by H. L. Wegley
Gemma looked back at the family on the shore.
The man stood in firing position, holding a handgun.
“Lex, he's going to shoot!” Gemma flattened herself on the deck.
Lex left one hand on the wheel but ducked out of the shooter’s sight.
A loud pop sounded.
Lex raised his head enough to look back at the picnic spot. “It's okay, Gemma. He’s shooting over our heads. Probably doesn't want to damage his boat.”
“That’s a man’s priorities for you.”
“Would you rather he demonstrated a woman’s priorities?”
Gemma rose to her knees and risked looking at the shooter.
Two men armed with assault rifles emerged from the trees by the mouth of the river and looked their way.
“Lex... it's the Fibbies and they saw us.”
“Doesn't make much difference.”
“What do you mean?” She hooked his arm and tried to turn him around to face her.
“Stop it, Gemma. I'm driving.”
“Driving under the influence.”
He twisted away from her and put both hands on the wheel. “Influence of what?”
“Insanity.”
“Think about it, Gemma. The Fibbies were going to show up regardless. And, as soon as they talked to that family, they would know it was us who took the boat.”
Lex cranked the throttle open until the Bayliner planed on the calm Lake.
Gemma strained to make out what was happening back at the picnic area. Her peripheral vision caught a small black object on the seat beside her.
Binoculars.
She grabbed them, adjusted the zoom, and focused on the family and the armed men. “Lex, one of the Fibbies has a cell phone in his ear.”
“How can you see that far?” He turned toward Gemma. “Oh. Binoculars. But them calling—that’s not good.”
“You've got that right. He's probably calling for that helicopter. Lex, where can we hide this thing?”
Lex glanced her way. “You mean the boat? There's always Davy Jones’ Locker.”
“We can't sink that nice family’s boat.”
“You keep calling them nice. Gemma, they shot at us.”
“They only shot to warn us. You can’t hold that against them. But what are we supposed to do now? Go down with the ship? You know that me and water don't exactly—”
“Quiet for a minute. I'm thinking.”
“You should have been thinking before we stole the boat. Now the Fibbies really are after two criminals. Lex James, Peter Pan one moment, Captain Hook the next.”
“Gemma, I need to concentrate.”
She would let him concentrate alright, while she concentrated on his rear end, where she would like to plant her shoe.
“Eureka! I've got it!” Lex pointed a finger at something ahead of them on the shore.
“This isn’t a bathtub, Lex. It's a lake.”
“I think we can get there in less than ten minutes.”
“Seriously, Archimedes? A bathtub in ten minutes?”
He ignored her and opened the throttle all the way. The powerful engine roared. The Bayliner accelerated until the water sizzled under its hull.
In the strong wind, Gemma’s hair lashed her face like a whip. She moved forward beside Lex, to the protection of the windshield. “In ten minutes, their helicopter could be hovering over us. They will shoot this nice family’s boat full of holes … and us too.”
Lex looked her way and a smirk tweaked one side of his mouth. “Only if we’re on it. But maybe we can save the boat and ourselves.”
This guy was clearly delusional. Gemma didn't reply. You don't argue with a madman. Somebody famous said that … G. K. Chester something or other.
Lex pulled one hand from the wheel. “There's only one catch to this.”
Maybe there were some exceptions to that arguing-with-a-madman rule. And Gemma would take exception to any escape via water, unless they were in the boat. “Lex, you're not getting me into that Lake. It's cold and it’s deep.”
“Exactly—there it is.” Lex pointed to their right, to some spot on the shore.
“There is what?”
He was pointing to the land, not water.
But his “one catch” worried her.
Lex cut the speed to less than half of what it had been. “Find me something to tie to the wheel. You know, to hold it straight.”
Three life jackets with Velcro straps lay on a seat behind Gemma. She grabbed all three and handed one to Lex.
He stooped and looked under the wheel. “Great. This should work.”
The familiar, dreaded wopping sound came from somewhere in the distance. Gemma scanned the sky until she spotted it.
A mile or two ahead and to their left, a lone chopper turned a semicircle until it was headed toward them.
Gemma grabbed the binoculars and focused on the helicopter.
“It's them, Lex.” She pointed to the familiar looking chopper that couldn't be more than a minute or two away.
Lex steered closer to shore then grabbed all three life preservers and velcro’d them onto the wheel. When he finished, he took off his T-shirt and stretched it over the topmost life preserver creating a crude human torso.
A baseball cap lay in a cubbyhole beside the wheel. He placed it on top of a life preserver.
The dummy at the wheel had been replaced by another dummy, one that might look real from a hundred yards away.
But this left only one place for her and Lex, Lake Billy Chinook.
Lex grabbed her hand. “I need you to take a deep breath and then start counting to a hundred. Count slowly.”
“What else? Stop breathing? Drown?”
“I'll do all the rest.”
“So you’re going to panic and drown for me?”
She looked at the shore thirty yards away. Gemma would drown or die of claustrophobic fear before they could swim underwater to shore. And, if they didn't slip into the water on the starboard side, the Fibbies might see them abandon ship. Then they would be shot.
Either way Gemma Saint was about to die. When that happened, getting shot had her vote.
