can save your shoes. I don't feel guilty for anybody. And don't lecture me about keeping my mind on the job, sir. Keeping my mind on the job cost me a husband. Did you ever lose a marriage because of your work? It has its depressing moments. One of the things that gets you through to the other side is the idea that your job means something. That it's important. That doing it makes a difference. So don't lecture me about my job. You can leave that job to my husband's divorce lawyer. Sir.'
Kate walked swiftly out of the galley. A minute or so later Bowen saw her going along the high side of the ship and stopping to speak to the owner of the Juarista. Bowen finished his coffee and then went up to the flybridge. He sat down in one of the pilot's chairs, switched on the digital scrambler, and picked up the radio handset.
'This is turkey in the hay calling turkey in the straw. This is turkey in the hay calling turkey in the straw. Are you receiving me? Over.'
There followed a short pause filled with the noise of static and then Bowen heard the voice of the USS Galveston's duty radio man.
'Turkey in the hay, this is turkey in the straw, receiving you. Are you secure? Over.'
'Turkey in the hay, all secure. I want you to relay a message back to FBI headquarters in Washington. Have the Records Division run a check on a David Dulanotov. That's D-U-L-A-N-O-T-O-V. Also other permutations of that name. Spelling was never my forte. In addition, I'd like to have them check on a boat called the Juarista. That's J- U-A-R-I-S-T-A. Originally registered in San Diego, California. Everything and anything. Oh yeah, one more thing. All of this information is to be given up by you only on my specific request. Me. ASAC Kent Bowen. It is to be withheld unless specifically asked for. Got that? Over.'
'Turkey in the hay, this is turkey in the straw. We copy. Over.'
'This is turkey in the hay, over and out.'
Bowen turned off the radio and leaned back in the fine leather chair. He was quite impressed that Kate could make sense of all these computer screens. Several times he'd watched her run various troubleshooting sequences -- that's what she'd called them anyway -- and still he had no idea what she'd been doing. Maybe she did know a lot about boats, but he knew about investigation and all things forensic. Being inquisitive, finding out about people, knowing exactly who you were dealing with -- all of that helped keep you ahead in the game. Bowen believed that most rich people usually had something to hide. Along the lines of the old saying that behind every great fortune was a great crime. It would be interesting to see what David Dulanotov's secret was, and what Kate's reaction would be when eventually he got to tell her all about it.
'The boat at the stern of the ship, the one we're going to steal and use as our getaway, it's called the Britannia,' Dave told Al.
They were sitting on the double bed in Al's stateroom. With no windows or portholes, it was the most secure place on the Juarista. And since Al had never bothered to change his sheets since Costa Rica, it was also the most malodorous.
'It's not as fast as this boat, but looking at her I'd say she can do twenty-five knots, no problem. She's got twin bow thrusters, so there won't be any difficulty maneuvering her out to sea. Power's not going to be a problem either. I've been watching them. She's got more solar panels than a fuckin' space station, and the captain -- who, incidentally, looks just like Gilbert Roland -- he keeps the engines turned over. The only outstanding question I have about her is how much fuel she has on board.'
Al frowned. 'Who the fuck is Gilbert Roland?'
'Played a lot of Mexicans in movies.' Dave shook his head as Al's face remained a blank. 'It doesn't matter.'
'And what about the money?'
'What about it?'
'What I mean, motherfucker, is that you don't know how much fuel there is on this other boat, so maybe you don't really have a fuckin' clue about how much money there is either.'
'That's a complete non sequitur,' said Dave. 'Your pain-in-the-ass conclusion does not follow from the premises you stated. Believe me. It's there.'
'If you were Jesus Christ and you swore on the holes in your hands and the wound in your side the money was there, I'd still say, what makes you so fuckin' sure?'
'Ye of little faith. Will you forget about the money? The money's where it's supposed to be. Which is more than I can say of your attitude. Why can't you be more like one of those other disciples, Al? Not having seen and yet believed. Just be cool about the fuckin' money.' Dave shook his head, weary of Al's doubt. Changing the subject, he said, 'Did you find somewhere to lock everyone up?'
