Didn’t matter. The salt spray had never felt finer to Jimmy. They were flying over the swells. He looked back and raised his fist in victory. That oil line would blow any moment, and they were well out of range.
Putt-putt-putt.
And out of gas.
Chapter 26
Lana needed to get to Baltimore as soon as possible. She threw a change of clothes and her toiletries into an overnight bag and called downstairs for Don. “I need some help up here.”
Damn crutches.
She’d be driving north in her new Dodge Charger. Quite a change from her blown-up Prius — and a reflection of how sharply the world had changed since she’d walked into a Toyota showroom four years ago to buy a gentle, environmentally responsible vehicle. She needed speed and power, so she’d bought the Charger, the four-wheeled beast federal agents preferred.
“Don, I’ve got to get moving.”
He was getting questioned by the FBI about his killing of the two men who’d bombed their house and tried to kidnap her. He was cooperating, of course, taking them through the entire shooting step by step, but the agents had made it clear he wasn’t going to scurry off to Baltimore anytime soon. Lana thought it might be better to leave him on the home front, anyway, in case Emma returned; they didn’t want her coming back to an empty house, especially in its current condition.
What am I forgetting? Lana wondered. It was always something. Then she spotted her hairbrush. Two swipes at her shiny black locks and it was in the bag, too. She zipped up the overnight as Don came through the bedroom door.
“Can you grab that?” Lana asked.
“Sure. Is she still at Planned Parenthood?”
“It looks like it.”
“Have you texted her?”
“Too risky, Don. If she thinks we’re monitoring her, and really wants to avoid us, she could toss the phone. I want to know exactly where she is till I’m by her side. And I want to get there as soon as I can. She’s got no protection. There’d be a huge prize in taking her.”
“Yeah, you. I wish to hell I could go. This business of going back over the shooting is taking forever.”
“It always does. They’re dotting the i’s and crossing the t’s. They have to.”
Don looked over at Cairo standing in the doorway, staring at them.
“Take him.”
“I don’t think I need—”
“No, definitely take him. His primary job is to protect you. He can’t do that from here.”
“Okay, Cairo, you’re coming.”
The dog brightened at the sound of her voice. Maybe he knew from long experience it was the call of duty.
Don grabbed Lana’s bag. She packed one more item — her Sig Sauer in the belt of her pants.
You’re so good about being in touch, Emma. I could almost take it as an invitation to join your little escapade. Of course I will. I might be thirty thousand feet in the air but I could be right on the ground beside you for all you’d know. I’ll bet anything — no, I’ll bet everything—that very soon I’ll walk right up to you without your paying me any mind. Not that I needed your phone to track your larger movements, but it’s good to know how close up and personal I can be, hiding in your pocket. That’s where I imagine your phone is, in a nice warm place. A place so redolent of… Emma. I notice that you’ve turned off your sound. I’m so tempted to send you a message just to make you vibrate.
Now look at that. Your locator is back on. Do I have you to thank for that, Em, or is your mother somewhere in cyberspace spying on you? How dare she encroach on my terrain? But whoever it is has my deepest gratitude.
Oops, your locator has gone dark again. I’m guessing Mommy’s doing that, trying to protect you from the likes of me. I’ll bet you’re not even aware of her fiddling yet. You’re probably distracted by the care and treatment you’ve been getting at the hands of those abortionists. Interesting, isn’t it, that by making you wait for your “procedure,” they’re making it possible for me to kill you and your baby?
I’ll keep an eye on your half of the screen, but for now I’m going to attend to the other half, where Jimmy McMasters can’t seem to stay out of the public eye. He’s been speeding away from the oil rig with one of the hostages, but he’s slowing down. That’s weird.
Oh, my God.
The oil line just blew up. But the flames are already dying. And I don’t see oil pumping into the Gulf. This is not BP’s Horizon, which I guess was the point. And Jimmy’s pumping his fist in the air, so he must have done it.
Jimmy is the Energizer Bunny. Make that “was” because now his boat’s dead in the water. And he’s got a boat full of bearded men with big guns descending upon them.
Jimmy and Cal’s victory over ISIS lasted about as long as a sneeze. Yes, the blowout preventers worked, choking off the oil flow, but what they needed most right now, ironically enough, was a little fuel for the boat. They had no bullets, no dynamite, nothing but the most abject fear to keep them company as a full complement of heavily armed ISIS fighters raced toward them in the cabin cruiser.
Where’s all my good karma?
“We are so fucked,” Cal said. “I hope they didn’t notice who shot most of their buddies.” He raised up a lethal-looking gaff. “I swear I’ll slit my fucking wrists with this before I let them get their claws on me.”
Jimmy understood the impulse, but grabbed the gaff just in case Cal was serious. A tug of war ensued.
The choppers were still hovering above them, feasting the way sharks might soon on their dismembered bodies down below.
“Wait, what’s that?” Jimmy said, pointing to a U.S. Navy Cyclone-class patrol boat streaking toward them.
They both dropped the gaff, which barely missed Jimmy’s big toe.
The patrol boat was a long ways off but it sure gave the bearded killers pause. Happy Daze had slowed way down, though the 150 yards still separating it from Sexy Streak left Jimmy and Cal well within rifle range.
A chopper pilot, maybe sensing some serious bang-bang potential below, brought his camera crew closer — and promptly drew fire from the ISIS warriors.
Then the real guns started to roar. The navy opened up with a Bushmaster, sending a screaming trail of 25 mm shells that tore across the water and into the large white cruiser. Jimmy heard the boat’s fiberglass hull ripping open. It sounded like bubble pack getting stomped by a dozen fat bikers. It sounded good.
But Happy Daze was still afloat, and ISIS was still fighting back. A furry-headed guy with a shoulder-mounted rocket launcher fired his mini-missile right at the navy boat. Not a heat-seeker, though, judging by the way the American captain veered out of the way.
But a sophisticated missile did make an appearance moments later. In a wild flurry of return fire, sailors sent a laser-guided Griffin racing directly toward the cabin cruiser. The newly anointed captain of Happy Daze was the only member of his crew with reflexes fast enough to dive into the water.
“Down,” cried Jimmy.
BOOM.
A heated shockwave flew over Sexy Streak’s gunwales, rocking Cal and Jimmy sharply.
Jimmy raised his head and searched the sea for where Happy Daze had been.
The navy had thrown a strike.
And you’re out.