Straits of Fortune Page 9

  I walked over and turned on the television and hit the play button on the VCR.

  I watched the tape for ten or fifteen seconds just to make sure. That was enough. I had already seen it earlier that day at the Colonel’s house, the house of glass you couldn’t see through. It was Vivian’s tape, all right: Randy Matson’s last production.

  I shut off the flashlight and just stood there in the dark for a while, listening to my thoughts. It wasn’t likely that you would kill two men for a racy movie to begin with; it was even less likely that you would leave the tape behind if you had. Vivian might panic and forget, but not Williams, not the man who had once used human ears as cashier’s receipts. So if not for the famous video, then what had it all been for? Something was missing. Then I remembered, just vaguely, that the Colonel had mentioned something about some research of his having been stolen. That didn’t make any sense either, but maybe it would later on, once I got back to shore.

  I thought of Vivian then with a mixture of anger, sadness, and curiosity. She must have been in pretty desperate straits to bring me into such a game. But, of course, she had just allowed herself to be used as bait to do her father’s and William’s dirty work. This was the Colonel’s master plan, not hers, but what was the game? Two men were dead, and for what?

  And as for me, the only thing that kept me from being a complete idiot in all this was the fifty grand at home under my sink and the promise of fifty more. Right then and right there, I made a promise to myself that I would get the rest of the money even if I had to break that glass house apart with a sledgehammer. Then the four of us—me, the Colonel, Williams, and Vivian—would have us a little sit-down. I looked forward to that. All I had to do was make it back.

  It was time to go. The answers I needed were all on shore. I went out onto the dive deck and looked around me, but there was nothing except an endless plain of water stretching out in all directions. The only light came from the quarter moon and the stars over my head. Slender cirrus clouds slipped by like long white canoes headed west with the night and the soft, salty breeze blowing from the east. It was a beautiful night, and I was a fool.

  I got the kayak loose and slipped inside. I paddled out a ways until I was a few hundred feet from the yacht. I ate a protein bar and washed it down with water from my canteen. Then I swallowed two capsules containing a mixture of ephedrine, caffeine, and ginseng. The protein bar would take two hours to digest, and when it did, the capsule would be quickly absorbed into the bloodstream, delivering a jolt of energy just when my blood sugar would be dropping. I didn’t like to take them, and I could certainly make it back without them, but the night had been full of surprises, and I didn’t want to come up short on juice if there were any more.

  The northbound current was running smooth and strong, and there was nothing to do but go with the flow, which would mean making landfall somewhere just south of Fort Lauderdale. I was so intent on my strokes that for a long time I forgot to look back at The Carrousel, as though the water behind me were already part of the past. Then it came to me, and I stopped and turned the kayak around. The yacht was only a shadow now, but even in the weak, halfhearted, sidereal light, I could see that its stern was starting to list ever so slightly toward me, like some great and dying, air-breathing leviathan still unwilling to give up its life. I watched it for a few seconds, then started for home.

  That’s when I heard it. At first I thought it was the sound of another plane, but the engine sounded more like a boat’s, possibly a speedboat, and it was to my left and very close. The engine revved, then died out again as though waiting for something. I had just started to paddle away from the noise when the wake hit me broadside and knocked me over. I was upside down in the water before I had a chance to take a breath. I gathered myself and whipped my body hard to the right, hoping for enough momentum to execute what’s called an Eskimo roll, but the water was too rough and I missed it. Then I was upside down again, trying to steady myself for another attempt. The craft was right above me. A bright light illuminated the boiling water as I struggled. My lungs were empty. I had swallowed half of the ocean.

  I gave my body a vicious but calculated twist, and suddenly I was right side up again, bobbing and weaving and coughing up water, struggling damned hard not to capsize again, because I knew that if I did, I might not make it. I yelled over the roar of the engine for whoever was on board to turn the goddamned thing off. I knew they could see me. The light was right on my face now. I could feel its heat, as though I had landed on the surface of the sun. The ocean danced around me as I squinted into the glare, shielding my eyes with one arm and holding the paddle with the other. I was ready to come out of the Hell Chaser and strangle somebody.