Al said, sullenly, 'I think so. I went right over the accommodation block and the best area seems to be on the lower deck. There's an engineer's workshop and end storeroom alongside the engine room. Apart from some tools and shit, place is more or less empty. Door's good too. Solid steel, outside bolt. If we left the tools, they could probably hammer their way out in a few hours. By that time we'll be long gone, right?'
'With the wind.'
Al bent down and drew a baseball kit bag toward him, still wet-looking and smelling bad after several days in the fish-box. He said, 'Me and you, Scarlett, it's about time we got to meet our partners in crime. All of them combat veterans. And the first to do the boogie is the nine-mill Heckler & Koch, M5 submachine gun. Weighs no more than a newborn baby, and it's just as fuckin' loud. Fires thirty rounds. Effective range around 100 meters.' He handed over the weapon and showed Dave how to eject the magazine.
'It's slung on a length of rubber tube, SEAL style, in case we have to take a bath with it. Fitted with waterproof laser sights, takes a nine-volt battery for up to thirty hours of continuous play. You'd have to be Stevie Wonder not to hit the target with this mother. Guaranteed accuracy or your money back.'
Al reached into the bag and came up with a pistol.
'Next to do the boogie is the Heckler & Koch forty-five ACP Special operations handgun. Brand loyalty's a big thing with me, in case you hadn't noticed. I always eat the same fuckin' breakfast cereal and I always use the same gun. Two most important things in your day are a good start -- that means a good breakfast -- and a good gun. There's enough uncertainty in the world already without trusting new shit that you haven't used before.'
'Pretty good Weltanschauung,' said Dave.
Ignoring him, Al said, 'And with this pistol, believe me, you got the whole world in your hands. This is the Big John Cannon of handguns. Detachable sound suppresser 'cos we're gonna' be working at night and we don't want to wake folks up before we're ready. Laser aiming module, like before. Matter of fact, same as they used on the F- 14 fighters in Desert Storm. You could hit Baghdad with this artillery. Fires eight shots. Guaranteed take down. But there's a heavy recoil. So we'll wear these weightlifters' gloves. Not because we wanna look like a couple of S&M faggots but because they let you keep a tight grip.'
The last weapon out of the bag was a shotgun.
'Last, but by no means least to boogie on down is your pump action twelve-gauge shotgun. Mossberg Model 835. Cut back to eighteen inches, same as my dick. I've taken off the magazine plug and replaced the front bead. Looks pretty mean, doesn't it?' Al chuckled. 'Well, this'll sweep the fuckin' hall for ya, and no mistake. You'll only have to fire this mother once and your problems are solved. When we're outside and on the boats I recommend you stick to the submachine gun and your pistol. Dealing with the ship's crew, the shotgun will be the most effective friendly persuasion.' Al worked the slide, and pulled the trigger on the empty chamber. 'Not for nothing is this called a riot gun. And with these three weapons, we are loaded with fuckin' opportunities.
'But in case we have to play anyone with a similar hand to our own, we'll be wearing Kevlar. Tested at the Aberdeen Proving Grounds by the US Government Edgewood Arsenal, this body armor will stop the ACP and the nine-mill, but maybe not the twelve at close range. This is what you want to be wearing when you attend your next local meeting of the Branch Davidians. The truth hurts, but not if you're wearing Kevin Costner.'
Next to the folded white torso of the body armor, Al laid a walkie-talkie. He said, 'And of course, our communications devices, in case love tries to tear us apart.' Al waved his hand at the guns and equipment that were now spread on the bed like Christmas presents. 'At the risk of sounding like Gunny Sergeant Highway, get to know this shit. Become familiar with it. Could be it'll save your life. More importantly, you might save mine. Oh yeah. One more thing. What I call the Alias
Smith and Jones factor.'
Dave nodded and said, 'Starring Pete Duel and Ben Murphy.'
