Sea Raptor: A Deep Sea Thriller Read online

  Sea Raptor

  John J Rust

  Copyright 2015 by John J Rust

  ONE

  Glenn Flynn wanted her, right the hell now!

  Play it cool, man. Wait for your opening.

  He wondered if he could wait much longer as the bikini-clad redhead bent over the cooler. Glenn ran his eyes up her smooth legs, stopping at her nice tight ass.

  My God, she was hot!

  “Yo, Glenn. Catch.”

  Sara Monaghan tossed him a beer. Despite the gentle bobbing of the speedboat, he caught it.

  “Woo-hoo! You got good hands,” Sara cheered.

  “You don’t know just how good these hands are.” He waggled his eyebrows.

  “Glenn.” Sara giggled and blushed. She took a swig of beer and turned on the MP3 player. A deep, thumping beat blared from the speakers. Sara lifted her arms and swung her hips.

  Glenn didn’t think he could get any harder.

  “Don’t just stand there,” she said. “We’re here to party. C’mon.”

  Glenn recognized the look in Sara’s eyes. He’d seen it before in many of his other conquests. That inviting look.

  His opening.

  Sara cheered as they grinded against each other. Glenn ran a hand up and down her side. She gave him a seductive smile.

  High school girls are so easy. It didn’t take much to impress them. He played football for Temple University. He came from a well-to-do family. His father had a sweet boat which he let him borrow whenever he wanted.

  To a 17-year-old hottie, he was god-like.

  When they finished dancing, Glenn drained the rest of his beer. The cool liquid felt good going down his throat, what with the blazing July sun beating down on him.

  “How about some more?” Sara shook her empty can in front of him.

  “Sure.” Glenn would have rather had her than another beer, but this next one would be Sara’s fourth. In his experience, the more booze a chick had in her, the harder it was for them to say no.

  One more and I’m in like Flynn. He smiled at the catch phrase the Temple broadcasters used whenever he caught a touchdown.

  Sara chucked her empty can over the side. So did Glenn. He stared at Sara’s fine ass as she grabbed two more beers. When she straightened up, she looked at the water and tilted her head.

  “What’s that?” She leaned closer to the side.

  “What’s what?”

  “That.” Sara pointed to a spot of water a few feet away.

  Glenn stared hard, then shrugged. “I don’t see anything.”

  “There was, like, a shadow. A big one.” She turned to him with a distressed look. “Do you think it’s a shark?”

  “So what if it is. It’s not like they jump into boats. Besides, I’m here to protect you.” He put and arm around her waist.

  “Glenn.” She giggled and pressed her body against his.

  Yup, it was almost time.

  He leaned in, ready to plant a kiss on Sara’s neck.

  That’s when she squirmed out of his grasp.

  “What the hell?” he blurted.

  “Oh, keep your pants on. At least for another minute.” She flashed him a big smile.

  Glenn looked down at the bulge in his swim trunks. He doubted he’d be able to keep them on another second, never mind an entire minute.

  Sara reached into her handbag and pulled out her cell phone. “I wanna record this and send it to my friend Maddy. She’s gonna be so jealous that I hooked up with a stud like you.”

  She leaned against him, one arm around his waist, the other holding out her cell phone. Glenn wondered if he could convince her to record them doing it. Some of the other girls he’d nailed had been willing, and his sex vids were always a hit with his friends at parties.

  “Hey, Maddy. Just wanted you to see the really, really hot guy I’m with at The Shore. Think about me and think about him while you’re on your lame family trip to New Hampshire, because we’re gonna—”

  A splash of water erupted behind them. Glenn turned.

  Something heavy slammed down on the boat. The bow rose out of the water. Sara screamed as she and Glenn fell. He hit the deck hard. His head throbbed. He closed his eyes and grimaced.

  Sara screamed louder.

  Glenn’s eyes cracked open, then went wide.

  A maw of razor-sharp teeth hovered over him.