  “Get that fucking light out of my eyes!” I shouted. “Your damned boat nearly killed me!”

  There was no answer. Then, suddenly, the light went off.

  “Who’s out there?” I yelled. I began to feel around inside the kayak for the Glock, but the spill I had taken must have dislodged it from its pouch. I groped for it on the bottom of the kayak but couldn’t find it. I was afraid that maybe it had gone overboard. Then, by my right thigh, just above the knee, there was something hard that shouldn’t have been there. I reached down and felt the familiar outline of the gun inside the plastic bag. I got it out as quickly as I could with my shaking fingers and sat back, holding it in my lap and trying to look unarmed.

  The light flashed on again and blinded me. I turned my head away. I was pretty sure who it was, and if I was right, then I was in trouble.

  “Is that the fucking coast guard, or just some idiot with too much time on his hands?” I shouted. “Turn out that goddamn light!”

  “It isn’t the coast guard, Jack,” a familiar voice called out. “It’s your old friend Williams. I guess you didn’t expect to run into me out here, did you?”

  “Why not?” I yelled. “Shit floats, doesn’t it?”

  “You’ve done well, Jack. You’ve done very well, but as you may have guessed, there’s been a dramatic change in plans.”

  “Does the Colonel know you’re doing this?”

  “Who do you think sent me?”

  I used my hand again to shield my eyes from the glare of the searchlight. Then Williams swung the light a little to his left so that I could see his silhouette. He was smiling broadly. Very casually, and as though he had all the time in the world, he reached down, lifted up a rifle, and calmly placed the butt end against his right shoulder. Then, still smiling, he slowly lowered his eye to the scope.

  “Oh, Jackie,” he said in that fake Scottish accent he sometimes used, “I’m going to miss you so.”

  I brought the gun up and fired at the spotlight. I would have gone for Williams, but the kayak was dancing way too much and the light made a bigger and better target. The spotlight exploded with a loud pop, and just like that it was dark again. I fired once more at where Williams had been standing, shoved the gun into my vest, paddled off a few yards, then stopped, pulled the Glock out and fired at the boat yet again. I didn’t think I would hit anything, but I wanted Williams worried enough to give me some room. The reality of the situation was that it would be almost impossible to hit anything under those conditions, except by accident. My one advantage was that Williams couldn’t afford to stay still long enough to get lucky.

  Then there was a sudden roar as the engines of the speedboat came alive, and a white rush of water burst from beneath the bow, nearly knocking me over. The boat lifted itself out of the water like a flying wedge and zoomed off toward the east, the white foam burgeoning like the exhaust from a rocket. I waited for the wake and rode it until the water calmed.

  Then the first bullet went past my cheek, hit the kayak, and took part of the front end off. The impact swung the Hell Chaser around a full 180 degrees.

  I reached over my right shoulder and fired back at the darkness, hoping for a miracle. I heard him coming at me then, the engines nearly silent, slow and relentless, giving off no m
ore noise than a blender with a towel thrown over it. I fired again, and the boat’s engines flared and the speedboat went by me and flew off into the night, fishtailing as it swerved.

  There was just enough light for me to see it now, then nothing again but foam and spray in my face. The wake came up like a big paw and smacked me over. I dropped the paddle, and the Glock went flying into the wind. Then the ocean had me, and I was underwater again. The only difference this time was that I had the presence of mind to take a deep breath while there was still a chance.

  There was no sense trying to stay in the kayak now, so I kicked myself free of it while I was still almost upside down. I’m thinking, This is suicide. When my legs were free, I twisted out of the life jacket, extended my arms, and swam straight down into total blackness, knowing I was dead, still not quite believing it. So this is the way I die, I thought without panic.

