SEA OF DEATH

MARK NOLAN

Copyright © 2024 by Mark Nolan

All rights reserved.

No part of this book may be reproduced in any form or by any electronic or mechanical means, including information storage and retrieval systems, without written permission from the author, except for the use of brief quotations in a book review.

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

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

CHAPTER 1

“From a certain point on,

there is no turning back.”

— Kafka

Cabo San Lucas,

Baja Peninsula, Mexico

Jake Wolfe awakened before sunrise aboard his 60-foot motor yacht, Far Niente, docked at the marina in Cabo San Lucas. He got out of bed, pulled on board shorts and a T-shirt emblazoned with the word “Marines,” and exited the stateroom quietly so as not to awaken his girlfriend, Sarah.

He walked through the galley and salon to the aft deck at the stern, where he untied the lines.

His dog, Cody, a former war K9, followed along like his shadow. The golden retriever and yellow Labrador mix had been trained by the Marines as an IED-sniffing search dog. After Cody EAS’d at his end of active service, he struggled with adjusting to civilian life, until Jake adopted him forever. No one else could control the uniquely intelligent animal, but Cody would follow Jake into a burning building, and had once done so in the past, where he’d found and rescued a child.

Jake generally preferred the company of dogs to most people. Dogs were true friends who would never betray you. They were without guile, and far more honest than the average human being.

At the bridge, Jake stood tall at the wheel, started the twin inboard engines and slowly piloted his vessel out of Marina de Cabo San Lucas and toward the harbor and bay, idling at only five miles per hour in the no-wake zone. Once he reached open water, he increased speed, brought her up on plane, and cruised into the Pacific Ocean.

Jake navigated the coastal waters around the southernmost tip of the Baja Peninsula and soon passed by the iconic 200-foot-high rock arch, El Arco, and its whimsically named Playa del Amor, Lover’s Beach, where he’d taken Sarah a few days before.

Jake thought of Baja as “the other California.” A peninsula that’s seven hundred and fifty miles long and surrounded by water on both sides.

The cape of Baja peninsula reminded him of how Key West, Florida, was sometimes called “the end of the road” by those who appreciated getting away to a tropical paradise surrounded by warm salt water.

He cruised past the cape and into the Sea of Cortez, also known as the Gulf of California. The sky above remained dark with a blanket of bright stars that twinkled like diamonds on black velvet. A faint red glow on the horizon promised the sun would rise soon.

Jake remembered the old proverb, “Red sky at morning, sailor take warning.” Although he didn’t see any indication of bad weather or threats from other boats, he kept watch because trouble always had a way of finding him.

He also kept watch because he was on an off-the-record mission to do so for Secret Service Agent Shannon McKay. She ran a clandestine team of black ops veterans from her office in a secret area of tunnels–the catacombs–beneath the White House. McKay had said a tourist on vacation took phone video of a narco-submarine periscope that temporarily broke the surface as it passed by the coastal waters.

Jake knew the Colombian subs carried illegal drugs to the United States. Built mainly of fiberglass, painted blue, and traveling submerged, the vessels were difficult to detect via radar or sonar or visually from the air. One mini-sub the size and shape of a forty-foot sailboat might cost $2 million to manufacture, but a nine-ton load could earn $200 million.

Recently a cartel arms dealer used a sub to smuggle dangerous cargo into Baja, Mexico that included military-grade weapons, belt-fed machine guns, armor-piercing rounds, hand grenades, and rocket launchers.

The Mexican Defense Department asked Washington to form a joint task force that could stop the supply line of weaponry to both countries.

Jake’s mission was to spend time on the waters around Southern Baja where subs passed by, find the gun-running criminals, and put them out of business permanently.

His motor yacht had been designated by the US government as a privateer vessel. Jake was basically a pirate for Uncle Sam. He carried a US Marshals badge as a deputized citizen K9 handler and worked as a volunteer for their fugitive apprehension task force.

Jake’s attitude was that if he had to spend every day boating in paradise, so be it. And he’d do some fishing while searching. War had left scars on his soul, and he needed vitamin sea to soothe the PTSD that still haunted him. La Paz in English meant “The Peace.” Jake felt that after his mission was complete he might find peace there. An escape from his violent past. He opened two custom-made windows and let salty fresh air wash through the enclosed bridge.

Cody hopped into the second seat next to Jake and sat there with the sea breeze ruffling his fur. Like most dogs, Cody enjoyed going for car rides, but he absolutely loved traveling on a boat.

Jake said, “This is the life. Eh buddy?”

Cody thumped his tail on the black leather seat.

Jake held the wheel and navigated the Pacific as he rounded the east cape, traveled past pristine white sand beaches, and entered the gulf and Sea of Cortez. He always felt right at home cruising the beautiful, 900-mile-long inlet between Baja California and Mexico’s mainland. It was one of his favorite places in the world.

Cody barked excitedly as a pod of dolphins leapt from the water and splashed down in the moonlight, providing a welcoming committee. The dog loved Mother Ocean, dolphins, and especially whales. Jake shared his enthusiasm.

It was whale watching season in Baja and there were high odds they’d see humpbacks, gray whales, and perhaps even some blue whales on this cruise. As he counted at least a dozen dolphins, he felt the urge to dive into the sea and swim with the carefree sea mammals.

On a previous visit, he’d seen a massive pod of several hundred dolphins. A rare sight he would never forget. He’d also heard about superpods of more than 1,000 dolphins and hoped one day to see the spectacle.

As he cruised into the gulf, he suddenly felt a premonition of violent danger waiting for him in the Sea of Cortez. He’d learned from painful experience to trust his so-called sixth sense.

Reaching out to his dashboard, he turned on the fish-finder and an underwater camera so he could gaze beneath the surface in two different ways. Not finding any narco-submarines, he opened a locker and withdrew a sniper rifle with a high-powered scope.

Whatever danger might be waiting for him up ahead, he’d handle it the way Marine Corps infantry grunts were trained to do—by shooting the enemy.

CHAPTER 2

In the early morning darkness before sunrise, rogue Colombian narco-assassin Andres Galván sat in a black Zodiac rigid inflatable boat—RIB, and floated on the Sea of Cortez. He watched his prey through night-vision binoculars that painted everything in a glittering green monochrome.

The two fishermen he’d targeted were running their 30-foot drift net boat’s large power winch and committing a crime by slowly reeling in an illegal gill net. Andres knew their goal was to catch totoaba fish, which was another crime. They could sell each fish’s valuable swim bladder to a Communist Chinese triad kingpin in San Diego. A third crime. The wildlife trafficker would then smuggle the dried bladders into Guangdong Province, where they were highly prized by wealthy people for alleged but unproven medicinal purposes.

Andres believed the medical claims were snake oil, false promises of miracle cures, but he had no objection to supplying a placebo to big spenders.

The swim bladders were in such high demand that people called them “the cocaine of the sea.” Totoaba trafficking was more lucrative, easier, and less risky than drug trafficking, which is why totoaba thieves prospered while narco gangs fought and killed each other in an endless battle for dominance.

Andres was a Colombian narcotics trafficker and an assassin. A narcotraficante colombiano y sicario. He belonged to a new cartel that had infiltrated Mexico to find meth labs and steal their crystal at gunpoint. Why make it when you can take it?

However, he knew the men he’d targeted tonight were humble fishermen who lived in poverty and were only trying to survive and feed their families. They didn’t live nearby, but how could they resist traveling here to catch free fish that would put food on the table and provide swim bladders worth $5,000 each on the criminal market? It would be an absolute fortune to a poor person.

Andres watched and waited until the men finished reeling in their third netted catch of the night. They already had a number of totoaba lined up on the foredeck. If their good luck continued, the gillnet should now contain one or two more.

He set down the night vision binoculars and started up his small boat’s powerful but quiet electric outboard motor.

After piloting closer to the fishing boat, he turned on flashing police lights, and used a megaphone to shout in Spanish at the crew. “Police! Raise your hands above your heads or we’ll open fire.”

When the fishermen only gaped at the police boat in shock, Andres turned on a high-powered spotlight that blinded them. “Hands up. Final warning.”

The men raised their hands, closed their eyes against the bright light, and one shouted, “We give up. Don’t shoot.”

Andres took aim and fired two shots from a rifle with an attached silencer. Both men fell onto their deck, bleeding from chest wounds. Andres piloted his Zodiac closer and tied up to the fishing vessel, climbed aboard carrying his rifle, and finished off each poacher with a point-blank shot in the heart.

Making the sign of the cross over their bodies, he set his rifle within easy reach in case there might be any unwelcome visitors with the same goals as his own. He moved to the row of previously caught totoaba, drew a razor-sharp folding knife and began gutting them and removing their swim bladders.

Six was a good haul, worth thirty thousand US dollars. He could leave now and quit while he was ahead, avoiding further risk of being discovered. Perhaps be smart about things for once in his life.

His greed overcame caution, as it always did. There could be several more of the prized fish in the drift gill net. He hated the thought of another thief taking the spoils of his labor.

Moving aft to the stern, he used a gaff to wrestle a totoaba out of the net and onto the deck. His muscles strained to lift the large fish that was the size of a man. As a sicario, he had plenty of experience with dead bodies, and it came in handy now.

Once he’d landed the fish and dragged it forward to the bow, he used his knife to remove the swim bladder and add it to his collection. He returned to the aft deck and searched through dead fish in the gill net until he gaffed another totoaba and dragged it on board, then he spotted a sea turtle caught in the net. He felt no remorse for murdering and robbing the two fishermen, but something about the gentle, slow-moving, harmless turtle momentarily warmed his cold heart. He looked into its intelligent eyes while using his knife to cut the net and set it free.

When the turtle swam away, it reminded Andres to look in the gill net for a vaquita, the world’s smallest porpoise. The endangered species was nearly wiped out, with only around a dozen left alive in the world. If the Mexican Navy found him in possession of an injured or dead vaquita, angry Marines might beat him within an inch of his life and claim Andres had resisted arrest.

Relieved at not finding any vaquita bycatch, he worked diligently until he’d stripped one more totoaba of its swim bladder and now had nine in his possession. That would do nicely, and it was time to get moving. He placed the contraband bladders in an insulated black catch bag, grabbed his rifle, untied the Zodiac, and motored away.

Soon, he’d become $45,000 richer by selling the nine coveted items to a man from Communist China who belonged to the Tong Mafia and would resell them in his homeland’s Guangdong Province for $15,000 each.

He’d heard rumors that the Tong gangster had smuggled hundreds of bladders over recent years and was now a multi-millionaire. Andres felt jealous of the millions but told himself that forty-five grand wasn’t bad pay for one night’s work.

He’d make far more another night this week when he robbed a meth lab in the hill country above La Paz. A truckload of “glass” was worth a truckload of money.

As the sun rose, he told himself he’d soon take control of Baja and the Sea of Cortez.

That’s when he saw a 60-foot motor yacht heading in his direction on an intercept course. He reached for his night-vision binoculars and studied the power catamaran flying an American flag.

Changing course, he skirted the peninsula’s shoreline in shallow water and gave the yacht a wide berth. Andres kept his rifle hidden, but he was ready to kill anyone who might interfere with his plans.

CHAPTER 3

Jake piloted Far Niente on a steady course as the rising sun painted strokes of gold, red, and purple on the sparkling blue sea.

He reveled in the rare feeling of freedom he enjoyed when cruising a boat on the open water. And a sunrise always promised a new beginning.

An attractive woman strolled confidently into the pilothouse, dressed in cutoff jean shorts and a tank top. She carried a thermos and refilled both of their mugs with coffee.

“May I take the helm for a while?” Sarah asked, her eyes imploring him.

Jake followed their formal protocol as he relinquished the wheel to his girlfriend, and Cody’s veterinarian, Doctor Sarah Chance. “First Mate, you have the helm.”

“Aye, Captain. I have the helm.”

Jake opened a cupboard, added a splash of Baileys Irish Cream to his coffee and took a sip. “Ah, good stuff.” He’d given up alcohol for ninety days, due to scars on his liver that needed to heal, and now used it sparingly. There wasn’t much Irish whiskey in the Baileys–only a few drops per serving for flavor. His liver would forgive that. “Baileys in your coffee?”

Sarah only nodded, totally focused on piloting the motor yacht.

The Horizon PC-60 power catamaran was a seaworthy live-aboard vessel with dual 700+ horsepower diesel engines. It was almost too much yacht for one person to manage alone, but Jake could handle her all by himself without any crew, thanks to the ZF Joystick Maneuvering System and fly-by-wire steering. Sarah was now learning to do the same. It took hours of practice, but she loved every minute.

She sat in the black leather and chrome captain’s chair as salty sea air gusted in through two open windows of the enclosed bridge and ruffled her brunette hair she’d had styled with blonde highlights.

Jake noticed she’d done something new with her eyebrows, although he had no idea what. All he knew was she looked even more attractive, if that was possible.

“The gulf is incredibly beautiful,” Sarah said.

“And so are you, girlfriend.”

She smiled at him. “I could get used to this cruising life.”

“Wait until you visit La Paz,” he said. “You’ll never want to leave. It’s a relaxed and humble Mexican harbor town, more for travelers than tourists.”

“I’ll bet the restaurants serve all kinds of seafood tacos.” She gave him a wink.

He chuckled when she teased him about his favorite food. “You know me well. This gulf is home to an estimated seven to nine hundred species of fish. Imagine the variety of seafood tacos we’ll have to choose from.”

A gray whale breached the surface off to starboard. Cody barked at it from where he stood on the foredeck sun pad while lifting his front paws up and down as if playing a bongo drum. It was a behavior Jake called “happy feet” that only occurred in the presence of marine mammals.

Sarah said, “And there are plenty of dolphins and whales to entertain our boy.”

“Yep, nearly a third of the world’s marine mammal species live right here in this gulf.” Jake opened a cabinet and grabbed a colorful laminated photo collage featuring dozens of fish species on both sides.

She glanced at the brochure, keeping both hands on the wheel. “You had me going there as being an expert of all things Sea of Cortez, but you’ve been using a secret cheat sheet.”

“I needed one. This gulf has such an incredible diversity of marine life that Jacques Cousteau once called it ‘the world’s aquarium.’ I’ve always been fascinated with the place.”

“I can’t wait to go snorkeling and take pictures with the waterproof camera.”

Jake loved her enthusiasm, but worried she might not understand exactly how much danger they might be facing. When he’d informed Sarah he was being sent to Mexico, she’d asked to go along. Once Agent McKay had approved the request, Sarah hired her substitute veterinarian, Nina, to fill in at the pet clinic.

As Jake thought about the danger of cartel violence, he observed a black Zodiac boat passing by at a far distance on the port side near shore, moving surprisingly fast in the opposite direction. One man sat aboard, wearing a black ball cap and sunglasses, holding onto the tiller control of a quiet but powerful electric outboard motor.

Curious about the motor’s unusually high speed, Jake used his binoculars for a closer look. He recognized a green Elco company logo and the number 50 on a black motor. That explained it. Their largest electric motor had a comparable horse power of a 50 hp gasoline-powered engine.

He saw the man remove his sunglasses, raise a monocular to one eye, and gaze at Far Niente. That wasn’t unusual. The sleek power catamaran attracted attention. She was a beautiful vessel, flying an American flag, as required by international law, along with a Republic of Mexico flag as a gesture of friendship and courtesy.

Jake noticed the passing boat lacked any identifiable markings. That was unusual. He wondered if the man passing by could be the source of danger he’d sensed earlier. Or, it could be that people like him had been through so much that even something good feels like a setup.

The Zodiac pilot noticed Jake observing him, lowered his binoculars, put on the sunglasses, and turned his head away.

Jake wanted to ask the mystery man a few questions. He carried his US Marshals star and creds, which gave him worldwide jurisdiction, but he lacked probable cause to search the Zodiac, other than a premonition of violence. Who would believe him?

Security cameras on the yacht recorded video as the Zodiac motored past. Jake would review the video later to see what he might learn by zooming in on the boat and pilot. He noted that Cody didn’t alert to the scent of guns or explosives on the passing boat. However, the sea breeze wafted toward land, carrying the Zodiac’s scent away.

The pod of dolphins returned, swimming along and leaping from the water on each side of the boat.

“I love this,” Sarah said.

Cody trotted aft to the stern, headed down the swim platform, and dove off into the bubbling water so he could swim with the dolphins.

Jake let out a loud breath. “I had a feeling that ornery dog might jump ship. That’s why I have him wearing the flotation vest.”

He retook the helm and throttled back to idle, causing the boat to slow down and drift forward by momentum only. Then he reversed engines and brought her to a standstill.

With that done, Jake dropped anchor, kicked off his boat shoes, and removed his T-shirt, revealing a muscled chest covered with a variety of scars from all kinds of wounds. Most were from when he’d served as an infantry Marine overseas. A few were more recent, earned while protecting America from threats at home. He couldn’t talk much about that secret work. The latest scar was from a bullet entry wound at the top left side of his chest, courtesy of a small-caliber pistol round that went clear through and left a matching exit scar on his back.

Sarah glanced at his bare chest. “Planning on joining Cody and his dolphin friends?”

“You only live once,” Jake said. “Let’s do it.”

Sarah pulled the tank top up over her head in one smooth motion and then unzipped her shorts and slid them down her smooth, tanned legs, which left her wearing only a figure-flattering bikini.

Jake blinked twice when she did a quick strip but made an effort not to gawk at her swimsuit model’s body that always drew plenty of admiring glances at the beach. Sarah acted unaware of how she’d immediately drawn his full attention, yet Jake noticed she had a slight smile on her face.

They both headed down to the stern and dove off the swim platform into warm blue water.

Jake focused on being fully present in the moment, while enjoying the rare and magical treat of swimming with dolphins in the wild.

Cody dog-paddled among the playful creatures that leapt into the air and did flips before splashing down and swimming in circles around their visitors.

After several minutes of awe and wonder, Jake spotted shark fins heading in their direction.

The pod of dolphins swam away fast.

“Sharks in the water,” Jake called out. “Back to the boat. Cody, heel.”

CHAPTER 4

Jake swam to the boat with Sarah by his side and Cody dog-paddling behind them. Everyone climbed aboard the swim platform before two deadly hammerhead sharks circled the boat and then continued onward.

Sarah opened a locker that held a stack of folded bath towels.

Jake said, “Cody, shake and bake.”

Cody shook all over, sending water drops everywhere. Then he hopped onto a chaise lounge and lay on his back with his paws up, basking in the sun like a movie star dog in Hollywood.

“Okay, now we’re ready,” Sarah said with a laugh. “The things you teach our boy. All he needs is a pair of sunglasses.”

Jake used a towel on Cody’s fur, giving him a belly rub and also paying special attention to be sure his dog’s ears were clean.

They all went up to the bridge, where Jake used a pair of binoculars to confirm their new dolphin friends had escaped the sharks. He was surprised to see an unusual fishing boat off in the distance. “Does that boat have an illegal drift net on the stern?” He handed the binos to Sarah.

She focused in that direction. “Yes, it has one of those big winches to reel in the net.”

“I guess it attracted the sharks,” he said. “Gill nets kill plenty of bycatch.”

Sarah frowned. “Do we report this crime to the US Coast Guard or the Mexican Navy?”

“I’m thinking the Mexican Navy,” Jake said. “The Coasties have worldwide jurisdiction, but we’re in Mexican waters, and their local Navy takes precedence.”

“It seems pretty brazen for that boat crew to use a gill net in broad daylight.”

“Mexico’s Navy does a good job, but with over nine thousand kilometers of coastline to patrol, they have their hands full and can’t be everywhere at all times.” Jake held the binos and studied the boat again. “I’m wondering if anyone on board might shoot at us. It’s against the law for boaters to carry guns in Mexican waters, but criminals do it anyway.”

“Where’s the crew?” Sarah said. “I didn’t see anyone on board. They can’t be taking a siesta in the morning.”

Jake raised anchor and piloted closer. Once he could get a better look at the fishing boat’s decks, he eased back on the throttles. “I see quite a few large gutted fish lined up in a row.”

“Any people?” Sarah said.

Jake studied the fishing boat for a moment longer, then spoke in a low voice. “There are two men on the deck with chest wounds who appear dead. I wish I’d gotten us here sooner.”

Sarah shook her head. “Don’t blame yourself. You couldn’t have known this would happen.”

“I’ll contact the Coast Guard first because they have a file on me in their computer.” He tuned the VHF radio to channel 16 and keyed the mic. “Hailing the US Coast Guard. This is Captain Jake Wolfe of Far Niente. We’ve spotted an illegal gill net boat at the mouth of the Sea of Cortez, with two murdered souls on board.” He recited the latitude and longitude. “Far Niente, over.”

The Coast Guard radio operator asked questions and then said, “A Mexican Navy patrol boat will arrive at your location shortly.”

“Thank you, Coast Guard. And give my regards to Captain Ballard,” Jake said, naming the man in charge of a USCG cutter that once rescued Jake and Cody from the ocean offshore of San Diego.

“I’ll pass that along. Coast Guard over and out.”

“Roger that, Coast Guard. Far Niente over and out.” Jake set down the mic, grabbed his phone, and called Lourdes Benitez, his friend at the Mexican Federal Police, la Policía Federal. They’d met in Cabo a while back when Lourdes had driven Jake and Sarah to a private airstrip. On the way, Jake had held onto an MP5K submachine gun pistol while Sarah wept.

Lourdes answered her phone. “Agent Benitez.”

“Lourdes, this is Jake Wolfe. You assisted me in Cabo one time on orders from Agent Shannon McKay of the US Secret Service. Do you remember me?”

“Yes, I’m in Cabo right now, and of course I remember you, Señor Lobo. Do you remember the code words we used that day?”

“Swiss watch,” Jake said.

“Right. Are you in trouble again, Jake?”

“Trouble is my middle name. I’m cruising a motor yacht in the Sea of Cortez, and I found a drift net boat with two dead bodies on board.”

“Poachers seeking the totoaba,” Lourdes said. “Have you contacted any local authorities?”

“I spoke to the US Coast Guard, and they contacted the Mexican Navy,” Jake said.

“Are you carrying weapons in Mexican waters?” Lourdes said. “I don’t want you dispensing justicia callejera, street justice.”

“Yes, I’m carrying, but I have law enforcement credentials now. Un momento, por favor.” Jake grabbed his US Marshals badge and creds and set them on a countertop. Thank goodness Agent McKay had arranged for him to carry the items full-time now. He took pictures with his phone and texted them to Lourdes. “I’m a deputized citizen who serves on a joint task force that can assist both the US and Mexican governments.”

“That’ll help make things much easier,” Lourdes said. “I’ll tell the Navy you’re my norteamericano federal police colleague.”

“Gracias,” he said.

“De nada. Are you working full time for the Marshals now?”

“No, still part time as needed,” Jake said. “McKay said the threat of terrorism that led to my deputation is ongoing, which qualifies me for a continuation of the Special Deputy US Marshal status.”

Lourdes paused a moment, as if taking notes. “How’s your friend, Sarah? I recall she had a serious bump on the head the last time I saw her.”

“Sarah’s wound healed up nicely.” Jake glanced at Sarah, who smiled, knowing Lourdes was asking about her health.

“Good to hear it,” Lourdes said. “Next time you plan on bringing weapons into Mexico’s waters, please let me know beforehand.”

“I should have, and I will in the future. I promise.”

“I’ll let you go, so I can call my Navy contact.”

“Adios.” Jake ended the call.

Soon, a coastal patrol vessel motored toward them. Jake studied boats as a hobby and he recognized this badass beauty as a Combat Boat 90-H fast assault craft with twin diesel water-jet engines, giving it a top speed of 40 knots. He knew it would be armed with three Browning M2HB machine guns, one Mk 19 grenade launcher, and either four naval mines or six depth charges to combat submarines of the “narco navy.” It flew the flag of la Armada de México—The Mexican Navy. There were dozens more boats like it patrolling the nation’s coastline.

Jake spotted one of the machine guns on a ring-mount, where a Mexican Marine stood ready to fire in any direction, but was aiming the barrel upward, not at Far Niente. He also saw two .50-caliber heavy machine guns in front of the helmsman’s position, both facing Jake as the boat approached.

Jake said, “Everybody smile. Act friendly and innocent.”

The captain hailed Jake via radio. “Far Niente, se habla español?”

“No hablo español,” Jake said. “English, por favor.” He’d learned plenty of Spanish language words, but not enough. It was best to feign ignorance.

“This is Captain Gabriel Tovar of the Armada de México patrol boat Colima.”

“Yes, sir. This is Captain Jake Wolfe of Far Niente. Good morning, Captain Tovar.”

“Lourdes Benitez of the Mexican Federal Police speaks highly of you, Señor Lobo,” Captain Tovar said.

Jake heard the doubt in his voice. “I’m proud and lucky to be her friend.”

“Benitez said you’d be carrying handguns and rifles on board, but you have a letter of permission from the Mexican government.”

“Yes, sir. I belong to a joint task force of federal law enforcement agents from both nations.”

“I’ll need to see that paper,” Captain Tovar said. “You understand.”

“It’s on my phone. I can text it to you, sir.”

Captain Tovar recited his number, and Jake sent a text.

“Benitez also said you’re a privateer,” Captain Tovar said. “I had to look up the definition. The Mexican government does not share your US privateer laws.”

“It’s an uncommon profession, but one that’s backed up by the US Coast Guard,” Jake said. “May I be of any further assistance, or am I free to go?”

“Stand by and await my orders,” Captain Tovar said. “Colima over and out.”

“Yes, sir. Standing by. Far Niente over and out.”

Sarah said, “What should I do if Captain Tovar asks to come aboard?”

“It’s against the law for anyone besides police and military personnel to carry a gun in Mexico,” Jake said. “None of the weapons on board belong to you. They’re all mine, issued to me by the US Marshals.”

“Right. I’ll be careful with what I say and do.”

Jake raised the chart table up on hinges and opened it to grab their passports and travel documents. “If they ask you any questions, maybe you could reply in French.”

Sarah, born French Canadian in Quebec, laughed at his suggestion. “Oui, Monsieur le Capitaine.” She picked up her tank top and shorts off the deck. “I’m going to get dressed and cover up the girls.”

“That’s just wrong.” Jake gave her a wink. He didn’t comment on how the seawater-soaked and nearly transparent white bikini top was more eye-catching than a sports bar’s wet T-shirt contest. Sarah was a head-turner to any man of good taste.

He pulled on the shirt he’d taken off prior to swimming and watched through binoculars as Mexican Marines searched the fishing boat. Their bulletproof vests featured the Spanish word for marines, MARINAS.

Several minutes later, his radio crackled as Captain Tovar hailed him. “Far Niente, stand by to be boarded for inspection.”

Jake felt his heartburn flare up. He sent a text to Agent McKay. Mexican Marines are going to search my privateer vessel.

McKay replied. Make friends with them. Offer to assist local law enforcement via Joint Task Force Alpha.

CHAPTER 5

Jake obeyed Captain Tovar. “Yes, sir. My pleasure. I’ll meet you at the aft deck.” He headed down the stairs, or ladders, as sailors called them.

Sarah opened the sliding door from inside the galley, came out and joined him. She’d dressed in blue jeans, a long-sleeved blouse, Topsider boat shoes, a ball cap, and wore Jake’s sheath knife on her belt. “I took down my dance pole. They won’t even notice the quick-mounting plates on the floor and ceiling.”

Jake didn’t correct her by saying deck and overhead. He was grateful she’d taken care of a situation he’d missed. “Good idea.”

Sarah sat down at the patio table and laid out her passport, migration form, sport fishing license, and a veterinary health certificate for Cody.

Jake quickly dressed Cody in a vest that had Velcro to hold letters spelling out words such as “Search Dog.” This time, he arranged those words in Spanish–Perro de Busqueda.

The patrol vessel bumped boats with Far Niente on the port side. Jake held out his hand for a crew member to toss the lines, but an armed young man wearing a camouflage-patterned uniform leapt aboard and tied up. He removed an M16 from where it was slung across his back and held it aimed down while giving Jake a challenging look.

Jake stared him down and showed no fear.

Three more Mexican Marines boarded the yacht, carrying rifles and wearing clothing similar to US Marine combat utility uniform “cammies.” They were followed by a man who wore black dress slacks, a crisp white shirt, a pistol holstered on his waist, and a black windbreaker emblazoned with the words “POLÍCIA FEDERAL.” He was accompanied by an unarmed woman in office attire who wore a similar windbreaker adorned with the letters “PFPA.”

“Welcome aboard,” Jake said. “Mi casa, es su casa.”

Cody growled at the intruders and displayed his teeth.

“Be friends, Cody.” Jake kept the former war dog on a short leash.

An athletic-bodied Marine stepped forward, glanced at Jake’s Marshals badge, and held out his hand. “I’m Gabriel Tovar, temporary captain of the Colima.” Gabriel was a clean-cut man who wore cammies, a helmet, black boots, and a flack vest.

“Jake Wolfe. Pleased to meet you, Captain Tovar.” Jake shook hands, and both men tried to crush the other in their grip.

Cody pulled on the leash and sniffed Gabriel’s hand, but Jake let go and pulled Cody back. “Heel.”

Cody stood next to Jake’s left thigh and watched the visitor with bright eyes.

“My crew will search your boat now,” Captain Tovar said. He gave orders, and the three Marines spread out. Two went inside through the sliding door, and the other one headed up to the bridge.

Jake noticed how all the Marines ignored Sarah—a woman sitting still with her papers spread out for inspection, empty hands on the table in plain sight—as if she posed no threat. He knew better but declined to introduce her.

“Search all you want, Captain Tovar,” Jake said. “I have nothing to hide.”

“You can call me Gabriel.” Captain Tovar observed the K9 and handler closely, as if thinking Jake could give another kind of command and the dog might sink his teeth into somebody’s crotch.

Jake said, “Why temporary captain, sir? If you don’t mind me asking.”

“Our previous captain was shot dead by narco sicarios. I’m filling in for now.”

“You put the narco assassins in prison, I hope?”

Gabriel’s eyes darkened, and he shook his head. “None of them survived the battle. They attempted a firefight against our crew, and they lost.”

“Of course.” Jake admired Gabriel as a fellow Marine from another country. Gabriel belonged to Secretaría de Marina-Armada de Mexico—SEMAR. The Mexican Marines had a reputation for being one of the few incorruptible agencies in the nation. They were reminiscent of the FBI “Untouchables” led by Eliot Ness during the lawless prohibition in Chicago. Cartel criminals referred to the Marinas as las rápidas, “the fast ones,” and feared them above all other threats.

Jake said, “Cody and I both served in the US Marines.”

Gabriel noted Jake’s T-shirt emblazoned with the word “MARINE.” He grinned and tapped his own chest. “You gringo Marinas spell it wrong.”

Jake matched his grin. “I’ll be sure to tell US Marine Corps General Clemens you said so.”

Gabriel snorted. “Right. You talk to generals often. This Clemens is your uncle, your tío.”

Jake did speak with—or mostly listened to—the great man on rare occasions, but he didn’t argue because no one would believe him. “In my dreams, I tell him my opinions and he listens to me.”

Gabriel shook his head at such nonsense. “We Mexican Marinas have a saying ... Once a Marina, always a Marina. You are one of us, and I’m asking for your help.”

“Yes, sir. How can I be of service to my Mexican colleagues? US Marshals may provide assistance to Mexico’s Attorney General’s Office under JTFA—Joint Task Force Alpha.”

Gabriel said, “I’ve heard of Alpha. If you want to help, keep watch for poachers illegally catching totoaba fish. They sell the swim bladders for a lot of money, which attracts violent criminals to the Sea of Cortez.”

“We’ll keep watch. Are those gutted fish I saw on the boat’s deck totoaba with their bladders removed?”

Gabriel nodded. “People call it the cocaine of the sea. The illegal trade is endangering La Paz, and my mother lives there.” He cursed in Spanish.

Jake noted the worried look on his new friend’s face. “While I’m visiting La Paz, I’d be honored to help protect your mother.”

Gabriel paused a moment, surprised. “Gracias, hermano.”

“De nada, hermano.” Jake called him brother and handed over one of his US Marshals business cards.

Gabriel read Jake’s card and sent a text. “Now you have my number, too.”

Jake swept a hand at Cody. “And this is Cody, a marine war dog veteran. If you ever need a K9 to conduct a search, he’s the best. He once found a drug tunnel under the border near San Diego, carved out using a horizontal directional drilling machine.”

Gabriel squinted at the dog. “I heard about that tunnel and drill. It was you two Marinas who found it?”

“Cody’s nose did all the work.” Jake said. “I tagged along as his bodyguard.”

“Buen perro,” Gabriel said, telling Cody he was a good dog. He punched Jake on the shoulder in a friendly way.

Jake didn’t react, although the punch landed near his bullet wound scar that still hurt. He stood there unmoved, as if Gabriel had punched a tree trunk.

Cody snarled when Gabriel struck his handler.

“Easy, boy,” Jake said.

“If you want to help protect my mother, you could start by searching her neighborhood,” Gabriel said. “Lately, I’ve seen a few cars driving through that I don’t like. Expensive new luxury cars rarely seen in her part of town.”

Jake thought it over for a moment. His friend Terrell often joked, don’t let your mouth write a check your ass can’t cash. His offer had escalated quickly, but he couldn’t back out now. “Yes, of course. Let me know when and where.”

“This morning,” Gabriel said. “I’ve been working all night, and I get off in two hours.”

Jake glanced at Sarah, who nodded in agreement. “We’ll do it.”

“Where are you docking your boat?”

“Delfines Marina in La Paz.”

“Return to Delfines within two hours and stand by for my call,” Gabriel said.

“Roger.”

Gabriel shook his head. “Who is Roger? We say understood. Entendido.”

“Copy,” Jake said with a smile.

Gabriel shouted orders into his shoulder-worn microphone for the men to return.

Jake moved to a control panel near a TV monitor. He tapped on it, and the TV lit up with four squares of surveillance video. One showed the aft deck where Jake stood, and the other three motion-activated cameras displayed Gabriel’s Marinas searching various sections of the boat. One man was up in the bridge, another belowdecks. The third man loitered in Jake’s stateroom, going through Sarah’s swimwear drawer. He held up a white bikini top for inspection and grinned as if trying to guess the cup size.

Jake frowned, pointed out a microphone to Gabriel, and flipped the “On” switch.

Gabriel shouted profane orders in Spanish, and the man came running out through the open sliding door, his face red with embarrassment.

Sarah gave him her veterinarian cold stare that could intimidate large unruly dogs without a word. When the man glanced at Sarah’s sheath knife, he passed by quickly without comment. Jake stepped forward and accidentally bumped against him. “Oops, sorry about that.” It was a clear threat of violence, and the man responded by reaching for his handgun.

Gabriel shouted again, kicked his crew member in the butt, and sent him stumbling to disembark.

Jake said to Gabriel, “Tell your Marinas that although none of my pistols belong to Sarah, she’s trained to use them in self-defense.”

Gabriel gave Sarah a nod in respect. “Señora, I apologize for my Marina’s ridículo behavior.”

“Apology accepted,” Sarah said. “Pleased to meet you, Gabriel.”

“Captain Gabriel Tovar, this is Dr. Sarah Chance,” Jake said. “She’s my girlfriend, Far Niente’s first mate, and Cody’s veterinarian.”

“Veterinarian is an honorable profession, Dr. Chance.”

Sarah gave him a careful smile. “Thank you.”

Jake used the CCTV controls to show Gabriel a video of the rigid inflatable boat that passed by earlier. “This guy could be a suspect in the murders of those fishermen.”

Gabriel watched the video and frowned. “Give me a copy.”

Jake sent him a text. “I’ll be on the lookout for that boat.”

Gabriel’s phone buzzed upon receipt of the video evidence. “This is muy helpful. Me alegraste el día, tú magnífico bastardo.” He disembarked and returned to his vessel.

“Glad I could make your day,” Jake called after him. “But that part about me being a magnificent bastard is only a rumor.”

Jake faced the two federal police officials who remained onboard. “Now, what can I do for you folks?”

The man said, “I’m Xavier Esperanza. La Policía Federal.” He gave Jake a skeptical look up and down with an appraising eye.

Jake wondered if the stone-faced man ever smiled. He said, “Es un honor conocerte. It’s an honor to meet you.”

Xavier puffed out his chest and snapped his fingers. “Give me your business card. I’m going to call the US Marshals office in San Diego. We’ll see about your so-called deputized status, tough guy.”

Cody reacted to the man’s tone of voice and body language by growling and displaying his teeth. He took a step closer with his hackles raised, standing tall to his full height, and signaling dominant and defensive behavior at the apparent threat to his pack.

CHAPTER 6

Jake said, “Out, Cody. To me.”

The dog returned to his handler’s side, and Jake stood by while Xavier made a call.

Moments later, Xavier frowned. The man appeared disappointed to have learned Jake really did serve as a deputized K9 handler. “I guess any US military veteran with a dog can carry a Marshals badge, huh?”

Jake ignored the comment. “Sir, have you ever worked with Lourdes Benitez?”

“Once in the past,” Xavier said. “I’m assigned to the Eight Naval Zone in Puerto Vallarta, but sometimes I assist my colleagues in La Paz, as I’m doing today, or in Cabo San Lucas.”

Jake gave one nod. “Cabo is where I met her. We’re federal colleagues.”

Xavier shook his head, made a call, identified himself, and said, “Lourdes Benitez, por favor.” He spoke in Spanish for a minute, clicked off, and pocketed Jake’s card, but didn’t reciprocate with one of his own or offer to be colleagues.

The woman who’d come aboard and patiently waited through all of the machismo posturing finally spoke to both Jake and Sarah. “I’m Novah Campos with the PFPA—Procuraduria Federal de Proteccion al Ambiente. Mexico’s environmental protection agency.”

Jake tapped on his badge. “Jake Wolfe, deputized US Marshal at your service, ma’am.”

Novah glanced at his sidearm. “I’m here because drift nets also catch the world’s smallest porpoises. The vaquita is a rare species going extinct as a side effect of illegal totoaba poaching by wildlife traffickers.”

Sarah said, “That’s terrible. Do vaquita live anywhere else besides the Sea of Cortez?”

“No, only here, and mostly in the upper gulf. The Navy has dropped large concrete blocks underwater there to snag drift nets.”

“We’ll avoid the upper area,” Jake said. “We don’t want to risk hitting a vaquita with our boat’s propellers.”

“Thank you. It’s designated a zero-tolerance area. If you go there, you’ll be boarded and searched by the Navy every day.”

Sarah asked, “What does vaquita mean in Spanish?”

“Little cow, because they’re so adorably cute. Estimates vary, but we believe the population has declined over ninety-seven percent. Years ago, there used to be approximately five hundred or more of them here. Now we believe there may only be fifteen left.”

Jake pointed at the fishing boat the team had searched. “Did you find any vaquitas in that drift net as bycatch?”

“No, I didn’t see any,” she said. “We were lucky this time.”

Sarah let out a sigh. “I’m a veterinarian, and it always breaks my heart to hear about drift net bycatch of dolphins, porpoises, and sea turtles.”

“Ah, so you share my concerns,” Novah said. “Please help us by keeping watch on the gulf. These are UNESCO-protected waters. If you see any more boats pulling drift nets at night, hail the Navy on your radio.”

Sarah stood up and shook Novah’s hand. “May I trade phone numbers with you?”

“Yes, of course.”

Xavier said, “We’re not vaquita huggers. I’m more concerned with narco-trafficking, gunrunning, and cartel sicarios murdering civilians. However, the decimation of this endangered species is an embarrassment to the presidente de México. She’s angry and wants it stopped.”

Now Jake understood Xavier’s aggression. “Tell the presidente she can count on us to help.”

Xavier scowled. “If I find out you have anything to do with poaching, you’ll wish you were never born.”

Jake raised his chin. “The same goes for you, my friend. I have worldwide law enforcement jurisdiction.”

Xavier snorted when Jake threatened him in return. “Absurdo norteamericano con la cabeza gorda llena de toro mierda.”

Jake shrugged. “Yeah, that’s me. An absurd North American with a fat head full of BS.” He gestured with both hands on either side of his head.

Xavier’s jaw dropped, revealing his surprise that Jake understood every word.

Sarah gave the federal policeman her best smile, laughed, and pointed at Jake. “Cabeza gorda.”

Jake noticed that Sarah’s polite, diplomatic effort of calling him a “fat head” helped reduce the tensions he’d caused. He changed the subject and humbly extolled the virtues of the Mexican officials and their noble efforts. “We’d be honored if you fine people would allow us to assist in any way.”

“Somos un grupo muy unido, but I’ll explain your status as the Policía Federal’s token gringo,” Xavier said. Appearing at least temporarily mollified, he disembarked and returned to the Navy patrol boat.

Cody again made a low growl.

Jake wondered if the dog was bothered by the tone of voice their visitor had used on his handler, or if it was something more.

“What did he say in Spanish?” Sarah asked.

“He said they’re a close-knit group and implied I’m not a member.”

Novah said, “Don’t mind Xavier. I think he has a vast overabundance of hormona testosterona and needs to get laid. Not that I’ll be helping him with that.” She laughed along with Jake and Sarah, said her goodbyes, and boarded Colima.

The marine who’d searched Sarah’s swimwear drawer untied the lines and sneered at Jake as the patrol boat motored away.

Jake gripped his sidearm and locked eyes with the fool, making it clear what could happen if he ever bothered Sarah. The man hurried belowdecks, out of sight. Jake cursed. He hated it when armed men—friendlies or not—boarded his vessel.

He took deep breaths in and out and thought about Xavier, the uptight federal policeman in his windbreaker and cloud of hormones. It explained Cody’s aggression. The dog could smell a person’s body chemistry. Jake spent much of his time trying to understand his genius dog and guess what Cody was thinking. And yet, the highly intelligent and well-trained K9 was always full of surprises.

Sarah asked, “Jake, you made a new friend with Gabriel, but did you have to threaten that federal guy? I’m worried he could be a problem.”

Jake looked out at the sea and the departing patrol boat. “Sorry, but it bothered me to have men with rifles search my home at gunpoint. I almost lost my temper and punched that guy who dug through your swimsuits.”

Sarah’s body language softened, and she relaxed her shoulders. “Fair enough. I get it. You were challenged by men with guns, and one of them disrespected your girlfriend. Did I grasp that caveman stuff right?”

Jake let out a slow breath. “Yeah, mostly.”

“Mostly, except for what?”

Jake left her guessing about his caveman nature. “Hey, at least I didn’t tell the fed guy to calm the eff down.”

Sarah smiled and recited a joke. “Never in the history of calming down has anyone ever calmed down by being told to calm down.”

Jake gestured at his Marine Ka-Bar sheath knife on her belt. “Gonna stab somebody?”

Sarah tilted her head. “Only in self-defense. That’s the impression I was going for. How did I do?”

“You have me convinced.” He glanced down at her boat shoes. She usually wore sandals.

“Some men are attracted to a woman’s bare feet,” she said.

Jake had to think about that for a moment. He knew Sarah’s toenails were painted with her trademark coral pink nail polish. She also wore a slender gold chain ankle bracelet adorned with three heart charms.

“You’re a pretty picture from head to toe. Women have all kinds of worries that men don’t.”

“Thanks for noticing,” she said. “Now we both have a new worry—totoaba fish bladders as valuable as cocaine. That’s on par with rhinoceros horns worth their weight in gold.”

Jake said, “And in Africa, officials find hundreds of dead rhino carcasses with their horns sawed off.”

“It’s human nature. In the US, millions of buffalo were slaughtered for their hides, and the meat was left to rot.” Sarah removed the knife and sheath from her belt. “Hope you don’t mind that I borrowed your Ka-Bar.”

“No, you’re welcome to use it anytime.”

She pulled the knife and admired its black blade etched with gold letters spelling out “Operation Enduring Freedom.” The scratched weapon looked like it had been through hell and back. “This thing is wicked.”

When Jake saw the razor-sharp, battle-scarred blade, it triggered violent memories of him fighting terrorists abroad and at home, especially once when he’d gone through a near-death experience. While remembering too much, he felt a weight pressing down on his chest, making it difficult to breathe. Doctors called it stress-induced dyspnea. The temporary shortness of breath was one of his varied PTSD symptoms that could occur without warning.

Jake forced himself to take a deep, controlled breath, and let it out. He pointed at the knife. “Please put that away.”

Sarah looked at the anguish on his face, and clenched jaw, then quickly returned the knife to its sheath. “I’m sorry, Jake.”

“Don’t be. I simply had an unexpected ... moment.”

“I think your knife intimidated one of the crew that boarded us,” she said. “That guy who liked my bikinis.”

“You did good.” Jake pulled her close for a hug. “Please understand that when I saw the blade, it caught me by surprise. I heard the warning rumble of a PTSD thunderstorm, but it passed by.”

“Okay.” She kissed him, as if not knowing what else to say or do.

Jake held her tight, feeling grateful for her awareness and understanding. “That helps. Medicine from an animal doctor. Perfect for a dog handler who’s rumored to be part beast.”

Cody woofed at Jake and pawed at his foot, as if the sensitive and intelligent dog was trying to interpret his handler’s emotions.

Jake let go of Sarah and patted his dog on the head. “On our way to La Paz, we can catch a tasty fish for breakfast.”

Sarah said, “Love to. What do you say, Cody boy?”

Cody gave a toothy grin upon hearing one of his favorite words he understood and loved—breakfast.

They headed up to the bridge, and Jake cruised north into the gulf, toward the city of La Paz and the marina where he’d rented a boat slip. He used binoculars to do reconnaissance and observed a few boats in the distance, but there was no sign of the Zodiac he’d passed at sunrise.

CHAPTER 7

Andres Galván piloted his black Zodiac boat toward an empty stretch of shoreline. The cartel sicario’s RIB—rigid inflatable boat, cruised quickly and quietly, thanks to its powerful Elco EP-50 electric motor.

