The Hunt for Crypto

By Peter Mallon

Ten thousand kilometres away. Three hundred private jets sit wingtip to wingtip on an airstrip in an exclusive Swiss mountain resort. The Global Elites are summoned to discuss a new world currency and a global surveillance grid.

Only one element is stopping them from flicking the switch. Unsure if it’s a person or a program, they deploy the Jackals to apprehend or neutralise the thorn in their side they’ve been unable to control.

Convinced he'd left his violent past behind. Doyle finds himself torn between discarding a stranger or accepting the risk of extra baggage and doing what he always does; goes with his gut, believing the only man that can help him is in a third-world country on the other side of the planet.

All he has to do is get to him before they do!

• Language: English
• Publisher: Peter Mallon
• Release date: May 30, 2023
• ISBN: 9781005899424

Book preview

Prologue

Bleep, bleep, bleep, bleep, it sounded faster and louder, indicating that whatever it was; it was closing fast.

Crypto! I hollered.

I need you up here right now!

Three; four; five, I counted in my head before shouting at the top of my voice.

Crypto!

Get your arse up here right now.

We have incoming.

What is it? he shouted as his head popped above the deck.

Look! I said, stepping aside for him to see the blue light flashing.

Bounding up the steps to arrive beside me in seconds. After a couple more seconds of observing the dot, he turned toward me with a look of dread.

Another boat is moving directly towards us, he said.

No shit, Sherlock, I replied and began searching for a set of Binos while whispering the word aloud for them magically appear.

There!

Under the shelf, in the cabinet. There’s a powerful set of glasses with night vision, he told me.

Unclipping the door, I retrieved and handed them to him and waited.

After adjusting the dials and looking for only a few seconds, he shared what had turned his face a pale shade of white.

Pirates! he said in a panicked voice while handing the Binos to me.

Your right!

Pirates, I confirmed and letting the Binos dangle from my neck, grabbed hold of his arm, hoping he valued security as much as he did his laptops.

Are there any other weapons on board? I asked abruptly while taking a second look.

Yes! he replied and scampered off to retrieve whatever it was he viewed as a weapon.

Listening to his footsteps jog across the deck the tap the stairs, the first thing to appear when he returned was the single barrel of a Remington pump action, then him carrying a white stained canvas bag.

That’ll do! I replied, and before the last words left my mouth, he handed them to me.

Cartridges? I know! he gasped, almost out of breath.

Handing over the bag, his reply deserved a regiment’s worth of well-done’s, but we didn’t have time.

Passing the Binos for him to keep watch, I secured the ammo bag over my shoulder, checked the weapon and then loaded five cartridges; four in the mag and one in the chamber.

Where the hell did you get this? I asked.

It came with the boat, he replied instantly while the Binos were pressed against his eye sockets.

Why?

No matter! I replied.

I’d never heard of Hail Marys arriving more than one at a time, but right now, I was asking him upstairs to provide a lifetimes allocation all at once. The first one had already arrived in an unexplainable twist of fate when Crypto purchased the boat.

Talk to me, I shouted up to him.

Same course!

Seven hundred metres out and closing fast, he replied sharply, causing me to smile and wonder if he’d ever fired a weapon. If he hadn’t? How had a spec of blood from a sniper’s spotter had gotten into his veins, I thought?

Give me the Binos! I barked, jumping up beside him.

Each boat had five raiders. The lead boat had one at the wheel and four armed with AK47s, grouped close to the bow. The second, riding the wake of the first; a wheel man, three at the bow with AKs and one .50 cal machine gun, on an elevated platform behind the wheelman.

Fuck! I said aloud while picturing the scene playing out in my head.

If the second boat approaches first, I can take care of the fifty and the rest, but if he was the stand-off to provide overwatch for the raiders; the second I started to take them out, his fifty would tear us apart in seconds.

This isn’t good, I said, placing a hand on his shoulder and pressing for him to kneel beside me.

Listen and don’t question.

We don’t have time, I told him.

We have two choices.

Grab our daysacks, abandon ship using the jet skis and hope they focus on their catch, not us.

Unfortunately, the odds on that are slim at best.

They’ll think we’re doing a runner with cash and valuables and chase us down.

Or! We can make a stand, kill them all, sink their boats and continue.