  I went down maybe ten feet, then leveled off and swam toward what I hoped was the south. I needed desperately to surface. I was out of air. Under normal circumstances I could hold my breath for one and a half minutes, but the excitement had burned up every molecule of oxygen in my lungs. I made a deal with myself for ten more seconds and swam hard. When I had counted to ten, I made the same deal again. I made it till twelve, and then I arched my back and swooped for the surface.

  I came up gasping at the edge of a pool of white light no more than ten feet ahead of me. Another searchlight—not as powerful as the one I had shot out but good enough to catch me if I lost my luck. I took another gulp of air and dove again, this time not as deep. Again I leveled off, but instead of swimming away from the boat, I swam toward it, hoping to get on the other side of him. The water above me turned yellow-green and lingered there, and I knew if I came up too soon, he would have me and it would be over.

  The boat passed above me. I could feel myself being sucked upward. I kicked and tried to pull myself away but only succeeded in maintaining my position. Then the glow was gone and the water was quiet. I played the ten-second game again and made it to eight only with the utmost effort. I came up facing in the wrong direction. I could see the lights stretched north and south across the still-distant shore. I turned around and saw the shadow of the speedboat about fifty yards away and moving east, the light probing the water in the general direction I had at first begun to swim. If I hadn’t turned back, he would have had me for sure.

  I watched the light on the boat for a few seconds, marked its location, not sure which way to go. If he found the life vest, he would assume that I’d gotten rid of it because I needed to get underwater and the vest’s inherent buoyancy would have prevented that, in which case I would still be somewhere in the area. Or he might think that I was dead and therefore floating on the surface of the water. In either case he would keep looking. He would start near the place where he had rammed me, and for a while he’d restrict himself to a fairly tight perimeter of the site. When that failed, he would become more systematic.

  I watched the light angle south, and then I turned and swam north with the current, not that there was much choice. I swam easily, with smooth overhand strokes. I was fairly certain he had night-vision goggles, but even with them he would have to be extremely lucky to spot me. The ocean had kicked up into a light chop, so there were little swells to hide behind. Even so, I stayed under as much as I could and surfaced only when I had to. I was glad now that I’d thought to take the ephedrine; I was going to need it.

  The next time I came up, I could still see the light. Williams was still out there prospecting, still fairly close to ground zero and about two hundred yards away. Now and then the light would swing unexpectedly in a different direction, as though he knew that I was in the vicinity and hoped to catch me off guard. But it never came anywhere near me, so I swam on. I didn’t think I had much of a chance, but there was nothing else to do except swim.

  We were the only two human beings in the vicinity, and under those conditions who’s to say what strange channels open up between predator and prey? There came a time when despite the splash of the waves and the distance between us I was sure I sensed his thoughts and felt his anxiety as he scanned the water for me. I could hear him listening, and it was then that I would hold myself beneath the surface of the water and say a prayer that he wouldn’t linger too long above me.

  I kept swimming. My fear gave me extra strength, lengthened my endurance. The ephedrine had kicked in at last, but I was still very tired. Then, suddenly, I heard the speedboat coming closer from just to the south of me. He was getting more methodical, exactly as I’d known he would, and had begun to make concentric circles around the area. He would start wide, allowing for the possibility that I had survived the kayak and was in good enough shape to be swimming. The circles would grow smaller and smaller until I ended up at the center like a bug caught in a drain.

  The searchlight nearly got me then, but the white arc faded out just a few yards ahead of me. I went under fast and swam away from the boat for as long as I could. Something brushed my leg in the dark, but I kept going. Everything depended on where Williams began his search. If I was outside the perimeter, he would be moving away from me, funneling inward, and I might have time to get away. If not, he would surely see me eventually. My arms parted the darkness in front of me as though I were a blind man moving through a curtain of water that closed and opened around me without beginning or end.

