L. Dark Drone: A Ryan Weller Thriller Book 11 Paperback

These premium paperbacks are printed on demand by Lulu. Once you buy a paperback, the order is sent to Lulu, and they will print it and ship it directly to your home.

CHAPTER 2 R
Big Farmer’s Cay
Exuma Cays, The Bahamas

Ryan Weller swam lazily under the twin hulls of the Fountaine Pajot Saba 50 he had named Huntress after his wife, Emily Hunt. Three months’ worth of marine growth had accumulated on the sailing catamaran’s hulls since he and Emily had left Fort Lauderdale on their honeymoon. He needed to get a scrub brush to clean them, but right now, he was freediving after a hogfish that was rooting through the sand in thirty-four feet of water. Pushing the rubber sling forward on the pole spear, Ryan let himself float for several moments as the fish moved from one coral head to the next.
Sometimes referred to as “the bacon of the sea,” the hogfish’s white flesh was tender and mild in taste, and a favorite for sportsmen to catch. This one was female, lacking the distinctive dark band that usually ran from the snout to the first dorsal fin, meaning she was less than three years old, the age the females turned to males. The hogfish dug its nose into the sand again, searching for crustaceans. When it found a bite to eat, the hogfish raised its snout and sand trailed from its mouth as it finned gently toward another hunting ground.
Placing the tip of the spear next to the fish’s thick body, Ryan let the pole slide through his hand and into the fish. As it withered on the pole, trailing a stream of blood, Ryan rose toward the surface, knowing the blood and the thrashing of the dying fish would attract sharks from miles around. Normally, the black tips, reefs, and nurse sharks kept a close eye on his diving habits, and the sound of Ryan jumping into the water was almost like a dinner bell for them. More than once, they had snatched away his prize, but not today. Ryan swam straight up to the catamaran and tossed the two-foot-long fish and pole spear onto the boat’s aft deck before shedding his fins and climbing aboard.
“The sharks didn’t get dinner today,” Emily said, stepping out of the cabin. She wore a blue bikini and had her blonde hair—the color of ripe harvest wheat—pulled back in a ponytail. She appraised the fish as it flopped on the deck. “You know, I like fish, but I could go for a steak.”
“Didn’t we eat the last of those already?” Ryan replied.
“That’s a hint, hubby.”
Hubby. He was still trying to get used to hearing that. Ryan grinned up at her from where he knelt on the deck, removing the fish from the spear and preparing to fillet it. “So, you’re tired of living on the hook in paradise, with no one around for miles.”
“Absolutely not,” she replied. “I’m just ready to reprovision.”
“Okay. I’ll put the hog on ice and scrub the hull this afternoon, then we can sail to Georgetown tomorrow.”
She smiled coquettishly. “You could scrub the hull in the harbor.”
“Is that a hint, Missus Weller?” Ryan stood and pulled her into his arms. He didn’t have to bend his six-foot frame much to kiss his tall bride.
Emily laughed. “Buy me a steak, Mister Weller.”
“I’ve got a steak for you.” He grinned. “A tube steak.”
Emily rolled her eyes. “Keep it in your pants, sailor. You haven’t even bought your best girl a drink yet.”
Ryan kissed her again, basking in the glow of being a newlywed and from being alone with his wife in the heart of the Exuma Cays on an island they’d had all to themselves for the last week. Known as “Mile-long Sandbar,” Big Farmer’s Cay’s beaches were pure white sand merging with blue-green water to form one of the most remote and romantic places on Earth.
For a person like Ryan, who always wanted to check out the next island or see what was over the horizon, the monotony could cause boredom, but that didn’t matter to him now. He had found a woman who shared his passions, and they had sailed away from the rat race to run naked on the beaches. He was living his dream, content to spend the days spearfishing and scuba diving and enjoying the time with his new wife.
Emily’s suggestion to move on had stirred the wanderlust deep inside of him, but he wanted to tease her a little more. “You mean I have to put clothes on?”
“You don’t have to, but I don’t think we’ll get any service anywhere if you don’t. Besides, not everyone wants to see you prancing around in a Speedo.” She smacked him on the bottom and spun out of his arms. “Hoist anchor, swab. We’re heading for civilization.”
Ryan stepped into the cabin to check the electrical bank. He noticed Emily had straightened the living area and stowed the loose gear for the passage. She had been thinking ahead, scheming out her plan while he was underwater. He chuckled to himself at her craftiness as he finished switching on the battery banks and went up to the cockpit. He started the twin diesels and let them idle while he went forward to the chain locker and grabbed the winch remote. The anchor came free of the sand a few moments later, and Emily nudged the throttle forward to start the boat on its journey.
As Ryan was making his way up to the cockpit to join his wife, he heard the satellite phone ringing in the salon. He groaned at the intrusion to his peaceful world and considered not answering it, but his curiosity got the better of him and he peeked at the Caller ID. It wasn’t one that made him happy, and he wished he had followed his initial instinct to ignore the phone. Now that he knew who was calling, he couldn’t turn away, and part of him—a big part of him—hoped it meant a new mission.
Putting the phone to his ear, Ryan said, “What can I do for you, Agent Landis?”
“I need you to go to the coordinates I’m about to give you. And get there on the double.”
Floyd Landis’s lack of preamble told Ryan all he needed to know. When the Department of Homeland Security didn’t make time for “hello,” he damn well needed to listen, even if he wouldn’t like what they had to say.
“Can it wait?” Ryan asked. “I need to put in for fuel and provisions.”
“Do you remember me telling you that someday I would call you for a favor and I expected you to drop everything and do it?”
“Yes, sir,” Ryan said, realizing the gravity of the situation. Over the years, he’d asked Landis for many favors, and the agent had always come through. And now Landis had been true to his word; he had promised this day would come. “What do you need me to do?”
“A drone went down about a day’s sail from your current position. Get to the coordinates and declare salvage rights for Dark Water Research, then stand by for Greg to arrive. He’ll have all the paperwork you’ll need to operate in Bahamian waters.”
“Roger that,” Ryan said.
Dark Water Research was his current employer, a global dive and salvage company owned by his best friend Greg Olsen.
“Haul ass, Weller,” Landis said by way of goodbye.
Ryan hung up the phone, knowing Emily would not be happy about the turn of events. Hell, he wasn’t happy about it, but he owed Landis a whole pile of favors.
The phone pinged with an incoming text message that contained the coordinates. Ryan typed the latitude and longitude numbers into the chart plotter and hit the Go button, creating a white line across the blue screen, showing their new course.
Climbing up to the flybridge, Ryan saw Emily had taken them straight down the channel toward Little Galliot Key. She was on course for Galliot Cut, between Big Galliot Key and Cave Cay, a narrow island with a dirt landing strip and a tiny marina beside a row of cottages.
“Change of plan,” Ryan said.
“What?” she asked.
“Head for Safe Harbor on Cave Cay. We’ll need to get fuel there before we head out.”
“And where are we going?” Emily asked indignantly.
“Flamingo Cay, on the Great Bahama Bank.”
“Why are we going down there, and what’s the hurry? I’d like to get my steak.”
Ryan told her about the call from Landis and the DHS agent’s instruction for them to get to the coordinates as fast as possible. “He’s calling his markers, Em. I owe him a bunch of favors, and this is the first time he’s called to collect. I can’t say no after everything he’s done to help me.”
“Did he say why?” Emily asked. Her tone was questioning, but Ryan could also hear displeasure in her voice.
“It’s some sort of salvage operation because he’s also sending Greg.”
“Have you called him to find out what’s going on?”
“No. I’ll do it after we get fuel. With luck, we’ll arrive off Flamingo Cay in twelve hours, excluding a stop for fuel.”
“When you talk to Greg, tell him to bring me a steak.”

