Family Destiny

By Robert Leclerc

When Jarrett Edwards' sister went missing after a job interview, he tracked her to the cruise liner she interviewed to work on, changed his world, and put everything on the line to find her. After getting a job on the same cruise liner, Jarrett learns that the ship's duties have nothing to do with stage shows, fine dining, or tropical mixed drinks, they never disembark, and the ship never docks. He also realizes he's stepped knee-deep into a Brazilian businessman's search for what he calls his "Family Destiny" and will go to extremes to protect it. Having to escape, Jarret is rescued by military contractor Nick Stowe, who unintentionally interferes with the businessman's plans and becomes the primary target. What the businessman doesn't know is Nick's classified past, vengeful demeanor, and friends he calls family.

"Nick Stowe, maybe little on size, but he's big on fight!"

• Language: English
• Publisher: Robert Leclerc
• Release date: Dec 23, 2013
• ISBN: 9798201893439

Book preview

Chapter 1

August 2010

In the distance, about fifteen miles off the coast of Galveston, Texas, was Jarrett Edwards; mid-thirties, one-hundred sixty pounds, five feet ten inches tall with light brown hair and an average build. He was leaning against the railing, staring at the coastline, and longing for the stability of solid ground. Having been at sea for several months, land would have to wait; till he can get his kidnapped sister off the ship.

The hot August breeze from the Gulf of Mexico had just slipped Jarrett into a trance when a familiar voice jolted him back to reality.

Jarrett times up, said the voice of Allen Parsons, a man in his mid-forties. Allen was just less than six feet tall, one-hundred seventy pounds, and by the look of his pale skin, he preferred to remain indoors.

It’s hot! How can you eat out here? Allen asked, knowing the temperature was ninety-eight degrees Fahrenheit and it wasn’t even the hottest part of the day yet.

It takes me away from the confines of this prison, Jarrett responded while glancing around the deck of the ship.

You better not let them hear that, Allen responded with a jovial smile while glancing with his eyes at the deck.

That’s true, Jarrett agreed while nodding his head.

The refueling ship will be here in about two hours, so let’s start that room, Allen said as he placed his arm loosely around Jarrett’s neck and said softly, Now if we stop off at Hawaii, I’m jumpin’ overboard.

Jarrett shook his head with a grin and chuckled as they headed to a rear stairwell and went down several flights of stairs.

They stopped at what was once the Upper deck of the former cruise liner. They entered a room that was seventy-five feet long by fifty feet wide, and it looked like a small bomb had exploded in the center that had blackened the rest of the room by fire and smoke.

As general labor, part of their job now was to clean up the debris.

Feels weird knowing five people died in here, Allen said as he pulled on his coveralls.

I’m surprised the explosion wasn’t bigger, considering what caused it, Jarrett said while pulling on his coveralls.

You know what these things are? Allen asked, pointing to the center of the room.

Inside the dimly lit room were four cylinder-shaped metal containers spaced evenly down the center that resembled large pressure cookers and the remnants of a fifth cylinder. The third device from the door had a large split on one side. The second and fourth cylinders were damaged where the lids are attached to the main tanks and exploded upward. Burnt desks and chairs were set along the walls; scorched papers and various types of damaged equipment littered the room. Damaged computer monitors, keyboards, and computer mice lay on the burnt desks. The computer towers that housed the hard drives were missing. The water from the sprinklers was still pooled on the tile floor. Hastily done patches scattered the walls, including the ceiling.

It’s an odd smell! Allen remarked.

At least it’s not bad enough to wear masks, replied Jarrett as he zipped up his coveralls.

Don, the maintenance guy, told me the sprinkler system was slow to activate, probably from the addition of the room a couple of months ago, Allen added.

Looks like no safety precautions were taken. This mishap cost em’ big, Jarrett said.

How do you know? Asked Allen.

I’m not sure the price of the equipment; I just know they‘re not cheap. The cookers, material, modifications, personnel, and the fact that they took the computer towers means the data is important; therefore, probably worth a fortune! Jarrett stated.

Cookers? Allen asked.

Basically, they’re pressure cookers used for making..., Jarrett was interrupted by a voice from behind them.