Andres observed a lone panga boat with one man aboard arriving at the rendezvous point near a fallen log. The panga was a modest-sized, open fishing boat powered by an outboard motor, and the most common type of vessel in these waters.

The short, muscular fisherman motored his panga halfway up onto the sandy beach, jumped out, and dragged the lightweight skiff farther ashore. He stood by and waited obediently for his benefactor.

Andres nodded in satisfaction at how his paid accomplice followed orders. The fisherman arrived on time, at the right place, and would now act as a “mule” who transported illegal contraband. In this case, fish bladders known as “cocaine of the sea.”

He was always amazed at how people became so easily controlled when offered the promise of easy money, versus the threat of a painful death. There was only one choice.

Andres piloted his Zodiac partway onto the beach alongside the panga. His accomplice waded into the salt water and stood next to the Zodiac, obeying el jefe, the boss.

Andres handed over his insulated catch bag. “Take these bladders to my drying house and give them to Javier, the lazy huevón, the slacker who stands around watching paint dry all day.”

“Si, jefe.” The fisherman waded over to his panga and set down the precious cargo.

Andres tossed him a large zip-top plastic bag stuffed with pesos in low denomination bills.

The fisherman caught his generous payment in both hands and stowed the bag without counting its contents. “Gracias, jefe.”

“I also want you to be on the alert for a catamaran motor yacht named Far Niente,” Andres said. “If you see that boat, contact me immediately with its location.”

The man nodded. “Sí, señor.”

“Now, give my boat a push.”

The fisherman put both hands and one shoulder against the Zodiac, pushing it off the beach and into the water.

Andres piloted south, the opposite direction his mule would travel on the way to La Paz and a nondescript rented home where the fish bladders were dried on screens in front of fans blowing air on them all day and night.

He’d paid the fisherman well. Overpaid, in fact. Money well spent. The night’s score, along with previous thefts, filled the home’s living room with totoaba swim bladders worth a fortune.

His use of paid labor kept him at a safe distance from the contraband until it came time to sell and collect a fat sum of money from a Tong Mafia buyer.

Andres wouldn’t allow anyone to interfere with his lucrative business—not even the captain of Far Niente who’d acted so curiously interested in Andres’s Zodiac. Too interested for his own good.

CHAPTER 8

After enjoying an hour on the water, Jake piloted toward their rented boat slip at Delfines Marina. Named after dolphins, it was located near the gated 500-acre resort of Puerta Cortes, with its one-mile-long private beach and far more glamorous marina frequented by millionaire celebrities and their mega-yachts.

Soon it would be time to meet up with Captain Gabriel Tovar of the Mexican Marines and go to his mother’s house in La Paz to conduct a K9 search of her neighborhood.

Sarah joined him at the helm and sat in the black leather second seat.

As they passed by expensive yachts of the rich and famous in the marina next door, a uniformed security guard watched them through binoculars and spoke into a handheld radio.

Jake said, “Looks like they have good security over there. We’re newcomers on an unknown boat, and it’s their job to know everything.” He slowed down near the shoreline, played Jimmy Buffett’s “Banana Republics” on the sound system, and sang along about expatriated Americans.

Cody howled in harmony with Jake, as he often did.

After that song, Sarah played Madonna’s “La Isla Bonita.”

Jake raised one eyebrow. “Madonna?”

“C’mon! She’s singing about a beautiful southern tropical island and includes some lyrics in Spanish.”

“You got me there. That song is pretty good.”

Sarah sang along with passion, and at the verse where Madonna quoted the Spanish words for I love you, she leaned over and breathed into his ear. “Te amo, Jake.”

Jake was feeling it. “Te amo, Sarah.” He was a man who guarded his heart, but he’d let his guard down with this one special woman.

Sarah gave him a dazzling smile.

Jake hoped to avoid the dreaded conversation about where the relationship was going. “You sing like a pop star. Look like one, too.” He put his right hand on her thigh.

“Thanks. That reminds me. I promised you a topless karaoke performance but haven’t delivered ... yet.” She gave him a wink.

“I’m a patient man. The best things in life are worth waiting for.”

Upon arrival at the marina, Jake pulled back on the throttles and idled along at five miles per hour in the no-wake zone. He carefully turned the motor yacht around and backed into their rented boat slip, shut off the twin inboard engines, and headed down to the aft deck, with Cody trotting by his side.

Sarah followed them. “While you tie the lines, I’ll hook us up to the marina’s water and electricity.”

Jake appreciated her team effort. He’d recently joked that Sarah was a good first mate who worked for free and slept in his bed. What more could a captain ask for? “Thanks,” he said. “I’m going to take a quick shower and rinse off the saltwater. Feel free to join me when you’re done here.”

She smiled. “See you soon.”

He went inside to his master stateroom, and while using the shower heard a familiar song begin to play on the boat’s sound system, which included a waterproof speaker in the master stateroom’s en suite head.

Sarah opened the shower door wearing a bikini, stepped inside, and sang along with “Buttons” by The Pussycat Dolls. The lyrics invited Jake to help her get undressed. It was the song that had first inspired their private joke about Sarah giving Jake a topless karaoke serenade.

Jake was so charmed by her performance, he obliged with the invitation and soon her special karaoke took place as promised.

They almost ended up going back to bed, but Sarah put her hand on Jake’s muscled chest. “Hold that thought until tonight, bad boy.”

He took a deep breath and played along. “Yeah, try to keep your hands off me for a few minutes per day. Good grief.”

After Sarah had soaped and rinsed, with Jake’s helping hands assisting her, they both toweled off and dressed in resort casual, then headed out to the stern deck, where Cody lay basking in the sunshine.

“Sarah can you take Cody to the grass while I tie up?”

“Of course.” Sarah attached a leash to Cody’s collar, stepped off the boat and onto the dock.

“Cody, obey Sarah.” Jake watched as Cody followed the only other person he would allow to hold his leash. Cody looked back at Jake for a moment, and when he was given a Marine Corps hand signal, Cody then turned toward the shoreline and raised his nose to sample the aromas of cooked seafood from restaurants along the beach.

Sarah led Cody to a patch of landscaping meant for dogs. “Pee now, Cody.” She tried giving him the same war dog orders Jake used and was pleased when Cody obliged.

She turned her head to see if Jake noticed, but he was preoccupied with studying the marina for potential threats. Sometimes she would catch him acting calm and relaxed while actually primed for a fight. His intense gaze took in every detail with the eyes of a Marine war dog handler who’d been deployed overseas and walked with his K9 on patrol at the tip of the spear doing recon.

Jake strode to her, looking dangerous and capable, totally in charge of his domain. He exuded an aura of animal-like power that was respected by men and admired by women. Dark hair and eyes, a muscled body, roguish smile, and a silver-tongued persuasiveness that could charm her pants off. This was the kind of man she didn’t realize she needed until he showed up and rocked her world.

Recently, Agent McKay had requested that Jake visit the Baja Peninsula and search for narco-cartel submarines. He’d invited Sarah to come along, but had warned her it would be dangerous, and she’d have to take orders as the First Mate on his privateer vessel. She’d said yes and hired a substitute veterinarian named Nina to fill in for her at the pet clinic. Now she was living with Jake on Far Niente in a sunny paradise and learning how to pilot the motor yacht.

The way Captain Jake assumed command reminded her of something Nora Ephron had once written. I have no desire to be dominated. Honestly, I don’t. And yet I find myself becoming angry when I’m not. Sarah felt the same way. She had leadership skills and wouldn’t settle for a man who didn’t have the same or better. She had no time for a passive boyfriend who’d let her walk all over him. Her partner had to be a man with a plan, who was going places and brought her along for the ride together. They were equals, side by side, but a yacht only had one captain, and Jake was in charge.

Sarah wanted his full attention, and for him to pursue her, to find her irresistible. She was thrilled with their growing attraction to each other. Living together on the yacht made her feel they were taking the next step in their relationship and future.

After Jake locked up, he disembarked and joined his pack. “Thanks for walking him. I’ll take the leash.”

“Of course.” Sarah handed over Cody’s leash and then held onto Jake’s left biceps as they walked along the wooden docks.

A dark blue SUV pulled up and parked in the marina lot. Gabriel stepped out and met up with them. “Are you ready to conduct a search?”

Jake said, “Cody’s always ready to do his job.”

“I believe it. Hop in.”

Sarah said, “Jake, I’ll sit in the back with Cody.”

Jake sat up front. “What will Cody’s talented nose be searching for today?”

“Routine safety patrol of my mother’s neighborhood.”

Jake snapped his fingers. “Home, James.”

Gabriel glanced at him. “James?”

“It’s a gringo joke,” Jake said.

“I’m laughing on the inside.” Gabriel turned his key in the ignition, but the engine didn’t start. “I’ve had a problem keeping my battery charged.”

“I’m guessing you already checked the alternator?” Jake said.

“Yes, it’s working fine.” Gabriel tried again, but the starter only made a clicking sound.

CHAPTER 9

Gabriel said, “No bueno. Something must be putting a drain on the battery.”

Jake scratched his chin. “Check your OBD port under the dashboard, to the left of your steering column.”

“I know where it is, but what does it have to do with my battery?” Gabriel opened his door, stepped out, and leaned down to check the onboard diagnostics port.

Jake said, “Do you see anything attached on top or in back?”

“I see a small device with a blinking green light.”

“Remove it.”

Gabriel reached under the dash and pulled out an item the size of a key fob. He unplugged wires that attached it to the OBD-2 port, then held it out toward Jake. “What is this?”

“That’s an Arrow-QG vehicle tracking device,” Jake said. “It combines GPS satellite location data with LTE and Bluetooth.”

“My car was being tracked?”

“Yes, in real-time, sending current data. The device probably kept draining your battery every time it tried to ping satellites and cell towers.”

Gabriel scowled. “You’re kidding me.”

“It gets worse,” Jake said. “Those devices also monitor vehicle functions, which means the person stalking you knows everything your car does.”

“More than the location?”

“Every detail, including when you lower a window and which one, how fast you’re driving, when you slam on the brakes, you name it.”

“That’s loco.”

“Welcome to dystopia.”

Gabriel got out, raised the hood, and connected a handheld lithium jump starter to his car battery. “Turn the key.”

“Roger that.” Jake reached over and started the engine.

Gabriel removed the jumper cables, closed his car hood, took his seat and drove off.

Jake checked his mirror as Gabriel drove to see if a car might be following.

After traveling a mile, Gabriel took four right turns to expose any tail.

Jake didn’t see any vehicles stalking them. “Whoever planted that tracker knows you removed it.”

Gabriel said, “Thanks for helping me find it before we drove to my mother’s house.”

“We need a BLE locator to find hidden trackers on your rig.”

“What’s a BLE locator?”

“A gadget that locates Bluetooth Low Energy devices, such as the Arrow-QG you just found,” Jake said. “Whoever put the tracker on your OBD will hide it somewhere else next time.”

“Gadget?”

“Electronic tool.”

“Where do I buy a locator gadget?”

“I’ll ask my friend Wesley to send us one by FedEx international.”

A man sitting in a parked car lowered his monocular and made a phone call. “Wolfe got into Captain Tovar’s SUV, but they found the tracker and took four right turns. Sorry, jefe, but I lost them.”

Andres cursed him. “Did you launch the drone?”

“Not yet.”

“What are you waiting for?”

“Your orders.”

“Launch it now, you idiot.”

“Si, jefe.” The man grabbed a quadcopter drone off the passenger seat, stepped out of the car and set it on the hood, then used his phone to make it rise upward into the sky and fly down the street. He got back into the driver’s seat and put his phone on a dashboard mount to view the drone’s camera footage.

“Can you see the police car now?” Andres said.

The man put his phone on speaker. “Yes, I can use FaceTime to share the video with you.”

“Not necessary,” Andres said. “Keep Wolfe and Tovar under surveillance and let me know where they end up.” He clicked off.

The man continued flying his drone high above Gabriel Tovar’s police SUV. He felt afraid of messing with federal police officials but was even more frightened of Andres.

Jake studied the passing scenery and tried to memorize landmarks. It was an old habit from deployments.

Gabriel drove through city neighborhoods until he parked in front of a modest, single-story house. “This is my mother’s place. She’s off visiting my aunt. You’re invited to have lunch here with us tomorrow.”

“We’d be honored,” Jake said.

They all exited the SUV. Jake attached a leash to Cody’s collar and placed his left hand through the loop. “Sarah will accompany me on the search. As Cody’s veterinarian, she’s one of the only people who can control him if I’m ... preoccupied.”

“I’ll be here making some phone calls,” Gabriel said. He frowned when Jake drew his pistol. “What are you doing?”

“Cody will smell my ammo and have a specific type of scent to search for. He’ll find other things, too. That reminds me. How do I get a concealed carry permit in Mexico?”

“Normally you don’t, but I’ll see if Lourdes Benitez might find a way.” Gabriel swiped and tapped on his phone screen to send a text.

Jake ejected his handgun’s magazine and held it out in front of Cody’s nose. “Find explosives, Cody. Seek. Seek. Seek.”

Cody had been trained by the Marines as an IED detector dog. He knew the word explosives. Once the K9 heard his handler’s command and smelled gunpowder inside the 9mm rounds, he raised his head, tasted the air, and pulled on the leash toward a potential target.

Jake and Sarah followed Cody down one side of the street as he sniffed each house and continued onward.

Jake’s adrenaline shot up when two agitated dogs appeared on the roof of a one-story home and barked at him.

Jake knew some people in Mexico kept a dog or two on their roof to act as a burglar alarm, but the surprise had startled him all the same.

Cody stopped and barked in reply.

Jake pointed ahead. “Search.”

Cody obeyed Jake, ignored the barking dogs, and returned to sniffing the air and ground. If a dog could appear indignant, Cody was doing it. He walked proudly, like a trained professional, not some noisy jabbering rooftop loudmouth.

Sarah said, “Jake, if I wasn’t a veterinarian and used to being startled by animals, I might have peed my pants right then.”

Jake nodded. “That’s the idea.”

When they reached the corner, he snapped his fingers. Cody turned to look at his handler, and Jake pointed to the right, guiding Cody by hand signals and verbal commands as they made a circle around the block.

Cody stopped and alerted Jake to one of the homes.

“What is it, Cody?” Jake placed one hand on his gun.

CHAPTER 10

Jake followed Cody to a charcoal barbecue in the home’s front yard, where his dog sat down to indicate chemicals.

Jake opened the lid and found cold gray charcoal briquettes that had previously been doused in lighter fluid. “Leave it.”

After Cody searched the pattern and didn’t alert him to anything else, Jake urged him onward, and they circled the block across from Gabriel’s mother’s house and ended up at the starting point again.

Gabriel came outside. “Find anything to worry about?”

“No, not a thing,” Jake said.

Sarah let out a breath. “Except for dogs barking from rooftops when you least expect it.”

Gabriel smiled. “Yeah, it catches people off guard the first time.”

Cody raised his nose and whined, and his right rear leg trembled.

Jake paid close attention and felt the energy running up and down the leash between him and his K9. “Boy?”

Cody strained against the leash.

“There’s trouble down that way,” Jake said. “Come with us this time.”

Gabriel grabbed his holstered pistol from inside the SUV and strapped on the gun belt. “Vámonos.”

Sarah said, “So the woman doesn’t get a gun, huh?”

“In Mexico, no one except police and the military are armed,” Gabriel said.

Sarah held his gaze. “Along with every cartel criminal. Now I see proof that when guns are outlawed, only outlaws will have guns.”

Gabriel rolled his eyes at hearing her gun politics rhetoric. “Do you own a pistol in the US?”

“Same pistol as Jake. He gave one to me.”

Gabriel turned to Jake. “Is Sarah a good shot?”

“Excellent shot. I vouch for her. Do you have a spare handgun?”

Gabriel opened his SUV and brought out a 9mm pistol. He handed it to Sarah. “Don’t make me regret this.”

“Gracias.” Sarah checked the pistol like a pro, shoved it into the back waistband of her pants, and covered it with her shirttail. “Ready to rock.”

“Cody, search,” Jake said.

Cody took off and moved at a fast pace, following an invisible scent cone. The highly-trained K9 trotted to the next block and the next.

Jake noticed the breeze was in their faces. “The wind is helping.”

Cody approached an average looking older home in need of paint. His nostrils flared, and he sat down.

“Go time,” Jake said.

Gabriel drew his pistol and knocked on the front door.

Cody pulled at the leash again.

Jake said, “We’re going into the backyard.”

“Do it.” Gabriel pounded on the door harder. “Policía Federal!”

Jake and Sarah followed Cody around the side of the house and through a wooden gate.

An empty-handed blond man came out a back door of the house and ran toward them. He stopped abruptly and cursed when he saw them, then turned and ran in the other direction.

Jake unclipped the leash. “Get him, Cody! Get him. Get him. Get him.”

Cody bolted after the fugitive, bit him on the right butt cheek, and took him down.

Jake ran after them, pulled Cody back by the collar, and aimed his pistol at the man. “Don’t move, or it’ll be the last thing you ever do.”

Cody snarled at the suspect’s crotch and showed his teeth.

The man said, “I’m not a criminal.”

“Turn over, facedown, and put your hands on the back of your head,” Jake said.

The man obeyed. “Why are you doing this to me?”

“Why did you run?”

“I thought I was being swatted.”

Gabriel came out the home’s back door. “Nobody else inside. No signs of crime. What did your dog alert to?” He pulled out a pair of metal handcuffs and placed them on the suspect’s hands behind his back.

Jake said, “First Mate, cover the prisoner while Cody searches the house.”

“Aye, Captain.” Sarah drew the borrowed pistol and stood where the suspect could see her aiming it at him. “Don’t make me shoot you.”

Jake and Cody entered the home through its back door, where Cody searched the kitchen, moved down the hallway toward a bedroom, went straight to the unmade bed, pawed at the mattress, and sat down.

“Good dog.” Jake gloved up, lifted the mattress, and found a Glock 26 subcompact 9mm handgun stashed under it within easy reach for self-defense if an intruder broke in at night. He took a picture with his phone, then lowered the mattress back onto the boxed spring.

“Are we done here, Sergeant Cody?”

Cody barked once and led Jake to the back door and outside.

Gabriel said, “Find anything?”

“Yes, Cody found a handgun under the mattress.” Jake texted the photo to Gabriel.

Gabriel studied the photo, then showed it to the handcuffed suspect. “You’re under arrest for possession of an illegal weapon.”

The suspect said, “That’s not mine. I didn’t even know it was there.”

Jake said, “If you’re in possession of the house, you’re in possession of the gun.”

“It must belong to the landlord or a former tenant,” the suspect said. “I rented this place fully furnished.

Gabriel shook his head. “Who owns the house?”

The suspect glanced sideways at a backyard garden and closed his eyes.

Jake noticed the nervous tick and led Cody to the garden. “Search.”

Cody inspected every inch of four raised plots that were planted with tomatoes, onions, and peppers.

Jake was a Mexican food aficionado, and he grew many of the same peppers back home in Sausalito at Juanita Yacht Harbor’s community gardens. He recognized jalapeños, poblanos, serranos, chipotles, anaheims, and habaneros.

At first, Cody seemed confused by the spicy smells, but stopped at one plot and gave it his full attention. He pawed at the soil.

“You want me to dig?”

Cody barked once.

“There’s something buried here,” Jake gestured at a collection of garden tools leaning against a shed near Gabriel. “Can you grab that shovel?”

Gabriel retrieved the two shovels, and they both got to work digging.

“Cody, protect Sarah,” Jake said.

The dog trotted over to her.

Gabriel’s shovel hit something with a clunk. He dug and scraped to expose an oblong box made of plywood. “Rifles? A body?”

Jake squinted at the box, then an awful aroma hit his nostrils. “Ugh, that smell. There’s your answer.”

Gabriel coughed. “Yeah, you never forget the smell of a corpse. I’ll call the La Paz police.”

Jake returned to where Sarah and Cody detained the suspect. He turned on his phone’s video camera and spoke to the handcuffed man who remained facedown with his head turned to the side, looking at Sarah’s gun. “Why not tell us who you buried in the garden. We’ll find out soon anyway.”

The man started crying and blubbering. “It was an accident.”

CHAPTER 11

Jake frowned. He couldn’t quite place the man’s US regional accent. “Maybe that’s all it was and you can go free. Walk me through exactly what happened, and let’s get you turned loose.”

“I’m a harmless tutor,” the man said.

“ESL? English as a second language?”

“I teach Spanish to North Americans and English to South Americans.”

It sounded to Jake like an often-repeated sales pitch. “And one of your students died in an accident?”

“Yes. A retired senior citizen from the US. She fell down and hit her head. I was afraid to call the police because I could end up in prison and be abused for years.”

“That would frighten anyone,” Jake said, trying to sound empathetic.

The man nodded. “People warned me that in Mexico, if you have a problem and you call the police, now you have two problems.”

“So, you panicked and buried the woman in your garden?”

“She rented this house. It was her garden, not mine.”

“Yet you’re living here now. Who’s paying the rent?”

The man didn’t reply.

Jake studied him. “If you’ve been using the woman’s debit card to withdraw money from ATMs, that’s a motive for murder.”

“I want a lawyer,” the man said.

“You’re not in Kansas anymore, Toto. I don’t think there’s a Miranda warning requirement here in good old Meh-hee-co.”

Gabriel joined them. “La Paz police are on their way.”

“Look at this video.” Jake sent a copy of the suspect’s confession to Gabriel’s phone. “The owner of the house was a woman from the US who’d retired to paradise. She’s in that coffin.”

Gabriel fast-forwarded the video and said a few curse words in Spanish. “I’ve sent a copy to the police officer I talked to. He’ll get a citación, a subpoena, for the victim’s bank statements and copies of the ATM security camera videos.”

Jake leaned down and spoke to the suspect. “Have you ever watched those TV shows about CSI teams?”

The man turned his head away.

Jake moved to the other side and faced him again. “They’ll do a forensic autopsy and find out exactly how she died.”

Sarah kept her borrowed pistol aimed at the suspect. “It makes you want to shoot the dirtbag, doesn’t it?”

Gabriel shook his head. “Not with my gun you don’t.”

Jake held out his pistol toward Sarah, butt first. “Want to trade?”

Gabriel said, “Are you crazy?”

“Got you,” Jake said.

“Gringos, Lord help me,” Gabriel said. “I’m glad the criminal wasn’t a local person.”

“Agreed,” Jake said. “Norteamericano causing trouble.”

“They’re all annoying ... except for Cody.”

Jake raised his eyebrows. “Oh, sure. I feed him, but I get no credit.”

Flashing police lights lit up the street, and Gabriel pointed at Sarah’s gun-hand. “Put that away and cover it up.”

Sarah quickly stashed the pistol in her back waistband and dropped her shirt tail over it. “Does this mean you’re giving me federal approval for concealed carry?”

Gabriel exhaled loudly and turned away as three uniformed police officers hustled into the backyard. He spoke to them in rapid-fire Spanish.

One officer gave Jake a congratulatory slap on the back, pulled the suspect to his feet, and perp-walked him to the street and an awaiting police car.

Cody barked at the officer who’d slapped Jake and walked away.

“Easy, Cody,” Jake said.

The other two officers looked at the wooden box, and then one went inside the house while the other consulted with Gabriel in Spanish.

Jake tried to understand what they were saying.

“The La Paz police will take it from here,” Gabriel said. “Can you search the rest of this neighborhood?”

“Yes, we’ll finish the job,” Jake said.

CHAPTER 12

Jake walked behind Cody as the scent dog searched every street in a pattern. Sarah and Gabriel followed close behind, and he listened as Sarah tried to make small talk about La Paz, and Gabriel gave brusque replies.

“Did I say something to offend you?” Sarah asked.

“No. It’s just that I’ll never become close friends with a fellow marine’s lover,” Gabriel said. “I’d never disrespect him, and he’d never do that to me.”

“I understand. Respect is important.”

“Respect is everything.”

Jake appreciated Gabriel taking a hands-off approach to Sarah. He noticed a festively painted cargo van driving slowly past, playing music at high volume from a loudspeaker. The van was reminiscent of an ice cream truck in the US, but it sold all kinds of things you’d find in a mini-mart.

Jake stepped out into the road and held up one hand to signal stop.

When the truck’s driver saw Jake’s badge and sidearm, he hit the brakes, turned off the loud music, and leaned out the window. “Es seguro?”

In Spanish, Jake told him yes, it was safe, and then pointed at Cody, who stood watching the man closely for any signs of trouble. “Perro de búsqueda.”

The man looked at Jake with understanding of the Spanish words for search dog. He asked what they searched for, and Jake told him it was drugs and guns.

Cody stood on his hind legs, put his front paws on the driver’s door, and his nostrils flared as he breathed in scents of the occupant and interior.

The nervous man held out some folding money, pesos, toward Jake.

Jake shook his head and refused the bribe. Cody hadn’t alerted, and the van was clean, so he suggested they be friends.

The man relaxed, let out a long sigh of relief and tapped his chest. “Mi nombre es Esteban.”

Jake tapped his chest in reply. “My name is Jake.” He pointed at his dog. “Cody.”

Jake reached out and shook Esteban’s hand.

Gabriel and Sarah caught up and stood next to Jake.

“Qué pasa, Esteban?” Gabriel said.

Esteban glanced at Sarah and switched to English. “Same old same old, Gabriel. I can’t complain.”

Jake said, “You two know each other?”

“We went to school together,” Gabriel said.

Jake handed Esteban a card. “Call me when you have time to go fishing on my boat. We’re staying at Delfines Yacht Harbor.”

“Looking forward to it.” Esteban drove off playing his loud music.

Cody turned his head, raised his nose, and let out a growl.

Jake said, “What is it, Cody?”

Cody led Jake down the street, moving faster than before and closing in on a target.

Gabriel and Sarah hurried after them.

“Seek. Seek. Seek.” Jake followed closely as his dog trotted up the road, lifting his nose high and then low, zig-zagging back and forth.

Jake gave Cody his head and let him lead. The dog was a phenomenon. He could find the scent of anything and anyone.

Cody stopped and stood still, nostrils flaring as he breathed in deeply. He moved on and followed the invisible scent trail where it led him.

Jake began to jog as his highly intelligent dog hurried and turned at the corner, trotting now. The scent dog was onto something important.

Cody led Jake to a house, moved along the right side to a dusty window, and stood on his hind legs to sniff the windowsill crack.

Jake saw movement inside. An armed man. He grabbed his dog and ducked to the right of the window just before a bullet smashed through the glass and left a shattered hole. Jake leaned in for one second and fired his pistol at the shooter through an opening in the broken glass.

The target cried out and crumpled to the floor with a thud.

Jake ducked his head out of caution and training. Another bullet hit the window frame above. The second gunman’s weapon sounded different.

He gave Cody a hand signal. They ran along the side of the house and approached another window as a man climbed out carrying a heavy duffel bag and a pistol with a silencer attached. The man raised his gun, aiming at Cody. Jake dropped to a crouch in front of his K9 to protect him with his body and shot the gunman twice in the chest.

As the man fell dead, Jake told himself these criminals had shown they would try to kill a Marine veteran war dog. He wouldn’t give them that chance. That was the simple math. He’d protect his dog by shooting every armed man at this house in self-defense. No mercy for assassins aiming guns at a K9 and his handler. That was his credo. People who wanted to judge him should walk a mile in his boots.

He appraised the dead man and recognized his pistol as a .22-caliber gun with a suppressor attached. It was the kind of gun used for quiet, up-close murders.

Inside the house, a woman screamed, “Un criminal más.” One more criminal.

The familiar sound of an AK-47 firing multiple rounds filled the air, and the nearby walls popped with bullets exiting the home, seeking him and Cody. He picked up his dog, held him against his chest, and ran back the way they’d come.

Listening for the weapon as he passed along the home, he located its general direction and almost stopped to shoot at it, but remembered the brave woman who’d saved Cody’s life, so he kept running.

Arriving at the front door, Jake set Cody down and burst into the living room. The shooter had his left arm around the neck of a woman and his right aiming a pistol at the entrance.

Jake expertly shot the man in the head before he could harm anyone.

When the criminal fell dead on the floor, the woman knelt down and grabbed his pistol.

Jake shouted, “Drop the gun! ¡Suelta la pistola!”

She obeyed, tossed it aside, sat on the floor and sobbed with her hands over her face.

Jake lowered his weapon. “Gracias, señora.”

The woman tried to talk but only wept in relief, babbling incoherently in Spanish.

“Cody, comfort,” Jake said.

Cody approached her, sat down and wagged his tail. The woman continued sobbing as she hugged the dog and her tears fell onto his golden fur.

Jake took a video with his phone. This woman’s family would forever appreciate seeing the moment a K9 rescued their unharmed loved one, plus her joyful thanks. It was also evidence that he and his dog weren’t criminal suspects. He guessed the woman to be in her mid-to-late twenties, and she wore a modest engagement ring on her left hand.

After pocketing his phone, he heard footsteps from outside as someone ran toward the front door. Jake raised his weapon.

CHAPTER 13

Jake heard familiar voices call out to him.

“Jake, it’s Gabriel.”

“And Sarah.”

Jake watched the door. “Come in.”

“Si, hermano.” Gabriel walked in, saw Jake and holstered his gun.

Sarah followed Gabriel inside, pistol in hand. “The D.C. lady’s safe word?”

“Nantucket,” Jake said in reference to Secret Service Agent Shannon McKay’s personal safety code. McKay would’ve changed it by then, but Sarah was smart to repurpose the code word.

She put her borrowed gun away in her back waistband and gave Jake a hug.

The rescued hostage cried out in joy, leapt to her feet, and ran to Gabriel. “¡Tio!”

Gabriel swept her up in his strong arms and held her tight as she wept against his shoulder.

“This is Pilar,” Gabriel said. “She’s getting married soon to one of my nephews, a police officer named Dominic.”

Jake knew tio meant uncle, but it could apply to any man who was like family to you. He patted his thigh, and Cody returned to him. “See that, boy? You saved a Marine’s friend.”

Cody pressed his head against Jake’s stomach and wagged his tail.

Jake took a knee and scratched his brave dog on the back of the neck, just the way Cody liked. “Everyone is safe now because you did good.”

Sarah ruffled Cody’s ears. “You’re a hero dog.”

Suddenly, Cody turned to face the door, standing at alert. A moment later, Jake heard a vehicle arrive and screech to a halt.

A car door slammed, and a woman shouted, “Lourdes Benitez, Policía Federal.”

Jake replied, “Come in, ma’am. See what Cody found.”

Lourdes walked in the door carrying an MP-5 submachine gun aimed at the floor. She nodded in recognition. “Jake and Sarah. Good to see you. And how’s my favorite dog, Cody?”

Jake said, “Cody, you remember our friend, Lourdes?”

Cody huffed at the woman.

Lourdes held out her left hand toward the dog.

“Be friends, Cody,” Jake said.

Cody trotted over to Lourdes and sniffed her hand.

Lourdes patted Cody on the head as he rubbed against her legs and left golden hair all over her dark slacks. She raised her eyebrows at Jake.

He shrugged. “I’ll give you a lint roller. I have lots of them.”

“Since I was in Cabo, I drove over here to check on things,” Lourdes said. “Good to see you, Sarah.”

“Good to see you, too, Lourdes.”

Gabriel told Jake, “Thank you for searching the neighborhood. It’s a safer place to live now. We’ll have some stories to tell at lunch tomorrow.”

“Can we bring anything?” Sarah asked.

“My mother loves top shelf tequila but can’t afford it.”

“We’ll give her a nice bottle,” Jake said.

“Make it a special one and she’ll always fondly remember meeting you.”

Jake said, “Where can I buy a top-shelf bottle of tequila in La Paz?”

“I have no idea,” Gabriel said. “I drink a working man’s kind myself.”

Lourdes turned to Jake. “I know a place.”

When Lourdes had her back turned, Sarah pulled out the borrowed pistol from her back waistband and gave it to Gabriel.

Lourdes turned to Sarah. “You didn’t fool me. When I walked in, I could tell you had a gun hidden there.”

Sarah blushed. “I’m sorry. I only wanted to protect Cody.”

Lourdes reached into her pocket and handed Sarah a laminated ID card. “This says you’re a veterinarian for police dogs and you volunteer part-time for the Policía Federal under my command.”

Sarah pocketed the card. “Thank you ... boss.”

Lourdes said to Jake, “I’ll work on getting you a concealed carry permit, backdated to before you entered Mexican waters.”

“Magic paperwork,” Jake said.

A siren wailed on approach, and police lights flashed through the open door. Gabriel led everyone outside where a La Paz police SUV pulled up and parked.

A uniformed cop jumped out of his SUV and ran toward them. “Pilar!”

Pilar held her arms open wide. “Dominic!”

Dominic hugged his fiancée and spoke in a rough voice. “Gabriel sent me a text, and I got here as fast as I could.”

“I was so scared,” Pilar said.

Loud music played, and a moment later Esteban drove past in his painted cargo van with speakers blaring. He pulled over when he saw the flashing lights and Jake directing him to stop.

Jake walked over to the driver’s window. “Esteban, I need a bottled water and some aspirin. Or any kind of pain reliever.”

When Esteban handed them over, Jake paid him and added a generous tip.

“Gracias,” Esteban said.

Jake walked away and gave the items to Pilar and Dominic.

Pilar tossed the aspirin into her mouth and drank some water, then nodded at Jake.

Jake, Sarah, and Cody all took seats in Lourdes’s SUV.

She drove them to an impressive house at the base of the foothills and parked out front. “Come in and meet a good friend of mine.”

As she led everyone up a walkway to the front door, Cody growled.

Jake held tightly onto the leash and wondered what his scent dog smelled that he didn’t like.

CHAPTER 14

Esteban drove away and continued on his usual route. He made a call.

Andres answered. “What? It better be important.”

“I thought you’d want to know the police found your drying house,” Esteban said.

Andres cursed. “Those bladders are worth a fortune. Who found the house?”

“A gringo named Jake Wolfe used a search dog. They live on a boat, Far Niente, docked at Delfines Marina.”

“Did the dog have golden fur?”

“Yes. How did you know?”

Andres spoke in a low, menacing voice. “I’ve seen that boat and its nosy captain. Who is he? What does he want?”

“He told me he serves on a United States Marshals joint task force that works with the Mexican Navy and Marinas. I’m sending you a photo of his policía business card.”

A moment later, Andres whistled. “This is far worse than I thought.”

“I saw him with Captain Gabriel Tovar,” Esteban said.

“Working together?”

“Yes, along with the La Paz police.”

“You earned your dinero today.”

“One more thing,” Esteban said. “Your man at the house, Javier, abducted a woman who walked past. She’s marrying one of Gabriel’s nephews. Now it’s personal.”

“Javier is an imbecile,” Andres said. “He’ll die in jail tonight.”

“He’s already dead. One of the La Paz policía said Wolfe shot Javier and your two other gunmen.”

Andres cursed. “Wolfe will die next, in a brutal attack when he least expects it.”

Esteban doubted there was any moment when Jake Wolfe least expected an attack, but used flattery on his angry boss. “You’re right. He crossed the wrong man.”

“I’m going to double your pay,” Andres said. “Keep up the good work.”

The call ended, and Esteban thought, It’s a shame about Jake Wolfe, but he doesn’t pay me bags of cash like Andres does. Now, Wolfe will be killed instead of my entire family. What else could I do?

Esteban made the sign of the cross and drove to another neighborhood with his music blaring.

CHAPTER 15

Jake held Cody’s leash as they all stood in front of the beautiful home where Lourdes said they could buy top shelf liquor.

A dignified Mexican man with flecks of gray in his black hair opened the door. He wore a white button-down shirt, a turquoise gemstone bolo tie, black jeans, and fancy cowboy boots.

Lourdes gave him a hug. “As I wrote in my text, I need your advice.”

He smiled at her. “Anything for you, Lourdes.”

“Manuel, these are my friends, Jake and Sarah, and their search dog, Cody.”

“Pleased to meet you.” Manuel shook hands with Jake and Sarah. “Is this the search dog who found Pilar?”

“Yes,” Jake said. “News travels fast.”

“You folks are now like family to many locals,” Manuel said.

Lourdes said, “Jake wants to get a bottle of good tequila for Gabriel’s madre when he goes to her house for lunch. Do you know what kind she likes?”

“Yes. Valentina usually buys Corazón De Agave Extra Añejo. I know my customers well.”

Jake asked, “Is there a top shelf bottle she’d like to buy, but is saving for a special occasion?”

Manuel nodded. “She always talks about one day buying a fifth of the extra añejo from Cierto Tequila.”

“And you have a bottle?”

“No, but I can order one.”

“They need it today,” Lourdes said.

“Ah, then I suggest a very nice Patrón limited edition. The bottle is a work of art.”

“Tell me you have one in stock.”

“Yes. Only one, but it’s not cheap.”

“Of course not.”

Manuel smiled and led them inside to a living room liquor store.

“Here it is. A rare Patrón reserve bottling from private family farms in Jalisco. It costs a thousand US dollars.”

The bottle was hand-painted with illustrations of skulls from the Day of the Dead. El Día de Muertos.

Jake felt that Manuel was lying, so he glanced at Lourdes, who rolled her eyes.

“It says five hundred on the tag, which is half of what you quoted, and far more than it’s worth,” Jake said.

Manuel didn’t miss a beat. “It’s a rare work of art, a collector’s item, but on sale for half price to friends of Policía Federal.”

“I’ll give you one hundred dollars,” Jake said.

Manuel read a tag hanging from the bottle. “This special selection was aged for three years in oak barrels that previously held brandy, resulting in a smooth and delicious caramel flavor with bright notes of orange, tropical fruit, and vanilla, with a touch of honey.”

“You’re making that up,” Jake said. “But keep going.”

“I’ll do you a favor and let you have it at four hundred,” Manuel said. “And I’ll give you an elegant cloth gift bag for free.”

Sarah asked, “What does añejo mean?”

Manuel grinned. “Aged, matured, and vintage, like myself. Extra añejo has spent several years resting like fine wine.”

Lourdes checked her phone. “It sells for three hundred in Cabo. Jake, pay the man three. Manuel, take the money and give him the tequila.”

Manuel handed over the bottle with a smile. “You’re no fun, Lourdes.”

Lourdes said, “Manuel used to work undercover for my office. The best smooth-talking liar I’ve ever met. He put a lot of cartel members in prison—not with guns, but with words.”

“Jake does the opposite,” Manuel said. “He shoots first, and asks questions later.”

“You’ve been listening to the police radio, again,” Lourdes said.

“Yes, it’s like a TV show now. Jake had a busy day.”

“He works with me,” Lourdes said. “Deputized US Marshal on a joint task force who assists la Policía Federal.”

Manuel said, “The La Paz police claim the dog hunts down criminals so Jake can shoot them.”

Jake said, “We should get going.”

“Right. Thank you, Manuel.” Lourdes walked to the door with everyone in tow.

“Come again soon, my friends.”

Lourdes drove to Delfines Yacht Harbor. On the way, she passed the luxurious gated community of Puerta Cortes. “I heard that one of the millionaires on a super yacht is looking for a security person with a dog.”

“We can’t help him,” Jake said. “Our lady boss at la Policía Federal keeps us too busy working our butts off.”

Lourdes smiled as she dropped them at the marina. “Bye, Cody.”

Cody woofed at her.

Sarah held up the ID card. “Thanks again, Lourdes.”

“I’m trusting you to use it wisely,” Lourdes said, and she drove away.

They walked past the marina’s office and the harbormaster named Raul came out to meet them. “I saw a man on board your yacht earlier,” Raul said. “I don’t mean to be nosy, but this guy was acting nervous.”

Jake stopped and shook Raul’s hand. “Thank you for letting me know. I wasn’t expecting any visitors.”

Raul nodded. “That’s what I was afraid of. Be careful, folks.”

“We’d better go see if the mystery man is still on board.” Jake led Sarah and Cody to their boat, where Cody let out a low growl, raised his hackles and displayed his teeth.

CHAPTER 16

Jake stepped onto the aft deck and used his phone to access the boat’s camera feeds but drew a blank. “The security system is turned off. That’s never happened before.” He scowled, pocketed the phone and drew his pistol.

Sarah reached to her back waistband but didn’t find the pistol she’d borrowed from Gabriel. She used a key to open a locker, pulled out the Taser shotgun, and checked that it was loaded with rounds the size of D batteries that could shock a person off their feet. “Your orders, Captain?”

“Guard the sliding door in case someone comes out. And watch your six.”

“Roger that.”

“Cody, circle the boat,” Jake said.

Cody did as instructed, with Jake following along, and they returned aft to the stern.

“Now we’ll check the bridge,” Jake said.

“Be careful.” Sarah remained at her post, alert and armed with the Taser shotgun.

Cody trotted upward and led Jake to the top.

Jake unlocked the door and went inside. All appeared to be shipshape and squared away but the air smelled of a musty animal fur scent that came from an inner stairwell leading down into the salon and galley.

Cody inhaled the scent, raised his hackles, growled, and pulled on the leash.

Jake held him back. They’d be easy targets to ambush on the way down.

He led Cody out of the bridge, retraced their steps to the stern, and rejoined Sarah.

“Clear?” Sarah said.

Jake shook his head and moved toward the sliding door. “Cody smelled a threat. We’re going in.”

“Right behind you.”

“We’ll stand to the side when I open the door.”

“Roger that.”

“Switch weapons with me and take Cody’s leash.” Jake traded his pistol for the Taser. “You have the K9.”

“I have the K9.” Sarah held Cody’s leash in her left hand and Jake’s pistol in her right. She turned and watched for threats from the docks behind them.

“Cody, protect Sarah.” Jake pushed the sliding door’s handle to see if it was locked, and the door slid open on a smooth track.

Jake hesitated and waved a hand quickly down the window. A gunshot rang out, and he immediately leaned in, fired the Taser at a dark figure, and hit the target. He flipped a switch and turned on lights inside, revealing a man who’d collapsed and now writhed in the fetal position as the electric volts surged through his body.

Jake turned his head for a moment and called out behind him. “First Mate, hold your position.”

Sarah said, “Aye, Captain. Holding position. Guarding our six.”

Jake stepped through the door, raised the Taser shotgun and swept the salon and galley. He didn’t see any other threats but noticed that the stateroom door he’d left open was now closed.

The intruder lay prone and hyperventilating as he convulsed in pain. Jake shot him in the stomach with another Taser round and reloaded, then moved to the stateroom. He repeated his plan by stepping aside and flinging the door open.

A powerful, musty, and earthy scent hit him, and he heard what sounded like a dog’s paws running on carpet. A wild Mexican gray wolf bolted out of the stateroom and ran past him, leaping over the stunned man and bounding for the sliding door.

Jake took aim with the Taser and shouted, “First Mate, jump in the water with Cody!”

Sarah didn’t hesitate. “Aye, Captain!”

After hearing two splashes, he fired a warning shot next to the wolf, but deliberately missed. “¡Vamanos!”

The wolf leapt off the boat’s swim platform and onto the marina dock, then sprinted away toward the hills.

Jake heard a grunt and observed the large man he’d stunned come staggering out the boat’s open sliding door while mumbling profanity in Spanish.

“Impressive recovery.” Jake shot him a third time with a Taser round, hitting the man’s thigh. He buckled, dropped to the deck, and hit his head. Jake used zip ties to bind his prisoner’s hands and feet, then tied him to a cleat hitch on the boat’s gunwale.

Once the man was secure, Jake kicked him hard between the legs. Not fair or sportsmanlike, but it got his enemy’s full attention. “See this badge? You’re under arrest. Don’t move, or I’ll kill you. I want to do it. Give me a reason.”

Cody barked at Jake from where he dog-paddled in the water as Sarah hung onto a wooden post with one hand and held the pistol up in the other.

Jake disembarked onto the wooden dock next to his boat slip. He dropped prone and grabbed Cody by the handle on the back of his vest, lifting his dog out of the water. Cody raised his nose, smelled the wild wolf and pulled hard to free himself from Jake’s grip.

“Cody, stay.” Jake switched the dog vest handle to his left hand and reached out his right to Sarah. She gave him the pistol, and he placed it in his holster before reaching out again to help her onto the dock.

Sarah kneeled there in soaking wet clothes. “Let me hang on to Cody for a minute. He needs that. We jumped in together because he trusted me.”

Jake handed over his beloved dog to his beloved girlfriend, and felt confused loyalties. “Thanks for jumping in. You saved Cody’s life.”

She looked toward the hills. “Was that a wolf I saw?”

Jake pointed at the man he’d arrested. “Yes. This criminal put a wild beast in our stateroom.”

“And you’re the wild beast who ran it off.”

Cody tried to wriggle free from Sarah’s arms as he whined in frustration.

Sarah held him tight. “Cody, heel.”

Cody ignored her command. He was a war dog veteran, and this situation felt like war. Only Jake could give him orders at this point.

CHAPTER 17

Jake sat down on the wooden planks next to Sarah and hugged his dog with both arms. “You’re not going anywhere.”

Cody’s right rear leg trembled.

“Easy, Cody,” Jake said. “That’s my boy.” He held the agitated dog on his lap.

Sarah sat next to them and patted Cody on the head. “The threatening animal is gone now, Cody. You scared it away.”

Cody raised his head and licked her face.

Jake said, “I’ve noticed Cody likes it when you tell him things.”

Sarah looked off in the distance for a moment as if remembering the past. “At veterinary college, they taught us to have a soothing and talkative bedside manner with every patient.”

“You college-educated folks are well informed.” Jake gave her a smile. He’d dropped out of wine-making college courses at UC Davis school of viticulture and enology because he’d felt compelled to join the Marines and go overseas to fight terrorists.

“We should spray air freshener in the stateroom and salon and keep Cody out of there for a while.”

