The Sniper and the Wolf by Scott McEwen, Thomas Koloniar

“This sorry motherfucker here was thrown out of the CIA for raping a fourteen-year-old girl in Thailand three years ago. He only escaped prison because the girl disappeared before she could testify. And now he’s here— on this boat —working for a Russian Spetsnaz team that turned back around and shot him in the head. Somebody’s tying up loose ends, and they’re not gonna—”
    One of the windows shattered, and Terbish’s head blew apart, splattering gore all over Gil and Dragunov, who both hit the deck.
    “You were saying about the GRU being clean?” Gil said, wiping the gore from his eyes.
    Dragunov’s blood-spattered face split into a malicious grin. “Are you going to help me kill these sukiny dyeti— or run home like a little girl?”
    Gil drew the Strike One, unscrewing the suppressor. “Oh, we’re definitely gonna kill ’em.” He got into a combat crouch, moving to the hatchway leading from the bridge to the gangway. He could see that the P21 was already out of pistol range, heading north at her top speed of twenty-six knots, almost double that of the Palinouros .
    “Well, that’s why God made radar.” He stood up and went to the satellite phone on the console. “Get ready to weigh anchor, Ivan.”
    Dragunov went to the window, easily making out the wake of the P21, but the patrol boat itself was scarcely more than a silhouette. “Can you pilot this thing?”
    “Sorta,” Gil said, punching numbers into the phone. “We’ll need a little help.”
    A few seconds later, Pope was on the line. “Bob, we’ve taken the Palinouros . The entire crew’s dead. The skipper was Paul Miller, an ex-CIA man with the Thailand office. I need you to patch me through to a yacht in Auckland called Frieda’s Joy . I’ll explain what’s going on while you work your magic.”
    “Stand by,” Pope said. “I’ll put Midori to work while you bring me up to speed.”
    Within eight minutes, Gil had Pope completely updated, and the satellite phone was ringing aboard Frieda’s Joy in Auckland, New Zealand.
    “This is the Frieda’s Joy ,” answered a female voice with an Australian accent. “First Mate Dana Keener speaking.”
    “Keener, my name is Master Chief Gil Shannon. I need to speak with Wild Bill ASAP.” Wild Bill Watkins was a retired Navy SEAL from the West Coast teams who now captained a yacht similar to the Palinouros for an Australian millionaire.
    “I’m sorry, Master Chief, but Captain Watkins is ashore at this time. May I be of assistance?”
    “I sure hope so. Listen, Keener, I’m stuck in the Med aboard an anchored Lürssen Kismet with her engines at dead stop. I’m only semi familiar with the controls, and I need to get her under way fast.All I got for crew is a grumpy Russian, so if you could keep your instructions simple-stupid, I’d appreciate it.”
    First Mate Keener chuckled. “I’ll try and keep it fairly dinkum for you,” she said, her lilting voice sounding suddenly sexy. “Where in the Med are you, Master Chief?”
    “North coast of Malta.”
    “So you’ve got slightly rocky bottom.”
    “Yeah, I believe so.”
    “And I assume she’s fallen off with the current?”
    “Yes, ma’am. To the north.”
    “Then you’ll need to ease off the cables before you weigh anchor. Are you at the con?”
    “Roger that,” Gil said. “And the computers are all up. I just need to start the engines and get this tub turned around.”
    With Keener’s help, it took Gil and Dragunov fifteen minutes to get the Palinouros under way and headed north in pursuit of the P21 at her normal cruising speed of twelve knots. Anything faster might have looked suspicious on Maltese military radar. Keener helped them figure out which blip on their own radar was the P21, and judging from the heading, Kovalenko and his men were heading directly for Sicily. Keener remained on the line in case they needed further assistance conning the vessel.

9
    MEXICO CITY,
Mexico
    Tim Hagen, sitting in the