‘Good. I like to make love in the rain.’
‘It could get choppy out there.’
‘Are you backing out?’ she demanded.
‘Oh hell no, just making observations.’
A hundred feet away in the darkness of the parking lot, a skulking figure watched the boat, saw Hatcher and the woman come out on deck, heard their laughter, watched them kiss each other.
Tollie Fong leered into the darkness. Perfect, he thought. Two
Hatcher put the key in the ignition, primed the engine and cranked it up. In the stern the two big engines rumbled to life and muttered cantankerously for a minute or two before settling into a low, steady growl. Ginia went up on the wharf and loosened the bowline, coiling it over elbow, and hand before dropping it on deck. Then she went to the rear and did the same, dropping the coiled line near the stern.
Hatcher was a formidable foe, but this time surprise would be on Fong’s side. He moved closer through the shadows, focusing on Hatcher. lie could tell he was unarmed. And there did not appear to be any weapons secreted in the cockpit.
Safe and secure, they thought. Focused on each other.
That would make it all the sweeter and easier. Fong thought.
Hatcher was busy turning on radar and sonar and radio and other switches. He completed his usual check of engines and rpm’s and fuel.
‘How about a beer for the captain?’ he said.
‘Aye, aye,’ she said, vanishing into the cabin for a minute.
As she appeared back in the hatchway with a beer in each hand, he felt the boat dip ever so slightly to port. But before he could turn he saw her eyes widen, heard her gasp, then heard the voice.
‘Hatcher,’ it hissed.
He turned quickly. Fong was twenty feet away, standing in the bow of the boat, a pistol pointed at Hatcher’s head. Fear streaked through him for a moment, a lightning flash dispelled instantly by the thought of Ginia. He moved to his left in front of her.
‘What—’ she began and Hatcher said, softly, ‘Shh.’
‘Always the hero, eh?’ Fong snarled, his yellow eyes eager with anticipation. ‘You think standing in front of her will help? What a futile little gesture. I will kill her first, Hatcher, before I skin you alive.’
‘My God,’ Ginia whispered behind Hatcher.
There was a twisted ugly patch of skin on one side of Fong’s lace, the result of a burn that would be a perpetual scar. His eye was half closed. The hair on one side of his head had been scorched to within an inch of his scalp. One hand was bandaged. Fong had avoided painkillers to stay alert as he followed Hatcher halfway across the world. Now hatred, mixed with the pain, oozed out of him, fired his eyes, distorted what was left of his ruined face.
‘How appropriate,’ Fong said in a voice that was soft but trembling with fury. ‘First my boat, then yours.’
Hatcher still did not respond. He was standing squarely in front of Ginia now. He knew where she was standing, knew he could make a backward tumble and knock her back into the cabin. But then what? He was unarmed. The closest weapon was a knife in the galley. His weapons were locked away in the hold.
The thought flashed in Hatcher’s mind that he was going to die, and he accepted that as a reality. But he also knew Fong would kill Ginia. And probably first.
Fong stood in the bow of the boat, his automatic aimed at Hatcher’s head.
‘Surprised?’ Fong said.
Hatcher still did not answer. Within his peripheral vision he could see Fong step closer to the coil of rope on the deck. But the throttles were just out of reach and to go for them, to try to throw him off-balance, would leave Ginia exposed.
The gleaming blade of Fong’s stiletto appeared at Fong’s sleeve. His fingers clutched the hilt. He held the knife up, twisting it slightly so its evil blade glittered in the light from the dock.
‘Just for you,’ Fong said. ‘I used it on Sloan, too. Just after you left him there — alone.’
Hatcher still did not respond.
What’s the matter, Hatcher, can’t you talk anymore?’
‘You’re going to die too, you know,’ he said finally.
‘Don’t you wish. I’ll be back in Hong Kong before they even find you.’
Fong took another step closer. Hatcher’s muscles tensed. He spread his feet a little farther apart.
‘Why don’t you beg for the lady’s life at least,’ Fong sneered. ‘Why don’t you get down on your knees and do that.’
He took another step. His foot was inside the ring of rope on the deck.
‘You’d really like that, wouldn’t you,’ Hatcher whispered.
Fong smiled, an ugly leer, bubbling over with satisfaction.
‘Yes,’ he hissed, ‘I would like that a lot.’
