The Tombs

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FROM THE ROOF of the house on Goldfish Point, Sam and Remi watched the yachts, police boats, and Coast Guard vessels. The two yachts sped toward the open sea at incredible speed, roaring out at different angles, one toward the northwest, the other toward the southwest. “They’re not taking your advice,” said Remi. “They’re running.”

“Big mistake,” said Sam.

The two police boats fired first with small arms set on full auto. Sam and Remi could see the prolonged muzzle flashes, at least four on each boat, peppering the two yachts as they pursued them.

The two Coast Guard cutters remained in position. A trail of reddish sparks soared into the sky from one of them, and it looked as though the fireworks had begun again. There was a flash, but it didn’t go away. A military flare hung in the sky, lighting the air above the vessels almost like sunlight.

Sam and Remi watched as the deck guns on the two Coast Guard vessels swung about to aim, then fire. The first two shots took away part of the bow of the Ibiza. The third tore into its hull just aft of center and seemed to hit the fuel tank. The deck rose into the air, releasing a fireball that billowed upward and then settled into a large pool of burning gasoline. The gasoline burned brightly, consuming even the parts that had been blown off into the water.

A second later, the bow of the Mazatlan dug into the water as the yacht was hit below the bridge. Forward motion stopped, and something big, perhaps one of the engines, tore free and rolled through the yacht, tearing it apart. Then there were five secondary explosions, which left nothing floating on the surface.

“It looks as though they hit the ammo supply,” said Remi.

The smaller, nimbler police boats moved in quickly, sweeping the ocean near the surf with spotlights. There was no life near the capsized lifeboats. The Coast Guard vessels sent out launches to the wreckage of the Mazatlan and Ibiza. Sam and Remi watched them circle the burning spots on the ocean, then crisscross the area, but there were no survivors to pull out of the sea. They had all been shot, blown to pieces, burned, or drowned.

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SAM AND REMI CLIMBED down the ladder from the roof into Sam’s closet to find Zoltan still standing there, watching to be sure nobody else came up after them. Remi knelt beside the big dog and hugged him. “If it weren’t for you, I never would have made it into the house, Zoltan. I’d be heading back to Russia in a barrel. Thank you for being so brave and loyal.”

Sam petted Zoltan and whispered in his ear, “Jo fiu. Good boy.”

They heard the voices of Selma, Pete, and Wendy calling to them. “Sam! Remi! The police! There must be hundreds of them. They’re here.”

“Oh, darn,” said Remi. “We wanted the police to be a surprise.”

Sam looked around. “We’re going to have to practically rebuild this place from scratch.”

“Draw the contractors a picture,” said Remi. “Maybe while they’re working on it we can give the others a vacation, take Zoltan down to Louisiana with us, and do some more salvage archaeology for Ray. We promised him some help when we left.”

“Sure,” said Sam. “What could happen to people on an archaeological site?”

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