Hostile Waters Read online

  HOSTILE WATERS

  WILLIAM NIKKEL

  SUSPENSE PUBLISHING

  HOSTILE WATERS

  By

  William Nikkel

  DIGITAL EDITION

  * * * * *

  PUBLISHED BY:

  Suspense Publishing

  COPYRIGHT

  2019 by William Nikkel

  Cover Design: Shannon Raab

  Cover Photographer: iStockphoto.com/Biletskiy_Evgeniy

  PUBLISHING HISTORY:

  Suspense Publishing, Print and Digital Copy, December 2019

  All rights reserved. Without limiting the rights under copyright reserved above, no part of this publication may be reproduced, stored in or introduced into a retrieval system, or transmitted, in any form, or by any means (electronic, mechanical, photocopying, recording, or otherwise) without the prior written permission of both the copyright owner and the above publisher of this book.

  This book is a work of fiction. Names, characters, businesses, organizations, places, events, incidents are the product of the author’s imagination or are used fictitiously. Any resemblance to actual events, locales, or persons, living or dead, is coincidental.

  OTHER BOOKS BY

  WILLIAM NIKKEL

  Jack Ferrell Series

  GLIMMER OF GOLD

  NIGHT MARCHERS

  CAVE DWELLER

  MURRIETTA GOLD

  BLOOD GOLD

  SHIPWRECK

  SAILOR TAKE WARNING

  SEA OF HEARTBREAK

  Max Traver Series

  DEVIL WIND

  DANCE WITH THE DEVIL

  Novellas

  TIBETAN GOLD

  AUTHOR’S DISCLAIMER

  Hostile Waters contains the actual names of people and places. The same is true for certain businesses and bars frequented by Jack Ferrell, Robert, Cherise, and Lindsey.

  In all other respects, this novel is a work of fiction. Names (unless used by permission), characters, places, and incidents in the story are either the product of the author’s imagination or are used fictitiously. Any resemblance to actual persons, events, or locals is unintentional and coincidental.

  To my wife, always.

  ACKNOWLEDGEMENTS

  While my imagination inspired this novel, the contributions of people around me brought the story to life. First and foremost, a big thank you goes to my wife Karen for her invaluable suggestions. And especially for her support and understanding during the writing of the story and the many hours I spent at the computer. Also to my brother Ray for his colorful story ideas, Jim Jackson for his input, and Ruth Horne for her editorial advice. And a special note of appreciation to Kathy Takushi, the owner of Captivating Journeys, for her time and advice. Of course, no novel would be read without a publisher bringing the story to light. A big thank you to Shannon Raab, her husband John, and her team at Suspense Publishing for the wonderful work they do. As always, all errors in the book, of which I hope there are few, rest solely with me.

  PRAISE FOR

  HOSTILE WATERS

  “Adventure, mystery, and solidly written characters—Hostile Waters has it all. Willie Nikkel’s experience with law enforcement and human conflict shines through. Terrific stuff.”

  —Marc Cameron, New York Times Bestselling Author

  “I’ve been a fan of William Nikkel since his first Jack Ferrell story—but Hostile Waters was pure dynamite, a blast of big-fisted action, a rollicking treasure hunt involving Mayan treasures and lost rare manuscripts. If you’re looking for adventure with a capital A, pick this up, batten down those hatches, and get ready for a great read!”

  —James Rollins, #1 New York Times Bestselling Author of Crucible

  “A tantalizing premise, engaging characters, and a plot to savor. It’s a wonderful piece of pure entertainment.”

  —Steve Berry, International Bestselling Author of The Malta Exchange

  “A wave-tossed wild ride. Warm up your page-turning fingers. You’re going to need them.”

  —Grant Blackwood, #1 New York Times Bestselling Author

  “There is no friend as loyal as a book.”

  —Ernest Hemingway

  HOSTILE WATERS

  WILLIAM NIKKEL

  PROLOGUE

  Sam King kept to the rutted path, thick foliage closing in on him from both sides. The remoteness of the location gave him pause, as though he had been led into a trap. An absence of bird sounds added to his tension. He never should have agreed to come along.

  But Corey insisted they had nothing to worry about. Sam knew better. There were always dangers to be concerned about. In the city or in the jungle. Still, he couldn’t ignore the curiosity that brought him to the fringes of what had once been a center of Mayan culture.

  Even if it meant risking his life.

  He swiped away the sweat streaking his face. “You sure you have your directions, right?”

  Corey peered over his shoulder at Sam and said, “Relax. Belize is a tourist mecca. It’s developed into one of the premier dive locations in the world.”

  “That doesn’t mean where we’re going is safe.”

  “Lighten up. We’re here.”

  Sam stopped and studied the peeling exterior of the whitewashed structure, little more than a board shack, sitting in a small clearing carved out of what appeared to be an impenetrable tropical forest. He had ventured through the remotest parts of Africa and never once experienced the dread he sensed in this place. Possibly because of the nature of their business here. Or perhaps the presence of ghosts from an ancient civilization.

  He held back a moment longer. But his nerves refused to settle.

  Even with calming reassurances.

