Helen opened up the throttle.
“They’ve got engines too. Bigger than ours.”
McNulty nodded.
“Good point.”
Helen looked at him. The sky was overcast. There was no moon and no stars, but her night vision was beginning to kick in. McNulty’s, too. They looked at each other but it was Helen who spoke.
“You have thought this through, haven’t you?”
McNulty shrugged.
“Catch ’em up. Beat ’em up. Free the girl.”
Helen steered northeast toward Spectacle Island.
“Is that a cop’s perspective?”
McNulty scoured the horizon.
“I’m not a cop.”
Helen turned soft eyes on McNulty.
“You’ve been saying that since Northern X. You don’t believe it any more than I do. You’ll always be a cop.”
McNulty’s stare was dead and blank and hard as nails.
“Not tonight.”
Helen nodded and let out a sigh.
“Can we expect any help?”
McNulty shrugged.
“Length of time it took Quincy PD to set up the raid, I don’t see them getting out here before The Manticore reaches the twelve-mile limit.”
Helen stared ahead.
“That’s a no then.”
Alfonse demonstrated the actor’s sheltered upbringing.
“Twelve-mile limit?”
McNulty glanced at his protégé.
“Territorial waters. After that even the coastguards don’t have any powers.”
Alfonse sat heavily on the bench seat.
“Oh shit.”
Helen expanded.
“Yes shit. After that they can do what they want with the girl and nobody can arrest them.”
McNulty gripped the console until his knuckles turned white.
“I’m not going to arrest them.”
The boat swerved and settled on a new course after it passed the Long Island Shelter. They were heading east, straight out into Massachusetts Bay. Six miles into the twelve-mile target. The other boats had thinned out, mostly heading into Boston Harbor or north toward Winthrop. A passenger jet came in low out of the night sky and landed at Logan International. Apart from that the night was dark and empty. The Manticore’s wake had subsided, leaving no clues about where it was headed. Once it was into the bay it could take any direction and it would eventually reach the safety of international waters. The shortest route was east.
Helen and McNulty squinted into the gloom. Spray burst all around them after the relative shelter of the islands. McNulty began to worry that The Manticore had turned north but Helen knew what she was doing. After a few minutes she pointed straight ahead. As they crested a wave McNulty saw what she was pointing at. A festive display of lights fit for a Christmas tree. Helen shouted over the roar of the engine.
“They’re not playing hide and seek, are they?”
The Manticore was making steady progress but The Helen of Troy was running at full throttle. They eventually found The Manticore’s wake and that smoothed their passage. The Helen of Troy built up speed in the calmer waters. Dead astern. Spray whipping their faces. McNulty ducked below the Perspex screen for shelter. Helen stood upright in front of the captain’s chair, knees flexed to compensate for the bouncing deck. She glanced down at McNulty.
“They’ll have guns.”
McNulty nodded.
“I know.”
Helen answered his next question before he asked it.
“I don’t have one.”
McNulty patted a canvas bag that Helen hadn’t noticed before.
“I’ll make do.”
He nodded toward the floating Christmas tree ahead.
“How big is it?”
Helen followed his gaze.
“The Manticore?”
She shrugged.
“Three times as big as us. Half a dozen cabins and a stateroom.”
McNulty focused on the boat ahead now that they were close enough to see it. The good thing about its being so well lit was that it would make everything outside the crew’s viewing arc pitch black. The Helen of Troy was outside the crew’s viewing arc. The smaller boat’s motor was beginning to be drowned by the larger engines. Helen had been right about that, too. McNulty looked at the foaming wake.
“Does it have an engine room?”
Helen shook her head.
“Access hatches in the rear deck. Everything connected to the central panel on the bridge.”
McNulty could see the bridge now. Unlike The Helen of Troy, The Manticore was controlled from a wheelhouse on top of the main cabin. A dinghy hung from derricks at the rear. He tried to make out whether The Manticore’s hull was made up of riveted metal plates. His only knowledge of bigger boats was watching the Titanic movie. A shiver ran down his spine, working as he did for Titanic Productions. He didn’t want this Titanic to sink.
