The Intruders

22

“I never saw a knife like that before.”

“Designed it myself,” Flap said. “Call it a slasher.” Of course Jake couldn’t see the knife now, since they were sitting in absolute total darkness under a tree in the jungle, but Flap had borrowed his lighter and gone looking for tree moss. Now he was back and was cutting up his and Jake’s T-shirts to use as a bandage. He had inspected the wound in the glow of the lighter when they first got ashore. “It’s nasty but not deep. You are one lucky white boy. I think maybe one rib broke, and it ain’t too bad.” “Feels like one of your knives is stuck in there.” Jake sat now holding the moss in place while Flap cut up the shirts. The moss was slowing the bleeding, apparently. He heard a motorboat coming down the river. They sat silently while it passed. When the sound had faded, Jake asked, “So what are we going to do?”

“Not much we can do tonight. There’s an overcast so there wouldn’t be much light when the moon comes up. The jungle canopy will keep it dark down here. We’re going to have to just sit tight until morning.”

“Think they’ll come looking for us tonight?”

“In the morning maybe. Maybe not. I hope they come. We need some weapons. All we have are my knives. Be easier to ambush them here than around their village, wherever that is.”

“The stabber and the slasher.”

“Yep.”

“Where did you learn to throw a knife like that?”

“Taught myself,” Flap told him. “It’s a skill that comes in handy occasionally.”

Jake moved experimentally. He tried to stretch out and relax to ease the pain. After a bit he said, “I don’t think their village is far upriver. It was narrowing when we left that ship.”

“We’ll work our way upriver in the morning. We need a boat to get out to sea.”

“Tell you what, Tarzan, is there any way you could rustle us up some grub? My stomach thinks my throat is cut.”

“Tomorrow. You like snake?”

“No.”

“Tastes like—”

“Chicken. I’ve heard that crap before. I ate my share at survival school.”

“Naw. Tastes like lizard.”

“I don’t like them either.”

“Sit up and hold up your arms and let me wrap this thing around you.”

Jake obeyed. When Flap finished he eased his arms back into his flight suit and zipped it up. “What about bugs?”

“They’re okay as an appetizer, but you expend about as many calories gathering them as—”

“How are we gonna keep ’em from bleeding us dry tonight?”

“Smear your skin with mud.”

Jake was already encased in mud almost to his waist from wading through the goo to get ashore. He scraped some from his legs and ankles and applied it to his face and neck.

After a bit, Flap asked, “How many guys were in the engine room?”

“Two. What happened topside?”

“They pinned me down. I needed a couple grenades and didn’t have them. Got one of them, though.”

“We’re lucky to be alive.”

“Grafton, you are the luckiest S.O.B. I know. If that bullet had been an inch farther right you’d be lying dead in that engine room. It’s scary — we’re using up oodles of luck and we’re still young men. We’re gonna be high and dry and clean out of the good stuff before we’re very much older.”

They lay down on the jungle floor and tried to relax. Lying in the darkness in the muck, swatting at mosquitoes as the creepy-crawlies examined them — Kee-rist! Well, at least they weren’t sitting in seawater to their waist or huddled in a steel compartment waiting for an executioner to come for them.

After a while Jake said, “Are you ever going to get married?”

“You read my mind. I was lying here hungry and thirsty and miserable as hell contemplating that very subject. And you?”

“Smart ass!”

“No, seriously — why don’t you tell the Great Le Beau all about it. After all, before a man commits holy matrimony he should have the benefit of unbiased, expert counsel. Even if he plans on ignoring the pithy wisdom he will undoubtedly receive, as you most certainly will.”

“I might get married. If she’ll say yes.”

“Ahh — you haven’t queried your intended victim. Or you have and she refused in a rare fit of eminent good sense. Which is it?”

“Haven’t asked.”

“Uh-huh.”

“Met her last year in Hong Kong.”

