He returned fire blindly through the window. A three-bullet burst. He smelled gas. A bullet must have pierced the stove’s propane tank.
“Gas leak,” he shouted. “Johnson, get out of there.”
Johnson stood up. Her gun was pointed at him.
Their eyes met for a second.
Justin hesitated, his finger on his pistol’s trigger.
“Drop the gun,” he shouted again.
“Or what? You’re going to kill me?”
Justin kept his eyes on Johnson.
Johnson blinked, then pulled the trigger.
The entire cabin exploded in a massive fireball. The blast threw Justin against the catamaran rail and overboard. He fell head first in the water six feet below.
The salt water flooded into his mouth. He was drowning, but his survival instinct kicked in. He pushed himself around and began to swim upwards, toward the surface. He came up above the water, almost out of breath. He spat and coughed, clearing his mouth and took a few deep breaths.
His face felt hot, very hot. The smell of smoke and burned flesh filled his nostrils. Floating debris from the explosion filled the water around him. Fire continued to eat away at the catamaran.
Justin began to swim toward the catamaran’s stern. He found it difficult to move his left arm, which slowed him down. His right leg also had developed a kink, right above the ankle. I must have injured it during the fall.
As he reached the stern, he clung to the ladder and struggled to climb up. Aboard the catamaran, it looked like a war zone. A pile of burning rubble stood in the place of the cabin. He saw a human leg sticking out from underneath the pile.
He heard water splashing on the other side. The man who had helped Johnson board the catamaran was struggling to stay above water.
“Help! Help!” he shouted.
Justin jumped into the water and swam fast to go to the man’s rescue.
“Relax, relax,” Justin said. “And breathe. I got you.”
The man’s head was bobbing in and out of the water.
“You’re gonna be OK. I got you.”
The man made eye contact with Justin and nodded. He stopped thrashing and began to dog paddle.
“I’m right behind you,” Justin said, approaching the man with caution. He was worried the drowning man would panic and drag them both under water. “Relax and swim. Yeah, like that.”
The man nodded. His head was staying above water, although he was breathing with difficulty.
Justin reached the man and placed his right arm under the man’s armpits. “Swim toward the boat. That way.”
A big wave covered them both. The man began to flail and kick. He slipped away from Justin’s arm and disappeared under water.
Justin dove in. He found the man three feet away and took hold of his arms, pulling him toward the surface. Once his head was above water, Justin let go.
The man spat out mouthfuls of water. He shouted and cried, beating his arms and kicking his feet.
Justin kept his distance, calling out to the man to calm down and swim.
Another wave splashed against them, but their heads stayed above water.
Justin drew near the man and attempted to rescue him again. The man was calmer this time. Justin locked his arms around the man’s body and slowly began to bring him toward the boat. The man almost slipped his grasp a couple of times, but Justin was able to hold on to him.
Five minutes later, Justin pulled the man aboard the catamaran. It took a big effort to climb each step of the ladder, but finally, they lay over the stern.
Justin leaned over the man still struggling with his breathing. His hair was singed, and his face and white shirt and shorts were blackened by the fiery explosion. Burnt marks marred his arms, and he was bleeding out of his left knee.
“How are you feeling?” Justin asked.
The man opened his eyes and looked around. He spat and coughed and spat again. “What… what happened here?” he asked between gasps.
“The cabin must have had the perfect mix of propane and oxygen. When she fired her pistol, a spark lit up the mixture.” Justin’s attention was glued to the human leg underneath the burning debris.
“I’ve… I called the police before the explosion,” the man said.
“I’ll call an ambulance and the firemen. We can still save your boat.” Justin gave him a tired look. “If there’s still a phone somewhere around here.”
The man’s breathing was calmer, more regular. He was going to make it.
Justin stood up and gazed at the shoreline. Then he walked over and looked at Johnson’s body buried under the rubble.
“I wish it ended differently,” was all he said.
Epilogue
Justin was not sure if McClain had planned a scolding session about the gunfire in the famous Spanish tourist beach, the explosion aboard the catamaran, or both. He was bracing for a fierce lashing as he entered McClain’s office. The last time he was here, he got away with a light slap on the wrist. He feared he had played all his good cards with McClain.
He was surprised and pleased to find his boss in a cheerful mood. McClain invited him to sit on a comfortable chair across his large desk.
“You’re probably wondering about the Spanish investigation,” McClain said after they exchanged pleasantries. “You will be glad to hear they’ve decided to close the case.”
Justin nodded. The Spanish police had made him slightly nervous when they briefly arrested him, claiming they were going to keep him locked up until his trial. That was before they verified his credentials and his status as a Canadian diplomat.
“They chose to believe the version of self-defense,” McClain continued, his eyes focused on Justin’s face. “Though we both know it was far from it.”
“I’m not in the habit of shooting my bosses, former or current,” Justin replied, trying to lighten up the situation. “Well, unless they betray their country and unleash a horde of terrorists after me.”
McClain frowned. “The Spanish did us, well, you, a favor. These things can’t happen again on their soil. Unauthorized shootings and killings. I gave them my word. I’m not in the habit of breaking it.”
Justin nodded. “These will not happen again, sir,” he said, although they both knew he could not promise that would be the case.
“Was there another way to bring Johnson in?”
Justin hesitated. “Perhaps. But she left me with no options.” His voice turned low, his face grew dark. “I saw it in her eyes, just before the final shot. She knew what she was doing. She had decided she was not coming in alive. Even in her final act, she tried to kill us both.”
McClain nodded.
“She didn’t want a trial,” Justin continued, “the bad press, the shame, the humiliation of being convicted as a traitor. In this way, we have only allegations.”
“Yes. Her family and her friends will never learn the truth. But at least she’s no longer a threat. We’re no longer bleeding secrets to our enemies.”
Justin shifted uncomfortably in his seat. “Any intel she may have stolen and given to someone else?”
McClain shrugged. “Not as far as we know. But we can’t exclude the possibility.”
Justin bit his lip and did not say anything.
“What exactly happened to Nathan? In your report you said he was wounded and unable to take part in the chase.” McClain picked up a brown folder from his desk.
Justin smiled. “Yeah, didn’t want to embarrass him. Johnson’s bodyguard was waiting in our hotel suite. He knocked out Nathan when he realized he was not me. When he woke up, Nathan found himself handcuffed to his bed post.”