“Oh, fuck!” he said as he realized the anchor had just grabbed his chopper like a grappling hook. He jerked the stick forward to avoid being pulled from the sky.
Mad Mitch had the throttle wide open and was starting to catch air as he hit the crests of waves. The helicopter had to either match speed or run the risk of Mitchell pulling it into the water. It could come down on top of him for all he cared at that point.
After two days of constant abuse, it felt good to be able to strike out in anger and not feel bad about it. He kept the boat headed south. He could see the north end of the next city coming into view.
There was no way he was not going to attract attention with a helicopter tied to his stern. The advantage of that happening was that it would lead to a lot of questions that would be embarrassing for whomever was out to kill him. He was sure the guy that had jumped onto his boat and the pilot weren’t just a couple of assholes with a helicopter and rifle.
Mr. Travis was in an awkward situation. He tried to get over the boat and then gain altitude to try to snap the anchor cable. Physics wasn’t on his side. The helicopter had a lifting capacity of 900 pounds. The anchor rope had a tensile strength of 4,000 pounds.
Gaining altitude only raised the backend of the powerboat a few inches and increased his chances of crashing into the water. He opened up the sliding window on his door and aimed his pistol out the window.
Mad Mitch looked at the suicidal man and then turned the boat sharply to the right. The pilot had seconds to match course or get pulled down. Mr. Travis opted to match course. He also realized that shooting Mitchell wouldn’t help him get his helicopter loose from the boat. If anything, it might make matters worse if the boat ran aground.
He decided to try to wrap the rope around the boat. With any luck, it would get cut by the propellers. He brought the helicopter in a tight arc, bringing it alongside Mitchell in the driver’s seat. Mad Mitch looked over and flipped him off. The pilot pushed the throttle forward and brought the helicopter just inches off the water.
Mad Mitch looked back and saw the slack the helicopter pilot was building up. Mitchell had been water skiing enough times to know what the pilot was doing. Mad Mitch ran back and grabbed the end of the line near where it was tied off. He pulled the slack rope into the boat cockpit until it ran taut from the skid to Mad Mitch’s hand.
Mr. Travis brought the helicopter across the bow while hovering less than a foot over the water. He looked back to see if the rope went under the bow. Instead he saw Mad Mitch holding on to the slack and flipping him off again. He was grinning at him.
God damn punk! Furious, he pulled up on the stick, yanking the rope from Mad Mitch’s hands. Both he and Mad Mitch were so engaged in their back and forth that they failed to notice the Marine Patrol boat heading toward them or the Channel 11 news helicopter that was following.
Dozens of people had called 911 about the helicopter and the powerboat that were fighting on the Intracoastal.
The Channel 11 helicopter was heading south to get footage of the Park Square Mall when they saw the battle taking place. Emergency news coverage about Mitchell was interrupted by a special news bulletin about the helicopter and the speedboat. It took ten minutes before news anchors watching the feed realized that the man driving the boat was the same person the FBI was dredging the bottom of the South Bay for.
Police helicopters from two different jurisdictions and an FBI chopper were now in pursuit of Mad Mitch and his catch. A county sheriff’s boat had also started on an intercept course. Coast Guard cutters were moving into positions along all the ocean access points.
Mr. Travis looked down at Mad Mitch and the growing armada surrounding them both. He knew that the tail numbers were already being run and coming up as bogus. Voices in his headset demanded that he identify himself.
Part of him just wanted to ram the chopper right into the boat and kill them both. He was sure Mr. Lewis would be happy with that outcome. Unfortunately for Mr. Lewis and his employers, Mr. Travis didn’t have a death wish. He would wait for the right moment and jump into the water. With the right commotion, he might be able to slip away.
Mad Mitch looked at all the heat on him and decided there was no point in not making plans for when they finally forced him to stop. Mitchell took the handset for the VHF radio and shouted over the sound of the helicopter overhead.
50
Baylor was watching the unfolding drama of the helicopter hooked to Mitchell’s boat with a sense of dread. Reporters were trying to track down the helicopter’s owners. A quick search on the FAA website revealed the numbers on the tail were fake.
His phone rang with an unfamiliar number. “Hello?”
“It’s Lewis. We have a problem.”
“Please tell me you have nothing to do with that helicopter. Where are you?” said Baylor.
“I got picked up out of the water by a fisherman. I’m going to fix the problem. I need to know if the package is expendable.”
Baylor looked at the news chopper footage of the helicopter hovering over the boat as it raced down the Intracoastal. If the pilot made it away somehow, it wasn’t likely he would get very far. Although Baylor’s hire wouldn’t point directly back to him, the man was going to be in a position where he was likely to tell them everything he knew, which included Mr. Lewis and the package that was left on the helicopter.
“The package is expendable. After that, we need to salt the earth. I mean, you need to.”
“I understand,” said Mr. Lewis.
Mr. Travis was thinking about getting on his VHF radio and asking Marine Patrol why they hadn’t stopped Mitchell’s boat and cut him free. Maybe if he acted petulant enough, he could get away and find a place to bail out near a crowded area.
He could hear his phone ring through the connection to his headset. He answered.
“Mr. Travis, this is Mr. Lewis. It seems we have a problem.”
“God damn we have a problem! I was just supposed to be a taxi.” He looked out the window as almost the entire South Florida nautical and aviation law enforcement fleet gathered around his helicopter and the boat below.
“I left something on board in my bag that can probably help you. It’s an incendiary device. I’ll tell you how to activate it. When you drop it onto Roberts’ boat, it should cause a large enough fire to burn the rope. Once you do that and bail out in a safe place, I’ll call you to help you relocate.”
Mitchell was in the middle of explaining the new conditions for his surrender when the sound of the helicopter behind him changed pitch. He looked over his shoulder and saw the helicopter heading straight at him. The spinning blades were at eye level and starting to pass over the back of the stern.
Mitch jerked the wheel to the right and threw himself to the floor. He felt a jet of air push down on him as the rotors came inches away from the top of the deck. The helicopter skids scraped the left side of the boat before the helicopter nosedived into the water. Mitchell cowered as far down as he could when the tail rotor passed overhead and ripped apart the seat he’d been sitting on just moments before.
Mitch stood up to look at the wreckage and then heard a huge crack and was thrown forward with a jerk. He ducked back down and then realized that was the sound of the anchor rope tearing the anchor cleat from the stern.
He looked at the wreckage behind him. He could see a rage-filled face with bloodshot eyes pounding his fists and face against the glass cockpit bubble. How could the man even smell him? Mitchell was confused. He had no idea how it was possible the man in the chopper could have gotten his scent through the downdraft.