“Metal or plastic?”
Helen knocked on the fiberglass hull.
“It’s not plastic. But yes. Like us, only bigger and thicker.”
Alfonse listened to the conversation while trying not to be sick. He kept his eyes astern to avoid the swaying horizon. It didn’t work. The stern was swaying as well. Then he saw something and tugged at McNulty’s sleeve. McNulty looked over his shoulder. Blue flashing lights blinked in the distance. Not just one but a whole nest of them. Moving fast out of Boston Harbor. If they were using sirens they were lost in the noise of the waves and the engines.
The cavalry was coming. That was a good thing and a bad thing. It would be good to have backup, but they were too far away to be of immediate help. The bad thing was the crew of The Manticore would see them coming and have plenty of time to dispose of the girl. Also, the crew would be looking directly toward The Helen of Troy. McNulty stood up and waved a hand to his right. Helen glanced over her shoulder and understood. She veered out of The Manticore’s wake into choppy waters but away from the crew’s line of sight.
Ten miles out. They were cutting it fine. The waves were getting bigger and the dips between them deeper. It was slowing them down. The water between the boats was afire with colored lights from the larger vessel. Everything else was pitch black and nothingness. Helen steered a course to match The Manticore’s and drew closer to the starboard side. The blue flashing lights coming out from Boston grew brighter. More powerful boats. Probably a helicopter, too. McNulty thought about the task ahead. He waved Alfonse to his feet.
“Okay. Same principle.”
Alfonse nodded.
“Check the windows and doors on approach.”
McNulty shouted over the roar of the engines.
“And?”
Alfonse braced himself against the bucking deck.
“When a cop goes up to a door, he never knows what’s on the other side.”
McNulty slapped him on the back.
“Good. Except what’s on the other side is going to be a shitstorm. Here’s what you’re going to do.”
As Helen steered closer to the Christmas tree McNulty told Alfonse what to do. Five minutes later The Helen of Troy was standing off the starboard bow, at the exact opposite angle to the approaching lights. McNulty looked at the windows along the right-hand side. The curtains were drawn, and nobody was looking this way. The cavalry was drawing their attention. He turned to Helen.
“Have you got a flare gun?”
Helen tugged open a drawer beside the wheel.
“You’ll need more than a flare gun if you’re going up against that lot.”
McNulty pressed Helen’s hand against the gun. He looked into her eyes and wondered if he’d ever see her again. He patted her hand.
“It’s not for me.”
He nodded toward The Manticore…
“When the lights go out.”
…then back toward the approaching cavalry.
“Give them a fl
are.”
FORTY-SIX
The Manticore might have only been three times as big as The Helen of Troy but it felt a whole lot bigger as they drew alongside in the rolling seas. The dips and swells meant the smaller boat could be way down one minute then level with the deck the next. Helen had to keep her distance to avoid bumping into the side and alerting the crew. It was all about keeping the noise down to a minimum and hoping that The Manticore’s engines covered the rest.
McNulty stood at the side of the aft deck and tried to gauge the motion of both vessels. Up and down then down and up. Sometimes both up at the same time and sometimes both at the bottom of a wave. There was no rhythm to it. They were at the ocean’s mercy. McNulty scoured The Manticore’s starboard rail for handholds and landing zones. The diving platform and ladder were at the rear beside the lifeboat derricks, so that was out of the question. The entire crew would be looking aft at the blue flashing lights racing toward them. The anchor chain dangled over the side on the starboard bow but wasn’t showing enough chain to grab hold of. That only left the obvious choice, the boarding ladder halfway along the side just behind the flying bridge. McNulty didn’t want to use the obvious choice, but he was out of options. He waved toward the ladder and Helen nodded.