“Meanwhile, let’s cruise onto the bay and ask Gabriel to meet us for transfer of the criminal I arrested.”

“I need to put on dry clothes and grab my pistol.” Sarah moved along the wooden dock and boarded their boat.

As Sarah hurried past the captive man and into the galley, Jake led Cody up to the bridge, where Cody lunged at the open door leading down to the salon. He held on tight to Cody’s vest as his dog pawed at the deck.

“The threat’s gone. Sarah’s not in danger.”

Moments later, Sarah came up to the bridge carrying dry clothes and a bath towel. “Ready to cruise. I’ll get changed once we’re underway.”

“Good to go. Keep an eye on Cody while I untie.”

Jake headed down to the stern deck, unhooked the power and water, and cast off the lines. He had a strange feeling that he was being watched from shore as he called out, “First Mate, fire up the engines.”

“Aye, Captain.” Sarah started the twin engines that rumbled with power.

The arrested criminal spoke up, from where he remained cuffed and tied to a cleat hitch. “Are you going to bury me at sea?”

Jake said, “No, I’m going to turn you over to the crew of a Navy patrol boat.” He returned to the bridge and swept his right hand at the windshield. “First Mate, take her out.”

“Aye Captain.” Sarah gulped when he placed his confidence in her ability to navigate through a brand-new harbor for the first time. There were multimillion dollar boats lined up on both sides that they could crash into, causing massive financial liability.

Sarah stood up straighter and idled the sixty-foot power catamaran away from the marina and through the five miles per hour no-wake zone. A proud smile lit up her face as she navigated the large vessel like a pro Jake trusted as a good pilot. She’d earned her rank of First Mate, second-in-command of Jake’s privateer vessel.

Once they were on open water, Jake took Cody down to the stern deck, where he drew his handgun and pressed it against the captured man’s forehead.

“Who are you?” Jake said. “And who do you work for?”

“My name is Matias, and I work for Andres Galván. Shoot me now. It would be a mercy killing compared to what he’ll do.”

“Who’s Andres Galván?”

“He’s the narco-criminal sociopath who hid a gray wolf on board,” Matias said.

“How did he pull that off?”

“Shot it with a tranquilizer dart and left it in your stateroom to wake up.”

“You’re right about Andres being a sociopath.”

“I apologize, Señor Lobo. He took my wife prisoner to make me obey his orders to attack you. She’ll die a horrible death if I’m arrested. It’s best for her if you kill me and leave my body in the town square.”

“Does Andres Galván pilot a black Zodiac boat with a motor featuring a green label and the word Elco?”

“Yes, how did you know?”

Jake pulled out his phone, took a picture of Matias, and made a call. “Gabriel, I arrested a criminal and have him in custody on my boat. He attacked us, and I should feed him to the sharks, but he claims his wife is being held hostage by a narco-criminal named Andres Galván.”

“Now we have a name,” Gabriel said. “We’ll stay off the radio to protect the wife.”

“Can you send a patrol boat?” Jake said.

“Yes. Zamora is closest to you, with Captain Rodriguez in command.”

“I see the boat heading toward me,” Jake said. “Can I buy one of those?”

Gabriel said, “Not likely, but you have good taste in watercraft.” He ended the call.

Zamora raced up and came alongside Far Niente. A marine leapt aboard. He punched Matias in the chest and cursed him to hell.

“Don’t be too hard on him,” Jake said. “The cartel took his wife prisoner.”

The Marine hesitated. “Ah, I see. We’ll try to rescue her.”

“If you don’t, I will,” Jake said.

Matias stared at Jake for a moment. “You’d save my wife after I tried to kill you?”

Jake nodded. “She’s an innocent hostage.”

“Can you please help her? If anyone could do the impossible, I’d bet on you, Lobo.”

The Mexican Marine force-marched his prisoner onto patrol boat Zamora, which roared away.

Jake called and reported to Gabriel. “Zamora has the man on board. His name is Matias.”

Gabriel said, “Captain Rodriguez will deliver him to Xavier Esperanza, that grouchy guy you met when we searched your boat.”

Jake smiled. “Ask the captain to tell Xavier that he owes me a favor now.”

Gabriel laughed. “No, thanks. You can tell him yourself.” He ended the call.

Jake felt the sea calling to him. It was only natural with salt water in his veins. He headed up to the bridge, with Cody following, and found Sarah getting dressed in dry clothes.

“We need some peace and quiet.” He took the wheel, pushed the throttles forward and headed out to sea.

CHAPTER 18

After cruising on the sea for a while, Jake found a quiet spot to drop anchor. He used a pair of binoculars to do recon for any potential troubles but only saw harmless looking sailboats, motor yachts, fishing boats and pangas. None of them were heading in his direction.

Satisfied there were no potential threats from the narco-criminal Andres Galván, he fired up the outdoor grill and cooked three filets from a fish he’d caught the day before.

“In the mood for a spicy meal?”

“Sure, but not too spicy.” Sarah said as she tossed a green salad.

Jake opened the mini fridge. “This fish would go perfect with that chardonnay we bought in the Valle de Guadalupe wine country.”

“Are you okay having a glass?”

“Yeah, just one with a meal can’t hurt.”

“Sounds great.”

Jake opened the chilled white wine, poured two glasses and took a sip. “I’m tasting apples and pears.”

Sarah tried the wine and smacked her lips. “And honeydew melon. Yummy.”

“To the winemaker.” Jake held up his glass and they toasted.

“We’ll have to visit the Guadalupe Valley again soon. Cody acted like he felt right at home there.”

“He should, having been raised on a winery and vineyards in Napa.”

“Jake, maybe you could start your own winery in Guadalupe Valley instead of Napa Valley.”

He paused for a moment. “You read my mind. It would be like buying land in Napa and Sonoma a generation ago, before prices went insane.”

“Even if we continued living in the San Francisco Bay Area, we could visit the Baja winery on weekends.”

Jake said, “Dr. Rousseau might freak out about my liver health if I opened a winery.”

Sarah laughed. “I have faith in your liver healing up as good as new.”

“It had better happen soon. I’m in Mexico, and I need tequila.”

“Let’s find a local doctor to give you a checkup. Your liver might be good to go for a margarita.”

“Fingers crossed.”

They dished up their dinner plates and sat down on the aft deck patio table while watching the sun go down. Mother Nature created a spectacular light show, and the setting sun painted pastel colors on the sky and water.

Small waves lapped against the hull as the boat rocked gently with the movement of the sea. Fish surfaced here and there to eat insects, causing splashes and ripples. Several dolphins breached as they passed by, sea birds called to their mates, and the two lovers gave each other warm smiles that expressed, This is the good life.

Sarah took a bite of fish. “What seasoning is this? Reminds me of that time you grilled chicken wings and Terrell stole the spice shaker.”

Jake laughed at the mention of his best friend’s antics. “Yes, same orange pepper. Pimienta naranja.”

“Terrell razzed you about it not being lemon, then he took it home.”

Jake smiled and shrugged. “A Marine lieutenant can always confiscate food from a lance corporal boot. It’s a long-running joke by Terrell. He’ll give it back later.”

“I didn’t know that about you two.”

“During our service in the Marines, Terrell would often imitate Samuel L. Jackson’s character from the movie Pulp Fiction,” Jake said. “He’d pick up a half of your sandwich and take a bite, then say it was ‘Mmm, mighty tasty!’ There was nothing you could do but smile and humor him.”

Sarah took another bite of food. “This filet is delicious. I like how the salad’s ranch dressing cools down the orange pepper.”

“They were made for each other.”

They exchanged glances, both apparently thinking maybe they were, too. Their current situation was a kind of test run for possibly living on the boat together full time, although neither one had expressed it in those words.

Jake and Sarah finished eating dinner while watching a breathtakingly beautiful sunset.

When darkness fell, they sat together on a patio loveseat, sipped their drinks, and enjoyed stargazing. Warm breezes ruffled their hair, moonlight danced on the gentle waves, and above them, the blanket of stars seemed closer and brighter out on the sea, away from city lights.

After a comfortable silence, Jake said, “When John Steinbeck sailed here to La Paz, he wrote that it was advisable to look from the tide pool to the stars and then back to the tide pool again.”

“Now we know how Steinbeck felt.” Sarah appeared spellbound in wonder by the sea and sky. “Look! A shooting star! We should kiss for good luck.”

“Yes. Any excuse.” Jake gave her one soulful kiss ... and another ... and another.

Their warm affection became more heated and passionate, and Jake led Sarah inside.

Cody followed but hopped on the salon’s couch and stretched out for an after-dinner nap. He knew this routine well.

Entering his stateroom, Jake locked the door behind him so his multitalented dog wouldn’t open it.

Sarah removed her T-shirt and jean shorts, applied one drop of a spicy and exotic new perfume to her cleavage and then lay on her back in his bed, wearing only a bikini. “Jake, I’m ready to collect on your guarantee that I’d get lucky at bedtime.”

He joined her in bed, kissed her lips, and continued kissing his way down her supple body. “I feel like the luckiest man in the world tonight.”

After Jake and Sarah made passionate love, they lay under a sheet, exhausted and curled up to each other.

She whispered in his ear, “Do you think we could live in La Paz someday?”

Jake had one arm around her and he held on tight. “I’ve often thought about living here.”

“What if I opened a small veterinary clinic and hired a local bilingual female Mexican employee?”

“That’s an idea worth looking into. We could also live at sea, traveling from place to place. Our solar panels, watermaker, and fishing poles would provide us with unlimited electricity, clean water, and seafood.”

He’d recently modified Far Niente with solar power and a desalination unit known as a watermaker that transformed seawater into clean drinking water. And he’d bought the biggest one he could find, to always have fresh water for drinking, showering, rinsing off dive gear, doing laundry, etcetera, without worrying about running low.

Jake felt a thud against the boat’s hull and heard Cody barking.

He leapt out of bed, pulled on jeans, and grabbed a pistol hidden inside a hollowed-out law textbook about the Second Amendment.

Sarah got up and quickly dressed herself. “What’s going on?”

“Unknown,” Jake said, heading to the door.

Sarah cursed, which was rare for her. “What can I do without my pistol?”

“You can remain in the stateroom, or follow me and grab the Taser shotgun.” Jake ran out the door and into the galley.

“Roger, that.” Sarah followed right behind him.

Cody pawed at the sliding glass door in the galley, so Jake opened it, and the three of them moved aft onto the deck.

Cody trotted to the starboard side and barked at the sea.

As Jake turned on a powerful spotlight and Sarah grabbed the Taser shotgun from a locker, they caught a glimpse of a small panga fishing boat with a single outboard motor. A man lay face-down in the idling boat.

Jake shoved his pistol into the back waistband of his jeans. “This guy could be drunk, injured, or dead.”

Sarah aimed her Taser shotgun at the man. “Is that blood on the back of his head?”

“One way to find out,” Jake said. “Cover me.”

“Got you.”

Jake picked up the gaff, reached out, and hooked the man’s belt. He pulled and turned him over to reveal a black eye and bloody lip. “Paging Doctor Sarah.”

Sarah lowered her weapon. “Let’s get him on board.”

Jake used his gaff to hook the panga’s bow line, pull it closer and tie it to a cleat hitch. “First Mate, check our perimeter. This could be a trick.”

“Aye, Captain.” Sarah followed the port walkway of the yacht’s walk-around deck, carrying the Taser shotgun while looking for any threats. She hurried past the bow and came down the starboard side. “Clear!”

Jake climbed into the panga and held his thumb on the man’s inner wrist. “Alive. Strong pulse.” He noticed the man had gray hair, a sun-tanned face and calloused hands. He lifted the man’s shirt and didn’t find any wounds on his chest or rib cage. “I think it’s safe to move him.”

“I agree. Bring him on board while I grab the first aid kit.”

Jake kneeled and carefully placed the man over his right shoulder, then moved in a crouch as he climbed onto the swim platform and up the few steps to board Far Niente.

Sarah pointed at a chaise lounge. “Lay him there.”

When Jake did so, the injured man stirred and moaned. “¡Parar de eso!”

Jake translated for Sarah. “He said stop that.”

“You’re safe now,” Sarah said. “I’m a doctor. Hold still while I put salve on your wounds.”

The man looked her up and down and then at the first aid kit. “Gracias, señorita.”

“Who beat you up?”

“An evil man who said his name was Jake Wolfe.”

CHAPTER 19

Jake shook his head and displayed the US Marshals creds. “I’m Jake Wolfe. Look at my photo.”

The injured man blinked in surprise. He turned to Sarah, the trustworthy doctor who put salve and a bandage on his scalp wound.

She said, “It’s true. This is Jake, and I’m Sarah. You were adrift, unconscious and bleeding to death when your boat hit ours.”

“Good thing you were awake,” the man said.

Jake decided to make Cody a hero to the people in Baja. “We were asleep until my dog alerted us. You owe Cody your life.”

The man smiled. “Thank you, Cody.”

When Cody heard the visitor say his name, he barked once and wagged his tail.

“Where’s my panga?”

“Tied to the stern. She’s a beauty.” Jake handed him a bottled water and some ibuprofen.

The man let out a breath in relief. “She’s like a family member to me.” He glanced back at his panga trailing the yacht, then gratefully swallowed some pills and drank half the bottle of water. “If you’re Señor Lobo, who was that man who claimed to be you, beat me with an oar, and stole my totoaba?”

“That’s what I’m going to find out. When he spoke, did you notice an accent?”

The man scratched the gray hairs on his chin. “He wasn’t a local. Maybe from farther south. Colombia, Venezuela, or Ecuador.”

“That’s helpful to know,” Jake said. “What’s your name?”

“José.”

“José Cuervo?” Jake reached into the man’s back pocket and found his wallet. “More like ... Cristian.”

“Okay, I’m Cristian.”

“Tell me about your assailant.

“Ass sail ant?”

“The man who attacked you.”

Cristian said, “I was night fishing when he approached me in a boat with police lights and said he was taking my totoaba as evidence. When I argued, he beat me on the head with an oar. That’s the last thing I remember.”

Sarah finished bandaging Cristian’s bleeding scalp. “I’d say he tried to kill you, and you’re lucky to be alive.”

“I’m a hard-headed man,” Cristian said.

Sarah glanced at Jake. “I understand.”

Jake said, “When did the attack happen?”

Cristian gazed up at the stars. “Several hours ago.”

Jake studied Cristian’s honest face. “Near the Southern cape of Baja, a totoaba thief killed two fishermen who were dragging a drift net.”

Cristian’s eyes opened wide. “I heard about that. Were they murdered by the same man who attacked me?”

Jake nodded. “I’ll bet it was him. The killer used police lights and stole the air bladders.”

“He probably did the same to my totoaba. That fish would have fed my family. Now I’m going home empty-handed.”

Jake said, “How about if we take you home and tow your panga? You can try to catch a fish on the way.”

Cristian finally smiled. “Maybe my luck has changed. I’ve prayed for a guardian angel to help my family in these troubled times.”

Sarah patted the back of Cristian’s sun-bronzed hand. “We may not be angels, but we’re your new friends.”

Cody heard the word friends and looked at Jake for the order.

“Be friends, Cody,” Jake said.

Cody climbed onto the chaise lounge, sat down next to Cristian, and leaned against him.

Cristian finally smiled. “Maybe Cody is the guardian angel I’ve been hoping for. I feel lucky to have met you, amigos.”

Jake opened a locker, retrieved a fishing rod and reel, and baited the hook with a fresh squid from the live well. “If you’re feeling lucky, let’s get busy fishing.”

Cristian stood up. “Bueno.”

Jake cast the bait aft and handed the rod to Cristian. “Honored guests go first.”

“Gracias.”

“De nada.”

It wasn’t long before Cristian’s pole bent hard from what must’ve been a big fish. “Pescado grande!”

Jake held the gaff ready while Cristian reeled in a large yellowfin tuna that fought him all the way.

When Cristian had the fish close to the boat and near the surface, Jake used the gaff to drag it up and on board.

Jake said, “Nice catch. Yellowfin belly is the finest and most succulent cut from the world’s best tuna. When I worked at an Italian restaurant, we called it ventresca.”

Cristian nodded. “My family will be happy.” He secured the tuna in his panga and then looked up at the stars. “We’re almost to my beach.”

“Come up to the bridge and give me directions.” Jake led the way, turned off the autopilot, and gestured for Cristian to sit in the captain’s chair.

“No, you are capitán, not me.” Cristian pointed in the distance at a stretch of beach with lights from humble homes and small businesses. “Don’t get too close. The bottom rises fast there.”

Jake stood at the wheel and used night-vision binoculars to study the shoreline, then checked the fish finder and underwater camera. He eased back on the throttles, reversed engines, and drifted slowly. “Cristian, you’re invited to go fishing with us this week and catch your limit.”

“Gracias. It will have to be at night because of my day job.”

“We love night fishing,” Sarah said. “Casting our lines on moonlit waters under a starry sky ...”

Cristian raised his eyebrows. “Jake, have you married her, yet? If not, hurry up. Don’t be estúpido and let her get away.”

Sarah couldn’t hide her grin.

Jake sighed. He knew she’d noticed how Mexican friends gave him grief about getting married, having lots of kids, and going to Catholic church every Sunday.

He chose his words carefully. “Um, we have a, you know, committed, long-term relationship. Similar to Enrique Iglesias and Anna Kournikova. They’ve been together over twenty years and don’t see any need for that paperwork permit from the government.”

Cristian appeared confused, not understanding the concept, and so many English words spoken too fast. “May I go home now, patron?”

“Yes. Here’s my US Marshals card.” Jake handed it over. “I work with the Mexican Navy and Marinas on a joint task force. If you ever have any problem with them, show that card and say you’re my friend.”

“Gracias.” Cristian shook hands with Jake and Sarah. When Cody held up a paw out of reflex and habit, Cristian smiled and shook with the dog.

Moving to the swim platform, Cristian said, “Thank you for treating my injury, Dr. Sarah. God bless you.” He disembarked and motored away in his panga.

Sarah said, “I’m so glad he caught a fish on the way home.”

Jake agreed. “It was important to Cristian’s wounded ego to provide a valuable yellowfin tuna for his family.”

“So, he’s a macho man?”

“Si, hombre masculino. He wants to be a good provider. Nothing wrong with that.”

“How did you learn so much Spanish?”

“Listening to audio lessons. Pretty soon, Cody will be barking in Spanish.”

Cody barked at hearing his name.

“See? I told you. Cody just said correctamundo.”

Sarah shook her head at Jake’s absurd banter. “What now? Can we try again to spend the night at sea?”

“Absolutely, but not this close to a beach in range of all those pangas. Someone might visit us while we’re sleeping.” He handed her the night-vision binos so she could view scores of panga boats lined up on the sand, standing ready to go out fishing in the morning.

Jake pushed the throttles forward and headed out into open water. “First Mate, although you’re not supposed to be in possession of guns, don’t hesitate to use one if you need to.”

“Aye, Captain.”

Jake cruised in the world’s aquarium under a dark sky and blanket of stars until he found a quiet place to drop anchor for the night. “What do you think?”

Sarah put her arms around him and whispered in his ear, “Ah, the sea. Might I but moor tonight in thee.”

Jake let go of the wheel and returned her hug. “Emily Dickinson?”

“Yes. Wild Nights.”

He then held her at arm’s length. “First Mate, drop anchor.”

“Aye, Captain.” Sarah happily used the windlass to lower their anchor, causing its chain to rattle over the rollers.

Jake noted her enthusiasm at controlling the anchor. It was something she’d practiced, and now he was putting his trust in her on the sea.

Cody barked in apparent approval of Sarah’s skills.

Jake said, “Good work, Sarah. You impressed my number one critic.”

Sarah patted Cody on the head. “You want to spend the night here, too, huh, boy?”

Cody pawed at the deck.

Jake’s heart swelled. He couldn’t think of two souls he’d rather be with on board Far Niente right then.

Someday, the Sea of Cortez would become too busy and popular, but for now, they could anchor out and find solitude on the water.

CHAPTER 20

Xavier Esperanza of the Policía Federal sat in a black SUV and waited as patrol boat Zamora motored into a palm-lined lagoon and docked at the postcard-perfect marina.

The crew of Zamora were delivering a prisoner captured by US Marshal Jake Wolfe.

A Marine had placed the man named Matias in a long duffel bag and zipped it shut, then carried him over one shoulder to Xavier’s vehicle.

Xavier accepted the prisoner into custody, placed him in the back cargo area of his vehicle, and drove away without a word. He took an evasive route to a safe house, pulled into its garage and parked inside as the door rolled down behind him.

Men wearing black jackets and carrying rifles entered the garage. Xavier opened the SUV’s back hatch and waved one hand at the duffel bag.

One of the armed men said, “Good work. Bring him inside.”

Xavier carried his heavy burden to the living room and laid it on the floor. “The cartel is holding his wife prisoner. They’ll kill her if he gets arrested.”

A man with broad shoulders nodded. “Current location of his wife?”

The prisoner spoke from inside the duffel bag and recited his home address.

“We already sent a man to spy on your house. It’s deserted.” Xavier opened the bag and pulled the frightened man to his feet. “You have one chance to cooperate and save your wife. I suggest you take it.”

With rifles aimed at him, Matias said, “I’ll follow your orders.”

“Tell us what happened,” Xavier said. “Start at the beginning.”

“My wife and I went out to dinner last night. After our meal, we were carjacked in the street by two men with guns.”

“Where is your car now?”

“I don’t know. They blindfolded us and drove around for a while.”

“Does your car have OnStar or LoJack?”

“I’ve never heard of those.”

“GPS tracking.”

“It’s an older car. They took our phones and put them in a black box.”

“Why you?” Xavier said.

Matias held out both hands, palms up. “Maybe because I appear strong enough to fight a man like Jake Wolfe?”

“Where do you work?”

“In construction, helping build a garden brick wall at some rich gringo’s mansion.”

“You’re a brick mason?”

“No, a hod carrier. I bring the bricks to the masons.”

“Like a burro?”

Matias exhaled loudly. “Yes, an unskilled beast of burden, but it’s honest hard work and I earn every damned peso.”

“Fair enough. I believe your story.”

“Now what?” Matias said. “Can you find my wife?”

“The criminals will let her go soon.”

“Really? I have to see her.”

“That’s what they want,” Xavier said. “It’s why they’ll set her free. To act as bait for you.”

Matias closed his eyes and swayed back and forth. “Maybe that violent bastardo Jake Wolfe could intervene.”

Xavier shook his head. “Wolfe is a menace to society.”

“He spared my life. Gave me a chance.”

Nobody spoke for a moment.

“I’ll give you a chance, too,” Xavier said. “We’ll call your wife on a burner phone, and you’ll read a short statement.”

“Will that put her in danger?”

“No, it will protect her,” Xavier said. “But you’ll become a high-priority target and you might get killed.”

“If that draws the criminals away from her and toward me instead, I’ll do it right now.”

CHAPTER 21

Andres Galván cruised his black Zodiac boat in the dark, traveling at night in the Sea of Cortez along the eastern coast of the Baja peninsula.

He made a phone call to one of his criminal associates.

A woman answered. “Si, jefe?”

“Celeste, did our carjacked man check in?”

“No, Matias disappeared.”

“What?”

“Our lookout said Jake Wolfe Tasered Matias, zip-tied his hands, and piloted the motor yacht out onto the sea,” Celeste said. “Later, Wolfe’s boat returned without Matias.”

Andres cursed. “Wolfe probably cruised to deeper water and dropped him overboard with an anchor chained to his legs.”

“That’s what I would have done.”

“Every man has a weakness. Find Wolfe’s.”

“It might be his loyalty to family and friends.”

“Who or what does he love the most?”

“I’d say his dog, girlfriend, and boat,” Celeste said. “In that order.”

“Are you kidding me?”

“My snitches tell me he treats that animal like a brother. They’re inseparable.”

“Kidnap the dog.”

“No, I won’t do it,” Celeste said. “Find someone else.”

“What did you say to me?”

“I’m telling you I refuse to harm or frighten an innocent dog.”

Andres cursed. “Who’s the best sniper for hire right now? I want him to shoot Jake Wolfe from a long distance away.”

“Osorio is the best, and he costs the most money.”

“Tell him I require his skill set.”

“He charges a flat fee, paid in advance.”

“How much?”

“Fifty thousand US dollars, and he guarantees results.”

“I could hire someone for ten percent of that.”

“Go ahead, if you think that’s wise.”

Andres paused a moment. “You’re sure the problem will be solved quickly and not lead back to me?”

“Yes. Osorio can turn Wolfe’s death into a public spectacle or make him quietly disappear without a trace.”

“I’ll take Wolfe’s yacht as compensation for the trouble he has caused me,” Andres said.

“You want me to call Osorio?”

“Yes, go ahead.”

Celeste put her phone on speaker. While it rang, she said, “Osorio’s name means wolf hunter.”

“Perfect,” Andres said. “His ego will demand success.”

A gruff man answered. “Code?”

Celeste recited a string of words.

“I’m guessing Jake Wolfe is the target,” Osorio said.

Andres gaped at the phone in shock. “How did you know?”

Osorio ignored the question. “May I suggest one headshot from far away when he least expects it? A clean kill with no evidence other than the mangled bullet.”

“Yes, that’s exactly why I’m hiring you.”

“The next step is for you to pay me fifty thousand US dollars in cash.”

Andres hesitated, then agreed to the payment for services rendered. “You’d better be worth the money.”

“If you have doubts about my value, I suggest you handle the problem yourself.”

Andres bit down on his angry reply. “I let the wife hostage go free. You can keep watch to see if she gets a visit from the husband.”

“All right. I’m sure he’s at the bottom of the ocean right now, but you can’t be too careful.”

“I understand your name means wolf hunter.”

“Yes, and I’ll live up to my name.”

“Musicians will sing narcocorrido ballads about you.” Andres clicked off without saying goodbye.

He piloted his boat to a marina where he could hide it inside a covered storage shed. The night was still young, and he had a meth lab to rob.

CHAPTER 22

Andres drove a stolen SUV and followed a box truck as it headed into the Sierra Laguna Mountains.

A paid snitch had tipped him off that the truck would go to a drug lab located on a rural property and deliver ten barrels of precursor chemicals used in the production of crystal methamphetamine.

Andres had no interest in the raw materials. He planned to steal the lab’s latest batch of crystal meth. The illegal drug known as “glass” was worth a fortune on the streets in the US. He would steal the meth at gunpoint, kill everyone, and leave behind the truck full of precursor chemicals as a peace offering to the rival narco cartel. They could go right back into business, manufacturing drugs at a new location.

The driver of the truck ahead of him used his headlights, but Andres kept his lights off. He wore a helmet mounted with night-vision goggles and drove carefully in the dark while seeing everything in an eerie green glow. He was risking his life, but danger was his drug.

He followed the truck’s taillights from a discreet distance as it approached the remote location. When the truck turned onto an unpaved dirt road, Andres pulled onto the shoulder and parked.

He removed the helmet and goggles, stepped out of his SUV, and launched a small drone with a camera to do recon. Live aerial video appeared on his phone, and he saw the box truck pull up next to an older Airstream travel trailer. The aluminum unit reminded him of a giant “silver bullet” beer can lying on its side. It appeared to be around ten meters long—a vintage thirty-three-foot model. Nearby sat a large propane tank to fuel the trailer’s kitchenette stovetop burners, along with a gasoline-powered portable generator to provide electricity. The roof held a satellite dish and three solar panels. An air conditioner hummed as it blew out warm air that reeked of a noxious chemical odor resembling a mix of an enormous urine-soaked cat litter box and the sulfuric smoke of a road flare.

Andres noted a full-sized pickup truck parked nearby, ready to tow away the trailer at a moment’s notice or abandon it and make a fast getaway. He guessed the truck and trailer had probably been stolen in San Diego and driven down Baja’s long road south.

Two men armed with rifles stood next to the trailer, watching the box truck approach.

When the truck stopped, one of the armed men opened the back door while the other held his rifle aimed and ready to kill anyone who might be hiding in there. Finding only the expected 50-gallon barrels of chemicals, the two guards set up a ramp and began to roll the first barrel down off the truck and onto the dirt.

Andres put on a black nylon balaclava mask that exposed only his eyes and mouth. He knew that federal police often wore masks to hide their faces from cartel members. He grabbed his rifle and hurried in the dark through a thicket of chaparral, made up of shrubs, bushes, and small trees. Upon approach to the trailer, he took aim and shot both guards as they unloaded a second barrel, then shot the truck driver, who stared out his open window in surprise.

He called out to the trailer and told the chemists, known as “cooks,” that he was a federal police official and to come out with their hands up. “La Policía Federal. Sal con las manos en alto.”

The trailer door opened, and only one cook stood there, a man wearing a handcuff on his left wrist that was attached to a chain designed for a large dog. He said he was a prisoner and pleaded for help. “Soy un prisionero. Por favor, ayúdame.”

The cook wasn’t a threat, so Andres ignored him and moved toward a prefab storage shed built from a kit and swung the butt end of his rifle down to break off the locked handle. Inside the shed were tall stacks of gallon-sized plastic bags filled with crystal methamphetamine—the reward for his efforts. He also spotted a suitcase, which he opened to find bundles of hundred-dollar bills.

He jogged back to his SUV, drove down the dirt road, and parked next to the storage shed where he began the grunt work of transferring the drugs and cash to his SUV’s back cargo area. Once he finished, he paused a moment to consider the lone cook being held hostage. Andres was a criminal and a murderer but drew the line at human trafficking and owning slaves. He grabbed a bundle of cash, then checked the pickup truck and found its keys above the sun visor. Taking them, he searched both dead guards until he found a handcuff key.

Andres approached the trailer, where the hostage chemist stood watching him. His T-shirt was filthy and had sweat stains on the armpits. Andres wondered if the man had been allowed to bathe in the past month. He handed the man the keys and cash and said in Spanish, “I’m going to set you free because you haven’t seen my face. Take the pickup truck and drive all night. Get as far away from here as you can before sunrise.”

The surprised man wept. “Muchas gracias, patron.”

Andres drove away in his SUV and congratulated himself on a successful robbery.

As the sun began to rise and light up the horizon, he thought about his most aggravating current problem, the pest named Jake Wolfe, and various ways of killing him.

CHAPTER 23

A rogue assassin came for Jake at dawn.

The evening before, Jake had found a spot offshore to drop anchor instead of idling into the harbor at La Paz. He always enjoyed spending nights on the water, away from cities, crowds, and cars, and he loved the Sea of Cortez because it was restless and free, the way he yearned to live. Sarah, too, was happy to spend any night out on the gulf, her new favorite place in the entire world.

When Jake got out of bed at sunrise, he felt an ache in his right thigh from an old wound that had almost killed him. It provided a constant reminder he wasn’t invincible. The new wound near his left shoulder was still healing and caused him pain every morning until he took a hot shower.

His emotional wounds weren’t as obviously visible. Pundits claimed time heals all wounds, but he still felt their trauma in the depths of his heart and soul.

Pulling on board shorts and a T-shirt, Jake ignored the familiar pain and looked around for Cody, but the faithful K9 wasn’t in his dog bed. He must have gone out to the galley for a drink of water.

Sarah remained sound asleep, her hair spilled across the pillow, one arm reaching for the place he’d been lying. What a woman. Sometimes he couldn’t believe she was in his bed. He was a lucky man, and Sarah reminded him of that every day.

Jake washed up in the en suite head, then quietly exited the stateroom and walked to the motor yacht’s galley.

Cody’s water cooler stood ready, but he wasn’t there. The automatic coffeemaker with its preset timer gurgled and hissed while completing the brewing process.

Jake poured a mug and carried it as he stepped out of the sliding door onto the aft deck and into the dark.

“Cody?”

Where did that nut go?

“Cody!” he called out louder.

No bark in reply. This was unusual.

Suddenly, Jake’s stomach clenched, and his throat tightened.

Where is my dog, my brother, my four-footed best friend?

He hurried up to the bridge, where he hoped to find Cody sitting in the black leather captain’s chair, as he often did, pretending to be in charge.

No such luck.

Jake grabbed the mic and spoke over the PA system. “Cody, heel. To me. Now.”

He heard barking in reply and spotted his dog in the water off to starboard, swimming and playing with a large pod of dolphins.

An intense feeling of relief washed over him. “Darn that guy.”

Cody came dog-paddling to the swim platform, obeying his handler.

Jake headed down to meet him and tried to act gruff, but had to smile as he helped Cody climb on board by grabbing a fistful of hair on the back of his neck and gently lifting him.

“You heard the dolphins and just had to go swim with them, huh?”

Cody shook his fur from head to toe, sending water droplets all over Jake. His bright eyes, retriever dog smile, and wagging tail indicated his handler had guessed correctly.

“All right, boy.” Jake patted Cody on the back and thought about how dogs owned nothing, had no money, yet enjoyed happier lives than most people.

Cody suddenly lifted his head and looked toward shore. The dolphins took off, swimming fast toward open sea.

Jake felt a premonition and heard an engine coming closer and getting louder. He grabbed a pair of binoculars and saw a bald white male on a Jet Ski racing directly toward Far Niente and going too fast for it to be a social visit.

“Not good,” Jake said.

From a compartment, Jake removed a rifle with a powerful scope and an illegal suppressor attached. Taking a seat at the patio table, he put an elbow on the tabletop and aimed his weapon over the gunwale with practiced skill.

“Cody, lie down,” Jake said. When his dog was safe, he placed the intruder in his scope’s crosshairs and profiled the man with a jaded eye.

A weapon was slung across the man’s chest that looked like an H&K MP5K full-auto submachine gun, minus the shoulder stock, but with a suppressor attached to the barrel. It was protected by a large clear plastic bag with slits for the sling straps to pass through. The weapon hung loose enough to be raised and fired and dropped while the sling kept it from falling into the water.

A killer for hire, sent to kill everyone on board Far Niente and steal the boat to be used for smuggling runs up and down the coastal waters.

Jake would never allow anyone to harm his pack.

“Cody, take cover.”

Ducking behind the square live well with its bulletproof exterior, Cody kept his eyes on Jake.

Jake looked through the scope again. The armed man let go of the Jet Ski handlebars, raised the submachine gun in both hands, and fired a burst of rounds, but the bullets all missed their target as the watercraft lost speed and altered course.

Jake was offended by the amateur’s sloppy, improvised, and unpracticed effort to murder him. His decision made, Jake let out a slow breath while taking careful aim, pulling the trigger and firing once. A high-powered round hit the criminal’s chest and sent him flying backward into the water.

The unmanned Jet Ski dropped into neutral when its rider fell off and pulled the kill switch lanyard attached to his waist. Jake thought the kill switch was appropriately named in this instance. Scanning the horizon in all directions, he searched for a backup shooter but didn’t find one. This killer must have been a rogue individual hunting Jake for a reward. Jake felt no remorse. He’d acted in self-defense and protected his loved ones from a killer.

“To me, Cody. We’re safe now.”

Jake thought of terrorists he’d killed overseas, and nightmarish scenes of fighting in a close quarters battle at 3:00 in the morning. “I will not think of that right now.” He recited his psychiatrist’s mantra that helped him avoid episodes of post-traumatic stress.

He almost pulled out the sat-phone and called his older sister, Nicole. She was a shrink and one of the few people who tried to understand what he’d gone through, the many friends he’d lost, and what he might do to ease the emotional pain. Nicole insisted Jake could call her anytime, day or night, but he didn’t want to burden her with his problems. How could she have a normal life when her brother was always under attack?

Then he thought of waking Sarah. She knew about his secret work and now took part in it at times. No, he wouldn’t disturb her restful sleep, or their current relationship, which was like medicine to his troubled soul.

Instead, he took a deep breath and called his work friend Lourdes Benitez on her private cell number.

“Buenos días, Jake.”

“Good morning, Lourdes.”

“¿Cómo estás?”

“Muy bien, gracias.”

“You need my help, right?” Lourdes said.

“Yes, señora. Can you send a Navy patrol boat to my location if I text you the latitude and longitude?”

“Why, Jake?”

“I called you on my phone because I’d rather not announce on the VHF radio there’s a dead terrorist in the water and his blood is attracting sharks.”

“Well, of course there is,” Lourdes said. “Nice of you to feed the sharks.”

“They understand me.”

Lourdes sighed. “Give me your GPS. I’ll send a patrol boat and ask my colleagues not to arrest you.”

Jake did so and thanked her as he ended the call.

Sarah stepped out through the sliding door onto the aft deck holding a pistol. “Gunfire?”

“Yes, it’s over now,” Jake said. “Stow that pistol. Gabriel’s on the way.”

“All right.” Sarah hurried back inside.

Captain Gabriel Tovar arrived alone, in a panga skiff instead of his Navy patrol boat. “Jake, did you have to do this on my day off?”

“Sorry, Captain. It wasn’t my idea.”

Gabriel brought the dead man on board his panga and placed him in a body bag. He confiscated the weapon, then idled over to the Jet Ski and tied it to his boat’s stern. “I’ve always wanted one of these. Thanks.”

Jake said, “No paperwork?”

“No. Lourdes said this never happened. She suggested I have the body cremated.”

“Fine with me,” Jake said. “Lourdes once told me that cartel acts of violence can’t terrorize the public if they never hear about them.”

Gabriel checked the terrorist’s MP5K and frowned. “This is loaded with armor-piercing rounds. Matapolicías. Cop killers.”

“Not good,” Jake said. “Let’s track down the source. You and me.”

“Yes, we will.”

CHAPTER 24

Gabriel said, “Jake, you owe me a favor now.”

“Name it.”

“Lourdes told me you’re Catholic.”

“Yes, a lapsed Catholic.”

“Lapsed?”

“No longer attending church on a regular basis.”

“Why not?”

“My excuse is that I’m too busy,” Jake said, “but I’ve been to confession recently.”

Gabriel glanced at the body bag. “I believe it.”

“Jimmy Buffett was raised Catholic and went to a parochial high school, but he didn’t attend church later in life.”

“I’m going to mass in an hour, and I want you to join me,” Gabriel said. “After that, you can search my mother’s neighborhood.”

“All right,” Jake said. “May I politely ask what my going to church has to do with anything?”

“When you have lunch at my mother’s house, she’ll ask if you attended mass on Sunday like a good man.”

Jake felt it was more of an order than an invitation. “We’d be honored.”

“I’ll text you the church address. Wear this shirt when your dog is working.” Gabriel tossed him a black T-shirt printed with the words:

MARINAS

POLICÍA FEDERAL

Jake held up the shirt and admired it as Gabriel motored away.

Sarah reappeared. “Did I hear you say we’re going to attend Catholic mass? It’s been a long time for me, and never in Mexico.”

“Same,” Jake said.

She glanced down at her tank top and shorts. “We should probably wear dress clothes.”

“Good plan.”

Jake cruised to Delfines Marina and tied up at their boat slip, then changed into the federal police shirt, a pair of black cargo pants, and boots. He also arranged the Velcro letters on Cody’s vest to display the same words as his shirt.

As Sarah changed into church-appropriate clothes, Jake said, “I’m not sure what to do with my handgun. I want to carry it during the search, but I’d normally stash it in my car until needed.”

“I’m guessing your concealed carry permits from California and Florida aren’t valid in Mexico.”

“You’re right. I’m left with no choice but open carry.” He strapped on the holster belt and pistol, then added his US Marshals star on the right, in-between the belt buckle and gun holster.

“Let’s grab breakfast at a beach vendor.”

They disembarked the boat and walked along the shoreline until arriving at a charming waterfront esplanade known as Malecon. As they strolled past a row of small, humble, open-air food vendors they were beguiled by enticing aromas.

“Cody, find tacos,” Jake said.

Cody tugged on the leash and led them toward breakfast.

Sarah said, “A new dog handler command?”

“He learned it on his own,” Jake said. “My guess is, he knows the smell of warm corn tortillas and roasted meats.”

Cody led them to a Mexican husband and wife duo who cooked seafood on a grill made from a 50-gallon barrel sawed in half length-ways top-to-bottom. Lying on its side, it had two hinges bolted on to make one half an oblong wood-fired barbecue and the other a curved lid with an attached handle. A hand-painted sign read, “Pulpo - Octopus.” It also listed fish tacos and Baja burritos. To drink, the menu offered horchata, bottled water, and of course, Coca Cola because Mexico had the highest consumption in the entire world.

“Good job, Cody,” Jake said.

A young White man with a purple Mohawk stood in front of the table where a Mexican woman took your order. She appeared afraid as the man reached out with his left hand for her open cigar box that held money.

In Spanish, Jake asked if she was being robbed, then gestured at the silver star and gun on his belt.

“Sí, señor,” she said bravely, standing perfectly still.

Jake noticed the man had a knife in his right hand. “Cody, disarm.”

Cody leapt at Mohawk man and bit down on his wrist. The man screamed, dropped the knife, and tried to run, but Cody held on and pulled him to his knees.

Jake punched the man on the side of his head, knocking him momentarily senseless. “Cody, release. Heel.”

Cody let go of the criminal’s wrist, returned to his handler’s side, and looked up to him for orders.

Sarah asked the woman, “Are you okay?”

“Okay now,” she said, her eyes on Cody. “Gracias a Dios.”

The thief gained his bearings, saw Jake’s badge and gun, and took off running.

Jake shouted, “Don’t let me see you around here again.”

Cody ran after the criminal, barking at him, but Jake called his dog to return and patted him on the back. “You did good, boy.”

The owners thanked them, and the wife spoke in English. “Please sit and have something to eat. You are now friends of our family.”

“Gracias, amigos.” Jake shook their hands and gave them his business card. “There’s my cell phone number. Call me if that man ever comes back.”

The woman nodded. “I’ll look for his morado hair.” She served them plates of grilled octopus tacos, along with beans, rice, and fresh salsa. Plain octopus for Cody.

When Cody ate his bowl of tentacle slices, he stopped for a moment, raised his head, opened his mouth and stuck out his tongue.

Jake pointed at him and told Sarah, “Look, Cody has an octopus suction cup stuck to his tongue.”

The woman who’d served them noticed Cody’s antics, clapped her hands in delight and said, “Splendido.”

While Jake plucked the item loose, Sarah chuckled and said, “I could use a laugh after that guy with the knife threatened everyone.”

“Yeah, maybe now we can eat in peace,” Jake said as his federally issued satellite phone buzzed. It was a secure video call from a Washington, DC area code.

Jake cursed.

“What is it?”

Jake showed Sarah the phone display.

“Oh, no.”

“I’m sorry.”

“Don’t be reckless.”

“Me? Reckless?” He’d told Sarah their travel plans would include him doing risky work for McKay.

Jake answered his phone with a sigh. “La Paz fishing charters.”

US Secret Service Agent Shannon McKay appeared on the video call, working from home on the weekend rather than at her office in the tunnels beneath the White House. Instead of her usual suit and tie, she was casually dressed in a stylish gray sweater and new blue jeans while sitting on her couch.

“One moment,” McKay said.

“Yes, ma’am.” Jake noted her bloodshot eyes, caused by endless stress and lack of sleep while keeping Americans safe from deadly threats they never heard about.

McKay tapped one thumb on her phone screen and then gave him an intense gaze. “Jake, we have intel about high-value targets in Baja, the ones I mentioned before you cruised south.”

Jake thought about high-value targets known as HVTs. In the past, he’d been grievously wounded on deployment in the Marines. While healing up at Landstuhl Hospital, adjacent to Ramstein Air Base in Germany, he’d been recruited by a CIA agent named Chet Brinkter to go on secret missions and terminate HVTs. Now, back home, Agent McKay had enlisted him to assist her off-the-books government assassin team.

“The arms dealers?” Jake had promised to help stop the shipments of weapons, but now that he was in Baja, he only wanted to enjoy boating and fishing in the Sea of Cortez.

“Yes, smuggled on narco-submarines.”

Jake gave McKay some good-natured ribbing, as he often did. “I’m trying to eat some octopus tacos here, ma’am.”

“When are you not eating tacos everywhere you go?” McKay said, playing along. “You once found a taco truck in Anchorage, Alaska.”

He wiped his mouth with a paper napkin. “When are you not always interrupting my taco meals? Hmm?”

“There appears to be a pattern,” McKay said.

Jake nodded at the phone screen. “The White House is the reason we can’t have nice things.”

“Let’s cut to the chase,” she said.

“Tell me about the HVTs.”

“I thought you’d never ask.”

CHAPTER 25

After Agent McKay explained the situation to Jake, she said,

“Aspen and Faith. I have Cody on the phone.”

Jake looked at the video call as a golden retriever named Faith came to Shannon’s side, pulling on a leash. The dog was Cody’s puppy offspring, now grown up and trained as a guide dog for the blind.

The young woman holding the leash, who resembled her mother, Shannon, appeared on camera wearing dark glasses. “Jake? Is that you and Cody?” The teenaged girl tilted her head.

“Yes, Aspen. We’re here with Sarah.”

Aspen smiled. “Hey, Cody. Hi, Sarah.”

“Hi, Aspen,” Sarah said.

Cody barked at Aspen and Faith.

Cody’s golden daughter, Faith, barked in reply.

Jake almost said, “We’re glad to see you,” but stopped himself because Aspen couldn’t see. “How are you and Faith getting along?”

“We’re inseparable,” Aspen said. “Faith sleeps on my bed at night, and we eat our meals together. She’s my best friend.”

Jake felt his heart swell. Cody’s puppies were changing lives. He thought Faith was one of the smartest dogs ever trained. “I’m so glad for both of you.”

Sarah said, “Aspen, may I call you and chat while these two talk business?”

“Yes, please, Dr. Sarah.”

Sarah had met Aspen when the McKays visited Napa’s wine country and adopted Faith from a dog trainer named Ellen.

Jake slipped a folded hundred-dollar bill under his bottled water and walked away from the taco stand so Sarah could speak with Aspen on the phone in private.