*
Two miles and fifteen minutes later, Huntress was alongside the concrete floating dock at Safe Harbor Marina. Ryan was glad they’d stopped. He had never been to the island and appreciated its beauty. High rock walls covered in lush green foliage and small strips of golden beaches surrounded the bay.
Shark, the owner of the marina, was a heavyset man with a long beard. He was pleasant enough, allowing them to fill their fuel tanks at six dollars a gallon—cash only.
Emily bought an expensive ice cream sandwich from the general store, and when Ryan asked her for a bite, she spun away from him and clutched it to her chest protectively. She stuck out her bottom lip and told him it was in place of her “steak.”
Ryan snorted and patted her on the butt as he passed by, heading to the store himself. He hollered over his shoulder for Emily to finish pumping the fuel. At least he could give Greg the bill and claim it as a business expense for his upcoming operation. After all, Ryan was an independent salvage consultant for Dark Water Research, and this was a business trip now.
After paying the fuel bill and getting an ice cream sandwich of his own, Ryan returned to the boat to find Emily had already started the engines.
Navigating out of the tight harbor entrance, Ryan glanced over his shoulder at Shark, who stood by the fuel dock with his hands in his pockets, watching them leave.
They passed through the narrow entrance between the low limestone cliffs and entered the smooth Caribbean Sea. Ryan threw the throttle forward to run the diesels at maximum cruising speed.
It was going to be a long night, charging toward the unknown.