Spray burst over them from every wave. Everything was wet. Handholds would be slippery and dangerous. McNulty looked at Alfonse. The actor was gray and sickly but he was standing firm. McNulty patted him on the shoulder, pointed to himself and then at the ladder. He then pointed at Alfonse and waved for him to follow. Alfonse nodded.
McNulty looked at Helen and they exchanged a parting glance. He gave her the thumbs up, then she eased the boat toward the ladder. She closed the gap to a few feet. A swell lifted them up then the The Helen of Troy descended into the trough like an elevator going down.
The ladder was right in front of McNulty. The boats reached the extremities of their trajectories and paused briefly before reversing their movements. The engines roared. Spray stung his eyes. Then he stepped over the edge.
Five minutes later McNulty and Alfonse huddled in the lee of the main cabin. They clung to the handrails along the side and waited for the panic to subside. Their hearts weren’t going to stop racing anytime soon but McNulty needed to calm the shakes until they were manageable before proceeding. There had been one scary moment when Alfonse missed the ladder with his feet and was left hanging from the ladder by both hands. McNulty grabbed him and helped him up the ladder with lots of banging and scuffling. The Helen Of Troy had sheered off into blackness and disappeared. McNulty waited to see if the banging had alerted anyone. It hadn’t.
He scanned the windows along the side. The curtains were closed but the stateroom lights were on. Good. Hopefully the bulk of South Shore Hardcore’s men would be in there for the filming. Some of the lights at one end were extremely bright, supporting the theory that they were shooting inside. It also suggested the focus of attention would be in the cabin or looking aft at the approaching authorities.
McNulty untied the canvas bag from his waist and tied it around Alfonse. He patted the actor on the shoulder and nodded. Alfonse looked frightened. That was okay, McNulty was scared too. Nobody goes into action against a superior force without a touch of fear. It was the fear that kicked the adrenaline in. He remembered someone once telling him that courage wasn’t the absence of fear, it was knowing fear but carrying on. He didn’t feel courageous. He felt angry.
McNulty tapped his watch then held out a hand, palm down. Alfonse nodded his understanding. Wait. He’d know when it was time to move. McNulty had explained it in detail. The actor looked at the ex-cop and let out a sigh. McNulty smiled a sad little smile and stood up. He turned toward the bow and mounted the stairs to the flying bridge.
The bridge of The Manticore was bigger than the captain’s seat of The Helen of Troy but it wasn’t exactly the Titanic. It wasn’t like that scene from The Poseidon Adventure, either, where the captain and his first mate were hit by the tidal wave and the ship was flipped over. There was a single wheel and a swivel chair and a bank of controls on a console in front of it. What that meant was there was only one person driving the boat. McNulty could handle one person.
There was no point sneaking up on the captain. The quiet approach would be doomed to failure the minute McNulty opened the door. Ocean noise and crashing spray would invade the bridge and negate the stealth attack, so McNulty simply opened the door and charged. He stamped down on the back of the captain’s leg behind the knee before the captain had time to spin toward the threat. The leg buckled. The captain hit the deck with a cry of anguish, and McNulty dropped a knee onto his chest and elbowed him in the face. The man’s head snapped to one side and he was out for the count.
McNulty stood at the controls. They were more complicated than The Helen of Troy’s but essentially the same. Ignition. Throttle. Wheel. The Manticore didn’t have a brake. McNulty thought about that for a second, then slammed the throttle into reverse. There was a roar from the engines and the boat lurched as the propellers reversed. Not exactly a dead stop, but as close as you’d get on the water. Charts and navigational tools tumbled off a shelf. A porcelain mug smashed onto the deck. The boat wallowed in the trough then was lifted by an oncoming wave. The wave broke over the bow and rattled the windows. The boat struggled to gain reverse momentum, but McNulty wasn’t bothered about going backward. Once it was dead in the water, he turned the engines off.
The captain’s head rolled with the motion of the deck. Shards of broken coffee cup tumbled across the floor. McNulty dropped to one knee in front of the console and opened the access panel. As Helen had said, there was a forest of wires running up from below. They were gathered into a tight group and held together with cable-ties until they separated to the various buttons and switches on the console. The main power supply for the entire boat. If he yanked all these from their sockets the lights would go out.
