Sea of Greed

“We’re not in the clear yet,” Paul shouted down to her. “Those lights I told you about are for real. Two boats heading our way, one moving in behind us.”

30

PAUL REMAINED at the wheel, while Gamay tied Reynolds up.

“I assume you secured our friend,” he said when she appeared.

“Hog-tied and sheep-shanked him,” Gamay said. “He’s not going anywhere. But we should check on him in a little while.”

“Assuming we survive that long,” Paul said. “We’re caught in the middle of a triangle. One boat off the port bow, another one off the starboard bow and one that crept in behind us.”

Gamay looked aft, spotted the lights of the third boat and then turned back to Paul. “Have you tried calling for help?”

Paul turned up the volume on the marine radio. Every frequency hummed with a garbled electronic sound. “Jamming the entire spectrum.”

“What other options do we have?”

“We’re roughly halfway between the Raleigh and the coast,” Paul told her, “but it’s all open water back to the Raleigh. We disappear out there, no one will ever know what happened. But the closer we get to the coast, the more likely we are to encounter other traffic. And within a few miles of shore, we should be able to use our cell phone. They can’t jam those. Then, there are the barrier islands to think about.”

He pointed to the chart. A long row of islands mirrored the shape of the Gulf shoreline. The nearest was five miles away. “We could hide in the shallows or even go ashore if we need to. At least we’ll have options.”

“Let’s go for the islands,” she said.

Paul moved the throttle forward slowly and the launch surged with surprising power. The crew of the Raleigh had tuned the engine, removed the governor and performed a few other tricks to give their boat extra power.

It picked up speed easily and, before long, the lights ahead of them began to widen out, not because they were moving away but because the increased speed had changed the angle of approach.

It didn’t last long. “Here they come,” Gamay said.

Paul pushed the throttle to full and locked it there. The launch picked up more speed and began to bounce on the chop. Each landing threw a sheet of spray over the top and, despite the windscreen, Paul and Gamay were soon getting drenched.

The two boats turned hard, but the Raleigh’s launch was moving too quickly to be cut off. Before long, the three boats ended up abreast of one another.

“Low-profile powerboats,” Gamay said.

“They’re small and fast, but we can pack a punch,” Paul said. “Hang on.”

He cut the wheel to starboard and swerved toward the nearest of the two boats, sideswiping it.

The boats rebounded off each other, but the smaller craft took the worst of it. Its bow was forced up and to the side, catching the air. It came down with the nose pointing sideways, flipped several times and vanished behind them in the dark.

“One down,” Gamay said. “Great job.”

Paul resisted the urge to smile and attempted the same tactic as the second boat swept in on them. The pilot of this boat was quicker. He pulled away and dropped back into a trailing position.

“They learn fast,” Paul said.

With that boat dropping back, Paul could do nothing but concentrate on the course ahead. He took direct aim at the nearest barrier island and held the wheel, swerving only slightly here and there.

“We both know what’s coming next,” Gamay said. She ducked down, putting some amount of protection between her and the trailing speedboat.

Flashes from a firearm in the boat behind them were easy to see in the dark. The bullets were not. They whistled overhead and to the side. Invisible and deadly if they found their mark.

Paul crouched down, weaved a little more radically but kept the course changes to a minimum. Every turn cut down on their speed and added to the distance they had to travel.

With Paul handling the evasive maneuvers, Gamay began crawling toward the stern of the launch.

“Where are you going?” Paul asked.

“I have Derrick’s gun,” she said. “I want to test my marksmanship.”

She reached the stern and took a position against the transom. Looking out over the stern, she zeroed in on the bow of the trailing speedboat. She tried to time the rise and fall of each boat, waiting as a large sheet of spray dropped behind them and then firing off several shots.

“Hit anything?” Paul shouted, turning the boat once more.

“Not that I can tell,” she replied. “Between them moving and you swerving all over the place, it’s impossible to aim.”

“At least they’re having the same problem.”

“When I shout to you,” Gamay said, “hold us steady. Just for two seconds.”

“Will do,” Paul said.

There was a reciprocal danger to that plan, underlined by the sudden shattering of the plastic windscreen as several bullets hit the boat, but Gamay trusted in her shooting skills.

She grabbed a life jacket, placed it on the transom and stretched her arms out over it.

“Are you ready?” Paul shouted.

“Almost,” she said. She waited for the following boat to move in behind them. “Now!”