What do you think Calli, he asked frantically, his eyes widening with each second that passed and as the sound of their outboards grew louder.

Raising my head to see and confirm their direction, I returned to be inches from his frightened face.

No talking, I ordered.

If you don’t play your part, we’re done for.

Nod, if you understand.

Do exactly as I tell you or we’re dead.

Panicking, running and hiding, or attempting to appeal to any sense of civility you think they might have, will get you killed just the same.

To them, we’re already shark meat.

Do you understand?

Nodding, he wiped the fear from his saturated forehead and waited.

When I say, I want you to stand up, smile, and wave towards them while bringing the boat to a halt and positioning it at ten o’clock.

Then, with your arms above your head, descend to the first deck and move to the boat’s edge to greet them, I told him, watching his eyeballs bulge in their sockets at the thought of being alone while looking death in the eye.

Got it? I asked.

Uh huh! he acknowledged.

As soon as you hear the first shot, hit the deck, keep your body low and crawl to the living area.

Understood! I snapped out.

Yes! Yes Calli.

Lending an ear to the sound of their engines easing off as the wheelman managed the throttle to come alongside, I pointed up and spoke, realising that if I didn’t play my part, these might be the last words either of us utter.

Do it now! I ordered, and with the Remington across my chest and holding tightly onto the cartridge bag; I belly crawled to the stairs, descended and moved quickly to the first port hole inside the living area.

‘Hello! Hello!’ I heard his nervy voice shout as the sensation of the boat manoeuvring stopped. Edging my eyes to the level of the port hole, the sound of his boat shoes tapping each stair confirmed he was doing exactly what I told him to.

Peeping one eye around the left side of the port hole, I could see all of them. The wheelman of the first boat looked like an extra from a Chuck Norris movie, wearing the Asian-style cap over a stylish pair of shades he didn’t need, as the sun was almost down. The others, pointing their AKs at Crypto while preparing to make the jump, looked spaced out and excited to get aboard. Two standing closest to the bow had coils of rope in one hand and four-prong grappling hooks in the other, while the others were positioning themselves at the edge of the boat, waiting to board the moment one of the prongs found an anchor.

‘Hello!’ Crypto shouted again.

Now, together at the port side, they weren’t interested in replying or doing anything apart from boarding.

Close enough to see the sweat running over their sun-blasted tattoos. All were skin and bone with sunken faces and blackened brown skin, giving the appearance that the swag money they got from their heists, was spent on drugs and booze rather than food. While the two hook throwers were busy securing the rope, the other two steadied themselves preparing to leap across and once they did, Crypto would be filled full of holes and ditched overboard.

I don’t think so, I said under my breath as I eased the port hole inside.

Aiming at the first pirate on the right, I squeezed the trigger to release the first round into the side of his head and then unleashed the remaining four cartridges into the other three and the wheelman. Aware I’d only have seconds before the second boat realised and then reacted, I popped my head close to the port hole while reloading. All five in the first boat were down, and the skiff had rotated one-eighty to expose the fuel tank. Thinking another surprise distraction might buy us some time, I put a round into it and watched the fireball rise high, scattering wood, metal and body parts onto and against the boat, leaving only burning embers of what was left. Taking me by surprise, Crypto arrived at my feet, huffing and puffing on his belly.

What now? he gasped.

Waiting for .50 cal to start unleashing hell, I looked down at him and replied honestly.

Unless they come close, we’re floating ducks, I replied.

If they decide to stand off and fill the boat with .50 cal, were done for; our only option is to make a run for it on the jet skis, I told him; this time, as a friend; hoping the face he was glaring at was expressing exactly that.

Curious of the silence and lack of incoming, I poked an eye around the edge of the port hole, then threw myself back to the floor.

Looks like we’re out of luck; they’re holding off, I informed him, as I threw myself off the seat onto the floor beside him; just as a hail of .50 cal bullets blasted through the side to rip apart the galley area. Quickly realising our daysacks in the opposite seating area were directly in the line of fire, I felt at the bottom of my back for my Beretta; double-checked the state of the Remington and while the boat was shifting position, grabbed hold of his arm and pulled him in close.

Ready? I shouted above the splintering wood and metal, while willing none of the rounds to penetrate the gas bottle.

Put your daysack on and stay low.

Looking at him one last time, I waited for a momentary lull.

