Sand filled his hands as he began to crawl through the shallow water. It was quicker this way and the fact that he could now stand and fire would certainly be another advantage.
The black boat’s hull shielded him on his right. There was nothing but clumsily gouged footprints ahead of him. Open water was on his left. He guessed that there was a guard around the corner.
Paul braced his footing and prepared to spring his edge. Despite the surreal and dangerous situation that he now found himself in, he smiled a little. He loved winning. He started to stand.
“Don’t move!”
The shout came from behind him. It was close, though still hard to hear over the whine of the beached jet-boat.
The guard had spotted him and lowered himself into the channel. He stood waist deep in the gentle waves.
“Stand up,” the command was emphasized with the rising of a vicious looking rifle barrel.
Paul hesitated.
“I said get up.”
Paul turned and got to his knees. He pulled his left arm from the water and kept his balance with his right still deep in the sand.
“Raise your hand slowly. A handful of mud won’t stop a bullet.”
Paul did as he was told and slowly raised the gun out of the water.
Expecting not a gun barrel, but a handful of wet beach, the gunman’s eyes widened.
The first shot struck the guard in the shoulder, the second and third missed completely; the fourth entered the gunman’s chest. The water swallowed the scream as he fell under the waves.
Paul reacted quicker than even he expected, and launched himself at the guard. The man struggled to stand as blood poured into the water. Paul kept him off of his feet, forced him to the seafloor, and stood on his back. The struggling stopped. He stepped aside and the body popped back to the surface. Paul took the rifle.
“Surprise.”
# # #
Steve heard gunfire behind him and dove to the ground. He felt a pop and sudden pain in his upper thigh.
“Those weren’t at us. Get up.” Katherine pulled him back to his feet.
Steve blushed and tested his leg; it held and the pain faded. “I probably looked pretty stupid there, huh. I thought...”
“They came from the beach,” Katherine pulled at his hand. “Run.”
“The beach? Paul.” He turned back to the shoreline.
Katherine pulled at his shoulder. “Keep running.”
Steve ran with her. His panting became raspy. “We’re going to run out of island. Pretty soon we’ll be ankle deep in the next channel over.”
Open terrain had greeted them on the island and left them with nothing but a few palm trees to hide behind. This changed as they reached the island’s center. The elaborate landscaping was everywhere. Trees and outbuildings began to aid their escape. Steve vaulted a low-lying hedge line and stopped. Katherine landed next to him with a grunt. Waving her on, Steve flattened himself against the ground and the hedge.
Katherine crawled down the hedge line as Steve listened for the approaching footsteps. They were fast and heavy. A break in the cadence signaled their location. Steve shot his arms up just as a pair of combat boots cleared the hedge. His grip was solid. The eyes of the boot tore at his palms but he had his pursuer by the feet.
Momentum carried the gunman forward. With his hands firmly gripped on the rifle there was no stopping his face from hitting the ground.
Air burst from the gunman’s lungs. A rush of blood poured from his nose. He did not try to stand.
Steve made a grab for the gun but it had slid from the man’s hands into the darkness.
Katherine motioned frantically for him to follow her. Shelter provided by the hedge line, and knocking a man out, gave Steve a sense of control. His hopes rose. All of the crawling, however, was killing his knees.
Scrambling as quickly as quiet would let them, the pair made their way to the main home of the private island. The lights were out. He could hear no generator. The house was empty.
They crawled furiously. Steve’s knees ached and he tried to keep the weight on his toes but this wore him out even more; he knew he would need his strength, so he let his knees suffer. After passing a lavish pool and cabana they reached the patio of the home. They still led the pursuers by half a minute. Steve stood, grabbed a patio umbrella and, wielding it like a lance, drove it through the mansion’s patio door.
The glass did not give easily or quietly, but it gave.
He dropped the umbrella and grabbed Katherine’s arm. “This way.”
# # #
The gunfire from the beach had caused the pursuers to pause. It had not been precise, or close. Four of the black hooded men exchanged looks of astonishment and, after a moment, two were assigned to investigate the gunfire from the beach. The other two followed the sound of the broken glass.
# # #
Since he had become so proficient at hot-wiring, Paul was a little disappointed to find the keys in the black boat’s ignition. He throttled back, and brought the dark craft off the beach. Then, for the third time in a half hour, Paul Nelson found himself jumping off of a perfectly good boat.
Guns drawn, ready to fill Paul with as many bullets as he would stand for, two men crested the breaker wall. Paul enjoyed the startled yells when they realized they would have to make a swim for their boat.
Paul swam toward the Sea-Doo, staying just below the surface of the water. He hid on the opposite side of the craft, and smiled as one gunman pulled off his boots and hopped toward the water in pursuit of his own boat.
The other guard turned toward the Sea-Doo and spotted Paul. He opened fire. Paul stopped smiling and dove. Bullets riddled the water; close. Too close.
One hit.
He felt the impact in his left forearm, and choked back a scream. He held the wounded limb before his eyes and expected to see the blood coloring the dark water around him. He thought about sharks, and cursed the Discovery network for their choice of programming.
