Without remorse - Tom Clancy [74]
'It wasn't an accident, was it?' Sarah noted.
'No, it wasn't.'
'There he is,' Oreza said quietly; keeping his binoculars on the distant speck. 'Just like you said.'
'Come to papa,' the policeman breathed in the darkness.
It was just a happy coincidence, the officer told himself. The people in question owned a corn farm in Dorchester County, but between the corn-rows were marijuana plants. Simple, as the saying went, but effective. With a farm came barns and outbuildings, and privacy. Being clever people, they didn't want to drive their product across the Bay Bridge in their pickup truck, where the summer traffic was unpredictably interrupted, and besides, a sharp-eyed toll taker had helped the State Police make a bust only a month before. They were careful enough to become a potential threat to his friend. That had to be stopped.
So they used a boat. This heaven-sent coincidence gave the Coast Guard the chance to participate in a bust and thus to raise his stature in their eyes. It couldn't hurt, after he'd used them as the stalking horse to help get Angelo Vorano killed, Lieutenant Charon thought, smiling in the wheelhouse.
'Take 'em now?' Oreza asked.
'Yes. The people they're delivering to are under our control. Don't tell anybody that,' he added. 'We don't want to compromise them.'
'You got it.' The quartermaster advanced his throttles and turned the wheel to starboard. 'Let's wake up, people,' he told his crew.
The forty-one-boat squatted at the stem with the increased power. The rumble of the diesels was intoxicating to the boat's commander. The small steel wheel vibrated in his hands as he steadied up on his new course. The funny part was that it would come as a surprise to them. Although the Coast Guard was the principal law-enforcement agency on the water, their main activity had always been search and rescue, and the word hadn't quite gotten out yet. Which, Oreza told himself, was just too goddamned bad. He'd found a few coastguardsmen smoking pot in the past couple of years, and his wrath was something still talked about by those who'd seen it.
The target was easily seen now, a thirty-foot Bay-built fishing boat of the sort that dotted the Chesapeake, probably with an old Chevy engine, and that meant she couldn't possibly outrun his cutter. It was a perfectly good thing to have a good disguise, Oreza thought with a smile, but not so clever to bet your life and your freedom on one card, however good it might be.
'Just let everything look normal,' the policeman said quietly.
'Look around, sir,' the quartermaster replied. The boat crew was alert but not obviously so, and their weapons were holstered. The boat's course was almost a direct one toward their Thomas Point station, and if the other boat even took note of them - and nobody was looking aft at the moment - they could easily assume that the forty-one-footer was just heading back to the barn. Five hundred yards now. Oreza jammed the throttles to the stops to get the extra knot or two of overtake speed.
'There's Mr English,' another crewman said. The other forty-one-boat from Thomas Point was on a reciprocal course, outbound from the station, holding steady in a straight line, roughly towards the lighthouse that the station also supported.
'Not real smart, are they?' Oreza asked.
'Well, if they were smart, why break the law?'
'Roger that, sir.' Three hundred yards now, and a head turned aft to see the gleaming white shape of the small cutter. Three people aboard the target craft, and the one who had looked at them leaned forward to say something to the guy at the wheel. It was almost comical to watch. Oreza could imagine every word they were saying. There's a Coast Guard boat back there. So just play it cool, maybe they're just changing the duty boat or something, see the one there ... Uh-oh, I don't like this... Just be cool, damn it! I really