«Christ, no!»
«I really have to be sure, Devvy, please understand that!»
«Believe me, Frazie,» screamed Sam over the now thunderous sounds of the New England squall. «We’re talking about a man who can shape the nation’s policies, who next to the President is considered the most powerful man in our government! He’s a liar and a crook and he hires killers! I’ve got it all in my pocket!»
«Someone’s confession?»
«No, a tape that confirms the whole conspiracy!»
«That’s really heavy, isn’t it?»
«Get me on shore, Frazie!»
«Then I’d suggest you really do hold on, chum!»
The next minutes, the approximate number a hysterical Devereaux would never know, were like plunging, swirling, plummeting submersions into all of Dante’s circles of hell. Crazy Frazie suddenly became a maniacal Ahab, but instead of attempting to kill the great beast, he was doing his God-commanded damnedest to avoid its massive jaws. Like a satanic captain from the netherworld, a grinning Geoffrey Frazier, the bottle of Dom Perignon sporadically at his lips, whipped and thrashed the machine beneath him to obey his commands as he spun the wheel repeatedly back and forth, expertly crashing into and ebbing away from the angry swells on all sides.
The less maneuverable patrol boat behind was obviously skippered by a furious Coast Guard officer. Joining the bursts of the wailing siren came indignant, commanding words shouted over a loudspeaker. «Cut back your engines and head for marker seven due northwest! Repeat, you maniac, marker seven and knock off the horseshit!»
«We couldn’t ask for anything better,» yelled Captain Crazy Frazie to his stunned passenger. «He’s a fine fellow!»
«What are you saying?» screamed Sam. «They’ll board us with cutlasses and knives and guns and capture us!»
«Capture me, no doubt, old sport, but not you if you do as I tell you.» Frazier did not reduce his twin engines, but he did wave-tack against the squall until he was heading roughly northwest. «Now, listen to me, Devvy! I haven’t been up this way in a while, but the ‘marker seven’ jogged my memory. It’s about a hundred and fifty yards to the left of a rather large rock formation that juts out of the water, a small land mass that cuts down the wind—the sails frequently complain it’s four hundred feet of dead air.»
«Rocks? Dead air … For Christ’s sake, Frazie, I’m fighting for my sanity, for my country’s integrity!»
«Just a sec, old boy!» shouted Devereaux’s rescuing skipper as he bounced the bottle of champagne against the top of his dashboard. «You broke the cork, chum, and it’s choking the neck!» The Dom Perignon back to his lips, he added. «There, that’s better! Now, what was it, sport?»
«Oh, my God, you’re impossible!»
«Seems I’ve heard that before—» Frazier’s words were interrupted by a starboard lurch with its subsequent spray catching him directly in the face. «Damn! Salt water never did mix with the bubbly!»
«Frazie …!»
«Oh, yes, now listen up, Devvy!… We’ll reach marker seven, where I’ll throttle back in the calmer stretch—that’s your signal to prepare to abandon ship, as it were.»
«You mean like in ‘man overboard,’ where those navy fascists behind us can pick me up?»
«I said ‘prepare,’ not execute—»
«For Christ’s sake, use another word!»
«When I slow down, get to the starboard but stay below the gunwale, then I’ll suddenly hit full throttle and make a large arc to port, bringing you within forty or fifty yards of the beach. That’s when you slip over the side—the spray will cover your disappearance—and I’ll continue to give our water commandos a merry chase!»
«Good Lord, Frazie! You’d do this for me?»
«You asked for my help, Devvy—»
«Sure, but that’s because I knew you had a fast boat and … and … well, I sort of thought…»
«That ‘Crazy Frazie’ might just be your man, being the man he was?»
«I’m sorry, Geoff. I don’t really know what to say.»
«Don’t bother, sport, it’s all fun!»
«You could get in a great deal of trouble, Geoff, and I never counted on that, honest I didn’t!»
«Of course, you didn’t. You’re the most irritatingly honest person I’ve ever known! Hang on, now, Devvy, we’re going in.»
They entered the narrow channel that held the red marker seven, the reedlike cigarette boat abruptly slowed down in the smoother waters. The Coast Guard patrol approached within thirty yards aft.
«Hear this, and hear me well!» came the agitated voice over the loudspeaker. «You have been identified as one Geoffrey Frazier and your passenger is a man named Samuel Devereaux, and you are both now under arrest. Hold to, as three of my crew board your craft and take full control.»
«Geoff!» cried Sam Devereaux, lying prone on the starboard deck. «I really didn’t expect anything like this to happen—»
«Oh, shut up, old boy! Another few moments—as soon as they lower their dinghy—I’ll start up and swing toward the beach. I’ll signal you when I think we’re as close as we can get and that’s when you slip over. Got it?»
«Got it and I’ll never forget it! Not only that, I’ll defend you in court with all the legal expertise Aaron Pinkus Associates has!»
«That’s terribly considerate, sport … all right, Devvy, here we go!» With those words the powerful speedboat lurched forward with such force its bow sprang out of the water like an ascending egret. The roar of the engines muted all other sounds as the craft sped out of the briefly sheltered area back into the angry waves past marker seven. Then, true to his word, Frazier went into a wide, steep bank to the left, sending up a huge sheet of ocean spray to the starboard, a continuous wall of dense foam and sea that provided complete cover for any activity in front of or behind it—such as a prone figure rolling over the side into the water.
Which was precisely what a determined if anxiety-prone Sam Devereaux did, hardly buoyed by his captain’s last words, shouted as he waved his hand. «Now, old chum, and I know you can do it. You were on the school’s swimming team!»
«No, Frazie! It was tennis! I didn’t make the swimming team!»
«Oh, sorry … over you go!»
Buffeted by waves, Sam kept his head half-submerged as the Coast Guard patrol boat whipped to the left in pursuit of his former classmate, its loudspeaker blaring. «You can run but you can’t hide, you swizzling son of a bitch! We’ve got you this time—resisting arrest, drinking while piloting your craft, recklessly endangering the life of your passenger, who’s also under arrest! Oh boy, I’m gonna ream you!»
Suddenly, further stunning a bobbing Devereaux, who gasped for air, came the sound of a much more powerful loudspeaker—from Frazie’s boat. The noise it emitted could best be described as that of a blaring seagoing whoopee cushion.
«… who’s also under arrest … a man named Samuel Devereaux, and you are both under arrest.» Under arrest? He was under arrest? He had vaguely heard the words while clinging to the deck, but in his own personal hysteria they had not registered. Arrest! By name! Oh, my God, I’m a fugitive! They were searching for him; there was probably a dragnet! It had to mean that Aaron and Jenny and Cyrus and Roman and the two Desis had been taken—taken and broken, forced to confess everything! And Mac—he’d probably be executed!… And Jenny, the new love of his life—they would hurt her, maybe do terrible things to her. The desperate men in Washington would stop at nothing!