Although Sarah had recently been given top-secret clearances by Agent McKay for her expert veterinarian help with a biological weapon threat, many things were on a need-to-know basis.

Jake admired Sarah for keeping Aspen busy, without even being asked. Sarah would be a wonderful mother, but Jake didn’t want kids ... did he? It was a full-time job just trying to take care of one ornery, adopted war dog.

Still on the call with McKay, Jake walked Cody along the surf, letting it flow over their feet and paws. He said, “What are you not telling me?”

“A cartel sicario who might be criminally insane went rogue and began stealing meth from drug labs hidden in the Sierra de la Laguna Mountain range near La Paz.”

“Stealing it?” Jake said in disbelief. “That’s going to start a war. Maybe we should let the cartel gangs kill each other in the hill country.”

“The man is a Colombian who surprises his targets at night, flashes police lights, and pretends to be part of a team of law enforcement officials making an arrest. He then kills any witnesses and escapes with the goods.”

“That’s diabolical,” Jake said. “I like most Colombians, especially Shakira, but who is this guy? Are we sure he’s not a poor Mexican cop on the take to pay medical bills for a loved one?”

“Not a Mexican or a cop,” McKay said. “A cold-blooded killer named Andres Galván. He buys weapons and ammunition from gun-runners. Meets up with their boats and submersibles near the tip of the Baja peninsula, then uses his own boats to move the supplies up the coast into California cities.”

Jake gazed out at the water. “Drugs, money, and guns make the criminal world go around. I’ve become aware of Andres Galván. When I first arrived here I saw a suspicious Zodiac boat passing by at high speed, using a powerful but quiet electric motor.”

McKay said, “A smuggler’s boat?”

“Yes, perfect for quick roundtrips to north San Diego beaches at night. Del Mar, Seascape, Solana, Tide Park, Cardiff by the Sea, Moonlight, Encinitas ... there are so many.”

“The smugglers could use a different beach every time.”

“Or they could do a hand-off out on the Pacific Ocean with a US-registered fishing boat.”

“Whatever they’re doing, it’s working. I have intel about supplies of armor-piercing rounds on the streets of San Diego and Los Angeles.”

Jake cursed. “The rounds known as cop killers.”

“Yes, they’re a threat to law enforcement personnel in both countries. We believe when Andres sells meth to dealers in California, he also gives them a low-priced deal on AK-47 rifles loaded with that ammo.”

Jake’s temper flared. “I will not stand by and do nothing while cop-killer rounds are being distributed to criminals. Your orders?”

“Find the supply chain. Shut it down.”

“You mean, find Andres and shut him down.”

“Eliminate this clear and present danger in any way you see fit.”

“I’ve agreed to work with Captain Gabriel Tovar of the Mexican Marines on this threat. Rules of engagement?”

“Avoid harming civilians, or getting arrested by any of Mexico’s law enforcement agencies.”

“Lourdes Benitez already helped me avoid arrest for gun possession in Mexican waters.”

McKay paused a moment, then let out a breath. “With your tendency to get in trouble, I’ll encourage Lourdes to keep up the good work on your behalf.”

“Thank you.”

“I’ll tell you something that’s classified as top secret. The US Marshals Service carries out operations in Mexico. A small group is sent in and disguised as Mexican Marines for short, specific missions. These are the best people from fugitive apprehension teams.”

“The kind of teams Cody and I assist.”

“Exactly, but these special teams help Mexican officials capture high-value targets dead or alive.”

Jake paused a moment. “I’ll be glad to assist both the US Marshals and the Mexican Marines.”

Sarah walked up to Jake, and looked at his phone screen. “Agent McKay, is there anything I can do to help you, ma’am?”

“I appreciate your offer, Sarah. Please assist Jake and Cody. Lourdes Benitez knows you and will vouch for you.”

“Will do. I owe Lourdes a favor.”

“She’d be a good friend to have.”

“I like her. She asks Jake about me and my health.”

“Next time she asks him, talk to her and say thanks for rescuing you at the Cabo San Lucas hospital. She was deeply troubled by your ... health crisis.”

Sarah recalled the shock and heartbreak on a previous trip to Baja California. “Lourdes is a good person. I’d be proud to call her my friend.”

“When the authorities boarded your boat, Lourdes contacted Gabriel Tovar and said she had someone from the White House on the phone who wanted to talk to him.”

Jake said, “No wonder Gabriel was so friendly. And here I thought he was a Marine brother from another mother.”

“He thought the same,” McKay said. “In fact, he reported back to Lourdes after the boarding and said that you were a friend who offered to protect his mother, and that you’re welcome in his home any time.”

“Cody searched his mother’s neighborhood and made it a safer place to live,” Jake said.

“It’s important that Gabriel invited you folks over to his mother’s house for a meal. That kind of thing rarely happens. You made a good impression.”

Jake said, “We were honored to have lunch with Gabriel’s family.”

“As a cover story, your stated purpose is to help stop the totoaba poaching and protect the vaquita. Mexico’s current president will approve of that.”

Sarah spoke up. “And what el presidente approves of, everyone else does, too.”

“Exactly,” McKay said.

Jake said, “If you’re ordering us to spend more time boating on the Sea of Cortez, who am I to argue? Maybe while searching for narco smugglers, we actually could help protect the vaquita from totoaba poachers.”

Sarah said, “I’ll have to let Madison know I may be away from the office longer than planned.”

McKay played a video clip. “Sarah, everything’s fine back home. Your substitute veterinarian is taking good care of your clients. I had agents Easton and Greene drive past your pet clinic in San Francisco to take a look. There’s Beppe Amborgetti visiting Madison.”

In the video, Beppe looked out through the pet clinic’s glass door, observed a passing black Suburban, and winked.

“Not much gets by my nephew,” Jake said.

Sarah smiled. “Madison looks so happy with Beppe, and I like having my business protected by a member of the city’s Mafia Family.”

“What? Mafia? That’s only a rumor,” Jake said with a straight face.

The video ended and McKay’s image returned to the phone screen. “Find Andres for me and confiscate his cop-killer rounds. Lives are at stake. Law enforcement officers on both sides of the border are counting on you.”

“We’re on it,” Jake said. “We can’t have every drug dealer on the coast firing that ammo at our people. If anyone can find that stuff, Cody will do it.”

“Good luck.” McKay ended the call.

Jake pocketed his phone. Cody sat and observed him as if reading his voice and body language.

“Yeah, we have trouble, Cody, but we’re gonna trouble-shoot it.”

Cody leapt to his feet, ready to work.

CHAPTER 26

Church bells rang, calling the faithful. Jake led Cody and Sarah as they followed the sound to a historic cathedral built of sculpted quarry stone. After entering the church, they sat down in the last row of polished wooden pews.

The statues and stained-glass windows brought back memories of Jake’s youth. He thought of what Jimmy Buffett had once written about having to wear a uniform and shiny shoes to attend Catholic parochial school when he’d rather have been in shorts and barefoot at the beach. Jake had felt the exact same way during his own childhood.

The gray-haired priest gave an impassioned sermon in Spanish that was so polished it sounded to Jake as if he’d given it countless times. When the time came for Holy Communion, Jake wondered if Gabriel’s mother would ask if he’d received the Eucharist.

He waited until almost everyone else walked in the middle aisle up to the front and kneeled to receive the bread wafer on their tongue, before going up to receive his own. “Cody, sit. Stay.”

The dog obeyed for a minute, but soon gave in to separation anxiety and trotted after Jake to stand by his handler’s side.

When Jake reached the priest, he felt every eye on him as the congregation watched a stranger wearing a badge and gun kneel at the railing to receive the holy Eucharist.

The priest said, “El cuerpo de Cristo. The body of Christ.”

Jake said, “Amén,” and opened his mouth.

The priest set a wafer on Jake’s tongue, and Cody mimicked Jake by opening his mouth and sticking out his tongue. People behind them chuckled in delight, and the priest smiled.

Jake stood, reached into his pocket for a leash, and attached it to Cody’s collar. He led him back to their pew and noticed everyone staring at his T-shirt, badge, K9, and especially his holstered pistol.

Sarah stood and hugged Jake before he sat down, staking her claim in front of all the women.

A quiet hum of whispers rolled through the crowd as people gossiped. The words were spoken in Spanish, but Jake understood quite a bit.

If she’s Catholic, why didn’t she go to Communion? Is he a Mexican dating a tourist? No rings on their fingers. Are they married or living in sin?

After mass, the priest met Jake and Sarah outside. “Mi nombre es Padre Morales. Cómo estás?”

Half Italian, Jake was often mistaken for a Mexican person when in Mexico or Southern California. “I’m sorry, Father Morales. No hablo español.”

“You didn’t understand my sermon?” Morales appeared surprised and disappointed.

Jake shook his head. “No, Padre, only a few words. We’re norteamericanos, visiting La Paz to assist your Policía Federal. I’m Jake, and this is Sarah and Cody.”

“Pleased to meet you.” Father Morales gave Sarah an inquiring glance. “Are you Catholic, too?”

She shrugged. “Not exactly. My mother is a French-Canadian Catholic, but my father is a Lutheran Protestant, so I’ve been baptized at both churches. I have faith in God, but maybe not in all of the Pope’s opinions. Sorry, Father.”

Father Morales said, “Honest answer, señora.” He turned to Jake. “Please do me a favor. Don’t bring that weapon of death into this cathedral ever again.”

“As you wish, Padre.”

“Gracias.”

“Do you allow any dogs?”

“Only guide dogs for the blind.”

“I apologize. Cody follows me everywhere.”

Sarah said, “Cody suffers from separation anxiety and will rarely let Jake out of his sight.”

“Laws are different here,” Father Morales said. “Leave the dog at home or in your car.”

“I’ll rent an SUV so I have a place to keep my gun and dog.”

“Why are you carrying that pistol?”

“Captain Gabriel Tovar asked me if Cody would search a neighborhood here today. I have to protect my dog when he’s working and finding criminals.”

Gabriel strode over to them, still dressed in his camo uniform from a long night shift of hard work, but not wearing his gun belt. “Father, these are my new friends.”

Cody woofed at Gabriel.

“We’ve been getting acquainted,” Father Morales said.

“I forgot to tell Jake no guns or dogs are allowed,” Gabriel said. “But I saw you almost gave communion to Cody.”

“Reflex of habit from doing it thousands of times over the years. I guess I’ve become like a well-worn vending machine.”

Jake grinned. “Could I get a Snickers?”

“Maybe next time,” Father Morales said with a patient smile.

Sarah acted as a diplomat again and held up her phone. “Father, look at this funny picture of Cody eating pulpo.”

The priest chuckled at seeing Cody with an octopus suction cup stuck to his tongue. “I find a pattern here of Cody’s tongue getting him into trouble. He’s quite amusing.”

“It’s usually his talented nose that gets us into trouble,” Jake said.

Sarah asked, “Father, how long have you been leading this congregation?”

“I’m retired and only visiting here for a few days while filling in for a friend.”

A married couple stopped by, and the wife said, “Hola, Jake and Sarah.”

Cody woofed at the people who’d fed him octopus at the beach.

“And Cody,” the wife said with a smile.

Father Morales asked them, “How do you know these visitors? They only arrived in town yesterday.”

“They prevented a robber from taking our money at the taqueria,” the husband said.

Jake wondered how the priest knew when they’d arrived. “My dog smelled trouble, so we helped our new amigos.”

Father Morales said, “I’ll ask the congregation to pray for Cody’s safety.”

“Thank you, Padre,” Jake said. “While you’re at it, could you ask everyone to pray for my liver?”

CHAPTER 27

After church, Jake said, “We need a vehicle so I can stash my handgun and give Cody a safe place to rest.” He called a rental car company that would pick him up or drop him off.

“I’m in your computer, trust me,” he said to the customer service person.

A driver arrived and waited politely while Jake, Sarah, and Cody got into his courtesy car.

After a quick trip, they arrived at the office, where Jake rented a dark blue SUV similar to the one Gabriel drove. “I’ll take full insurance. Every kind you offer.”

The employee nodded. “It says in the computer you’re required to.” He completed the rental and led Jake to the SUV.

Once everybody got situated in the car, Jake gunned the engine and made the tires squeal. The rental employee put both hands over his face in dismay as Jake drove off.

When they arrived at Gabriel’s mother’s house, Jake knocked on the front door.

Gabriel opened the door wide. “Come in, amigos. Leading them to the kitchen where a fifty-something woman stood at the stove cooking food. Gabriel said, “Jake, this is my mother, Valentina.”

“Pleased to meet you, Valentina,” Jake said. “This is my girlfriend, Sarah, and my search dog, Cody.”

Valentina said hello to everyone and then looked at the gift bag in Jake’s hand. She was a dark-eyed, raven-haired woman with caramel skin and a kind face decorated with pretty wrinkles from smiling and laughing. Gabriel had told Jake that Valentina became a widow when his father was gunned down by a cartel sicario. Jake guessed Gabriel spent his days getting revenge on criminals.

Jake gave Valentina the special bottle of tequila and said in Spanish, “It’s an honor to meet you.”

She said, “Gracias. Eres una bendición.” Thank you. You’re a blessing.

Jake said, “De nada.”

“Do you live in La Paz?” Valentina asked, lining up several shot glasses in a row.

“We’re on an extended visit from the US, but wish we could stay forever.”

“I saw you attending mass at church today.”

“Yes, ma’am.”

Valentina smiled at Cody. “The priest almost gave your dog Communion.”

“Be friends, Cody,” Jake said. “Shake hands.”

Cody sat in front of her and held out his right paw.

Delighted, Valentina shook hands. “You’re so smart. Aren’t you, boy?”

Jake said, “I often think my dog believes he’s equal to any person, but with a much better nose and a far more logical method of walking on four feet.”

“We must drink a toast to new friendships.” Valentina poured the tequila and set out a salt shaker along with wedges of lime.

“I’d love to, but a doctor said my liver can only handle one drink,” Jake said. “I hope you understand.”

“Of course.” Valentina raised her shot glass and wished them health. “¡Salud!”

Everyone repeated the toast and drank their shots in one gulp.

After letting out a long breath, Gabriel removed his bulletproof vest and draped it on a chair in the corner.

Valentina set the table with stone molcajete bowls full of cold aguachile verde, a spicy green ceviche made of shrimp, cucumbers, tomatoes, and chilis.

Jake thought it was the spiciest ceviche he’d ever tasted. “Delicious.”

The next course was chocolate clams, almejas chocolatas, named after the color of their smooth brown shells. The delicacy, indigenous to both coasts of the Baja peninsula, was served cold on the half shell.

“Fresh off the boat, alive and raw,” Gabriel said.

Jake squeezed juice from a lime and noticed the live clam squirm and react to it. He used his knife and fork to take a bite of the briny gourmet treat. “Incredible.”

For the main course, they enjoyed grilled lobster tails, served with lightly charred whole green onions, warm corn tortillas, refried beans, and Mexican rice.

Valentina handed Gabriel a cold beer and offered Jake a non-alcoholic Dos Equis Zero.

“Gracias. You’re very kind.” Jake accepted the beer and took a drink. “Ah, that’s good. Tastes like summertime in a bottle.”

“And for you?” Valentina asked Sarah.

“I’ll have the same as Jake.”

Jake gave Sarah a smile, appreciating how she supported his efforts to abstain from alcohol. Sarah smiled and tilted her head to indicate he owed her a favor, and Jake nodded, knowing the favor would be paid in bed that night.

Valentina observed them with a wistful look. “How did you two meet?”

Sarah held up her phone and displayed a photo of Far Niente. “I tried online dating, and my profile said, ‘Wanted: Man with boat. Send picture ... of boat.’”

Valentina laughed.

While everyone enjoyed their food and light-hearted conversations, a car drove past outside blasting loud music—a narcocorrido ballad praising recent drug cartel violence.

Shots rang out and impacted the house.

Gabriel yelled, “¡Al suelo¡ To the floor!”

Valentina ducked under the table.

Jake said, “Cody, get down,” then leapt from his chair and dropped prone on his side, protecting the K9 with his own body.

Sarah rushed to lie next to him, her veterinarian instincts on full alert, protecting Cody from the other side.

The loud tat-tat-tat of two or more automatic weapons filled the air, then disappeared along with the music.

Gabriel picked up his bulletproof vest from where it had fallen on the floor. He displayed the hole in it to Jake. “Armor piercing rounds. Cop-killers.”

“Cody often wears a vest,” Jake said as he stood up. “Those rounds are a threat to my K9.” He added a few choice words and then apologized to Valentina. “Sorry for my Marine profanity, ma’am.”

Valentina took a deep breath and let it out. “You only said what we’re all thinking—probably even Cody.”

Jake said, “Cody, comfort.”

The dog trotted to Valentina and pressed his head against her stomach.

Gabriel called a friend at the La Paz police and reported shots fired, but no injuries. He then told Jake, “That was a warning. If they wanted us dead, three cars would stop, four men would get out of each car, and the twelve killers would empty entire mags of rifle rounds into the house.”

The same thing once happened to Jake’s rental car in San Diego. “Cuernos de chivo,” he said. “AK-Forty-Sevens.”

Gabriel nodded. “Horns of the goat.”

“I’ve seen what hundreds of AK rounds can do to a Chevy Tahoe,” Jake said.

“Why am I not surprised?” Gabriel said.

A car pulled up outside, and two car doors slammed.

Jake stood up and drew his pistol, but Gabriel read a text message on his phone and waved at Jake to stand down. “Two La Paz cops are here.”

Jake looked out a front window through a gap between the closed drapes. “They’d better be on our side.”

CHAPTER 28

After the police collected shell casings to be fingerprinted, they took a statement from Gabriel and then drove away, responding to dispatch.

Gabriel came back inside the house. “I have many enemies.”

Jake nodded. “It goes with our line of work. Do you think Andres Galván was behind this attack?”

“That was my first thought.” Gabriel took a brief phone call and clicked off. He let out a heavy sigh. “Sarah, didn’t you tell me you’re a veterinario?”

“Yes, I am.”

Jake said, “Sarah’s the best veterinarian in the world.”

Gabriel asked, “Have you worked with horses?”

“Yes, and I studied equine medicine in vet school.”

“My family needs your help. My grandfather’s Appaloosa mare, Pecas, has bronchitis.”

“Does Pecas have a fever?”

“Yes, so we know it’s not allergies.”

“And you’ve given her antibiotics?”

“Our vet tried two kinds, but she still has symptoms,” Gabriel said. “We’re afraid it could worsen into bacterial pneumonia.”

“Did your vet try using GSE in a nebulizer?”

Gabriel was silent a moment. “I’ve never heard of that, but we’ll try anything you recommend, Doctor.”

“All right. My bag of medical supplies is in the SUV, so I can go see her right now if you want.”

Jake said, “We can follow your car, Gabriel, but text me the address and GPS so I have it.”

Gabriel sent the text. “This means a lot to me.”

“And your trust in Sarah means a lot to her.”

“Los amigos y la familia se ayudan mutuamente,” Gabriel said.

Jake said, “Agreed. Friends and family help each other.”

Sarah asked, “How long has Pecas been running a fever?”

“Since last night. Let’s get going.”

Jake and Sarah headed out of the house with Cody chasing after them.

A cop had remained behind and he stood there holding a rifle, prepared to defend the house and occupants.

When Jake used his car fob to unlock the SUV, Cody woofed at him.

“That’s right, buddy. We’re going for a drive.” Jake retrieved his holster and pistol from a customized guitar case and strapped them on. He took the driver’s seat and handed his phone to Sarah. “First Mate, please use my phone to navigate.”

Sarah appeared pleasantly surprised that a boyfriend was trusting her to look into his private phone. That had never happened before. “Aye, Captain.”

Jake followed Gabriel when he drove off in his police SUV. He checked the rearview mirror for potential threats, then asked Sarah, “Where’s the grandfather’s ranch?”

Sarah pointed at the road ahead. “Take a left at the next street, drive three blocks, and turn right. We’re headed to the hill country.”

“Roger that.”

“You’re pretty trusting with your high-tech encrypted fed phone,” Sarah said. “No secrets on here?”

“None from you, girlfriend. Turn right up there?”

“Yes.”

Her voice sounded rough, and Jake was momentarily confused by her feelings. He’d only meant that she had top-secret clearances from McKay. However, he knew she’d been cheated on by a trusted lover in the past, who’d left emotional scars on her heart—scars Jake could heal if he tried his best and followed through.

“You’re good at this navigation stuff,” he said to lighten the mood. “Maybe you could enlist in the Navy and be a navigator.”

She laughed. “Sure. I’ve always dreamed of being stuck on an aircraft carrier for six months along with thousands of celibate seamen who need to get laid.”

“These days, some carrier crews are over ten percent female personnel.” Jake said.

“Oh, so only ninety percent of the thousands of crew members would be hoping to test my birth control method?”

Jake shrugged. “With your college degree, you could be an officer and tell men what to do. Maybe I’d have to follow your orders.”

Sarah sat up straight. “Now we’re talking.” She pointed to her right at a cross street where Gabriel turned. “However, I prefer being First Mate on Far Niente.”

Jake followed Gabriel and drove in silence for a while until Sarah said, “I’m worried about Pecas. What if she already has bacterial pneumonia and I can’t save her? Gabriel’s family, and everyone in La Paz, might blame the gringa.”

Jake shook his head. “Sarah, if Cody’s life depended on a medical treatment, which doctor would you recommend?”

Sarah took a deep breath and let it out. “I’d insist on being Cody’s doctor.”

“There you go. I’d want the same, and Gabriel feels that way about Pecas. You’ve got this.”

She relaxed her shoulders. “Thanks for your vote of confidence.”

“You’re welcome.”

“And by the way, thank you for not having any photos from Instagram bikini models on your phone.”

“The only bikini model photo I have is the one of you on the cover of Boating Magazine.”

“They sent me the payment.”

Jake gave her a wink. “It’s official. You’re a paid swimsuit model now.”

Sarah rolled her eyes. “Thanks, but I won’t be quitting my day job.”

As a former photographer, Jake knew Sarah could post sexy selfies on Instagram, gain a ton of followers, and get paid serious money to tout products to her fans. She’d never do it, though.

Jake followed Gabriel into the hills for several miles until they reached an area that lacked any power poles and wires. “Much of the Baja peninsula is off-grid. There’s no electricity, running water, or wireless phone service out here in the countryside, and you can drive for hours without seeing a gas station.”

Sarah pointed at some nearby hills. “No cell phone towers.” She checked her phone and compared it to Jake’s. “I don’t have any bars, but your satellite phone GPS tells me the ranch is coming up on our right.”

Jake slowed down near an artistically hand-carved wooden sign displaying the name “Tovar” and the address, and he followed Gabriel down a dirt road.

Both vehicles arrived at the humble working ranch, and Jake was surprised to find that Roman Tovar’s property sat on approximately twenty-five acres with a priceless view of the Sea of Cortez.

Once they were out of the SUV, Jake felt the sun on the back of his neck, and how salt permeated the air from the world’s aquarium below them. “This is God’s country.”

Sarah took a deep breath and let it out. “It’s beautiful.”

Jake studied the hand-built house that looked as if it might be over a hundred years old, and noting the stone chimney, wondered how many meals had been cooked on the hearth over the years.

The home had a gasoline-powered generator, an electric-powered well pump for water, and a propane tank to fuel the kitchen stovetop. Nearby stood a barn made of weathered gray wood. It had a typical double sliding door entry to the breezeway, with a smaller door above for the hay loft. There were two corrals—one held several horses, the other a herd of goats. A large garden was filled with various kinds of lettuce and vegetables, and next to it were several stacked wooden box bee hives.

Sarah opened the car’s back hatch and put on a white doctor’s coat. “Jake, on board the boat, you’re captain and I’m first mate. I love that, but when I practice medicine, I’m the doctor in charge, and you’re my able-bodied assistant who does what I tell you to do.”

“Agreed,” Jake said. “And thanks for saying my battered body is still able.”

“Your body was more than able last night.” Sarah grabbed her black physician’s bag that had zippered pockets and shoulder straps.

Jake gave her an approving glance. “You look professional.”

“Thanks. The coat helps me command respect.”

Gabriel walked toward the barn and waved for them to follow. “This way!”

CHAPTER 29

Jake kept Cody on a tight leash as they entered the barn.

Cody woofed at Pecas, a white horse with black spots. Known as a leopard appaloosa, the mare’s coat was similar to a Dalmatian’s. Now he understood the name Pecas, which meant freckles in Spanish.

Gabriel gestured at a man with gray-hair and sun-bronzed skin who stood near Pecas with a worried look on his face. “Jake and Sarah, this is my grandfather, Roman Tovar.”

Jake shook Roman’s calloused, leathered hand—that of an honest, hardworking family man living on a hacienda, where he toiled outdoors every day. Roman wore dusty cowboy boots and a sweat-stained hat. His warm, brown eyes looked at Pecas with love and concern.

“Roman, this is veterinarian Dr. Sarah Chance, here to help Pecas,” Jake said.

Roman glanced at Sarah’s white coat and doctor’s bag, then politely shook her hand. “Señora.”

Sarah presented the image of an intelligent, educated and highly competent woman you could trust to do good work. Her warm smile had a reassuring easy grace to it. “Was Pecas exposed to some kind of mold?”

Roman appeared thoughtful. “That could happen when we take tourists on trail rides through the hills and down to the beach.” He shrugged. “I’m embarrassed to rely on money from tourists, but northerners on vacations help me pay the bills.”

Sarah said, “With some infections like this, traditional oral and intravenous antibiotics might not help, but grapefruit seed extract inhaled from a nebulizer can often clear it up in a day or two.”

“What is a ... neb-you-lie-zer?”

Sarah opened her medical bag and presented a portable device the size of a box of facial tissues. “It turns liquid medicine into a mist that Pecas can inhale to treat her lung tissue directly.”

“That makes sense. How much of the extract do you use?”

She displayed a small bottle. “One drop of GSE in an ounce of saline solution.”

“You have my blessing, Dr. Sarah,” Roman said.

Sarah filled the nebulizer dispenser cup. “This machine isn’t very loud, but it does make a bubbling noise.”

“Pecas is a calm and steady horse.”

“That was my impression. Okay, here we go.” Sarah turned on the device and produced a spray of fog. She held the spray tip to her face, inhaled mist through her nose, and let it out through her mouth as Pecas observed with bright eyes.

Sarah said, “Jake, don’t let Cody sniff Pecas’s breath.”

“No worries.” Jake pulled his dog back.

When Sarah held the mist to Roman’s face to inhale, the mare raised her head and stomped one hoof.

Roman said, “It’s good.”

Sarah then sprayed the gentle mist at Pecas. The mare leaned in, ears forward, nostrils flaring. As Roman spoke soothing words in Spanish, Pecas breathed in the fog and exhaled it out repeatedly until the medicine cup was empty.

Jake watched Sarah. She had a way with animals and loved to heal them. A tattoo on her left forearm depicted a Greek goddess carrying a bow and a quiver of arrows while accompanied by two hunting dogs. Artemis, the goddess of the hunt and protector of animals. The perfect archetype for a veterinary doctor.

Sarah must have felt his gaze, because she glanced up at him for a moment. “What?”

“Pecas is in good hands,” Jake said. “She’s going to be okay.”

Sarah blushed slightly, only enough that Jake noticed, because he knew every inch of the woman.

Sarah talked to Pecas in a calm and reassuring voice. “You’re such a good horse, aren’t you, Pecas? Yes, you are. We’re going to be friends. You and me. Good friends.”

Sometimes Jake thought of himself as a deadly animal and a protective predator in the violent food chain of life and death. Maybe that’s why Sarah seemed to provide healing medicine to his emotionally wounded heart and soul.

Roman said, “What next, Doctor?”

“Keep Pecas in her stall to rest up,” Sarah said. “No exercise or deep breathing for twenty-four hours. Give the GSE time to do its work on the lung tissue.”

“And tomorrow, Pecas might show improvement?” Roman said.

“Yes, after a second dose tonight and a third tomorrow morning, she’ll be much better, and even more so the next day. I can make house calls here to monitor her breathing and fever, and give her daily doses of meds as needed.”

Roman placed one hand over his heart. “You are always welcome at our ranch, Dr. Sarah.”

No one spoke for a moment.

Jake said, “Hey, I drove Sarah here.”

Roman grinned at hearing the joke. “You did okay, peón de rancho,” he said, calling Jake a low-paid ranch hand peon. “Now, why don’t you shovel out some of the horse manure in these stalls?”

“Oh, sure. I see how it is.”

Everybody laughed for a moment, relieved about Pecas.

The roar of an engine broke up their laughter as a vehicle approached on the dirt road. A machine gun chattered, and rounds peppered the barn.

Gabriel drew his pistol. “Roman, take Sarah to the safe place out back.”

Roman grabbed an old rifle from a saddle and slung it over his shoulder. He climbed a ladder to the hayloft and opened a door facing the road. “Bastardos are attacking my family home. I have to fight them, mano a mano.”

CHAPTER 30

Jake understood what Roman meant. If you didn’t fight off an attack on your family, they’d always be considered targets and easy prey. He turned to Sarah. “You have the K9.”

“I have the K9.” Sarah used one hand to hold Cody’s collar and the other to grip the handle on the back of his vest.

“Cody, stay.” Jake ran to the barn door.

Cody tried to follow, but Sarah picked him up, and his legs pawed the air while he barked at his departing handler and tried to wriggle free.

Before Jake exited, he turned back and shouted, “Cody, protect Sarah. That’s an order, Marine.”

Running through the corral toward his SUV, Jake saw a “technical” vehicle approaching. It was a civilian pickup truck with a machine gun installed in the bed that could fire rounds over the top of the cab. A man wearing a black balaclava face cover aimed the weapon at the barn, fired a burst of belt-fed rounds, and kicked up dust close to Jake’s feet. Too close.

Gabriel shouted, “Shoot to kill. Fight to the death.”

Jake ran to his SUV, raised the back hatch, and flipped open the top of his custom guitar case. He heard Gabriel returning fire with an automatic weapon as he quickly assembled the parts of his sniper rifle and inserted a magazine loaded with high-velocity jacketed rounds. He donned his bulletproof vest as a matter of training, discipline, and duty to remain in the fight.

While Gabriel poured on suppressing fire and Roman took shots at the truck from the hayloft, Jake climbed onto the roof of his SUV, lay prone, and took careful aim at the man firing the machine gun.

The truck swerved and bounced on the dirt road, and the moving target reminded Jake of difficult shots on secret missions overseas in the Middle East “sandbox.” He inhaled a breath and let it out slowly as he pulled the trigger.

The rifle round hit the machine gunner with a devastating blow, knocking him backward and into the air, where he flipped head-over-heels and fell dead on the ground.

With the immediate threat to his pack eliminated, Jake aimed at the truck’s driver, fired one round, and saw a jagged hole appear in the shatterproof windshield glass. The truck veered sharply off course and rolled over on its side. The injured driver tried to climb out, but Roman fired his rifle and took him down with a head shot.

Jake climbed off the SUV’s roof and stowed his sniper rifle in the back cargo area.

Gabriel ran to the barn. “I’ll check on Roman.”

Jake heard Cody barking and Sarah giving commands.

“First Mate, it’s safe to come outside.”

“Aye, Captain.” Sarah walked out of the barn door and let go of Cody, who ran straight to Jake.

Jake knew what was coming, and when Cody leapt at him, he caught the dog in both arms and staggered back a few steps but managed to remain standing. “Did you miss me, bud?”

Cody licked Jake’s face and pawed at his chest.

Jake set Cody down, and the dog pressed against Jake’s stomach so hard it might bowl a man over. Jake scratched Cody behind the ears. “Thank you for protecting Sarah.”

Cody whined.

“I know,” Jake said. “But you can’t always be in the fight.”

Sarah came over to Jake and hugged him. “Thank goodness you weren’t injured.”

Jake held her for a while as they just breathed. Finally, he said, “Are Roman and Pecas okay?”

“Pecas wasn’t hit. Gabriel’s checking on Roman.”

Gabriel shouted from the barn loft. “Doctor Sarah. Come quickly!”

Jake looked up at the loft’s outer door and saw Gabriel kneeling next to his grandfather’s prone body.

Jake, Sarah, and Cody ran back into the barn, and Sarah grabbed her medical bag by the straps, wore it as a backpack and climbed the ladder.

Jake called up to her. “Sitrep?”

“Roman was hit by one round that grazed his left biceps,” Sarah said.

Jake took a knee and clipped Cody’s vest to his own, then climbed up the ladder to join the others. He found Roman bleeding, his face pale, and breathing erratic, slowly going into shock.

Sarah rolled up Roman’s shirt sleeve and dressed his arm wound with alcohol. “This will sting.”

Roman sat still as Sarah applied salve and wrapped a tight bandage around his bicep. He said, “It’s only a scratch.”

“You lost some blood, and you’ll have a painful bruise for several days,” she said.

Gabriel said, “Thanks for shooting the driver before he could harm anyone.”

Roman said, “My vision isn’t what it used to be, but even though I was bleeding, I took a lucky shot.”

Jake said, “Ice hockey legend Wayne Gretzky told us you miss one hundred percent of the shots you don’t take.”

Sarah nodded at Jake to keep Roman talking.

Roman appeared thoughtful. “What is ice hockey?”

Jake realized the hardworking man didn’t have a satellite TV dish. “It’s like fútbol, but while ice-skating on a frozen lake, and instead of kicking a ball, they hit a puck with wooden sticks.”

Roman stared at him. “Puck? Sticks?”

Jake said, “Ice hockey originated in Canada.”

“I had some polite Canadian folks here last week, riding my horses on the beach.”

“You should try watching one of their hockey games.”

“Sometimes I watch fútbol at a cantina in town, but that’s all. There’s too much work to do around here for me to waste time watching people play games.”

Sarah held up a syringe. “Roman, I’m going to give you something to ease the pain.”

“No narcotics,” Roman said. “Local pain meds only.”

“You sound like Jake. Don’t worry. It’s only Novocain.” She injected his upper arm.

Roman blinked at her. “You’re a dentist, too?”

Sarah pushed her thumb down on the syringe. “You should go to a hospital.”

“People would gossip. Bad for my horseback riding business. If I lose that tourist income, the bank will foreclose on my ranch and sell it at auction.” Roman turned his head and coughed.

Sarah said, “No offense, Roman, but you have the same bad breath as Pecas.”

Roman grimaced. “I’ve had this nagging cough for three years.”

“You gave the lung infection to your horse,” Sarah said. “But my nebulizer and grapefruit seed extract will heal your lungs once and for all.”

Jake said, “Trust me, Roman, it’s good for man or beast. Sarah gave it to me one time, just in case I might have inhaled pesky germs while overseas. Have you ever had a camel spit in your face?”

Roman looked at Jake as if he were crazy and shook his head. “Can’t say I have.”

“I don’t recommend it,” Jake said.

Sarah turned on the nebulizer and held the sprayer up to Roman’s nose. “Just breathe in and out.”

“I have a lifetime of practice at doing that.”

She patted him on the back. “I suggest you inhale through your nose, hold it for one second, and exhale slowly through your mouth.”

Roman obeyed his new animal doctor’s orders. “Si, señora. You saved my beloved horse, and now perhaps my very own life.”

Jake hoped that would be the case. If Roman died under the care of a gringa veterinarian with no local medical licenses, the people of La Paz might turn against the visitors on Far Niente.

CHAPTER 31

Jake looked out of the barn at the flipped over tactical with its mounted machine gun and said, “Gabriel, we need a backhoe.”

Gabriel frowned. “Translation?”

Jake used a translator app on his sat-phone. “Retroexcavadora. A tractor that can excavate and dig a large hole in the ground.”

“My friend, Felipe, uses a tractor like that to dig graves at cemeteries.”

“The grave I have in mind will be his masterpiece,” Jake said. “Ask Felipe to bring the tractor here, and I’ll pay him double his usual rate.”

“What for?” Gabriel asked. “He has to haul it on a flatbed trailer.”

Jake pointed at the overturned pickup truck. “I want him to dig a grave the size of that tactical.”

“No. I won’t let you bury that on my family’s land.”

“Not here,” Jake said. “A few miles back up the road toward town, on government property that everyone drives past but never visits.”

“I know a spot that could work,” Gabriel said. “Show me the money.”

Jake pulled out his wallet and displayed some hundred-dollar bills. “Good enough?”

“Yes.” Gabriel checked his phone. “I’ll have to use your phone. Mine doesn’t have any bars.”

Jake handed his satellite phone to Gabriel. “Don’t look at anything else on that device, or I might have to kill you.”

Gabriel said, “You mean try and fail?” When the call connected, he had a terse conversation, clicked off, and returned the phone to Jake. “Backhoe on the way. I told Felipe about the two dead sicarios. You’re paying him triple, not double.”

“No problem.”

“Where can I get a phone like yours?” Gabriel said.

Jake pocketed his device. “This one is unusual. Maybe you could requisition a sat-phone from that grouchy Policía Federal named Xavier.”

“Requisition?”

“Tell your federales the cartels use sat-phones and that you need one, too.”

“You gave me an idea.” Gabriel jogged over to the dead machine-gunner Jake had blasted off the truck. He gloved up and patted him down, found a sat-phone, and jogged back. “The screen is locked, but it’s showing three bars.”

Jake looked at the device. “We can swap the SIM card from your current phone into that one.”

Sarah said, “While we wait for the backhoe, help me get Roman into the house.”

Roman shook his head. “I can get there under my own power.”

Sarah crossed her arms. “No, Roman. Please listen to me. With that wounded arm and numbed muscle, you shouldn’t try climbing down a ladder.”

Roman thought it over. “If I fell and broke my hip, it would be a disaster.”

Gabriel said, “We’ll use the block and tackle to lower our wounded hero.” He reached up and pulled on a rope threaded between two antique pulleys, then pointed at a canvas sling hanging on a wall peg. “I need that.”

Jake grabbed the sling and handed it to Gabriel.

Once the sling was connected and laid out like a hammock, Gabriel gently held Roman under the armpits and helped him stand up. He led his grandfather to the sling and eased him down to sit in it. “Jake, guide the sling while I use the pulleys.”

Jake carefully held Roman and the sling out of the loft doorway in midair.

Gabriel asked, “Ready?”

Roman held onto the canvas fabric with his uninjured arm. “Ready.”

Gabriel lowered his grandfather down the front side of the barn to the ground, and Sarah hurried down the ladder and out the door to greet Roman when he landed.

Cody barked at Sarah from the doorway above.

Jake clipped Cody’s vest to his own again and climbed down the ladder, with Gabriel following.

Gabriel helped Roman stand up, and then guided him to the house where Sarah held the front door open.

Roman sat in a recliner chair in the living room and leaned back with his feet up. “Thank you. Now I could use a drink of tequila.”

Gabriel fetched the bottle and filled a shot glass. “You earned one.”

After drinking the shot in one gulp, Roman let out a satisfied sigh.

Sarah opened her medical bag. “I’m going to leave my nebulizer here, along with the grapefruit seed extract, in case I can’t be here when needed.”

“Thank you, Doctor,” Roman said. “I learned from you how to give doses to Pecas and myself.”

Gabriel said, “What’s the schedule?”

“After the initial treatment, use the nebulizer every morning and evening for the next three days,” Sarah said.

“What do I owe you, Doctor?” Roman said.

“No charge.”

“I insist on paying you.”

“Okay, you owe me one of your trail rides to the beach.”

Roman, poor but proud, appeared relieved there would be no money involved. “You’ll ride Pecas once we’re both feeling better.”

“It’s a deal.” Sarah said.

“I’m going to rest my eyes now,” Roman said, nodding off.

Felipe drove up in an older pickup truck with what sounded like a powerful engine, towing a flatbed trailer that carried a well-worn backhoe. Everyone except Roman went outside to greet him.

Gabriel said, “Hola, Felipe. This is Sarah, Jake, and Cody.”

“Hola,” Felipe said.

“Jake agreed to pay you triple your fee, with half in advance.” Gabriel turned to Jake and waited.

This was the first Jake heard about half in advance, but he gladly handed some cash to Felipe. “Gracias for coming out here on short notice.”

“De nada,” Felipe said. “Where do you want me to dig?” He glanced at the tactical flipped on its side, the mounted machine gun, the dead body nearby, and then at Jake—an unusual gringo wearing a pistol.

Jake displayed his badge. “Felipe, I’m a US Marshal, working on a task force with the Mexican Policía Federal. These two sicarios tried to kill all of us.”

“There was a gunfight, and they lost.” Gabriel said. He opened the truck’s passenger door and took a seat next to Felipe. “We’re going on a short drive.”

Jake said, “We’ll follow you.” He got into his SUV along with Sarah and Cody.

They all drove back toward the city for several miles until Gabriel pointed out his window at a little-used dirt road leading into a thicket of scrub oak trees. The “road” looked like two parallel goat trails with tall weeds growing in between.

Jake followed when Felipe turned off. They stopped next to a small clearing, where some old beer cans littered the ground.

Everyone got out, and Jake placed a leash on Cody’s collar. Cody raised his nose and inhaled scents from the air and ground, but didn’t alert to any threats.

Gabriel said, “A while ago, teenagers used to park here, drink beer, and make out. I was afraid their drinking and driving would kill someone on the road, possibly my grandfather, so I posted that notice.” He pointed at a wooden sign nailed to a tree. It read, “Sonríe a las cámaras ocultas.”

“Smile at the hidden cameras,” Jake said. “Do you really have game cameras hidden in the trees?”

“No, it was a bluff, and it worked.” Gabriel gestured at the clearing. “This is the spot, Felipe.”

Felipe moved to the back of his trailer and lowered the two ramps. He removed wooden wedge blocks from the backhoe’s tires, climbed into its driver’s seat, and backed off the trailer before driving to the job site.

Gabriel said, “Before you dig, scrape off the top layer of earth and weeds so we can put it back on top after.”

Felipe went to work using the backhoe’s wide front bucket to scrape an area the size of a car parking spot, then set each chunk of sod off to the side.

While Jake watched, he asked Gabriel, “May I see your new phone?”

Gabriel handed it over. “I’d love to crack its password and see what’s on the SIM card.”

It was an early model sat-phone without a home button and Touch ID sensor. “Too bad we can’t use the dead sicario’s thumb to open it.”

“I thought the same,” Gabriel said.

“My police friend, Roxanne, is a science nerd,” Jake said. “She can use a brute force hack to reveal the password.”

“Whatever works.”

Jake pulled out his phone and sent a text message to Roxanne Poole, the San Francisco, California Police Department’s senior tech officer.

Hey, Rox. Do you have time for a five-minute phone call?

He never knew if Rox would respond. They often butted heads—in a friendly way—and sometimes the feisty officer ignored his texts. Once, she’d replied with Unsubscribe.

CHAPTER 32

Jake waited patiently until he received a text from Roxanne.

New phone. Who dis?

He replied. Pretty please, Rox.

As if she were thinking it over, the text came minutes later. I can spare ONE minute. Talk fast.

Jake called her, put his phone on speaker, and waited as he heard it ring three times.

Roxanne answered. “Let me guess. You want to buy me a fancy coffee because you need a favor from the city’s genius hacker.”

“You’re very wise ... and humble,” Jake said. “This time it’s not San Francisco that needs you. Your fame has reached the city of La Paz, in Baja California Sur, Mexico.”

“You’re kidding me, right?”

“Not kidding. The president of Mexico is demanding results from local law enforcement, and they want your help.”

“Why is my BS detector going off?”

“Yours goes off all day on the job as a cop,” Jake said.

“At least you’ve learned something while repeatedly wasting my time lately.”

“I learned to call the smartest cop in the world.”

Roxanne said, “Flattery will get you nowhere, but a good mocha latte is always appreciated.”

“Uh, did I mention I’m in Mexico?”

“So what? Use the Starbucks app to order me a coffee on this new thing called the internet.”

“I’ve heard about the inner-nets of which you speak. What mermaid coffee location are you visiting?”

“Beach Street, near Aquatic Park.”

“I know it well. Cody likes their breakfast sandwiches. Hang on a second while I place your order.”

“I’m parking my surveillance van in a loading zone, so make it quick.”

“Why don’t you go to Billie’s Diner and have your coffee with a slice of fresh-baked apple pie?”

“I’d love to, but I’m assigned to Fisherman’s Wharf right now, tracking a violent phone thief,” Roxanne said. “He brazenly grabs phones out of the hands of clueless tourists who are taking selfies, and then runs away like an Olympic track star.”

“Simple but effective,” Jake said. “And I’d guess embarrassing for the mayor and chief of police.”

“Yeah, they’re not happy.”

“It’s a one-man crime wave?”

“For now,” she said. “If a video goes viral, you’ll see every dumb crook in the world copycatting the crime.”

Jake shook his head. “The internet and cell phones have wreaked havoc on us.”

“A new phone is worth over five times more per ounce than pure silver bars.”

“I never thought of it that way.”

“Over three million phones were stolen in the US, last year alone. Most thieves immediately power off a stolen device and remove its SIM card, to prevent the owner from tracing it.”

“Why is a tech officer assigned to this? Is the perp stealing phones to commit identity theft?”

Roxanne said, “Not him, but if he’s keeping all the SIMs, he might sell them to a Serbian Mafia gang that specializes in identity crimes.”

“Chief Pierce wants to prevent that?”

“Now we’re on the same page.”

Jake said, “One way to track him is if he sells a phone to a pawn shop and says he found it on the sidewalk. Wesley might help you bust him.”

“I’ve figured out he uses a stolen driver’s license to sell the devices at one of those vending machines that dispense cash.”

“You have it staked out?”

“The machine has a camera similar to one on an ATM. I’m logged in and can see the video feed on my smart watch.”

“Your watch is probably smarter than most criminals.”

Roxanne said, “The reason stupid crooks love smart phones is because opposites attract.”