Move! I shouted, forcing his body down while dragging him along.

At the living area sliding door, I pinned him down and waited for the bow to move a few metres more, until it was facing the skiff.

Listen up!

When I say go, dash for the jet skis and don’t fuck around!

Once it starts, throw it into the water with you on it and accelerate.

Make sure you keep the boat between them and us.

Understand? I shouted into his face.

The speed nodding and terrified face suggested he did, making me think that if the bullets did finish him; his heart beating at a thousand BPM would. Reacting immediately to the gunner’s trigger finger coming up for air, I slapped him on the shoulder.

Go! I shouted and followed behind him. On the way out the door, I opened the red box attached to the partition next to the stairs, checked a cartridge was loaded, and on the run, fired a red, then a green flare, in the skiffs direction, ditched the Remington and joined him at the jet skis.

Get in the water! I ordered him.

But Calli!

Get fucken in! I screamed and kicked him and the jet ski overboard, turned the key in my ignition and forced the ski overboard, narrowly missing his head. Accelerating hard, I righted my ski, helped him up and pointed in the opposite direction.

Go! I shouted.

Close behind him with the remnants of green and red smoke drifting behind us, I hollered for him to twist the throttle to the max while glancing behind to check the boat was still between us and the skiff.

Faster!

With no clue if they’d seen us, the thunder of the .50 cal and the swizzing of the rounds passing over our heads confirmed we were at the mercy of the big guy upstairs and in desperate need of another Hail Mary, if there were any left?

Go!!

Accelerate! I shouted louder.

Creeping alongside him to make eye contact, I pointed to our eleven o’clock.

The sea buoy.

Steer towards it. Go! I shouted and nudged closer to encourage him.

Skidding to a stop behind it, the sheer size of it took me by surprise. What appeared to be the size of a camping tent on the TV was, in reality, the size of a small two-storey house with a red light on top, bobbing up and down in the ocean.

Hang on! I told him and thought about reaching for my Beretta, but didn’t bother; what good could it do?

At least here, we had a chance to be invisible and for them to think we’d gone down with the ship, but only if they hadn’t seen our escape. The only ally we had was a rapidly approaching sunset. If they didn’t find us in the next fifteen minutes, the likelihood was they wouldn’t chance being caught out in the dark and bugger off.

Aware of how fast and easily sound carried across the water, I whispered across to him and immediately placed my forefinger on my lips before he answered.

Any injuries?

Still focused on not hyperventilating, he shook his head from side to side and gave me a thumbs-up.

Good! I replied, then waited and listened.

While the waves splashed against the buoy, a sound I recognised immediately but hadn’t heard for some time grew louder and louder. Turning my ears in its direction while memories of both sandpits flashed in my head, a thunderous explosion erupted somewhere close to the boat, lighting the water with a bright orange and yellow fireball. Then, all of a sudden and amidst the chaos and confusion, a mini tsunami from the blast wave rocked the buoy back and forth to knock Crypto from his jet ski.

Calli! Help me, he screamed while choking to spit out the seawater and avoid his jet ski being sucked underneath the buoy. Quickly grabbing his handlebars, I yanked him up and came alongside to jam his bike against the buoy.

Hold onto the side! I whispered, encouraging him to remain calm.

Wait here! I said and nudged out slowly from behind the buoy.

Looking back at the scene; burning wreckage and Crypto’s boat was all that remained.

Realising immediately what had just gone down, I shouted back to him.

Follow me! We’re going back to the boat, and without waiting for his reply, I twisted the throttle, leaned forward and steered a straight line toward it.

1

If I was religious, I’d have proclaimed that the Big Guy upstairs brought me here for a reason, but I wasn’t, and instead of talking to the sky, the entity I would later give thanks to was a large, dirty brown Labrador street dog on the prowl. Parading the road fearlessly, the height and dirt-matted, patchwork coat covering a muscle-bound body, suggested it had kept itself well-fed while living in the shadows and backyards of this busy, hustle-bustle main street. Watching it strut in the middle of the street and how its eyes beaded left and right while its nose sniffed the aromas of every natural and man-made smell on the street, explained how it acquired, then homed in on the watered-down blood, dripping from an ice bucket in a shopping trolley so quickly. Looking like it was driven by a frenzied desire to eat; its head and neck stretched forward and its eyes locked onto the target, making its legs convert from a standard trot to the committed stalk of a seasoned predator, bringing it to within a pouncing distance of the old couple. Still oblivious to what was about to unfold, they continued shuffling along, holding hands, smiling and chatting merrily while gripping the red trolley bar tight with their free hand to force it over the rough ground.