  The boat went by maybe fifty feet to the east of me, then headed back out. I came up in time to see it curving back toward the beach, which meant he had underestimated me and had just completed the biggest circle. I was outside that circle, but only for the moment. It would not take long for him to funnel inward and eventually reach the conclusion that either I was dead or somehow had gotten past him. Williams would then start over, and this time he would come in even closer to shore. He could afford to be methodical. I was still miles from land, and he had the speedboat and a good two hours until dawn.

  I got over onto my back and kicked with my legs, trying to conserve the strength in my arms. I’d once competed in a triathlon and thought at the time that I had reached the apex of human fatigue. I’d been wrong. I know that there are resources in the human body that can be tapped only in moments of extreme danger and excitement, and I had no doubt that I’d tapped in to them now. By all accounts I should have been too tired to move, but something kept me going. My body went from feeling waterlogged to feeling supernaturally light, as though I were not so much swimming in the water as being the water itself.

  Then the heaviness would intrude, and I would be slogging away again toward the single row of lights on the shore that for the life of me never seemed to get any closer. After a while I stopped thinking altogether, as though the blood flow to my brain had ceased, and my body rallied itself and pulled me forward like a horse carrying a rider either half dead in the saddle or else far too weary to care.

  When I came to myself again, it was morning. I must have opened my eyes just as my arm had lifted itself for another endless stroke, and I was all at once conscious of the heat of the sun on my back and its fierce silver glare on the surface of the sea. My tongue was swollen with thirst, and there was no strength in me. I could see the shore, now only a quarter of a mile away. But there was nothing left in me, nothing. I managed to get over onto my back, but it was too much like being in bed, and I almost gave in to the fatal luxury of letting go. I saw an orange buoy halfway to the shore and swam for it, knowing that if I could make it that far, I had a chance.

  It was only three hundred yards to shore, but no matter how much I swam, the beach never came any closer, still flaunting its promise of safety with the derision of a mirage. I could see people near the shore playing in the breakers; I could hear their voices. I tried to call out to them, but my mouth made only a strange, inhuman rasping sound. Just a little farther and the incoming tide would lift me, drag me in. It seemed stupid, almost sinful, to die so close to land, and yet that was what was happening, for all at once I
was no longer moving. My arms and legs had given out, and I began to sink almost gratefully. I wanted to rest even if it meant death. Just for the hell of it, I held my breath. No sense making it too easy. I went down maybe three yards when my toes touched the surface of the sandbar.

  Feeling something solid beneath my feet after being in the water so long gave me a fresh surge of strength, and right then I knew for a fact that I wasn’t finished, not by a long shot. I sprang to the surface and looked for the shore. It was nothing. A hundred yards at most.

  Piece of cake. I could do it. I willed my empty arms and legs to move as though they were a team of recalcitrant mules in the foothills of the Andes. My limbs didn’t really belong to me anymore. I had just borrowed them, and they didn’t like the way I’d treated them, but they, too, must have sensed the nearing shore, because they began to obey me. That’s right, boys, I told them. Don’t fail me now.

  I heard the speedboat coming as if from out of a dream you think you’ve already awakened from. It was coming in fast from my left. I stroked harder for the shore. I was sure it was Williams. I turned my head to one side and saw him standing at the helm, bearing down on me fast and hard, his bald head shining in the brittle sunlight like the helmet of a conquistador. I recalled the ears he had used for money back in Vietnam. I should not have been surprised that he’d spent the night looking for me.

  It was fear that saved me then, fear that squeezed the last ounce of juice out of my adrenals. Suddenly the unbearable fatigue was gone and I was fresh again. It would not last long. But it might last long enough.

  I heard the first shot but felt nothing. I took as deep a breath as I could manage and dove for the bottom and swam underwater. The boat passed over me, blocking the sun, its propellers churning madly. I had passed the sandbar, but the sea was still only about fifteen feet deep. A little farther and Williams would have to take her out again lest he beach her. But I wasn’t Aquaman. He knew where I was. All he would have to do was wait for me to come up.