already on the speedboat appropriated from a berth near to Battery Park and streaking out into New York Harbor.
Darley had explained about the big old boat that Samuel Gant was aboard. Navy blue, with all its lights extinguished it would be difficult to spot; it would be a dark slice of shadow against the night. It didn’t help that the rain had returned with a vengeance making visibility little more than a few boat spans in any direction.
The likelihood was that a take-down team was being assembled at this very moment. The Coast Guard, the Port Authority, maybe even the US Navy would be on high alert, and launching a flotilla to surround and contain the boat that Samuel Hicks had commandeered. There was even the possibility that gunships were on their way with teams of Navy Seals on board. They’d be under strict orders to stop the boat at all costs. As far as any of them were aware the potential of a cataclysmic strike on the city was imminent. The cadre of nodding men must be rubbing their hands in glee at the effect that Darley’s confession had caused.
Not that I believed we should downplay the threat. In his mental state, Samuel Gant could engineer massive destruction. Even if the effects of the contamination didn’t cause a no-go area for decades afterwards, he had a vessel, fuel, and a means of detonating both. A bomb delivered to the right target could cause massive structural damage and numerous deaths, and that was what we couldn’t allow.
Chances were if Arrowsake knew that we were heading out to intercept Gant, they would try to stop us. For Arrowsake to regain their seat of power they would prefer the madman to succeed. The thought of that was enough to motivate us to stop Gant or die trying.
I had to stop thinking of them as Arrowsake. This was something different; this was not what I was part of for fourteen years. This modern incarnation was an evil-minded offspring, a seething, roiling, muddy reflection of the past — the personification of everything that I’d stood against all my life.
‘Heads up, buddy,’ Rink shouted. ‘Over there, you think that’s him?’
Snapping out of my thoughts, I followed where Rink pointed. At first I couldn’t make out anything against the oily depths. The lights of Jersey bled on to the water, refracted and twisted by the undulating surface, the streaking rain making it difficult to pinpoint anything. I caught an image of a turquoise figure rearing into the night sky. Concentrating on the pale glow of light on verdigrised copper I saw a bulky shape at its base. It looked out of place, an unfamiliar addition to a world-famous landmark.
‘Man, I hope not.’ I cast my gaze back across the water towards Manhattan. I was sure that Gant would’ve taken the boat that way, maybe at ramming speed towards the financial district where he thought he could cause the most disruption. What the hell had made him turn the other way? ‘Jesus Christ! I think he intends attacking the Statue of Liberty.’
‘You’ve gotta be kidding me!’ Rink swung the speedboat towards Liberty Island regardless of the rhetoric he blurted.
‘I wish I was.’ Maybe Gant’s plan wasn’t as out there as it first appeared. The Statue of Liberty was a symbol of freedom from oppression; to a person who thought he was the victim, that he was one of the downtrodden, the statue would stand for something else. Maybe Gant saw Lady Liberty as the beacon that had attracted the many races of the earth to these shores, her beckoning torch waving at allcomers to enter the country and despoil his race. I could be wrong, maybe the island was just the nearest target he’d latched on to and there was no hidden meaning for the attack. But it was as plausible a reason as any. If he desired to strike against the US government, then what greater target was there out here on the water?
A hundred yards out from shore and I recognised the battered old yacht that Darley had described. The term ‘yacht’ didn’t fit the boat very well: it was more like an industrial barge that had been converted to include living quarters. It was eighty feet long, almost half as wide, a blunt ugly-looking thing that wasn’t helped by the poorly applied coat of paint.
Rink headed towards the yacht. It was moored at a crazy angle and we could see now that Gant had beached the boat on the pilings at the base of the island. The dock was never made to accommodate a vessel as large as this, usually being the domain of pleasure boats and the small water taxis that transported day-trippers back and forth. Gant’s boat had rammed the pier, partly demolishing it, then slewed round and into the concrete wharf. It had then ridden up on to it before settling down a few feet as concrete and hull crumbled under the impact. Over it all, the statue reared her head in lofty disdain.
