Stone Cold

CHAPTER 11

THE BOAT HARRY FINN was currently riding on the side of was not quite as fast as the naval vessel he’d piggybacked on previously, but it was more than adequate. Like the military folks, the people he had hitched the ride from tonight had no idea of his presence. He had chosen it because they were heading in the direction he wanted to go. He would have to get home another way, a way he’d already figured out. He had timed out the ride and kept glancing at his illuminated watch in anticipation of when to peel away and swim for shore. A storm was percolating, which was both good and bad for his plan. He’d come prepared; he always did.

As the boat neared where he would be leaving it, Finn reflected on the last conversation he’d had with his wife, Mandy. He’d just finished cutting the grass and gone inside to shower. She stopped him in the bedroom.

“David said he’d talked to you about your work.”

“That’s right. He said you’d told him you weren’t sure what I did for a living.”

“I’m not.”

“You know once I left the military I started doing contract work for Homeland Security.”

“But David can’t know that? And I can’t know more?”

“It’s just better that way. I’m sorry. But you have to trust me on that.”

“At least when you were in the navy I knew what I was getting into. What do they ask you to do now?”

He slipped an arm around her waist. “Like I’ve told you before, I help make us safer. There are lots of holes out there. My job is to patch them up, make us stronger. It’s not even remotely dangerous.”

The tension was clear on her face. “If it’s not even remotely dangerous why can’t you tell me?”

“I just can’t.”

“You never have been much of a talker, have you?’

“I always assumed it was one of the things you loved most about me.”

And they had left it at that. Mandy would never know that he illegally flew in the cargo holds of commercial aircraft, and rode without a shred of authorization on the hulls of military ships, because what spouse needed to know such things? And she would never know of the Dan Rosses of the world and the fates that had befallen them. Or of the Carter Grays who once held all the cards, but no longer did.

Yet it was still troubling for Harry Finn; he was a scrupulously honest man, who did not enjoy keeping anything from the woman he’d loved ever since seeing her walk across a college campus nearly fifteen years ago. He’d been on leave then and visiting a friend after rotating back from deployment overseas. He had always been shy and something of an introvert, an attribute that had graded out well for him in his military career. His line of work called for weeks or even months of thoughtful, meticulous preparation followed by seconds of adrenaline-fueled chaos in the midst of which he had to function with a maddening and lethal calm. He had excelled at both ends of that demanding spectrum.

Yet that day seeing the former Amanda Graham walk across that lawn in her jean short-shorts and open-toed sandals, with waist-length blonde hair and a face more lovely than he’d ever seen before, he had walked right up to the young woman and asked her out for that very night. She had declined at first, perhaps offended that he believed she would be free on such short notice. But Finn was nothing if not persistent. He got his date, and his wife. Finn wrangled from the navy a stint stateside and he and Mandy had married right after her graduation. Less than a year later David had arrived, followed by Patrick and Susie. They were a very happy couple. They had raised good kids, children who would make a difference in their world, perhaps only in small ways, but positive differences nonetheless.

Finn had no idea why he had some of his deepest reflections while doing impossibly crazy things, like riding on the sides of boats at high speeds, but he did.

He checked his watch, tightened the strap on the waterproof bag he carried over his shoulder and prepared himself for the next step. This was the tricky part, letting go of his ride at speed and avoiding the screws at the stern. Because when he let go, there was a distinct possibility that if he didn’t kick hard enough away from the direction the boat was going and didn’t go down deep enough in the water his last memory would be the props savagely cleaving his torso in two.

He coiled his legs and positioned them against the side of the boat. Counting to three, he kicked as hard as he could against the boat’s hull and plunged out and then downward even as he felt the force of the screws pulling him toward the stern. He came up to the surface and watched the running lights of the craft disappear. He looked around, quickly gained his bearings and swam hard toward the cliffs.