Clear and present danger - Tom Clancy [11]
"Recommend we come left now, sir," Chief Oreza said.
The captain flipped the radar on again. "Come left to zero-seven-zero. Range to target is now three-five-zero-zero. We'll want to approach from the target's port side."
The fog was thinning out. Visibility was now at about five hundred yards, a little more or a little less as the mist became visibly patchy. Chief Oreza got on the radar as the bridge filled up with the normal battle watch. There was a new target twenty miles out, probably a tanker inbound for Galveston. Its position was plotted as a matter of course.
"Range to our friend is now two thousand yards. Bearing constant at zero-seven-zero. Target course and speed are unchanged."
"Very well. Should have him visual in about five minutes." Wegener looked around the wheelhouse. His officers were using their binoculars. It was a waste of energy, but they didn't know that yet. He walked out on the starboard bridge wing and looked aft to the boat station. Lieutenant Wilcox gave him a thumbs-up gesture. Behind him, Chief Boatswain's Mate Riley nodded agreement. An experienced petty officer was at the winch controls. Launching the Zodiac into these sea conditions was no big deal, but the sea had a way of surprising you. The.50-caliber was pointed safely skyward, a box of ammo hanging on its left side. Forward he heard the metallic clash as a round was racked into the 40mm cannon.
Used to be we pulled alongside to render assistance. Now we load up, Wegener thought. Goddamned drugs…
"I see him," a lookout said.
Wegener looked forward. The white-painted yacht was hard to pick out within the fog, but a moment later the squared-off transom stern was clearly visible. Now he used his glasses to read the name. Empire Builder. That was the one. No flag at the staff, but that wasn't unusual. He couldn't see any people yet, and the yacht was motoring along as before. That was why he'd approached from dead astern. For as long as men had gone to sea, he thought, no lookout ever bothered looking aft.
"He's in for a surprise," O'Neil thought, coming out to join the captain. "The Law of the Sea."
Wegener was annoyed for a moment, but shook it off. "Radar isn't turning. Of course, maybe he broke it."
"Here's the picture of the owner, sir."
The captain hadn't looked at it before. The owner was in his middle forties. Evidently he'd married late, because he reportedly had two children aboard, ages eight and thirteen, in addition to his wife. Big man, six-three or so, bald and overweight, standing on some dock or other next to a fair-sized swordfish. He must have had to work hard for that one, Wegener thought, judging by the sunburn around the eyes and below the shorts… The captain brought the glasses back up.
"You're coming in too close," he observed. "Bear off to port, Mister."
"Aye aye, sir." O'Neil went back into the wheelhouse.
Idiots, Wegener thought. You ought to have heard us by now. Well, they had a way to make sure of that. He poked his head into the wheelhouse: "Wake 'em up!"
Halfway up Panache's mast was a siren of the sort used on police cars and ambulances, but quite a bit larger. A moment later its whooping sound nearly made the captain jump. It did have the expected effect. Before Wegener had counted to three a head appeared out of the yacht's wheelhouse. It wasn't the owner. The yacht began a hard right turn.
"You jackass!" the captain growled. "Close up tight!" he ordered next.
The cutter turned to the right, as well. The yacht settled a bit at the stern as more power was applied, but the Rhodes didn't have a prayer of outrunning Panache. In another two minutes the cutter was abeam of the yacht, which was still trying to turn. They were too close to use the Bofors. Wegener ordered the machine gun to fire across the Empire Builder's bow.
The .50-caliber