Relieve Davies; ten minutes, copy!

Allen and Jarrett both turned around to see a security guard standing in the doorway wearing an

earpiece attached to a radio in his right hand.

The security guard stared at Jarrett with his head slightly tilted to the right with a look of bewilderment on his face. After a few seconds, that felt like minutes; the guard returned the radio to his belt, then turned and walked away as if nothing had happened.

How much do you think he heard? Allen asked.

Probably more than we wanted him to! Jarrett replied.

Should we be concerned? Allen asked.

Probably. What did they do with the bodies from the explosion? Or the others that got injured? Jarrett asked.

I hadn’t thought about that. You’re thinking they dumped them overboard? Allen asked.

Why not? Nobody would know. We don’t have a morgue on board, and medical is empty, Jarrett replied.

I’ve been on this boat for over a year, and we’ve never made port, and we have seen some bad things. Other than jumping overboard, I don’t know anyway off! Allen said while thinking about the situation.

The placement agency didn’t tell me this was a permanent job, Jarrett said in a slightly sarcastic tone as he looked out into the hallway before closing the door.

Hitchin’ a ride on the refueling boat sounds good, Allen said as he picked up charred remnants still damp from the sprinklers. Looking at the mass in his hands and with a shrug of his shoulders and an upturned smirk, asked, What’s the point? as he dropped the clump into a trashcan.

I’m sure they’ll be watching for any unwanted boarding or departures like usual. So how much do you know of what’s going on here? Jarrett asked.

I think you know as much as I do, replied Allen.

The boss and Sloan should be back anytime; so, let’s chat, Jarrett said.

Just in case someone checked in on them, the two men continued cleaning as they talked.

After an hour, Allen had given Jarrett all the information he could recall, so Jarrett decided his leaving the ship without his sister had been forcibly presented.

Go ahead and work the refueling without me, Jarrett said.

Okay, and you’re going to do what?

Go for a swim! Jarrett replied as if it was an everyday thing.

Sure, you are! Allen replied, not sure of Jarrett’s plans.

I’ll catch up to you later, Jarret said.

Let’s hope so! Allen remarked.

Removing his coveralls, Jarrett left the room and went down the aft stairwell as Allen continued working.

Jarrett had been planning to get his sister off the ship for several months only to be denied due to location and distance from shore. Jarrett had seen and heard of many strange occurrences on board, and with the security personnel’s less than friendly attitude, he did not want to stay and wait to find out if the boss man and Sloan would be told of what he and Allen had discussed and risk endangering his sister.

Jarrett headed to his room on the Main deck, which is just below the Upper deck he was just on. Jarrett grabbed only his swimsuit and then headed down to the Bolero Deck, two decks below where his room was. Over the past several weeks, he was able to acquire some equipment without security detecting.

Since the only cameras are on the Promenade deck on top of the ship and in the replenishment compartment on the Bolero deck, where the refueling is done and supplies are loaded, working in the replenishment compartment was a part of Jarrett’s job, so entering was not a problem. The cameras are only turned on in the compartment while the ship was being loaded and unloaded, allowing for Jarrett to be in the compartment unnoticed.

Chapter 2

Yes!  We have another buyer lined up, Carl Meyer said to Paul White, who was sitting in a chair opposite a mahogany desk.

Paul White has been Carl Meyer’s accountant for several years since the company Paul worked for went under federal investigation for its highly and probably illegal activities. Paul decided to go into hiding, and the perfect place was on the former cruise liner turned into a personal yacht.

What about the ship we need? Paul asked.

That will be a matter for Sloan to renegotiate, Carl said.

Carl Meyer is a thirty-seven-year-old businessman, standing six feet even and weighing one hundred sixty-eight pounds. His light brown hair is a mix of his Brazilian birth and German American ancestry. His once dark tan has almost disappeared due to dwelling within his yacht aside from the occasional putting he does on deck.

Well then, I’ll get to work on other avenues of financial floatation, Paul said as he stood up and walked out of the circular office.

Carl Meyer had the former nightclub that was aft of the ship converted to his quarters with his office located at the front center of the room that used to be the stage. He had walls built around it to make his office with a door in the rear leading to his quarters.

