Glen & Tyler's High Seas Hijinks (Glen & Tyler Adventures Book 4) Read online

  Glen shook his head. “They didn’t. British intelligence and various South American military forces staked out everywhere they thought might be their compounds. You just pinpointed the four places for them. They have people at something like twenty-five strongholds in various places in South America.”

  Bertie grinned. “Tyler suckered them into showing themselves, didn’t he?”

  “That’s my husband. Still, I’m sorry we couldn’t actually work the dolphin into the plan.”

  Those Pina Coladas Don't Make Themselves

  Phoning the Big Guy

  Back on the Black Douglas, after quite a bit of waiting for the HMS Fife to take over security on the captured ship, Glen, Tyler, and crew retired to the lounge.

  Tyler immediately turned to Tim.

  “I’m going to say something to you I’ve wanted to say since this whole adventure began.” Tyler nearly bounced on his toes.

  Tim looked cautious. “What?”

  “Get me the President.”

  Tim snorted. “You’re kidding, right? You want me to get the President of the United States on the secure phone at a moment’s notice? Like it’s making a reservation at LeCirque or something?”

  “Yup!” Tyler grinned.

  “You’re an evil bastard, you know that?” Tim grumbled and picked up the satellite phone.

  “So what’s the big plan?” Glen handed Tyler a drink. It was a smoothie that Cookie had whipped up, instead of the rum Glen had been tempted to hand him. After all that excitement and climbing around, Tyler needed his electrolytes.

  Tyler sipped, and smiled, because Cookie was incapable of making something bad. “Big plan? We’ve more than finished the job, I think. We rescued the guy we came to rescue, after all.”

  Glen just raised an eyebrow.

  Tyler snorted. “Ok, we have one more little job, and then a celebration party.”

  In the background, Tim was getting heated on the phone. “—Now you listen here, Lieutenant, you pass this message along to your commander, or I will rip your fucking ears off and feed them to you. I repeat, code word of the day is cauliflower, and I’m calling about Operation Falling Stars.” There was a pause. “And I don’t fucking care what’s going on in the operations room. This is a priority joint operation, and I am making a status report.”

  Glen sipped his own drink. “Party?”

  “Yeah, I figured we’d get the folks from Excalibur down to the island, and do our official debriefing.”

  The big screen snapped on, and turned blue. A moment later, a man dressed in business casual, wearing a golfing cap, stepped into the picture and sat down. It was the President.

  “Mr. Conrad. I assume this is actually as urgent as your assistant led my people to believe?”

  “It is, sir. I’ll be able to deliver my full report tomorrow night, 7pm. I hope you’ll be able to spare some time.”

  “Why do you need me on video call, if you’re going to be officially debriefed? I could just read the report.”

  Tyler smiled that cat-with-cream smile that made you want to shake him until he told you his secret. “If you could have the three gentlemen whose names we’re faxing your people right now do our official debriefing, I’ll make everything very clear.”

  Someone from off-camera handed the President a sheet of paper, which he quickly read, nodding.

  “I’ll do what I can with 24 hours notice, Mr. Conrad. Getting you the men you request shouldn’t be a problem.” The President gave Tyler a look that clearly indicated a certain satisfaction with the choices. “Changing my schedule, however, is like turning a super-tanker … ”

  The picture clicked off.

  Tyler smiled. “You know, I kind of like him. He’s snappy.”

  The Best Kind of Treasure

  The video wavered for a moment, and then settled. There was still the odd blip as they talked.

  “Boys. How’s the cruise going?” Nanna sipped tea from a delicate china cup.

  “Uh, fine, Nanna.” Tyler raised an eyebrow at Glen. “We’re just calling to say we’ll be home in a few days, and we’ve straightened out the Jeremy thing.”

  “Mostly.” Glen muttered, hoping the mic wouldn’t pick it up.

  “That’s nice. And did you find the bad man yet?”

  “Nanna!” Tyler made a shooing motion. “Yes, it’s my big reveal at the end.”

  “Oh good. Make sure I get a copy of the video you shoot.” She sipped her tea again. “It’ll be instructive.”

