by Peter Parkin
Dennis' heart screamed with joy. It had to be them!
He needed his running lights now. He was afraid to use them but he'd never be able to dock safely without them. He switched them on and rammed the throttle to full. The boat lurched in the water and he set a course straight for the pier. He noticed two people get out of the car and stand on the edge. A man and a woman.
Off in the distance he heard the dull roar of engines. Dennis glanced over his shoulder and could easily see that the gunboats were no longer broadside. Their running lights illuminated the profile of two craft that were now pointed in his direction.
CHAPTER FIFTY FOUR
Dennis slammed the throttle into reverse when he was within fifty feet of the pier, slowing his approach enough to make a slick docking against the thick timbers.
Brett jumped on first, then grabbed Fiona's hand and gave her a swift tug. Dennis didn't wait to exchange niceties—he rammed the throttle forward and the nose of the launch rose into the air. He did a 180-degree turn and headed north towards St. Kitts.
The two of them joined him on the bridge. Fiona hugged Dennis from behind and nestled her cheek alongside his. He turned his head sideways and kissed her. Her face was illuminated by the running lights and he was shocked to see the blood and green slime covering her cheeks and hair. Brett didn't look much better.
Already knowing the answer, he asked, "Avery?"
Brett just shook his head slowly. Fiona started to cry, just gentle sobbing at first but then the tears started to flow in a torrent. She knelt on the floor of the bridge and held her head in her hands. Brett motioned to Dennis to give him the wheel and Dennis knelt beside her, taking her into his arms and rocking her.
"Oh...Denny. You...wouldn't believe...how horrible...it was. And poor Avery. It was...awful."
Dennis held her tighter to his chest. "Shh. Don't think about it. We're going home now."
Fiona wiped at her eyes and started to tremble. Dennis took off his jacket and wrapped it around her shoulders. It was a warm evening but he was afraid that she might be going into shock.
Brett turned his head and looked down at them. "Denny—Fiona was amazing. She is one brave lady."
Fiona lay down on the floor and curled up into the fetal position. "We killed people, Denny. And...monsters."
Denny looked up at Brett with a question in his eyes.
"No time to give you the story right now, Denny. We'll have time later to debrief."
Dennis spread his jacket out more, to completely cover Fiona's body— she seemed to have suddenly faded off to sleep.
He stood up beside Brett and whispered, "You've probably already noticed that we have company out there."
"Yeah, I have. We're going at a speed of forty-five miles per hour right now, but they're faster and they're gaining. I know what types of boats they are, and I know that they're American."
"Will they just want to board and interrogate us, maybe?"
Brett looked at Dennis with cold detachment. "They've been sent to kill us, Denny. But we're not going to let them."
"Brett, I was down in the engine room. That booster contraption that Desmond brought on board is not connected to anything."
Silence.
"Brett?"
"Oh, yeah. Sorry. I was thinking about those boats behind us. Yes, that booster works off a remote transmitter. There's a receiver connected to the engine, so it's all wireless. Once I activate it, the signal is sent and the torque of the engine magnifies."
Dennis frowned. He knew a lot about boats and had never heard of such a thing before. He shrugged. The secret world that Brett lived in probably had devices he could never even imagine.
"Shouldn't we activate it?"
"No. Leave that decision to me, Denny. Trust me. We have to save that until we really need it."
Denny looked back. The gunboats were about half a mile distant. "I think we really need it now, Brett."
Brett glanced behind. "No, not yet. We need to save it until we're along the St. Kitts coast at the closest point to the airport. We'll need a surge of speed then so that we can escape onto land quickly without getting fired upon."
"If we get that far."
"Oh, we will. Those boats behind us have no ability to harm us right now. They're equipped with rear-mounted heavy machine guns, so while the boats are pointed toward us trying to catch us, they're useless. They need to be beside us or in front of us in order to fire on us."