Realising the attack was imminent, I cupped a handful of sand and dirt in my hand, sprung from the bench and bolted between the front bumpers of oncoming horn-honking cars, just as the dog was about to leap. Not close enough to make physical contact, I wedged my forefinger and thumb into my mouth and whistled loud enough for it to stall and then, after four more strides, kicked out to connect my boot with its back end.

Hey! Get! I shouted, making the couple shudder and the old lady scream from fright.

Get! I shouted again.

Filled with street survival adrenaline and the need to satisfy its hunger, it ignored the first kick, then snapped its head around at the second to brandish its teeth and bark at my depriving it of what could have been an easy meal. Sensing I was up for the fight, it turned its aggression onto the couple and edged closer to make one last attempt at winning the only meat left on the menu; the old man’s leg. Seeing how pissed off it was at being rumbled, I closed the gap and while it was preparing to lunge, threw the dirt into its open mouth; waited for it to drop onto all four paws and gave it a farewell kick to send it running and yelping like a drunken banshee.

Get outta here, I shouted again.

Hugging each other with their hands grasping the trolley, their shocked faces gawked between me and the street vendors, most of whom had hurried to the edge of the pavement, waving brooms, umbrellas and flailing arms at the four-legged thief, still yelping, growling and looking back at me with fury in its eyes, between snapping its head left and right, searching for a safe escape route.

Oh! Dios. Gracias Senor, the old man said, regaining his composure after calming his wife, then after a double take; realised I was a foreigner.

Dear God!

Thank you, my friend.

Thank you, he said, smiling at me, then at his wife.

He nearly had you, I replied, then after seeing the look of confusion on both their faces, I elaborated.

The dog, I said, pointing at it, now thirty metres ahead of us.

He was after the meat in your cool box and whatever else is in your grocery bags, I explained.

Oh! The old lady shrieked as she reached to pull the grocery bags closer to her.

Thank you, the old boy said again, then surprised me.

Yeah, he’s a nuisance, that one.

He’s either begging, harassing passers-by, fighting with other dogs or trying his luck with daylight robbery.

Feeling it was the right thing to do, I continued walking alongside them while, like a hero to the rescue, acknowledged the waves and smiles of the street vendors, only to realise moments later, the celebration was directed at the old couple; not me.

Realising my confusion and while the buzz of street adulation was still in the air, the old man grabbed my left arm and hoisted it above our heads to show his appreciation and unofficially anoint me as their protector for the day, or at least the next fifty metres or so. Following the old man’s nodding and hand gestures, a few vendors raised their arms while others applauded, enjoying the brief distraction and moment of entertainment before returning to their stalls.

Are you on holiday? the old lady asked, releasing her grip on the plastic bags.

Feeling myself about to go into character and lay the full cover story on them; my gut convinced me not to, not to these two. The intervention felt right and in the few minutes of chatting and exchanging eye contact, an unusual air of honesty encouraged me to answer with what I considered not to be a lie, but neither was it the truth.

Aware I had to give them something that wouldn’t trip me up farther down the line, I kept it sporty.

Holiday, I replied, following up quickly to hold their attention.

Diving!

Scuba diving!

I have one more course to complete before getting my instructor’s ticket, so why not here? I said enthusiastically.

Well! You’ve come to the best place for that, the old boy chirped out, turning to look for confirmation from his wife; already nodding and humming lots of Mmm hmmm to his every word as if she were about to start singing a psalm.

That’s right! she said and continued.

We’re central all right, and we have everything you need right here.

Big boats, fast boats, ferries; everything you need, she said, looking up at her man for him to agree.

Yes, Mother.

We have it all, he said, then hit me with the next question.

You have a place to stay? he asked.

Hotel, for now, I replied.

What! the old lady butted in.

No, no, no! she protested.

We can’t have that, can we, Victor? she said to her husband.

No, we can’t Dolores, he replied, immediately taking charge of the conversation.

"We can’t have someone that just saved our