“What about the barge?” Giordino said.
“First we better check out the pilot. I think they may have roughed him up.”
“Rudi, you go make the call,” Pitt said. “Al and I will check the barge.”
Pitt and Giordino ran to the stern rail. The bow of the barge was pressing alongside just below the deck, the older vessel pushing the research ship at a turtle’s pace. They jumped aboard and sprinted the length of its oily deck to the small wheelhouse at the stern. They heard a dog growl as they approached and stepped inside.
A gray-haired man knelt by the helm, holding his palm against a bloody gash along his hairline. A black-and- tan dachshund stood guard in front of him and barked at the intruders.
“Hush, Mauser,” the man said.
“Are you all right, old-timer?” Pitt helped the man to his feet after easing past the dachshund. He nearly matched Pitt’s six-foot-three height, but carried a few more pounds.
“That son of a gun walked in out of nowhere and started smashing my radio.” As the old man spoke, clarity returned to his blue eyes. “I gave him a good lick, but he got me with the butt of his pistol.”
Giordino found a first-aid kit and applied a bandage to the man’s wound.
“Thanks, son. Who were those guys, anyway?”
“I don’t know,” Pitt said, “but one of our people is aboard their boat. Do you have a launch we can borrow?”
“There’s a small Zodiac out back. Not much for an engine, but help yourself.”
The captain gazed out the windshield—and realized the barge was pushing the
He briefly jammed the throttle in reverse, then shifted to neutral. Turning to Pitt, he raised his brows with worry. “You watch yourself with them.”
“Will do.”
Pitt nodded at the man, then turned to follow Giordino out the door. As he exited the wheelhouse, he noticed the old man’s commercial master’s license hanging on the bulkhead. Seeing the name Clive Cussler printed on the document, Pitt wrinkled his brow, then hurried onto the deck.
Giordino had already unlashed the small inflatable from the wheelhouse. Rather than take the time to lower it over the side with a winch, the two men manhandled it over the rail, then climbed aboard. Pitt primed the outboard motor, then gave a few tugs on the starter pulley, bringing the engine to life. Easing the throttle to full, he turned away from the barge and headed toward shore.
The Mexican powerboat was still visible in the growing darkness, and Pitt set an angle of pursuit along its path. But they were in a losing race, as the cabin cruiser beat the waves a good ten knots faster than the little Zodiac. All Pitt could do was try to keep them in sight long enough to determine where they would put ashore.
“I hope you remembered to bring our passports,” Giordino shouted. Their southeasterly tack had them on a clear course for the Mexican mainland.
“I wish I had remembered to bring an RPG instead.”
Giordino had already searched the Zodiac; their only potential weapon was a small anchor. But Pitt had no intention of going head-to-head with the armed thieves. His only concern was for Ann’s safety.
As the faint shape of the powerboat faded in the distance, he thought about the plucky NCIS agent and wondered what on earth she actually planned to do.
15
LYING SOAKED AS SHE CLUTCHED THE RAIL OF THE cabin cruiser, Ann was asking herself the same question. She wanted to commandeer the boat and sail it to San Diego, but that was a tall order against four armed men. She felt along her back at the waist, making sure the holster containing a SIG Sauer P239 had survived the plunge into the ocean.
Her decision to sneak aboard the Mexican boat had been driven more by adrenaline than strategy. She was exiting one of the ship’s labs while searching for a secure place to store Heiland’s crate when she saw Pablo on deck, pulling a pistol on Gunn. She ducked into a companionway, slipped down to her cabin, and retrieved her own weapon. When one of the gunmen drew everyone’s attention by blasting the
The gunmen acted quickly and off-loaded the crate before she could devise a counterattack. Just one thought ran through her mind. If it could not be saved, then it must be destroyed.
With her heart pounding, she stepped to the bridge doorway and peeked aft. Pablo was busy with Gunn near the submersible, while the other gunmen were securing the crate aboard the powerboat. She took a deep breath, stepped onto the bridge wing, and dove over the side.
Ann’s years of springboard diving kicked in. She stiffened her body as she dove and stretched her hands above her head, reaching for the sea. She hit the water at a vertical angle, the desired rip entry barely producing a splash. The cool Pacific made her body shudder as she dove deep, then turned and swam toward the Mexican boat.
Surfacing off its outer beam, she moved in close alongside to stay concealed. She heard a man jumping aboard, then noticed the boat was drifting clear of the
She lay patiently, catching her breath and building her nerve, as the boat raced toward shore. It would be a half-hour journey. With darkness her ally, she waited for the sky to turn black. Salt water sprayed her face, and she bounced like a rodeo rider, battling to hold her position while praying no one looked her way.
Pablo and his men hung on the stern deck rail for several minutes, watching the
When a charcoal wash crossed the skies, Ann crept backward along the rail until she could catch a peek at the open deck. A dark, heavy-set man sat on a side bench, cradling a handgun as he gazed off the stern. He had a high forehead and a long full beard, reminding Ann of a young Fidel Castro. Secured on the deck in front of him was Heiland’s crate, which he used as a footrest.
Though the odds were against her in a gunfight with the full crew, this lone man she could subdue, especially with the element of surprise on her side. Her objective was simple: just get the crate over the side by any means she could. Perhaps Pitt and the NUMA ship could find it later. At least it would stay out of foreign hands.
She inched backward along the side rail and dropped quietly to the deck. Voices came from the main cabin, which was several steps below deck and out of clear view. Just above the cabin was the boat’s cockpit, where Ann could see the pilot’s legs a few feet away. With the boat closing in on the coast, she could only hope the pilot kept his eyes on course.
She slipped the compact SIG Sauer from its holster, reversed her grip, and sprung at Fidel. He never heard her coming. She aimed for his temple but struck high, and the pistol butt skipped over the crown of his head. He grunted and fell on his side, dropping his handgun to the deck.
Ann kicked it aside and knelt to free the case, which had been tied to the bench.
Only stunned by the blow, the man cradled his bleeding head with one hand and groped the deck for his gun. Instead of locating it, he found Ann’s ankle. He wrapped an angry fist around it and pulled with all the strength he could muster.
Hunched over the crate, Ann was caught off balance and went sprawling across the deck. But her reflexes were quick, and she quickly rolled to her feet. The gunman still clutched her left ankle, so she let go with her right foot, landing a vicious blow on the side of his head.