“I met a girl in Hong Kong once upon a time,” Flap replied. “Her name was…damn! It was right on the tip of my tongue. Anyway, she worked at the Susy Wong whorehouse, a couple of blocks from the China Fleet Club. You know it? She was maybe sixteen and had long black hair that hung almost to her waist and exquisite little breasts that—”

“I met an American girl.”

“Umph.”

“I knew you’d be interested, seeing how we fly together and all, so I’ll tell you. Since you aren’t sleepy and we got nothing else to do.” And he did. He told about meeting Callie, what she looked like, sounded like, how he felt when he was with her. He told Flap about her parents and about Chicago, about getting out of the Navy and what she said. He had been talking for at least half an hour when he finally realized that Le Beau was asleep.

His side throbbed badly. He changed positions in the detritus of the jungle floor, trying to find one that would cause the least stress on his wound. The sharpness of the pain drove his mind back to the pirate ship, to the prospect of death in a few moments by execution.

Flap threw that knife into that one guy and sliced the other’s throat in what — three seconds? Jake had never seen a man move so fast, nor had he ever seen a man butchered with a knife. Shot, yes. But not slashed to death with one swipe of the arm, his throat ripped from ear to ear, blood spurting as horror seared the victim’s face.

Life is so fragile, so tenuous.

Luckily he had gotten into motion before the surprise wore off the other two.

And the engine room, the horror as that man came around the engine shooting and the bullet struck him. Now the scene ran through his mind over and over, every emotion pungent and powerful, again and again and again.

Finally he let it go.

He felt like he had that sticker of Flap’s stuck in his side right now.

So those other guys died and he and Flap lived. For a few more hours.

It was crazy. Those men, he and Flap — they were like fish in the sea, eating other fish to sustain life before they too were eaten in their turn. Kill, kill, kill.

Man’s plight is a terribly bad joke.

He was dozing when the sound of a motorboat going upriver brought him fully awake. Flap woke up too. They lay listening until the noise dissipated completely.

“Wonder what happened to the pirate ship?”

“Maybe it sank.”

“Maybe.”

After the sun came up the foliage was so thick that Jake had to keep his hand on Flap’s shoulder so that he wouldn’t lose him. Flap moved slowly, confidently and almost without noise. Without him Jake would have been hopelessly lost in five minutes.

Flap caught a snake an hour or so after dawn and they skinned it and ate it raw. They drank water trapped in fallen leaves if there weren’t too many insects in it. Once they came to a tiny stream and both men lay on their stomachs and drank their fill.

Other than the noises they made, the jungle was silent. If anyone was looking for them, they were being remarkably quiet.

Jake and Flap heard the noises of small engines and voices for a half hour before they reached the village, which as luck would have it, turned out to be on their side of the river. It was about noon as near as they could tell when they hit the village about a hundred yards inland. Thatched huts and kids, a few rusty jeep-type vehicles. They could smell food cooking. The aroma make Jake’s stomach growl. A dog barked somewhere.

They stayed well back and worked their way slowly down to the riverbank to see what boats there might be.

There were several. Two or three boats with outboard engines and one elderly cabin cruiser lay moored to a short pier just a couple of dozen yards from where Jake and Flap crouched in the jungle. Beyond the boats was a much larger pier that jutted almost to midstream. Resting against the T-shaped end of it was the hijacked ship. Above the ship numerous ropes made a latticework from bank to bank. Leafy branches of trees dangled from the ropes — camouflage. The freighter seemed to be held in place against the current mainly by taut hawsers from the bow and stern that stretched across the dark water to the river’s edge, where they were wrapped numerous times around large trees.

From where they lay they could just see the ship’s name and home port: Che Guevara, Habana.

Flap began to laugh.

“What’s so funny?” Jake whispered.

“A Cuban freighter. We got shot down and almost killed over a Commie freighter. If that doesn’t take the cake!”

“My heart bleeds for Fidel.”

“Ain’t it a shame.”

The ship’s cranes were in motion and at least a dozen men were visible. A large crate was lowered to the pier and six or eight men with axes began chopping it open. Apparently they didn’t have a forklift.

