PREDATOR ISLAND (Sea Lab Book 2)

CHAPTER 33 (New Chapter Added to Story)

Marlon Steele didn't prefer the title of captain, but he didn't blush when someone used it. He was paid handsomely to fulfill the duties assigned to him by the illustrious treasure hunter, Tom Logan. He'd been employed by Mr. Logan and his wife, Kate, for over a decade. He'd been a part of a number of adventures, the kind he wasn't allowed to talk about if wanted to keep his job. Lately, his assignment had been to chauffeur a certain writer and photographer around the world so they could procure the biggest and best articles for Adventure Magazine.

However, captaining the Midnight Sun was only one aspect of his job. Another part was keeping a watchful eye on Mr. Logan's daughter. And there were times that Savannah Lockhart made that a monumental task. By the time Marlon landed the drone on the stern deck of the yacht, he was already wondering what kind of animal they were dealing with. They had offered him limited information on what they called a land predator. Dylan hadn't described the animal to him over the radio, maybe for good reason. Maybe because Savannah warned Dylan to tell him only what he needed to know? Marlon suspected the blood sample had something to do with the reason the island was evacuated and a ban placed in effect to keep people away.

Regardless, contact had already been made with Dylan's source at the Costa Rican zoo. For whatever reason, the woman didn't hesitate to respond. And a plane was in route as Marlon removed the glass vial from the drone, carried it to the bridge, and locked it in a safe behind a secret panel. This time tomorrow, the package would be on its way to a lab in San Jose.

As he turned to radio Dylan to let him know the pick up had been arranged, an alarm beacon sounded on the ship's radar. Another vessel was approaching directly off the starboard bow.

"What do we have here?" Marlon asked himself in his signature baritone voice, a notch above bass.

He grabbed a pair of binoculars and raised them to his eyes. Through the bridge windows, he peered at the sleek silhouette of a white yacht as it powered toward him. The vessel had clean lines and was compact, a tight but likely well appointed cruiser fit for the open sea.

As the vessel churned a turbulent wake toward him, he tried to get a look through the other yacht's bridge, to get a bead on who was heading his way. But he saw nothing but dark tinted windows.

"Tis...quiet no more," he said as he lowered the binoculars.

Marlon glanced at the handheld radio. His eyes even lingered on the Midnight Sun's comm system. He started to call Dylan...

It was then something bumped against the stern. He knew Tom Logan's yacht from one end to the other. What he'd heard originated from the rear of vessel. It was the slightest sound and he barely noticed it through the walls of the bridge and parlor.

He had to act quickly or else—people who illegally boarded other ships didn't like to leave witnesses behind.

Marlon set the handheld radio on the chart table and opened the secret panel which hid the safe. Quickly, he removed a nine millimeter pistol, checked the magazine, and pulled back the slide to chamber a round. With the safe closed and the panel back in place, he exited the bridge through the side door. The staircase led down the port side to the sun deck on the stern. As he closed the door behind him, the sound of the radar warning faded to nothing, cutoff by the airtight seal.

Dylan had warned him to be on the lookout for local authorities, but that wasn't Marlon's biggest concern. Besides, the yacht bearing down on him wasn't owned by the Costa Rican government. The greater danger was pirates. They were still a threat in this day and age, as much as they were when Captain Bennett Graham hid his stolen loot on Cocos in the early 1800's. With the ban in effect and without park rangers to protect the island, the tropical rainforest in the middle of the ocean was fair game to anyone with a boat or seaplane, and guns.

Marlon hugged close to the exterior wall of the yacht as he crept down the stairs. He listened and heard the jostling bumps of what had to be a smaller boat rapping against the stern. He assumed it floated in the water behind the yacht, tied to the raised dive platform.

Not only had Dylan told him to be vigilant for pirates in general, he'd also informed him about a particular couple who might make a return trip to the island. This husband and wife duo sold them the old map and were as shady as six o'clock in November.

The approaching vessel was a distraction. While the sleek yacht made its play toward the starboard bow, the smaller craft swept up behind him in order for someone to board the Midnight Sun.

Marlon neared the bottom step and peeked around the corner. He stood a little taller on the tips of his toes to see over the stern gunwale. A small inflatable, much like their Zodiac was indeed tied to the dive platform, but it was empty and no one was on the sun deck. Cautiously, he edged around the corner and drew close to the sliding door that led into the parlor, which had been left open by whoever boarded the yacht.

He inhaled a deep breath to steady his nerves, the pistol pointed up, ready to take aim and fire if necessary.

As Marlon eased around the door jamb and crossed the threshold, the white yacht buzzed along the side of the Midnight Sun. The foamy wake and the thunder of its close proximity made him pause to look. That was when a gun barrel jabbed him in the back of the neck and a man's voice said, "Hand over the gun, cap, unless you'd like me to splatter the deck with your blood."