Quarterback Trap (A Carlos McCrary novel Book 3)

by Dallas Gorham

  I hit the throttles again and the broken swim platform shrieked and pulled away from the steel supports, tethered to my boat by the stern line. The Raider staggered away from the mega-yacht, towing the broken swim platform like a sea anchor.

  Snoop struggled to get up, bouncing on the bucking deck of the Raider like a trampoline.

  More shots rang out and the windshield shattered. I felt thumps on my back as two more shots hit my body armor. Another crew member had joined the first gunman at the back of the main deck. I fired at the men standing above the swim platform. One man dropped his pistol and rolled down the steps. His body tangled in the wreckage of the swim platform.

  I fired again. My Glock clicked empty. Letting go of the wheel, I slammed in a fresh magazine. I didn’t care which direction the Raider went, as long as it was away from that damned ship. The Raider gained a little speed, stabilized. Snoop got up on his knees near the stern line, kneeling at the gunwale.

  Two more men appeared on the sun deck above us. Gracie was wrong about their being only a half dozen crewmen. I had seen five and none of them looked like a steward or a cook. I wondered how many more we could fight off. This was becoming a Whack-A-Mole game.

  The B-r-r-r-rap of automatic weapon fire came from the sun deck. The muzzle flash lit the back of the yacht like a strobe light. The Raider shuddered as another burst raked the stern. I recognized the distinctive sound of an M4A1 carbine. I’d heard that sound often in Iraq and Afghanistan—too often.

  I snapped off several more rounds at the men on the sun deck. “Snoop, they’ve got some serious fire power.”

  “Tell me something I don’t know.” Snoop fired at the men on the main deck.

  I fired again at the men on the sun deck. One fell and one ran away. Another guy changed magazines. The Raider lumbered like a wounded lion and struggled away from the ship. It tried to turn to the right, pulled by the swim platform, dragging like a sea anchor on my starboard.

  “Snoop, cut the stern line. Don’t get your fingers caught.”

  More bullets hit the boat on the starboard side. Fiberglass splinters bounced off my right leg where the shots had come through the hull.

  Snoop shouted, “It’s clear. Hit it.”

  The Raider jumped straight ahead as the swim platform fell away to our rear. I straightened the wheel as I expected it to leap up on plane.

  It didn’t leap; it lumbered. Something was wrong with the Raider.

  Chapter 41

  The gunfire behind us stopped as we disappeared into the darkness. The ship had fallen a hundred yards behind. I put the engines in neutral and pulled a flashlight from a shallow locker on the cockpit wall.

  I peered through the broken windshield into the pitch-black night. Graciela came up from the cabin. “Why have we stopped?”

  “Something’s wrong with the boat.”

  “What is it?”

  I shined the light on the bow.

  A hail of automatic gunfire splashed around us. I switched off the light. “I’ve got to move farther away from that ship.” The Double Scotch had anchored in ten feet of water. If we made it another half-mile west, the water was seven feet deep. The ship couldn’t follow us there.

  We staggered west for ten long minutes. The depth gage said six feet. I tried the light again. “The bow line is supposed to be up there, and it’s not.”

  “What’s a bow line?” Gracie asked.

  “The rope fastened to the front of the boat to tie us up at the dock.”

  Snoop had thrown the line onto the bow after he untied it. Where was it now? I looked closer and saw the end loop still fastened to the cleat. The line had to be trailing in the water. My mooring lines were forty feet long. My boat was thirty feet long. Had the bow line wrapped around a prop?

  “Snoop, climb up front. See if you can pull in the bow line. It fell in the water.”

  Snoop pulled on the line. About five feet came up, then it snagged. “It won’t come any farther, Chuck. It’s caught on something.” He pulled again.

  “Untie the front end and bring the line to me. Gracie, would you please sit over there?” I pointed at the padded bench in the stern. I wanted her out of the way. “By the way, Gracie, this is Snoop. Snoop, Gracie.”

  I tugged on the line and another ten feet came up, but something under the back of the boat was holding it. “It may have wrapped around a prop. Take this line and keep tension on it while I reverse the props.”