  The hut glared at him as though daring him to step closer. The one window visible from the path had been draped with a swatch of filthy cloth. Movement of the curtain drew his attention.

  The hair on his neck and arms bristled.

  “Not what I’d call hospitable looking.”

  Corey tossed a glance over his shoulder. “You worry too much. Come on.”

  “I still think I was foolish allowing you to talk me into this.” Sam fell in stride and followed Corey to the door.

  “Your tune will change in a minute,” Corey said.

  Sam kept an eye on the window. “I’m not so sure.”

  Corey knocked on the weathered entryway. His chuckle didn’t help ease the tension.

  The door creaked opened in mid-knock, held in place by a beefy man maybe in his mid-thirties dressed in denim pants and a t-shirt that could have been white at one time. The man at the window, Sam guessed. He’d had a feeling he and Corey were being watched from the moment they were within sight of the shack.

  Now, he was certain they had.

  “Juan is expecting me,” Corey said.

  The man scanned them up and down, then stepped back permitting them to enter.

  Sam took a deep breath and followed Corey inside. Nothing more had been said by the two men. A couple of steps beyond the doorway, Corey paused.

  In for a penny, in for a pound.

  Sam needed no further encouragement. He had come too far to turn back now. Having been momentarily blinded by the bright sunlight outside, he let his eyes adjust to the dimly lit interior. The room came into view.

  And with it an increased sense of dread.

  A simply-dressed man seated behind a wooden table not much larger than a student’s school desk, studied him from the center of the floor. An armed thug stood in the gloom a half dozen steps behind him. The rail-thin man sitting at the table looked to be about forty. He had leather brown skin, cold dark eyes, and thick, curly black hair. A low-wattage light bulb screwed into the top of a simple bare table lamp illuminated his face and the object
in front of him.

  “This is Juan Perez,” Corey said to Sam when Juan rose to his feet. “He’s the guy I brought you here to meet.”

  Confusion furrowed Sam’s brow. He hadn’t realized he’d actually been brought there to meet someone in the way Corey had put it. Merely to accompany him while he made a purchase.

  Sam offered his hand out of politeness. “Nice to meet you, Mr. Perez. I’m Corey’s friend Sam King.”

  “I also am pleased to meet you.” Juan gripped Sam’s hand with surprising strength. “Now let us get on with our business.”

  “The gold idols,” Corey said. “You brought them?”

  Juan unfolded a stained coarse-weave muslin cloth sitting on the tabletop in front of him. “They are everything I said they were, are they not?”

  Corey leaned close and smiled at the antiquities lying before him.

  Sam felt himself drawn in by the crude attractiveness of the three graven images staring up from the table. His hand trembled as he fought the urge to run his fingertips over the ancient craftsmanship.

  “Magnificent, indeed,” Corey said. He looked at Sam. “What do you think?”

  Sam stared at the gold figurines. All distinctly male. Not the beautiful, soft flowing lines of voluptuous love goddesses. They were squat, round-bellied effigies with wide-open clown-like mouths, looped ear lobes, and a fringed cap or crown. Each one similar but not identical. Quite ugly in his opinion. But the idols were Pre-Columbian and over four inches tall. That made the artifacts unique and valuable far beyond their gold content, regardless of purity.

  That’s what Corey told him. And he had no reason not to believe his friend.

  If the guy knew the truth.

  He leaned close to Corey and spoke in hushed tones. “You’re sure these are authentic? I mean, even if they’re gold, they could be fake.”

  Corey whispered back, “The pieces are authentic. Guaranteed. And solid gold worth at least sixty thousand apiece to the right buyer in the States.”

  “But how can you be sure?”

  “I’ve bought antiquities from Juan before. And they’ve always proved genuine and brought top dollar.”

  Sam couldn’t quell his apprehension. The heat inside the shack, heavy and thick with humidity, only added to his discomfort. Overhead, the slow moving fan circulated the hot air but did little to bring even a hint of freshness to the stale room. Beads of sweat trickled down his neck.

  Once again, he studied the idols.

  And again, he felt them stare back at him through empty eyes.

  “If that’s the case”—he looked at Corey—“why is he offering the set to you for fifty thousand?”

  “Do you have to ask?”

  “I’d kind of like to know. Are they stolen?”

  “Let me put it to you this way. We don’t ask and Juan doesn’t say.”

  “What about US Customs? You have to declare items you bring into the States. And I’m sure even a small country like this has strict laws against this sort of thing. You could be locked away in prison for a long time.”

  “Not if a person knows what he’s doing.”

  “You sound convinced.” Sam studied the artifacts. “So you’re going through with the deal?”

  “I want to in the worst way.” Corey sighed. “Unfortunately, I don’t have that kind of cash readily available. I’d have to move some investments around—probably be a month or more before I’d be in a position to buy the set.”

  “Didn’t you know that coming here?”

  “Artifacts like these don’t come along often. The way each piece was described to me, I had to see the set for myself. Call it curiosity.”

  The same thing that brought me here.

  Sam understood completely. But he wasn’t fooled.