I didn’t know we were going to renegotiate? Sloan asked in an emotionless tone.

Sloan had been hired by Carl five years previous as head of security and personal bodyguard. Sloan is in his early forties, standing five feet eleven and one hundred eighty-six pounds with blue eyes and military-style cut brown hair. Sloan spent ten years as an Army Ranger before his mercenary life and decided then that emotions clouded his judgment and would refrain from their use. Anybody that worked with him thought he must have had them surgically removed. Over the years, his lack of emotions gave him an edge over his opponents. Sloan hasn’t used his complete name in at least twenty years, and the guards are sure that he doesn’t remember it anyway. The betting pool on Sloan’s name has grown substantially over the last couple of years.

That was for Paul’s ears. Mr. Lynn said the ship we need is at an undisclosed location for the next three to four weeks. Then it will be moved to another undisclosed location for a period of time, Carl said.

Wesley Lynn is the owner of an undersea salvage company based in Houston, whom Carl had met with earlier in the day.

I’ll have Wills start searching for the ship when he gets on duty, Sloan said.

We might get something from its salvage operation as well, Carl added.

A knock at the door stopped Sloan from responding.

Come in, Carl said.

Sirs. Sorry to interrupt, the guard said.

What do you need? Sloan asked dryly.

While you were gone, I overheard Jarrett Edwards and Allen Parsons discussing the explosion while they were cleaning the room. Jarrett may be smarter than we think he is. He was telling Parsons about the equipment, and he seemed very positive of what he knew and was not at the refueling.

Thank you, Scotts, you may go, Sloan said.

Sirs, the guard said with a slight nod of his head as he turned and left the office.

What do you think? Carl asked.

That was around two hours ago, Sloan said while thinking.

Carl started typing on the keyboard to his computer and said, Jarrett Edwards was hired from one of the employment agencies we tried in California. Everything appears fine; orphaned and no known family.

Carl typed on the keyboard more before speaking again, Looks like we have a stowaway aboard, As he deleted Jarrett Edward’s file.

Please remove our unwanted guest. We know what can happen from a stowaway. Carl continued with a slight pause and an understanding look toward Sloan.

I’ll check your quarters first, Sloan replied.

Sloan got up from his chair and opened the rear door of the office as he pulled a Glock 30 Subcompact .45 caliber ten shot pistol from his shoulder holster. He carefully searched Carl’s quarters and, not finding anything, returned to the office.

Go ahead and wait in your quarters for now, Sloan said.

Sloan pulled a radio from his belt and was bringing it up to his mouth as he left the office.

Carl locked his office and the doors to his room. He then walked to a nightstand beside the king-size bed in the middle of the room and opened a locked drawer, and removed a Glock 17 .9-millimeter seventeen shot pistol Sloan had given him.

Dietrich! Announce that all non-security personnel are to return to their quarters. Also, have all off-duty security to start searching for Jarrett Edwards; he has gone missing. I need Frankie and Chong to meet me at the elevators on the Main deck in fifteen minutes, Sloan said calmly as he walked to the elevator as the announcement for all non-security personnel to quarters came over the speaker system.

The elevator doors on the Main deck slid open, and Sloan stepped out to the middle of the deck as he spoke into his radio, Dietrich; I need Edwards’ room location.

Franz Dietrich has been employed by Sloan many times and has earned his trust to be his second in charge.

Room seventeen, Dietrich’s voice said into Sloan’s earpiece.

Two minutes later, Sloan was met by two guards while crewmembers straggled to their quarters, believing it was another security drill.

Chong-Lin Dao, a thirty-five-year-old former enforcer for one of the Chinese mafias, enlisted by Sloan for sheer ruthlessness. Chong is five foot eight and weighs two hundred twenty-seven pounds, and most of it muscle from years of rigorous workouts and fighting. A few scars on his face and an almost bald head showing a little touch of black stubble.

Francois Doublet, a twenty-four-year-old French-Canadian who was working as a bouncer when Sloan was told of ‘The Freak.’ Sloan visited his place of employment in Canada and, seeing how intimidatingly frightening he looked, offered him a job.