There was no blood. There was a dull ache and he could feel a slight bruise forming.
Now that his eyes were open, he watched the bullets slow around him. They entered the water several feet away and slowed rapidly. Paul smiled again as he watched the trails. Beneath the waves, he began to hum Remo Williams’ theme song.
He pulled himself back through the water and moved around the boat. He surfaced on the far side of the Sea-Doo with his finger on the trigger of another man’s machine gun, and hummed even louder.
“Bum, badda bah bah. Bum, badda bah bah!” Paul emptied the entire 30 round clip of ammo at his assailant; he hit him twice.
The gunman fell back to the white sand.
Paul tossed the machine gun in the boat and followed after it. He reached over the windscreen, throttled back and rolled back into the water. Two fierce shoves on the bow moved the craft back into the channel. He climbed back in, returned to the helm, and pushed the throttle to its stop. As he left, he tried to run down the swimming gunmen. He missed.
# # #
The umbrella pointed like an arrow into the home. Broken glass littered the marble flooring inside the darkened room. The chase ended here. They held at the shattered door.
“You go in the front. Watch yourself. There’s plenty of places to hide in a house this size.”
The gunman nodded and moved to cover the front of the extravagant home while he entered through the patio door.
# # #
Steve’s legs ached. He hated running. He often claimed that he only ran when chased, but until now, he had never really been chased. His right leg screamed at him. He began to wonder what damage he had done in the fall. A cramp in his chest was nagging at him as well. Katherine was fit though. She pulled at his arm as they climbed the dune and fell back to the shore.
“We have to swim, Steve.”
He could hardly catch his breath. But he nodded and pointed across the channel. He was steps away from collapsing in the channel when the Sea-Doo came i
nto view.
The engine whined. Paul whined louder. “I just killed two people! Get into the stupid boat, now!” Paul ran the craft parallel to the beach.
Steve and Katherine rolled into the Sea-Doo. Paul had let little off of the throttle as little as possible; he shoved it back to full. The Sea-Doo’s hull lurched from the water and pointed itself to Master Key.
Paul threw the machine gun and a full clip at Steve. “We’re heading back to Master Key. And, this time we’re not stopping for anyone.”
“Paul, are you okay?”
“Okay? Steve, I think I’m bulletproof!”
FOURTEEN
Seawater drained across the Rainbow Connection as the launch was lowered to the deck. The dark craft had not yet come to a rest when the men clad in black jumped from the boat.
“Get him down here,” David Jefferson pulled the knit cap from his head revealing a bushy mane. His voice blistered with angry frustration. “Where’s Gibson?”
The old mechanic, his friend and mentor appeared, “What happened?”
David Jefferson tore the black gloves from his hands. “Those bastards killed one of my men.”
With solemn care, the body was lowered to the deck and placed on a stretcher. Not a word was uttered as the crew tended to their fallen brother. Jefferson pulled Gibson aside and whispered in his ear. “I’m moving now. This is all the justification we need.”
“I’m not sure the boss will see revenge as justification to change the schedule.”
“They fired first.” David gestured to his fallen man. “We have to move before our cover is gone. The boss will see it my way.”
“It’s not time. You can’t let your emotions run the operation.”
Jefferson wasn’t listening. He glanced once more at his fallen friend. “Clean him up and then gather the men. All of them.”
“David, we can’t move on the island now.” Gibson said. “Their security will be on edge and those boys are hardly rent-a-cops. They’ll be ready.”
“They won’t even see us coming.” Jefferson stormed off, leaving a trail of water behind him. He had pulled the body from the ocean himself.
# # #
“You killed two people?” Steve couldn’t tell if it was the situation or his opinion of Paul that had prompted Rick Savage to ask the question several times.
“Yes,” Paul said studying the top of his shoe.
It had not taken long for the bravado and adrenaline to wear off after they had arrived safely at Master Key; shock had set in quickly. It had taken him less time to find a drink.
“And how many people did you kill, Mr. Bennett?”
“Maybe one. I can’t be sure. I dropped him on his head.” Steve sat in a plush armchair in the Chief of Security’s sparsely decorated office and stroked the bandaged gash on his leg. His fall to the ground had broken the optical glass of the phone, bent the frame, and sliced his leg.
Savage looked to Katherine. “And you, Miss?”
“I didn’t kill anybody.” Her answer was weak. She stared at the floor.
Savage paced around his desk. Charts and maps lined the wall behind him. Tapping a large map of the islands he asked, “Where?”
Steve shrugged his shoulders.
Katherine looked up, “They started chasing us on 38.”
“And you’re sure it was the same boat that splashed you this morning?”
“It was a black boat,” Steve answered. “Both of them were.”
Savage shook his head. “The activist’s ship carried a black launch. I doubt they could have patched it that quickly, but there’s no reason to believe they wouldn’t have another one.”
The Security Chief rubbed his chin and studied the trio in front of him. Baxter’s decree played in his mind; they had to enjoy themselves. Rick Savage sighed. “The important thing is that everyone is all right. My men will investigate 38. They’ll recover the bodies for the authorities and try to confirm your story.”