Jake laughed at her nerdy humor. “Good one, Rox Star. Speaking of smart phones, I’m hoping you can hack into a cartel criminal’s satellite device for me.”

“Now I’m intrigued. What kind?”

“Foreign. No brand name that I can see.”

“It might be running an anonymous operating system like GrapheneOS, or maybe CalyxOS.”

“I’ll send you a picture of the device.”

“While you do that, I’ll run into the Church of Caffeine and grab my drink.”

As Jake took a picture and texted it, he heard Roxanne speak to a barista.

“Hello. Do you have a double espresso mocha latte for Roxanne? ... No? How about Rox? Officer Poole? ... You have one for Box of Rox? Humph.”

Jake grinned. He’d ordered her drink with the nickname her fellow cops used as a term of endearment for their beloved tech officer. “What’s taking you so long, Rox?”

“You have a lot of nerve, Jake.”

“Not as much as my buddy, Wesley, who you’re dating after I introduced you two.”

“Wesley’s a dreamboat, and you’re my number one pain in the butt.”

“I’m honored to finally be number one at something.”

“Do you know the phone’s number, or not?”

“A genius wrote the number with a permanent marker on a piece of duct tape stuck on the back.” He recited it to her.

“I’ve seen that before on stolen handsets used for one crime and then wiped clean of evidence and abandoned in a public place for someone else to find.”

“Clever way to cast suspicion on an innocent person.”

“Gotta hang up on you now, head back to my van and use a sacrificial laptop to do multiple simultaneous brute-force attacks. Will you and Cody miss me? You can admit it.”

Jake smiled. “Cody always misses you.”

“Aww. Give him my best.” Rox clicked off.

“Roxanne says hello, buddy.” Jake scratched Cody on his back above the tail, which made the dog kick one rear leg repeatedly as if trying to kickstart a motorcycle.

Moments later, the cartel satellite phone’s locked display lit up with a call from an unknown number. The call went to voicemail, and the device appeared to be idle after that, but Jake knew better. Rox would be busy running multiple software programs at once that each tested millions of combinations until cracking the password.

Gabriel stepped closer and checked the phone screen. “Is she making any progress?”

Jake handed him the device. “Her stealth attacks work in the background. People never know they’re being hacked.”

“Will Roxanne always have a backdoor access into this phone?”

Jake said, “You’re very perceptive. Yes, she’ll install a spyware that’s similar to Pegasus, but her own bootleg version. After Rox is done, you’ll want to replace that SIM card.”

“Pegasus?”

“It’s a virtually undetectable malware program that tracks your phone’s movements in real time, gains control of its microphone and camera, and saves copies of your photos, videos, texts, emails, and passwords. Often times this data can be used to blackmail, intimidate, and silence a targeted individual.”

The phone display lit up in Gabriel’s hand, blinked several times, and then displayed its unlocked home screen. He tapped on an icon. “Jake, look at these photos.”

Jake saw images of himself, Sarah, and Cody, along with Gabriel, his mother Valentina, and grandfather Roman. He felt hollow inside. “We were all targeted.”

“When you shot the machine gunner, you did a good deed.”

“If I’d known he had this picture of Cody, I would’ve shot him twice.”

Jake sent a text to Roxanne. Thank you, Rox Star. Enjoy that latte.

She replied. Wesley says we should all go to dinner at Amborgetti’s, and you’re buying.

Jake agreed to pay the real price for her services worth far more than a fancy coffee. Yes, let’s do that when I’m back in town. My treat.

The Amborgetti restaurant was owned by San Francisco’s Italian Mafia Family, and Jake was related to many of the members. Dinner reservations were booked a year in advance, but the Family always gave Jake a table whenever he wanted. His Italian nickname was Giacobbe il Coltello, meaning Jake the Knife.

Gabriel said, “There’s only one number in this phone’s call history. The sicario called it right before he attacked us.”

“Don’t auto-dial it by accident.” Jake said, noticing Gabriel’s angry face and set jaw.

Gabriel took a deep breath and let it out. “It’s so tempting to call and say a few choice words.”

“Give me the number our recently deceased machine-gunner called,” Jake said. “I’ll text it to Roxanne so she can hack into that other phone, too.”

Gabriel recited the number, and said, “If we’re lucky, it’ll lead us to Andres Galván.”

CHAPTER 33

Felipe completed digging the deep, rectangular box-shaped hole in the ground, then drove his backhoe onto the flatbed trailer. “Okay. Let’s go get the tactical truck.”

Everyone piled into vehicles and drove back to the ranch.

On arrival, Gabriel went inside the house to check on Roman.

Sarah remained in the SUV with Cody, keeping him safe from trucks, trailers, and backhoes.

Jake was deeply grateful for Sarah acting as a backup dog handler. He gloved up and moved to the body of the tactical truck’s machine gunner he’d shot. This was ugly work, but it had to be done. He dragged him to the tactical that lay on its side and placed him face down across the mounted machine gun stand. After removing the gun and extra belts of ammo, he set them aside and gave Felipe a nod.

Felipe hooked up a chain between his trailer and the overturned tactical. He shifted the manual transmission into first gear, drove forward, and pulled the chain to bring the tactical up onto four wheels.

The dead man remained in the tactical’s truck bed. Jake reached into the cab and turned the key, but the engine didn’t start. “The battery might have broken loose from its cables.”

“I’ll use the chain,” Felipe said, moving the trailer in front of the tactical’s front tires before lowering the ramps. He unhitched the trailer from his truck, put wooden chocks in front and back of the trailer tires, then hooked the chain onto his pickup truck’s towing ball. “I need you to steer the tactical when I pull it onto the trailer.”

Jake said, “Understood. But first, we should drain the gas tank and oil pan.”

Gabriel came out of the house. “Roman is fine.”

Sarah said, “Does he need anything from me?”

“No, he’s sound asleep in the recliner.”

“Getting shot and drinking a shot would make anyone take a nap,” Sarah said. “What about you getting some sleep, Gabriel? Didn’t you say you’d been up all night on your patrol boat?”

“I’ll sleep when I’m eighty.” Gabriel walked over to the flatbed trailer. “What are we waiting for?”

“Do you have any gallon jugs to fill with gas and oil?” Jake said.

“Yes, I’ll grab some.” Gabriel ran into the barn and returned with a collection of plastic jugs, tubing with a siphon bulb, a good-sized funnel, and some hand tools. “Siphon the gas while I drain the oil.”

Once that was done and the tactical was on board the trailer, Gabriel said, “Let’s go.” He took his seat next to Felipe in the pickup’s cab, and they drove off.

After returning to the dig, Felipe dumped the tactical truck off his trailer, and it came to rest upside down in its grave. He used the backhoe to bury the truck with freshly dug earth and sod he’d scraped off the top.

Jake gave Felipe the other half of his fee. “And here’s a bonus for keeping this a secret.”

Felipe accepted the extra cash. “I promised Gabriel I’d never tell a soul, and I’m a man of my word.”

Jake shook his hand. “Is there any favor I can do for you, mi amigo?”

“Maybe you can find a wealthy landowner who wants me to dig a swimming pool.”

“I’ll keep that in mind.”

Gabriel said, “One last thing. I want to drag a fallen log across the entrance to this road.”

Felipe waited until Jake moved his SUV, then tied his chain onto a log and to his trailer. He dragged the log until it rested crossways, blocking the road from vehicle access.

After retrieving the chain, Felipe said, “Adios,” and headed back to La Paz.

Jake drove his SUV to the Tovar family ranch where everyone got out and observed the breathtaking view of sloping hillsides leading to a sparkling blue sea.

Jake said, “Gabriel, who owns that land between yours and the Sea of Cortez?”

“The widow of Roman’s best friend,” Gabriel said. “She lets us ride our horses across her property.”

“Does she own that stretch of beach?”

“Yes. Much of the seashore is public land, but her family has owned that small part of the beach for generations.”

“Do you think she’d ever sell it to Roman?”

“She has a standing offer for Roman only,” Gabriel said, “but our family doesn’t have enough money. Meanwhile, she lets him use the beach at no cost.”

“What if I give you the money?”

“Only a Mexican national can buy that land.”

“Your family would buy it. I’d only be your silent partner in the business, not the land.”

“The trail-riding business?”

“No, the winery business.”

“What winery?”

“The one you’d build right here, with a view of the sea.”

“Why a winery?”

“You’ll have a product that customers buy repeatedly for years to come,” Jake said. “It creates predictable cash flow and reliable income.”

“Products instead of services?”

“You can do both—sell bottles of wine, but also host wine tastings, picnics, and even weddings while you continue the trail-riding service.”

“You’d have to pay for the vineyard,” Gabriel said.

“Yes,” Jake said. “And bathrooms, a new septic system, and a Starlink dish.”

“Satellite WiFi?”

“Right, and Starlink is adding cell phone service.”

“I’d feel a lot better if Roman had a phone that worked up here in the hills,” Gabriel said.

“We should’ve checked the other sicario,” Jake said. “He might’ve had a sat-phone.”

Gabriel let out a groan. “Now you tell me, when he’s buried under a truck.”

Jake shook his head. “I’m joking. I patted him down. No phone.”

Sarah said, “First thing you might want to do with a winery is paint the barn red with white trim. It’s a cliché, but people love it.”

Gabriel glanced at the barn. “Would grapevines grow well here?”

Jake nodded. “Your coastal sea breezes cool the microclimate into one similar to the Mediterranean, much like the Valle de Guadalupe wine region in Ensenada, Baja.”

“I’ve visited that area, and enjoyed some wine tasting at Cuatro Cuatros, overlooking the ocean.”

Sarah said, “We have too, and loved it. The first winery on the road to Guadalupe. It was so beautiful there, I could hardly believe my eyes.”

“That area has far more tourist traffic, being near the US border and San Diego,” Gabriel said.

Jake shrugged. “That’s a good thing. You don’t want to be overwhelmed here with too many people.”

Gabriel thought it over. “The first thing we’d have to do is pave our dirt driveway.”

“I’ll pay for that right now as a gesture of good faith,” Jake said. “How far did you drill for your well water?”

“We had the well drilled extra deep and hit the motherlode,” Gabriel said. “The water is filtered through volcanic rock.”

“Mineral water that never runs out?” Jake said. “You could sell bottled water to norteamericanos.”

“I don’t want anyone to know about the artesian well.” Gabriel looked him in the eye. “As a silent partner, how much would you want as your share?”

“Your family would own one-hundred percent of the property,” Jake said. “As a partner in the business only, I’d receive five percent of any profit after expenses.”

Gabriel raised his eyebrows. “Five percent is more than fair. What if one year there isn’t any profit?”

“Then you pay me nothing,” Jake said. “Better luck next year. I’m interested in the long term and making some legendary wines we can all be proud of.”

Sarah said, “Gabriel, I’d accept Jake’s offer before he changes his mind and builds a winery in Valle de Guadalupe instead.”

Gabriel held out his right hand. “Shake on it and give me your word. If Roman agrees, we’ll draw up papers later.”

Jake shook hands. “I give you my word, partner.”

“Let’s go talk to Roman,” Gabriel said. “He has the final decision.”

They all headed into the old, weathered house.

Roman stood up to greet them. “I can’t sit around all day when there are chores to be done.”

Jake said, “How about if we help you with the chores while Gabriel talks to you about us starting a winery here?”

Roman looked from one face to another, then he asked Sarah, “Have they lost their minds?”

She laughed. “Many famous businesses started out as crazy ideas.”

Roman said, “Help me give fresh water to the goats, and I’ll listen to your scheme. This ought to be good.”

CHAPTER 34

After a heartfelt talk with Roman, Jake drove home to Delfines Marina, where they all went on board Far Niente.

A woman strolled along the dock who appeared to be looking for someone.

Sarah called out, “Hi! Can we help you find a boat?”

The woman with strawberry blonde hair who was dressed in boat crew clothing—a light blue polo shirt, Navy blue skort and boat shoes—greeted Jake and Sarah with a recited spiel. “Hi. I’m Tracy, a yachtie with six months experience as a stew on a super yacht. I loved it, and now I’m looking for my next dream job.” Tracy held up her phone. “May I text you a copy of my CV? I can also give you copies of my STCW certificates.”

Jake knew “stew” meant steward or stewardess, a person who worked within the interior of a yacht performing duties of host, bartender, server, housekeeper, etcetera. And STCW was an acronym of Standards of Training, Certification and Watch-Keeping for Seafarers. This woman had studied courses giving her the qualification standards for watch personnel on seagoing yachts.

“Thanks for your interest,” Jake said, “but I’m sorry, we’re not hiring. Our crew is just me, my girlfriend, and our dog.”

Tracy gave Sarah a wistful smile. “Happy crew, happy boat.”

Sarah said, “If you don’t mind me asking, why did you leave your previous yacht job? Seasonal layoff?”

Tracy let out a sigh. “The owners are a married couple. The husband hired me, and the wife fired me.”

“Was it jealousy?” Sarah said. “You’re very pretty.”

“Thank you. When the husband propositioned me for a threesome, the wife said I had to go, and claimed she was doing me a favor.”

Sarah held her arms wide, inviting Tracy to accept a hug, which she did.

Cody stepped closer to the person who had her arms around his handler’s mate.

Jake said, “Easy, Cody.”

Sarah let go of Tracy. “You’re polite and professional. You’ll find another job on a better yacht.”

“I hope so. I’ll keep dock-walking until I find a yacht that needs me.”

Jake knew there would always be daywork for deck crew who could do boat maintenance tasks on any vessel’s weathered exterior, such as swabbing the deck, polishing the brass, sanding, calking, varnishing, and window cleaning. “You’ll have more luck finding work if you also become certified as a deckhand.”

“I’ll try anything if I spend my days out in the sun instead of belowdecks,” Tracy said. “It’s not easy working on a yacht at sea in a beautiful travel destination and having to stay below all day serving food and beverages to … rich people.”

Sarah said, “I think you’d make a great deckhand. You look the part and know the lingo. Now, let’s see you work.” She handed Tracy a hose with a spray head, and pointed at the aft deck and swim platform. “Want to show me how you can swab the deck?”

“Yes, please.” Tracy grinned as she sprayed a jet of water back and forth, blasting off sea salt and working her way aft to the stern. She then accepted a long-handled mop from Sarah and swabbed the deck as if she were competing for her job.

Sarah said, “Looking good, Yachtie.”

Tracy made an extra effort and worked up a sweat.

Jake let Sarah handle the stew who wanted to be a deckhand. The woman was far too attractive and eager to please for Jake to be friends with, now that he was in an exclusive relationship with Sarah.

An Asian man and woman walked past and stopped to observe Tracy at work. The well-dressed and distinguished Asian woman with gray streaks in her black straight hair, waved at Sarah. “Hello, neighbor. Your deckhand does a good job. Could we hire her for a day or two?”

Sarah waved them toward her. “Yes, of course. Please come aboard and talk a while.”

The delighted couple accepted her invitation and stepped onto the deck.

Jake was always impressed at how Sarah could make friends with anyone in a minute.

Cody stood between Sarah and the guests.

Sarah said, “Out, Cody. Be friends.”

Cody looked over his shoulder at Jake, awaiting orders.

Jake repeated Sarah’s exact words. “Out, Cody. Be friends.”

Cody wagged his tail as he greeted the visitors.

Jake observed the couple. His hunch was they were South Korean. In the past, he’d visited their border with North Korea and secretly crossed no-man’s land on an off-the-record mission that took out a high-value target and rescued a pregnant rocket scientist who now lived in the US under a new name. He had no idea where. That intel was on a need-to-know basis, and he didn’t need to know.

Jake bowed partway to his guests, and said in Korean, “Pleased to meet you.”

The man and woman gaped at him, startled by hearing their language likely for the first and only time in La Paz, Mexico. They glanced at Sarah to see if she might be Korean.

The man asked Jake, “Have you been to South Korea?”

“Yes, when I served in the Marines, I helped protect your border.”

“Thank you for your service,” the man said.

“It was worth it for the tasty bulgogi beef, bibimbap rice, and kimchi.”

The husband and wife both laughed, and the husband said, “Speaking of kimchi, we’d love to buy some, but we can’t find any here.”

“Hold on one minute. I’ll be right back.” Jake ran inside to the galley and returned with an unopened jar of the spicy fermented cabbage. He handed it over to the husband. “Please accept this gift from your new friends and neighbors.”

“Thank you very much,” the husband said. “Where did you find it?”

“I already had it in my refrigerator before we cruised south,” Jake said.

The wife smiled. “You folks will have to come over one night this week for a dinner of home cooked bulgogi.”

“Sounds great. Looking forward to it,” Jake said. “Now, about hiring a deckhand ...”

Sarah made the introductions. “This is Tracy. She’s a freelancer who’d be delighted to work for you. Isn’t that right, Tracy?”

“Yes,” Tracy said.

“I’m Kang, and this is my wife, Yoon.”

After Tracy repeated her spiel, Yoon said, “What’s your hourly rate?”

Jake spoke up and named a figure he guessed was far more than Tracy would have said.

Tracy blinked at him in surprise.

“You’re hired,” Yoon said. “When can you start?”

“I can start right now if you’d like,” Tracy said. “I’m finished up here.”

“Great. Come with us.” Yoon pointed at their boat, a short distance away. “Happy Seoul, is right over there.”

“Thank you,” Tracy said to Jake and Sarah. “Is there anything I can do to return the favor?

Jake said, “You could all keep an eye on people you see coming and going at the marina, and we’ll do the same. Kind of like a neighborhood watch.”

Kang nodded. “Good idea. We’ll do it.”

Tracy disembarked with the couple as they walked away chatting about various places they’d traveled to.

Sarah said, “We did our good deed for the day.”

“The cruising community is a small world,” Jake said. “It’s good to make friends with everyone you can, especially folks at your marina.”

CHAPTER 35

Later that evening, Jake cruised Far Niente onto the sea. He sat with Sarah at the aft deck patio table and enjoyed watching as the sun began to set on the water. “We had a long day, and I could really use a shot of tequila right now.”

Sarah said, “I brought along a surprise.” She went into the galley and returned with two cold cans of soda. “This is lime seltzer with THC.”

Jake was skeptical. He didn’t smoke weed but knew plenty of war veterans who used it for medical reasons. “Cannabis?”

She shook her head, popped open a seltzer, and handed it to him. “No, not cannabis. It’s made from American-grown organic hemp plants, and it’s federally legal in all fifty states.”

Jake took a sip. “Sparkling water that gives you a buzz?”

“A mild relaxed feeling that gradually kicks in. It’s similar to taking a gummy. I consulted Terrell about a non-alcoholic beverage to replace beer, wine, and mixed drinks.”

Jake took another sip. Terrell knows his gummies, edibles, and drinkables. They’ve done wonders to relieve his headaches.”

“You have to admit, mixed with some crushed ice, this lime seltzer could taste like a margarita.”

“I hope the THC in this seltzer doesn’t cause feelings of paranoia.”

“No, this is the indica variety, not the sativa kind.”

They enjoyed a cocktail hour on the sea, talking about how much they loved boat life.

After sunset, Sarah raised her can of seltzer and gazed over the top as she drank, her eyes smiling. “I’m going inside for a minute.”

Jake figured she was going to grab two more cold ones. The mild hemp seltzer was having its desired effect on him. He felt relaxed, carefree, and slightly euphoric, but not stoned or inebriated.

A few minutes later, his phone buzzed with a text from Sarah. Meet me in the salon, but leave Cody out on deck.

He texted her back and felt silly doing it. Okay. See you soon.

“Cody, stay. Lie down.”

Cody stretched out and put his head on his paws. He gave Jake a look that seemed to say, I saw this coming and you didn’t?

Jake opened the bulletproof sliding glass door, stepped inside, and closed and locked it behind him.

Once inside, he heard the sound system playing music and Sarah starting a familiar pole-dancing routine that featured elegant and tasteful moves and poses. She’d dressed in a black satin bikini, a stylish and revealing swimsuit she never wore anywhere except on the boat—for Jake’s eyes only. The pole exercises had given her dancer’s legs and an elegantly firm, flat stomach.

“You look gorgeous,” Jake said. “Female poetry in motion. I’m a lucky man.”

Sarah blushed and whipped her hair as she spun around. “I wanted to give you a distraction from alcohol. How am I doing?”

“Alcohol? What’s that?” He sat on the couch and marveled at the beauty of her gracefully supple dance moves. Elevating pole-dancing to a classy art form, his girlfriend could act proper and lady-like at work, being the wholesome veterinarian everybody loved. But Sarah also had a semi-wild and sexy side that she only let free when she felt safe with Jake.

She’d once told him that many couples gradually evolved into being more like roommates and friends with benefits than romantic lovers, and the flirtatious dancing was her way of helping to keep their passion alive. Jake reciprocated by mastering the art of massage and practicing his new talent on her body with warm, strong, capable hands any time she desired.

The song and Sarah’s dance routine both ended, and she stood before him, breathless, her chest heaving. She presented her body as a gift to be unwrapped. “Come to bed, Jake. I want you to help me pull a few strings.”

“Happy to assist you with that anytime.” Jake stood, took her hand, and headed to their stateroom and bed.

Alcohol was the last thing on his mind.

CHAPTER 36

Andres piloted his Zodiac boat to a spot far from shore. He turned off the outboard motor and sent a text on his sat-phone, giving the current latitude and longitude to a narco criminal who wanted to buy a large quantity of crystal meth. Andres only planned to wait at the randomly chosen coordinates for a short time. There was always the risk of being robbed, which would be ironic, since he’d stolen the drugs in the first place. He kept his rifle close by, to greet any unwelcome visitors with a bullet.

After fifteen minutes, he grew restless but finally heard a single-engine floatplane on approach in the sky above. Using his binoculars, he studied the older Cessna 172, the most-produced aircraft in history. It was an iconic white plane with a red stripe, single engine, fixed high wing, four seats, and two amphibious floats, just as described.

The female pilot flew her aircraft low and slow for a landing on the water, touched down with a splash, and shut off the engine.

Andres cruised his boat closer as the plane’s two-blade propeller slowed and stopped. He pulled alongside the starboard float and tied up. Standing on the float, he opened the passenger door and handed the Norteamericano White woman several duffel bags, one after the other.

The pilot removed her dark green aviator sunglasses and methodically checked inside each bag before stacking them behind her on the two rear seats and footwells, distributing the weight evenly. She removed one of the plastic-wrapped packages, used a knife to poke a small slit into it, and snorted a hit of meth off the tip of the knife.

“Dayum!” Her eyes watered as she gave Andres a suitcase full of US currency.

Andres counted the bundles and fanned through several stacks of hundred-dollar bills. Satisfied it was all there, he said, “Were you able to bring the special item?”

She handed him a black crossbody sling bag. “I didn’t appreciate having that on board my plane.”

“It was a one-time favor that paid you well.” Andres unzipped the waterproof nylon bag and found a white phosphorus incendiary grenade inside—a bomb that could turn Jake Wolfe’s motor yacht into a flaming inferno that quickly burned to the waterline.

He smiled with a grim satisfaction thinking about how he would pass by the motor yacht one night while the crew slept, toss the grenade on board, and zoom away seconds before it went off. He’d observe the resulting destruction from a safe distance while remaining close enough to shoot anyone who managed to abandon ship and jump into the water.

“Perfecto.” He removed one bundle of his cash, peeled off a fistful of bills, and handed them to her.

The pilot said, “Call us when you have more glass. We’ll buy all you can cook.”

“See you again soon.” Andres untied the lines and cruised his boat away.

The pilot started up her floatplane engine, turned the aircraft facing into the breeze, and roared across the water until lifting off into the cloudless, pale blue sky.

Andres had neglected to tell her the glass was stolen from a cartel, and if they found out she was selling their product, they’d seek revenge. “Good luck.”

Her plane vanished on the horizon as Andres navigated across the water toward his hideout on the shore.

One of the smaller marinas that lined the coast had homemade floating docks built with empty fifty-gallon plastic barrels and wood planks on top. The owner installed a storage shed on one of the docks. Andres had paid him to customize the shed by making one section of dock removable so his Zodiac boat could float inside.

He approached the marina and floated up to his dock, used a recessed handle to pull it aside, then unlocked the shed’s twin doors. After turning his boat around and backing it inside to be facing out, he tied up and exited the shed through a pedestrian door on the side. He pulled the floating dock back into place, carried his suitcase of money to a stolen SUV and drove away.

On the road, Andres thought about how he’d get far more money for the next batch of stolen meth if a mule smuggled it into the States. Once across the border, the price of illegal drugs skyrocketed.

It reminded him of a catchphrase used by real estate buyers and sellers who claimed the three most important factors were, “Location, location, location.”

One potential mule came to mind—a boat thief and smuggler named Willie Humbolt. The man was currently doing time in prison, but a paid snitch told Andres he’d be released soon. Mexican people born in the United States paid Willie hefty fees to safely transport their undocumented family relatives to the US on a sailboat. Willie anchored out his boat at night near an empty stretch of beach, ferried two or three people to shore in a dingy, returned to his boat and sailed away.

Andres had earned some cash by charging Willie protection money before the fool got himself arrested and sent to prison. Although Willie always refused to smuggle drugs or guns, maybe it was time he changed his attitude. Andres knew various methods of persuading a reluctant person to cooperate.

CHAPTER 37

In a scorching hot, barren California desert southwest of Death Valley, prison inmate Willie Humbolt waited patiently to be released from a hellhole named the California City Correctional Facility.

That morning, at the crack of dawn, he’d finally completed his six months of incarceration and was now scheduled to be released.

Two guards opened his cell door, and one said, “On your feet, maggot.”

“Yes, sir.” Willie avoided unnecessary trouble by always remaining polite, no matter what the guards said.

Walking in silence, he thought about how the complex of eerie concrete block buildings surrounded by high fences topped with razor wire had been built on remote, low-priced, vacant land.

If anyone ever managed to escape the strange Orwellian dystopia, they’d be on foot in a remote and harsh environment, with a one-hundred-mile walk to Los Angeles while dressed in prisoner scrubs and slippers. The isolated location concept was similar to the historic island prison of Alcatraz, except it was surrounded by an ocean of hot sand and rattlesnakes instead of a bay of cold water and sharks.

A guard escorted Willie into a room and left him there to change out of his inmate uniform and into the clothes he’d been wearing when the police arrested him. The old clothes were loose on him after months of eating the meager food rations and doing prison cell body weight exercises to stay strong.

Willie had been charged with two crimes: grand theft of a boat, and possession of a stolen boat. Under California law, the felonies carried a potential sentence of up to three years.

His public defender attorney pleaded for leniency because it was Willie’s first offense. He claimed Willie had only been joyriding while drunk, not stealing to possess. California law differentiated between the two. A hardworking judge gave Willie a second chance at life, sentencing him to twelve months in prison, because he hadn’t been armed or charged with any violent crimes.

Now, Willie was getting out after six, his sentence reduced for good behavior while incarcerated. He’d impressed the parole board by volunteering to assist the Pawsitive Good Life dog training program. Willie had a soft spot for dogs, especially his good boy, Franz, the German shepherd puppy who’d given him purpose and helped pass the time in prison. Shepherds needed early socialization and training to prevent aggressive behaviors such as over-guarding. Willie had helped train Franz to become a search and rescue K9. Other prisoners took turns hiding in the yard so Franz could find them.

Willie wouldn’t miss anything about incarceration, but today he found it hard to leave his four-footed best friend behind.

A guard opened the door and gave Willie a warning glance out of habit. Willie heard dog toenails on the polished concrete floor, and an impatient whine from his German Shepherd. The dog’s tags jingled as he pulled on a leash dragging a woman following behind him.

The woman smiled at Willie. “We came by to say ...”

Willie nodded. “Hey, Franz. You’re such a good dog.”

Franz wiggled in delight as Willie scratched him on the back and talked to him with familiar soothing words.

Willie felt his heart breaking. He was sorely tempted to try bluffing his way out with the dog on a leash, but it would never work. “You be a good boy, Franz, okay? Love you, buddy. You’re the best dog in the whole world. Take care, my friend.”

Franz whined in confusion as Willie walked away with tears on his cheeks, a lump in his throat, and no possessions besides the clothes on his back and the wallet in his jeans pocket. When the police had arrested him, they’d taken his phone into evidence and confiscated his cash money as forfeiture. Luckily, his credit cards were set up on monthly auto payments from a special account, and one card might still be working if the authorities hadn’t frozen everything they could possibly find.

He boarded a prison shuttle bus and rode alone with a silent driver to the nearby small town named California City. It had been planned out years before to be a major metropolis like the ever-popular city of Palm Springs but had never caught on.

He’d once read a news article that described it as an odd collection of empty streets and undeveloped lots in the middle of nowhere. Water supplies were always a problem in the desert. Rumor had it that the developers used big promises to sell thousands of home lots. More rumors said that after being investigated by the Federal Trade Commission for false advertising, they left town and never came back.

When the prison shuttle arrived at Kern Transit station, the driver handed Willie an envelope containing a bus ticket with service to the city of Lancaster and a Metrolink connection into Los Angeles. There was also a wallet-sized photo of Franz, with a note on the back from the Pawsitive folks thanking Willie for his service.

The driver opened the bus door without a word.

“Thank you,” Willie said as he exited. He walked past a small diner, where the smell of bacon and eggs made his empty stomach growl. He’d skipped breakfast in the prison cafeteria. It was a dangerous place where you could be assaulted on any given day. Why risk injury or death on the morning of his release?

He boarded the bus headed for Lancaster, took a seat, and looked out the window to see the obedient prison shuttle driver watching him and making sure he left town on schedule. Willie gave him a polite smile and wave goodbye as the bus drove off toward Highway 14.

It felt surreal to be free at last and on the road after half a year in lockup. He watched the scenery roll past and made a conscious effort to appreciate the empty desert’s harsh beauty.

However, when it came to sand, he was more of a seashore and surf type of guy, at home on a beach or passing by a sandbar on a boat—especially a beautiful stolen sailboat. And they were so easy to steal. Soon, he’d go “shopping” for a liveaboard vessel, sail it south to Mexico, past Cabo San Lucas and to the Sea of Cortez, where he’d reluctantly meet up with a dangerous Colombian criminal he hated named Andres Galván. He couldn’t operate a business in the area without paying Andres “protection” money.

Willie arrived by bus in Lancaster, and then rode a Metrolink train connection into Los Angeles.

Upon arrival in LA at mid-morning, he used an ATM machine at the station to withdraw some cash and then walked through the endless city on an evasive route of side streets and back alleys.

He wouldn’t be keeping his appointment with a parole officer who’d have the legal right to enter Willie’s home without knocking at any time, twenty-four hours a day.

After walking for ten minutes, Willie didn’t notice anyone following him, but old habits of caution died hard. His attitude, learned in the prison’s “gray-walled university,” was that if he’d been even more paranoid and cautious, he might never have been arrested in the first place.

Fear can be your friend.

Satisfied that he’d shaken any potential tail, Willie stopped at a thrift shop to buy some cheap stainless steel flatware. The mismatched dinner forks, knives, and spoons were for sale at giveaway prices, so he bought two sets of each, along with two dinner plates, a small frying pan, and a few other items.

Willie carried the brown paper bag down side streets until he stumbled upon a lonely avenue with no visible security cameras. He found an older Toyota pickup truck anyone could steal with a flathead screwdriver or similar tool, and he used a dinner knife to unlock the truck’s door. Pleased, he sat in the driver’s seat and used the same knife as a key to start the engine. Once he confirmed the truck would run and the gas gauge indicated a half-full tank, he turned off the engine and exited the cab.

After checking to make sure he wasn’t being watched, he used his knife to unscrew the bolts attaching the pickup truck’s front and back license plates, then switched them with a similar looking pair from a vehicle nearby.

“Sorry about that,” Willie said under his breath. He knew the unlucky driver might not notice the plates until being pulled over by a police officer.

Willie drove the city streets, obeying posted speed limits and checking his rearview mirror often, before stopping at a dog park. The happy dogs running free made him miss Franz, and he wondered how his good boy was doing without him. A tear ran down his cheek, and he wiped it away. “Miss you, Franz.”

After walking on a trail with the paper bag, he came to a particular mile marker and headed into the woods. Stopping at a uniquely bent tree that had once been scarred by a lightning strike in years past, he used the frying pan to dig at its base until he unearthed a waterproof plastic box with two chrome latches on the front.

The box contained a key card for a self-storage unit, and the fake ID and prepaid credit card he’d used to rent the unit years before. He’d buried these in case he needed a Plan B someday.

Today was that day.

CHAPTER 38

Willie drove his stolen pickup to the self-storage business where he used his key card on the gate, parked in front of unit 47, and twirled the knob on a combination lock.

From inside, he grabbed the only item stored there—a standard black nylon carry-on suitcase with wheels and a telescoping handle. It served as his “bug out bag” and contained burner phones, driver’s licenses, passports, facial disguises, bundles of cash in small bills, and a few tools for working on sailboat trolling motors, or “kickers,” as they were often called.

The next stop was a steakhouse for lunch, where he enjoyed his first decent meal in over one hundred and eighty days. The thick and juicy medium-rare ribeye, loaded baked potato, and ice-cold beer had never tasted so good. He took his time savoring every bite and sip.

After his meal, he enjoyed a slice of carrot cake for dessert, along with a cup of rich coffee that put the prison’s watery version to shame. He paid in cash and tipped the waitress well, but not so much as to be memorable.

Willie blasted his radio as he drove to Marina del Rey, which boasted the largest man-made recreational boat harbor in North America. With over 5,000 boats in the marina to choose from, it would be a boat thief’s buffet for a talented person like himself. Every day in prison, month after month, he’d imagined stealing a beautiful sailboat from Marina del Rey. It had kept his dreams alive.

On his way to the famous boat harbor, he swung by a sign shop and bought a large, custom, print-on-demand adhesive decal designed to stick onto the stern of a fiberglass boat. The bright white decal with navy blue letters featured the Spanish words Rosa Blanca, meaning “White Rose,” a testimony to any plain blanca boat.

He paid cash for the sign and an installation kit that included a bottle of decal application solution and a squeegee.

Arriving near Marina del Rey yacht harbor, Willie parked several blocks away and put on a blue ball cap emblazoned in white letters with the word “CAPTAIN” and an illustration of a boat anchor. He used disinfectant wipes to clean the truck’s steering wheel, door handles and driver’s seat, left the windows open and walked to the marina while pulling his carry-on bag along beside him.

Approaching a locked pedestrian gate, he cheerfully greeted a couple on their way out. “Beautiful day for boating.”

They returned his smile and held the door open for him.

After gaining entry, he strolled the docks and searched for an unoccupied sailboat that wasn’t connected to the marina’s electricity and water supply, indicating boat owners who might only use their vessel on weekends.

Soon he found the perfect sailboat. A 2020 Beneteau Oceanis 30.1. The thirty-foot sailing yacht was not too big, not too small, in top condition, but beautifully plain looking, with white sails and no unique custom graphics on the port or starboard sides. He recognized it from when both Sail Magazine and Cruising World had given it boat of the year for 2020 as best performance cruiser.

He noted the motor was a push-button start kind that didn’t require a key. The two words on the boat’s existing decal spelling Nauti Time, were close enough in size to the words on his new one.

Thousands of boats were stolen every year in the United States, and Willie had plenty of experience. Few locations were as free from law enforcement oversight as the open ocean. His favorite place.

The Southern border and coastal waters presented an import-export business opportunity for boat captains with brass cojones.

Willie made sure nobody was observing him or the boat he’d chosen, then boarded Nauti Time, leaned over the stern transom, and attached his decal right on top of the original boat name, changing it to Rosa Blanca. He liked how the name was positioned on the fold-down swim platform, because he could let it down and hide the name whenever he wanted to be anonymous.

The boat flew two flags at the stern. An American flag on the starboard side and a black pirate flag featuring a white skull and two crossed swords on the portside. Below the pirate flag was a woman’s bright red brassiere. Willie guessed the bra might be the idea of a frat boy who used his parents’ boat. He removed the Jolly Roger and bra, and kept the Stars and Stripes which he’d be required to display when visiting Mexico.

He picked the lock, went below, found the battery switches in the aft stateroom and flipped them on so he could start the inboard motor. Moving to the electric panel, he gave power to various parts of the vessel.

He returned to the the aft deck cockpit and used the power button to start the Yanmar diesel motor and was rewarded with a throaty growl.

Willie felt a deep appreciation for the noble vessel. His love of sailboats and the wild ocean had no logical explanation. Few people would understand, but the ones who did were his kind of folks. Willie was a boat lover and a kleptomaniac who could not stop himself from stealing this floating work of art.

He justified it by telling himself the owner was a privileged rich jerk who had his boat fully insured and that the insurance company was a billion-dollar corporation run by a few rich jerks who underpaid their employees.

They could kiss his poor broke ass.

The sailboat would provide Willie with no cost transportation to Mexico, a rent-free place to live, and the ability to catch seafood for his daily meals. In addition, he’d once again earn cash by transporting harmless but illegal cargo along the coast.

He untied the lines, stood at the dual helms and chose the starboard wheel to steer as he cruised out of the boat slip. Nobody in the busy marina paid any attention to the Rosa Blanca as its captain idled his boat slowly and politely through a no-wake zone, and past the sheriff dock near the exit, where a uniformed deputy sat in the office watching sports on a computer monitor.

As Willie left the harbor, he softly sang the melancholy George Strait song, “Marina Del Rey.” At the part about leaving his heart behind there, he choked up and couldn’t sing the rest.

Willie proceeded onto the Pacific Ocean, where he turned off the transponder, causing the boat’s ID to vanish from the Automatic Identification System. He would travel as one of the countless anonymous vessels on the world’s seven seas.

He hoisted the mainsail with practiced skill and then deployed the jib. As Willie traveled south, he stood in the warm sunshine, took deep breaths of salty air, and thoroughly enjoyed being out of prison and free on the water. It was a miracle.

The prison minister had once told him that a carpenter recruited fishermen who were sinners and needed forgiveness and redemption. Maybe this carpenter who helped fishermen long ago, would help him, too. If so, he’d be the only person who’d ever helped Willie without payment. Except for Franz, of course. The thought of Franz feeling confused and missing him made his heart ache.

Later that day, while sailing his stolen boat on approach to San Diego, Willie felt nervous as he came closer to Naval Base Coronado with its armed ships and dangerous SEALs.

He headed west instead of south, farther out on the ocean, and gave San Diego a wide berth. After an hour detour, he entered Mexican waters, piloted closer to shore, and enjoyed sailing past the beaches of Rosarito, Ensenada, and eventually Cabo San Lucas, where he anchored out and spent the night. Before bed, he did some fishing and caught a grouper, a gift from Mother Ocean, and grilled it for dinner.

The next morning, he rounded Baja Peninsula’s cape and arrived at the Gulf of California. Many people didn’t know Mexico had two gulfs. Sailing onto the Sea of Cortez, he thanked his lucky stars to be a free man entering paradise. Now to contact Andres. He’d been dreading it. The man had a violent temper, and Willie didn’t appreciate being threatened.

However, he couldn’t run his freelance transportation business without paying protection money to Andres, who wielded the power of life and death in Baja and the Sea of Cortez.

He sent a text to a burner phone number he’d memorized. Hey, it’s Captain Crunchy. I’m back. Let’s get busy reuniting some families again.

He added a code word and patiently waited for a reply.

A text from Andres lit up his phone screen. There’s a problem right now. A curious norteamericano took video of me on my boat and gave a copy to la Policía Federal.

Willie felt a chill. Andres had a paid snitch among the Mexican feds? He’d probably had one at the prison, where Willie spent six months killing time and trying not to get killed.

Sorry to hear that. Is it a temporary situation?

Andres texted. Yes. The problem will be eliminated soon.

Willie knew what that meant. The problem-causing man would be murdered. There were plenty of cartel sicarios who’d do it for an affordably low sum of cash if they weren’t busy that night. Life was cheap to the cartels. I’ll wait to hear from you.

Andres didn’t reply.

Willie shook his head. The criminal had just put him on standby for an indefinite time, and now he couldn’t earn a living.

He thought it over. His life would be vastly improved if Andres relocated, went to prison, or died. Was there any way to make it happen without involving himself?

CHAPTER 39

In the morning, Jake woke up feeling rested and rejuvenated. He’d slept well after drinking the seltzer and making love with Sarah.

He thought to himself, I might have to make that a nightly habit.

His phone buzzed with a call from Dominic, the La Paz police officer.

“Jake, there’s been a bank robbery downtown, and we could use some help from your search dog to find the two criminals if you’re in port and not at sea.”

“We’re at Delfines Marina,” Jake said. “Give me your location, and I’ll bring Cody there right now.”

Dominic recited the address. “Bank video shows their getaway car driver abandoned them, so they had to take off running.”

“They can’t have gone too far,” Jake said.

“We have the block surrounded. Muchas gracias for your help.”

“De nada.” Jake ended the call and checked his GPS.

“What’s up?” Sarah said.

“The police want Cody to search for some criminals who robbed a bank.”

“I’m coming with you.”

They both changed into long pants and shoes, and Sarah grabbed her white lab coat and doctor’s bag.

Jake drove the SUV a few miles and pulled over across the street from a small bank. They’d be searching a city block lined with restaurants, gift shops, and other small businesses.

As Jake held Cody by the leash, Dominic greeted them and gave a quick sitrep. “After two armed men robbed the bank and fled, a police officer on foot patrol chased the suspects, but they disappeared. He called for backup, and now we have the block surrounded.”

Jake said, “You think the suspects are hiding in one of the businesses?”

“Yes, we’re hoping Cody will find them.”

Sarah stood beside Jake, dressed in her white lab coat, and displaying her laminated Policía Federal identification card on a lanyard around her neck.

A female La Paz police officer walked past and gave Sarah a nod, appearing glad to have her on the scene. News had spread about how Sarah cured Roman Tovar’s “incurable” lung troubles, and of course how she saved Pecas, the gentle spotted horse loved by everyone who met her.

Dominic handed Jake a walkie-talkie style radio. “Gabriel is here and wants you to carry this.”

Jake held the borrowed police radio as it hissed lightly with static, and he heard Gabriel say, “K9 unit, prepare to deploy on my command.”

Jake said, “Entendido.”

Cody pawed at the ground, sensing Jake’s energy, ready for action.

“Almost go time,” Jake said to his dog.

Gabriel spoke on the radio again. “K9 team, deploy.”

Jake replied, “K9 team deploying.”

Sarah said, “Good hunting.”

Jake led Cody past uniformed cops, who stepped aside for the infamous duo that had rescued Pilar, a family member of local law enforcement officials.

Jake drew his handgun, ejected the magazine full of 9mm rounds, and held it in front of Cody. “Scent this.”

Cody sniffed the mag, then raised his nose and inhaled the mixed aromas of a bustling city block.

Jake headed across the street to the bank. The suspects had fired one pistol round at the ceiling to cause panic. “Seek guns, Cody.”

Cody sniffed the bank’s door and pawed at it, and Jake led him inside. The dog’s nostrils flared, and he growled once he smelled the gun smoke. The highly trained animal could identify any gun as an individual item, and now he would search for the one that had been fired.

Bank employees stared at Cody in wonder. His fame had spread through town.

Jake asked them, “Who handed over the money?”

A woman translated for the others and then stepped forward. “I’m the manager. I gave away the cash to save my coworkers’ lives.”

“I admire your bravery and wisdom under pressure.”

She relaxed her shoulders and let out a breath. “I was terrified.”

Jake said, “That was their intention.”

She looked at Cody. “Is your dog going to hunt them down?”

Jake nodded, then dropped to one knee and scratched Cody behind his ears. “Can you find the gun, Cody? Seek the gun. Seek. Seek. Seek.”

Cody pulled on his leash and headed for the door.

They exited the bank, and Cody paused to take deep breaths, turning his head back and forth. Jake knew his dog could smell the criminals’ scent trail from when they arrived, as well as when they ran away. “Follow the gun, Cody.”

Cody moved quickly down the street and into the charming downtown historic district, as he tracked the recently fired pistol.

Jake gave Cody his head and let the dog follow an invisible scent trail only he could detect.

Gabriel jogged up to them carrying a rifle, and walked by Jake’s side, protectively. Cody gave a quick sniff to Gabriel’s weapon and then got right back to work.

Jake appreciated his new friend acting as Cody’s bodyguard.

Cody stopped abruptly and sniffed the ground, then raised his nose and inhaled deep breaths. He led Jake on a fast search until he stopped at a botánica. An unusual store that sold herbal remedies, folk medicines, candles imprinted with prayers, and statuettes of saints. Some people referred to botánicas as places for brujas, or witches.

A woman sitting behind the counter appeared as if she might be ninety or a hundred years old. She looked out the sunny window, patiently waiting for customers to buy exotic medecina herbs and potions such as sangra de drago—dragon’s blood tree sap.

Cody pulled on the leash, straining toward the shop.

“Are the suspects in there?” Gabriel asked.

The woman gave Jake a toothless smile and beckoned him with one gnarled hand to come inside.

Jake said, “I don’t think so, but I’m going to ask her if she saw them.” He opened the door and led Cody into the shop, leaving Gabriel outside. His dog sniffed and tasted the air filled with many strange aromas and growled at a mummified stillborn baby llama hanging from the ceiling by a slender rope.

“Leave it.” Jake paused to bow his head and make the sign of the cross in front of a life-size human skeleton dressed in festive female clothing and seated on a throne like a queen. It was known as Santa Muerte, Saint Death, also affectionally referred to by the faithful believers as La Patrona, or the Bony Lady

The shop’s proprietor nodded in approval. She wore a thin silver chain around her neck that held a small figurine of the same skeleton lady. “Do you need La Patrona’s help to find dos criminales?”

Jake said, “Si, señora. Por favor. Did you see the men run by here?”

She pointed out the window and down the street. “Yes, they turned left at the corner.”