Denny turned around and watched them approach. Then he saw something that caused his stomach to flip. The gunboats were both starting to flank them, moving out in wide arcs. He knew they would give up some approach proximity by doing that, but it was almost as if they had just heard Brett's explanation. They wanted to be able to take a shot at them, broadside to broadside.
"Brett, look what they're doing!"
Brett turned and stared into the dark void behind them. "Shit! They're clever. Okay, the best defense is an offense. Wake Fiona up. I don't want her rolling around. Both of you hold on tight."
Dennis shook Fiona awake. In a groggy voice, she asked, "Are we home yet?"
"No, sweetie. Hold onto the rail beside you—tightly. We're in for a bit of a rough ride. I'll be right here beside you."
He looked up at Brett. "What are you going to do?"
"I'm going to give them what they don't expect. And you're going to help. Open that compartment under the dashboard. There's an Uzi in there. I had it smuggled onto the boat as a failsafe."
Dennis leaned over and opened the cupboard. Sure enough, an Uzi submachine gun was resting there peacefully. He pulled it out, flicked off the safety and slid back the bolt along the top.
"Denny, it looks like you've used one before."
"Yeah, it's an amazing weapon."
"Well, it's going to do something amazing for us right now. I'm going to start a turn into my own arc—toward the boat on the west of us. He's behind us still, so when I finish my arc I'll be pointing right towards his nose. We're going to play a game of chicken with these marines. I guarantee you they'll turn before we do. And when they do, start firing—at the bridge first, then at the machine-gunner as we pass alongside."
Dennis gritted his teeth. "What about the boat on the east side of us?" "We'll worry about him after. He'll be shocked when he sees what we're doing, and will surely second-guess his own strategy after we're done with the first boat. Might buy us some time."
Brett pulled back on the throttle and started his turn west. A gentle arc, but it was noticeable to the gunboat because it also seemed to slow down a bit. Probably confused. Then as the arc was almost complete Brett slammed the throttle into full and the nose of the boat lurched upward.
They were racing now at full speed toward the bow of the gunboat— dead on. They were only about 200 yards away now and the gunboat started honking its warning horn. Brett swore under his breath, "Assholes!"
He leaned on his warning horn as well and kept going straight toward the nose of the marine craft. Dennis held his breath—the boat gave no sign of turning.
Only 100 yards apart now and both boats were still on a collision course. Dennis held his breath and marveled at Brett's nerves of steel.
Suddenly the game of chicken came to an abrupt end. The gunboat swerved when they were fifty yards apart. It was going to be close.
Brett yelled. "Denny, he's turning to his starboard! Move to our port and nail them!"
Dennis jumped over to the port side, raised his Uzi and began firing at the bridge. Both boats were moving so fast he only had a couple of seconds. But his aim was good, and he could see and hear the tinkle of glass as the surround of their bridge was disintegrated. Several astonished heads ducked down inside.
The two boats were only thirty feet apart as the military vessel's machine-gunner came into view. He was swiveling his heavy gun towards them when Denny let loose. The Uzi rattled and tore the soldier to shreds while his heavy machine gun fired harmlessly into the sky.
As
they passed the gunboat, Brett made a sharp turn to his port side and spun the boat in a tight swivel around to the starboard side of the gunboat. Dennis knew he was making a finishing run.
"Denny, hit the bridge again as I swoop by! Take them out!"
Dennis leaned over the port side railing and braced his elbows against the cold steel. He clenched his teeth and waited.
He could see four naïve blurry heads in the bridge as they raced past. They clearly did not suspect at all that their prey had snuck back up on their other side. Denny took aim, squeezed the trigger and watched three of the heads lurch backward and collapse out of sight.
Brett veered away from the gunboat and set his course back directly toward the St. Kitts coastline.
"One gunboat down."
Denny moved over to the starboard side of the boat and gazed into the dark. He saw the running lights of the second boat swooping in an arc to their rear. "He's turning behind us, Brett!"
They were only about 300 yards apart. Brett kept on his course, racing toward the coast.
