He was thinking about getting another coffee when a beep alerted him to a new, dim blip on the radar screen. The screen painted a small, irregular image about two miles north of the ferry terminal. He lowered his eyebrows in curiosity and confusion. It was far too small to be anything that should be on the water in this mess. The only other thing that could have caused a return that large was a rogue wave, two or three waves piling up on each other to reach the absurd height of 50 to 75 feet and become visible to radar. The only problem with that idea was that he would be the first person in history to see such a wave in Delaware Bay.
He zoomed in on the area and goosed the signal up to the maximum setting. There was a lot of noise from the regular waves, but when the sweep arm reached the position of the odd return, he got a clean hit on something about 300 feet long, on a course suggesting it almost certainly had come from the ferry terminal.
The thought of one of those ferries out in this weather made Russell’s mouth go dry. It has to be something else. He wondered how he could get confirmation this was anything other than that kind of ship. The lack of precipitation meant he could probably see it with the high-power night-vision binoculars the station carried.
Chief Russell bolted from his station fast enough to cause every head to rise from his or her paperwork or computer screen in time to see him race into the equipment room. He grabbed the massive binoculars and flew out the door to the observation perch. He had to battle the wind to get the powerful and sensitive device mounted to the steel post, but he succeeded and switched them on, giving them a second to calibrate before setting the range to Search and scanning northeastward. A bobbing white, rectangular dot with straight lines caught his attention. He switched the binoculars to their maximum magnification to confirm it was indeed a ferry smashing through massive breakers and listing to port.
Sweet Jesus. He stuck his head back through the door into the control room. “Get Indian River on the horn NOW! I want the Fritch moving in 30 seconds! There’s a Cape May-Lewes ferry underway north-northeast, two miles north of Cape Henlopen in heavy distress!” The petty officer on the communications console went wide-eyed, but did not hesitate to pick up the alert phone to get the Coast Guard Cutter Rollin Fritch underway as quickly as possible.
***
Carson crouched both to remain hidden and to keep his balance as the ship plunged through the roiling waves. Stealth was nearly impossible, but Carson had to remain out of sight because he was sure Peetey was still armed, and that was an unacceptable advantage he had to mitigate.
But how? He didn’t have the luxury of time – every wave threatened to swamp the ferry. He was outnumbered – Chops wasn’t exactly fast, but he also had a gun and could pin Carson in place. And, worst of all, he had no idea where anyone else was.
But he did have the money. He had it, and they wanted it, and that meant they had to come and get it, and they had to hurry too. They may not have known how bad it would be out here, but even the thickest landlubber could recognize this ship was in serious danger. He staggered forward on the port side, towards the staircases that would get him to the third deck, trying not to slip on the deck slick with salt spray. Despite the nausea-inducing dip and rise of the deck, he had to get to the top of the ship. Being higher gave him the visibility he needed to see his attacker in the fight he knew was coming.
He was almost to his goal when the hatch to the forward end of the passenger deck swung open, bashing him backwards. He fell inboard, away from the railing and towards the windows, grateful at the timing. Had the ship been listing the other way, he’d be swimming right now. But in his haste to get to his feet, he lost his grip on the briefcase, which skidded down the deck and wedged itself against under the railing and against a life ring secured to the vertical bars.
Whoever had thrown the hatch open had been subject to the same wave that kept Carson onboard and had been tossed back into the interior cabin, giving Carson time to get his bearings. Just as he rose, the door was pushed open once more, and the hand that reached around the edge held a handgun.
Gun! Get the gun! He lunged forward, going for the hand like a defensive lineman going after the quarterback’s throwing hand, and was successful in smacking it. The weapon was visible for one second as it flew through the air in a graceful arc. Carson did not see nor hear it hit the water, but it clearly didn’t land on the deck, and that was what mattered.
He turned to face his assailant. Unsurprisingly, it was Peetey, and it almost felt like a relief to Carson as they faced off. They were about to have it out, right here and now, and there would be no ties tonight.
Carson looked into Peetey’s cold, soulless eyes. They reminded him of a shark’s – emotionless and dark and ready to kill. The rest of his face contorted into a demonic-like mien, making Carson feel like he was squaring off against the embodiment of evil. He did not look away. He could not show any fear against this opponent. There was a brief moment where a begrudging
