"Right, no need for us to be concerned. Hartwell believes the terrorists may take the houseboat up to the dam and detonate the nuke."
Scott banked the Caravan toward the lake. "So we re supposed to baby-sit a possible nuclear bomb until the Feds get there?"
"That's the way I read it. I better call Wakefield and tell him we're on board — watchdogs for the evening."
When she signed off, Scott descended to 2,000 feet and soon located the houseboat. It was anchored a mile north of the entrance to the waterway leading to Hoover Dam. Other boats of various types were scattered around the area; some were under way, but most were anchored for the evening cocktail hour. Scott removed his sunglasses, placed them on the glare shield, and began a steeper descent.
"What do you think?" Jackie innocently asked. "What's our strategy going to be?"
"We'll land in the open space between number thirty-one and the shoreline, and then drop anchor for the night."
"Do you think that's too close, too obvious?"
"No," he said, setting up for the approach. "Floatplanes, most airplanes that operate from water, would go to shore or anchor close to it."
"I'm not so sure."
"We're supposed to be gathering information for our forthright pal, Wakefield. Can't do it well from a mile away."
"It's your call," she said, and tightened her straps.
He reduced power, checked to be sure the landing gear was retracted, lowered the first 10 degrees of flaps and then another 10 degrees, slowing through 150 knots, and the final 10 degrees at 125 knots. Maintaining a shallow descent rate, Scott continued to slow the big amphibian. He waited for the floats to make contact with the water and hauled back on the yoke as the Caravan settled onto the lake. He raised the flaps and deployed the water rudders. "Voila! We're a boat."
"Nicely done, I must admit."
"Got lucky."
He taxied to a position about 100 yards from shore and shut down the turboprop. He jumped out on the left float, opened the anchor locker, and then tossed the anchor into the water. Back inside the airplane, Scott went into the passenger cabin to observe the houseboat.
He began opening their large canvas bags. "Let's get the radio scanners going," he said, while Jackie retrieved the binoculars from the cockpit.
She took a seat in the cabin and began studying the suspicious houseboat. "I have a question."
"Shoot."
"You know more about boats than I do, but these people have three antennas and a satellite dish on the top deck." She handed him the binoculars. "Take a look."
He surveyed the houseboat from stem to stern, noting the antennas. "It does seem odd."
She activated the radio scanners, one for civilian aircraft VHF frequencies and the other for military aircraft UHF frequencies. They also monitored the VHF marine radio.
Scott observed a man who appeared to be preparing dinner in the galley A second man walked out on the bow deck. He was wearing casual Western-style clothes and had a thick dark beard. The last of the sunlight was directly on his face.
"Confirmed," Scott said.
"What?"
Scott moved the binoculars slowly, inspecting every inch of the houseboat. "At least one of them is Middle Eastern. Bet the other one is too."
"Can you see through the windows?"
"Not very well." He studied the man in the galley. "We may have better luck when it gets dark."
Carrying large round trays of food, the two men gathered on the forward deck to eat dinner. Occasionally smiling, they chatted quietly and constantly shifted their eyes. The sunlight glinted off something by the hatch leading to the galley area.
Scott focused on the entrance for a moment and then looked at Jackie. "Let s break out our weapons," he said matter-of-factly.
Her eyes grew large. "Our weapons?"
"Yes, they have at least one AK-47."
"We better get in touch with Wakefield," Jackie said, as she reached for the satellite phone. "I dont like this."
"WeVe been in tougher situations," Scott said, as he scrutinized the men.
"Yes," she said firmly, "but we weren't sitting ducks in an aluminum Spam can."
Scott forced a smile and stuffed his personal gmm Sig Sauer into a flap pocket on his hiking shorts. "You call Wakefield while I go outside to do a little fishing."
She stared at him for a moment. "Fishing! Are you crazy?"
He grabbed a fishing rod and paused by the cockpit door. "Tell Wakefield we need heavily armed law-enforcement types, lots of them, in boats at first light."
Jackie initiated the call.
Scott stuck his head back in the cabin. "How about joining me as soon as you re off the phone?"
She nodded and glanced at their weapons.
Scott eased his way down the strut and made himself comfortable on the big float. Using a spinner, he repeatedly cast and slowly reeled in the line. He never looked directly at the men on the houseboat, catching a glimpse of them only when he cocked his arm to cast.
Carrying her fishing rod, Jackie soon joined him on the wide Wipline float. She sat down and spoke in a whisper. "Wakefield is concerned, afraid they're going to take the houseboat up to the dam tonight."
"Is he rallying the troops?"
"He's working on it. He'll get back to us as soon as he can."
"You gave him our location?"
"Exact location — GPS and direct relation to the dam." She cast her line and absently let it sink. "He wants us to monitor these guys, let him know if they do anything strange, like prepare to get under way."
While they discussed their options, an arched pinkish band of twilight settled over the lake. The warm air was absolutely still and the water was like glass.
Scott propped his fishing rod against the struts and got to his feet. "I have to attach our all-around light pole."
"Need any help?"
"Thanks, but I've got it."
He retrieved the battery-operated antiglare recognition light from the cabin, stood in the cockpit door, and clamped it to one of the radio antennas. Scott glanced at the houseboat and saw the men cleaning the table on the forward deck. He turned on the bright light, climbed down, and sat next to Jackie. A few minutes later the men went inside their boat.
Jackie reeled her line in and set the rod next to her. "Maybe we should think about getting out of here, let Wakefield and his crowd deal with this situation."
"Well," he began in a hushed voice, "that would be my preference too."
She leaned close to him. "But it's too dark, right?"
"You got it." He reeled his line in for the last time. "Were not going to take a chance on hitting some idiot, anchored in the middle of the lake, who has his radio and lights turned off for the night."
"That makes sense," she said, and rose from the float. "I'll fix us a nice cold dinner if you'll open some of that vintage wine we picked up in Boulder City."
"With pleasure."
To save the aircraft electrical power, Scott positioned three flashlights in the cabin. He rigged a plastic screen made from large trash bags to separate the cockpit from the cabin. Periodically, he would enter the darkened cockpit, let his eyes adjust to the darkness, and then watch the houseboat. A few lights were on inside, but the mysterious men were nowhere in sight.
After dinner, Jackie and Scott sat on the port float. Shortly before ten o'clock, Wakefield called. Scott went into the cabin. The conversation was over in less than two minutes. He returned to the float and plopped down.
"What's the news?"
"They're going to be here in force in the morning."
"At daybreak?"
"Probably a little later, logistical problems."
"It figures." Jackie stared at the stars for a moment. "Do you think we should take off as soon as it gets light, give us an opportunity to get out of the line of fire?"
"That's certainly an attractive option." He put his arm around her shoulder. "We'll see what Wakefield's timetable is."