  He searched Corey’s eyes for answers. “Surely you’re not thinking I could loan the money to you?”

  “Actually. I thought you might be interested in purchasing them. Trust me. Pieces like this are an exceptional find. Someone will snatch them up in a hurry.”

  Sam struggled with the belief the artifacts would be secreted away and locked inside the vault of a collector of rare and unusual antiquities. One man’s obsession robbing the world of precious pieces of ancient Mayan culture.

  He suppressed a shudder of disgust.

  Relics this unique belonged in a museum.

  “I do have another buyer,” Juan Perez said. His dark eyes flicked back and forth betraying an eagerness to conclude the sale. His gaze settled on Corey. “Since you and I have done business before, I offered these superb pieces to you first. But if you are not interested, and your friend isn’t—”

  “I didn’t say that.” Sam looked at Corey and saw him smiling.

  Juan nodded. “Then we have a deal?”

  CHAPTER 1

  Jack Ferrell lay sprawled on his back on the forward bunk. Beyond the portholes along the hull, the sky glowed orange with the setting sun. His thoughts wandered with the last rays of the day.

  He had rented his colleague’s fifty foot sloop with the intent of spending a week with Cherise Venetta—the woman who had saved his life more than once—sailing the Northwest Hawaiian Islands. And it had already been three.

  No bullets. No one’s life on the line.

  Time to mend the soul.

  They both deserved the break.

  Cherise stepped into the open hatchway beyond the foot of the bed, the setting sun in full glory bathed her naked body in a golden glow that rendered him speechless. Her black hair, slick with moisture, hung limp below her shoulders. Droplets of seawater dappled her bronzed skin and ran in rivulets around her bare breasts and across her flat stomach. A single tattoo of an anchor and chain no more than an inch square, adorned the curvature of her waist near the left hip. A subtle souvenir from the years she spent in the Navy.

  He had no such memento from his work as a marine biologist. Only a deep tan and a handful of scars.

  Propping himself up on his elbow, he asked, “Did you enjoy your swim?”

  She stepped toward him with a mischievous grin he had seen a hundred times during their trip. It usually resulted in him being the loser.

  She said, “You should have joined me.”

  “Why is that?”

  “Then I wouldn’t have had to do this.”

  “Don’t—”

  He reached, but not fast enough to stop her from shaking her head and peppering him with cold drops of water.

  “You’re a she-devil,” he said. “Do you know that?”

  “Couldn’t resist. Besides, you bring out the best in me.”

  “So I noticed.”

  He fell back on the bed and laced his fingers behind his head and watched her sit cross-legged next to him without drying herself or showing a hint of self-consciousness. Her smile slipped, and he noticed her glance at her hands fidgeting in her lap before settling her gaze on him.

  He peered into her dark eyes waiting to hear what she had on her mind. What she found difficult to say. He had a feeling he knew what it was.

  Thinking back on the past few days, he had noticed a vague tension building, causing her to become moody and less content to while away the hours lounging on the beach. It was as though she felt their time together had come to an end.

  Something he had sensed as well.

  The danger he and Cherise faced on Oahu two months earlier when they took down the drug dealer Yang Li, had brought them to the solitude of these uninhabited islands. That same devotion to her work drew her back to the real world.

  “I’m a good listener,” he said. “If you need to talk about something that’s bothering you.”

  He gave her time.

  “I guess it shows,” she said after a moment. “You and I here in paradise these past weeks, it’s all been very wonderful. But I’m anxious to get back to work.”

  “What you’re saying is you’re ready to raise anchor and set sail?”

  She laid her cool hand on his bare leg.
Her eyes searched his in a silent plea for understanding. “It’s not you, you know that?”

  He smiled. “I’m sure I would’ve known if that was the case.”

  “Then you’re okay with heading back?”

  He had his own reality waiting for him. Buying a boat to replace Pono that lay in pieces on the bottom of Ala Wai Boat Harbor in Waikiki. His research with NOAA. The director of The National Oceanic and Atmospheric Administration had been gracious in allowing him time away from his work.

  Meg Roberts would be glad to once again have him at the agency’s disposal.

  “Absolutely,” he said. “This atoll we’re on now is only a couple hundred miles northwest of Oahu. We’ll leave first thing in the morning. Given a favorable wind, a following sea, and a touch of good fortune, we’ll be in around midnight. And it’s not because I haven’t enjoyed every minute with you. Is that okay?”

  “That will work fine.”

  Work fine . . .

  That wasn’t the response he expected. “You talk like you already have a job waiting for you.”

  She turned a sheepish eye on him. “This afternoon when you went for a swim, I talked to Susan on the satellite phone. She told me a friend of mine, Lindsey Taylor, left a message for me.”

  “You called your answering service.”

  “Susan does more for me than take messages.”

  “No surprise there,” he said. “To work for you, she’d have to have a multitude of talents. What did Susan have to say?”

  “Lindsey has a problem and, according to her, I’m the only person left she can turn to for help.”

  “Did she say what the problem is?”

  “Susan asked, but Lindsey wouldn’t tell her, saying she’d wait and talk to me. That’s Lindsey.”