“Got it.”
He looked in her eyes. It was her first SOU bust. “It’ll unroll fast,” he said. “Remember, when I click my light on, let them regis-ter me first, let them start thinking it’s one guy, then we’ll hit them with another light. All we have to do is hold them.” But now, he saw a police unit slow to a stop up in the parking lot, lights off. Two officers got out quickly and then looked confused about where to go. They started one direction and stopped, as if afraid they were going to make a mistake. He pointed them out to Roberts. “I’ll go get those two. Wait here.”
He made his way back to the officers and led them down to wait behind a fish wholesaler’s shed. Roberts would come in with him and the officers would follow. He worked back to her, adrena-line running now. “Let’s go, but let me lead.”
Marquez started the walk, his shoes making a quiet rhythm on the dock. He saw them pick up on the sound, then clicked on his flashlight and Roberts did the same. He held his ID chest high and said, “Fish and Game, gentlemen,” as he reached the Condor. “Who’s captain of this boat?” Heinemann pointed at Bailey. “Captain, we’re going to board your boat and look at what you’re moving.”
The Sausalito cops started toward them. Marquez had hoped for four Sausalito officers, but the pursuit in town meant the two would be the only backup. That was okay, except he could feel a problem starting. The lights went off on the Emily Jane. Two of the men disappeared in the darkness, though they had to be in the cabin. Marquez moved alongside the Emily Jane searching for the third man as Roberts boarded the Condor and called, “Abalone, Lieutenant.” She’d opened an urchin bag and he knew she was doing a quick count so she could arrest Bailey and Heinemann.
Marquez searched the Emily Jane with his flashlight, yelling to the men on board that he was Fish and Game and to shut their engines down and come out. When nothing happened he knew they had a problem. He saw the boat was only held by one moor-ing line and looked for another on board, figured he’d tie it off. He watched for movement, called out again, “Shut your engines down, now, gentlemen.”
The third man must be hiding around the starboard side. Marquez didn’t pull his gun yet, but he freed the clasp now so he could pull it easily, and behind him, he heard Bailey coaxing Heinemann, making a point to be heard. “Come on, man, it’s fuck-ing Gamers. We’ve got to roll with it.”
Roberts was back on the dock, telling Heinemann and Bailey they were under arrest when a squat man appeared on the stern of the Emily Jane and walked toward Marquez holding his hands up, talking as he got closer.
“Hey, man, what’s up? What’s the problem?”
“This is a bust, come down off the boat.” Marquez shined his flashlight on his badge while the cops kept their lights on the boat cabin. “Fish and Game.”
“Okay, Fish and Game, what’s the problem?”
“The catch you’re transferring from your friend here.”
Roberts had handcuffs out and Marquez kept his eyes focused on the boat cabin, looking past the man getting off the Emily Jane. The other two had to be lying down inside the cabin. Where else could they be? There was scuffling behind him and he turned to see Bailey pounding down the dock. He’d broken free of the officer who’d gripped his arm and had run. One of the Sausalito cops was chasing and Heinemann used the moment to break in the other direction, knocking Roberts down as he passed, straight-arming her at the collar and springing toward the Emily Jane. Heinemann scrambled aboard as the man who’d climbed down had a knife out now and was slashing at the mooring line. He’d all but cut through it by the time Marquez got his gun out, disarmed him, and had him facedown on the dock with his arms out. Marquez called to Roberts and then slid the knife away with his foot. He turned to check Roberts’s position and the cops chasing Bailey.
Roberts had leapt on board the Emily Jane and the boat had clunked into reverse, engines gunning, snapping what remained of the mooring rope. Marquez yelled at her to jump, but she was trying to handcuff Heinemann and didn’t hear him above the diesels. He had to make a decision and left the man lying on the dock and went for the Emily Jane before it left with Roberts.
When he jumped he caught just enough rail to hang on, hoist himself over, and then aimed his gun at a man who stood under the deck light holding a sawed shotgun on Roberts. Marquez ordered him to drop the weapon, but the man didn’t flinch, didn’t move the gun from Roberts.
“Drop it, now,” Marquez yelled. “It isn’t worth it. You’re sur-rounded. Lay the weapon down.”
Marquez was within fifteen feet before the man said, “Not another step, fucker.”
His grip on the shotgun was tight and Marquez knew he was thinking about emptying a barrel into Roberts and swinging the gun his way.
“You might kill her, but I’ll empty a clip into you before you can get to me. Drop the gun,” he yelled over the engines.
“There’s a man coming up behind you, Lieutenant,” Roberts called, and Marquez registered him without taking his aim from the man with the shotgun. “He’s got a gun.”
“Fucking right, I’ve got a gun,” the man yelled, and Marquez couldn’t risk turning to look at him. “In the water if you want to live.” Marquez figured he must have jammed something in the wheel to keep the boat going straight. “Hey, pig, you listening to me?” He fired a burst and Marquez heard the bullets whang off metal above his head. “Go, now-now, or you’re gone. You’re both dead fuckers if you don’t jump.”
“We’re going to jump,” Marquez called to the man in front of him. “Tell your friend to hold steady and no one will get killed.” He still held his gun on the man and kept moving toward Roberts, said quickly to her, “We’re out of here. Jump now and I’m behind you.”
“Not before you, Lieutenant.”
He pushed her backwards, shielding her body as he did. Roberts disappeared over the rail. He heard a splash and took a long look at the man with the shotgun, kept his gun on him as he climbed over the rail, started to turn to look at the other man and heard, “You look at me and I’m blowing your head off.”
He looked anyway before falling away from the boat. Their eyes met and he had the face forever, then was backwards into the darkness.
13
Marquez kicked his shoes off and surfaced, treading water while still holding his gun. What he didn’t want to do was lose anything more, and what he felt was humiliation and anger. Fear of getting shot had left him as he hit the water. Now, he was cold and the heavy ballistic and tech vests dragged at him. The boat was moving away and they’d have to fight the current and swim to shore. He managed to holster the gun and started swim-ming toward Roberts. Chest-tightening cold was already working on him. He yelled to her. She yelled back and he couldn’t make out the words. He saved his badge, managed to get it in a pocket and then let the tech vest slide and peeled his shirt, wrapped his shoulder holster around a forearm and got the ballistics vest off.
Then he swam steadily toward her. They had to get to the Coast Guard and the Marlin. They had to reach shore. The Emily Jane was running fast without lights and when he checked again he had to find the moon’s reflection on the wake and followed that to the dark shape of the boat sweeping toward the Golden Gate. Roberts waited for him. She said the cold was no problem and they angled for shore, Roberts leading.