  He tried to move, to get the hell away. Fear paralyzed his muscles.

  The teeth clamped down on his head. Glenn Flynn felt a moment of intense, piercing pain.

  Then nothing.

  TWO

  “For God’s sake, Jack, relax. I’m your father, not a general.”

  Jack Rastun groaned under his breath as he loosened his muscles. Being out of the Army for nearly a year had done nothing to lessen the military bearing drilled into him since his ROTC days. Standing at attention before a superior officer was instinct for him. As Director of the Philadelphia Zoo, his father was, for all intents and purposes, his superior officer.

  Dad leaned his portly frame back in his seat, the overhead light shining off his balding dome. His eyes shifted from Rastun to a cushioned chair in front of his desk, then back to Rastun.

  “Are you waiting for an invitation?”

  “Sorry, sir.” He sat down.

  “Jack, how many times do I have to tell you? This isn’t the Army. You can call me Dad when we’re in here.”

  “Right.” Rastun didn’t know the exact number of times Dad told him, “This isn’t the Army.” He just knew it aggravated him every time he heard it.

  Dad clasped his hands together. “So, here it is. Your six month evaluation.”

  “Mm-hmm.”

  Dad stared at him, as though expecting him to say more. When Rastun didn’t, he tapped on the keyboard of his laptop.

  Rastun passed the time by looking at the photos of various animals on the walls. His gaze shifted to the desk, cluttered with paperwork and flanked by framed photos. One in particular caught his eye. Him in his Class A Uniform with his tan Ranger beret.

  He looked down at his blue slacks and white shirt with a SECURITY patch over his left breast.

  How the mighty have fallen.

  “I have to say,” Dad said. “Most of the comments that Dick had about you were positive.”

  “Most?” Rastun wondered what Dick Camilli, the head of zoo security, didn’t like about the way he did his job.

  “Well, he says you’re punctual and follow instructions. You haven’t been written up for any discipline issues or received any complaints from zoo guests.”

  “I sense a ‘but’ coming.”

  The corners of Dad’s mouth curled. “Dick expressed concerns that, at times, you overstep your bounds.”

  “How so?”

  “During our last emergency drill, you and two other guards were assigned to check Independence Schoolhouse. You started yelling at them when they couldn’t keep up.”

  “It’s a big building,” said Rastun. “We need more than one guard to do a thorough search. Every second counts during an emergency. I can’t afford to wait for them and neither can anyone who needs help.”

  “Both those guards are in their fifties,” Dad explained.

  “Then maybe they should be doing something else if they can’t keep up. Who knows what we could be facing in that building? I need to know the people assigned to me are going to be with me when I make entry. Quite frankly, that should be a four-man job, so we can go in two-by-two and make sure one guard is always watching the other’s back.”

  “Yes, you explained that to Dick, along with your recommendations for security upgrades to the zoo.”

  “Not that he listened to any of t
hem.” The result of all his meetings with the zoo security director did not sit well with him. He’d known Dick Camilli since his senior year in high school. He’d always gotten along with the retired cop and felt he’d be receptive to his ideas.

  Instead, Camilli said he was being more than a little paranoid.

  “He did listen to them, Jack. It’s just that some of your suggestions, many, in fact, don’t fit the public image we want to present.”

  “What about our responsibility to keep our guests safe?” Rastun countered.

  “We do that. We have adequate personnel, security cameras, first aid stations, audible alarms, clearly marked exits.”

  “There’s plenty more we can do and should do.”

  “Doing it your way would make this place look like a prison. Metal detectors, barbed wire on the fences, motion sensors. I’m surprised you didn’t ask for guard towers with machine guns.”

  “That, actually, would be going overboard,” said Rastun. “Those other recommendations are practical for a place like this.”

  “Uh-huh.” Dad leaned forward. “What about your recommendation for armed guards?”

  “Not with pistols. I’m talking about less lethals like tasers and pepper spray.”

