CSCI pt 08 - mystery crime thriller set at sea - CRUISE SHIP HEIST - CRUISE STORYTIME

You've come here to listen to Cruise Ship Heist. If you've not started from the very beginning, here's the link to go back to episode one. And if you've been listening, carry on enjoying. Chapter 18. Shore leave cancelled. My unwanted windfall is diminishing before it's counted. It will have to be cut soon for a new team member, maybe a fifth before the day is out, and a sixth tomorrow. From the rail of the Lido deck, I look at the distant sky above the Caribbean entrance to the Panama Canal. I'm led to believe Panama can be a nasty place. And as my face is on a local watch list, maybe I should stay on board. I've finished dodging bullets for a living, so will spend the morning studying the nearby Built years ago with limited technology and scant concern for life in a rush for gold. The colour of money has changed, but the fight for it has not. This area was once under the control of Spain. I did want to visit Fort San Lorenzo. It's supposedly a well-preserved reminder of times when the Europeans came to buy and sell slaves. A theme that repeats in different forms throughout history. Now drug cartels feed the epidemic scale thirst for narcotics of those sold into addiction. Political lobbyists of those who profit directly or indirectly from these trades will ensure no government will ever be allowed to legislate against weapons, build borders or curb the drug trade. I've carried cash for governments to pay Middle Eastern clans for whatever is the current reason from black oil to opium. I look down and imagine the old Wild West, run by bullies, controlled by guns, fuelled by gold, all wasted on booze and sex. Then my mind's eye gives way to reality and I see Ronnie stride down the gangway amongst the tourists leaving for the day off the ship. She walks down the pier in her white short-sleeved shirt and long trousers. Her boots seem a little overkill. Hunter obviously didn't get to question her this morning. Two police cars speed towards our ship with sirens blaring. They'll be for the gunmen. Ronnie pays no attention to the cars as they pass, but I've noticed a man fold in behind her and follow. Another man is keeping the same pace on the far side of the dock, walking in the cover of pallets loaded with supplies. She's in trouble. Instinctively, I rush along the deck towards midships, keeping them in sight until I need to dash inside. No time to wait for a lift. I run down the stairs two by two, turning and jumping. As I reach the exit, the air is cordoned off by security to allow the police visit. I can't wait with the other passengers until they've left, so I slip past the officer at the computer who checks guests out. Sorry, sir, you'll have to wait, he says to me, lifting his hands to point me back behind the barrier. Call your head of security. Tell him Commander Kieran Phillips just left. If you wish to shout, sir, please do it in the queue, he says. I push my card under his infrared and leave in his moment of distraction. My guest profile will be on the screen. Hunter will know within seconds. Striding at a pace, I fall in behind the two men tight on Ronnie's six. They mix with cruise passengers, funneling through security at the port gate into Panama's second largest city. The police sirens wail as the cars pass me. I spot the man in green sitting between two uniformed officers. Everyone is preoccupied with the police car or leaving the port. Everyone except Hunter, who is standing on the distant gangway, watching me. I point to my eyes, then to Ronnie, then show that I'm following two men. Now we'll see if he wants in on the money. Outside the port gate is a transport center where hawkers sell tours. Almost all guests are walking purposely left. Ronnie knowingly turns right, but she doesn't know she's being followed. Many blocks downtown, where it naturally feels more dangerous, Ronnie turns into a side street. The two men look, wait, then follow. She could be taken in seconds. We both could be heading into trouble. I break into a jog. I hear footfall behind me, heavy and accelerating. Trouble in front, trouble behind. Without looking back, I dart sideways into a derelict shop doorway and turn, ready to strike. Chapter 19 Turn and Strike Hunter tucks in with me and passes me a handgun. That's my pistol. Try not to use it. He's gone, crossing to take a position on the other side of the road. I notice he's