Jake tried to give her some money, but she tilted her head at the skeleton, which had a tray across its lap that held offerings. He placed the money on a dish and led Cody outside.

Gabriel said, “Did she see anything?”

“She said they turned left at the corner.”

“Does Cody agree?”

Jake spoke to his dog. “Find the gun, Cody.”

Cody raised his nose, trotted to the corner, and stopped.

Jake hurried along by his side, giving slack to the leash.

Gabriel kept up with them. “Now we’ll see if that woman told the truth.”

Cody pulled on the leash and indicated he wanted to turn left.

“I’ll stop traffic,” Gabriel said, walking into the road with one hand up.

After a moment, the cars had stopped for la Policía Federal, so Jake led Cody across the street. “Where’s the gun? Seek. Seek. Seek.”

CHAPTER 40

Jake felt animal energy traveling up from the leash between them. His dog was getting closer to the targets. Halfway down the block, Cody moved cautiously and stopped in front of an alley.

Jake drew his pistol. “This looks like a place for an ambush.”

Gabriel raised his rifle and walked ahead. “If anyone threatens Cody, I’ll blow their head off.”

“Thanks, but what if they threaten me?”

“You’re on your own. Good luck.”

Jake only nodded at the gallows humor shared by people in the military or law enforcement when facing the threat of death.

Cody followed the scent trail and stopped halfway down the alley in back of a building. He sniffed a steel door along its gap near the knob and sat down.

A sign on the door read:

Privado. No Entrar.

Private. Do Not Enter.

Jake tried the doorknob and found it locked. He whispered to Gabriel. “Cody tracked down the pistol fired at the bank robbery.”

“You’re sure?”

“Ninety percent sure.”

“Close enough.” Gabriel keyed the mic on his radio, spoke quietly in Spanish, and then told Jake, “I sent people to cover the front entrance.”

Cody pawed at Jake’s holster.

Jake said, “My dog’s telling me he smells a handgun in there.”

Gabriel appeared dubious. “Are you joking?”

“No. He’s smarter than both of us put together.”

Jake heard a scuffle inside and a woman crying out in pain. He cursed. “I’m going in.”

He pulled his knife and inserted its blade in the gap, twisted hard, and popped the latch from its strike plate. Sheathing his knife and drawing his pistol, Jake burst inside while hearing a voice in his head from a bootcamp drill instructor shouting, Marines always run toward the fighting!

Gabriel followed Jake and Cody into the building.

When a man leaned out from an inside doorway and fired his pistol at them, two rounds hit the wall between Jake and Gabriel.

Jake double-tapped him in self-defense. The gunman fell into the hallway and lay there unmoving.

Gabriel stood next to Jake and shot the criminal with several rifle rounds. “It’s important my bullets are found in the autopsy.”

Cody snarled and pulled at the leash, but Jake held him back and told Gabriel, “The other bank robber is close by.”

Gabriel nodded. “He can’t run out the front or back doors.”

“And he won’t surrender.”

“No, he’ll fight to the death for glory.”

“Let’s help him with that.” Jake moved slowly down the hallway with Cody by his side.

When they came to where the hall turned right, Cody stopped and remained silent with his hackles standing up. Jake raised his pistol and aimed it at the corner. A man stepped out, holding a woman hostage, one of his hands grasping the hair on top of her head, and the other aiming a pistol at her ribs. He told Jake and Gabriel to drop their guns. “¡Suelta tu armas!”

“Sí, señor,” Jake said, drawing the gunman’s attention.

When the man looked at Jake, Gabriel fired multiple rounds into the criminal’s right shoulder, rendering his arm and gun hand useless and forcing him to let go of the hostage. The woman went limp and dropped to the floor.

Jake and Gabriel both shot the gunman in the head, and he fell next to his unconscious former hostage.

Speaking in Spanish, Gabriel reported into his radio that both criminals were dead.

When Cody smelled blood, he whined and pulled on the leash, straining to move forward.

“Cody needs to identify the pistol, for closure of his mission.”

“Go ahead.”

Jake walked forward.

After rushing to the dead man’s hand, Cody sniffed his pistol, sat down, and let out a deep growl.

“You found the gun. I knew you could do it. Good job.” Jake dropped to one knee and hugged his dog. “I’m so proud of you, Cody boy. Who’s the best search dog? You are.”

Cody pawed at one of the dead man’s pockets.

Jake gloved up, checked the pocket, and found what looked like a large rabbit’s foot. After studying it for a moment, he realized it was actually a hoof from a stillborn baby llama, like the one Cody found at the botánica. Now he understood his dog’s desire to search the woman’s store.

Gabriel found a gym bag and unzipped the top. “The dinero.”

“Gonna keep it like the Jet Ski?”

“I wish,” Gabriel said as he closed the zipper and stepped into the front area of the store.

Jake followed him and looked around at the many neatly stacked piles of fruits and vegetables. “Farmer’s market?”

“It’s a verdulería. A fruit and vegetable shop.” Gabriel carried the gym bag and led them out the front door as several uniformed La Paz police officers rushed in to secure the building.

A freelance news reporter wearing round glasses that made him look like John Lennon of the Beatles called out and asked for a photo of the dog with the money.

Jake agreed to it. He always tried to do some public relations for Cody, so people would cut the ornery dog some slack when he pulled a mischievous prank like eating somebody’s ice cream cone or stealing their sandwich. “Cody, sit.”

When Cody sat down, Gabriel set the bag in front of him and unzipped it to reveal the stolen cash.

The reporter took several photos and a short video. “Excelente. Gracias.”

“I heard gunfire,” Sarah said as she joined them. “Is everybody okay?”

“Yeah, we’re good,” Jake said.

“Do either of the bank robbers require an ambulance?” Sarah asked.

Gabriel held eye contact with the reporter instead of Sarah. “No, they tried to kill us, and I had to shoot them in self-defense.”

The reporter took phone video of Gabriel’s statement. “You had no choice.”

“That’s right.”

Osorio stood in the gathered crowd, watching Jake Wolfe with his war dog and girlfriend. Now that he knew Far Niente was unoccupied, he pulled out his phone and sent a text message to a paid accomplice, giving him the go-ahead to swim in the marina, dive beneath the surface and plant a tracking device in a waterproof holder onto the boat’s submerged hull. The search dog wouldn’t be able to smell it, nor the man who put it there.

Osorio admired the beautiful power catamaran’s image on his phone. He would’ve loved to own a vessel like that, but Andres had claimed it for his own. Osorio wanted to tell him that paying a sicario to murder a dangerous man didn’t give you rights to the deceased’s yacht. An abandoned boat on the sea was up for grabs. First come, first served. It was the “right of possession” rule of marine salvage, in his opinion.

If Andres wanted Jake Wolfe dead, so be it. Osorio didn’t tell Andres he’d already been contracted by a Chinese national who would pay him to kill Wolfe because his dog had found the drying house.

His plan was sneak onto Wolfe’s boat when it was out on the sea at night, kill the crew and toss their bodies overboard, then steal the beautiful bluewater motor yacht and cruise across the gulf to the mainland on the other side. Perhaps a quiet harbor along the East shore near Mazatlán. He’d tell Andres the boat sank. Such a shame.

Jake drove the SUV back to Delfines Marina. Upon arrival, they walked past the boat slip of their new friends, the Korean couple named Kang and Yoon. Their deckhand, Tracy, was busy doing maintenance chores. She disembarked and spoke to them.

“Hey, I wanted to let you know there was a sketchy man looking at your boat today, but he didn’t go on board.”

Sarah asked. “What made him appear sketchy to you?”

“Crudely made tattoos on his neck,” Tracy said.

“Prison tats,” Jake said. “I’ll have Cody search the boat, just in case.”

“You said we could all belong to a neighborhood watch at the marina,” Tracy said.

Sarah nodded. “You did us a favor, Tracy. Thanks.”

Tracy smiled and got back to work polishing the brass.

Jake led Cody to their boat and stepped onto the aft deck. “Search, Cody. Find the man.”

Cody raised his nose and sampled the air, then leaned down and sniffed the deck. He moved back and forth, checked the outdoor furniture, and then did a complete circuit of the boat on the walkaround decks.

Jake followed his dog to the bow and back. “No man?”

Cody barked twice.

“Okay, buddy. Thanks for searching.”

Sarah said, “Maybe the guy was looking for valuables he could grab, but we didn’t leave anything laying out to be stolen.”

“Let’s hope that’s all it was,” Jake said as he looked back and forth, checking the perimeter for any threats.

CHAPTER 41

The next morning in La Paz, Jake and Sarah led Cody on a walk to their favorite beachside grill where a cheerful married couple served octopus tacos. On the way, they stopped at the neighboring Puerta Cortes marina’s offices and entered their “ship’s store.” Sarah picked out a tube of lip balm and went to the register. Next to it sat a display rack featuring the issue of Boating Magazine with Sarah on the cover, wearing a bikini and standing up in a luxurious center console boat, with Jake at the wheel and Cody in the bow letting ocean breezes ruffle his fur.

The clerk stared at Sarah in disbelief and gestured at the magazine cover. “Is it really you?”

Sarah chuckled. “Yes, it’s really me.”

“May I please have your autograph?” He set down a copy of the magazine and held out a black sharp point marker.

“Of course.” Sarah politely obliged him by signing her name.

“Could you sign all of our copies for sale?”

“Sure, I’d be happy to.” Sarah added her autograph to a dozen magazine covers.

“Thank you so much,” he said. “You’re even prettier in person, and you smell like heaven. Are you staying here at our marina?”

Jake spoke up. “No, my girlfriend and I are visiting for the day and then heading back to Cabo.”

The man took one look at Jake and slumped his shoulders. “Let me ring up your purchase.” He recited the total due.

Jake paid him and leaned closer. “I’m on that cover, too. Do you want my autograph? How about my dog’s paw print? Do I smell good, or does my dog smell better?”

The clerk shook his head, appearing sheepish, apologetic, and intimidated. He didn’t say a word.

Jake led Cody outside.

Sarah walked with them and said, “Being even slightly famous is totally weird.”

Jake headed toward the Malecon beach. “I hope your temporary fame among boaters isn’t a problem for you.”

She shook her head. “No, I can deal with one overenthusiastic fan.”

It was a gorgeous day at the Malecon, with birds singing, not a cloud in the sky, and a sea breeze that cooled the warm salty beach air.

Jake led Sarah and Cody to the humble outdoor seafood grill, where he greeted the married couple who ran it.

While they sat and ate a quick breakfast, he noticed a man seated at one of the couple’s wooden picnic tables who appeared to be asleep, with his face and arms down on the tabletop.

The husband told Jake, “I patted him on the back and said to wake up, but he must be either drunk or stoned out of his mind.”

Jake said, “In the States, we use the term ‘drug zombie’ for people who appear dead for hours and then come back to life.”

The husband nodded. “Zombi de la droga.”

Cody pulled Jake by the leash and led him to the sleeping man.

“Do you smell a gun?” Jake asked.

Cody focused his nose on the man’s right ear that rested against the wooden tabletop. His nostrils flared as he inhaled, and he let out a low growl but didn’t sit down.

Jake made a closer inspection and spotted a drop of blood. “Sarah, can you look at this?”

Sarah checked the man’s wrist for a heartbeat, and her face paled. “He’s dead.”

“Maybe stabbed in the brain through the ear?”

She blinked at him. “You’re familiar with this cause of death?”

“Uh, I’ve heard about ice pick murders, where the victim is quietly stabbed in the ear from behind.”

She said, “The police might suspect our friends because the body is seated at one of their tables.”

Jake looked around. “No. He was found over there on that public bench. Help me move him.”

“Jake, this is so wrong.”

“Sorry, but we need to protect our friends.” He put on nitrile gloves and handed her a pair.

Sarah helped him move the body. They posed the man lying on his back. Jake took a picture with his phone and texted it to Dominic, his La Paz police officer friend, along with a message. This person was murdered.

Dominic called him. “You expect me to believe you had nothing to do with that?”

“Cody led me right to the guy. Sarah and I thought he was passed out until we saw blood and checked his pulse.”

“I’m on my way.”

When Dominic arrived, Jake asked him, “Are there any security cameras on this part of the Malecon?”

“None that I know of,” Dominic said.

Jake led him to the body. “Does this man’s face look familiar? I feel like I’ve seen those round glasses before.”

Dominic gloved up and checked the man’s wallet and ID. “I recognize his name. He was a reporter working on an investigative series about narcotics-related crimes.”

Jake knew that journalists who investigated cartels were often targeted for murder by narco-assassins. The Mexican federal police had files on over a hundred people in the news media who’d been shot, or died in suspicious accidents, or vanished without a trace. “Was he at the produce store, the verdulería, when Cody found the bank robbers?”

Dominic nodded. “Yes. He said Gabriel had no choice but to shoot the criminals in self-defense.”

“His body was left here to threaten other reporters.”

CHAPTER 42

While Dominic and his fellow police officers tagged and bagged the reporter’s body, Jake was free to go, so he and Sarah walked farther along the Malecon beach and Cody splashed his paws in the surf.

Jake hoped for a relaxing break from the stress of law enforcement, but his dog stopped and sniffed at something that looked like a small piece of driftwood, then pawed at the wet sand and growled.

“What is it, boy?” Jake saw that Cody had found a severed human hand at the water’s edge, and he felt a chill run down his spine. Upon closer inspection, he noticed that every fingertip had been seared, leaving no prints. He called Dominic again. “You’re not going to believe what else Cody found.”

Dominic sighed. “If you’re involved, I’d believe just about anything is possible.”

“Cody never fails to surprise me,” Jake said. “He tracked down somebody’s chopped-off hand. Looks recently removed.”

“I’ll head in your direction.”

“We’ll wait here and prevent anyone from disturbing the crime scene.”

“Be alert for threats.”

“Roger that,” Jake said.

“Jake, remember, we say ‘understood,’ not Roger.”

“Understood.”

A few minutes later, Dominic drove his police SUV along the beach and parked on the sand. “Let me see what you found.”

Jake led him to where Cody stood guarding the severed hand. “Out, Cody. Be friends.”

Dominic took pictures, then gloved up and placed the evidence into a zip-top plastic bag. “This looks like the work of narco-traffickers. It usually only happens up north, near the border towns. Never here in La Paz.”

“Can you run a DNA test and search for a match in CODIS?”

“What is CODIS?”

“The US has a Combined DNA Index System. As a US Marshal serving on a joint task force, I can give you access.”

“Sorry, our computer system is unstable right now,” Dominic said. “We think it may be some kind of virus.”

“I know a cop named Roxanne who could probably remove that for you.”

“How does a virus gain access in the first place?”

“Somebody injects a self-replicating worm that backdoors any and all connected devices,” Jake said.

Dominic stared at him in confusion. “Worm?”

“A worm is a spyware program designed to spread all over the planet.”

“How does it work?”

“One of your computers gets infected by an innocent looking email that contains a phishing link,” Jake said. “Anyone who clicks that link accidentally downloads a malicious file, and they open a Pandora’s box that can’t be closed. After the worm penetrates your system, it goes on to silently replicate itself by infecting every drive it comes in contact with, forever.”

“Scary stuff.”

Jake nodded. “It also sends an email to all of your contacts, passing on the virus to your recipients who unknowingly pass it to others, etcetera.”

“An unwanted gift that keeps on giving.”

“One malware named Coat Hanger—a remote access trojan, or RAT—can remain on some devices even after a full security update, providing hackers with permanent access.”

Jake realized the local officials were out of their depth in sleepy La Paz. Although it was the capital of the state of Baja California Sur, it remained a quiet beach town where even multi-millionaire tourists felt safe. Bill Gates and Steven Spielberg had both been guests at Puerta Cortes in the past. La Paz attracted wealthy people who prized quiet, anonymous relaxation.

“Is there another city that can handle the DNA work?”

Dominic nodded. “Yes, one of our cops will take a DNA sample to the police lab in Cabo San Lucas. It’s about a three-hour drive, one way.”

Jake said, “I know a palm-reading psychic named Beatrice who might be able to study this hand and tell us something unusual about the victim that a DNA test won’t.”

A younger officer accompanying Dominic scoffed at the notion. “You’re loco.”

Dominic’s brow furrowed as he appeared to think it over. “Is this supposed palm reader of yours here in La Paz?”

“No. Up north in San Francisco.”

Dominic said, “That’s a shame. Maybe we could pack the hand in dry ice and ship it to Beatrice by FedEx.”

The cop who doubted Jake’s claims about a palm reader said, “You think US customs agents would allow a severed human hand across the border?”

Jake said, “How do you think a donated organ gets from one hospital to another hundreds of miles away?”

The cop said, “I’m sure that works inside the United States, but organs cannot be shipped internationally across borders.”

“I didn’t know that,” Jake said. “Thanks for enlightening me. What if I pay for Beatrice’s plane ticket to La Paz?”

Dominic said, “That might work, but why would she fly here and help our city without pay?”

“Beatrice believes her powers are a gift from heaven and she must use them for the greater good,” Jake said.

Jake had no idea where the alleged psychic’s visions came from. He thought they were drawn from someplace mystical and inexplicable, but not the occult—Beatrice was too religious for that. It was probably a power scientists didn’t yet know of, like when Italian inventor Guglielmo Marconi claimed voices and music could travel through the air on invisible wavelengths over long distances and then be heard on a new invention called a radio. People thought he was crazy. Legend claimed that when Marconi first applied for funding to build his wireless communication machine, someone wrote on the document, “to the Longara,” referring to the famous insane asylum.

“Let me see if she has time for a phone call.”

CHAPTER 43

Jake talked with Beatrice for a minute and clicked off.

Dominic asked, “What did she say?”

“She’ll be on the next available flight to La Paz.” Jake sent a text to Secret Service Agent Shannon McKay and asked if she could assist with Beatrice’s travel plans.

Jake, Sarah, and Cody had several hours to wait for Beatrice’s flight to arrive, so they spent time walking around near the Malecon and shopping for fresh produce. They bought avocados, limes, onions, tomatoes, jalapeños, and freshly made tortilla chips, so they could make guacamole later that evening.

While Jake and Sarah explored the streets of La Paz, Jake kept Cody on a short leash, but they didn’t come across any problems. He bought a scoop of vanilla ice cream and set down the bowl for his dog to enjoy.

Cody pushed the bowl back and forth on the ground as he gobbled its contents and then licked his snout and looked at Jake for second helpings.

The seller of ice cream clapped her hands and said Cody was very funny, “Muy gracioso.”

After a while, they went back to their boat, put the food away, got into the SUV and drove to La Paz International Airport.

Jake took the exit marked Aeropuerto Internacional Manuel Márquez de León.

Driving to an area reserved for private aircraft, he pulled up and parked. “Bart’s jet will arrive any minute now,” he said, referring to his wealthy attorney friend Gregory “Bart” Bartholomew.

“That was incredibly generous of him to fly Beatrice here on short notice,” Sarah said. “Does he have business in La Paz?”

“Yes. He’s been investing in properties here,” Jake said. “Bart’s afraid wealthy celebrities will ruin the place.”

“I’d bet Agent McKay paid a fortune to charter his Gulfstream and crew for twenty-four hours.”

“You guessed it.”

Soon, a G550 twin engine jet airplane flew in for a perfect landing, taxied to the designated area and rolled to a stop. The door opened, and a blonde stewardess named Dawn stepped out in a stylish blue skirt suit, unfolded the stairs, waved at Jake and Sarah, and went back inside.

A tall black man disembarked and stepped into the blaze of warm sunshine. He wore a dark suit, white shirt, plain tie, polished black dress shoes, and a belt with a holstered pistol. He held one hand up to shield his eyes from the sun and glanced toward the SUV with a golden dog leaning his head out the window and barking at him.

“Hey, fuzzy butt,” Terrell Hayes called out. “Good to see you, Cody.”

Jake got out of the SUV, approached Terrell, shook his best friend’s hand, and then pulled him in for a man hug.

Terrell slapped Jake on the back. “Happy to see me, Jukebox?”

“Always, Loo-tenant Grinds. Were you in the mood for authentic Baja fish tacos, or what?”

“I knew Cody missed me. And of course, Agent McKay asked me to accompany Beatrice and assist your investigation. Everyone knows you need my guidance, Boot.”

“True dat.”

“I heard you were being a dumbass and scaring the locals by carrying a gun on the beach.”

Jake acted surprised. “What? Me being dumb? That would never happen.”

“Sure thing. Tell yourself that BS. Even Cody’s not buying it.”

Beatrice appeared in the jet’s doorway and carefully descended the stairs. The dignified gray-haired Italian woman wore khaki travel pants and a white blouse. She looked like a typical tourist except for her trademark bright red scarf and matching lipstick and fingernail polish.

Dawn closed the jet door behind Beatrice to keep hot air out of the air-conditioned cabin.

Terrell said, “When I stepped out of the jet, that bright sun slapped me in the face. What’s the temperature here today? Hot as balls?”

Jake looked down toward his belt buckle. “Speak for yourself.”

“Temperature,” Terrell said, giving his friend grief as he often did.

Jake checked his phone. “It’s nice and warm. Just right.”

Terrell said, “I’ve been here five minutes and I’m sweating already.”

“You always complain about the heat,” Jake said. “You complained in Honolulu, San Diego, and Key West. Now in La Paz, too? Maybe get over it already.”

Terrell raised his eyebrows. “Excuse me, Lance Corporal. Did this lieutenant ask for your unwanted advice? Check yourself, Jarhead.”

“Yes, sir. Right away, sir.”

Sarah stepped out of the SUV. “Hi, Terrell. Welcome to La Paz.”

Terrell gave her a platonic, brotherly hug. “Hey, Sarah. Are you managing to stay out of trouble while being first mate on the yacht?”

“No, not at all,” Sarah said with a smile. “It’s been all trouble, all the time.”

“I figured as much.”

Jake said, “Hey, at least I’m consistent.”

Terrell let out a breath. “Remember, Sarah, if you get fed up with Captain Bligh, you can always stage a mutiny on the Bounty.”

Sarah laughed.

Beatrice walked across the tarmac and spoke with an Italian accent. “Jake and Sarah, it’s a pleasure to see you again.”

Jake stepped forward and gently shook her hand. “Wonderful to see you, too, Beatrice. Sorry about the grim circumstances.”

Beatrice waved away his concerns. “Thank you for sending me a photo of the hand. I studied its palm and prayed for a vision. When I fell asleep on the flight, heaven sent me a dream that might guide us.”

Terrell put a small cigar in his mouth but didn’t light it. “Let’s get going to the police station so Beatrice can see the hand in person.”

Jake opened a back passenger door of the SUV for Beatrice. She slid in next to Cody, who woofed at her and wagged his tail.

“Hello, Cody,” Beatrice said. She held out her hand, and Cody offered his paw. She gazed into his eyes. “What did the hand you found smell like?”

Cody’s nostrils flared as if he were remembering the scent, then he whined.

Beatrice closed her eyes for a moment, then gently let go of his paw. “You’ll tell me more when you’re ready.”

As Jake started the engine, Sarah said, “Terrell you can ride shotgun.” She took a seat on the other side of Cody.

“Thanks, Sarah.” Terrell sat in the front passenger seat and adjusted the air conditioning vents. “Hopefully this rig’s A/C blows colder than a penguin’s pecker.”

“I’ll have to take your word for that,” Jake said.

Terrell then turned to Beatrice. “Did you use mind reading on the genius dog, aka Nostril-damus?”

Beatrice put on her seatbelt. “I can read yours, Terrell. You think I’m a fraud and that Jake is gullible for believing in my unusual gifts.”

Terrell gave her a polite smile. “I like you and want to believe you, but I’m a police detective and I never believe anyone or anything until I see proof. No offense.”

“None taken,” Beatrice said. “I’m not sure about you, either. You’ve never once let me study your palm. What secrets are you hiding?”

Terrell frowned and took the cigar out of his mouth. He faced forward and drummed the fingers of one hand on the dashboard.

As Jake drove off, he said, “Beatrice, Terrell has good reasons for not wanting to dwell on the past.” He didn’t mention Terrell’s head wound and his years of suffering from migraine headaches. He eventually had brain surgery which helped at first, but then his pain returned sporadically and the doctors couldn’t find out why.

Beatrice looked up at the mirror and caught Terrell’s eye. “All right. I only want to help my friends, if possible, but I’ll respect your privacy.”

“Thank you,” Terrell said.

They rode in silence until Jake pulled up in front of the main La Paz police station. A uniformed officer approached, carrying a rifle.

Jake held his badge and ID out the window. “Dominic is expecting us.”

The cop studied the ID, and then Jake. He swept one hand toward the building. “Go ahead.”

CHAPTER 44

Dominic met them at the door. “Bienvenidos, amigos. Please come inside and follow me.” He led them along a hallway to a meeting room with a conference table.

Terrell presented his badge. “SFPD homicide detective, Terrell Hayes.”

“Pleased to meet you,” Dominic said.

A uniformed cop walked in, set down an ice chest, and exited.

Dominic gloved up and withdrew a plastic evidence bag that contained the severed hand and set it on the table. “Beatrice, I don’t see how you can ID this without fingerprints.”

Beatrice said, “Think of a palm print as a large fingerprint.”

He blinked at her. “That would make sense if every palm in the world was unique.”

“They are,” she said. “No two hands are the same. Not even your own left and right.”

Jake said, “At some grocery stores in the US, you scan your palm as ID to pay at checkout.”

“That’s creepy,” Dominic said.

Jake agreed. “Yeah, I’d never do it.”

“Beatrice, you aren’t involved in the occult, are you?” Dominic raised his eyebrows.

“No. Palmistry is a science, in the same way fingerprint identification is a science. And as for my psychic gifts, I believe they come from a higher power and that I must use them for good.”

Jake noted how Beatrice was careful about how she presented herself. Throughout history, uniquely gifted women were accused of witchcraft. Many herbalists and healers had been subjected to hysterical witch hunts and burned at the stake. He told Dominic, “She’s a devout Catholic who helps raise money for the church’s food bank.”

Dominic appeared satisfied and gave Beatrice a nod in approval. “All right. This appears to be the left hand of a middle-aged Mexican male who wore a wedding ring. What more can you tell us?”

Beatrice studied the severed hand but didn’t touch it. She reached into her purse for a laminated color diagram of a palm and laid it on the conference table. With a red painted fingernail, she pointed at one of the many lines on the diagram.

“Here’s the life line,” she said, then gestured at the severed hand. “As you can see, the deceased’s life line was shorter than average.”

Everyone in the room glanced at their own right hand for a moment.

Dominic said, “Whew. Mine looks good. Will you read my palm after this?”

“Of course, but for now, let’s stay focused on the job, shall we?”

“Right.” Dominic’s cheeks flushed.

Beatrice tapped on the diagram. “The fate line indicates this person was destined to experience a tragedy at some point in life. While not necessarily fatal, when combined with the short life line, it could create a multiplier effect.”

Sarah spoke up. “Any idea who he was or why this happened?”

Beatrice pointed at the thumb. “The rare three phalanges of this thumb indicate what palmistry describes as a ‘murderer’s thumb,’ and I also see indications of money crossing the palm.”

Jake said, “Maybe he was a paid killer. The cartel narco-terrorists employ plenty of hired guns. His career might’ve been terminated, literally.”

Beatrice went on. “In palmistry, there are six types of hands. We refer to them as earth, air, fire, water, wood, and metal. A long rectangular palm like this one, combined with these short fingers, indicates a fire hand.”

“Meaning?” Sarah said.

“A person with fire hands can be opinionated, ambitious, impatient, bold, reckless, accident-prone, and occasionally lacking compassion.”

“Someone who might commit a crime,” Terrell said.

“True, or they could start a risky business venture and fight for success against the competition until they become successful and provide all kinds of jobs to local people.”

Jake thought it over for a moment. “What if this person did both? Went into a criminal cartel business, and fought rival gangs in a turf war?”

Dominic said, “I’m no psychic, but that chopped-off hand with erased fingerprints tells me your guess may be correct.”

Beatrice pointed at the diagram again. “The man’s short, vertical sun line tells me he suffered from bad luck. In comparison, when I read Jake’s palm recently, his long sun line indicated the opposite. Plenty of good luck.”

Jake lifted the hem of his shirt for a second with one hand to reveal battle scars on his chest, including the recent gunshot wound. “Do I appear lucky? You’re kidding me, right?”

Beatrice said, “Paulo Coelho wrote that you should be proud of your scars. They remind you that you have the will to live.”

Jake nodded. “Good advice.”

“However, Jake, I don’t want to see your scars again. They already told me a horror story about your battles and wounds. It would be overwhelming for me to relive that experience.”

“I’m sorry, ma’am. I apologize.”

“You’re incredibly lucky to have survived those injuries,” Beatrice said. “Lucky to be alive. Lucky your home is a motor yacht. Lucky you adopted Cody. Lucky to be in a relationship with Sarah. Lucky Far Niente is docked in beautiful La Paz. I could go on and on.”

“You’re right, and thanks for the reminder,” Jake said. “I am grateful.”

Sarah gave him a warm smile and placed her hand on Cody’s back. “We’re lucky and grateful, too.”

“Sarah, when I read your palm several months ago, I found a simian line. It’s a special trait where the two individual horizontal lines of the head and the heart are combined into one.”

“I remember you mentioning that,” Sarah said, “but I didn’t understand what it meant.”

“Your logic and emotions combine to make you passionate about life,” Beatrice said. “For example, after careful thought, you followed your heart and mind into a career you loved rather than one with a far higher income.”

Sarah said, “Veterinarians don’t get rich quick.”

“This hand has a wide gap between those lines, indicating the man’s head and heart were not in alignment. He could use logical justifications to talk himself into doing things he knew in his heart were wrong.”

Dominic said, “Narcos offer you the choice of taking their money, or taking a bullet.”

Jake hoped Dominic wasn’t speaking from personal experience.

Beatrice said, “I’ll need to touch the hand now in order to learn more.”

“It’s evidence,” Dominic said. “You have to wear gloves.”

She considered the idea. “I don’t know if that will work for me.”

“Please give it a try,” Dominic said.

Jake handed Beatrice a pair of thin blue nitrile gloves. “Sorry to put you through this, my friend.”

“I want to help the police.” Beatrice pulled on both gloves, reached out, and pressed her right palm down against the cold, dead hand. She immediately cried out, withdrew her hand, and stepped back. “God help us.”

Jake said, “What did you see?”

“I caught a glimpse of his final moments, when a brutal man hacked at him with a machete and another shouted questions.”

Dominic grimaced. “That’s a well-known narco-terrorist method of painful interrogation. Today, this man’s head might be left on display in public as a warning.”

“I’ll try again.” Beatrice placed her gloved right hand on top of the severed one and held it there. She closed her eyes and swayed on her feet as her face paled and her body shivered. She pulled away again. “He was interrogated on the deck of a boat.”

“What kind of boat?” Dominic said. “Did you see the name?”

Beatrice shook her head. “A white boat with one motor.”

“Offshore of La Paz?” Jake said.

“Yes, very close by. Last night, I believe.”

Dominic nodded. “Sounds like they abducted him from our city and cruised onto the Bay of La Paz.”

“Once on the bay, they didn’t waste any time getting started,” Jake said.

Sarah said, “If the body part was tossed overboard close to shore, that could explain why a shark didn’t eat it.”

Jake turned to Beatrice. “Can you tell if he gave up any information that might help us find the killers?”

“No, he claimed to know nothing.”

“Do you have a sense of the questions they asked?”

“They were seeking the location of a hidden meth lab so they could steal the drugs. However, this man didn’t know anything about that. He was bewildered.”

Dominic blinked at her. “Stealing from a cartel is a bad idea.”

“I can learn more from the wedding ring,” She squeezed the ring between her forefinger and thumb, and closed her eyes. “This ring has power. I see its story.”

CHAPTER 45

Jake said, “What’s the ring telling you?

Beatrice took a deep breath and let it out. “This man’s wife is still alive. I feel her heartache.”

“Location?” Dominic asked.

“Someplace near water. The criminals kidnapped her husband at bed time. He made her hide and promise to be quiet. She saw him being abducted and taken away on a boat.”

Dominic gave her a skeptical look. “Baja is a peninsula, twelve hundred kilometers long and surrounded by water on both sides.”

“This home was right on the seashore,” Beatrice said.

Sarah spoke up. “Would it help to visit the beach where Cody found that hand?”

“Yes, it might. I’d like to stand barefoot on the exact spot where it washed up.”

Sarah said, “It was near that cheerful toothless lady who sells cans of beer.”

Dominic grunted. “I’ve told her it’s illegal for people to carry around open containers of alcohol on the beach. She lies to me and claims her customers sit at tables and enjoy their beers with food.”

“Speaking of alcohol,” Beatrice said. “Jake, I’m proud of you for not drinking these past months. Your liver is doing better. I can tell by looking at your face.”

“Thanks for your concern.”

“Remember, a person enjoying good health has many wishes, but a person suffering poor health only has one.”

“I have many wishes, trust me.”

Beatrice said to Dominic, “Please bring that hand along to the beach.”

“Sure, why not?” Dominic said. “This day can’t get any weirder.”

Cody went to Beatrice, sniffed her gloved hand, and growled.

She gave him a smile. “You want me to remove this?”

Cody barked once.

“Okay, boy.” Beatrice pulled off the glove and tossed it in a trash bin.

Jake scratched Cody behind the ears. “Sometimes a scent can cause him anxiety.”

Dominic put the severed hand into the ice chest, and they all drove to the beach.

Cody led Jake to the same spot he’d found the body part.

Beatrice removed her shoes and stood barefoot in the surf. “I’m only seeing what I’ve already learned, except it’s far more intense.” She shivered, despite the warm weather, and took several steps back.

Jake said, “If we cruised Far Niente on the Bay of La Paz here, would you be able to find the place where that hand went into the water?”

“No, I don’t think so,” Beatrice said. “However, we could bring the hand with us on board to see if I get a vision.”

Dominic shook his head. “Jake, you know I can’t let you take police evidence on a joyride.”

“You’re invited,” Jake said. “The evidence remains in your custody at all times while you go on a boat cruise.”

“And get paid for it,” Dominic said with a smile. “Okay, let’s do this.”

At Delfines Marina, when everyone was on board Far Niente, Jake untied the lines and said, “Make yourselves at home. Through that sliding glass door is a kitchen and bathroom. On a boat we call them a galley and a head.”

Sarah led Beatrice inside so she could use the necessary room.

Dominic carried the ice chest on board. “Where do you want this?”

Jake said, “Please bring it up to the bridge.”

“All right,” Dominic said as he followed Jake.

Terrell lit a small cigar. “Sure, Jukebox. I’ll untie. Thanks for saying please.”

“I knew you’d want to have a quick smoke on the aft deck.”

Terrell muttered a few curse words as he untied the lines and disconnected the water and electricity.

Jake shouted at Terrell from up on the bridge. “Good to go, Loo-tenant?”

Terrell gave him a thumbs-up. “Proceed, Boot.”

The engines coughed, started, and rumbled with 700+ horsepower.

As Jake piloted away from the dock and headed out to sea, Terrell and Cody joined him on the bridge.

Jake said, “Grinds, can you smoke that cigar in the galley while you enjoy a cup of coffee? We had a wild wolf on board, and I want to get rid of the smell.”

Terrell raised his eyebrows. “Not pulling my leg? A wolf?”

“Yep. Cody hates having that scent in his den.”

“Well, if you twist my arm.” Terrell headed down the inner stairway and to the coffee maker.

Jake heard Sarah talking with Terrell a moment until she came up to the bridge, leading Beatrice along with her. He gestured at the black leather and chrome seat next to his captain’s chair. “Beatrice, please take the second seat.”

Beatrice sat down, closed her eyes and took deep breaths in and out. “Go closer to shore, please.”

“Moving to starboard.”

“Now, go straight for a while,” she said. “And go faster.”

Jake pushed the throttles forward. “Straight and fast. You got it.”

The motor yacht rose up on plane and raced across the turquoise-blue water.

Beatrice sat up straight in the seat next to Jake as if she’d been slapped. “Please make it stop.”

“Make what stop?” Jake reached for the throttles.

She opened her eyes and shivered. “I got too close to the pain.”

Jake said, “Cody, comfort.”

Cody placed his head on Beatrice’s knee and gazed up at her.

She patted him on the head. “Please help me find it, Cody.”

Jake took his hand off the throttles. “What are you looking for?”

“A marina with a building that has double doors.”

Jake cruised along Baja’s eastern coast and came upon a small fishing village with a humble marina.

Cody barked when Terrell entered the bridge.

“I enjoyed a smoke in the galley,” Terrell said. “Now it smells like a cigar lounge. Let me know any time I may be of further smoking assistance.”

“Cody, fetch a coffee for Lieutenant Grinds.”

Cody used his teeth to pull open the mini-fridge door and retrieve a can of cold coffee. He bumped the door closed with one hip and trotted to Terrell, dropping the item in his friend’s hand.

“Thank you, fuzzy butt.” Terrell grabbed Jake’s binoculars and gazed at the shoreline. “Target?”

“A boat marina with a building that has double doors.”

Terrell pointed at the fishing village dock. “I see a storage shed with double doors, but I wouldn’t exactly call it a building.”

Jake pulled back on the throttles and slowed down. Out of old habit, he asked, “Your orders, Lieutenant?”

Terrell said, “Let’s take a look and give the K9 a sniff, Lance Corporal.”

“Roger that.” Jake cruised toward the marina.

CHAPTER 46

When they entered the marina’s no-wake zone, Beatrice opened her eyes and pointed at the wooden docks. “There.”

Jake berthed in an empty boat slip with a sign that read, “En Alquiler / For Rent.” He shut down the engines and tied up.

Everyone disembarked, and Jake said, “It looks like these are homemade floating docks. I’m impressed.”

Cody led them to the storage shed, sniffed at the bottom of the double doors, and sat down.

Jake drew his pistol in one hand and patted his thigh with the other. “Cody, heel.”

His dog trotted back to stand by his side.

The floating dock sank a little under the weight of so many people, and salt water sloshed over their shoes.

Terrell said, “Does this section of dock seem different to you?”

Jake studied it. “I think it moves aside so a boat can go into the shed.”

“Everybody off the dock, and step over here,” Terrell said.

Once the dock was clear, Cody found a recessed handle.

Jake pulled on the handle, and a section of dock came loose on one end. He pulled it straight and to the side, leaving an empty space in the water in front of the shed. Cody let out a low growl when more space below the door opened and released scents from inside.

Jake lay down prone and peeked under one of the doors. Using his tiny but powerful keychain flashlight, he illuminated the shed’s dark interior. “There’s a rigid inflatable boat in a cutout section of dock.”

Terrell said, “Nice enclosed boat slip, if you don’t want your RIB stolen. Or, if you’re hiding it from the authorities.”

A short Mexican man with a mustache hurried over to them and asked in Spanish what was going on.

Dominic stepped forward in his police uniform and gestured at the badge on his shirt. “Policía de La Paz.”

Terrell displayed his homicide detective badge. “Tell me your name.”

The man switched to English. “My name is Ignacio, but everyone calls me Nacho.”

“Open these doors,” Terrell said.

“I can’t do that, officer. A man rented my shed and wants to keep his boat safe from thieves because it has a special motor that costs a lot of money.”

Jake said, “Is the motor black with a green label that says ‘Elco’?”

Nacho appeared astonished. “How could you know that?”

“The police are looking for a black rigid inflatable boat with that kind of motor.”

Nacho swallowed on a dry throat. “I don’t know anything about the owner. He pays in cash and doesn’t talk much.”

Jake and Terrell exchanged a glance. They knew he was lying.

Terrell pointed at the doors and padlock. “Sorry, señor, but we have to break into your shed. If you try to stop us, we’ll find out if my size twelve shoe fits up your tailpipe.”

“No, wait. There’s a side door I can open.” Nacho unlocked a pedestrian door and said, “I keep a spare key to check that he doesn’t store anything illegal in here.”

Dominic stepped inside and flipped on the lights.

Terrell remained out on the dock. “Jake, I’ll cover your six.”

“Roger that.” Jake knew Terrell had a bad case of claustrophobia. He led his K9 to the door. “Cody, search.”

Cody inhaled deep breaths of air, pulled on the leash, and went inside the shed. He smelled the boat’s bench seat, pawed at a black fishing tackle box tucked underneath, and sat down.

“Good dog.” Jake gloved up and opened the box to find a 30-round magazine loaded with metal jacketed armor-piercing rounds in the 7.62 mm caliber that fit Russian AK-47 Kalashnikov style rifles. The mass-produced firearm which had killed more people than any other in human history. He showed the mag to Dominic. “Matapolicías—Cop killers.”

Dominic made the sign of the cross. “We can use those rounds as evidence to take this boat into custody.”

“Wait. I have another idea.” Jake used his phone to take pictures of the rounds, boat, and engine, then replaced the tackle box exactly the way he’d found it and led Cody outside.

Terrell stood waiting. “Well?”

Jake showed him the photos. “What if we put a hidden camera on that palm tree over there to catch the perp on video?”

Terrell nodded. “That works. Do you have a spare camera?”

“Sure, as a former news photographer, I have all kinds of cameras,” Jake said. “In fact, I’ll put a waterproof one in your throne to take pictures of your ...”

Terrell had a slight smile on his face but acted gruff. “Shut up, Marine. And why are you standing around? Go get the camera already.”

“Roger, Grinds.” Jake led Cody to his boat and went on board.

He dug through a box of photography gear and grabbed a solar-powered trail camera painted with a camouflage pattern.

When Jake and Cody returned, Dominic said, “What’s your plan? I hope it’s legal.”

Jake held out the device. “I’m going to mount this camera on that tree. It has motion detection, night vision, and 4G cellular I can check on my phone.”

Nacho let out a long breath. “I don’t want your camera watching me at work every day.”

Terrell put one hand on Nacho’s shoulder and squeezed. “Arrest this man for interfering with an investigation.”

Dominic pulled out a pair of handcuffs. “Sorry about this.”

Nacho took a step back. “Okay. You win. Go ahead.”

Jake said, “After we arrest the perp, you can keep the camera.”

“I’ve never heard of a perp, but thank you.”

Jake placed the strap around the slender palm tree, held onto one end in each hand, and slowly climbed up the trunk.

“When did you learn to do that?” Sarah asked.

“Just now.” Jake reached the spot he had in mind, wrapped his muscular legs around the tree, and clung to it as he strapped the camera into place. “Now I have to get down from this tree without using the strap.”

“We should leave you up there,” Terrell said.

Jake put his hands on either side of the trunk and used his feet while descending to control his speed as he slowly slid down the way he’d done on fast-rope descents from helicopters. “Nacho, you’re the harbormaster, right?”

Nacho shrugged. “I don’t know that word. My family has owned this marina for years.”

Jake gave him some folding money and a business card. “Call me if you see the suspect taking his boat out on the water. There’s a reward for his capture.”

“I could use the reward money,” Nacho said. “Times are hard right now.”

“That camera could solve your money problems,” Jake said.

Terrell spoke up. “Time to exfil.”

“Roger.”

Jake and Cody led Sarah, Terrell, Beatrice, and Dominic to Far Niente.

As Jake piloted them out to sea, he said, “I wonder if Andres has a camera of his own at the marina, safeguarding his boat.”

Terrell said, “It wouldn’t surprise me. I don’t trust that Nacho guy any farther than I can throw him.”

Jake said, “Yeah, he’s a pushover for sale to the highest bidder.”

“I’m emotionally exhausted and need to lie down,” Beatrice said.

Sarah said, “We have several staterooms you’re welcome to use.”

“That’s kind of you, but I’d prefer to visit my hotel.”

Jake understood her desire for peace and quiet. “McKay booked you a suite at the Westmarine Waterfront Hotel. It’s next to a yacht harbor and has a view of the boats and seashore. You’ll love it.”

“That sounds wonderful,” Beatrice said.

“All right. We’re on our way.”

Nacho tapped on his phone screen and sent a text message. Police came here with a search dog that found your boat. They put a camera on a tree to watch the docks.

He waited for the enraged reply, but it never came. Andres Galván’s radio silence unnerved Nacho even more than the usual death threats.

CHAPTER 47

That night, Jake had one of his nightmares again about Duke, his Marine war dog. The Belgian Malinois had been his loyal partner on deployments to the oven-hot sandbox. Sometimes Jake dreamed about the battle. Other times, the hospital aftermath.

Killers had come for Jake and Duke when the enemy placed rewards on the heads of K9 teams. After a brutal ambush, where Jake took a bullet in the thigh and almost died, Terrell gave him a blood transfusion while in flight on a helicopter.

That was the last thing Jake remembered when he woke up in Landstuhl Hospital near Ramstein Air Base in Germany. He was high as a kite on pain meds, and angry at having been shot.

A doctor had told him more bad news. “Your right thigh is seriously injured, and we may have to amputate your entire leg.”

“No, you won’t. And where’s my K9?”

“Sorry, I don’t know anything about a dog.”

“Liar!” Jake went crazy and ripped the tubes out of his arm. He climbed out of bed and hopped barefoot on his one good leg, dragging the other one wrapped in bandages. The doctor tried to reason with him, but Jake slapped him across the face. He took a pair of crutches leaning against the wall and hobbled into the hallway.

An Air Force security officer ran to Jake and reached for his shoulder, but Jake hit him with one of the crutches and knocked him aside. Jake shouted at a male doctor, who stood by a nurse station. “Pick up that phone and dial the number I tell you.”

The doctor took a deep breath and poised with his finger over the touchpad.

The Air Force security man Jake had hit with a crutch returned to him armed with a Taser. “You’re giving me no choice, Marine.”

“Don’t do it, flyboy.”

The Taser fired two probes that hit Jake with high-voltage electrical shocks. He saw a bright flash of light, and then darkness as he fell to the floor. A searing hot pain ran up his right leg, and he passed out biting down on a scream.

