Ghost Ship

EIGHTEEN

As they raced toward the beeping transmitter, Joe divided his attention between the yacht and the section of water where he expected to find Kurt. There was no more than a quarter mile separating the two.

“They must have missed him,” Joe said. “We need to hurry.” “What if they spot us?” El Din asked.

“I’d be surprised if they haven’t seen us already,” Joe said.

“But we’re not leaving Kurt out there to be run down or shot.” “They’re lit up like your a proverbial Christmas tree,” El Din said. “Maybe they’re not able to see us out here in the dark.” “Let’s hope so.”

El Din kept the throttles open, and Joe dug into one of the boat’s lockers.

“What are you looking for?”

“I’m thinking this is going to be one of those high-speed operations. We need something for Kurt to grab on to.” He pulled out a cargo net. “This should do.”

El Din nodded. “Three hundred meters,” he said, glancing at the scanner.

“Slow her down a bit,” Joe said.

“Two hundred.”

Joe grabbed an infrared scope and scanned the water. The surface of the gulf remained dark. But the heat from Kurt’s body should have stood out plainly. He saw nothing. “Are we headed for the target?” he asked.

“Dead ahead,” El Din said.

“Let’s not use the word dead.”

“One hundred meters,” El Din said. “Three hundred twenty-eight feet, if you don’t like the metric system.” Joe lowered the scope and squinted, looking for any sign from Kurt alerting them to his location.

“Fifty meters,” El Din said, backing off the throttles. They were soon coasting, El Din correcting their heading to port. The nose of the boat slewed around. “We should be right on top of him.”

Joe felt his nerves tingling. As the fishing boat settled and its wake dissipated, the night became awfully quiet.

He glanced nervously at the yacht. It too was sitting idle, its nose pointed thirty degrees off line from them.

With their small boat in a similar condition, it felt like a stalemate between predator and prey. The yacht, a big cat crouching on its haunches; the small fishing boat, a gazelle ready to bolt at the cat’s slightest twitch. For now, both held still as stone, waiting for the other to make the first move.

“They know we’re looking for him,” Joe said, whispering.

“They’re waiting for us to find him. Be ready to go.” “As soon as we have him, I’ll head straight for the shore.” Joe raised the infrared scope and studied the yacht. He could clearly see the heat plume emanating from its angled stacks.

The scope was working, so why wasn’t it picking up Kurt’s body heat?

Fearing the worst, he grabbed the scanner and stared in the exact direction of the beacon. Kurt wasn’t there, but in the darkness Joe caught sight of a dim flash, too dim to be seen from more than twenty or thirty feet away.

“There,” he said.

El Din nudged the throttles and then brought them back.

The boat coasted forward on the impulse, closing the gap.

As the dim flash came into range, Joe used a fishing net, stretching over the side. He scooped a familiar-looking cylinder out of the water.

“Is that what I think it is?” El Din asked.

Joe nodded. “Kurt’s transmitter.”

“So where is the man who’s supposed to be attached to it?” A sudden rumble from the yacht drowned out any reply. Joe turned to see water churning at the aft end of the big vessel and the bow of the yacht swinging around rapidly as if guided by a bow thruster. Almost simultaneously the twin spotlights on the bridge converged on the small fishing boat and the sea around it.

In quick order the behemoth was charging toward them. “Go,” Joe shouted.

El Din gunned the throttles and turned away from the yacht, setting a heading for the shore. As the chase began, Joe saw a big problem with their plan. The yacht was still accelerating and already gaining on them.

“We can’t outrun it,” he shouted. “Turn toward her.” “Are you sure?”

“Quickly,” Joe shouted. He was amazed by the speed of the Massif ’s acceleration. It was bearing down on them like a thundering giant, eating up the distance rapidly.

El Din spun the wheel to port. The outboard motors pivoted in their cradles and the nimble little boat curled back toward the big yacht. Joe had to hold on to keep from being tossed out. The Massif tried to match their turn but was simply unable to change direction fast enough. The little boat raced by less than a hundred feet from the yacht.

Gunfire rang out and Joe dove for cover. He gazed up at the side of the yacht as it swept by.

“We have a problem,” he said.

“If you mean getting shot full of holes,” El Din said, “I’d have to agree with you.”

“Unfortunately, that’s not the problem I was talking about,” Joe said. “I’m afraid we need to get closer.”

“Closer? Why would we want to get closer?”

“Because Kurt is clinging to the side of their hull.”