Nicknamed Frankie, he stands seven feet tall, weighs approximately four hundred thirty-five pounds of mostly muscle with short jet-black hair that make his pale complexion standout. The features he was born with tell of a taunted and ridiculed childhood. Scars on his face and arms show a life only working either as a bouncer, bodyguard, or a lumberjack. Being a bouncer pays much better than playing Paul Bunyan, referring to the mythological lumberjack giant. He is nicknamed Frankie due to his resemblance to Frankenstein’s monster that, for decades, terrorized the big screen.

Frankie, stay here and make sure nobody leaves the deck, Sloan said, knowing Frankie had a good view of the elevator and the stairwells.

The deck had been refitted with studio-sized rooms down the port and starboard sides and passageways down the center, about three hundred feet long.

Understood, Frankie replied with his heavy French-Canadian accent.

Chong number seventeen, Sloan said.

A deep rumbling growl emanated from Chong’s throat, along with wide eyes and a smile that showed he enjoyed the torture of others.

Chong walked slowly to keep pace with Sloan, who was in no hurry knowing that they were out to sea, and only a marathon swimmer might chance the fifteen miles against the currents and surf.

Sixty feet aft of the elevators, they came to Jarrett’s room. Chong knocked on the door and waited a few moments, and not hearing anything, opened the unlocked door. Chong glanced quickly around the room as if he was expecting a surprise ambush. When nothing happened, he waved Sloan in to search the room. In the room was a twin-size bed against one wall, a desk on another, a small living room with an LCD TV on another wall for watching a limited selection of movies. Chong looked in the bathroom and came out, shaking his head from side to side in the normal, no fashion.

Dietrich! Get Wills reviewing the deck cameras for Edwards. I also need Parsons’ room number, Sloan said into his radio.

Forty-four, Dietrich said into Sloan’s earpiece after a minute to look up the information.

Forty-four this time! Sloan stated to Chong.

Chong cracked his knuckles by using one hand over the other as he headed aft again.

When they reached Parsons’ room, Chong knocked. This time the door opened within a second, almost as if its occupant had been waiting for the knock.

Yes, can I help you? Asked Parsons as he stepped out into the hallway.

Jarrett Edwards, where is he? Sloan asked in a dry tone.

He should be in his room, Parsons replied, trying to hide his nervousness.

He’s not there. Did he say where he was going? Sloan asked while staring sternly into Parsons' eyes.

He told me that he was going for a swim and to work the refueling without him, Parsons replied.

Why did you not report this? Sloan asked.

Didn’t know I was supposed to, Parsons said somewhat sarcastically.

No sooner had Parsons gotten the words out of his mouth; Chong slapped him on the left cheek so fast and hard that he stumbled sideways a couple of feet, and he had to grab the wall for stability.

Parsons regained his composer and, while still feeling the extreme sting, stepped back in front of Sloan while holding his bright red cheek and said, I apologize for my response.

Chong was raised to respect his superiors if you will; he does not accept disrespect toward them, referring to Chong’s mafia past and childhood upbringing.

I know you two were discussing the replication room. How much does Edwards know about it?

Replication room? Parsons asked, slowly expecting another smack from Chong.

The room that you were cleaning, Sloan replied.

Oh! He was starting to tell me but were interrupted by one of your men, Parsons replied.

Now tell me everything that was said, Sloan asked.

We were afraid to discuss anymore after the guard left, Parsons responded nervously, still feeling the sting on his cheek.

Sloan noticed Parsons’ minuscule change in demeanor before Parsons’ knew himself. Sloan quickly nodded his head at an angle toward Parsons. Chong was waiting for the go-ahead from Sloan and almost jumped at Parsons, pushing him back into his room.

Sloan shut the door and started to walk back toward the elevators as screams and pleas to stop emanated from the room. Frankie was staring down the passageway toward Parsons’ room as Sloan walked up and stated without emotion, Next time you can extract the information!

Frankie had an almost indiscernible look of sadness on his disfigured face as he looked down at Sloan.

Have Chong radio me when he has the information, Sloan said as he pressed the up button for the elevator.

Frankie nodded in acknowledgment as the elevator door opened, and Sloan stepped in, and the door closed shortly after he turned around.