  “Do you have any idea how much our liability insurance will go up if we give those things to our guards? All it takes is one person to complain about excessive force and we’re looking at a multi-million dollar lawsuit.”

  “What if something major goes down here? I don’t mean a fire or an escaped animal. I’m talking worst-case scenario.”

  “I assume you mean a terrorist attack.”

  “They do prefer soft targets, and this place is as soft as the cotton candy at our food court.”

  Dad’s shoulders sagged. “Jack, I can only imagine what kind of hell you went through over in Iraq and Afghanistan. But this is a zoo, not Baghdad.”

  “That doesn’t make us immune to something like a lone nut with a gun.”

  “We have procedures in place in the event that happens.”

  Rastun scoffed. “Yeah, I got drilled on those procedures. If we can’t get our guests out of the zoo, we hole up somewhere and wait for the cops. What if a hostile ambushes people we’re trying to evacuate? What if he breaks into a supposedly secure area? We need the guards to carry something more than just keys to give them a fighting chance. A guard without a weapon isn’t a guard. He’s a victim waiting to happen.”

  “Jack, I know what you went through when you were in the Army probably colored your view of the world.”

  “Oh for God’s sake.”

  “Jack, please. I’m just trying to tell you that you’re not in a war zone any more. Sending guards who aren’t trained to deal with those kinds of situations will likely result in more people getting hurt or killed.”

  “Or wind up saving more lives. You don’t stop a threat by sitting around waiting for help. You stop it with direct action.”

  “That may be what you did in the Army, but what works best in the Army isn’t necessarily what works best at a zoo.”

  Dad let out a heavy sigh. “Look, I gave you this job so you could do something productive while you figure out what you want to do with your life. Well, you’ve been out of the Army for a year. I doubt you want to be a zoo security guard for the rest of your life.”

  You got that right. Rastun almost said it out loud, but figured it would not be a wise thing to say during an evaluation, especially with his father the one doing the evaluating.

  “It’s time to consider going back to college. You qualify for the GI Bill. You can get a degree in business or zoology or biology. You already know more about animals and zoo operations than a lot of the staff here. With your Army experience, you’d be perfect as a zoo administrator.”

  “I’ll think about it.”

  “You say that every time I bring this up. I think the time’s come to do it instead of thinking about it.”

  “I said I’d think about it. Is that all?”

  Dad leaned back in his chair, his disappointment clear. “Yes. You passed your evaluation. You can expect a raise in your next paycheck.”

  “Thank you.” Rastun stood and headed for the door.

  “Jack. One more thing before you go.”

  He stopped with his hand inches from the doorknob. “Yes?”

  “Smile more when you’re out there. We’re trying to maintain a welcoming atmosphere for our guests.”

  “It’s kind of hard to take a security guard serious when he’s grinning like an idiot.”

  He left the office before Robert Rastun, Director of the Philadelphia Zoo, had a chance to respond.

  The rest of the afternoon passed uneventfully, save for helping an elderly woman who had become dehydrated. That happened at least a couple of times a week during the summer. It baffled him how some people could forget to do something as simple as keep a bottle of water handy. In Iraq, he and his fellow Rangers drank constantly.

  Once his shift ended, Rastun headed to the parking lot and got in his car. He flowed along with the rush hour traffic down City Avenue and onto the West Chester Pike before entering the suburbs of Havertown. He pulled up to the curb in front of a two-story white house with a blue roof and trim. His parents’ home.

  Twenty-nine years old, a former Army Ranger, a combat veteran, and he was living with his parents.

  How pathetic am I?

  Rastun didn’t see his parents’ cars. They’d probably be home in a few minutes. He went inside and headed into his bedroom to strip off his security guard uniform in favor of shorts and a t-shirt for Marshall University, his alma mater. He then rattled off 100 push-ups. More than a few friends let themselves go once they left the Army. Rastun was determined not to let that happen.

