“They’d have found that even if the car was in the paint shop.”
“You don’t seem to under—” Fatboy began.
“Take it easy,” Jason said.
“He doesn’t seem to understand there are two dead cops in that car,” Fatboy said angrily.
“I understand that fine. What did you want me to do? Let them take us in? Our whole operation would have—”
“I’m saying you should have brought the car here. You panicked, that’s what happened. You weren’t thinking straight.”
“I’m saying it doesn’t make any difference.”
“It makes a hell of a lot of difference,” Fatboy said. “When they find that patrol car, they’ll also find two dead men. That makes it murder, you understand? That means if cops come here, they come here investigating a homicide.”
“If I’d brought the car to the paint shop—”
“Yeah?”
“It’d have been the same.”
“No. Because then the car would only be missing, you understand? Missing. And headquarters would think maybe they’d had a flat, or their radio was out, something like that. The other cars’d just be cruising the roads looking for it, that’s all. They wouldn’t stop to ask questions, they’d never get anywhere near that paint shop.”
“And if they did?”
“They wouldn’t,” Fatboy said. “This way, somebody’s gonna stumble on that car sooner or later, sticking out of the mud like that. The whole damn police force’ll come looking for a murderer.” He shook his head. “I don’t like it, Jase.”
“Neither do I,” Jason said.
“What do we do?”
“We wait.”
“For the cops to get here?”
“If they’re coming,” Jason said.
“They’ll come, don’t worry about that.”
“I did what I had to do,” Rodiz said. He looked at Jason. “I followed your orders, Jason.”
“I know you did.”
“You should have brought the car here,” Fatboy insisted.
“Lay off,” Jason said.
“I’d just hate to see this thing get screwed up,” Fatboy said. “Especially now, when this part of it’s gone so—”
“...for the latest news on Hurricane Flora.”
“Hold it,” Jason said, and moved quickly to the television set, turning up the volume.
“This is the eleven o’clock advisory from the Miami Weather Bureau,” an announcer said. “Hurricane Flora is still centered near latitude 20.4 north, longitude 78.4 west. This position is about seventy statute miles south-southwest of Camagüey, Cuba, and three hundred and eighty miles south-southeast of Miami. Flora is moving westward about four miles per hour.”
“Jason, do you think—?”
“Shh!”
“Highest winds are estimated at a hundred and ten miles per hour near the center. Gales now extend outward in occasional squalls some four hundred statute miles in the northern semicircle, two hundred miles in the southeast quadrant, and a hundred and thirty miles in the southwest quadrant.”
“What the hell does he mean?” Fatboy asked.
“...will move very little during the next twelve hours. Since a large portion of the circulation will remain over Cuba, little intensification is expected. The threat to South Florida has not increased significantly, but gale warnings are up along the Florida coast from Stuart to Everglades City. Seas are very rough throughout the Western Antilles, in the southeast Gulf of Mexico, and in the Atlantic off the Florida east coast. Small craft in these areas should remain in safe harbor. All interests should keep in touch with further advisories. While little movement is expected during the next twelve to eighteen hours, some radical changes in the direction of movement are probable thereafter. The next regular advisory will be issued at five P.M. Eastern Standard Time, with an intermediate bulletin at two P.M.”
Jason turned off the set.
“What do you think?” Fatboy said.
“I think we’ll be all right.”
“You think the water’s okay?”
“I think so.”
“I mean, I was wondering about The Golden Fleece.”
“I know.”
“It won’t be too rough, will it?”
“Alex knows how to handle a boat in rough water.”
“Yes, but...”
“Don’t worry,” Jason said. “They’ll get here.”
9
The boat seemed to be adrift.
Murray Diel was the first of the six crew members to spot her, and he immediately passed the information to Randazzo over the plane’s intercommunication system. “One o’clock,” he said. “About two miles. On the water.”
Randazzo glanced off to his right and grunted. They were still maintaining an altitude of one thousand feet on this leg of the patrol back from Key West, and the boat below was clearly visible.
“She looks to be adrift,” he said to Diel.
“That’s what I thought.”
“Let’s go down for a closer look.” He paused, pressed the ICS button again, and said, “Photographer, pilot.”
“Aye?”
“Samuels, there’s a boat at one o’clock, about two miles, seems to be adrift. We’re going down for a look. Want to get some pictures?”
“Wilco.”
“She’ll be on our starboard side. You can shoot when I bank. After station, stand by.”
“Standing by, sir.”
“Look sharp. We’ll compare stories after the pass. Let’s go, Murray.”
He shoved forward on the yoke, and the plane began its descent, sunlight flashing on its wings. The boat below loomed closer as the plane dropped. Randazzo could see the numbers on her bow, could see a man standing in the cockpit, waving his arms. The plane banked to the right and began climbing again.
“We’ll make another pass,” Randazzo said. “Across the stem this time. Knowles?”
“Yes, sir?”
“Want to try to raise them?”
“Aye, aye,” Knowles said. “Sir, this isn’t that boat out of Bimini, is it?”
“I don’t think so,” Randazzo said into his mouthpiece. “Murray, what was that boat out of Bimini?”
“Blue fifty-footer, twin Cadillacs,” Diel answered.
“Sir?” Penner said.
“Go ahead, Penner.”
“This one isn’t no fifty-footer.”
“I figured thirty, thirty-five,” Randazzo said.
“Twenty-seven, sir,” Penner said.
“Maroon hull and black trim, sir,” Acadia, the other mechanic said.
“Roger. Anybody get the numbers?”
“6024, I thought,” Diel said.
“That’s what I saw, too. Samuels, did you get your picture?”
“I think so, sir. You going to be banking to the right again?”
“Affirmative.”
“Standing by, sir.”
“Here we go,” Randazzo said, and brought the plane around for its second pass. He came in over the stern, some fifty feet above the water and the boat, and then banked to the right and began climbing.
“Name’s The Golden Fleece, sir,” Penner said.
“That’s what I saw, too,” Acadia said.
“Out of N’awlins,” Diel said with a phony accent, and then laughed.
“What do you think, Murray?”
“I think she’s in trouble. The guy was waving his arms on this pass, too.”
“Sir, he was wearing a life jacket, did you notice that?”
“Yeah. Knowles, any luck raising her?”
“Negative, sir.”
“Let’s drop a message block. Penner?”
“Yes, sir?”
“Want to bring some paper up here?”