Okay, maybe not so okay.
“Yeah,” Randy said, clearing his throat when it came out as a croak. “Yeah. I’m uh, teaching the guys how to drive.”
“Can I ride in boat?” Martya asked. “They look very fun.”
Randy had heard the question plenty of times, including from girls as young as this one. And he’d taken a few out, including quite a few that were significantly… okay, not much older. Because there was very little that could get a girl going as much as taking a ride in a boat that went very fast.
“Uhm, maybe later,” he said. “We’re doing an exercise tonight.”
“Okay,” Martya said, picking up the plates. “I hold you to that. You have to give me ride.”
“Oh, I’d love to give you a ride,” Randy muttered. “In about… three years. And assuming your Kildar doesn’t mind.”
“That one,” Vil said, grinning, “the Kildar would mind. But that brunette over there…” he added, pointing…
“That brunette what?” Stella said, leaning over the back of the chair and blowing in his ear.
Vil leaned into his wife’s head for a moment and just breathed.
“Can you believe it?” she asked, sliding over the couch and taking Martya’s place. “We have a bedroom all to ourselves!”
“Really?” Vil said, grinning.
“Really,” Stella replied. “Oh, the room is small and the bed smaller, but I don’t think that will be an issue.”
“Sorry, Randy,” Vil said, looking at the instructor. “My wife, Stella. Stella, Randy Holterman.”
“You’re the man who’s trying to kill my husband, yes?” Stella asked. She’d stretched across the length of the remaining couch, her feet up on the top, resting most of her weight on Vil.
“Trying to keep him alive,” Randy said. “Pleasure to meet you, Mrs. Mahona.”
“Mother Stella soon,” Stella said, smiling and patting her tummy. “But not Mother Mahona for many years I think.”
“Our clan names are complicated,” Vil said, shrugging. “Mrs. Mahona is sort of correct and… sort of not.”
“I’m figuring that out,” Randy said. “I’m glad you guys are okay with first names.”
Martya came back and pouted, looking at her seat.
“You can sit on Randy’s lap,” Vil said, gesturing.
“Okay,” the fifteen-year-old said, plopping down and wiggling to get comfortable. Or for some reason.
“Oh, thanks so much, Vil,” Randy said, grimacing.
“As I was saying,” Vil continued, “about Illya…”
“What were you saying about Mopsy?” Martya asked, her eyes narrowing.
“I was just saying that if Randy was interested in a… companion for the evening,” Vil said, grinning. “As he’s assuredly going to need one after you’re done with him, minx.”
“Flopsy, Mopsy and Cottontail,” Martya said, giggling. “I didn’t understand it until I read the story.”
“Shhhh,” Stella said, her finger to her lips. “We don’t speak of Cottontail.”
“So how is she?” Vil asked.
“Getting screwed and beaten as usual,” Stella said, sighing. “Doing very well, in other words.”
“Jeeze,” Mike said. “Greznya, Stella and Irina are here. Who’s holding down the shop?”
“Olga,” Daria said, leaning past him and pulling out another beer. “Greznya is going to go relieve her in a bit.”
“What’s the word on Vanner and Adams?” Mike asked.
“Vanner is out of ICU and under observation,” Daria said. “He’s doing fine but still unconscious. Adams is ready to be released.”
“That’s your first run, then,” Mike said, looking at Thomas. “Take… Daria and part of Oleg’s team over to Miami and pick up my wayward second in command.”
“He get arrested by the shore patrol?” Thomas asked, grinning.
“No, actually,” Mike said. “He got shot up by either some Colombians or terrorists who were aiming for me.”
“Shit,” Chatham said. “Sorry.”
“Not a problem,” Mike said.
“That’s something that Greznya wants to talk to you about,” Britney interjected.
Mike looked at Chatham, then shrugged.
“Go.”
“The answer is Colombians.”
“Now that’s damned interesting,” Mike said. “Dash my eyes if it’s not.”
“You’re hanging out with Brits too much,” Britney said, rolling her eyes. “And there’s more. Florida State Patrol pulled over two Colombian mules. Regular drug stop. But, lo and behold, what did they find?”
“A blue barrel?” Mike asked, raising an eyebrow.
“No,” Britney said. “But close. Heroin. Very high quality. Damned near pure. And the mules were known associates of your friend.”
“Oh, that explains so much,” Mike said, looking at the far wall.
“Not to me,” Chatham said, taking a sip of beer.
“No, it wouldn’t,” Mike said, still looking into the distance. “And, sorry, it must remain a mystery. Thomas, are any of your pilots current in, oh, something along the lines of the Beaver?”
“The amphib or land version?” Thomas said, winking. “Yes, as a matter of fact, I am. Know Beavers well, wet or dry.”
“Daria, dear?” Mike said.
“Find a Beaver for rent,” she said. “Somewhere in South Florida or the Bahamas. Can it wait until after the party?”
“Assuredly,” Mike said, watching Vil and Randy get up to leave. “And we’ll have to keep the party running long into the night, apparently.”
“Can I ask one thing?” Daria asked.
“Sure.”
“What is a Beaver?”
She seemed rather pissed when both the men snorted in unison.
“See the buoy?” Randy yelled.
“Yes,” Vil shouted back. But he had to admit that seeing it was only half the problem.
Night vision goggles are wonderful things but they have one serious flaw; they give the user virtually no depth perception.
The trick to getting some idea of range is called “pointing.” Effectively, the NVG user moves his or her head from side to side, getting a slight angle on the scene with each “point.” The problem being that while that is hard to do in, say, a low-flying helicopter, it’s much harder in a fast-moving boat. The motion of the boat throws the head around to such an extent that it’s nearly impossible for the brain to process the images. Vil knew the technique; he’d sometimes practiced it in combat training on land. But he was finding it hard to manage even though there were virtually no waves.
He had to guess the point to make the turn and very nearly crashed into the buoy, swerving only at the last minute. And this wasn’t even full speed.
“Don’t worry about it,” Randy yelled. “I don’t know many FAST drivers that can manage real high speed at night. Not in tight quarters. It’s more art than science. Swing it around and try again…”
Two hours later the group of boats was gathered by the rock circuit.
“Okay,” Randy said, calling across to the group. They’d turned their navigation lights off, which was a huge no-no, but they had to have time for their eyes to dark adapt. “We are not going to take this at high speeds. You’re going to find it hard enough to do at low speeds. You’ll each do it twice, low speed first then slightly faster. Vil?”
“Okay,” Vil said, glaring at the view. Almost none of the clues that showed where rocks were by day were apparent at night. In the fuzzy image of the goggles he could barely see the ripples on the water’s surface. But he engaged the power and started forward. Suddenly he realized the rock that had nearly gotten him the first time, the one that had been on the left side, was right in front of him. He was sure it was the same rock. He turned right, nearly clipping the rock, then back to the left only to have another one confront him. He couldn’t see far enough ahead to figure out a route. He slowed down more, picking his way through the rocks.