Protect And Defend

chapter 3
PUERTO GOLFITO, COSTA RICA

The half-mile swim out to the boat took just under twelve minutes. Rapp could have done it in less time, but he was more interested in stealth than speed. He circled around to the bow, only his head above water. A dim light glowed from two of the portholes. The others were all dark. Under the cloudy night sky he was nearly impossible to see. Rapp took off his mask, snorkel, and fins. One by one he stuffed them into his swim bag and tied the bag just beneath the watermark to the anchor line. He then swung around the starboard side, close to the vessel, listening for any hint that Garret or his wife might be up and moving about. When he reached the stern he stopped and peered around the corner to check the swim platform. It was large, fifteen feet across and six feet deep. More importantly, its teak deck was empty.

Rapp had spent a lot of time in and around water over the last fifteen years. In terms of clandestine operations it offered many advantages, stealth being chief among them, but there was one big drawback. Noise traveled great distances and with great clarity on a relatively still night like this. Now, as Rapp listened, the only sound he heard was water lapping up against the sides of the boats and the occasional clanging of a line against the mast of one of the sailboats anchored in the harbor.

He slowly pulled himself out of the water until his upper body was resting on the teak platform. The boat was big enough that he didn't need to worry about rocking it as he climbed onboard. His chief concern was that some insomniac stargazer on a nearby boat might catch a glimpse of him. He listened intently for several minutes and kept his eye on a sailboat and cruiser anchored several hundred feet closer to shore. Satisfied that no one was watching, he eased himself entirely onto the platform. Staying on his stomach, he rested his head on his forearms and remained motionless.

Rapp had played this one over and over in his mind's eye for months. He'd envisioned a variety of scenarios where Garret might meet his death-some more satisfying than others. The efficient practitioner in him wanted to play this one safe. Take no risks. Hit him before he even knew what was happening and get it over with. But there was another part of him that desperately wanted to see the fear in Garret's eyes. The man was a disgusting narcissist who hadn't lost a wink of sleep over the innocent people he'd had a hand in killing, and the many more who were physically disfigured and emotionally scarred from the blast. Simply putting him out of his misery would be letting him off too easily.

Everything about this operation had to be analyzed with two main objectives in mind. Garret's wife could not be harmed, and his death needed to look like an accident. With the advances made in forensic science these were no small tasks. Rapp had focused on Garret's affinity for boating almost from the start. Thousands of people died every year in boating accidents-collision, fire, drowning, electrocution, or simply disappearing were all options.

Each time a new surveillance report arrived from the West Coast, Rapp took the time to read it thoroughly and in the context of his options. After a while a pattern began to emerge. Wanting to see things for himself, Rapp traveled to San Diego on a private plane. He arrived after dark and left before sunrise. From the balcony of a rented condo he spent an entire evening watching the marina where Garret kept his boat. That one night confirmed the opening that Rapp had detected in the surveillance reports.

For several months now, Rapp had imagined killing Garret more than a dozen ways, but only two stood up under scrutiny. When they found out about the trip he was planning with the new boat, everything fell into place. Even after he told Rivera that she would take point, Rapp continued to play the two scenarios in his mind. He thought of killing Garret so often that it almost felt like a memory.

Virtually every time he closed his eyes he pictured himself exactly where he was right now-on the aft swim platform of Stu Garret's yacht. His low profile would rouse no suspicion. Under a clear moonlit sky he would look no different from a rolled-up tarp. On a night like tonight he would be nearly invisible. All that was left to do was wait for Garret.