The Black Bullet

CHAPTER THIRTY-SEVEN

The beam from Ponce Lighthouse punched through a fog stretching a half mile out to sea. O’Brien watched the light pierce the mist while Nick brought his boat toward the inlet. Nick had been quiet since witnessing the explosion.

As they entered Ponce Inlet, swells bounced off the rock jetties and crashed into the boat’s hull from left and right angles. A night heron called out from the blanket of fog, the cry an unseen mariner’s siren, a warning in sync with the rotation of the light.

Along the jetties, the fog wafted in backlit shadows, moving like spirits of Indians crawling down to the water’s edge to spear fish that no longer swam into the river to spawn. On the wind was the smell of a saltwater tide breaking against dry rocks, Australian pines, and a smoldering campfire burping up the taste of charred pine sap. O’Brien looked at his watch: 5:27 a.m. “Almost home, Nick. You okay?”

Nick held the wheel, fighting the turbulent water. “That coulda been us back there. Who killed the men who probably wanted to kill us?”

“I don’t know.” O’Brien looked at the holster and Luger on the bench seat. “Nick, you still pull a few crab traps?”

“Yeah, man. Why?”

“I want a place to park this Luger in its own salty environment until I need it.”

Dave Collins spotted Nick’s running lights through the fog. He sat in Gibraltar’s wheelhouse with Max lying on the bench seat. “Here they come, girl. Your papa and his pal Nick were almost toast out there. And, now, they may be carrying material that could turn cities into toast. I know that gentle creatures like you don’t relate to the concept of absolute power and mass killing. It’s an evil unique to the animal kingdom of man.”

She lifted her head, cocked her ears before Dave could hear the rumble of the diesels coming through the mangroves and onto the docks. “Ahhh, you know that sound, don’t you, girl? Uncle Nicky’s big boat, right?”

Dave carried Max down the steps to the cockpit then placed her on the dock so she could walk with him to Nick’s slip. They watched him work the bow thrusters and reverse the engines, bringing the boat to a perfect stop. Dave fastened the bow rope and stepped aboard with Max.

“You two are a sight for scorched eyes,” O’Brien said, coming down from the bridge, careful to keep his voice low. He petted Max. “Hi, lady.” O’Brien looked at the eastern sky. “Dawn’s coming soon. Let’s go inside. We’ll show you what we found out there.”