"Denny, take the wheel. I'm going to activate our little turbo boost now." Dennis grabbed it and held it on the same line that Brett had set. Brett disappeared down into the hull. In less than a minute he was back. He pointed to a bend in the coastline. "We're going to turn at that point and try to ram our boat onto the beach. Then we'll run like hell."
Brett grabbed the binoculars off the dashboard and trained them back at the gunboat behind them. "Shit! One of them has a grenade launcher!"
Dennis felt the contents of his stomach rise into his throat. "What? Give me those!" He ripped the binoculars out of Brett's hand and with one hand still on the wheel gazed back at the gunboat, which was only 100 yards behind them now.
"I don't see a grenade launcher. I think you're seeing things."
"Trust me—my eyes recognize these things better than yours do." Brett grabbed the binoculars and trained them on the boat again.
"Definitely. We're in trouble big time now."
Denny looked at him quizzically. "Where's this turbo boost we were supposed to be getting?"
"Damn thing doesn't seem to be working, but no time to fix it."
Brett reached into his pocket and pulled out the mini-DVR that his eyeglass camera had been recording into at the lab.
"Take this. Put it in your pocket. You and Fiona dive off the boat as soon as we round that point there. They won't see you if you stay under for about ten seconds as they pass the point. Stay under until they pass. And the DVR is waterproof, so you don't have to worry about it. I'll try to maneuver them around a bit to make it difficult for them to fire the launcher, and detour them away from you guys. Swim to shore and hike to the airport. If I'm not there in an hour, leave without me."
Fiona had moved inside the bridge canopy as Brett finished his instructions. "What are you talking about? We're staying together! All three of us!"
Brett pushed Dennis out of the way and took over the wheel.
Dennis was stunned. He couldn't believe what Brett was proposing.
"We're not going to leave you, Brett. We'll fight it out with these guys.
There's an extra magazine for the Uzi in the cupboard. We'll do the same moves again."
Brett grimaced. "It won't work a second time, Denny. We need to protect that DVR first and foremost. You both have to go, now."
Dennis shoved the DVR into his side pocket. He peered through the windscreen. He could see that they were now approaching the point.
He walked over to the starboard side to join Fiona, and gazed down into the dark water. Dennis nodded to her soberly. "He's right, Fiona. We have to go."
Brett yelled back to them. "I'm going to slow it down to half throttle. In twenty seconds, we'll be out of sight of the gunboat. When I say 'dive,' you dive!"
They both stood up on the edge and crouched, holding onto the rail. Denny counted down in his mind. He looked at Fiona. "Remember, stay under for ten seconds—no, let's make it twenty to be safe."
She blinked her eyes and held them closed for a second, seemingly in a daze.
Brett yelled. "Dive!"
They hit the water at the same time. Denny dove downward as fast as he could and saw Fiona right beside him. He motioned to her to aim toward the shoreline. He counted.
At twenty seconds, Denny grabbed Fiona's hand and pulled her up with him. They broke the surface and looked back. They could see the gunboat closing in on Brett.
Denny mouthed, "Go, Brett, go."
The explosion was so ferocious it rattled his teeth. He watched in shock as the Ocean 62 disintegrated into a mushroom fireball, while the gunboat suddenly veered away and headed back in the opposite direction.
Brett Horton was gone. In one sudden horrific moment, he was gone.
*****
They were lying in a grove of palm trees just up from the beach. Not a word had been spoken between them for the half hour they had been lying there. Dennis thought he might have dozed off for a few minutes, but he wasn't sure.
Fiona had her arm wrapped around his chest, her fist clenching tightly to his wet shirt.
He gently rubbed her back and finally found the need to say something.
He leaned his lips into her ear. "He's our hero, Fiona. He saved our lives."
Fiona just sighed, and he could taste the salty tears on her cheek as he softly kissed her. He whispered again. "We have to move soon. Get to the plane while it's still dark. Bring this thing to an end."
