When he got to the boat he saw the soft glow of the small light at the wheel, but there was no sound of radio music from Billy’s shortwave set. He stopped before going over the side but heard no sounds at all. That wasn’t like Billy. Leaving the boat unattended in times like these would be unthinkable to the Carib.
And suddenly Hooker realized that he was tired. He had let his guard down and filled his mind with other thoughts, and before he could make his next move, he felt the cold nose of a gun barrel touch his neck and knew it was being held at arm’s length by somebody who knew what he was doing. This guy wasn’t leaving room for his victim to spin and hit him.
The stacked pile of crab traps had hidden the waiting figure, and stupidly Hooker had unconsciously walked close. The sand had muffled any footsteps, but the metal of a gun against his skin made everything very real.
The voice behind him said, “Put your hands on your head.”
Mako knew who it was. He remembered it from the first time he heard it. The little slob who had planted the bomb on his boat earlier now was planting one on him. Without using any names Hooker said, “Where’s Billy?”
Gary Foster said, “You’ll see him soon enough.” The gun pressed harder against his skin. “Just keep going south. Try anything funny and you die right on the spot. Stay right along the waterline until I tell you to stop.”
He was back in the real game now. The guns were out and his run was for keeps. The new dog had just nailed the old mutt but hadn’t put his teeth into him yet. This kill was something the young pup was going to savor and he was going to do it right, not letting the big, shaggy mongrel who was stumbling along in front of him get one chance to make a surprise move and capture the fatal edge. There comes a time when old dogs have to die and let the new slashers lead the pack.
In the darkness Gary Foster couldn’t read Mako’s face at all, but Mako knew that he was thinking. The advantage was all his because he had the gun on Mako’s neck. But it was an unnatural stance to take, his forearm stretched out, not realizing that the intended victim was thinking too, and the old dog wasn’t new to this situation either. He’d play it cool, not letting Foster generate any sudden hatred and start blasting before he had had his turn at bat.
So he played the intimidated old dog, a little scared and feeling very stupid for letting himself be nailed like this. His feet were hesitant and he let his chest heave as though the exertion was almost too much for him, nearly stopping once, fatigued, until a nudge of the gun barrel urged him forward.
It was a game he didn’t like, but it was taking him closer to Billy, wherever that was, and to the final end of things. And there was where it all would really stop.
He saw the inflatable from Lotusland before Foster told him to hold it. Another nudge and he was at the side of the boat, and when Gary Foster clicked the switch on the small flashlight he had two seconds to see Billy sprawled on the floor of the boat, his head a bloody mess, swelling his features. For a second he thought Billy was dead, then he saw the tiny bubbles foaming at his mouth and knew he was still alive.
A cold rage came to Mako, but it wasn’t blind. It was cool and very calculating. He knew what was coming next, and when Foster told him to put his hands behind his back he didn’t wait for the gun to smash him into obedience but put his hands there, his wrists crossed, his head drooping humbly, and felt Foster slap the duct tape around them twice before ripping the tape off the spool.
Gary said, “Get in there,” and let the light hit the boat briefly. Mako stepped over the huge bulbous side of the inflatable, caught his toe on the safety rope that ran around the side and fell on his back right across Billy’s legs.
He went to shift himself into an upright position and Gary snarled, “You stay there. You’re not going to hurt your friend any. Hell, he might even die before we get where we’re going.”
So Hooker stayed put, exactly where he wanted to be. His hands were out of sight and Foster never knew he had positioned his wrists to give him enough slack to get free without too much trouble. Then Foster stepped past him and sat down beside the outboard engine and by then Mako was loose without anyone knowing about it.
While Foster was starting the big Japanese motor, Mako’s hands made a quick exploratory move and touched Billy’s ankle. The slob Foster was a typical city-bred foreigner. Billy, like all fishermen, always had a sheath knife on his belt. Foster would have snagged that one away before he clobbered the Carib. But Billy had another one. He kept it on his ankle, a reserve line cutter in case he was dragged over the side by a marlin.
Now Mako had it in his hand.
The big Japanese motor had a soft sound, not like the roar Americans seemed to relish. Gary Foster sat at the wheel, glancing at the instrument panel until he was set on course. The light was dim, but Mako was beginning to get his night vision back and he could see the gun still in Gary’s hand.
Now was when he had to initiate a conversation: Foster would want to brag about the conquest. The world wouldn’t ever know of it, but Mako would hear his gloating and that would be enough.
It sounded trite when he said, “Where are you taking us?”
Foster’s giggle had a childish quality to it. “Like the man said in the movies, for a long, quiet ride.”
Mako brought his knees up as if he were going to stand and Gary waved the gun at him. “Stay put, smart guy. I could shoot you and put all the holes I wanted to in the sides of this boat. This isn’t air-filled. It’s a rigid baby and everything’s packed with flotation.”
“They’re gonna miss us, Foster.”
Again, that giggle. “Man, they’re never going to find you. Hell, you think I’m an idiot or something?”
“Why you doing this, anyway?” Mako demanded helplessly.
Gary checked his instruments before answering, then said, “Because me and Pell are gonna be partners, that’s why. I missed taking you two out once before, but not this time, buddy, not this time. Now you’ll just disappear like smoke.”
Underneath Mako Billy let out a low moan and said something in his own language. Foster grunted, “He sure got a hard head, that one. I thought I had him down for good.”
“What’ve you got against him? He’s just a native fisherman.”
“He works for you and that’s enough.”
“You just can’t kill us and...”
“That’s just what I’m going to do. And let me tell you something. I could kill you here and now or let you sweat a little while. It don’t matter. The sharks will be waiting when we get there and no parts of you will be floating back to shore.”
“What sharks?”
“I got a sealed barrel floating out there loaded with fish guts and blood and an explosive timer. When I touch the detonator button here, that place will be alive with sharks minutes later and you two can have a good swim.”
Mako knew Foster was grinning at him. He couldn’t see his face, but he knew it and said, “What’s so damn funny?”
“I’m trying to think how I’m going to shoot you. I don’t want the whole boat all bloody, but you got to be still while I throw you over.”
“How’re you going to explain the holes in the canvas?”
“Who cares? This hull has a mess of patches on it now. Besides, when it gets back it’ll be scuttled.”
Under him Billy was moving and Mako heard him groan. “Let me get off this guy.”
“Sure,” Gary said sneeringly, “but move slow and easy. You’re gonna die and damn well know it, but I hold all the cards and you don’t want to die too soon. So, play it cool, man, play it cool.”
Very easily, Mako squirmed off the form of Billy and heard a sigh of relief bubble through his lips. Then he felt a tap on his leg. Billy had been out, all right, but not out that much, and he didn’t want Gary to know it.