  Nanna eyed Tyler, and Glen had the sudden impression that she didn’t mean it would be instructive for her.

  “Will do, Nanna. Can I bring you anything back from Bermuda?”

  “Rum. Oldest you can find. And maybe a nice cabana boy to rub my back.” She flexed her shoulders. “I get a little stiff at night.”

  Glen enjoyed Tyler’s shocked expression.

  ***

  “Mr. Conrad, I hope you can make this quick, we have several divers below, and I’m in the middle of analyzing a coin we brought up earlier. Even the short time we’ve had back in the field, now that you’ve corrected our security problem, has been invaluable.”

  Dr. Harding was in a wet suit, had her hair pulled back in a bun, and looked flushed.

  “Uh, wait, did you find the ship after all?” Tyler looked uncharacteristically surprised.

  “Probably. We have not yet dived on where I think the wreck itself is. We’re still doing work on the debris field — you’d be shocked how many ‘treasure hunters’ neglect the debris, and therefore miss critically important archaeological data. Though I must admit, broken crockery is more valuable to me than mere gold coins.”

  “But you think it’s actually the shipment? His horde?” Tyler leaned forward.

  Dr. Harding pursed her lips. “How secure is this video chat we’re having?”

  “Frighteningly secure. Several intelligence agencies are probably gnashing their teeth because they can’t overhear us.”

  “Excellent. Yes, I think we’re very likely to have uncovered the missing wealth of Olivier Levasseur. In the debris we recovered today we found several wine bottles.”

  “Ooh, any interesting vintages?”

  “Probably, based on the imprint on the bottle but I think you’d find the gold content a little high.”

  “Come again?”

  “There was no wine in the bottle. It was filled completely with gold coins.”

  “Oh!” Glen looked struck. “Oh, that’s brilliant!”

  It was Dr. Harding’s turn to look quizzical. “Why are coins in a wine bottle brilliant?”

  “If you were worried about your immense wealth, in the form of gold coins and gemstones, and felt that at any moment someone would discover its location because it was too near to your home. If you couldn’t risk sending out a ship with obvious chests or boxes filling the hold, but had to send your treasure somewhere, fast. How would you disguise the contents?”

  Dr. Harding lifted an eyebrow. “I suspect I will be finding a great many more wine bottles.”

  “Oh yeah, tons of them.” Tyler grinned. “Guy after my own heart.”

  Glen leaned forward. “For the book, we’ll have to figure out what wine seller, or winery was receiving a large shipment of … hmm, I’d guess South African wine.”

  “Yes, or a nobleman’s personal wine cellar. He may already have setup an identity in Bermuda as a landed nobleman. Why South African?” Dr. Harding’s face was intent.

  “Less likely to attract pirates. The real money was in French, Austrian or Hungarian wines.”

  “Uh?” Tyler put up a hand until they both looked at him. “Book?”

  Glen smiled. “There’s enough going on around this shipwreck, treasure, and the famous pirate to warrant a lot of written material, far more than just one paper’s worth. I believe Dr. Harding could get a book out of it.”

  “Oh, cool.” Tyler beamed. “Happy to help, Dr. Harding.”

  “I am obliged to you, and to yo
u, Dr. Merriwether, for your keen insights. Before I get back to it, was there actually a reason you called?”

  “Oh, right. Glen and I need to fly back north in a few days, and we just wanted to let you know that even if we can’t visit in person, you can be assured of our continued support.”

  “Excellent, thank you. I must say, you have been just as generous as your reputation suggests.”

  Not Your Average Clambake

  The marine helicopter, one of the big fat ones that looks barely capable of flying, landed gently onto the helipad. Four marines in camo uniforms piled out, decked out in full combat gear. Each of the men carried M16 assault rifles. After a moment of looking around, one of the marines said something into the helicopter and then three guys in suits got out. They looked around, too.

  Glen, Tyler, and six of their security guys hung out near the edge of the helipad, enduring the wash from the rotor blades. They all wore goggles but it was still kind of irritating. Plus the wind was killing the tiki torches.