  I eased the starboard prop into reverse and held my breath. The line rose from the water as Snoop pulled on it. I shined the light on the end when it came up. It was frayed where it had wrapped around the prop.

  Graciela stepped over and grabbed the end of the line for a closer look. “The propeller did that?”

  “Yep. Now we’re good to go. You’d better sit down, Gracie.” I put the engines in gear and the Raider moved ahead. I gave it more throttle and the speed picked up, but not enough. It was still sluggish.

  “It still doesn’t feel right, Snoop. I’m going to hit it. Hang on.” I pushed the throttles all the way. The Raider waddled ahead, but wouldn’t get on plane.

  I pulled the throttles back to idle speed and handed Snoop the flashlight. “Look in the bilge.”

  Snoop lifted the hatch and shined the light inside. “Chuck, I smell gasoline, and there’s a slick on the bilge water.”

  I put the boat in neutral and went to look. “Hand me the light. Yeah, that’s gasoline floating on the surface. A bullet must’ve hit our gas tank. The bilge has got too much water in it. Bullets must’ve hit us at the waterline.”

  Snoop took the light from me. “Which are we gonna do first, Chuck, sink or explode?”

  “What!?” Gracie shrieked. “We’re going to explode?”

  “Siddown, Gracie. No, we’re not going to explode. Snoop was kidding.”

  I killed the engines and looked at Snoop. “Cut up an extra life vest and stick the pieces in the holes you can see. Then grab a pan out of the galley and bail.”

  My original plan was to rescue Gracie without being seen, then head to Convoy Point Marina, five miles west of the Double Scotch. We would moor in a transient slip until daylight, then refuel and take the Raider back home to Port City with Gracie on board. I didn’t want her out of my sight until I delivered her to Bob.

  My instructor in the Special Forces used to quote German military strategist Helmuth von Moltke: “No battle plan survives contact with the enemy.” Von Moltke was an optimist.

  I studied the GPS navigation screen to get my bearings. Strobe lights low in the western sky marked the Turkey Point Nuclear Generating Station. I scanned the horizon for the flashing white light that marked Pelican Bank. “Fortunately, we’re now in…six feet of water. If we sink, Gracie, you can climb to the roof of the cabin and not get your feet wet.”

  I turned on the marine radio. “Coast Guard Miami, this is the Gator Raider Too. We have taken damage to our vessel and need assistance. Do you have a secure land line I can call?”

  “This is Sector Miami, Skipper. I read you five by five over the radio. What is your location and situation?”

  “Miami, we just rescued a kidnap victim from a mega-yacht with half a dozen armed men on board. They could be monitoring the radio. Please give me your direct land line number.”

  “Roger that, Skipper.” He gave me the telephone number.

  I called him on the satellite phone and gave Sector Miami our GPS coordinates.

  “Got it. What’s this about you rescuing a kidnap victim?”

  I filled him in on what we had done.

  “Roger that, Skipper. We’re scrambling two response boat teams now. Don life jackets and kill your engines. You don’t want to take a chance on a spark igniting the gasoline vapors. And no smoking, of course.”

  “Already did that, Miami.”

  “What’s your depth there, Skipper?”

  I glanced at the depth gage. We had drifted farther west. “Four feet. If we sink, the water’s s
hallow. We’re in no immediate danger unless the bad guys come after us in their Zodiac life boat.” I gave him a brief status report and the location of the Double Scotch. “They had at least six armed men on board. We may have hit two or three of them. They shot up my boat and punctured my gas tank. We made it a half-mile before we had to stop. They’ll either launch their dingy to come after us, or they’ll weigh anchor and try to escape before you get there.”

  “Stand by, Skipper… Skipper, it’ll take us an hour and a half to reach you.”

  “How soon could a helicopter get here?”

  “Fifteen minutes, if we had one, which we don’t.”

  “That’s too long anyway. If they come after us in the dingy, they’re already underway. We’ll fight them ourselves. But you might want to dispatch some RBMs to round up the bad guys on the Double Scotch. Tell them to wear body armor. The bad guys have automatic weapons.”

