Sam ignored her jibe. Instead, he jammed on the brakes, coming to a complete stop in front of an old town grocery store.
“Everybody out!” he said.
A pedestrian in his eighties said, “Hey, you can’t park there! That’s a turning lane!”
Guinevere lifted the Remington 12-gauge shotgun. “I’d say our need is more important than their’s.”
The old man dipped his hat. “Right you are, ma’am. Right you are.”
Sam opened the door and stepped into the old town grocery. Guinevere and Caliburn moved quickly.
A black Range Rover pulled up.
Sam shut the door, locking it behind him.
“Which way?” Guinevere asked.
Sam said, “Keep going. It’s all the way at the back!”
Sam took the lead, guiding them past the Asian food section, deli, green grocer, and into the walk-in freezer.
Behind them, he heard the banging of someone breaking through the Plexiglas of the grocer’s locked front door.
Sam continued past the first four deep-freezers.
At the fourth one, he stopped and opened it up. Instead of frozen goods, the freezer had a ladder inside that appeared to lead deep into the basement area below.
He said, “You go first!”
Guinevere didn’t need to be told again. She climbed down the ladder at speed. Caliburn took more coaxing. The dog knew it was the only way out, but without thumbs it was pretty hard for a dog to climb down ladders.
The front door gave way.
Sam grabbed Caliburn. “I’m sorry, Cal… you need to get in there.”
He lifted the dog up into the opening and passed him to Guinevere. An instant later, he climbed in and closed the door to the fake deep freezer.
Sam flicked on a small flashlight from his keychain.
It was a secret basement. To the south was another door, leading to the old grocer’s neighbor’s basement, and so on until the chain of basements formed a secret passageway all the way to the docks of the Willamette River to form the Old Portland Underground — better known locally as the Shanghai Tunnels.
They were originally built to move goods from the ships docked on the Willamette to the basement storage areas, allowing businesses to avoid streetcar and train traffic on the streets when delivering their goods.
Some believe that during Prohibition they were used by organized crime syndicates to move liquor, and even earlier still, they were used to Shanghai sailors.
Sam had no idea if any of the passageways’ alleged illegal history was true, but he knew up until recently his good friend Terry had used the passageway in the transfer of illegal weapons into and out of the USA.
At the end of the Shanghai Tunnels, they reached a small dockyard beside the Burnside Bridge. Tied up to the jetty were high speed military jetboats. They looked like they were there for a demonstration and not for active duty.
A single Marine stood post and guarded the two vessels.
Guinevere said, “You didn’t mention we needed to steal our getaway boat from the Navy!”
“I didn’t know,” Sam said. His eyes drifted to the last door, which opened up at the base of the Shanghai Tunnels. A camouflaged creature appeared to open it. “Time’s up, Guinevere. We take that boat, or it’s all over.”
From the bridge, several men in balaclavas approached, each one carrying a machinegun. Most likely more mercenaries. Ex-special forces, the same as those who’d attacked them the day before at Powell’s.
It was just the right amount of incentive to force them to steal an American Navy vessel and suffer the consequence.
Guinevere reached her decision first.
She brought the barrel of the Remington shotgun up to aim at the guard. “I’m sorry, but we’re going to need to take your boat.”
Chapter Fifty
Sam switched the twin jet engines on. They roared into life. Guinevere released the mooring lines, and Sam threw both throttles into the fully open position. Sam and Guinevere held on, as the jet propulsion system brought the fast attack boat up onto the aquaplane. He steered the boat north along the Willamette River, toward the Columbia junction.
Behind them, the camouflaged mercenaries jumped onto the second Navy vessel — a large inflatable boarding boat with oversized outboard motors — threw off its mooring lines, and raced after them. The black Range Rover took off again, its unseen driver heading north toward the Columbia River.
The two Navy boats were evenly matched in terms of speed. Both sat high up on the aquaplane, skimming the surface of the water.
Sam overtook a large cargo ship.
Behind them, the rat-a-tat-tat of machinegun fire confirmed that their pursuers had begun shooting at them. Their bullets raked the water several feet behind their stern. Their attackers quickly corrected their aim, and the rounds started to ineffectively rip into the jetboat’s armored stern.
Sam drove on, swerving back and forth erratically, trying to make it difficult for their pursuers to get an accurate lock on them. He darted in between two cargo ships, one heading to port and one out to sea. He slipped into the narrow corridor, taking refuge in the lee of the inward bound cargo ship, and the shots from their attackers went quiet for a few minutes.
When they came out the opposite side of the cargo ship, their attackers were ready to greet them, firing another scattering of machinegun rounds into their hull.
They came out into the Columbia River, and turned south to head upriver.
Guinevere said, “You know this thing’s designed for speed more than defense. Only its stern is well armored. A lucky shot here or there, and we’re dead.”
Sam nodded. “I know. You got a plan, Guinevere?”
“Yeah, as a matter of fact, I do,” she replied. “Do you see that ship up ahead?”
Sam saw it. A slow-moving construction barge carrying concrete pylons stacked twenty feet into the air. “Yeah?”
“Do you think you could get to the left of it, and as soon as we’re hidden from our attacker’s view, circle round and come back the other way?”
Sam said, “I could do it. But I’m not sure why we’d want to. We don’t want to head deeper into the Willamette River.”
“That’s my intention. I’m talking about getting behind our friends in that rubber boarding boat.”
Sam grinned. “You want to hit them from behind?”
“Yes, I do.”
“All right,” Sam said. “I’m game if you are.”
Caliburn barked.
Guinevere reloaded the Remington shotgun and took cover at the starboard passenger window, aiming outside.
Sam swung the jetboat to port, heading behind the barge. As soon as he was concealed by the massive concrete pylons, he swung the helm to full left wheel-lock. The jetboat turned sharply, like it was on the rails of a rollercoaster, centrifugal force jamming them into their seats, until they were pointing in the opposite direction.
He straightened the wheel, and the jetboat shot out behind the barge.
Guinevere pointed at the rubber boarding vessel up ahead. “Get me closer!”
Sam obliged, making a bee-line for the other Navy boat, closing the gap to just fifteen feet. The mercenaries turned to fire at them, but they were too late.
Guinevere fired all four shotgun rounds directly at their outboard motors. One connected with its fuel tank, and the back of the boat exploded in a ball of fire. The surviving mercenaries dived into the water. The burning debris that remained of the Navy boat skimmed across the river, before slamming into a café on Tomahawk Island.
Sam grinned as they sped away south along the Columbia River. “Nice shot!”
Guinevere said, “We might not be out of the woods yet!”
“Why?”
“I just spotted three of those soldiers climbing onto the dock at Tomahawk Island. They look like they haven’t given up the fight.”