  Tyler waved.

  As if this was a signal of some kind, the three men in suits and their marine escort strode over to them.

  “Gentlemen! Welcome to the party!” Tyler had to shout to be heard over the noise.

  One of the men in suits frowned, and motioned at the tiki torches lining the paved path that led away from the helipad. “Party?! This is supposed to be a debriefing, Mr. Conrad!”

  Tyler pursed his lips in obvious irritation, and pointed down the path. First Glen and Tyler’s bunch left, and then they were followed shortly after by the marines and the suits. Once they all reached the area outside the wash zone, Tyler pulled off his safety goggles.

  “Actually, it’s a luau.” Tyler swept a hand at the torches. “That’s why the fire. Yes, we’re going to be doing a debriefing, all official-like, but there’s no reason we can’t enjoy ourselves afterwards. I’m sure your completely unnecessary marine escort would agree.” Tyler nodded at the marine in charge.

  The marine sergeant nodded back. To Glen’s practiced eye at reading military men, the sergeant was none too happy to be there.

  “The marines are standard protocol when high level government officials visit foreign soil, Lord Conrad.” The man in the suit sneered. He was fifty if he was a day, overweight, balding, and with what looked like a perpetual scowl on his face.

  Tyler put his hand to his chest in mock dismay. “Oh, you wound me, Mr. Demming! We’re as American as apple pie out here.”

  One of the other men in suits snorted. He was the youngest of the three, and his suit was just a shade nicer than those worn by the other two. He also reminded Glen of Tucker — harder, more calm, and only revealed emotions when it suited him. So, an experienced field operative, obviously.

  Demming just scowled harder. “Hardly, Conrad. This island is part of the United Kingdom, even if you do own it.”

  “Well, Mr. Demming, despite that, you’ll find that it is one of the most well-protected islands on the planet, and you’re here as my guest.” Tyler glanced again at the marines. “Your military friends are more than welcome to join us, but they are going to stand out a little.”

  “Stand out?”

  “At my luau.”

  “This is supposed to be a high-level, top secret debriefing.”

  “Oh, no worries there. This is a celebration party I’m throwing for the members of Excalibur, my spy network. All these folks have top secret clearance as part of our consulting work, and almost all of them were involved in what took place down here. How do you think I cracked it?”

  Demming didn’t look thrilled. “Fine.”

  Then Demming motioned at Tyler to go first. The entire crew set off down the path to the mansion. Tyler skipped going inside, and walked over the large west patio to another path that led down to the beach. There was a crowd of about sixty people, and all but the wait staff wore Hawaiian shirts and Bermuda shorts. More than a few people, even some of the wait staff, had leis around their necks.

  At the sight of the beach party, Demming stopped. Then the other two guys in suits stopped, and then the marines. The marine sergeant sighed.

  “And the waiters, Conrad? Are they cleared, too? This is ridiculous. How you got your reputation, I have no idea, but I’m starting to think that fratboy exterior isn’t a feint. I’ve half a mind to ignore my instructions, and just take you back to the carrier group.”

  Tyler grinned. He absolutely loved it when people took his dumb jock act as gospel.

  “Let me tell you a little secret, Mr. Demming. I don’t have any wait staff.” Tyler had his arms behind his back, and was swaying slightly. Glen realized that Tyler swaying in time to the steel drum music coming up from the beach.

  Demming looked down at the beach, pointedly at several men and women in black pants, black shirts, and white aprons. If he’d been paying more attention, he might have noticed that they were all medium to large in size, well-muscled, fit, and had very close-cropped hair.

  “Looks like you do.”

  “That’s the idea. Each and every one of them is also a member of my security team, and thus armed. And alert. And deadly.”

  The marine sergeant snorted.

  Demming turned on him. “Sergeant Gibbons, something you want to add?”

  Sergeant Gibbons pulled his gaze away from the beach, and back to Demming. “Yeah, as a matter of fact, I do. We’re going to sling our guns, stow our helmets, and go join the party. You don’t need us for this, just like I said.”