  “Roger that, Skipper. You want me to stay on the radio with you?”

  I heard the Zodiac’s engine in the distance. “Sorry, Miami. I’m gonna be busy. The bad guys are on their way.”

  The dingy was a twenty-one foot Zodiac. Its dark shape streaked through the shimmering reflection of the rising moon, straight toward us.

  Chapter 42

  “Get below, Gracie.”

  “What’s happening, Chuck?”

  “Vidali’s crew has decided they want to take you back. Or kill us all. They don’t care which. Now get below and let Snoop and me do our thing.”

  I pulled a fresh magazine from my pocket to replace the used one in my Glock. “Put a fresh magazine in your pistol, Snoop.”

  “Already did.”

  “Aim for their hull. If we punch a hole in the inflatable, they’ll worry more about sinking and less about shooting.”

  “They’re three hundred yards off, Chuck. If they’re smart, they’ll stop a hundred yards out and spray us with automatic gunfire like a fire hose. They could make up in sheer fire power what they’d lack in accuracy.”

  “That’s what you or I would do, but maybe they’re not that smart. Their boat is bouncing like a son of a bitch. That hurts their aim. And we have a stable shooting platform. When they get a hundred yards out, we’ll aim at their hull. Hit them before they come off plane, while the boat is bouncing in the air. Makes a bigger target.”

  We waited.

  The Zodiac’s engine noise got louder. We heard the hull smack the surface with each leap across the small waves.

  “Wait…wait…now.” Snoop and I both rapid-fired all seventeen shells in our magazines. We replaced the spent magazines with fresh ones. Good thing we had come loaded for bear.

  The Zodiac kept coming. It bounced once… again…

  I rapid-fired again, but stopped after six shots when their engine died. The Zodiac wallowed in the moonlight, rocking back and forth thirty yards off our stern. I heard splashes as men jumped off the boat, dimly visible in the moonlight.

  “How many did you see jump, Snoop?” I whispered.

  “Not sure, maybe three. What are they gonna do?”

  “The water’s four feet deep, so they’re wading instead of swimming. They could wade to shore after they kill us. That’s for sure. We’re sitting ducks. They can see us against the white hull of our boat. Put Gracie in the V-berth in the bow. Then guard her.”

  I installed another fresh magazine in my Glock, shrugged out of my life jacket, and slipped over the side into the cool water. The water was chest deep. The added weight of my armored vest gave me traction on the sandy bottom. I was glad I’d worn my sneak-around-in-the-dark clothes, including the same black watch cap I had worn when we had skulked around Mango Island.

  Looking toward the sinking Zodiac, I waded toward the north.

  I made out two men in the moonlight to the southeast about fifty feet, just like a shooting range. They were shorter than me, and only their heads stuck above the water. That and the guns they held in the air. I hate head shots. The targets are too small. And the targets were lit by a half-moon, so I couldn’t see well. I couldn’t ask for a do over. I had to play the hand I was dealt. I took a Weaver stance and waited for the wave trough. I double-tapped the man closest to me. I ducked beneath the waves, keeping my arm above the water to keep my pistol dry.

  I heard a faint burst of automatic gunfire and felt shock waves from bullets striking the water above my head. The gunfire stopped.

  I stood and fired at the faint outline of a head. A short burst of automatic gunfire answered me, but it aimed into the air. I could tell from the direction of the muzzle flash. The machine gun fell silent.

  Was there a third man? If so, where?

  I heard a creak behind me.

  The third man was climbing onto my swim platform. I waited until he stood. When he stepped over the gunwale, I shot him three times in center mass. He fell into the cockpit of the Raider.

  I waded to the Zodiac. Air trapped in its inflated collar kept it from sinking. The boat wallowed with its stern on the bottom, pinned by the propeller stuck in the sand.

  A man slumped at the wheel in the disjointed relaxation of death. The reflective tape on the life jacket spelled Double Scotch. In the moonlight, the blood on his head and neck looked black. His head rolled back and forth with the rocking of the boat, as if he were saying no…no…no…over and over again.