Lex took both of her hands, lifted her over the side, and lowered her into the chilly water.
She gasped when it reached her waist. Maybe she was about to get the worst of both deaths. Claustrophobia, then a bullet through her head.
Lex leaped over the side. On the way down he said, “Take a deep breath.”
Her breathing had turned to panting, partly from the cold, but mostly from thoughts about what was coming.
Gemma tried to draw a deep breath. She had most of it sucked in when Lex hit the water, feet first, like an arrow.
Lex still held her hand in his strong grasp. He yanked her under water with him, and he went deep.
The boat above them continued on its merry way, guided by the dummy that was oblivious to whatever was coming.
Count, Gemma, like Lex said.
One … two … three … four, five, six, seven, eight—
Now, the numbers flew through her mind as if they came from an auctioneer’s mouth. Somewhere past fifty, something told her it was time to breathe.
Lex towed her through the water with one hand, while his legs kicked like a frog. He pawed at the water with his other hand.
Gemma looked up at the water surface several feet above them. She needed to surface, now. The cold water stung her eyes. The pressure hurt her ears. But, more importantly, she had to breathe, now, or she was going to lose it.
She tried to break free from Lex’s grip.
That got-to-breathe feeling drove the last vestiges of her sanity away. She opened her mouth to scream.
Water came in.
She blew it out, trying to clear her mouth, but only choked.
Dizziness and a buzzing in her head intensified.
So this is what drowning is like.
No! She couldn't drown.
But how could she not drown?<
br />
Gemma screamed, and bubbles escaped her mouth as the last bit of air left her lungs. Empty now, her chest crumpled under the water pressure like a deflating vacuum-sealed bag. And the only thing she could fill it with was water.
Still Lex pulled her toward something dark that appeared a short distance ahead.
Lightning flashed. A thunderclap hit her head. It pounded her ears with a painful impact.
Dazed and choking on the water, she'd inhaled, Gemma’s strength faded from her legs and arms.
Then she broke the surface of the water in a strange, dark place.
Her feet touched bottom.
Lex held her by both shoulders. “Gemma?”
She coughed and splattered him in the face with a geyser of water, water that had been blocking her airway.
Air. She was breathing it. She hadn’t drowned.
“Are you okay, Gemma.”
“Maybe. Just... let me... catch my breath.”
“While you’re doing that, I think you should turn around, put your eyes at water level, and look out the mouth of this cave.”
Gemma tried to comply, but still wasn't quite in tune with reality. When she did look, her body stiffened.
A hundred yards away, the nice family’s boat floated. Two-hundred yards away more pieces of the Bayliner floated. Flames and smoke came from most of the debris in the lake.
As far up as the roof of the cave allowed her to see, a pillar of black smoke rose into the azure sky.
She looked at Lex. “We destroyed that poor family’s boat.”
“Gemma, the Fibbies nuked it with an RPG. Maybe one of those thermobaric ones that works like a Hellfire Missile.”
“What if they drop one on us?”
“They don't drop them. They shoot them. But you can hardly see this cave when the lake is this high. It's just a narrow slit at water level. They have no clue that it opens up inside. Only the locals know about the cave. Come on. In the back we can sit on rocks out of the water.”
“What if they land close by and come looking for us?”
“Think about it for a minute, Gemma.”
It didn't take a minute, now that she had regained most of her faculties. “The Fibbies just blew up somebody's boat. The government attacked civilians and they used military weapons to do it. They have to leave, don't they? “
“You got your two-hundred back, didn't you?”
She glared at him but didn't reply.
“You were right,” Lex said. “They can't let themselves be associated with this. And, this time of year, there are enough people on the lake that there’ll be witnesses. This is the end of them using that helicopter. But other people will come, lookie-loos and then the Sheriff.”
“So what do we do?”
“We have two options. Both are risky.”
“Lex James, if you think hooking up with me to get your story was risky, hooking up with you—you're downright dangerous.”
“Hooking up—that’s an interesting way to put it.” He paused.
She looked his way and saw his mischievous grin.
“But, Gemma, would you rather I hadn't helped you?”
She replayed her non-stop thriller that began shortly after meeting Lex.
Then Gemma looked at the burning pieces of boat strewn across the Lake.
She didn't reply.
Chapter 14
Blade’s secure phone displayed 11:55 a.m. when it played the chopper song. Drake’s tune. He must have eliminated Saint and James.
“Saint James.” The pun did seem to fit those two. Blade chuckled, then answered the call. “Sikes.”
“Enola Gay returning home. Mission accomplished.” Drake’s voice, cheerful and confidant.
“How did this little drama play out, Drake?”
“We caught the boat about halfway up Billy Chinook. I brought us in fast and Petrelli scored a direct hit with a thermobaric grenade.”
“You actually used the SMAW?”
“Blade, you wanted them dead, right?”
“Yes. And you’re sure they are?”
“They were both on the Bayliner when the grenade hit. After the fireball and smoke cleared, about two-hundred pieces of boat floated in the lake, most of it still burning. After we saw that, we made a quick getaway, took the chopper home, and disappeared before anyone could figure out what happened. Now, are you satisfied?”
