Chapter Twelve
Gregoire’s boat idled on the ocean waves, its engine a dull purr. He was studying a series of maps, having already marked which islands he had visited. Also on the map he had drawn a small circle around an area where he thought it most likely Arris had ditched the helicopter. Plus, he had sketched out current patterns where men in flotation devices were likely to drift. There was a lot of ocean to search. His satellite phone trilled on the bench behind him.
“This is Opera,” Gregoire said, already certain the signal was secure.
“Gregoire, this is Agent Shepard,” the man on the other end said. Shepard was the head of the DEA contingent and the mission leader.
“What can I do for you?” Gregoire fished out a thin cigar from his cargo pants pocket, tucked it between his lips and flicked his Zippo aflame.
“It’s been more than twenty-four hours and we’ve got nothing so far, so it doesn’t look very good for us,” Shepard said. “Higher echelon wants us to pull the plug on this and bring our assets home.”
Gregoire stared down at the map. “I think we’ve been looking in the wrong areas. I’ve been studying the currents around the area where the helo went down, and we’ve been searching too far north of the probable crash site. We’ve basically wasted the day.”
“That may be, but we can’t stay out here any longer,” Shepard said. “Higher echelon is worried if we stay out in the field too much longer the cartel may notice us and blow our whole op, so we’re bugging out as soon as we reel everything in.
“We contacted your company about your situation, and they’ve arranged to have a Coast Guard cutter begin searching sometime after oh-three-hundred, but we’ve got to get out of here ASAP,” Shepard said. “Sorry.”
“Two of those lost are your guys,” Gregoire said, not out of an attempt to play a sympathy card – he knew enough to know never to try something like that – but because he couldn’t believe mission anonymity would trump personnel retrieval.
“Yeah, not my call. Believe me, it burns me up inside, but we all have to answer to somebody.”
Gregoire stared around him at the 360-degree panorama of water, the sun settling down toward the curvature of the horizon behind him, a blaze of reds and oranges slowly melting into deep blues in front of him. Soon, it would be dark, with only the stars casting light.
“I’m going to keep the boat, then,” Gregoire said. “I’ll drop it off in Miami when I’m done with it.”