"That writer put that in to make it more interesting," John explained.
"Yeah," Harry said. "We told him how the cabin could be configured, and he wrote it up like we had already done it."
"Do you want to take it out for a run?" John asked.
"Yeah," Brannigan said. "That'd be a good idea."
"Yeah" Dawkins agreed. "Let's see her go with a wide-open throttle."
Jim Cruiser asked, "Can you do that on the river?"
Harry shook his head. "We got in trouble for that. Not only the police but the Wildlife Management issued us citations. But we can go out through the locks at Port Canaveral and let her rip on the ocean."
"Let's do it," Brannigan said.
Harry leaped on the dock to untie the bow and stern lines, then jumped back aboard. "All set, John."
John went to the controls, opened the throttle, and punched the starter button. The engine immediately roared into life, then settled back into a steady rumble as the throttle was brought back to a rearward position. Harry picked up an old ten-foot oar that lay on the deck. "We're thinking about adding thrusters to the hull configuration, but I'll have to use this in the meantime."
He set the blade of the oar against the dock and pushed, causing the craft to move out into the waterway. At that point, John took off the clutch to activate the lift fan and the ACV shook a bit as it rose off the water's surface. When the airscrews were powered up, the vehicle moved slowly forward toward the outlet that led to the Indian River. The old salt Senior Chief Dawkins noted that the ride was smooth and gentle, giving evidence of an incredible amount of control.
When they reached the river, John eased out into a position between the channel markers, then turned south. He sped up at the end of the maneuver and began traveling at thirty miles an hour.
Brannigan looked at the bare area where the instrumentation should have been. "Don't you have a speedometer?"
"We haven't bothered with that yet," Harry explained. "We estimated our top speed by running from a condo we know in Cape Canaveral down to the Doubletree Hotel in Cocoa Beach. It's a distance of one and a half miles. We made it in a little less than sixty seconds."
"That's ninety miles an hour or a bit more," Cruiser remarked.
"Right," John said. "When we get some serious offers, we'll install the correct instrumentation to get accurate, scientific measurements."
They continued on the route, being careful to stay in the channel. After ten minutes, John turned the Waterflyer toward the Barge Canal, which connected the Indian and Banana Rivers. He had to slow down considerably because of the manatee warning signs that limited both speed and wake in an effort to keep boats from colliding with the large, slow mammals. They went under the Christa McAuliffe Memorial Bridge, continuing on past Sykes Creek and down the canal until they reached the Banana River.
As they drew closer to the locks, Harry pulled a handheld radio out of a backpack hanging on the bulkhead. He raised the lock authority to make arrangements to pass through. The SEALs had a little trouble figuring out what sort of communication device it was. Harry noticed their curiosity. "John and I designed and built the radio," Harry said. "It works fine."
"But still another goddamn project we couldn't sell," John said with a laugh.
The trip took them past Port Canaveral and out into the Atlantic Ocean. Now John eased the course to ninety degrees to go due east off the Space Coast. He pushed the speed up for a quarter of an hour before wheeling starboard to face 180 degrees.
"Open it up, John!" Harry yelled happily.
"Wait a minute!" Dawkins interjected. "Isn't there anything to hang onto?"
"You won't need it," John said as he pushed the throttle to a wide-open position.
The Waterflyer eased into the run, quickly and steadily gaining forward momentum. Within moments it was at flank speed as Harry grinned proudly at their passengers. "Isn't it beautiful, gentlemen?"
"My God!" Brannigan said. They stood as steady as if they were still tied up to the dock. "This thing is fantastic."
The ACV roared across the choppy waves without a waver. John made some turning maneuvers, including a figure-eight, then zigged and zagged both gently and violently. After a few minutes he eased back on the throttle. "Any of you want to try it?"
"I'm pulling rank," Brannigan announced. "I'll go first."
'That's pretty chickenshit, sir," Dawkins complained.
"I agree!" Cruiser said.
"RHIP!" Brannigan crowed as he hit the throttle.
Harry leaned close to his brother's ear. "I think we got a sale!"
Chapter 2.
INDIAN OCEAN
VICINITY OF 15deg NORTH AND 70deg EAST
9 SEPTEMBER
1000 H0URS LOCAL
THE freighter SS Jakarta of the Greater Sunda Shipping Line was hove to in the undulating waves as the Pakistani dhow Nijm Zarik pulled up alongside. The deep metallic popping of the smaller ship's engine was reversed for an instant, then cut off. Her scantily clad crewmen, stripped down in the merciless heat, threw lines up to waiting hands on the cargo vessel.
Captain Bacharahman Muharno of the Jakarta hollered down to the dhow's captain. "Peace be with you, brother."
"And with you," Captain Bashar Bashir called back. He was an incredibly thin old man with a long pointed beard. "I am Bashir."
"And I am Muharno," came the reply from the other, who was a heavyset man wearing a greasy merchant marine khaki uniform. "I bring you French mortars." Then he added, "At least that is what they tell me."
"Have you inspected the cargo?" Bashir asked in a worried tone.
"I have not," Muharno answered. 'The customer was very explicit about that. You will notice that the sealing wax around the crates is unbroken."
"That is good for both of us, brother," Bashir said in relief. "I fear I could not accept anything that had been opened."
"There are twelve crates," Muharno said. "Everything is proper and in order."
During the conversation between the two captains, the crew of the Jakarta had opened the forward hatch and lowered a cargo net into it. The crewmen below muscled two oblong crates into the device, then signaled for it to be hauled up.
Muharno turned as the crane motor came to life. The cables creaked through the pulleys and within moments the net appeared from the hold. The crane swung the load over the dhow and gently lowered it to the smaller vessel. The crewmen removed the crates and stacked them into place on the deck. The unobtrusive figure of Hafez Sabah, special agent of al-Mimkhalif, stood in front of the dhow's wheelhouse watching the operation. He was there to observe the first delivery he had arranged with Abduruddin Suhanto of the Greater Sunda Shipping Line. Sabah carefully noted the condition of each crate as it was lifted from the net.
Within a half hour, all twelve crates of mortars were placed in such a way as to evenly distribute their collective weight of half a ton. The two captains once again turned their attention to each other. "Our hold is now empty," Muharno reported.
"The shipment tallies correctly," Bashir said. "All is well."
"We will see you on the next trip."
"I look forward to it, brother," Bashir said. "May Allah watch over you."
"And over you. Farewell"
The lines were cast off the Jakarta, and the Nijm Zark's helmsman kicked his small ship's ancient engine into life, maneuvering away from the freighter. When the dhow was clear, he hit the throttle and turned onto the course for their next rendezvous, which would be off the coast of Pakistan.
Bashir joined Sabah by the starboard rail. The captain showed a wide-gapped, toothy grin. "I think this new system will work well for us, brother."