I looked down at the SIG in my fist. Somewhere along the way I’d withdrawn it and manipulated the slide. Instinct was overtaking my capacity to keep up and I experienced a slowing of reality as adrenalin shrieked through my system. I only gave it a second’s thought, trying to recall the last time I’d felt like this. Nothing since the near- fatal battle with Luke Rickard had got my blood pumping so fiercely. Even the stirrings I’d felt while hunting Gant’s crew back in the Alleghenies hadn’t approached this sense of impending action. I’d felt alive then, but now I felt supercharged.
‘Take us in on the far side of the yacht,’ I said.
‘Looks like he’s ditched it. Maybe he’s already on the island.’
‘We have to check. I don’t want him up on that deck shooting at us as we cross the open ground.’
‘Good point.’
Rink swung the boat round the stern of the yacht, cut the engine and allowed it to drift in for the last few yards. He stood up, pulling out his Glock. ‘You going up here? I’ll take the front, OK?’
‘Yeah, but take it real easy.’ The cautionary words were for us both. Supercharged was one thing, but it didn’t make you superhuman. Charging in full of spit and venom would only get the two of us killed.
I jammed the barrel of the SIG between my teeth, reached up to the gunwales of the yacht and hoisted myself up. Rink steadied the speedboat, then jammed his palms against the hull, used a walking motion powered by his thick arms to manoeuvre the speedboat towards the shoreline. By the time I’d slipped over the rail and on to the deck, Rink had clambered on to the prow of the speedboat and leapt the final few feet to shore. I swung round and brought up my gun, sweeping the deck for a target.
It was too quiet. Rain still pattered down, and the river lapped at the boards and the pilings, sloshing and chuckling, but I could hear neither footsteps nor any other movement from inside the boat. Didn’t mean that Gant wasn’t on board, just that he could have heard us coming and was preparing an ambush.
From the vantage on the deck, I scanned the approach to the statue. The eleven-pointed plinth that Lady Liberty stood upon was lit with spotlights, but the angles offered plenty of shadows to hide in. I couldn’t pick out any movement and searched to the right. The trees that swathed the northern end of the island were bare of foliage, but their trunks could easily conceal a man. Distractedly I wondered what security precautions were taken on the island. Was there a police or Port Authority presence here? I didn’t know, and it was too late to worry about the consequences of law officers mistaking me for the crazy man who’d beached his craft. I looked for Rink, couldn’t see him, but knew that he’d be there watching my back.
First thing first. Find the plutonium. I’d a good idea that Gant would have it and then I could finish what we started back in the Pennsylvanian logging camp. The old yacht boasted a large cabin-cum-galley structure in the centre of the deck. Perched on top of it was a bridge that was open to the elements at the back. I reared up on tiptoe to get a clear view but there was no one at the wheel. Headed for the galley. At some point someone had been creative with a brush here as well, and everything including the circular windows had been painted over in the same navy colour. Maybe whoever had once owned this vessel was severely agoraphobic.
The only way to check inside was to go in through the double doors. If Gant was waiting then I’d be shot the second I poked my head inside, and I didn’t relish the idea. Could have done with Rink joining me up there; together we could launch a one-two assault on the cabin and at least one of us would get an opportunity to kill the tattooed man. Still no sign of Rink, though, and the clock was ticking. Not the best choice of words, true, but fitting nonetheless. Gant could be preparing an explosion now and I didn’t want to be caught on the boat when it went supernova.
Taking a deep breath, I lunged at the double doors, booted them open and went directly inside. I swept the area with the barrel of my SIG, the finger caressing the trigger missing only the fraction of pressure necessary to discharge the weapon. There was a dead man at the far end of the long room. Twisting to the left I found two more bodies heaped in the corner. The smell was enough to suggest they were dead, but I had to make sure. The two corpses piled here were both big men, rough-faced, built like brawlers. Hicks’ bodyguards. Both men were missing a significant portion of their torsos and their shocked expressions hadn’t been lessened by the laxity of death. I looked again at the man at the far end. It occurred to me that I’d never known the face of my enemy, and being honest, this professorial-looking man wasn’t what I’d expected. Taking Gant as a template, I was expecting tattoos, shaved