In La Paz, Mexico, Jake sat bolt upright in bed and took a deep breath.

Cody stood on the carpet next to him and pawed at his handler’s chest.

“It’s all right, Cody. I just had one of the nightmares again.”

Cody whined.

“Let’s go out and see the stars, huh?” Jake put his phone in a pocket of his board shorts as they exited the stateroom. His right thigh felt hot and painful. His thoughts felt the same.

Sarah, always a deep sleeper after Jake had made love to her, mumbled something and grasped his pillow in her arms.

On the aft deck, Jake and Cody took in the beautiful scene of cobalt blue water, a star-studded black sky, and the moon above them huge and bright and clear. He opened a cabinet and found the unopened half pint bottle of Hennessy that contained four shots of cognac. Oh-so tempting. Just one drink, or two. What could it hurt? Sarah was asleep. Cody wouldn’t tell a soul. Jake had been good to his liver, and the damned thing should take one for the team.

His phone buzzed with a text from Cristian. I’m on my way home from night fishing and I see police lights near Isla Cerralvo. Thought it might be the Zodiac Bastardo who hit me on the head. I’m keeping my promise to let you know if I see him.

Jake sent a text in reply. Thank you, Cristian. I’ll take a look.

The island lay south of La Paz, and Jake was nearby. He gazed at its beaches with night vision binoculars until he spotted strobing lights in the distance. “There you are. I’m coming for you.”

He hurried up to the bridge and piloted his boat toward the red and blue lights.

Sarah entered the bridge wearing a white terrycloth bathrobe and a puzzled expression. “What’s going on, Jake?”

“Look over there. That might be the dirtbag who uses fake police lights to rob and kill fishermen. Grab my M4.”

Sarah opened a cabinet and pulled out a rifle used by Marines. “How can you be sure it’s not an actual police boat?”

Cody bit lightly on Jake’s forearm.

Jake realized that, to Cody, the police lights meant good folks. His boy was confused. “We’re going to help our friends.”

As they approached, Jake turned on his own boat’s police lights. “First Mate take the wheel.”

“I have the wheel.” Sarah handed him the rifle.

Jake stepped out onto the upper deck, flipped on a spotlight and spoke over the PA system. “Police. United States Marshals Service.”

A gruff voice replied over another PA system. “Mexican Policía Federal. Stop your boat or you’ll be fired upon.”

The patrol boat crew aimed .50 caliber heavy machine guns at Far Niente, along with a grenade launcher. Jake had made a big mistake, but it wasn’t yet a fatal mistake. “Yes, sir. Stopping my boat. At your command.” He called out for Sarah to cut the engines, then set down his rifle and turned off the spotlight.

The federal officer spoke again. “You’re Gabriel Tovar’s friend.”

“Yes, sir,” Jake said. “We work together on Joint Task Force Alpha. I’m here to offer you my help, if needed.”

“You’re interfering with an arrest, but I’ll forgive you this one time,” the man said. “Leave here now, and don’t bother us again.”

“At once, sir.” Jake went up to the bridge, took the helm and cruised away.

Sarah said, “What were you thinking, Jake?”

“I’m sorry my PTSD almost got us killed.”

“I hoped the Sea of Cortez would help you lick your wounds.”

“Wounds heal but scars last. I just need a few shots of alcohol to control the stress at night, but my doctor says I can’t drink.”

Sarah, at a loss for words, stood by his side, put one arm around him and leaned her head on his shoulder.

CHAPTER 48

At sunrise, Willie Humbolt piloted the stolen sailboat he’d renamed ‘Rosa Blanca’ into a humble, weather-worn marina south of La Paz. He used the outboard trolling motor to slowly navigate toward a guest slip. He’d previously contacted the harbormaster via radio and arranged to pay rent for several days and nights. His offer of cash in advance had been cheerfully accepted along with his promise that he only wanted to do some sportfishing. No guests. No parties. No drama.

He eased the vessel into its berth, tied the lines to a cleat hitch and looked around in satisfaction. Willie needed a safe place to rest, think, and plan. The quiet marina would do nicely. He put on a ball cap featuring an illustration of a blue marlin and spent an hour performing routine boat maintenance chores that provided exercise while making a good impression on any curious neighbors who might be observing him.

The harbormaster stopped by to collect Willie’s rent payment. He complimented the sailboat, noted Willie’s hat, and pointed at a stretch of coastline. “Someone caught a blue marlin there yesterday using a Pepal Grande trolling lure.”

“Thanks for that tip,” Willie said. “I’ll try my luck.”

After the man left, Willie grabbed one of the many burner phones in his bug out bag and took a walk up the road. On his way to find a nearby taqueria that might have grouper cheek tacos on the menu, he thought about what he might do to be free of Andres Galván. If Willie quit working for Andres, the criminal would consider him a liability to be hunted down and eliminated in the same brutal way he had planned for a troublesome pest named Jake Wolfe.

Willie tapped numbers into the anonymous phone and made a call.

A woman answered, “Delfines Marina.”

“Hello, I’m trying to get ahold of someone who’s staying there,” Willie said.

“We don’t give out information on residents or guests.”

“He’s a US Marshal named Wolfe who lives on a catamaran motor yacht. I wanted to give him a crime tip.”

“Good for you,” she said. “Wolfe put his card on the corkboard in our office for anyone who might want to talk. He won’t mind me giving you his number.” She recited it.

“Thanks.”

“I hope your crime tip isn’t about La Paz or my marina.”

“No, down the coast.”

“Thank goodness.”

“I’ll bet it’s nice to have a cop living at Delfines.”

“Yes, like free security. We’re glad he’s here.”

“I’ll let you go, now,” Willie said. “Gracias.”

“De nada.” She ended the call.

Willie took a deep breath, steadied his nerves, and called the man Andres hated. He knew he was crossing a line. If Andres found out, there would be no forgiveness, only the violent death of Willie in retribution.

The phone rang three times. Most people wouldn’t answer a call from a number that wasn’t in their list of contacts. However, US Marshals were not like most people.

Jake held out his phone screen to Sarah and displayed the words Unknown Caller. “I’m going to answer it.” He thumbed the icon. “Hello, this is Jake.”

“Jake Wolfe?” a male voice said.

“Yes. Who’s calling?”

“I’m the man who wants to protect you and your dog and girlfriend from harm.”

Jake paused a moment and said, “You have my full attention.”

“All I ask is that you protect my life in return,” the man said.

“That sounds fair,” Jake said. “Talk to me. What’s your name?”

“You can call me Captain Crunchy. My real name isn’t important, but the name of the arms dealer you’re looking for is Andres Galván.”

“Go on.”

“He wants to kill you and your dog because you two found his drying house and cost him a fortune. He recently hired someone to make that happen.”

“Where do I find Andres?”

“The only times I’ve met with him were on a boat at sea, but maybe you could trace one of his phones. Here’s the number I call to contact him. Ready?” The man recited a number.

Jake tapped it into his contacts. “Who did Andres pay to kill me?”

“A legendary narco-assassin with dozens of victims on his resume,” the man said. “The killer’s name is Osorio, which means wolf hunter.”

“Wolves kill hunters too,” Jake said.

“That’s the reason for my call,” the man said. “I’m hoping this could be one of those times a wolf kills a hunter.”

“Why? Are you out for revenge?”

“No, Andres is demanding I use my boat to smuggle drugs and weapons into the States. I refused, and now I’m afraid he’s planning to have Osorio kill me.”

“Then he’ll use your boat for smuggling anyway, with a replacement captain,” Jake said.

“Yes, and he has the same plan for you. Both of us are in danger, along with your dog.”

“Why are you so intent on protecting my K9?”

The man exhaled sharply. “I had to leave behind a beloved German Shepherd dog when I headed south of the border.”

Jake felt his pain. “That’s gotta hurt.”

“You know it.”

“Where can I find Osorio, the wolf hunter?”

“A prostitute friend told me Osorio paid her to visit him at a luxury penthouse near Cabo San Lucas.”

Jake received a text and a link to Google Maps. “And you trust the word of this ‘prostitute friend’ person?”

“She’s a reliable source of information. I’m not a customer. Her services are way too expensive for an average guy like me.”

“How do you know her?”

“She once paid me for a roundtrip boat ride to San Diego, where I dropped her off, waited around, and brought her back. She paid me in cash, plus a special added bonus I’ll never forget.”

“I see the building on Google Maps street view,” Jake said. “That’s a beautiful new resort.”

“It’s near that beachfront restaurant named ‘The Office,’ with tables on the sand.”

“I know it well.”

“Osorio spends a lot of time on his building’s rooftop patio with its swimming pool, chaise lounges and cabana babe waitresses.”

Jake said, “I’ll forward your intel to a colleague on a joint task force.”

“Thank you. Sometimes the answer to solving a problem comes down to who, not how.”

“You called the right person,” Jake said. “Lay low for a while.”

“I’ve started already,” the man said. “I called you on a burner phone and now I’ll remove the SIM card. Thank you, and goodbye.”

Jake clicked off and told Sarah, “I have to call Agent McKay with new intel.”

CHAPTER 49

After Jake talked to McKay, she asked him to stand by while she accessed the security system at the luxury resort’s front desk. Minutes later, he received a text from her with photos and video of two men. Andres had visited Osorio there recently. Jake studied the faces of cold-blooded killers who wanted him dead.

McKay texted. There’s a substantial reward for Osorio.

Jake replied. The reward should go to the informant, Captain Crunchy, if you can find him.

I’ll work on it. McKay then sent a helicopter to his location.

When the aircraft arrived in the sky overhead, Jake held tight to Cody’s leash. His phone buzzed and he showed the text message to Sarah. “McKay says I have to get on that helo and leave you here.”

Sarah looked him in the eye. “Good luck on your mission.”

“Cody, stay. Protect.”

Sarah accepted the leash from Jake, with a nod that promised she would protect Cody as well.

The helicopter came down for a landing on the beach. People scattered and stared as Jake ran to the aircraft, ducked his head under its rotor blades, and climbed through the open side door into the main cabin.

The pilot wore a headset and aviator glasses and spoke with a Spanish accent. “Leave the door open.”

“Roger.” Jake sat on a row of fold-down bench seats along the interior wall behind the pilot. A sniper rifle lay there for his use.

“You can call me Simón.”

“I’m Jake.”

Pulling his leash free of Sarah’s grasp, Cody chased his handler and leapt on board a moment before the aircraft lifted off.

Jake let out a sigh. “You like riding on these birds?”

Cody climbed onto a seat next to Jake, as he’d done on other flights in the past.

“Attaboy.” Jake buckled a seatbelt through the handle on Cody’s vest.

Simón took off and flew his helicopter fast and low over the Baja Peninsula until arriving at a recently built luxury beach resort where he slowed down.

“Cody, stay.” Jake grabbed the sniper rifle, lay in a prone position on the helicopter’s deck, and aimed his weapon out the open side door.

Cody sat and observed, awaiting further orders. He understood the commands and his handler’s body language. The dog had been in this situation before. He raised his nose to smell the new, unknown rifle.

Jake felt guilt and regret. Cody could’ve been a happy service dog and part of a family with kids to love him. Instead, the brave and intelligent dog was a combat veteran with a slight touch of PTSD and a trick right rear leg. He should’ve been enjoying a well-earned retirement by now. Yet here he was, in a helicopter, with another damaged Marine who’d become an assassin for the CIA—against Jake’s better judgment.

They were flying over the beautiful Sea of Cortez and planning to kill a terrorist instead of going swimming with dolphins in warm salt water. Somebody had to do the impossible things. At that moment, the mission had fallen to Jake, and wherever he went, Cody followed.

Sarah could have avoided being involved in Jake’s secret life, but she’d been dragged into it by her love for the dog handler and his K9. Love was a dangerous emotion. Jake knew Sarah might be better off with another man who wore a suit and tie and didn’t constantly put her life at risk.

The pilot said, “Three minutes out. You get one shot.”

“Understood.” Jake double-checked his rifle, clicked off the safety and took steady breaths as the target came into range.

On the rooftop of a six-floor luxurious resort building, a well-dressed man sat at a table next to a swimming pool. Near him, a woman in a bikini and movie star sunglasses sunbathed on a chaise lounge and sipped a mimosa. Two bodyguards stood at attention nearby. Jake wasn’t planning a firefight. His task was the precise, surgical removal of one individual narco-assassin terrorist named Osorio, who’d murdered countless people in both Americas. North and South. Jake was next on his list.

As the helo flew closer to the rooftop, Osorio pointed at it and shouted orders at one of his bodyguards. The guard opened a black duffel bag and pulled out a military weapon.

Jake recognized the shoulder-launched heat-seeking missile known as an FIM-92 Stinger. He felt a chill run down his spine, but remained focused on his mission, took steady aim at Osorio and pulled the trigger. The violent punch of his rifle round hit Osorio in the chest, lifted him up, knocked him backward, and slammed him down. His crisp white shirt became stained red with blood.

The woman screamed.

When the guard raised his stinger missile, he made the mistake of pausing to take aim, which wasn’t necessary with the point-and-shoot heat-seeking missile.

Jake shot him in the shoulder, causing the missile to fly toward the ocean and fall harmlessly into the water. “Exfiltrate,” he said to the pilot.

Simón immediately veered off course and increased engine speed, but the other bodyguard fired a stinger that rose skyward from the rooftop and sought out the helicopter’s engine.

Jake cursed. “If you have flares or countermeasures, use them now.”

Simón grunted as he reached up and flipped switches. Bright flares shot behind them and spread out in a pattern of hot targets to attract the heat-seeking missile.

Jake sat down next to Cody and put one arm around him as the missile came straight at them and exploded into the cloud of flares, its shock wave making the helo shudder and move sideways, which threw Jake off his seat and toward the open door. He slid across the deck heading for empty air and a fall to his death but grabbed onto the doorjamb at the last second and held on tight, with his body hanging in the wind. Fragments of shrapnel peppered the fuselage, and one sharp piece about the size of a pocket knife blade hit Jake on his left biceps and stuck there. He gritted his teeth and endured the pain as he tried to pull himself back inside but had no luck due to the roaring wind passing the aircraft.

He shouted at the pilot. “Any help from gravity?”

Simón tilted the aircraft sharply, so Jake was flipped inside and landed with a thud next to Cody.

“How was that?” Simón asked.

Jake groaned in pain from his fresh bruises. “Perfect.”

Simón made an official announcement in an emotionless voice. “Ladies and gentlemen, the captain has turned on the Fasten Seat Belt sign while we experience minor turbulence.”

Jake cursed and buckled up. “My dog thinks that for a pilot, you’re not half bad.”

“He’s a smart animal.”

“Do you have a first aid kit on this tourist transport?”

“Why, is your K9 harmed?”

“No, only me.”

“Oh, thank goodness. I was worried there for a minute.”

“Yeah. I get that a lot.”

Simón tossed him a small white box with a red cross.

Jake opened the kit and used a Leatherman tool’s needle-nose pliers to remove the shrapnel fragment from his biceps. The momentary fierce agony reminded him of how his bootcamp drill instructor would say that pain is weakness leaving the body. He took deep breaths, applied antibiotic salve to his puncture wound and covered it by winding gauze tape around half a dozen times. He followed that by taking several ibuprofen pills and drinking them down with bottled water.

Cody watched him and licked his snout.

“Hydrate.” Jake slowly poured water into his cupped left hand, and Cody lapped it up.

“Mission accomplished, Cody. Now we’re on our way back to Sarah.”

The pilot said, “Will you need a medic when we land?”

“No. My girlfriend is a veterinarian.”

Simón finally smiled. “That sounds about right.”

“Agent McKay said you had a delivery for me.”

“Concealed carry permits for you and the woman, backdated to before you arrived in Mexico.” Simón gave him a manila clasp envelope.

Jake opened it and removed two laminated IDs. He thought about the danger to Sarah and felt a weight on his heart. She was quite capable of taking care of herself, but if anything bad happened to her he would never forgive himself.

CHAPTER 50

Simón landed his helicopter on the beach again, waited as Jake disembarked with Cody, and then took off and flew inland.

Jake held Cody’s leash as they walked along the shore to Sarah.

She rushed over to them and saw Jake’s bandage. “What happened? Let me see that.”

“Hit by shrapnel. It’s nothing.” Jake stood still while Sarah checked his injury.

“That deep puncture wound is going to require stitches and a course of antibiotics,” she said.

“Hopefully you have meds that are good for man or beast.”

“I recommend getting an x-ray at the hospital. If it scraped an artery, you could bleed out in your sleep tonight.”

“All right, doggie doctor,” Jake teased her. “I’ll follow your animal care advice.”

“You’re lucky that shrapnel didn’t hit you in the eye.”

Jake nodded. “Even more lucky that it hit me and not Cody.”

“I’m sorry I didn’t hang on tighter to his leash.”

“Don’t blame yourself. Cody can be uncontrollable at times. Ask me how I know.”

She checked her phone. “Hospital de Fidepaz is the closest one.”

“Let’s go.” Jake led them to the SUV and drove off.

Sarah gave directions, and upon arrival, she said, “Where else but in Mexico is a hospital painted a festive lavender color?”

“Looks like a health spa in Sonoma.” Jake led them inside and explained to the receptionist that he didn’t have an appointment, but it was a medical emergency of a law enforcement official. He showed his badge and creds, and pointed out Cody’s vest that displayed the words, Policía Federal.

A nurse ushered them into a treatment room where she examined Jake’s wound and confirmed it required stitches. She left them alone for a few minutes, and then a doctor entered wearing a lab coat and a stethoscope around her neck.

“I’m Doctor Salvadore,” she said. “Jake, please remove your shirt and we’ll get you patched up.”

Jake did so and sat bare-chested on the examination bench. “Thanks, Doc.”

Dr. Salvadore looked at the battle scars all over Jake’s chest. “I’m not sure I’ve ever seen so many different kinds of scars on one person.”

“Maybe I’m an overachiever.”

“This local anesthetic will numb your skin.” Dr. Salvadore gave Jake a shot.

Sarah said, “Doctor, could you order a CT scan for him while we’re here?”

“Yes, we have the latest multi-scan machine. What’s your concern?”

“In addition to the battle scars on his chest, Jake also has cirrhosis scars on his liver.”

Dr. Salvadore began suturing Jake’s wound. “You really are an overachiever. All right, we’ll run a scan and do some bloodwork.”

While a nurse took a blood sample, Jake received a call from Terrell and said, “Good morning, brother.”

“You should join us at the hotel for their breakfast buffet,” Terrell said.

“All-you-can-eat bacon, while you look at boats on the water?”

“A Marine can’t pass that up.”

“Cody would love it, but I’m at the hospital right now.”

Terrell paused in concern, but played it cool. “Are you finally getting your virginity verified, so you can auction it off on the internet?”

“That appointment is next week,” Jake said. “Today I was hit by a piece of shrapnel from an exploding Stinger missile while riding in a helicopter.”

“Just another day in paradise. I had a bad feeling about this situation.”

“A pessimist is never disappointed. Let’s plan to grab lunch.”

“No can do,” Terrell said. “Chief Pierce has a crisis and needs me back in San Francisco, so we’re flying out before noon.”

“You can’t argue with your chief of police. Okay, I’ll see you when we get back in town.”

“Alicia wants you to come over for dinner and bring some good wine. The other night we had a red blend named Troublemaker, and we thought of you.”

“Tell Alicia I’m looking forward to it.” Jake ended the call and sent a text message to a wine shop back home, arranging for the delivery of a mixed case of favorite wines to Terrell and Alicia’s house.

After Jake completed his examinations, Dr. Salvadore gave him a diagnosis. “Your liver is healed. From now on, drink in moderation and you should be fine.”

“Thanks, Doc. That’s the best news I’ve heard in a while.” Jake said.

“Jake, tell me the truth. Do you have a drinking problem?”

“No, I have a not drinking problem,” Jake said with a wink. “I haven’t drunk a drop in ninety days. That’s my problem.”

“You’ve shown that you could quit anytime you want.”

“When I came home from deployment, it used to be that half the day I’d wonder if it’s too late for coffee, the other half, I’d wonder if it’s too early for alcohol.”

Dr. Salvadore smiled. “You successfully broke that habit. Keep up the good work.”

“As a doctor, you must know that mariners require limes to avoid scurvy.”

“Yes, what’s your point?”

“Margaritas contain lime juice,” Jake said. “They’re like medicine for people who spend time on boats.”

He shook hands with the bemused doctor, and on his way out stopped at the receptionist counter to pay his bill.

“Insurance company?” she asked.

Jake handed her a credit card. “Plastic Insurance of Omaha.”

She ran his card and gave him a prescription bottle. “Here are your pain meds. Don’t drink alcohol while taking them.”

“Wait. May I exchange these for a different kind?”

“What?”

“Just kidding.” He led Cody and Sarah out to the SUV and drove to their marina.

CHAPTER 51

Later that evening, Jake and Sarah enjoyed a dinner of Baja burritos stuffed with a variety of seafood in a roasted poblano cream sauce. When Jake’s phone buzzed and he received a video call from Agent McKay, he put it on speaker so Sarah could hear. “Situation report?”

“Last night we had a possible sighting of a narco mini-sub near Puerto Vallarta,” McKay said. “A tourist posted on social media that a large unidentified object rose to the surface of Banderas Bay, traveled forward quickly in the dark, and then dove and submerged underwater again.”

“Could it have been a whale?”

“No, they said it didn’t spout or move like a whale. No back fin. No tail.”

“Did they take a video?”

“It happened too fast.”

He thought about it for a moment. “Banderas is the Pacific Ocean’s largest and deepest inlet. If it can accommodate cruise ships and humpback whales, it can certainly hide a smaller-sized narco-sub from Mexican Navy patrol boats.”

“Exactly. The sub could remain submerged at sea in the daytime, and then surface in the bay at night to meet up with a cartel boat.”

“You want us to go on a mission to search Bahía de Banderas?” Jake said, using the Spanish name meaning Bay of Flags. He glanced at Sarah who nodded in agreement with the idea.

“Yes. How quickly can you cross the Sea of Cortez to Puerto Vallarta?

“I can get there by tomorrow night. It’s approximately four hundred miles. I’ll run the engines at eighteen knots and cruise for twenty-four hours. We’ll take turns sleeping in shifts.”

“Do you have enough diesel to go that far without refueling?”

“Yes, I just topped off the one-thousand-gallon tank,” Jake said. “Even if we only got one mile per gallon, we could still cruise a thousand miles.”

“All right. Get going and keep watch for cartel activity on your way.” McKay ended the call.

Jake said, “Sarah, do you want to have dinner in Puerto Vallarta tomorrow night?”

“It’s a date. I’ll go untie the lines.” Sarah hurried down to the aft deck with Cody following along.

Jake entered their route into the chartplotter, started the twin inboard engines, and turned to see Sarah wave at him and give a thumbs-up. He looked past her to double check and be absolutely sure the boat was untied and disconnected from the marina’s water and electricity, then eased the throttles forward and cruised out of Delfines Marina’s no-wake zone at five miles per hour.

Once they were on open water, Jake increased speed, brought the motor yacht up on plane, and raced toward the mainland of Mexico.

He looked down as Sarah led Cody forward to the yacht’s bow, where the dog stood on the sun pad and let the wind flap his ears. It was a routine habit, similar to how he stuck his head out the window of a car. Jake appreciated Sarah’s knowledge of what dogs thought and felt. She understood that Cody would love to lean into this breeze and smell the air currents that carry scents from all directions.

Sarah stood by Cody for a while, then patted her thigh twice, the way Jake often did and led him up to the bridge where she opened the custom windows and let salty air rush through. She sat next to Jake in the second seat, while Cody laid down in the doorway looking out.

Jake said, “I’ll take the night shift piloting the yacht. There are so many boats here running without AIS or adequate lights, and we’ll be traveling fast.”

“I understand,” Sarah said. “You’d never sleep a wink if I was cruising in the dark at a high speed.”

“No offense. I have way more experience.”

“None taken. I’m not ready for that responsibility yet.”

“I’ll have the helm until lunch time,” Jake said. “And you can pilot her until sunset.”

“For now, I’m going to do my yoga routine,” she said.

Jake quoted Wan, their Chinese senior citizen friend who instructed them in jeet kune do. “If you take care of your routine, your routine will take care of you.”

Sarah went down to the stateroom, and a few minutes later she appeared at the bow sun pad, dressed like a Hollywood celebrity influencer in a form-fitting yoga outfit. The matched set of a sports bra and booty shorts nicely fit her shapely figure like a glove and set off her flat stomach and toned legs.

Jake never tired of seeing her beauty on display. He smiled as he thought of how she could’ve done her yoga routines in the salon, or on the aft deck, but she chose to perform directly in his line of sight as he piloted the yacht.

Sarah began to stretch and pose in various positions. She faced forward and bent over in a downward dog position. Next she rolled over on her back which left her facing aft in Jake’s direction. She put one leg straight up and then slowly bent the calf behind her head.

Jake noticed Sarah never looked up at the bridge, but he got the feeling she was putting on a show to keep him under her spell. He had to admit, the magic was working.

He knew she’d considered herself average looking until they’d met, and he’d told her she was hot. Now she felt safe and free to bring out her full feminine allure to keep him captivated. Jake certainly wasn’t going to discourage her from acting seductive on occasion.

When Sarah completed her workout, she returned to the bridge and grabbed a bottled water out of the mini fridge.

Jake said, “Do you want to take the helm?”

“Yes, please.”

“First Mate, you have the helm.” Jake stood aside.

“Aye, Captain. I have the helm.” Sarah took his place and put both hands on the wheel. “I love piloting this yacht.”

Jake knew the feeling. “There’s nothing else quite like it.”

They cruised all evening and through the night. A half-hour before sunrise, Jake was surprised to come upon dozens of fishing boats on the water ahead. Only a few had running lights on. None of them were using the automatic identification system, so they didn’t appear on the AIS-enabled chartplotter’s display. He slowed down and carefully navigated through them.

Sarah joined him and he let her take the wheel.

“We’re making good time,” he said.

Sarah kept one hand on the wheel as she looked through binoculars. “Now that we’ve passed those fishing boats, the sea is clear ahead. Maybe you could get some sleep after being up all night.”

“The weather report said there might be a chance of thundershowers near Puerto Vallarta.”

“After sunrise, I’ll keep watch for dark clouds on the horizon.”

“All right. I’ll nap on the couch so I’m close by if you need me.” Jake headed down to the salon, kicked off his boat shoes and stretched out on the settee. Cody followed him, turned around three times and curled up on the carpet next to his handler.

It took Jake a while to nod off. He had a hard time giving up control and had never before slept while someone else piloted his yacht at high speed. He counted silently to himself and attempted to quiet his mind. One thousand and one, one thousand and two, one thousand and three...

Hours later, Jake awakened to Cody pawing at his chest, and Sarah shouting at him from the open door to the bridge above.

“Jake, we have trouble.”

He rushed up there and found Sarah pointing at a motor yacht racing to pull up alongside theirs. The vessel was half the size of Jake’s Horizon PC-60, and its less powerful twin outboard motors roared as they strained to intercept the target and use a T-bone move to crash into the side of Far Niente.

Two men stood in the open flybridge, and one of them shouted at Sarah using his boat’s PA system. “Hey, doll. What’s your hurry? Stop and have a drink with us.”

Jake grabbed his M4 carbine, the same type of rifle he’d carried in the Marines. “Looks like a couple of amateur pirates hoping to board us.”

“Should I increase speed?”

“No, hold her steady and turn on the police lights.”

“Got it.” Sarah flipped a switch, and the lights above flashed red and blue.

Jake spoke over his boat’s PA system. “Police. United States Marshals Service. Back off or I’ll open fire.”

One of their pursuers laughed drunkenly over his boat’s loudspeaker. “Did you buy those fake lights on the internet?”

Jake fired one round after another into the water and walked them toward the pursuing boat. A final round hit the aft deck.

The man screamed at Jake. “What the Hell?”

Jake replied, “Let’s play a game. You keep following us, and I’ll use your outboard motors for target practice until they both die and leave you adrift.” He took his time firing shots at the two motors, but deliberately kept missing them and hitting the boat’s swim platform.

The man drew a handgun and aimed it out of the open flybridge.

Jake turned on his rifle’s red targeting laser and painted the man’s chest. “Bang, you’re dead.”

The motor yacht swerved and headed away in another direction as the man yelled, “We’ll meet again.”

“Make funeral arrangements before then.” Jake reloaded with a fresh magazine and continued firing rounds near the fleeing boat every five seconds until it was out of range.

Sarah said, “We could’ve increased speed and left them behind.”

Jake set his rifle down within easy reach. “If we ran away, they’d think we were an unarmed easy target, ripe for another attack.”

“And Marines don’t run away from a fight.”

“Never. Besides, I wanted to teach them a lesson. Do you have any idea what they might’ve done to an attractive woman like you, after they boarded us and shot me and Cody?”

Sarah shuddered. “Thank goodness for your rifle and the police lights.”

“And that you were paying attention. We can turn off those flashers now.”

She reached out and tapped the control. “What happened to us calling each other captain and first mate?”

“I think our adrenaline overrode that during the crisis.”

Cody came to Jake and smelled the gunshot residue on his right hand.

“All is well, Cody. I just had to troubleshoot a problem.”

“Should we report that pirate boat to the Mexican Navy, or US Coast Guard?” Sarah said. “The vessel had its AIS turned off, but I saw that it was named Speed Demon.”

“Yes, we’ll send a copy of our security video to Gabriel,” Jake said. “Every patrol boat in the Sea of Cortez will be looking for those jerks.”

“We’ll have to keep watch for them too,” Sarah said. “In case they try coming back tonight after dark.”

Jake stared out at the sea. “I almost hope they do.”

CHAPTER 52

After they cruised all day, thunderclouds filled the sky ahead as the sun went down. While Jake piloted toward Banderas Bay in the dark, a rainstorm rolled in and flashes of lightning lit up the night. A sudden downpour hammered the bridge windows, and the boat rocked as it was buffeted by strong gusts of wind. Off in the distance, lights from the city of Puerto Vallarta glowed from behind the heavy rainfall that came down in sheets. The city’s power had not gone out ... so far.

There were no other boats out in the wild weather. Jake debated his options. “We have the choice of navigating into the marina and our boat slip or turning back and heading out to sea again. Banderas Bay is naturally sheltered by the land on both sides. The problem is, when entering the yacht harbor, high wind and strong waves could slam our boat against the docks or other vessels.”

“If we remained at sea, would we drop anchor or keep cruising?” Sarah said.

“We’d deploy the sea anchor to keep our bow pointed into the wind,” Jake said. “But I’m thinking we could safely enter the harbor if we tow a storm drogue behind us. It would slow our speed and keep our stern at a set angle to following seas.”

“What’s a drogue?”

“It’s a cone-shaped parachute we drag through the water, giving us improved control and stability to avoid pitchpoling.”

“Pitchpoling?”

“Capsizing end over end,” Jake said. “When the bow buries itself in the wave ahead, while the wave behind lifts the aft section up and over. The most dangerous way to capsize.”

“Scary stuff. I’ll trust your decision either way, but to be honest I’d prefer being tied up in the marina tonight.”

Jake didn’t make the obvious joke about her wanting to be tied up in his bed that night. “Good call. I agree.”

“How can I help?”

“First Mate, take the helm. Maintain course and speed.”

“Aye, Captain. I have the helm. Maintaining course and speed.”

“Cody, sit. Stay.”

Cody sat down next to Sarah but kept his bright eyes on Jake.

“I’ll go launch the drogue.” Jake exited the bridge and headed down to the aft deck into the storm where heavy rainfall pounded him and soaked his clothes as he connected two lines from the drogue onto mooring cleats on either side of the transom. Stiff winds lashed the deck while he fought to deploy the drogue. When he threw it overboard, the wind threw it back in his face and knocked him down.

Crawling across the deck, he pushed the drogue over the stern and down the swim platform, then shoved it off into the churning sea. He lay prone a moment while making sure it opened up and filled with water. Once it did, the boat slowed and straightened and responded with a noticeable improvement of control. He let out a long breath, rose to his feet and carefully made his way up to the bridge.

“Captain has the wheel.”

Sarah moved aside. “Aye, Captain. You have the wheel.”

“I’m guessing we’ll take a rain check on going out to dinner in town.”

Sarah nodded as a sideways torrent of rain slammed the windshield. “An actual rain check.”

A rogue wave crashed against the bow, and Jake felt his vessel shudder from the powerful impact. He experienced a primal, ancient fear shared by every human in history who’d survived what they were currently going through, and was reminded of a quote from Joseph Conrad’s “The Mirror of the Sea.” He recited it to Sarah. “If you would know the age of the earth, look upon the sea in a storm.”

“The weather report predicted a chance of thundershowers. Yeah, I’d say there’s a very good chance.”

“Let’s all wear life jackets,” Jake said, putting one on.

Sarah dressed Cody in a flotation vest and secured the belts, then put on her own. “All set.”

Jake navigated into the harbor and was greeted by a lightning bolt that struck the water in-between his boat and the marina. A moment later, a crash of loud thunder rolled across the boat. “The next strike could hit our radar array. I have it running at the full two hundred and fifty watts.”

“I remember when you upgraded to the Fantom 254,” Sarah said.

“First Mate, take our K9 to the salon, sit on the couch and don’t touch anything metallic.”

“Aye, Captain. Cody, to me.” Sarah patted her thigh and led Cody down into the salon.

Cody gave Jake a questioning look, and he gave Cody a hand signal from the Marines. “Obey Sarah.”

Once his crew was safe, Jake put on rubber boots and gloves that he kept in a cabinet for this very occasion. He stood at the helm in soaking wet clothes, took one last look at the dashboard displays, turned off the radar and piloted blind while hoping to avoid being hit by lightning.

Another bolt of high voltage electricity lit up the sky with a blinding flash of light and shot down to hit the water close by. Too close. The hair on Jake’s forearms stood up and his ears were assailed by the deafening roar of thunder.

It was all up to luck now. A roll of the dice. Diving providence. He couldn’t help but think of the song titled, “Jesus take the wheel.”

CHAPTER 53

The rainstorm intensified as Jake cruised his boat through the harbor, towing the drogue behind him. Lightning strikes continued and the marina’s power went out as he slowed his speed to five miles an hour and entered the no-wake zone.

Shining a spotlight, he found the boat slip he’d rented and eased Far Niente into its berth.

He shut off the engines, turned on the boat’s all-around light above the bridge that shone in all directions, and hurried down to the stern where he removed the drogue, pulling it onboard. With that done, he tied the boat’s lines to a dock cleat hitch and let out a sigh of relief.

Sarah came out the sliding door and handed him a beach towel. “Nice piloting.”

“Thanks. I could use a hot shower, dry clothes and a strong drink.”

Cody trotted over and pressed his head against Jake’s stomach.

“Good dog,” Jake said, giving Cody a pat on the back. “You did your job and protected Sarah.”

Sarah looked past Jake, and her mouth fell open in surprise. “What’s that in the water behind you?”

Jake turned and saw an oblong, unidentified object rising to the surface in the marina’s dark water. It traveled forward quickly and then submerged.

“It’s a river crocodile. One of the biggest I’ve ever seen. Must be twelve or fourteen feet long. Cody, heel.” Jake led everyone inside and closed the sliding door.

“Crocodiles live in fresh water, not salt water,” Sarah said. “Why is there one in the marina?”

Jake opened a cabinet and grabbed his twelve-gauge pump shotgun he’d modified with an incredibly bright flashlight mounted beneath the barrel. “River crocodiles are abundant in Puerto Vallarta. Most have been relocated to the El Salado Estuary wildlife preserve, but after a heavy rain, flooded rivers wash a few crocs down into Banderas Bay.”

“And crocodiles hunt for food at night, the same as alligators.”

“There are signs on the beaches warning people not to go swimming after dark, but some tourists do it anyway.” He quickly unloaded the shotgun shells of double-aught buckshot and reloaded with hollow-point deer slugs. Then he picked up his KABAR knife and attached the sheath to the back of his belt in a horizontal position.

Sarah watched him. “You’re not going out there, are you?”

“That huge crocodile can climb up our boat’s swim platform. I have a sworn duty to protect my K9.” Jake went out the sliding door and closed it behind him.

Heavy raindrops pelted him as he stood on the aft deck and shone his flashlight back and forth, searching for the beast. He wondered if the tourists who’d reported spotting a mini-sub had actually seen the massive reptile come to the surface, search for prey as it cruised along in the dark using its powerful tail, and then submerge again.

Two men appeared on the dock and marched toward his boat slip with purposeful strides. Jake aimed the shotgun’s flashlight at them and held his fire as he recognized the one in front as Xavier Esperanza, the grouchy Policía Federal agent who allegedly suffered from an overabundance of hormona testosterona. What could the man possibly want from Jake on a stormy night like this?

Xavier reached the boat and stood illuminated by its all-round light, blocking Jake’s view of the man behind him. “Señor Lobo, put down your weapon and come over here. I need to have a word with you.”

Jake set down his shotgun, disembarked, and stood on the dock. He held out both empty hands, palms up. “What do you want, Xavier?”

“I called the CIA headquarters in Langley, Virginia to inquire about you. They denied any knowledge, but the next day this man showed up at my office without an appointment.”

Jake heard the man behind Xavier speak in a familiar voice from his past.

“Alfa Delta Five. Echo Bravo Niner. Zulu Lima Two. Whiskey Tango Seven.” He couldn’t believe CIA case officer Chet Brinkter was in Puerto Vallarta. The man who’d once recruited Jake from out of a military hospital bed where he lay wounded, to act as an assassin on top secret black ops missions in Middle East war zones. Jake considered “Brinkter the Sphincter” to be a lying, backstabbing, dangerous snake in the grass who he’d once trusted, but had learned from his mistake and never would again.

Jake responded with his own expired code words, added some blistering profanity and asked, “What are you doing here, Brinkter? Last I heard you were stationed to a listening post at McMurdo Station in Antarctica, freezing your ass off at the South Pole.”

Brinkter stepped into the light, next to Xavier. “I listened to something very helpful in the conflict with Russia and was rewarded by getting transferred to a sunny warm location. I chose Mexico’s State of Sinaloa, where the Sinaloa Cartel is based. Their criminal organization is a threat to democracy and keeps CIA operatives like me very busy.”

“Have you been appraised of the situation I’m dealing with?”

Brinkter gave him a knowing look. “No, but I’ll bet my former field operations officer is here to assassinate someone who totally deserves it. Hmm?”

Jake said to Xavier, “He abandoned me behind enemy lines while bounty hunter terrorists were tracking me down. If captured, I would’ve been tortured and beheaded in a video posted to YouTube.”

Xavier raised his eyebrows. “Beheaded? The terrorists sound like cartel sicarios.”

“Yes, except they use a long, curved sword known as a scimitar.”

Brinkter scoffed. “Wolfe, you over-dramatize the situation. I hardly think ...”

Jake pulled his KA-BAR knife so fast it appeared at Brinkter’s throat as if by magic.

“See, that’s your problem, Sphincter,” Jake said. “You hardly think. What were you thinking when you left me to die in the desert?”

Brinkter stood perfectly still. “I thought you’d find a way to survive, and I was right.”

“Even a broken clock is right twice a day.”

Xavier put one hand on the pistol holstered at his side. “Back off, Wolfe.”

Jake stepped back and sheathed the KA-BAR. “I was only showing him the Marine Corps knife I carried on that mission where he abandoned me to the terrorists. Marines never leave anyone behind. Never.”

Brinkter told Xavier, “Jake lies all the time, about everything. That’s why I recruited him to assist the CIA.”

Jake shook his head. “You’re the one lying. It’s obvious”

“Oh, and how can you tell?”

“Your lips are moving.”

“Always the wannabe comedian.”

“Sorry you don’t appreciate my high-quality sarcasm.”

“Listen, funny guy, technically you’re still active in the CIA, but on indefinite leave.”

“Technically that’s a load of BS.”

“Guess again. I could have you reactivated and order you to obey my commands.”

Jake shook his head. “I resigned, in writing, and I’m a lawyer now. Try to screw with me. Go ahead.”

“Sure, you’re a lawyer—in your dreams,” Brinkter said.

“Feel free to search for my name on the State Bar of California website,” Jake said. “You know, for a guy who works for the Central Intelligence Agency, you’re not all that intelligent.”

Brinkter told Xavier, “My people taught Jake how to troubleshoot a problem until there was no more trouble. That’s why when he assisted the CIA overseas we called him The Troubleshooter.”

“I learned to shoot rifles at Marine Corps bootcamp and SOI—the School of Infantry,” Jake said. “The only thing you taught me was that you can never be trusted. Which is why I’ll now ask you to walk away from my boat and never return.”

“And if I don’t?”

“The Irish have a saying. It’s often a person’s mouth that breaks his nose.”

Brinkter leapt at Jake without warning and grabbed him by the throat in both hands. “I’ve had all I can stand of your insubordinate mouth!”

Caught by surprise, Jake staggered backward a step when Brinkter’s full body weight hit him, and they both fell off the end of the narrow dock into the bay water.

CHAPTER 54

Jake plunged beneath the surface with Brinkter on top of him and he grappled with his attacker under water. The bay was deep and the night dark. Rain pummeled the surface. Visibility was near zero.

Brinkter held tight onto Jake’s throat, squeezing it with all of his pent-up murderous zeal.

Jake pulled his knife again and although tempted to stab Brinkter in the kidney and kill him in self-defense, he instead shoved the point into the man’s crotch for maximum psychological effect.

Brinkter screamed, air bubbles burst from his mouth, and his reflexes made him inhale water. He let go of Jake’s throat and clawed his way to the surface where he coughed and wretched.

Jake came up nearby his enemy and gulped air through a sore throat. He sheathed his knife, swam to the dock and climbed onto it next to Xavier. “I told you he couldn’t be trusted.”

Brinkter thrashed in the water and yelled at Xavier. “He tried to castrate me!”

As Jake observed Brinkter and wondered if the man would now suffer from impotence, a massive fourteen-foot crocodile surfaced and used its powerful tail to move quickly toward its prey. The predatory beast’s long mouth opened to display rows of sharp teeth, and it bit down on the man’s head with powerful jaws, taking control of his body. Brinkter screamed again, this time in absolute terror as teeth sank into his skull.

Jake made no attempt to try fighting the croc with nothing but his knife, although he would do so if he had to protect Cody and Sarah. He watched the huge, prehistoric-looking animal dive underwater, dragging its freshly caught meat along, and he would never forget the sight of Brinkter’s head being crushed between the rows of teeth while his eyes opened wide in terror, and he pleaded with Jake to save him.

Xavier drew his pistol and aimed it at the croc as Brinkter said his last words, but the attack was over in seconds. He holstered his weapon, made the sign of the cross and looked up toward heaven in silent prayer.

As Jake witnessed the shocking end of Brinkter’s life, he felt some of his PTSD anger dissipating, like air released from an overinflated balloon that had been ready to pop. It was a great relief knowing Brinkter was gone and could never bother him again. His buddy “Conch” in Key West had told him alligators and crocodiles kept their food stashed below the surface, under a rock overhang, or among the roots of a mangrove tree. They mostly ate fish and crustaceans, turtles and sea birds, and sometimes mammals such as deer. However, once in a while they chomped down on whatever living thing presented itself in the water at night.

In Jake’s opinion, Brinkter had killed himself by not heeding the warning signs all along the shore to stay out of the bay after dark.

Sarah came out onto the boat’s aft deck with Cody and picked up the shotgun. “I saw Brinkter attack you on the security cam feed.”

Cody hurried to the swim platform, leapt onto the marina’s dock and trotted to his handler. He stood in-between Jake and Xavier, while growling and displaying his teeth.

Xavier took a step back.

Jake didn’t have a leash, so he picked up his agitated dog in both arms and held onto him. “Out, Cody. Easy, now. The threat is gone.”

Sarah aimed the shotgun and its light at Xavier. “Do we have a problem here, Señor X?”

“No problem any longer,” Xavier said. “Please lower your weapon.”

“I’ll lower it when my Captain gives the order.” She glanced at Jake.

He smiled, proud of her. “It’s okay, Sarah. Xavier meant well. Brinkter is crocodile food now.”

“I saw him grab you by the throat.”

“That was his final mistake, in a life filled with so many.”

Sarah lowered the shotgun, but kept its light trained on the wooden dock between Xavier and Jake.

Cody sniffed in the direction of Xavier’s pistol. He pawed at the air and tried to wriggle free of his handler’s grasp.

Jake held onto the loyal K9 as all four legs attempted to run toward the armed threat.

Xavier took a deep calming breath and let it out. “I’m sorry about this, Señor Lobo. Brinkter claimed you were an insane, out of control assassin who killed people at the slightest provocation.”

Jake shook his head. “If I was, I could have easily killed both of you with my shotgun when I had the advantage.”

“What now?” Xavier asked. “I don’t need any more CIA agents in my life.”

Sarah said, “You should’ve thought of that before you brought Brinkter here to attack Jake.”

Jake said, “Maybe write a report about how Brinkter asked you to have a meeting with me and coordinate efforts of the joint task force. During the rainstorm a powerful gust of wind made him trip and fall off the dock into the water, and a very large crocodile took him away.”

Xavier nodded. “I can do that. And you’ll back me up?”

“I’ll give you an edited video clip and a signed statement,” Jake said. “For now, you’re invited to get out of this rain and join us in the galley for a home cooked meal and some good wine.”

“I’d love to, but my wife is expecting me back soon,” Xavier said. “Brinkter pulled me away from dinner with my family for his fake emergency.”

Sarah said, “Give your wife our best, and tell her you’re both invited to a lunch or dinner cruise with us any time it’s convenient.” She turned off the shotgun’s flashlight.

“Thank you. We accept and will look forward to it.” Xavier bid them goodbye and walked up the dock to his government SUV.