  The coppery fresh blood smell got to me. It didn’t matter whether Snoop’s bullet had hit him or mine; he was dead at my hand. I turned away and vomited into the water. I ducked my head and rinsed my mouth. The clean salt water helped.

  I moved to a spot fifty feet from both the Zodiac and the Raider and waited in the water in case any more invaders were lurking. The water temperature was above seventy degrees. I wasn’t worried about hypothermia.

  After a few minutes, Snoop hollered, “Chuck, I don’t see anyone else in the moonlight. I think you’re clear to come back.”

  Chapter 43

  “Coast Guard Miami, this is the Gator Raider Too.”

  “This is Coast Guard Miami. Go ahead, Skipper.”

  “We have four casualties on the Zodiac that attacked us.”

  “How bad are they hurt?”

  “They’re dead.”

  “Any survivors?”

  “Well, all of us good guys are okay.”

  “Roger that. Stand by. Our response boats are one hour out. You okay there?”

  “We’re good.”

  “Are you afloat?”

  “Yeah, I got in the water and plugged the bullet holes with life jacket foam and duct tape. We bailed most of the water and spilled gasoline out of the bilge, but we still need a tow.”

  “Roger.”

  An hour later, I saw the lights of the Coast Guard RBMs as they arrived at the Double Scotch. Sound carries well over the water. I heard their loud-hailer address the ship, but couldn’t make out the words from a half-mile away. The Coast Guard would notify the ship that it would be boarded. That must’ve been what I heard. Five minutes later, an RBM headed our way.

  The RBM pulled alongside. “Permission to come aboard, Captain.”

  “Yes, please do. I’m Chuck McCrary.”

  “I’m Petty Officer Mitchell.”

  We shook hands.

  “I’d like to make sure your vessel is seaworthy before we attach a tow line.”

  “Help yourself. Can I help, or should I get out of the way?”

  Chief Mitchell smiled. “You can stand over there if you like. I’ll check the bilge.” He lifted the hatch and shined a light inside. “Looks like you’ve got everything under control, considering what you had to work with. We’ll put a pump down there before we tow you.” He turned to a crewman on the RBM. “Carver, get a pump down here.”

  “Aye, aye.”

  ###

  An hour later, I had cell signal. Kickoff was less than forty hours away. The quarterback needed his sleep. I texted Bob: We have Gracie unharmed and safe with us. We are exhausted and need to sleep no
w. Call me at your convenience in the morning.

  I handed Gracie my phone, and she called her parents. I heard only one side of the conversation, but I knew there were happy tears on both ends of the call. Gracie handed me the phone. “My parents want to speak to you and Snoop.”

  “Mr. and Mrs. Perez, I have you on speaker. Snoop is here with me.”

  “Chuck, you and Snoop saved our daughter’s life. Evangelina and I wanted to thank you both for rescuing our little girl. Gracie tells us the Coast Guard is towing you to shore?”

  “Yes, sir. To Convoy Point Marina, near Homestead.”

  “How long until you arrive?”

  “About an hour.”

  “There shouldn’t be any traffic this time of night. Evangelina and I will meet you there. Should I bring a bottle of champagne?”

  “That’s the best idea I’ve heard tonight.”

  I called Miyo. The phone rang four times. “Well, Chuck, I said call anytime day or night. I guess 3:30 in the morning qualifies as anytime.”

  “We have Gracie. She’s safe with me. I knew you’d want to know.”

  “What happened? How did you find her?”

  “That’s a long story.”

  I heard her yawn.“Why don’t you take me up on that rain check for a cocktail sometime soon, and tell me all about it. Right now, I can’t keep my eyes open.”

  A half-hour later, we entered the navigation channel to Convoy Point. Car headlights on the shore flashed their high beams. A few seconds later, my phone rang. It was Gracie’s parents. Thirty minutes later, she left in her parents’ car.

  I made some phone calls, woke a couple of guys up, and gave some orders. Then I fell into the berth in my boat, asleep before my head hit the pillow.

  My last thought was that Teflon Vic was still out there. And he wouldn’t take this lying down.

  Chapter 44

  Bob called at seven on the dot. “Where’s Gracie?”