wearing a bulletproof vest under his white uniform jacket. That was fast dressing. I'm nervous. In Hellman Province, I had a full kit. Helmet, vest, boots, ammunition, medical pack, comms, and a gun I could use. We advance together, then exposing myself more than I'd like, we cross the next junction, festooned with cables hanging from corner to corner. City development has not stretched to these zero-value back streets, where once brightly painted verandas are faded at best. Hunter and I are in opposite doorways. Unless Ronnie's in danger, we've no need to escalate the situation, as the two bandits appear to have lost her and are backtracking slowly towards us. They kick every door, hoping to expose their prey. Now, frustrated, they will be at their most trigger-happy. Hunter is also wearing gloves, and has the gunman's semi-auto. What's his motive for helping us? Putting himself in danger. And he knows he's in danger. Maybe Hunter did speak to Ronnie this morning, and there's more to this than I know. The two gangsters have stopped, one each side of a shop front, egging each other on to enter first. This could be the time for us to move, but it would mean a gunfight in the street. A window smashes behind the farthest man, who is ripped from the sidewalk back through the glass. Marine biologist, my ass. His partner calls out, Manuel! Two flashes from inside, with a dull double bang of a pistol. Then a tense silence. The shots sounded controlled and accurate. If they weren't hers, we're too late. Both Hunter and I have the remaining combatant in our crosshairs. A body crashes out into the sidewalk in another shower of broken glass. It's not in officer's whites. A car screams around the corner and slides sideways, mounting the sidewalk by the remaining gunman. He rushes into the building. Four armed men get out of the car, advancing aggressively. Guns aimed at the house. Ronnie doesn't stand a chance against five of them. We have no choice. Hunter and I move forward in sync. Hunter rains bullets, taking out each of the four before I need to shoot. I move to the doorway, check it's clear, then stand guard, looking out. Hunter is checking the car, then moves forward to the shop. We could be eye to eye, but neither of us loses our assignment. Two shots from inside. I don't turn. Clear inside, Ronnie shouts. Clear outside, Ronnie. What's in that wall? Hunter shouts, inching forward and looking in inquisitively. I stay looking out at the street for any movement anywhere. The stakes of this walk into town have escalated to assault level. We need to leave if we're going to survive this. But I hear banging and ripping behind me. You got transport? Ronnie shouts from inside. Four door saloon, I inform her. Open the trunk, she demands. Door is open, engine running, Hunter says, swinging the doors open without leaving prints, then dragging the four bodies clear of the wheels. This is like a well-planned mission. Thuds bounce around my feet, but I can't take my eyes off the street. We're vulnerable, and this is taking way too long. Clock's ticking, I urge. Hold your position, Ronnie shouts. Ronnie, we need to go. I'm on holiday. OK, she shouts, calmly joining me and handing me a pistol from one of the dead. I'll get you a bucket and spade. Ronnie underarm throws parcels to Hunter, who catches and tosses them into the car's rear footwell. Bullseye, Ronnie, keep it coming, Hunter shouts. I stand with two guns held pointing out, like a cheap movie. I belt Hunter's private pistol and check the remaining pistol. At last, I'm armed. Is that what I think it is, I ask. Walls are made of hundred dollar bills, Ronnie says, still throwing. Shit, I exhale, not taking my eyes off the street. Analyze it at the debrief, Ronnie says. She and Hunter bundle a body into the rear of the car. She goes to the driver's seat and gets in. Hunter breaks open a bundle of money and scatters notes all over the street as the car reverses down off the sidewalk, ready to escape. So thoughtful, I say. Leaping into the car, Ronnie drives away slowly. Did she just indicate? Hunter jokes. Sure did. She signalled foreign driver in town. I was turning left, Ronnie argues. She was turning left, Hunter, I repeat. Compliance officer. OK, fine. No more signals, she puts her foot down. Wouldn't want you to get arrested, Ronnie. You do what's ever in the Panamanian highway code. How are we ever going to get back on that ship with all this? Or are we? I ask.