  Demming turned red, or as red as Glen could make out in the torch light. “Sergeant Gibbons—!”

  “Know who that is?” Gibbons pointed at James, who was dressed just like all the rest of the security guys in their team.

  Demming barely glanced at James. “No, just another of Conrad’s goons, mercenaries like the rest—“

  “That’s Master Sergeant Harroway, or at least, that’s what he was when he went from my marine platoon to whatever secret action squad he trained up to. He’s easily the most capable marine I’ve ever met, and I’d not only trust him with my life, I have. If he’s here, and anywhere near in charge, we’re all fine.”

  James nodded at him.

  Gibbons nodded back. “Now, as I said on the ship, we’re here as a courtesy, but we ain’t got no authority, just like you said. So we’re going to be all polite like, and join the party.”

  Demming inflated, and pointed a finger at Gibbons. “I’ll see you court-martialed for this!”

  Gibbons barked a laugh. “Hell! Why do you think he’s there,” he pointed at James, “and I’m here? I’ve been as far up as First Sergeant until my bullshit meter got pegged and I had to deck somebody. You’re getting off light.”

  Sergeant Gibbons and his team moved past them to the party.

  Demming shook his head and turned to Tyler. “Look, I’m an assistant director of the CIA. I have another four or five more hours of meetings after this to clear up the mess you uncovered and I’d like to get this part of it done.”

  Tyler nodded. “Sure. That’s fair. We can go back up to the house. I have a secure meeting room we can use, if you’d be more comfortable.”

  “Thank you.”

  ***

  Tyler led everyone into the one room in the mansion that wasn’t palatial or tropical. Instead, it was a boardroom that would have fit comfortably into any fortieth-floor corporate headquarters: giant oval table, comfortable chairs, and floor-to-ceiling windows with a great view. In this case, the view was of the ocean, in three directions. Not that you could see much of the ocean with the lights on at night, even with the moonlight. The fourth wall of the room was paneled in great modern swathes of wood, intricate designs carved into abstract shapes. Double doors in the middle of the wood sculpture led back into the rest of the big house, but inside the conference room it was like they were floating on a dark sea.

  “Ok, grab a seat everyone, and let’s get to it.” Tyler grabbed the chair at the head of the table, of course. Glen
sat on his right. “Oh, and just one more guest.”

  At this cue, as the men in suits were sitting down, another man came into the room through the double doors. It was Anthony Crichton, the rescued spy.

  “Tony? What the hell are you doing—?!” Demming was out of his chair. “You’re supposed to be on assignment.”

  “Yeah, that didn’t go so well.” Tony sat down and frowned.

  “What the devil is going on?” Demming directed this at Tyler.

  “We’re not really going to have a debriefing. James? Let’s go to quiet mode now.” Tyler put his index finger up, and whirled it around.

  James pressed several non-obvious buttons on the carvings. Sections of wall rose up out of the floor, in front of each of the floor-to-ceiling glass panels forming the windows. When they reached the top of the windows, the wall panels formed a solid mass of what looked like the cushy seats of fancy leather benches, buttons and all. The ambient noise from the ocean — seagulls, the sound of the surf, the murmur of the luau — was gone. In its place was the strong comfortable smell of worked leather, and the faint whiff of cigar smoke.

  The youngest man in the suit raised his eyebrows. “That’s a unique form of anti-surveillance gear. But it’s hardly going to do much about a laser mic.”

  Tyler shrugged. “No, but it’s cool and I like the look. Plus you have to appreciate the 1960’s vibe. What keeps this completely confidential is the bullet-proof glass on the outside, also now opaque via liquid-crystal, and the randomized vibration devices attached to each window. As a side benefit, the crazy leather walls keep the damned buzzing from filtering in.”

  Demming was fitting right in with the steamed clams at the luau. “What is going on? What do you mean, there won’t be a debriefing?”

  Tyler smiled, put out his hands as if presenting something. “Because this was never going to be a debriefing. In fact, it wasn’t even about capturing pirates or their cartel masters, although that was a nice bonus.”