He glanced to his right and wondered how far Helen was holding off the starboard bow. He wondered how long it would take the blue flashing lights to arrive and save the day. Not soon enough was the answer. He looked at the wires. Lights out and flare up. That was the plan. He knelt there for a few more seconds and took a deep breath. It was a few seconds too long. The door from the main cabin burst open and the game changed completely.
FORTY-SEVEN
“So, you’re the guy almost took it up the ass in the name of justice.”
They were in The Manticore’s stateroom, a cabin of such plush appointments it made the main cabin aboard The Helen of Troy look like a rowboat in comparison. The man speaking was wealthy and powerful and shit-bird crazy. McNulty bore that in mind as he spoke.
“Turned out one of your guys fit the role better than I did.”
He looked at the three men pointing guns at him.
“Wasn’t one of you, was it? I hear it only hurts the first time.”
The one on the left looked uneasy and McNulty thought he recognized him from the Hook Worm & Bait Club, but he wasn’t sure. The other two were bigger and stronger and completely implacable. One had an ugly black automatic pistol. The other held a pump action shotgun. Buttfuck had a small silver revolver that spoke volumes about his status in the pecking order. McNulty reckoned he’d got it right. He smiled.
“Assuming it was your first time.”
The Manticore had settled into a gentle roll and sway. It wasn’t buffeted as much as The Helen of Troy because when it came to boats and the porn industry, size did matter. Size was amply displayed in The Manticore’s main cabin. The stateroom was long and wide and as well appointed as any hotel. The ceiling might be low, but it was still high enough for everyone to stand upright without ducking. The paintings on the wall looked expensive. The man sitting with one leg draped casually across the other looked expensive too. Probably the man hiding his face in one of Suzanne Cipolletti’s photographs.
Suzanne Cipolletti herself looked a good deal less expensi
ve. The girl who owned the Yorkshire Terrier was bound and gagged and clamped into the chair McNulty had last seen at South Shore Hardcore. She was naked and bedraggled. Tears had smeared her makeup. Her hair was unkempt. Fearful eyes stared out of a face devoid of hope. McNulty felt the anger build but kept it under wraps. There would be a time to unleash it. That time wasn’t here yet. The man in the expensive clothes waved a hand.
“Vincent McNulty. The man who rescues stray dogs.”
McNulty looked into eyes as dead as a shark’s.
“It wasn’t a stray, it was stolen.” He nodded at the girl. “Same as her.”
The man spoke as if she weren’t even there.
“Oh, we didn’t steal her. She volunteered.”
McNulty looked at the bondage gear next to the chair.
“Not for this.”
The man smiled.
“Well, that’s life, isn’t it? People often find themselves in deeper than they intended.”
He waved the hand again.
“When you climbed aboard, I doubt you intended this.”
McNulty shrugged.
“Things don’t always go according to plan…”
He narrowed his eyes.
“…but they usually work out in the end.”
The man nodded and rested both hands in his lap.
“I like a confident man. They should have mentioned that in the paper.”
McNulty kept his eyes on the man in front of him, but his peripheral vision kept track of the three men with guns. The film crew he ignored. Eddy Turk and the man with the hooked nose, standing next to Larry Unger’s missing camera.
“What do you think they’ll say about you in the paper?”
The man smiled. It didn’t bring light to his cold dead stare.
“They won’t say anything.” He leaned forward. “I own the papers.”
He placed a hand on his chest as if swearing an oath.
“James William Visconti the third.”
McNulty nodded. Now he had a name. It spoke volumes that Visconti didn’t mind giving it. McNulty tried to gauge how long he’d been aboard and how much closer the blue flashing lights would have come in that time. The Manticore was still dead in the water. What worried McNulty the most was that nobody had tried to restart the engines. Visconti seemed to read McNulty’s mind.
Final Cut Page 20