Steve leaned forward and pointed to the map. “The bodies aren’t there. They chased us to another island.”
“Which one?” Savage received only puzzled looks. “Could you identify it?”
“It’s the one with the bodies.” Paul said.
Savage felt blood fill the scar above his brow. A deep breath abated his temper as he considered his options. “You two come with me and help us identify the island. Ms. Bernelli, I’m sure that Mr. Baxter would like to hear the report first-hand.”
She nodded and rose. She glanced quickly at Steve as if to say she was sorry and left the room.
The door closed and Savage turned back to Paul. “Give me the gun.”
“No.”
“I will not allow my guests to carry weapons.”
“I’m licensed to carry this weapon within the United States, and we are still in the United States, right?”
“Yes. But, you don’t need it.”
“I already needed it once today, Rickie.” Paul smiled broadly, enjoying the frustration in Savage’s voice.
“We’ll handle it from here.”
“No.”
“Mr. Bennett?”
Steve thought a moment and shook his head. “Mr. Nelson is my Head of Security and I would feel a lot safer if he were armed. Actually, he could probably use a reload.”
It was Savage’s turn to smile. “No.”
# # #
A dozen armed men packed the deck of the security boat. Savage wasn’t taking any chances against the Rainbow Connection and her crew. His men sat silently on the benches that lined the boat. Each carried a shotgun, rifle, or submachine gun. Each was clad in black.
Paul whispered to Steve. “These guys don’t look like mall cops anymore.”
Steve nodded. “I think it might be a good idea to stay out of their way when we get back to the island.”
Savage sat down next to them. “We’re not going to the island, Steve. We’re going to the Rainbow Connection. That hippie ship has been giving me grief since I signed on, and your story, and that of Ms. Bernelli, should be more than enough to justify the assault. But, I am going to need you to identify the people who were chasing you.”
“We didn’t see them.”
“A simple nod is all I need. We’ll place them under arrest and hold them for the feds.”
Paul laughed. “They just spent the night shooting at us. What makes you think they’ll let you slap the cuffs on?”
Savage lifted the shotgun in his hand.
“No,” Steve stood up, “I’ve had enough being shot at for one night. Take us back to the hotel. ”
Paul rose with his friend. “Yeah, you guys have a nice assault. I’m done playing war. We’d really like to go back and join the party. I’m sure there are a couple of women I haven’t hit on yet.”
“What kind of coward are you, Nelson?”
“The kind that would rather play with women than big burly hippies.”
“I am so sick of your mouth, you little punk!”
“Punk?” Paul leaned toward Steve. “Get a load of Callahan here. He’s probably got a big cannon, too.” Paul looked back at Savage. The crimson scar blazed; his brown eyes turned black.
“Oh, I didn’t mean it like that. I was talking about your gun, not your,” Paul finished his statement by wiggling his pinky finger.
Savage raised the barrel of the shotgun and pointed it at the pair.
Steve and Paul stood up as the security chief moved closer.
“I am so sick of your mouth, Nelson. I was going to wait, hoping you would get caught in the crossfire, but I just can’t take your shit anymore.”
He pumped a shell into the chamber.
Paul jumped.
The boom of the shotgun was deafening.
Steve felt the wind leave his chest as he was struck with a force that he had never experienced. His feet lost contact with the boat and he flew over the railing and back into the water.
He sank. He felt a force pulling him under and away from the pa
trol boat. Struggling to resurface, he felt the resistance coming from an arm around his waist. It was Paul. His friend had tackled him from the boat and was now pulling him through the water.
Kicking to match his friend’s stroke he ceased struggling and began to swim. It hurt. Paul’s move had emptied his lungs, and they ached for air. The bandage on his leg filled with saltwater, aggravating the cut. Steve had to surface.
Grasping for the ocean’s surface, he kicked furiously, each kick drawing more pain from the gash.
How deep had Paul pulled him? His vision started to fade around the periphery. Stars appeared before his eyes. Pressure filled his head. A final desperate kick propelled him upwards.
Air cooled his hand as it pierced through the dark gulf water. The sensation was greater on his face. He was dizzy and disoriented, but able to breathe.
He gasped and savored the salty air, but it was only sweet for a moment.
“There! There! There!” The voice echoed from the boat. Gunfire erupted. Where they really trying to shoot him? Steve tried to dive back under the water but found his body unwilling to obey.
The water was calm around him.
Rounds rattled from the security boats. Savage’s men fired frantically into the night.
Paul broke the surface next to him and joined the confusion. “What are they shooting at?”
The roar of powerful twin engines drowned out the constant thrum of the security crafts inboard motor. The black craft screamed into view.
“It’s the quote-unquote peaceful protesters.”
“What are they doing here?” Steve was still gasping for breath.
“Distracting Dirty Harry.” Paul grabbed his friend by the shoulder. “Swim.”
They made for the closest island and left the security party to the fray.
# # #
Savage fired at the black craft. He emptied the shotgun, drew his sidearm, and continued to shoot. The boat had come out of nowhere. Masked in the shadow of the surrounding islands, it bore down on his team from the darkness and opened fire.
Tortugas Rising Page 7