Inside the box were other, smaller boxes. Pairs of men hoisted these and carried them off the pier toward the village.

“Weapons,” Flap said. “They hijacked a ship full of weapons.”

“What do you think was in those little boxes just now?”

“Machine guns, I think. Look, aren’t those ammo boxes?”

“Could be.”

“They are. I’ve seen boxes like that before. One time up on the Cambodian border.”

“Maybe this ship wasn’t hijacked. Maybe those guys met it in midocean to put aboard a pilot.”

“Then why the SOS?”

Jake shrugged, or tried to. The pain in his side was down to a dull throb, as long as he held his shoulder still and didn’t take any deep breaths.

“These dudes are ripping off a Commie weapons shipment,” Flap said slowly. “Maybe one bound for Haiphong. Guns and ammo are worth their weight in gold.”

“That little cabin cruiser is our ticket out of here, if it isn’t a trap.”

“Maybe,” Flap said softly. “We can’t do anything until tonight anyhow, so let’s make ourselves comfortable and see what we can see. I don’t see any floodlights anywhere; these people won’t be working at night. But that little boat is just too good to be true. The captain we met yesterday didn’t impress me as the type of careless soul who would leave a boat where we could swipe it at our convenience.”

After a few minutes Jake muttered, “I haven’t seen the captain yet on the dock.”

“He’s around someplace. You can bet your ass on that.”

“That ship we set fire to isn’t here either.”

“Maybe they abandoned it. But remember that boat that went down the river last night, then came back hours later? It was probably that cruiser there, and it probably rescued everyone left alive. The captain is here. I can feel him.”

“Okay.”

“See that shack just up there on the left? From there a fellow would have a good view of the boat and the dock. Keep your eyes on that. I’m going to slip around and see what they’re doing with all these weapons they’re taking off that ship.”

“Leave me one of your knives.”

“Which one?”

“The sticker.”

Flap drew it from the sheath hanging down his back and handed it to Jake butt-first. Then he took two steps and disappeared into the jungle.

A throwing knife with a needle-sharp point and a slick handle, the weapon was perhaps ten inches long. Jake slipped it into his boot top, leaving just enough of the hilt exposed so that he could get it out quickly. He hadn’t the foggiest idea how to throw it, but he had no qualms about jabbing it into somebody to defend himself. His throbbing side was a constant reminder that these people wanted him dead.

Lying under a tangle of vegetation, he rolled on his good side and gingerly unzipped his flight suit. The bandage was encrusted with old blood. Nothing fresh. He zipped the flight suit back up and rolled on his belly. He wormed his way forward until he could just see the shack and the pier beyond, then checked to ensure that he was completely hidden. He decided he was.

At least two hours had passed when Flap returned. It was hard to judge. Time passed slowly when you were lying in a jungle with bugs crawling around and flying critters gnawing at your hide. If you were short of sleep, so hungry that your stomach seemed knotted, suffering from a raging thirst and had diarrhea, every minute was agony. Jake dared not leave his post, so he shit where he lay.

Once he heard a jet. It was far away, the sound of its engines just a low hum.

“Jesus H. Christ!” Flap whispered when he crawled up beside Jake, startling him half out of his skin. “What died?”

“That’s shit, you bastard. Never smelled it before, huh?”

“For crying out loud, you could at least have dropped your flight suit.”

“There’s someone over there in that shack. He stuck his head out twice and looked around. Seen smoke a couple times too, just a whiff, like he’s standing right inside the door smoking a cigarette.”

“There’s two of them in there. I looked in the back window.”

Jake had kept his eyes glued on that shack and hadn’t once glimpsed Flap. For the first time he realized just how terrifically good Le Beau was in the jungle.

“Here, this is for you.”

Flap passed over an AK-47. “It’s loaded with a full clip. Safety is on.”

“Found this lying around, did you?”

“Relax. They won’t find the guy who had it for quite a while. Maybe never. Gimme my sticker back. I feel kinda naked without it.”

Jake got the knife from his boot and handed it over.

