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Dirk was obviously chomping at the bit, but after a moment’s reflection he said, “Then what do you suggest?”
* * *
The smell of the ocean permeated the midnight air, a combination of sea salt, drying fish and even less-pleasant notes that made Dirk’s nostrils twitch. People lived here year-round with this odor, and Dirk knew if he lived here, too, he’d eventually get used to it the way people who lived around cattle feedlots in the United States noticed nothing unusual. It was an annoyance he told himself to ignore.
Waves lapped at the harbor walls, rocking the clusters of boats anchored there and in the middle of the bay, some lashed together for security. Aberdeen Harbour was an anachronism, decrepit boats that in some respects looked little changed from two hundred years ago juxtaposed against a backdrop of ultramodern, high-rise apartment buildings not far from the shore.
The light given off by those high-rises, even this late at night, was better than moonlight for seeing your way, Dirk realized, as he and Mei-li crept down the pier to where the RMM boat waited. He took a moment to thank God for Mei-li and RMM. Mei-li for preventing him from dashing to the rescue like some half-assed action-adventure hero—a move destined to get his little girls killed—and RMM for springing into action and putting this plan together in just over four hours. Four hours that had chafed his patience raw, knowing his daughters were here somewhere...just out of reach.
But his patience had paid off. He didn’t know exactly how RMM had done it, but they’d narrowed the numerous boats in the harbor down to three potential targets. Some kind of heat sensors? he wondered. Specialized night-vision goggles? He knew the US military had equipment classified as top secret that had been used to take down what the US called “high-value targets.” RMM must have the same kind of equipment, he told himself. Legal or illegal?
Probably illegal, he decided. Mei-li had told him RMM did what it had to do and damn the consequences. He didn’t care. Whatever it took to rescue his daughters, he would do, and more.
“Mei-li? DeWinter?” A deep male voice queried in an undertone calculated to reach just as far as they were...and no farther.
Dirk looked to where the voice appeared to be emanating from within the boat and saw nothing. Then a shadow moved, and the outline of a man took shape. He was nearly as tall as Dirk himself and just as fit. He was dressed all in black from head to toe, and his face and the backs of his hands were smeared with something resembling black greasepaint.
Mei-li stepped onto the boat and launched herself at the other man, hugging him fiercely. And Dirk was taken aback for a moment. Then she turned to Dirk and whispered, “Dirk, meet my brother, Jason Moore. Jason, this is Dirk DeWinter.”
The other man held out his hand. “DeWinter,” he acknowledged.
Everything coalesced in his mind, and Dirk realized this wasn’t just Mei-li’s brother, wasn’t just Sir Joshua Moore’s son. This was the man Mei-li had described as the “fabulously wealthy” founder of RMM. The man who’d been helping him behind the scenes. Who else would Mei-li have trusted enough to confide in?
He shook the proffered hand. “I can’t thank you enough for everything you and your organization have done,” Dirk said. When Mei-li’s brother shot a sharp glance at her, he quickly clarified, “No, she didn’t tell me who you are, but I’m not stupid. She also told me RMM does whatever it has to do. ‘Let us have faith that right makes might,’” he quoted softly, “‘and in that faith, let us, to the end, dare to do our duty as we understand it.’”
A faint smile crossed the other man’s face. “If you can quote Abraham Lincoln from memory,” he said, “then Mei-li was right about you.” His smile disappeared, and his eyes turned hard and cold. “We’re just about set. I’ve got men in the water checking out the three boats we identified. As soon as we know which one, we can make our move.”
“Not without me.” Dirk’s voice was quiet, but there was a thread of steel running through it. It wasn’t bravado. And it wasn’t machismo. But he wasn’t about to risk anyone but himself taking on the kidnappers. Because if anything happened to his daughters in this rescue attempt, it wasn’t going to be because he wasn’t there to keep them safe.
Jason Moore assessed him silently, then nodded. “I understand.” He reached over to the console of the boat, then slapped a tube into Dirk’s hand. “Better smear some of this on your face and arms, then,” he said. “No sense standing out if you can help it.”
