“Okay... so we’re halfway home?”
“We are,” which was true in terms of navigation.
She looked at the radar screen. “They seem closer.”
“They are.”
She didn’t comment.
We sat at the control console, side by side, looking through the bullet-pocked glass at the clearing sky. The sea was calming down and it was turning out to be a nice night.
It was 2:46 A.M. now, and if I could maintain twenty or twenty-five knots, and if the fuel held out, and if the Stenka didn’t get in firing range, we’d be okay for a mid-morning arrival at Charter Boat Row.
I heard something coming out of the speakers, then Bobby Darin started crooning, “Somewhere beyond the sea, somewhere waiting for me, my lover stands on golden sands...”
I would have preferred my Jay Z CD for morale boosting, but Jack wanted to use my CDs for skeet shooting.
So we cruised along, like this was a sunrise cruise, or a ship of fools singing in the dark.
I looked at my radar. The Stenka was closer, but I noticed that the Zhuk seemed a bit farther. Then, as I watched, the Zhuk changed course and took a southwesterly heading, toward the Cuban coast. I looked at the chart plotter. It seemed that if the Zhuk maintained his new heading, he’d sail into Matanzas Harbor. I assumed he had a fuel situation. Why else would anyone go to Matanzas? I mean, I’ve been there. The place sucks. But don’t miss the pharmacy museum.
Sara asked, “What’s happening?”
I explained, “The Zhuk has broken off the pursuit.” I added, “Must be low on fuel.”
“Good.” She added, in case I forgot, “God is looking out for us.”
“Ask him about the Stenka.”
Jack came into the cabin with my coffee and I advised him of the Zhuk’s change of course, and also asked him to play a CD that was recorded in this century.
He ignored that and said, “Maybe the Stenka is going to break off.”
I looked at the radar screen, but the Stenka held his course, and as I tightened the image, I estimated that he was about two miles behind us — and we were within range of his radar-controlled 30mm cannons.
I said to Jack, “Take the helm.”
I got up and retrieved the binoculars from a well on top of the console, then exited the cabin.
Sara called out, “Where are you going?”
“Be right back.”
I climbed the side rungs up the tuna tower and stood holding on to the padded bolster, which I felt had a hole through it. Jack was a lucky guy.
I focused the binocs on the horizon to the east. I couldn’t see the Stenka, but I saw his running lights, so he wasn’t running dark as we were, and there was no reason he should run dark; he was the meanest motherfucker on the water.
I kept looking at the lights on the horizon, then I saw the unmistakable flashes of rapidly firing guns. Holy shit! I called out, “Evasive action!”
I expected Jack to hesitate as he comprehended that order, but The Maine immediately cut hard to port, just as I heard the sound of large-caliber rounds streaking past the boat, then I saw them impacting into the sea and exploding where we would have been.
The Stenka captain wasn’t using tracer rounds, which he’d only use if he could see his target, and with the radar controlling his guns the only thing he wanted to see now was an explosion on the horizon. Meanwhile, I heard Bobby Darin belting out “Mack the Knife.”
The Maine cut to starboard, held course for a few seconds, then cut to port again. Jack was running a tight zigzag, which hopefully was too erratic for the radar-controlled guns to keep up with. But that didn’t stop the Stenka from trying, and I could see the guns on his forward deck lighting up, and now and then I saw the point of impact on the water where the multiple rounds hit and exploded, then I heard the faint sound of his guns, like rolling thunder on the horizon.
There was nothing more to see here, and I started to climb down the tower as The Maine kept changing course quickly at twenty-five knots, making the boat roll hard from side to side. I nearly lost my grip a few times, but I got down to the side rail and jumped onto the deck and shoulder-rolled to starboard with the deck, then rolled to port when The Maine quickly changed course.
I couldn’t stand, so I scrambled into the cabin on my hands and knees and pulled myself into the chair where Sara had been. I assumed Jack had ordered her below.
Jack was standing at the helm, so I let him keep the wheel because he seemed to know what he was doing, and what he was doing was cutting the throttle as he changed course, then opening the throttle, so he was varying our speed and our course at the same time. He was also singing a duet with Bobby Darin: “Oh, the shark, babe, has such teeth, dear, and he—”
“Jack, shut the fuck up!”
“Okay.”
I had no idea if the fire-control radar system was sophisticated enough to keep up with the changing target, but if those twin cannons were also employed as anti-aircraft weapons, they could react quickly. And yet we hadn’t been hit yet.
Jack glanced at me. “You got any suggestions?”
“Yeah. Don’t get hit.”
“Thanks.”
“I’ll take the helm.”
“I got the rhythm and I don’t want to lose it.”
“Okay... Tell me when you get tired.”
“We don’t have that long.”
All of a sudden, a deafening explosion cut through the noise of the sea and the engine, followed by another explosion that shook the boat and knocked me to the deck.
Jack shouted, “We’ve been hit!”
I could see down the steps, and saw smoke and fire in the lower cabin. I got to my feet, grabbed a flashlight and the fire extinguisher from the bulkhead, and charged down the steps into the smoke. The only good news was that the entertainment system was silent.
I didn’t see Sara or Felipe, but I did see that the galley was ablaze and I emptied the fire extinguisher at the flames, then grabbed the galley extinguisher and emptied that, which killed the fire. The smoke was thick, but I could see a gaping hole in the starboard hull of the lower cabin, and smoke coming through the door of the starboard stateroom where the second round must have hit. The wind was streaming in through the hole above the galley, dissipating the smoke, and I ran into the starboard stateroom, which was dark.
There was a six-inch hole in the hull above the berth, which was empty, but then my flashlight fell on Felipe, who was on the floor. I didn’t see blood and I saw his chest heaving, so I left the room and kicked open the door of the portside stateroom. Sara was curled up on the floor and I knelt beside her. “You okay?”
She looked up at me, eyes wide, but didn’t reply.
“Get a life vest on and come to the bottom of the stairs, but stay below until you hear from me. Understood?”
She nodded.
I was about to leave, but I asked her, “Where’s your Glock?”
She didn’t reply so I shined my light around the stateroom and saw the Glock on the berth. I didn’t want her using it on herself, so I took it and said, “Felipe is in the other stateroom. See if he needs help.” I added, “There’s a first aid kit on the bulkhead in the head — the bathroom. Okay?”
She nodded and started to get to her feet.
I left the stateroom, stood under the hatch, and emptied the Glock into the Plexiglas to vent the smoke.
I went up to the cabin where Jack was still standing at the helm, and I saw he was lighting a cigarette with his magical Zippo, while turning the wheel left and right. He asked, “How’s it look below?”
“Under control.”