“Lotta good that would have done you in your boot. You should have stabbed it into the dirt right by your hand, so you could grab it quick.”

“Next time. Until then I’ll just stick to ol’ Betsy here. Appreciate the gift. So what’s the setup?”

The bad guys were stacking the weapons back in the jungle, out of sight from the air. Most of the stuff was still in crates. “They got a hell of a pile out there but I don’t think they got it all. Certainly not a shipload. There’s no way of telling what’s left on the ship.”

“I’ve been figuring,” Jake said. “Seems to me that the first thing we have to do after dark is take out those two guys in the shack and check out that cabin cruiser.”

“It may be booby trapped.”

“I don’t think so. That was the boat we heard last night. The guys in the shack are supposed to kill us if we try for it.”

“Can’t start the engine here.”

“I know. We’ll have to cast off and drift downriver. We can use one of your knives to cut us some poles to keep it off the banks. Then when we’re a couple miles downriver, we’ll start the engine and motor out to sea.”

“What if the engine won’t start?”

“We just drift on out.”

“They’ll follow.”

“Not if we blow up the ammo dump and sink all these little boats.”

Flap gave a soft whistle of amazement. “You don’t want much, do you?”

“So what’s your plan?” Jake asked.

“Kill the guys in the shack and steal the boat. The Navy can come back any old time and bomb these dudes to hell.”

Jake snorted. “Your faith in the system is truly amazing. Here we are in a foreign county — Indonesia, I think. Whatever. Assuming we manage to get rescued and tell our tale, the only thing the U.S. Navy can do is send a polite note to the State Department. State is going to pass this hot tip to the National Security Council, which will probably staff the shit out of it. The fact that these weapons are going to be sold to revolutionary zealots in Asia, the Mideast or Africa who will use them to cause as much hell as humanly possible and murder everyone who disagrees with them won’t cause one of those comfortable bureaucrats to miss a minute’s sleep. When the nincompoops who brought you Vietnam get through scratching their butts, they’ll give the U.S. ambassador to Indonesia a note to give to whoever is running this country this week. That whoever may or may not do anything. After all, he’s probably getting a cut of this operation. There’s a whale of a lot of money to be made here: your karate expert captain friend is probably smart enough to spread it around a little.”

“A lot of the weapons are still on Fidel’s freighter,” Flap pointed out.

“We’ll have to blow it up too.”

“Just out of curiosity, what little army is going to do all this blowing up you envision?”

“You and me.”

Le Beau rolled over on his back and threw an arm across his face. In a moment he said, “You got gall, Grafton, I’ll give you that. You lay there with a bullet hole in your side, wearing your own shit and tell me that ‘you and me’ are going to blow up a weapons cache and a ship! My ass. They’ll smell you fifty feet away. You want me to go do the hero bit and probably get myself killed.”

“We’ll both go. But this is a volunteer deal. You’re senior to me and we aren’t in the airplane anymore. It’s your call.”

“Thank you from the bottom of my teensy little heart. Ah me…My second command — I used to lead a whole platoon, you know. Now it’s just me and one wounded flyboy with the shits. My military career is going up like a rocket.”

“Oh, cork it. What do you want to do?”

“You think you’re up for this?”

“Yeah.”

“Well, you asked for it. Here’s the plan.”

As Jake Grafton listened the thought occurred to him that Flap Le Beau had been thinking about screwing these pirates all afternoon. He got a warm feeling. Flap had let him suggest it. Flap Le Beau was one hell of a good guy.

“Not right after dark,” Flap said. “They’ll expect us then. After midnight, in the wee hours.”

“The moon will be up sometime after midnight,” Jake pointed out. “The clouds will probably obscure it though.”

“It would be good if the clouds let the moonlight through. They’ll relax and maybe sleep.”

They pulled back into the jungle to a small stream. Jake undressed and sat in it. The diarrhea was drying up, a little anyway, leaving him very thirsty. He drank and drank from the stream. Then he washed out his flight suit and underwear and put them back on.

