Without remorse - Tom Clancy [75]
Just about time, Oreza smiled to himself, just about time for: oh, shit!
He grinned when it happened. The guy at the wheel turned, and his mouth opened and shut, having said just that. One of the younger crewmen read the man's lips and laughed.
'I think they just figured it out, skipper.'
'Hit the lights!' the quartermaster ordered, and the cop lights atop the wheelhouse started blinking, somewhat to Oreza's displeasure.
'Aye aye!'
The Bay boat turned rapidly south, but the outbound cutter turned to cover the maneuver, and it was instantly clear that neither could outrun the twin-screw forty-one-boats.
'Should have used the money to buy something sportier, boys,' Oreza said to himself, knowing that criminals learned from their mistakes, too, and buying something to outrun a forty-one-foot patrol boat was not exactly a taxing problem. This one was easy. Chasing another little sailboat would be easy, if this damned fool of a cop would let them do it right, but the easy ones wouldn't last forever.
The Bay boat cut power, trapped between two cutters. Warrant Officer English kept station a few hundred yards out while Oreza drove in close.
'Howdy,' the quartermaster said over his loud-hailer. 'This is the US Coast Guard, and we are exercising our right to board and conduct a safety inspection. Let's everybody stay where we can see you, please.'
It was remarkably like watching people who'd just lost a pro-football game. They knew they couldn't change anything no matter what they did. They knew that resistance was futile, and so they just stood there in dejection and acceptance of their fate. Oreza wondered how long that would last. How long before somebody would be dumb enough to fight it out?
Two of his sailors jumped aboard, covered by two more on the forty-one's fantail. Mr English brought his boat in closer. A good boat-handler, Oreza saw, like a warrant was supposed to be, and he had his people out to offer cover, too, just in case the bad guys got a crazy idea. While the three men stood in plain view, mostly looking down at the deck and hoping that it might really be a safety inspection, Oreza's two men went into the forward cabin. Both came out in less than a minute. One tipped the bill of his cap, signaling all-clear, then patted his belly. Yes, there were drugs aboard. Five pats - a lot of drugs aboard.
'We have a bust, sir,' Oreza observed calmly.
Lieutenant Mark Charon of the Narcotics Division, Baltimore City Police Department, leaned against the doorframe - hatch, whatever these sailors called the thing - and smiled. He was dressed in casual clothes, and might have easily been mistaken for a coastie with the required orange life jacket.
'You handle it, then. How does it go in the books?'
'Routine safety inspection, and, golly, they had drugs aboard,' Oreza said in mock surprise.
'Exactly right, Mr Oreza.'
"Thank you, sir.'
'My pleasure. Captain.'
He'd already explained the procedure to Oreza and English. In order to protect his informants, credit for the arrest would go to the coasties, which didn't exactly displease the quartermaster or the warrant officer. Oreza would get to paint a victory symbol on his mast, or whatever they called the thing the radar was attached to, a representation of the five-leafed marijuana plant, and the crewmen would have something to brag about. They might even have the adventure of testifying before a federal district court - probably not, since these small-timers would undoubtedly cop to the smallest offense their attorney could negotiate. They would get word out that the people to whom they were making the delivery had probably informed on them. With luck those people might even disappear, and that would really make his task easy. There would be an opening in the drug ecostructure - another new buzzword Charon had picked up on. At the very least, a potential rival in that ecostructure was now out of business for good. Lieutenant Charon would get a pat on