The Black Bullet

CHAPTER TEN

It took O’Brien less than twenty minutes to get within a half mile of Ponce Inlet. The lighthouse, highest in the Southeast, stood like a sentry near the inlet. Jason and Max stepped up to the bowsprit, the water spray keeping them both cool. O’Brien and Nick remained in the wheelhouse.

Nick said, “Looks like, whoever and whatever that boat was, it’s laying way the hell back. Maybe just some kind of research vessel, or maybe we got a bad case of paranoia since we walked around that underwater graveyard.” He pulled a bottle of Corona out of the ice chest. “Fuck it. We haven’t done anything wrong? It is what it is.”

O’Brien said, “I’m thinking about what it is and what it can be.”

“You got worry in your DNA. That’s why you were a cop so long.”

“You think that’s it?”

A casino gambling boat, on a daily “trip to nowhere,” was coming out of Ponce Inlet and heading for international waters as O’Brien slowly guided Jupiter into the mouth of the pass. Fishing boats chugged by and two people on jet skis zipped through the inlet. O’Brien used his cell to call his friend, Dave Collins.

“I was expecting to hear from you,” Dave said.

“I wish I could have reached you before Jason did.”

“I terminated the conversation when I heard him mention what you found.”

“It’s definitely a German U-boat.”

“I heard you found bodies, some skeletal remains.”

“But you didn’t hear about a cargo that could be highly enriched uranium.”

“What! If it’s yellow cake, the stuff is as dangerous now as it was then. Maybe more so, considering today’s global climate of terrorism. The Germans may have been further along that we knew at the time.”

“I’m debating whether to give the coordinates to the Coast Guard and forget it, or let an old sleeping dog lie.”

“Sometimes old dogs have a damn mean bite if you get close enough. I’d let the secret remain one until we can offer the intelligence to someone who’s got a higher clearance than a reservist. All we need is a weekend guardsman with an active Facebook page to create a viral mess for the world to see.”

“You have a good point. We’re coming through the pass now. See you at the docks.”

Max ran around the deck barking at the big gambling boat as it plowed through the choppy pass, its diesels belching acrid black smoke, retirees sipping free cocktails on deck, the captain and crew pushing toward the open sea and total unaccountability.

“What’d we do if you forget the GPS numbers?” asked Nick, sipping his beer.

O’Brien eased Jupiter through Ponce Inlet, keeping to the right of the channel markers. He said, “Maybe I’ve already forgotten them.”

“You remember details and shit most people never see. You’ll remember those numbers as long as you want. Probably take ‘em to your grave.”

O’Brien smiled. “Let’s hope the ‘grave’ part is far in the future.”

Nick laughed. “If you get amnesia or something … that old sub will be hangin’ out there on the bottom of the ocean. Long as nobody wakes up that giant locked in those canisters-that HEU, no problem, right?”

“Like you said, it could be canisters for another sub … or mislabeled.”

Jason climbed the ladder to the bridge. “Want me to bring Max up?” he asked.

“She’s fine down there,” O’Brien said. “She loves the breeze and the scenery. Max likes to bark at the dogs that people bring to the Lighthouse Park.”

Nick grinned and added, “Scenery’s getting better.” He pointed to a bikini-clad woman lying on her beach towel. She sat up and sipped from a water bottle as Nick leaned out the open wheelhouse, raised his beer bottle in a toast, and yelled, “To the most beautiful lady on the beach!” The woman smiled and returned the wave. Nick, grinning, turned to O’Brien. “She thinks I’m Yanni and this is my yacht.”

O’Brien laughed. “You’d better sell some more music on PBS and get a bigger boat. She looks like the mega-yacht type.”

Nick reached across the console and turned on satellite radio. John Mellencamp filled the speakers with Little Pink Houses. “I always like music when I come back to the harbor. We celebrate now ‘cause we caught a few fish. Every time I bring my boat in, I’m out there a week or more, I always crank the music goin’ by the fishermen, the babes, restaurants, and the bars leading up to the marina. Kinda like Nick’s parade.”

“If you want to go out on the deck and do a little Greek dance, don’t be shy.”

“Shy? Sean, I’m the one tryin’ to get you to come outta your shell. I tried to introduce you to Shelia-”

“The stripper?”

“Doesn’t matter how she makes a livin,’ it’s what she’s made of, you know?”

O’Brien started to respond, but stopped when he saw what awaited them just around the rock jetties. A Coast Guard cutter. The distinctive orange stripe from the lip of the bow to below the waterline. At least five men on deck. Two holding rifles. O’Brien said, “Gentlemen, company has arrived.”

“Whoa, holy-” Jason said.

“No shit,” Nick said, his voice dropping.

O’Brien brought Jupiter to a slow speed. “Jason, where’d you put the camera?”

“Lower station. Next to the wheel, right where I keep my cell and keys.”

“Hide the camera in a milk carton inside the rear of the fridge. The carton has its backside partially cut out. Put the camera in there, and put the carton in the same place.”

Jason nodded, his nostrils wide, a vein jumping in the side of his neck.

From the Coast Guard boat, a voice came booming over a loudspeaker, “This is the United States Coast Guard. Pull the vessel west of marker seventeen and anchor. Prepare for boarding.”