Several minutes passed before Chong emerged from Parsons’ room, and he headed to meet Frankie.

He wants you to radio any information to him, Frankie stated in his heavy accent.

Chong removed his radio from his belt and reported what he had learned from Parsons.

Sloan had just finished listening to Chong when Dietrich’s voice snapped into his earpiece.

Sloan. Come in, Sloan.

Go ahead, Sloan replied.

Report to the replenishment compartment, Dietrich replied in a German accent.

Copy that, on my way, Sloan said as he worked his way back to the elevators of which he preferred to use.

Exiting the elevator, Sloan was met by Dietrich, who escorted him to the replenishment compartment.

What did you find? Sloan asked.

Alarm by-passed on the personnel door, Dietrich said, pointing to the disabled alarm switch on the outer watertight door.

Sloan studied the door a few seconds before speaking, Mister Edwards is smarter than we first thought. The wires by-passed on the alarm sensors and timing of his departure have given him a head start of over two hours.

A swim of fifteen miles; I doubt he could make that without help, Dietrich said.

Check for missing equipment and have the captain watch the radar and keep an eye out for any boats any size within ten miles. Sloan requested.

Dietrich gave Sloan a look of questioning, and before he could speak, Sloan said, Yes, I know; there are a lot of ships and pleasure craft. Tell him to look for stationary ones or any gut feelings he may have. I’ll be on the bridge in twenty minutes. In a monotone voice as he headed for the elevator.

Stepping out into the hallway of the Promenade deck and heading aft towards Carl’s room when he heard a voice in his ear.

The Captain says he’s spotted a pleasure craft slowing down about four miles North-East of our position, Dietrich informed.

Send the helicopter and two men to intercept. Have the captain keep an eye out for unwanted blips, Sloan said into his radio.

Sloan walked to Carl’s main door and pressed a button on an intercom, Carl, all clear.

Within a minute, the door opened, and Carl Meyer stepped out.

You hear what Chong said? Sloan asked, knowing Carl was listening to the conversation on a base unit for the radio communication system to be informed at all times.

Yes. It’s possible Edwards has enough information to warrant a search, Carl said.

The story would sound outlandish, as though he watched too many movies, Sloan replied.

Still could be an issue, Carl said.

I’d prefer that he not be a threat to the security of your destiny, Sloan said calmly.

I like the way you phrased that. It’s good to have people share my concerns, Carl said as he gave Sloan a pat on the back and sat down behind his desk.

I’ll have the captain set a course for the Descendant. We can leave as soon as the helicopter returns, Sloan said.

Sloan called for Dietrich on his radio and waited for a response.

Go ahead, Sloan said, hearing Dietrich’s voice in his earpiece.

Have rooms seventeen and forty-four cleaned; they are now vacant, Sloan then turned and headed down the passageway toward the elevator.

Chapter 3

A golden yellow speedboat is plaining across the Texas Gulf Coast at high speed as the song Easy Livin’ by Uriah Heep can be heard above the roar of the engines. The helmsman felt tapping on his left shoulder as a man yelled in his ear, Shut em down! As the man motioned with his hand across his throat to kill the engines.

The helmsman cut the throttles and turned off the stereo, What’s up? Asked Nick Stowe.

Nick Stowe is the owner and C.E.O. of Stowe Industries, a contractor for the U.S. military and several private interests. Nick stands five feet five inches tall with green eyes, short black hair, and a stocky two hundred pounds on his 39-year-old wide shoulders.

I need to make an adjustment, replied Pete Ianzano.

Pete Ianzano is a New Jersey-born American Italian of early-forties, standing five feet eleven inches, black hair, and weighing one hundred eighty pounds. He has lightly tanned skin and a talent for automotive wizardry, and as Director of Vehicle Operations for Stowe Industries, he continually practices his expertise.

They opened the rear engine covers to expose the twin Dodge big-block Hemi supercharged engines of the forty-two-foot Fountain Lightning speedboat.

I should have told you to bring your skis had I known it was going to be this easy to fix, Nick said.

Yes! You should have, Pete replied as he removed a Phillips screwdriver out of his