Fiona slid off to the side and grabbed Dennis by the hair, pulling him over on top of her. She kissed him hard on the lips, so hard that their teeth knocked together. She bit his lower lip, then moved her mouth to the side and did the same to his earlobe. Her hands swept over his back. She dug her nails in and clawed him. Dennis felt the pain, but it felt good—and oddly necessary.
She was crying—hard now. Dennis could feel her body shaking underneath him, and she arched herself upwards into him in one violent thrust. He was stunned at her sudden power and strength.
He tried to calm her by stroking her forehead. She responded by grabbing his hair again and roughly yanking him closer to her. He looked curiously into her eyes and saw nothing. They were still Fiona's eyes, but they looked dead, lifeless.
She gritted her teeth for a second, then succeeded in pushing out the words she seemed to want so desperately to say.
"Denny, I need you to fuck me. Don't make love to me. Just fuck me. Fuck me the hardest you've ever fucked anyone in your life. Make it hurt. I need to feel that or I swear I'm going to just wither up and die right here, right now."
CHAPTER FIFTY FIVE
Dennis was back in the same old familiar conference room; blinds drawn, no light except for the interrogation-friendly overhead dome lamp. He braced himself for what was to come.
Grant Folsom was sitting at his usual spot at the head of the table, and to his right was Bart Davis. Two things were different this time though. That asshole from the Pentagon, Bill Charlton, was absent. And Dennis was invited to take a seat across from Bart instead of being parked in no-man's land at the other end of the huge conference table. He was starting to get the feeling that this meeting was going to be more pleasant than the last one that took place in this intimidating room.
They each helped themselves to coffee and took their seats. Grant flipped open a file that he had brought in with him. Then he looked up at Dennis and smiled.
"A lot has changed since we last met in this room."
Dennis played innocent, wondering if they'd discovered where he'd been and what he'd been doing. "Has it?"
"Well, you've been away so you missed out on some excitement. By the way, I do want to thank you for staying away from the case like I asked you to. As usual, you demonstrated restraint and respect. And I'm glad you got away somewhere for a while. Probably helped relieve the tension a bit for you."
Dennis clasped his hands together and rested them on the table. "Thanks, Grant, but in all honesty, I got the fee
ling that I really didn't have a choice."
Grant chuckled. "I guess there's some truth in that, yes. But regardless, you have my thanks."
"Okay. So, tell me what's been happening."
"Denny, I'll start right off by saying that you're no longer a suspect in the serial killing case. You can resume your duties again immediately."
Dennis frowned. "Did you catch the perp?"
"No, we didn't. But there was one more vigilante murder while you were away. The victim was that man that was suspected sixteen years ago of being the killer of your dad. Travis Wilkinson, remember?"
Dennis hoped they didn't notice the lump that he suddenly felt in his throat.
"Yes, I remember that guy."
"Well, he was murdered in a similar venue that your father died in—
abandoned warehouse in an alley, chairs set up. The wounds were consistent with a Shaolin attack. Knowing who the victim was and seeing the wounds made us immediately confirm in our minds that you were indeed the vigilante killer as we had suspected."
Dennis cracked his knuckles. "What changed your mind?"
"This time the killer left DNA behind. Wilkinson's fingers were covered in the perp's blood and there was extensive tissue under the fingernails. He must have scratched him very deep—put up a hell of a fight by the looks of it."
Dennis was shaking on the inside from anticipation. "So, you have the guy? You've got him in custody? I'm gonna want to have a chat with him as soon as possible."
"You can't. He's dead."
"Who was it? Did our guys take him down?"
"It was a guy by the name of Brett Horton. He was a Secret Service agent and after retiring he did some contract work. God knows what."
Dennis felt like he'd been kicked in the gut. He was fighting to keep the emotion from showing on his face.
"Yeah, so it was his DNA. I guess he moonlighted as a vigilante. You're off the hook, Denny."
Dennis' curiosity was peaked now. "So, how did he die?"
