Straits of Fortune - Anthony Gagliano [37]
“Get that fucking light out of my eyes!” I shouted. “Your damned boat nearly killed me!”
There was no answer. Then, suddenly, the light went off.
“Who’s out there?” I yelled. I began to feel around inside the kayak for the Glock, but the spill I had taken must have dislodged it from its pouch. I groped for it on the bottom of the kayak but couldn’t find it. I was afraid that maybe it had gone overboard. Then, by my right thigh, just above the knee, there was something hard that shouldn’t have been there. I reached down and felt the familiar outline of the gun inside the plastic bag. I got it out as quickly as I could with my shaking fingers and sat back, holding it in my lap and trying to look unarmed.
The light flashed on again and blinded me. I turned my head away. I was pretty sure who it was, and if I was right, then I was in trouble.
“Is that the fucking coast guard, or just some idiot with too much time on his hands?” I shouted. “Turn out that goddamn light!”
“It isn’t the coast guard, Jack,” a familiar voice called out. “It’s your old friend Williams. I guess you didn’t expect to run into me out here, did you?”
“Why not?” I yelled. “Shit floats, doesn’t it?”
“You’ve done well, Jack. You’ve done very well, but as you may have guessed, there’s been a dramatic change in plans.”
“Does the Colonel know you’re doing this?”
“Who do you think sent me?”
I used my hand again to shield my eyes from the glare of the searchlight. Then Williams swung the light a little to his left so that I could see his silhouette. He was smiling broadly. Very casually, and as though he had all the time in the world, he reached down, lifted up a rifle, and calmly placed the butt end against his right shoulder. Then, still smiling, he slowly lowered his eye to the scope.
“Oh, Jackie,” he said in that fake Scottish accent he sometimes used, “I’m going to miss you so.”
I brought the gun up and fired at the spotlight. I would have gone for Williams, but the kayak was dancing way too much and the light made a bigger and better target. The spotlight exploded with a loud pop, and just like that it was dark again. I fired once more at where Williams had been standing, shoved the gun into my vest, paddled off a few yards, then stopped, pulled the Glock out and fired at the boat yet again. I didn’t think I would hit anything, but I wanted Williams worried enough to give me some room. The reality of the situation was that it would be almost impossible to hit anything under those conditions, except by accident. My one advantage was that Williams couldn’t afford to stay still long enough to get lucky.
Then there was a sudden roar as the engines of the speedboat came alive, and a white rush of water burst from beneath the bow, nearly knocking me over. The boat lifted itself out of the water like a flying wedge and zoomed off toward the east, the white foam burgeoning like the exhaust from a rocket. I waited for the wake and rode it until the water calmed.
Then the first bullet went past my cheek, hit the kayak, and took part of the front end off. The impact swung the Hell Chaser around a full 180 degrees.
I reached over my right shoulder and fired back at the darkness, hoping for a miracle. I heard him coming at me then, the engines nearly silent, slow and relentless, giving off no more noise than a blender with a towel thrown over it. I fired again, and the boat’s engines flared and the speedboat went by me and flew off into the night, fishtailing as it swerved.
There was just enough light for me to see it now, then nothing again but foam and spray in my face. The wake came up like a big paw and smacked me over. I dropped the paddle, and the Glock went flying into the wind. Then the ocean had me, and I was underwater again. The only difference this time was that I had the presence of mind