Neither of us spoke for a while, and in fact, the noise of the engines and the wind and sea made any talk difficult, which was okay with me.
Beth sat in the left seat and held the arms tightly as the boat pitched, rolled, yawed, and did everything else but spin and dive.
I remained standing at the wheel, braced against the seat. The wind blew through the shattered glass in front of me, and the rain sliced in from all angles. The fuel was low, I was cold, wet, exhausted, and very troubled by that image of Tobin doing that to Emma. Beth seemed strangely silent, almost catatonic, staring straight ahead at each onrushing wave.
Finally, she seemed to come alive, and looked back over her shoulder. Without a word, she got out of the chair and went to the rear of the boat. I glanced at her and saw her take up a kneeling position in the stern as she drew her 9mm. I looked out at the sea behind us, but saw only the walls of waves trailing the boat. Then, as the Formula rode up on a big wave, I could see the fly bridge of the Chris-Craft behind us again, not more than sixty feet away and closing fast. I made a decision and cut the throttles back, leaving only enough power to control the boat. Beth heard the engines rev down and glanced back at me, then nodded in understanding. She turned back toward the Chris-Craft and steadied her aim. We had to meet the beast.
Tobin had not noticed the sudden difference in relative speed and before he knew it, the Chris-Craft was less than twenty feet from the Formula, and he hadn't gotten his rifle into position. Before he did, Beth began a steady volley of fire at the dark figure at the window of the cabin. I watched all of this, dividing my time between keeping the bow of the Formula into the waves, and looking back to be sure Beth was okay.
Tobin seemed to disappear from the cabin, and I wondered if he'd been hit. But then, all of a sudden, the Chris-Craft spotlight, mounted on the bow, went on, illuminating the Formula and also revealing Beth kneeling in the stern. "Damn it." Beth was slipping her last magazine into the Glock, and Tobin was now back at the windshield, aiming the rifle with both hands and letting the wheel go.
I drew my.38, spun around, and jammed my back against the wheel to hold it as I tried to steady my aim. Tobin's rifle was pointing right at Beth from less than fifteen feet away.
For a half second, it seemed as if everything was frozen — both boats, Beth, Tobin, me, and the sea itself. I fired. The barrel of Tobin's rifle, which was clearly lined up on Beth, all of a sudden swung toward me and I saw the muzzle flash at about the same time that the Chris-Craft, with no hand on the helm, lurched to port, and Tobin's shot went wide. The Chris-Craft was now at right angles to the stern of the Formula, and I could see Tobin in the side window of the cabin. In fact, he saw me and we made eye contact. I fired three more rounds into the cabin and his side window shattered. When I looked again, he was gone.
I noticed now that trailing behind the Chris-Craft was the small Whaler that had been in the boathouse. I had no doubt now that Tobin intended to use the Whaler to land on Plum Island.
The Chris-Craft bobbed around aimlessly, and I could tell there was no one at the helm. Just as I was wondering if I'd hit him, his bow came around very deliberately, and the spotlight again illuminated us. Beth fired at the light, and on the third shot, it exploded in a shower of sparks and glass.
Tobin was not to be foiled, and he gunned the Chris-Craft's engines. His bow was closing on the stern of the Formula. He would have rammed us except that Beth had pulled the flare pistol from her pocket and fired it right into the windshield of the cabin cruiser's bridge. There was a blinding white explosion of phosphorus and the Chris-Craft veered off as Tobin, I imagined, let go of the helm real fast and dived for cover. In fact, maybe he was burned, blinded, or dead.
Beth was yelling, "Go! Go!"
I had already opened the throttles and the Formula was picking up speed.
I could see flames licking around the bridge of the Chris-Craft. Beth and I looked at one another, both wondering if maybe we'd gotten lucky. But as we watched Tobin's boat behind us, the flames seemed to subside. At a distance of about forty feet, we again heard the hailing horn crackle and again the little bastard had something to say.
"Corey! I'm coming for you! And for you, too, Ms. Bitch! I'll kill you both! I'll kill you!"
I said to Beth, "I think he means it."
"How dare he call me bitch."
"Well… of course he's just taunting you. He doesn't know you, so how can he know that you're a bitch? I mean, if you're a bitch."
"I know what you mean."
"Right."
"Haul ass, John. He's getting close again."
"Right." I gave it more throttle, but the extra speed made the Formula unstable. In fact, I hit an oncoming wave so hard the bow pitched up at too steep an angle, and I thought we were going to back-flip. I could hear Beth scream, and I thought she'd been pitched overboard, but when the boat came down, she rolled across the deck and dropped halfway down the companionway stairs before she came to a stop. She lay on the stairs, and I called out, "Are you okay?"
She got up on all fours and crawled up the companionway. "I'm all right…"
I cut back on the throttles and said, "Go below and take a break."
She shook her head and positioned herself between her seat and the dashboard. She said, "You watch for waves and channel markers. I'll watch for Tobin."
"Okay." I had the thought that maybe Beth was right, and I should try to circle around and come up behind him, rather than him coming up behind us again. Maybe if he was sitting in his nice dry cabin, he wouldn't see us and we could board him. But if he saw us, we'd be looking down the muzzle of that rifle again.
The only advantage we had was our speed, but as we saw, we couldn't take full advantage of it in this weather.
I said to Beth, "Nice going. Good thinking."
She didn't reply.
"Do you have any more signal flares?"
"Five more."
"Good."
"Not really. I lost the flare gun."
"Do you want to go back and try to find it?"
"I'm tired of your jokes."
"Me, too. But it's all we've got."
So, we continued on in silence, through the storm, which was getting worse if that were possible.
Finally, she said, "I thought I was dead."
I replied, "We can't let him get that close again."
She looked at me and said, "He passed me up to get you."
"That's the story of my life. Whenever somebody has only one shot, I'm the one they pick."
She almost smiled, then disappeared below. Less than a minute later, she came back and handed me another beer. She said, "Every time you do good, you get a beer."
"I don't have many tricks left. How many more beers do you have?"
'Two."
"That should work out."
I contemplated my options and realized I'd run out of most of them. There were only two possible harbors left now — the ferry slip at Orient Point and the cove at Plum Island. Orient Point was probably coming up to the left by now and Plum Island was two miles farther. I looked at the gas gauge. The needle was in the red but not yet touching E.
The sea was so bad now I couldn't even see the channel markers for long periods at a time. I knew that Tobin, sitting high in his cabin bridge, had a better view of the markers and of us. As I thought about that, it suddenly struck me that he must have radar — ship-hazard radar, which was how he'd found us. And he must also have a depth-finder, which made navigation much easier for him even if he lost sight of the channel markers. In short, the Sandra was no match for the Autumn Cold. "Damn it."
Every once in a while with increasing frequency, a wave broke over the bow or sides, and I could feel the Formula getting heavier. In fact, I was sure we were riding lower in the water. The extra weight was slowing us up and burning more gas. I realized that Tobin could overtake us at the speed we were going. I realized, too, that we were losing the battle against the sea as well as the naval engagement.