Total pages in book: 101
Estimated words: 96284 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 481(@200wpm)___ 385(@250wpm)___ 321(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 96284 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 481(@200wpm)___ 385(@250wpm)___ 321(@300wpm)
Once we reached the back of the ship, we quickly made our way over to the ramp. We helped the guys secure their bodycams, a fifty-fifty split between shoulder cams and helmet cams. The TACLET guys looked exactly like the soldiers in desert war zones. The other crew members wore Coast Guard blue, with orange life vests.
Two boats with zero fuck-me factor. They might as well have been rubber boats, ’cause they had that kind of design. The smallest one went first, with one TACLET operator and four regular Coast Guardsmen.
We were next. This boat was a bit larger, and Jake and I dutifully took our seats in the back. What a fucking rush. I couldn’t stop to process anything. Orders were being shouted, we put on life vests and fastened our shoulder cams, the latest update from the drone arrived, and then we were sliding backward down the ramp and into the ocean.
My stomach did a somersault, and I couldn’t hide my grin.
Among the five men and women on board our vessel, we had Juarez’s second-in-command, Mark Dunn, keeping us up to speed, which we appreciated a fuckload. But it was sort of a win-win situation. Documentaries about the armed forces were a way to recruit new people.
The woman driving our boat glanced back at Dunn. “Second TOI abandoned! Just a go-fast left!”
A spray of ocean water washed over us, and I checked the lens. No worries. They could handle water fine, but the footage would be useless with a dirty lens.
Dunn was getting information through his radio too, so it was a lot of confusing updates. I did remember TOI meaning target of interest. Like a boat. And I knew how many of these smuggling operations went down. A longer, slower vessel came up from South America, often Colombia, with one engine and a multimillion-dollar cargo. They were ironically nicknamed go-slows even though they were pretty fast too. Somewhere in the vast ocean, they met up with smaller, double-engine go-fasts, with one task. Evade law enforcement and deliver the goods to shore.
Not many minutes later, we spotted the helicopter in the distance, and the wind was just right for us to hear the warning shots Joel fired. He dropped two or three rounds, and Dunn signaled to the others in our boat.
Holy fuck, I was gonna get seasick at this rate. We smashed against the waves, and I hadn’t felt so small since Jake and I had seen the Northern Lights in Sweden.
The more I thought about it, the more determined I became. I was definitely gonna go through whatever training Jake recommended after this project, because he made shit look so easy. I was holding on for dear life, and he was filming with his regular camera as if he were standing in a quiet national park at sunrise.
I heard one more shot. Then another and a final third.
Dunn signaled again. “Both engines down! DPB approaching!”
We closed in on Juarez’s boat as the chase was over for the smugglers, so I pulled Jake’s second camera out of his backpack to do my own job.
Dunn was clearly high on adrenaline, and he faced my camera with a grin. “Welcome to the arrival zone!”
I grinned back and could already think of dozens of ways to use that line. Then I rose to my feet but stayed in my spot, and I zoomed in on Juarez. He was the first to board the smuggle boat, gun raised, quickly followed by another crew member. They were yelling orders in Spanish, ushering five men toward the bow of the smuggle boat. What was he—oh my God, he was literally stepping on jerrycans and plastic fuel containers.
As we sidled up alongside the smuggle boat, right in front of the pursuit vessel, Dunn told us we could move around a bit—just…stay in the back of the boat. Then he jumped over to the smuggle boat too.
I was fucking bewildered. That boat had no business out here. It looked like a larger skiff, completely open. Two simple benches, two shot-up engines that Jake got close-ups of, and a plain bottom packed with fuel and what we could only assume was cocaine.
I moved to Jake’s side so I could get a better look.
A fast-going, double-engine boat like this one was a fuel guzzler. The smugglers obviously couldn’t make stops to fill up the tank along the way.
“US Army jerrycans,” Jake muttered to himself. “That’s a project for another day, man. You don’t wanna know how many stolen military goods we’d find in South America.”
I’d heard about that. Greer and Kyle had told me stories about illegal auctions and large-scale raids. Russian and American guns were everywhere. Aircraft and boats too.
Juarez and Dunn decided to move the five smugglers to this boat, and they were searched and zip-tied before crew members dragged the men over to us. Or rather, the front. With the smugglers boat secured, Jake and I were allowed to board. He removed his backpack, and we stowed away the cameras, because he only wanted his smallest camcorder for this bit. It had the best stabilizer since it was designed to be handheld at all times.