Sea of Greed

“Don’t get dizzy,” she said. “Also, the limo isn’t a limousine, it’s a silver Lincoln MKX. A big sport utility vehicle.”

“As long as it has tires,” Joe said. “But thanks for the heads-up.”

Joe could hear Priya tapping away at her keyboard.

“I’m going to program your map system with the GPS data from the limo company’s internal tracking network,” she said. “That way, you’ll be able to find Warren if you get separated.”

Joe had never worked directly with Priya before, but he was enjoying it. “Have to say you’re a lot more organized and prepared than Kurt. Don’t tell him I said that.”

“Don’t worry,” she said. “I would never violate hacker — client privilege.”

Joe looked down at the navigation display on his phone. He saw two moving dots on the street map, a blue one for him and a red one for the SUV that Warren was riding in.

“He’s coming down the Middle Road as expected,” Priya said.

Bermuda was long and thin. It had three main roads that ran the length of the island. North Shore Road on one coast, South Road on the other coast and the aptly named Middle Road running along the spine of the island.

“I see him,” Joe said. “I’m going to make one more loop and then pull out in front of him.”

Joe circled the roundabout once more, slowing so he could cut Warren off. Several passing cars honked their horns at him. Joe ignored them and continued to dawdle until he spotted the stark white headlights of the brand-new Lincoln coming his way.

He sped up, pulled hard to the left and then had to swerve at the last second to avoid a pair of tourists on mopeds. Horns blared again — and not in the friendly way that everyone on the island tended to honk at everyone they knew.

“You all right?” Priya asked.

“Barely,” Joe said. “This is turning out to be more dangerous than I thought. I’m in front of the Lincoln now. Just need to get some open space before I stop him.”

The problem Joe faced was stopping the SUV without causing a major accident. They had to inconvenience Warren, not injure him or anyone else on the road. At the moment, Joe could see additional mopeds in a loose line behind the Lincoln. He slowed down but made it impossible for the Lincoln to pass. This forced the mopeds to slow almost to a stop. Finally, the riders had had enough. They pulled wide, darting past the Lincoln, then Joe’s van, all in one quick move.

With traffic gone, Joe accelerated, baiting the Lincoln into speeding up. Once Warren’s driver began to close the gap, Joe put his hand on a hastily installed toggle switch that was taped to the console.

The switch was linked to a small set of explosives attached to the back doors of the van. When the explosives went off, the doors would blow open and allow the load of not-so-fresh fish to pour out the back, sliding down an angled ramp that Joe had wedged into place.

Hidden in the bed of ice beneath the fish was a tube of soft vinyl irrigation line. Inside that tube were additional explosive charges. Just enough to blow holes in the run-flat tires that any new SUV would be using.

It was a great plan, Joe thought. The explosives would blow the tires, the ice would smother the explosives and hide the residue. And the fish?… Well, that was just inspired window dressing.

With a final look, Joe flipped the switch and a bang reverberated through the van. Blue smoke swirled forward as the cargo surged out the back, spreading across the road behind him. The Lincoln ran over the mess, triggering three small flashes that took out the tires. It skidded forward another thirty feet before coming to a stop.

Joe slammed on his own brakes and brought the van to the side of the road. “Operation Fishmonger is under way. Getting out to make my apologies.”

“I’m here when you need me,” Priya replied.

Putting one earbud in and placing the phone in his pocket, Joe put the emergency flashers on and stepped out of the van. By the time he reached the Lincoln, the driver was outside studying the mess.

“You idiot,” the driver shouted.

“My load of fish,” Joe said. “It’s ruined.”

“Who cares about your fish,” the driver said. “Look what you’ve done. Look at my tires.”

Joe looked at the Lincoln. Two of the tires were blown off their rims. A third had a gaping hole in the sidewall. The fourth was untouched but a single spare wasn’t going to get the vehicle anywhere.

“Oh, man,” Joe said. “That looks bad.”

“Really bad,” the driver said.

“I’m so sorry,” Joe said. “I don’t know what happened. Let me call my company. I’ll get you the insurance information.”