Finally he and Flap stretched out in the damp, rotting leaves. The bugs were bad, but they were very tired and the muffled noise from the village and the pier lulled them to sleep. They were both emotionally wrung out from their experiences of the last two days and nights, so their sleep was dreamless. When they awoke the light was fading rapidly and the noise from the ship had ceased. They drank again from the stream, Jake relieved himself, then they crawled back to the vantage point where they could see the shack and the small boats.

The waiting was hard.

When you have finally crossed the threshold, left behind good meals, a comfortable bed, clean clothes and the relaxed company of friends, life becomes a mere battle for survival. The nonessential sinks out of sight.

They lay in the foliage, one man on his stomach watching, the other on his side or back napping. Fortunately there was a small electric light mounted on a pole near the boat dock.

The hours dragged. With nothing to look forward to but battle, and perhaps death, delay was painful. Yet they waited.

The guards in the shack were changed several hours into the night. Two new men came, the two inside left. All of them carried rifles.

No one approached the boats. Even when the rain came. At first it was gentle, then it increased in intensity. Still no one came to cover the boats or check their moorings.

All activity on the dark freighter ceased. From their vantage point the watchers caught occasional glimpses of cigarettes flaring, but the ship was just a blacker spot in the black night.

Finally activity in the village ceased.

The rain continued to fall.

Jake slept again.

When Flap shook him awake, the rain had slowed to a drizzle.

“Look,” he whispered so softly that at first Jake didn’t understand. He had to inch around to see what Flap was pointing at. After several seconds he realized he was looking at two men standing by the boat dock smoking. They were away from the light, but there they were, quite plain.

“They came out of the shack. I’m going now.”

“Okay.” Jake fumbled with the AK-47, made sure the action was clear of leaves, then eased it through the foliage in front of him and spread his feet. Only then did he realize Flap had disappeared.

Minutes passed as he watched the figures by the boat dock. He could hear the murmur of voices. They stood smoking and talking.

Jake waited. If Flap were discovered now, they had no choice but to try for the cabin cruiser.

Finally the men turned and ambled uphill for the shack. One of them paused while the other went on ahead. He was facing in this direction. Only when he turned toward the shack did Jake realize that he was zipping up his pants. He had relieved himself.

The first man was already inside. The second man paused in the doorway. Flap was inside. Jake stopped breathing and blinked rapidly, trying to see in the almost nonexistent light. If the man shouted or fired his weapon…

Then he turned for the door and merged with another shadow coming out. Now he disappeared within.

In less than a minute Flap Le Beau came across the open ground toward Jake’s position. He was walking calmly, with a rifle in each hand. When he approached Jake’s position he said softly, “Come on. Let’s look at the boat.”

Jake wormed his way straight ahead out of the brush, then struggled to his feet. Flap was already at the boat dock. Jake followed along, trying to look as nonchalant as the two guards had.

Flap got into the cabin cruiser. “The battery works,” he reported.

“Any fuel?”

“There’s a can here. Let me see.” A half minute passed. “Well, it’s gasoline. A couple of gallons. I’m going to pour it into the tank.”

This cabin cruiser — what if it were sabotaged? Maybe they should take one of the little boats. Jake looked in them for oars. Each of them had a set. They had outboard engines too, but the presence of oars seemed to indicate that the owners of the boats weren’t brimming with confidence over the reliability of those engines. Or maybe they were just careful.

It was going to be a big gamble.

Jake turned his back on the cabin cruiser and stood looking at the village. A faint glow from three or four lights showed through the foliage.

Flap joined him on the dock. “Decision time, shipmate. We can untie this scow and get out of here right now with a chance and maybe a future. They won’t know this tub’s gone until morning.”

“You’re senior,” Jake told him. “You make the decision and you live with it.”

“I’m giving you a choice.”

“This is ridiculous.” They couldn’t stand here in plain sight arguing like two New York bankers waiting for a taxi. “Lead the way, Le Beau. I’ll be right behind you.”