Cody barked at Xavier in warning as the man left.

“You got the last word, Cody.” Jake carried his dog on board the motor yacht and set him down.

Sarah said, “I’m glad Xavier didn’t stay for dinner. I was only being polite.”

Jake imitated Sarah, “Do we have a problem here, Señor X? I might have to blast one of your kneecaps if Cody wants me to.”

She grinned. “Maybe your ‘insubordinate’ ways have rubbed off on me.”

“With all the times we’ve rubbed against each other, I’d guess that could’ve happened.”

Sarah blushed. “Let’s get you the hot shower, dry clothes and strong drink you wanted.”

The storm raged all night finally and ended at dawn. Jake spent the next day cruising his motor yacht on Banderas Bay in a search pattern using both the underwater camera, and the fish finder sonar that worked to over a thousand feet deep. Most drug subs could only submerge to a depth of thirty feet before hull pressure would cause them to crack and begin leaking.

In the late afternoon he called and reported to Agent McKay. “If there was a narco-sub here, we’d have found it.”

McKay said, “One of our Coast Guard ships paid a courtesy visit to Puerto Vallarta recently. Maybe that made the narco navy stay away.”

Sarah sat next to Jake at the helm. “Ma’am, did you know CIA agent Brinkter was here in PV?”

“No. If I did, I’d have warned you. His unexpected transfer only happened recently. I wasn’t keeping close tabs on him because he was stuck in Antarctica.”

“Should we cruise back to La Paz now?” Jake said.

“Yes, and focus your efforts on hunting down Andres Galván,” McKay said. “If he’s meeting the sub, we could kill two birds with one stone.”

“Will do,” Jake said, but first he cruised back toward their marina and rented boat slip in Puerto Vallarta, instead of heading out to sea toward La Paz.

“Forget something at the dock?” Sarah asked.

“I promised you a dinner in town. We’ve come all this way and it won’t take long.”

After tying up at their boat slip, the trio walked along the seashore. Puerto Vallarta’s beach featured a charming Malecon boardwalk similar to the one in La Paz, but it ran all along the entire length of PV’s bustling downtown.

The city was artsy, bohemian, quirky, and free-spirited. In the evenings PV had a party atmosphere. Its population included a lot of nonconformist expats from the US and Canada. Pet dogs on a leash were welcomed almost everywhere. In many ways the vibe reminded Jake of his beloved Key West, Florida.

Jake brought them to the Blue Shrimp Restaurant which was right on Los Muertas Beach with a view of the water.

The receptionist led them past a wall filled with photos of celebrities who’d dined there and outside to a table on the sand because they had a dog. Every person on the staff was friendly and unpretentious, good music played on a sound system, and the ocean view seating gave the place a relaxed atmosphere. In-between songs they were serenaded by waves crashing on the shore.

Once seated, Sarah said, “Looking at the hillside jungle made me realize this part of the gulf is more of a tropical rainforest compared to Baja’s drier climate.”

Jake nodded. “Yeah, Baja is an extension of Southern California. No crocodiles.”

“I love how the Malecon beach here goes on forever.”

“People from PV call themselves Pata Salada, which means salty feet.”

They each enjoyed a free-poured margarita while a young waiter made fresh guacamole at their tableside and sang along with the music.

“The lobster enchiladas look good,” Sarah said, while perusing the menu and dipping a tortilla chip in guac.

“They have shrimp lasagna,” Jake said. “Maybe Vito could serve that at the Amborgetti’s Restaurant back home.”

“The catch of the day is mahi-mahi with passion fruit sauce.” Sarah raised her eyebrows up and down.

A dashingly handsome Mexican waiter appeared and said, “For Jake Lobo, I recommend the filet mignon and our famous jumbo-sized blue shrimp.”

Jake stood up and shook hands. “Dante, it’s great to see you. This is my girlfriend, Sarah, and my dog Cody.”

“Hello, Sarah. Pleased to meet you.” Dante turned to Jake. “Sarah is much better looking than Terrell.”

Jake laughed. “I’ll tell him you said so.”

“Such flattery,” Sarah said.

Another waiter appeared and began making a tableside Caesar salad that Jake hadn’t ordered.

Jake shrugged at Sarah. “Dante will take good care of us.”

They enjoyed an amazing dinner of steak and blue shrimp, a plain filet for Cody, and then strolled back along the beach to their marina.

Jake noticed men admiring Sarah as they passed by. She was effortlessly attractive in a wholesome way that a lot of guys took notice of. He was proud to be with her.

Sarah said, “I love it here, but now I’m torn between Puerto Vallarta and La Paz.”

“Later on, we can cruise back and forth and catch some fish on our travels,” Jake said. “For now, we have a mission, so let’s get going to Baja.”

Once everyone was on board Far Niente, Jake motored out of the marina, across the bay, and onward into the Sea of Cortez. He felt a weight of responsibility on his shoulders. The narco submarine was still out there, and it would probably meet up with Andres Galván. His job was to capture or neutralize both targets. And he would do his job, come Hell or high water.

CHAPTER 55

Three days later, after crossing the gulf and returning from the mainland to Baja Peninsula, Jake lay in bed asleep in the dark before dawn. He dreamed that Cody was standing next to him, pawing at his shoulder and growling, but when he opened his eyes, he realized it wasn’t a dream.

“What?”

Cody ran to the stateroom door and back.

“Roger.” Jake threw on a pair of board shorts before grabbing his pistol and rushing out of the room.

Sarah mumbled something in her sleep about being careful.

Jake followed Cody through the salon and galley, out the sliding glass door and onto the aft deck, where Cody moved to the swim platform and barked at the sea. This was unusual behavior, so Jake checked for nearby boats, but didn’t find any.

The night around him was unusually quiet. Too quiet. No sea birds called to their mates. No fish rose to the surface to eat insects. The air felt different. It smelled different. A vibration tingled in his inner left ear, reminding him of the recent lightning storm, but the skies were clear.

The fur on the nape of Cody’s neck stood on end. It was an emotional response similar to gooseflesh in people. Jake’s K9 handler training in the Marines had taught him that raised hackles were used by grey wolves as a dominance behavior. In dogs, it could be related to dominance, surprise, excitement, fear, uncertainty, or aggression.

Cody stood stiffly, flattened his ears back and kept his tail down as he displayed his teeth.

Without warning, the calm sea turned angry with choppy whitecaps and rip currents. The power catamaran rose up when hit by a rogue wave, causing it to tilt, buck, and rock on suddenly turbulent water. The anchor chain creaked and groaned as if in pain and ready to snap. Salt water gushed up the swim platform’s steps and onto the aft deck, swirling around Cody’s legs. The protective dog barked in warning to his handler, with no heed to his own safety.

Jake felt momentarily stunned by the never-before-seen bizarre phenomenon that might sink the boat, but he snapped out of it when he saw the threat to his dog. “Cody, heel.” He patted his thigh twice and led Cody up to the bridge.

He used the windlass to raise anchor, and its chain rattled noisily as it passed over the rollers. Once free, the yacht rose again, like a cork, and tilted sideways to starboard, threatening to flip onto its side. Jake took the wheel and steered straight ahead. The vessel shot forward, riding the powerful wave, and Jake wrestled with the stiff wheel, trying to guide the sixty-foot motor yacht without engines, like a huge surfboard.

As a second wave crashed into the stern and washed over the aft deck, Jake started the twin engines and pushed the throttles forward, heading south. Turning and looking aft, he used night-vision binoculars and saw a third wave coming at them. The strange thing was, he also saw a matching wave heading in the opposite direction. It seemed as if a fountain of water had shot up and caused a circular ring of waves to roll across the sea in all directions. Scores of dead or stunned fish floated on the surface.

Sarah came into the bridge, eyes red, and a puzzled look on her face. “What in the world is going on?”

“I’m not sure,” Jake said. “Cody tried to warn me about something.”

Cody ran to Sarah and pressed his head against her stomach.

Sarah took a knee and held onto the anxious K9. “It’s okay, boy. We’re safe because you warned Jake. Good dog.”

“He’s really nervous.” Jake tapped on the controls of his surveillance camera system and replayed a recent segment of night-vision video. “Look at this.”

Sarah led Cody to the helm and sat next to Jake. She raised her eyebrows after watching the video. “What is that?”

Jake shook his head. “I’ve never seen anything like it. Seems to be a gusher of water that burst through the surface from below.”

“Could it be a volcanic eruption or an earthquake?”

“Good guesses. There were three waves, which might’ve come from an earthquake and two aftershocks.”

“I slept through it all until you started the engines.”

“Cody must’ve had a premonition,” Jake said.

Sarah nodded. “Scientists believe dogs can smell earthquakes in advance and feel a change in the earth’s vibrations and electromagnetic fields. It’s similar to how wild animals sense a drop in barometric pressure before a storm.”

“You sound like a professor at that veterinary college.”

“I didn’t spend the best years of my life studying at UC Davis for nothing.”

Jake leaned in close. “Those were very good years, but these are the best years of your life. Right here. Right now. The three of us, together.”

Sarah took a deep breath. “Thanks for reminding me.”

Jake again looked aft, back the way they’d traveled. “It seems to me like we were almost right on top of it, whatever it was. A swell lifted Far Niente up, dropped her down, and then pushed her aside.”

“Thank goodness you raised the anchor. It would’ve been a disaster if we’d capsized.”

Jake turned on the AM radio to a station the US Navy broadcast from San Diego for enlisted people.

A calm and officious female voice reported, “This just in. An earthquake of 5.9 magnitude struck off the coast of Baja California Sur in Mexico’s Sea of Cortez this morning. Thankfully, there are no immediate reports of injuries or major damage.”

“You were right, Sarah.”

The reporter continued. “The U.S. Geological Survey said the epicenter was south of La Paz in the Gulf of California.”

Sarah said, “We were anchored south of La Paz. Maybe close to the epicenter, like you thought.”

The reporter said, “The U.S. Pacific Tsunami Warning Center issued an alarm for coastal areas about the possibility of tidal waves reaching one to three meters, three to nine feet above sea level. The Mexican Navy also issued a tsunami alert. However, Baja California Sur’s state civil defense agency said the variation in sea level rocked boats and temporarily flooded marinas, but did not create hazardous tidal waves.”

Jake said, “It definitely rocked our boat.”

The reporter concluded, “The quake occurred around five twenty-eight a.m., Pacific Standard Time. Civil defense in the state of Sonora, on the mainland side of the gulf, said there were no initial reports of deaths or major damage. The quake was strongly felt in coastal communities, where masonry building walls cracked, windows shattered, trees fell, car alarms wailed, and electric power went out.”

Sarah asked, “Do I smell coffee?”

Jake checked the time. “Yes, I set the coffeemaker for five thirty.”

“I’ll be right back.” Sarah made her way down to the galley and returned with two mugs.

“Thank you.” Jake took a grateful sip.

There were no more shock waves, and the sea returned to its natural state. They cruised under a blanket of stars that lit up the dark blue sky.

Sarah said, “Where to now?”

“Let’s keep heading south,” Jake said. “If we’re lucky, the quake might’ve rocked a narco-submarine and made it rise to the surface.”

CHAPTER 56

After cruising for a while, Jake piloted on approach to Baja’s South East Cape, where the Sea of Cortez meets the Pacific Ocean.

He turned on the fish finder to illuminate the water ahead and was surprised to see what appeared to be a gray whale that was unusually stiff and lifeless. He hoped it wasn’t dead, only napping near the surface, which was a natural activity known as logging. Jake activated the underwater camera mounted on the bow for a look below the surface. When he zoomed in, he saw flukes at the mammal’s tail end and two pectoral fin side flippers up front. The approximately forty-foot whale began moving forward, slowly traveling without swimming or lifting its tail up and down to create propulsion.

Weird.

“Sarah, take a look at this. What do you see?”

She studied the display on the dashboard. “Looks like a gray whale movie prop.”

“I think it might be a narco-submarine in disguise.”

“That’s a wild theory. If true, why don’t we see any propeller bubbles in the sub’s wake?”

“If it’s using an inboard water jet motor, there wouldn’t be any cavitation.”

Jake knew Colombian cartels had been building and deploying mini subs for quite some time. Money was no object. Each submarine could cost two million US dollars to build, but a single shipment of cocaine worth two hundred million dollars would more than pay for all the subs they wanted. Each new vessel was improved upon from the previous ones. The U.S. Coast Guard called them LPVs, or low profile vessels, and referred to Colombia’s growing fleet as the narco navy.

“These subs are built of fiberglass on marine-grade aluminum welded frames and manufactured in clandestine shipyards hidden under a jungle canopy,” Jake said. “Colombia’s western coastline is in the Pacific Ocean side of the Panama Canal, not the Caribbean side.”

Sarah said, “If a spotter plane flew over, the sub would appear to be just another gray whale. It’s ingenious.”

Jake grabbed his phone, rather than the radio, and made a private call to his friend Gabriel. “Is your patrol boat armed with depth charges?”

“Yes, why do you ask?” Gabriel said.

“I believe we may have found a narcosubmarino traveling below the surface.”

“Is it a semi-submersible, or an actual submarine?”

“It’s a sub, or a ‘can,’ as narcos call them.”

“Location?”

Jake gave him the coordinates.

Gabriel said, “We’re nearby.” He shouted orders in Spanish to his crew. “Now heading in your direction.”

“It looks like a gray whale, but we think it’s a sub in disguise,” Jake said.

“You think? I can’t bomb a whale. The presidente would go insane.”

Jake texted a video segment from his underwater camera. “See how it’s shaped like a whale and painted slate-gray with some mottled white splotches? But look closely at topside, and you’ll see what appears to be a hatch and a periscope with an air snorkel.”

“Okay. I see what you mean.”

“There’s also a pointed spike on the bow that could be used as a battering ram to rip open enemy boat hulls.”

Gabriel muttered some profanity in Spanish. “Depth charges would kill a lot of sea life and sink the submarine.”

“I have an idea to capture the sub in one piece.”

“What are you going to do?” Gabriel said. “Jake? Are you there? Oh, hell.”

Jake ended the call. “First Mate, you have the helm.”

Sarah stood at the wheel. “Aye, Captain. I have the helm.”

Jake headed down to the aft deck and grabbed an inflatable life raft with a tender line on the bow, then called up to Sarah. “First Mate, increase speed. Follow the sub and get us right on top of it.”

“Aye, Captain. Increasing speed.”

Jake felt the vessel lurch as Sarah pushed the throttles forward. He kicked off his boat shoes. “Cody, stay on board. Protect Sarah. That’s an order, Marine.”

Cody whined at his handler.

Jake put on a diving mask, a dive belt and a pair of fins. He grabbed one black neoprene cold water diving sock and several zip ties, then shoved them into a zippered pocket of his board shorts. “Wish me luck.” He tied the uninflated raft’s tender to his belt, jumped off the stern into the bubbling wake behind the twin engines, and dove downward.

Clawing at the water, he soon gripped the slow-moving sub’s whale tail and sat down, placing one leg in front of each fluke. After removing the line attached to his belt, he looped it around the sub’s tail, tied it in a knot, and then turned on the life raft’s search and rescue transponder, known as a SART.

Once the SART began broadcasting its signal, Jake pulled a ripcord that activated a compressed air tank and inflated the raft. It quickly expanded into a large yellow boat that now acted as a buoyant balloon, lifting the mini-sub’s tail up at an angle and dragging behind to slow its progress.

As the sub’s periscope rotated to face aft, Jake swam forward to grab it and hang on. He presented one middle finger to the lens before blinding it by stretching his black scuba sock over the top.

With his lungs screaming for air, Jake placed several zip-ties around the snorkel hose and tightened them, shutting off the sub’s air supply.

He swam upward to where he saw Far Niente’s hull cutting through the water as it followed above him. Once he broke the surface, he inhaled deep breaths of fresh air and waved at Sarah on the bridge. She brought the motor yacht to a powerless glide, then reversed engines to stop.

Cody leapt off the stern and dog-paddled to Jake, apparently on a rescue mission.

Jake smiled. “I’m okay, boy. Thanks for the assist.”

After they scrambled on board, Jake turned to look aft and saw that the sub behind them had surfaced for air. The top hatch opened, but nobody showed their face above the rim.

If the sub pilot was daring, he’d risk going topside to cut loose the life raft and zip ties, then hurry back below deck, submerge, and escape underwater.

Jake retrieved his sniper rifle from a locker, sat at the aft deck’s patio table, and aimed his weapon at the sub.

A man stood up in the hatch and raised a rocket propelled grenade launcher.

“Oh, hell no.” Jake shot the man in self-defense, before he could fire his RPG.

The man dropped his weapon and fell back inside the sub’s open hatch.

The RPG was still on top of the sub. If other criminals were on board, one might climb out and fire that weapon at Far Niente, or Gabriel’s patrol boat, Colima.

Jake carried his rifle with him to a control panel, turned on the police lights, and used the boat’s PA system.

“You on the submarine,” he said over the loudspeakers in both English and Spanish. “If you can hear me and you want to live through this, shut down your motor.”

The sub stopped moving forward, with the water jet motor off.

“Now, show me your hands. Hold them above your head.”

One hand appeared above the open hatch, and then the other.

Colima arrived, and Jake announced, “Stand by to be boarded by the Mexican Navy.”

Colima pulled up alongside the narco sub, and two Marines leapt onto the deck. One Marine grabbed the RPG. The other aimed his rifle down the hatch and ordered the criminal to climb out and lie face-down with his hands behind his head.

A Colombian man dressed in filthy clothes obeyed the commands. He was in need of a haircut and shave, and had a resigned look on his face that indicated he’d been well paid to take a crazy gamble … and lost.

Once the criminal was handcuffed, Gabriel called out, “What cargo are you smuggling?”

“Cocaína rosado. Pink cocaine.”

Jake cursed. “The kind of coke mixed with ketamine, MDMA, meth, crack, and Valium that made a celebrity fall off a hotel balcony to his death.”

Gabriel said, “Anything else besides the cocaine?”

“Cuernos de chivo,” the criminal said, meaning horns of the goat, the cartel name for AK-47 rifles.

“Are there any other people in the sub?” Gabriel said. “If one of my Marines gets injured, I’ll kill you in self-defense.”

“No other people, jefe. Dos. No más.”

Gabriel told one of the Marines, “Go below decks and take a video.”

The Marine set down his rifle, drew his sidearm, and descended the ladder.

A minute later, Gabriel forwarded the video to Jake and called him.

Jake put the call on speaker so Sarah could hear.

“That’s a lot of drugs,” Gabriel said. “More importantly, look at those crates of AK-47s, armor-piercing rounds, and RPGs. Good work stopping an arms dealer shipment, hermano.”

“It was the luck of the Irish,” Jake said. “I’m fifty percent Irish and fifty percent Italian.”

Sarah said, “And one hundred percent trouble.”

CHAPTER 57

That night, Jake lay on his back in bed, listening to Sarah’s breathing as she slept next to him. He stared up at the overhead, wishing for a shot of liquor to relieve his insomnia. Dr. Salvadore said he could drink again, but for some reason Jake was abstaining tonight anyway. If he had one drink, he might have two, three, four …

Spending the night on a boat at sea, “on the hook” as they say, would normally be relaxing, but he had a lot on his troubled mind. He’d captured the narco submarine, and taken out the assassin named Osorio, but Andres Galván was still out there, terrorizing the people of Baja, and he needed to troubleshoot that problem.

Meanwhile, their new friend, Tracy, the yachtie stew turned deckhand who worked for the Korean couple, had spotted a man prowling around the marina near Far Niente’s boat slip. Jake led Cody on a search of the boat, but his dog’s remarkable nose didn’t find anything unusual.

Trying a relaxation method he’d learned, he tapped the fingers of one hand on the mattress in a rhythmic pattern.

One, two, three, four, five. One, two, three, four, five. One, two, three, four, five.

Sometimes it worked to quiet his thoughts and help him drift off to sleep.

No such luck tonight.

He tried another rhythmic pattern. This time, he used the fingers on his left hand to play guitar chords, and his right hand to strum imaginary strings with his thumb as he played the song “Mexico” by James Taylor. That was a mistake. It reminded him of playing the song with his late friend, Sammy “Pez” Lopez, who had died tragically and far too young. He felt a weight on his heart and whispered a few choice curse words.

Next, he tried to focus on the possibility of building a winery at the Tovar ranch, overlooking the sea and gulf. Gabriel had said his grandfather, Roman, liked the idea and wanted to talk more about it.

Cody walked to the stateroom door, then looked back over his shoulder at Jake.

“You gotta go?” Jake said.

Cody used his mouth and teeth to turn the knob and pull the door open.

Following Cody through the galley and salon to the sliding door where his dog would go out on the aft deck and pee on an absorbent pad, Jake felt a jolt of adrenaline when Cody sniffed the doorjamb and sat down to indicate the scent of explosive chemicals.

Jake’s heart pounded as he realized that on the sea, Cody could only smell a threat from a nearby boat heading toward them in the dark.

He removed a wooden dowel from its track and quietly slid the door aside, keeping the screen closed. He grabbed his trusty twelve-gauge pump shotgun with a flashlight beneath the barrel, and stood inside the galley with the lights off, pausing before venturing out.

Cody’s hackles stood on end, and he pawed once at the screen door.

“Wait,” Jake whispered.

Cody raised his nose, then tilted his head, listening. He turned toward the boat’s port side.

Jake surveyed the water to port, but didn’t see anything other than dark empty sea. All appeared peaceful, but his sixth sense tingled. Cody had indicated he’d smelled explosive chemicals. Jake trusted Cody with his life and heeded the scent dog’s warning. He opened the screen door, stepped out onto the aft deck, raised his shotgun, and aimed it over the port gunwale.

Andres Galván piloted his black Zodiac boat in the dark and followed a GPS signal from a device an accomplice had planted on Jake Wolfe’s motor yacht. He wore the crossbody sling pack across his chest, keeping its incendiary grenade within easy reach.

He would run his boat up alongside the port gunwale of Far Niente, toss the grenade on board the aft deck, and race forward to the bow. Once he’d passed by the sixty-foot vessel, its size and bulk would shield him from the fiery explosion behind him at the stern.

Soon he’d be rid of Jake Wolfe, once and for all. And although it would be a shame to waste the valuable yacht, its violent destruction would send a message, warning other boat owners not to interfere with his business.

Andres gazed through night-vision binoculars and saw that Far Niente was dark except for running lights at the bow, and an all-round light up on the bridge, shining 360 degrees as required when anchored at night outside a marina. He checked the aft deck at the stern and didn’t see anyone there, but half of it was under a dark shadow from the overhead.

Keeping his own lights off, Andres piloted slowly but steadily, using his quiet electric motor. When he came almost within range of the target, he aimed his Zodiac’s bow at Jake Wolfe’s motor yacht and placed a hand on the sling pack strapped across his chest. In a moment, one toss of a grenade would create a flaming funeral pyre so glorious it would inspire musicians to sing narcocorrido ballads about the infamous exploits of Andres Galván, the new undisputed overlord of Baja.

While Jake held his shotgun aimed to the port side, he turned on the tactical spotlight mounted below the barrel. Its powerfully bright beam revealed a black Zodiac boat coming straight at him.

A man piloted the boat with his left hand on the tiller, while unzipping a crossbody bag worn across his chest with his right hand and withdrawing a white phosphorus grenade.

Jake recognized the face of Andres Galván from a photo, and he was familiar with the incendiary weapon after his deployments in the Marines. He knew that once Andres threw the grenade on board Far Niente, there would be no escaping a horrific death.

Jake’s PTSD flared up and time seemed to move in slow motion. He heard a strange musical tune, similar to how someone with epilepsy did right before a having seizure. His heart pounded and he gritted his teeth to stop from shouting.

Andres squinted as the bright light suddenly blinded him. He let go of the tiller, held the grenade in both hands, pulled its firing pin and shouted, “Die screaming, Wolfe!”

For a split second, Jake was at the mercy of his enemy. If he’d grabbed a regular flashlight his fate would’ve been sealed. He didn’t have time to think, but his training took over and he fired the shotgun immediately, aiming for center mass and blasting Andres in the chest with a cloud of double-aught buckshot pellets.

The impact knocked Andres backward off his boat and into the water while also causing the grenade to explode in his face with a deafening thunderclap and a bright ball of flame.

Jake cringed at the thought of how close Andres had come to turning Far Niente into a blazing inferno. “The avenger of blood shall put the murderer to death,” he murmured, reciting a Bible verse.

Although the Zodiac had caught on fire, it continued moving toward him, partly deflated but temporarily kept afloat by a few surviving air compartments and the forward thrust of its motor’s propeller.

Cody barked frantically and bared his teeth as his right rear leg trembled.

Jake fired a shotgun blast at the boat’s motor, but it kept running. In a few seconds, the flaming Zodiac, along with its sizzling phosphorous coating, would press up against Far Niente and set it on fire.

Realizing he didn’t have time to continue shooting the boat and hoping to sink it, Jake lay down his shotgun, dove over the gunwale into the water, and swam toward the oncoming Zodiac.

CHAPTER 58

Jake reached the Zodiac, swam below the waterline and slammed his shoulder against the bow from underneath, fighting to turn it in another direction. He felt heat radiating from topside but kept up his efforts of kicking and pushing until he diverted the flaming boat off course.

The Zodiac cruised behind Far Niente’s stern, barely missing it, and continued on past.

Jake surfaced and took deep breaths, then climbed up the swim platform steps and on board his yacht.

“Cody, patrol.” Jake used his shotgun’s spotlight to sweep the perimeter, searching for any other threats in the surrounding water, as he and Cody circled the vessel from stem to stern on the walkaround deck, and returned aft.

“Clear,” Jake said, letting Cody know the search was completed. “Good dog.”

Sarah came out on deck and found Jake. “That shotgun sounded like a bomb.”

“You actually did hear an explosion,” Jake said. “I shot Andres while he was holding a grenade and it blew up in his face.” He pointed at the flaming Zodiac that was heading away from them out to sea, but slowing down and beginning to sink as more air compartments burned and deflated.

“What an awful way to die. Is that why it smells like the Fourth of July out here?”

Jake nodded. “It was a white phosphorus grenade. Cody hates the smell of WP.”

“An incendiary bomb to set us on fire?”

“Right. Lucky for us, Cody is trained to smell explosive chemicals from a long distance. He woke me up and saved our lives.”

They watched as the flaming Zodiac boat sank below the waves, pulled down by its motor and rigid hull, while Andres Galván’s burned and bloody headless corpse floated near the surface and would soon be discovered by sharks.

“How did Andres find us if you turned off the boat’s AIS and we traveled unseen?” Sarah said.

“I’m wondering the same thing. There could be others following us. It’s time for a quick exfil. Let’s get out of here.”

Jake cruised farther out to sea. Once in a safe place, he slowed down and set the autopilot, then opened the FedEx package he’d received at the marina.

“Wesley sent me a ‘Yorkie’ detector that finds every kind of nearby wireless electronic device including Cellular, Wi-Fi, Bluetooth, BLE, Apple AirTags, Samsung Galaxy SmartTags and Tile Trackers as well as any active GPS.”

Sarah glanced at the device. “That’s some scary technology.”

“What I don’t understand is, if there’s a tracker on board, why didn’t Cody smell it?”

Cody leaned in and sniffed the electronic device locator. His markings that looked like eyebrows went up and down.

“You’re smelling our friend Wesley and his pawn shop.”

Sarah said, “If you wanted to hide one of those from a search dog, where would you place it?”

Jake pondered the intelligent question for a moment. “First Mate, take the helm while I go belowdecks to the lower staterooms.”

“Aye, Captain. I have the helm.”

Once he and Cody made it below, Jake turned on the tracker locator and began walking the lower deck passageways while checking the bulkheads, staterooms, and compartments on each side of the twin-hulled power catamaran. He picked up a signal in the starboard stateroom, indicating that a tracking device was attached on the outside of the hull. “Time to go for another swim.”

He led Cody back up topside onto the aft deck and called out to Sarah. “First Mate. All stop.”

“Aye Captain. All stop.” Sarah eased back on both throttles, drifted and slowed down, then reversed engines until forward movement stopped.

Jake donned his snorkeling gear, grabbed a waterproof flashlight, jumped into the water and finned below the starboard side. He searched along the sixty-foot hull in the dark until something caught his eye. There it was—a small tracking device mounted with a heavy-duty suction cup used by construction workers to pick up large glass windows or granite countertops. The device was enclosed in a waterproof clear plastic holder and featured a long, flat, white antenna that stuck to the boat’s side like duct tape, with the tip above the water line. The antenna blended in with the white boat to be nearly invisible. He disengaged the suction cup’s locking mechanism, removed the device and peeled the tape off of the hull.

Cody dove into the water and swam down next to Jake, watched him in curiosity for a moment, then dog paddled back to the surface.

Jake smiled at seeing how Cody was finally getting used to the idea that his handler could go underwater for a while and come back, and now Cody could too. The dog was so smart he’d probably been over-thinking it. Jake followed Cody and after they broke the surface, Sarah called out, “Did you find a tracker?”

Jake held the item aloft. “Yes. One of the sat phone types that can transmit to satellites.” He helped Cody climb aboard and led him up to the bridge.

Sarah glanced at the device. “What should we do with it? Andres and Osorio are dead, but one of their accomplices could be hunting us.”

“I’m tempted to take this tracker on a wild goose chase, but for now, I’ll turn it off.”

Sarah said, “Captain, should the First Mate change course after that device broadcast our current route?”

“Yes, First Mate and mind reader. Please take her in any heading you desire.”

Sarah got a big smile on her face as she pushed the throttles forward, brought the motor yacht up on plane, turned the wheel and rocketed across the water in a new direction of her own choosing.

As they cruised, Jake received a phone call. “This is Jake.”

A familiar male voice said, “It’s me. Captain Crunchy.”

“Another burner phone?” Jake asked.

“Of course, one of many,” the man said.

“Talk to me.”

“I heard that Osorio was dead, and I wanted to say thanks.”

“Andres is dead, too. He won’t bother you again.”

“Wow, I owe you.”

“No, just the opposite,” Jake said. “I owe you. There are rewards for high-value targets like Osorio.”

“Was there a bounty on him?”

“Yes, from a US federal government agency.”

“Why didn’t you keep the money for yourself? I never would have known.”

“Because you protected my dog, Cody,” Jake said. “He’s priceless and I wanted you to be rewarded.”

“I’d do it again at no charge, in honor of a best friend I miss every hour of every day.”

“That’s why I’m giving you the funds to adopt your dog, Franz.”

The man coughed hard. “You know about Franz?”

“Yes, Willie, and I helped you buy his freedom.”

Willie paused a moment when Jake said his name. “You’re well informed. How much did it cost you to buy my dog?”

“An impressive amount of money,” Jake said. “Let’s just say that the kind folks at the dog training program can now do a lot more of their good work.”

“Do I go back to Hell on Earth and pick up my best friend?”

“No. You can’t set foot in the US. You were recorded on surveillance video stealing a sailboat from Marina del Rey yacht harbor. Two federal agents named Easton and Greene will deliver Franz to you.”

“I can’t thank you enough. How will they find me?”

“They’re approaching your boat slip as we speak.”

“Damn, you’re good. I’ll keep in touch.”

“Yeah, you will,” Jake said. “An agent named McKay will contact you.” Before ending the call, he heard a dog barking excitedly, and Willie shouting, “Franz!”

CHAPTER 59

As they traveled farther South, Jake said, “I believe we earned a well-deserved day off.”

“Yes, please,” Sarah said.

He turned on the music system and played “Southern Cross” by Crosby, Stills & Nash, and then pointed at the horizon. “There’s the Cross, visible low in the sky this time of year in the early morning.”

“This is my first time seeing it,” Sarah said.

While they cruised, the sun rose and dawn spread across the sea in a blaze of warm colors, putting on a beautiful display in the sky and on the water. The blue horizon paled, turned pink, reddish-orange, and then gold.

With Andres and Osorio eliminated, and the narco-sub captured, Jake was in the mood to finally spend time enjoying Baja’s warm turquoise waters and sun-kissed beaches.

He spotted several unusually large whales breaching the surface up ahead. “Are those sperm whales? They have the really long head and narrow jaw. Looks like a group of them rose to the surface together.”

“I think so.” Sarah checked Jake’s laminated card depicting Sea of Cortez marine life. “Yes, definitely sperm whales, with large brains full of valuable spermaceti and oil. It says here they don’t spend much time on the surface. After holding their breath for one or two hours while foraging on deep dives, they come up for only ten or fifteen minutes.”

“Maybe their big brains told them not to spend too much time on the surface where humans might bother them. They seem to be socializing and rubbing against each other.”

Sarah glanced at the guide. “Yes, and apparently, they’re clicking and talking among themselves.”

Jake smiled. “Probably talking about the earthquake.”

“It’s a rare miracle we got to see them. Mother Ocean is rewarding our efforts to protect the gulf.”

“A psychiatrist told me that finding awe in nature can heal trauma. It helped me when I worked as a nature photographer after coming home from deployment.”

Cody had been lying halfway in and halfway out the bridge’s doorway, as he loved to do. He jumped to his feet and barked happily at the unusual whales he’d never seen before.

Jake said, “First Mate, change course and give the sperm whales a wide berth. We can’t get too close because each of them weighs thousands of pounds.”

Sarah said, “They’re a breathtaking sight, but if one accidentally bumped us, it would be like getting hit by a ship.” She stepped back. “Captain, take the helm?”

“Captain has the helm.” Jake put both hands on the wheel, cruised the boat closer to Baja’s coastline, and slowed down near a small island, Isla Espiritu Santo, named after the Holy Spirit. Later in the day, tourists would enjoy sea kayaking nearby while others swam with whale sharks or scuba-dived near two sunken ships, the Mexican Salvatierra, and the Chinese Fang Ming.

There weren’t many people out early in the morning. That was for the best, because he noticed the earthquake had shaken some boulders loose from the island’s rugged coastline sea cliffs and they’d fallen into the shallow waters below.

Jake inhaled the salty air. “It’s interesting how this island has mangroves, palm trees and cactus plants all in the same habitat.”

The sea was awash with warm sunlight, and a gentle breeze wafted past the island, bringing the smells of sunbaked sand and vegetation, salty water, and a wisp of forbidden campfire smoke.

Jake felt at one with nature. Maybe now he could finally relax and enjoy life.

“Do you want to swim with the whale sharks?” he said. “This is a good spot for it.”

“Love to.”

Cody stood, stared at Jake, and tilted his head.

Jake smiled. “Yes, whale sharks.”

Sarah said, “Don’t confuse him. He loves whales but fears sharks. And he probably thinks you’re a dumbass.”

Jake gawked at her. “Excuse me?”

“I’m kidding.”

“Me, too. Everybody knows Cody thinks I’m a dumbass.”

She laughed.

Jake used his phone to turn on the TV and showed Cody a YouTube video of whale sharks, along with people snorkeling nearby.

Cody trotted to the TV and stood transfixed by the images.

Sarah ruffled his ears. “Jake’s going to take us swimming with those big-mouth whales.”

Cody barked and pawed the deck, ready to go.

While Jake piloted the boat, Sarah used binoculars to look at the shoreline and a variety of sea birds on the beach and in the water.

“I see at least a dozen or more species of birds.”

Jake glanced at the beach. “I once read there are over two dozen kinds.”

“No laminated card about sea birds?”

“Remind me to buy one.”

He cruised slower and found a spot near the island to drop anchor. They all headed down to the aft deck at the stern to take a swim before any other people arrived.

Soon, they enjoyed sharing the water with two large, harmless whale sharks. The slow-moving gentle giants were feeding almost exclusively on plankton and small fish and posed no threat to the visitors who swam beside them.

Cody stuck his head under the surface and watched the large sea creatures before coming up for air and barking happily.

Jake pointed out several nearby sea turtles.

Suddenly, a school of at least one hundred Mobula rays passed through the shallow coastal waters. Much smaller than manta rays, the sea creatures, also known as Munk’s pygmy devil rays, flapped their wings and glided effortlessly like underwater birds. The ocean’s most acrobatic rays, dozens of them breached and leaped into the air, flapping their wings and then splashing and landing with a loud slap, one after the other in succession.

“Incredible!” Sarah said.

“Sometimes these rays will congregate in the thousands,” Jake said. “It’s a beautiful sight, but the mass schooling behavior exposes them to high catchability.”

“I read that fishing for rays is banned in Baja California Sur,” Sarah said.

“You’re right, but poachers still try to throw out nets.”

Several kayaks built of transparent Plexiglass departed from shore, carrying tourists who paddled in their direction.

“Gotta love those see-through boats,” Sarah said.

A colorful hot-air balloon floated into view and hovered over the island.

After the trio watched the rays pass by, they all returned to Far Niente.

A Mexican Navy patrol boat idled slowly past, and one of the crew used the PA system to say, “Time to move on now.”

Jake waved at the boat. “Yes, sir.”

He headed up to the bridge and raised anchor to demonstrate his cooperation.

Sarah sat next to him at the helm. “I admire how they limit the number of boats and swimmers allowed to visit the whale sharks here.”

“I agree. Otherwise, it would be chaos. In years past, a real estate conglomerate tried to buy the island and develop a resort casino.”

“What stopped them?”

“An American Mexican formed a coalition that purchased Isla Espiritu Santo and donated it to the Mexican government.”

With the anchor raised, Jake started the engines and cruised away slowly, so as not to disturb the whale sharks. He piloted farther toward the cape of Baja peninsula, where the Sea of Cortez met the Pacific Ocean. It was a great place to do some sportfishing.

His phone buzzed with a video call from Agent McKay and he put it on speaker.

“Jake, thank you for your service.”

“Yes, ma’am.”

“You captured a narco sub transporting military-grade weapons, removed Osorio from the game, and put a stop to Andres Galván terrorizing Baja,” she said.

“I was only doing my job.”

“You do it well.”

Jake paused a moment. “And you want me to do it again?”

“We have another crisis situation that requires a patriot with your skills and top-secret clearances.”

“No rest for the wicked?”

“You can always say no, but I believe once you hear about the threat, you’ll feel duty-bound to troubleshoot it and protect innocent lives.”

“I’m listening,” Jake said.

— The End —

DEAR READER

As always, I do plenty of research while writing novels for you, and I try to include interesting facts for your entertainment. Quite a few readers send emails asking me which things in my books are real. That’s a good question. To answer it for everyone, I’ve put together a quick list pertaining to this book.

Note: The following list contains spoilers, so if anybody skipped to the back, I advise them to please read the novel before reading this list.

First, what is not real:

Names, characters, places, events, incidents, and dialogue are all products of the author’s imagination or are used fictitiously or as a parody. Any resemblance to actual persons, living or dead, businesses, companies, organizations, events or locales is entirely coincidental.

And what is real:

It’s true that US Marshals provide assistance to Mexico's law enforcement officials (LEOs) through coordination under Joint Task Force Alpha (JTFA). The US Attorney General’s office announced, “As neighbors, partners and friends, the United States and Mexico are now jointly addressing crime prevention and the pursuit of criminal networks by jointly implementing solutions that reflect our shared values.” As a result of joint efforts, officials in Mexico seized 44,771 weapons, 183,176 rifle magazines, and 18,710,197 rounds of ammunition. Yes, that’s an astonishing eighteen million rounds.

According to the Wall Street Journal, when US Marshals carry out joint operations in Mexico, it’s only a small group sent for short, specific missions and disguised as Mexican Marines. The goal is to help Mexico “find and capture high-value cartel targets.” One such mission resulted in the capture of “El Chapo.” The WSJ quoted an unnamed person who said that when a plan goes badly, “It can turn into a flat-out kill mission.”

Totoaba swim bladders (maws) have become more precious than gold. Totoaba trafficking is more lucrative, easier, less risky and has lighter prison sentences than narcotics trafficking, which is why the totoaba cartels are flourishing and they refer to swim bladders as the cocaine of the sea.

The vaquita porpoise, the world’s smallest whale, is facing extinction as bycatch of the illegal totoaba trade. Scientists are using sonic buoy echolocation to count them and estimate there are only twelve or fifteen of the endangered vaquitas left in the upper Gulf of California, the species’ only known habitat. It’s a heartbreaking situation. The vaquitas are doomed. The last dozen or so won’t last much longer without a miracle. Your author humbly suggests that one way to help shut down the totoaba supply chain that uses air travel would be for Mexico and China to deploy agriculture detection dogs such as the Beagle Brigade that patrols US airports to prevent smuggled fruits, meats, insects and pests from entering the country.

There is a famous gated community at La Paz named Puerta Cortes. Its prestigious marina is frequented by the yachts of millionaires and movie stars. That marina is accurately described but used fictitiously in this book. Meanwhile, the new Delfines Yacht Harbor, named after dolphins, is a product of the author’s imagination.

When you eat a bite of octopus/pulpo tentacles, the suction cup might stick to your tongue or cheek the way one did with Cody.

It’s true that hemp-derived THC is now federally legal in all fifty states and available in seltzer beverages, gummies, and chocolates. One news story reported that congress “accidentally legalized THC” when passing the 2018 Farm Bill. Many product reviews mention how the items helped people quit drinking beer or wine.

There really are scores of narcotic smuggling submarines traveling from Colombia to the United States and passing by the tip of the Baja Peninsula. These subs become more sophisticated every year.

In Puerto Vallarta, a heavy storm will sometimes flush river crocodiles down into Banderas Bay. There are signs posted warning people not to swim there at night, but if a tourist does it anyway, a crocodile can mistake them as prey. It has happened more than once.

Anyone can buy a BLE detector device. It helps you find a hidden Bluetooth Low Energy tracker on your car, boat, etc. You might have one installed on your vehicle right now, the same way as Gabriel Tovar’s police SUV did in this book. That may sound far-fetched, but the reality is, many car dealerships place a BLE tracker on every OBD-II onboard diagnostics system. You might want to go take a look at yours. I’m not kidding. There’s a video on YouTube where a guy shows the BLE tracker he found on his car. The comments section is filled with people saying they were shocked to find trackers on their cars, too.

In this book, Jake used a real-life detector named “Yorkie-Pro” to find a GPS cellular device (not BLE) stuck to Far Niente’s hull. Here are more details from the company website, reprinted as fair use in a review: Yorkie-Pro wireless intrusion detection system (WIDS) is a handheld receiver designed for wireless signal intelligence and security audits of data-sensitive government, law enforcement, military and critical infrastructure facilities. Yorkie-Pro detects all nearby wireless PEDs (Personal Electronic Devices) including Cellular, Wi-Fi, Bluetooth and BLE (Bluetooth Low Energy) channels using a high-speed receiver engine in conjunction with a Wi-Fi/BT/BLE demodulator. Yorkie-Pro is also the only device on the market that detects and locates Apple AirTags, Samsung Galaxy SmartTags and Tile Trackers as well as any active, hidden GPS trackers used for illegal stalking and tracking.

It’s true that in years past, a real estate conglomerate tried to buy the island of Espiritu Santo and develop a resort casino. However, an American Mexican in Southern California formed a coalition of people on both sides of the border that raised funds, purchased Isla Espiritu Santo and donated it to the Mexican government. It is now a nature preserve.

ACKNOWLEDGMENTS

Thank YOU for being one of my valued readers. I hope you enjoyed the latest adventures of Jake, Cody, and Sarah. There will be more action-packed books in this series coming soon. I’m a storyteller by trade. It’s my full-time profession, and I’ll continue writing about these characters for years to come.

Thank you to my talented team of editors, proofreaders, early readers, beta-tester readers, fact finders and more who worked hard on this book and spent hours going through the story, page-by-page to make it enjoyable for you. These fine folks are all so valuable to me they’ll remain a trade secret for now.

Thank you to the US Attorney's Office in the Southern District of California, for details about Customs and Border Patrol agents who discovered a residence used as a totoaba swim bladder drying factory with hundreds of the items laid out in rows on screens, and fans positioned to blow air over them.

Thank you to Mexico’s Office of the Attorney General for details about the many seizures of totoaba fish bladders, how the species is federally protected in both the U.S. and Mexico, and how it’s illegal to take, possess, transport, or sell totoaba.

Thank you to the journalists at Mexico News Daily for their report about two individuals who were arrested in separate incidents at Mexico City International Airport for the possession and attempted smuggling of totoaba swim bladders and are awaiting trial for transporting endemic wildlife products for commercial purposes. If convicted, each will be ordered to pay restitution in the amount of $120,500 to the Procuraduria Federal de Proteccion al Ambiente, Mexico’s environmental protection agency.

Thank you to Pulitzer Prize finalist Annie Jacobsen for researching and writing a book about the CIA's Special Activities Division titled Surprise, Kill, Vanish: The Secret History of CIA Paramilitary Armies, Operators, and Assassins. Jacobsen reveals the true stories about a shadowy world of covert operators. The book blurb states, “Surprise your target. Kill your enemy. Vanish without a trace. When diplomacy fails, and war is unwise, the president calls on the CIA’s Special Activities Division, a highly classified branch of the CIA and the most effective black operations force in the world. Originally known as the president’s guerrilla warfare corps, SAD conducts risky and ruthless operations that have evolved over time to defend America from its enemies. Almost every American president since World War II has asked the CIA to conduct sabotage, subversion, and assassination. Every operation reported in this book, however unsettling, is legal.”

Make sure you never miss a new book about Jake Wolfe. Sign up for my reader news email at MarkNolan.com and I’ll send you an update when a new novel is available to read and enjoy.

ALSO BY MARK NOLAN

Here’s a list of my novels in order that feature Jake and Cody.

If you enjoyed this book, would you consider leaving a short review? Word of mouth is really helpful to an author and is much appreciated. Thank you!

Dead Lawyers Don’t Lie

Vigilante Assassin

Killer Lawyer

San Diego Dead

Deadly Weapon

Key West Dead

The Girl Who Escaped

Mission Target

Sea of Death