  When he finished, he sprang to his feet and checked himself in the mirror attached to the door. A slight smile formed on his round, youthful face. His five-ten, 170-pound frame was still as lean and firm as it had been during his Ranger days. He kept his brown hair cut very short, per Army regs.

  Rastun looked every bit the soldier, even if he no longer was one.

  He went downstairs and paused by a nest table with a cluster of framed photos. His eyes immediately fell on a black and white picture of a man in Army fatigues clutching a Thompson submachine gun. Roger Rastun, his uncle. His inspiration for joining the Rangers.

  Memories flooded back to him. Uncle Roger telling him stories of climbing the cliffs at Point Du Hoc during D-Day and charging up Hill 400 in Bergstein. Taking him to the local VFW to meet other veterans.

  Crying when Mom told him Uncle Roger had died.

  Rastun looked at other photos of himself. One showed the day he received his black belt in Tae Kwon Do. Another was of him in the red and gold uniform of his high school cross country team. His gaze finally settled on the image of him receiving his Ranger tab upon graduation from Ranger School. Two months of running, combat drills, survival courses and hiking through swamps and mountains. The sadistic bastards who ran the school pushed him beyond the point of exhaustion. Still, he overcame it and became a member of one of the world’s elite fighting forces.

  And therein lay the problem.

  Rastun had run cross country to increase his stamina. He visited Uncle Roger’s friends at the VFW to find out what military life was really like. He took Tae Kwon Do to learn self-defense and discipline. Everything he had done since the age of 15 had been geared toward helping him become a Ranger. He hadn’t thought of a fallback plan in case he didn’t make it. That hadn’t been an option.

  Now he had to think about it.

  The trouble was, he couldn’t find a single job anywhere near as challenging as being a Ranger. After six months of no prospects, he decided to take Dad up on his offer to be a zoo security guard just to give him something to do.

  Dad had been right about one thing. He didn’t plan on being a zoo security guard forever. But what else was there? He’d mulled over Dad’s suggestion about goi
ng back to college. However, the thought of working behind a desk didn’t appeal to him.

  Being in the Rangers appealed to him, but one moment of anger fucked that up.

  The front door opened. He turned to find Mom coming in.

  “Hi, Jack.”

  “Mom.”

  She gave him a quick peck on the cheek. “So, how did your evaluation go?”

  “I still have a job, so I guess it went well.”

  Mom frowned, probably wishing for a more enthusiastic response.

  Probably wishing he’d figure out what to do with his life.

  “Good.” She forced a smile. “I’m going to go change and get dinner started.”

  Rastun just nodded as Mom walked past him and went upstairs. A minute later he went up too, returning to his bedroom. He opened the closet where he kept his DVD holders. Maybe what he needed was a good movie to forget about his problems, at least for a couple of hours.

  The Devil’s Brigade. Back to Bataan. Tears of the Sun. Patton. Band of Brothers. He passed on all of them. Right now all they’d do is remind him of everything he’d lost. He’d be better off with a sports movie, or a comedy, or both.

  Rastun searched for his copy of Slapshot when his cell phone rang. He checked the screen.

  S. LIPELI.

  His eyes widened in surprise as he answered it. “Colonel?”

  “Captain Rastun,” replied Lt. Colonel Salvatore Lipeli, his former commanding officer with the 1st Ranger Battalion. “It’s been a while. How are you?”

  “Fine, sir. And you?”

  “Doing well. Actually, I’m heading into Philadelphia as we speak.”

  “You’re in Philly? What for?”

  “To see you, of course.”

  “That’s a hell of a long trip just to come up and say, ‘Hi.’” Lipeli had stuck around Savannah, Georgia, where 1st Battalion was based, after retiring from the Army last year.

  “I’m not just coming here for a reunion. I’ve got something I want to talk to you about. Something you might be interested in.”

  “What is it?”

  Lipeli paused. “I’d rather talk to you about it in person. Trust me, this’ll be worth your while. Is there anywhere near your place where we can meet?”