“What do you mean?” Aaron asked.
“There’s a marina south of the airport,” the officer explained. “Boats coming in after dark often use navigation lights. The port-side light is red.”
Elena’s eyes widened.
“That’s it. The red light only blinks on Thursdays, not planes. Boats.”
Without waiting for a response, Elena was already on her feet, moving toward the southern edge of the property. Aaron quickly followed, radioing the rest of the team to redirect their surveillance toward the marina.
The small marina came into view as they crested a gentle slope. Several boats were moored at the docks, from small fishing vessels to medium-sized pleasure crafts. Nothing seemed immediately suspicious.
“We should maintain our position here,” Aaron advised, indicating a cluster of palms that provided both cover and a clear view of the approaching waterway. “If boats are coming in with drug shipments, they’ll likely arrive after full dark.”
The sky continued its transition from vibrant sunset colors to the deep indigo of early evening. Stars began to appear overhead as darkness fell over the island.
Elena checked her watch. Almost 8:00.
How long would they need to wait?
1 of the Interpol agents joined them, carrying sophisticated night vision equipment and a thermal imaging device.
“This will help us monitor approaching vessels,” he explained, setting up the equipment. “If they’re trying to operate covertly, they might run with minimal lights.”
The minutes stretched into hours as they maintained their vigilance. Most of the tourist activity had died down, leaving the marina eerily quiet. Occasionally the radio would crackle with updates from other observation posts, all reporting no unusual activity.
Elena fought against the disappointment threatening to overwhelm her. Had they misinterpreted the clues? Was Kona even still on 1 of those islands?
Just as her hope began to waver, the Interpol agent stiffened beside her.
“Movement,” he said tersely, adjusting the settings on his thermal imager. “Approaching from the southeast, approximately 2 nautical miles out.”
Aaron immediately alerted the rest of the team.
“Possible target approaching from southeast. Maintain positions and standby.”
Through the thermal imager, they could see the heat signatures of what appeared to be 3 vessels, 1 larger boat flanked by 2 smaller ones.
“That’s unusual,” the Interpol agent commented. “The formation suggests security escorts.”
As the vessels drew closer, Elena strained her eyes, trying to make out details in the darkness. Then she saw it, a blinking red light on the port side of the lead vessel.
“There,” she whispered, pointing. “The red light.”
Aaron radioed the command center in Nassau, providing coordinates and requesting immediate tactical support.
“Unidentified vessels approaching Norman’s Cay Marina. Configuration and behavior consistent with trafficking operations. Requesting air support and interceptors.”
The response was immediate.
“Roger that, detective. Assets are mobilizing. ETA 45 minutes. Maintain surveillance and do not engage unless absolutely necessary.”
“45 minutes,” Aaron muttered, turning to the Interpol agent. “Can we hold that long without being detected?”
“As long as we maintain our current position and radio discipline, we should be fine,” the agent replied. “They appear to be unaware of our presence.”
Elena’s heart raced as she watched the boats draw closer to the marina. Somewhere on 1 of those vessels, her daughter might be held captive. After 10 years of searching, Kona could be just a few hundred yards away.
Time seemed to slow to a crawl as they waited, hidden in the darkness, watching as the mysterious flotilla approached the island.
The 45 minutes of waiting felt like an eternity. Elena, Aaron, and the surveillance team remained perfectly still in their hiding place, watching as the yacht and its escort boats docked at the marina. Through night vision equipment, they observed several men disembarking, some remaining near the vessels while others moved toward a nearby warehouse.
“They appear to be waiting for something,” the Interpol agent whispered, his eyes never leaving the thermal imager.
“Or someone,” Aaron nodded. “Probably the contact who was supposed to be at the shack, Miguel.”
Elena’s attention was fixed on the main yacht.
“Can you see if there’s anyone else on board? A woman?”
The agent adjusted his equipment, scanning the heat signatures.
“There are multiple people still on the yacht. Can’t distinguish gender from this distance, but at least 5 individuals remain aboard.”
Minutes ticked by as the men on the dock grew visibly agitated, checking watches and making calls on satellite phones. Through their earpieces, Elena and Aaron could hear updates from the Nassau command center. Tactical teams were inbound, approaching with lights and engines dark to maintain the element of surprise.
Suddenly there was movement at the marina entrance. 3 teenage boys, roughly the same age as Miguel, approached the waiting men. A brief, tense conversation ensued, with animated gestures from both parties.
“They’re telling them about the raid at the shack,” Aaron surmised, watching the body language of the group. “See how those men are reacting.”
Indeed, the news seemed to cause immediate alarm. The men began shouting orders, and within moments there was a flurry of activity as they rushed back toward the boats.
“They’re preparing to leave,” the Interpol agent reported urgently. “Support teams are still 15 minutes out.”
Aaron made a split-second decision.
“If they leave now, we lose them, and potentially Elena’s daughter. We need to delay them somehow.”
