, as if even that might drown out other sounds, other clues. He heard what sounded like a soft breath. It wasn’t much but what he’d heard sounded feminine. Feminine and indistinguishable.
The sound of water, the pattern of waves and the call of a seagull. Then there was nothing, only silence.
“Hello.” He wasn’t willing to give up. “Ava? Dan?” He didn’t know if it was either of them. He was only taking a chance and betting on the odds against the fact that it could be anyone else. There’d been two people registered as leaving the dock in that boat.
He glanced at his watch and then over at Craig. As if to confirm his faith in him, Craig nodded and gave a thumbs-up less than a minute after the connection broke.
“I have the coordinates,” Craig said.
Forty minutes later they landed. He left Craig to his own devices as he transferred to a sea rescue helicopter.
“I’d say it was good to see you, but unfortunately I can’t—the circumstances suck,” the pilot, Jer Keller, said. They’d flown together on a number of rescues. Jer was the same age as Faisal. He had married young and already had twin toddlers with his childhood sweetheart. But despite the differences in their home life, they both shared a passion for this. If Nassar Security hadn’t existed, Faisal would have chosen a career in sea rescue. Getting the opportunity to be involved, as rare as it was, was usually a thrill. Not this time.
“At least we have hope that someone lived.” He shook his head. Somehow the way he had pronounced those words sounded grim.
Sam Sanders, a blond man in his midforties, came up to them and shook each of their hands. He was an early retiree from the Coast Guard, an experienced member of Search and Rescue who had helped out as winchman in previous rescues.
“Sam,” Faisal said and clapped his hand on the man’s shoulder. “Wish we met under better circumstances.”
Sam nodded in his quiet, rather stoic way. “Hopefully we’ll be successful and you’ll have use of me.” It was pretty much the last thing he said for the duration of the flight.
They’d been in the air for five minutes when Faisal moved to the back where the side doors were open.
“Better view or just being hopeful?” Jer asked through his mic.
“Both,” he said. There was no way to predict how this was going to turn out despite his hopes. All he knew was that there was a storm brewing. Already the air seemed heavier, more humid. It was the intensity of the feeling, not the humidity, that reminded him of home, of Marrakech. But it had been a long time since he’d been home for anything more than a short visit. Wyoming was home now and humidity wasn’t an issue. Not like here. He could feel the air, thick and difficult to breath. He loved the feel of open spaces, the small population, the sweeping plains and the blessed winter. The congestion of a city like Miami or the one of his birth, Marrakech, overwhelmed his senses. He’d known that since he was a boy. It was the reason why, for almost the last decade, he’d lived in Wyoming. It was a vast state with a sparse population that fit his personality like nothing else. He loved the town of Jackson. It was small, a good place to dig in one’s heels. He could never imagine going back. Big cities were fun in the moment but anything more than a day or two and he was antsy. Unfortunately he was here in Miami for as long as it took to solve this case.
They’d been flying for well over an hour. Jer and he had caught up on where each of them were in their lives. For five minutes they flew in silence.
“Do you see it?” Jer asked.
“I do.” He was hanging half out of the chopper. Ahead of them and slightly less than fifty miles off the coast of Paradise Island was a speck that didn’t fit. A minute later and it was clear that it was a small dark gray dinghy.
“Bang on, Craig,” he said as if the tech was actually present. His coordinates had been near perfect, for the craft was only a mile away from where his tech had tracked it. It was barely visible as it rose and fell in waves that were growing larger with every minute.
“Raft,” Jer said unnecessarily as he read off the coordinates. “We may have us a survivor.”
The helicopter buzzed closer and it was hard to tell who or what they might be faced with. Faisal could only hope that there were at least two people in that life raft, the right two people—Dan and Ava Adams.
Tension mixed with excitement settled within the confines of the helicopter. The odds that this could be anyone else, considering even what little they knew, were remote.
“It’s loaded,” Jer said as he dipped the helicopter and lost altitude.
His gaze swept the area while never letting the life raft leave his sight. Dan and Ava had to be alive. He refused to accept another scenario. He looked at his watch as he estimated the hours they might have been in the water.
Faisal got into position to be dropped down. The flight suit he’d donned an hour earlier seemed both familiar and restrictive. He should have a wetsuit but he hadn’t thought of that. Emotion had blinded him. He wiped perspiration from his forehead and let the adrenaline fire him up as it always did.
“One occupant,” Faisal muttered a few minutes later as he slipped the harness on and prepared to be dropped. His heart sank. That meant that one of them might not have made it.
He wasn’t going to assume anything. This could be Ava Adams or Dan Adams or it could even be someone else who had been on that yacht, someone he wasn’t aware of. For now, he was focused on rescue, nothing more.
Whoever was in the raft hadn’t moved. And it was impossible to tell from this distance if they were alive or dead.
“We’ve got a survivor.” Jer’s overly enthusiastic voice seemed oddly disembodied as it came through the headset.
Faisal didn’t respond, not even to the whoop that followed Jer’s statement. Neither were something that needed a response. Neither the enthusiasm nor the words that preceded it needed confirmation. They had all seen, as the waves rocked the raft, the movement within the small craft. But the move had been slight and gave no indication as to the condition of their survivor. Those thoughts ran through his mind as he focused on the details of his descent.
Sam turned and gave him a thumbs-up.
Faisal returned the gesture feeling pumped and optimistic.
The ocean was rough and the raft was clearly visible now. In fact, they were close enough to see that the survivor was alone, and that she was no longer moving. They could also see that her feet were bare. Her peach-colored wrap barely covered her torso and was the only spot of color against the dark gray craft and the stormy gray of the ocean only hinting at blue. Her dark hair spread like tangled clumps of seaweed around her. Her body seemed to rock with the movement of the water, rising and falling, offering no resistance. It was as if she were barely alive and, despite the movement they’d seen minutes earlier, that they might be too late.
Faisal pushed that thought away. He was poised at the open doorway, wanting to move into action.
“She