“So you’re at the cabin?”
“Yes. We’re at the cabin, as planned, awaiting further orders, sir.” Drakes tone had turned disrespectful on the last word.
Blade made a mental note of that in case questions arose about the chopper team’s loyalties. “Stay there. I’ll call if we need you. We have one other matter to attend to, then we can all go home and wait for our reward after the election.”
“Carr will come through for us, won’t he?” Drake asked.
“Of course. By then he’ll be director. Why do you ask?”
“This has been a lot more work than it should have been. We’ve taken too many risks. I just wanted to be sure your buddy, Max, fully appreciates what we’ve done for him.”
“Max Carr appreciates it, Drake. After the new president is sworn in, we’ll all get our cushy assignments and promotions. But, for now, just lay low until you hear from me.”
Blade ended the call.
He was tempted to conclude that Gemma Saint had gone the way of all good saints … martyrdom. But she had slipped through their fingers twice. Two miraculous escapes.
The last thing Blade needed was a third one.
Chapter 15
University of Colorado Hospital, Aurora, Colorado
“He’s waking up.”
Marshal Cody Cottrell opened his eyes. He quickly regretted it when the piercing light stabbed his pupils. Cody slammed his eyelids down. That reaction sent pulses of pain reverberating through his head.
He needed to see the source of the voices and to see where he was.
Cody drew a hand to his forehead to shield his eyes and tried again.
“Mr. Cottrell?” A man in what looked like scrubs hovered over him and studied his face.
“I’m Marshal Cottrell.”
“That’s right, Marshal Cottrell. And that’s a very good sign.”
“Why? Do you need a U.S. marshal for protection or—”
Protection? Gemma! She’s in danger!
“I need to get out of here. It’s important.”
“All in good time. I’m Dr. John. You were shot in the head. Somehow the bullet glanced off your skull without penetrating it. You are one fortunate marshal. But we need to keep you here until we see the full extent of your injury and to help in your recovery.”
The pain in Cody’s head seemed like a sound, a tone that brought pain with it and made concentrating nearly impossible. He pushed through the pain to speak again. “How long have I been here?”
“You were shot about thirty-six hours ago and we’ve had you here at University Hospital for a little over twenty-four hours.”
“A day and a half?” Cody prayed that Gemma had gotten away and was able to hide. But, even if she had, she would need his help or, the odds were, she would be killed. “Have any other marshal’s been here?”
“As a matter of fact, one of your colleagues is outside your room as we speak. You can have a couple of minutes to exchange any important information, then we need to keep it quiet in your room. We may give you something to help you sleep while your brain recovers. Would you like me to send him in?”
“Who is it?”
“I believe it’s Marshal Shaw.”
Shaw? Alarms sounded in Cody’s muddled mind, bringing more pain and something else. Shaw was on Cody’s list of potential leakers, a list he’d constructed to determine who leaked Gemma Saint’s WITSEC identity information. If it was Shaw, maybe he would slip up while talking with Cody, ask the wrong question or something. It was worth a try.
“Yes, please send in Marshal Shaw.”
C
ody closed his eyes and tried to collect as much mental composure as that tormenting tone in his head would allow.
A shadow dimmed the lights penetrating Cody’s eyelids. He opened his eyes only enough to see Shaw’s face.
“Hey, Cottrell. You gave us a real scare, man. How are you feeling?”
“Never had a headache like this in my life.”
“Beats the alternative, doesn’t it?”
“That depends on where you’re going next, Shaw. You made any arrangements for that?”
Shaw was a vocal skeptic about all things religious and other worldly. Goading him before addressing the issue at hand couldn’t hurt. It would irritate him, maybe enough to make him slip up.
“Don’t need any arrangements, dude. It’s just the big sleep. But I do need to know what you know about who shot you? Did you see anything or hear anything? Right now, we have next to nothing to go on.”
Cody had nothing to offer. But saying that wouldn’t help him evaluate Shaw. Maybe it was time for some subtext with a little pretext. “I heard something before the shot. And I heard the shot. It sounded like a—I don’t know. My head hurts every time I try to think.”
“Are you sure you can’t tell me what you heard. And the gunshot, what kind of handgun was it?”
Cody hadn’t said it was a handgun. “Did you find the bullet? The doc said it bounced off my head.”
“Off your head and out a window. We couldn’t find it.”
Cody grimaced as he prepared for the pain but met Shaw’s gaze with as much scrutiny as Cody could muster. “I’d say it was a Glock.”
A Glock was good choice for the gun he hadn’t heard. It was the standard issue for the FBI. They’d just inked an eighty-five-million-dollar contract with Glock.
Had Shaw flinched? Many people owned Glocks, but …
Maybe Cody could drop another threatening clue to Shaw.
Cody’s head pain crescendoed in a pulse that nearly knocked him out. Maybe dropping more leading clues could get a defenseless Cody killed. “Shaw, I think this headache has muddled my brain. Can’t think right now. I wouldn’t put much stock in anything I told you … whatever it was. I can’t even remember now.”
“Get some rest. Maybe we’ll find that bullet and solve the mystery.”
