Read Black Flag: A Taskforce Story for Free Online Page B

pawns.
    Need to get off this boat before we stop again.
    She ran through options in her head, for a split second her mind clicking on a rescue by Pike. She immediately forced the thought away, not wanting to dwell in any way on his fate. Not wanting to pop the blister of awful truth.
    She flexed her hands behind her back, pulling her wrists apart, and thought there was enough slack in the plastic zip tie to allow her to slip them under her heels, bringing her arms to the front. If she did so, she could get a weapon.
    She surveyed the galley, seeing nothing that would help. No knives or anything else that she could use against a man with a pistol. Everything was strapped down or put away for the boat ride, and she wouldn’t have time to dig through drawers. It would have to be quick and fluid if she were to succeed.
    The only positive news was that the guard was seated in a folding chair facing Brett, obviously feeling he was the greater threat. She thought about that mistake. Thought about not worrying about a weapon and simply attacking. If she could get Brett’s attention, he could join in. They both had their legs free, another mistake that could prove costly.
    All I need to do is pin his arms. Keep him from using the pistol. Then let Brett take over.
    The other man was on the bridge above them and would not be able to react in time even if he did hear anything. She caught Brett’s eyes, then flicked them to the man. She blinked four times slowly. He blinked back twice.
Yes.
    Perched on a galley couch built into the wall, she scooted closer to the deck chair the man was sitting in. Slowly inching her way to him, she closed to within three feet and he glanced her way, a scowl on his face. She wondered if she’d given it away and thought about stopping. Brett stood up, saying, “I need to use the bathroom.”
    The man raised his pistol off his lap, and Jennifer committed, springing up and leaping toward him feetfirst, pushing off the couch with her hands and wrists. He caught the motion and started to rise but wasn’t fast enough. She clamped her legs around his waist and intertwined her ankles, hitting the ground on her back but locking his arms to his sides.
    He flung her sideways, slamming her into the port cabinets and trying to raise his weapon to a firing position with his wrists alone. Brett jumped forward and hammered the bone of his forehead right above the man’s nose, knocking him out cleanly. He hit the ground and Jennifer rolled over, bringing her legs to her chest and pulling her hands over them, ripping the skin. She jumped up and began going through the drawers, finding a serrated steak knife.
    She hissed, “Turn around.”
    Brett did so, whispering, “Don’t fucking cut my wrist.”
    She split the plastic, nicking him only a few times. He returned the favor, then picked up the pistol of the man he’d knocked out. “Time to play pirate.”

Chapter 9
    Knuckles hit another crest at speed, causing the boat to catch air before crashing down and slamming my BGAN terminal to the deck.
I knew it was a dumb idea to rent this damn thing.
    The only boat available with any velocity had been one that looked like it belonged in some international speedboat competition, a Sunsation Performance CCX. It was a thirty-four-foot torpedo, with chairs that looked like something out of a space shuttle, and Knuckles began salivating as soon as he saw it, no doubt having flashbacks about driving a Mark V SEAL fast boat. Given where our Bertram 540 was showing on Google Maps, I’d caved in and rented it because we would need the speed to catch up. We were way behind the eight ball.
    The old man had turned out to be a Haitian fisherman who spoke only Creole and French. Luckily, he did understand English when it was spoken with U.S. dollars. He’d transported us to his village outside of Tiburon, Haiti, and we’d played planes, trains, and automobiles getting back to Jamaica, hitchhiking to the airport and catching the