although I couldn?t tell for sure who was talking to whom, or what the rhubarb was all about. Then the
door opened.
The lights of Thunder Point Marina twinkled like stars on the bay a half mile away. Stick hunched
down in the cockpit of the sailboat, his hat pulled down over his eyes so the wind wouldn?t blow it off.
There was a strong wind coming in from the southeast and the sails were full, billowed out like
shrouds above him in the darkness. He had the sheets pulled in as tight as he could and the boat was
keeled low in the water. The waves bounded past his elbow like a river on a rampage.
For ten minutes he had been watching Costello?s yacht as it sailed into the inlet from open water and
headed for the marina. Now it was pulling into the dock.
He set the tiller, tied it down, reached under the seat, and pulled out a waterproof bag. First he took
out the .357 and checked the chamber. It was loaded with cont rolled-expansion treasury rounds.
Then the 180, his little jewel. He checked the silencer and snapped a 180-round drum into the
chamber, mentally ticking off his firepower as he did. He turned on the laser scope and watched the
little red dot dance across the swollen sails. Next came the M16, the old standby, fully loaded with a
thirty-shot clip. He took a forty-millimetre grenade from the hag and inserted it in the grenade
launcher under the barrel. Finally he got the ammo bag, which held two drums for the 180, six clips
for the 16, six grenades, and five quick-loads for the Magnum.
Not bad. Seven grenades and 786 rounds of ammo.
He mentally counted the enemy: Costello, Bronicata, Chevos, and two other gunmen on the boat.
Nance, Sweetheart Pravano, and at least four others he could think of inside the marina, and the two
guards with sawed-off shotguns on the dock.
Thirteen. About sixty rounds per man plus the grenades. Piece of cake. He?d been up against a lot
worse.
He adjusted the night sight on the M-16 and checked out the deck of the yacht. There they were:
Costello, Chevos, Bronicata, Drack Moreno, all the heavyweights bi4 Nance and Pravano, who had
to be inside somewhere, and Cohen, who was probably home in bed.
Beautiful, he thought. The timing couldn?t be better. Just one big happy family.