Flap took one of the AKs and lowered it into the water, then released it. With the other rifle in his left hand, he turned and walked off the dock. Jake followed him.

They circled the village through the jungle. The weapons cache was on the side away from the sea, a hundred yards from the long pier. At least two guards were on duty.

Flap picked a vantage point and watched for a while with Jake beside him. The guards walked the perimeter alertly. After the second one passed, Flap told Jake, “They’re too alert. They know something’s up.”

“Maybe they missed that guy you killed this afternoon.”

“Maybe.”

“What if there’s someone inside the pile?”

“There is. Believe it.”

“Let’s go around to the other side and get a look before we go in.”

Flap led the way with Jake behind him. Jake concentrated on following Flap, afraid that he might lose him, and let Flap worry about avoiding the opposition.

Flap halted on a little hill halfway between the ship and the cache. The village was directly opposite them. To get to the boat landing, however, they would have to either pass the village or retrace the route they had just traveled, circling both the weapons cache and the village.

“Has to be here,” Flap said. “It’s shitty, I know. But we’ll need a side shot at the ship. From the boat landing we’re looking at her stern.” After a bit he asked, “Think you can get here on your own if you have to?”

“Yeah. Unless they turn off that streetlight across the way.”

“They won’t. Let’s go.”

They went back toward the cache and settled in fifty feet away, hidden in waist-high foliage. Flap waited until a guard went by and turned the corner, then he flitted across the gap like a shadow and disappeared into an aisle between stacks of boxes. He left his rifle with Jake.

One minute passed, then another.

The second guard came around the corner and walked by.

Flap had to find the man inside amid the aisles, if there was one, kill him, then come back to dispose of the guards outside. It was a tall order, yet these men had to be down before Jake and Flap could rip into the boxes, which could not be done noiselessly.

Several more minutes ticked by. Jake fingered his flooded, useless watch. Perhaps he should have thrown it away.

Okay, Flap. Where are you, shipmate?

Come on! Come on, Flap!

Oh, Jesus, don’t let anything happen to Le Beau.

Little late to think about that, isn’t it, Jake? You two could be on a boat going down the river right this very moment if you hadn’t insisted on going through with this.

Well, something had gone wrong. Flap was in trouble.

Jake was torn by indecision. If he went inside looking he could blow this whole deal. Yet if Le Beau were injured he might die without assistance.

Here comes one of the guards. Walking and looking, his rifle held carelessly in the crook of his arm.

As the guard went by the aisle where Flap had disappeared, he hesitated. Jake stared at him across the sights of the AK. Now the guard took a step back and peered into the gloom as Jake’s finger tightened on the trigger. If he points his weapon he’s dead.

Hands reached for the guard and jerked him forward off his feet, into the aisle.

What were you worried about, Jake? Flap’s the best, the absolute best, a fucking super-Marine.

More time passed.

Waiting was the hard part. If you didn’t know what was happening.

Jake lifted his head and took a long, careful scan of the area. No one moving.

The other guard came around the corner. He was more alert than the first one. He held his rifle in both hands, the muzzle up. He looked puzzled.

Uh-oh, he didn’t pass the other guy and now he’s wondering where he is.

He stopped and looked about carefully, then turned and went back the way he had come. When he reached the corner an arm shot forward. The guard jerked away.

Even from this distance Jake could see the hilt of the knife protruding just below his chin. The rifle fell harmlessly as the man staggered, grabbing at his throat. Le Beau was right there, an arm coiling around the man’s mouth to ensure he didn’t scream. When he went down Jake hobbled forward.

Le Beau was bent over holding his side. Blood splotched his flight suit everywhere. The Marine jerked the knife from the man’s throat and wiped it on his leg, leaving yet another streak on his filthy flight suit, then slipped it into his sleeve sheath.

“What happened?”

“Guy inside had a knife. He got me good.”

“Let’s saddle up and get the fuck outta here.”

“No. They bought us tickets and we’re taking the ride. Quick, let’s drag this guy out of sight. Grab hold.”

They each took an arm.

“How bad is it?” Jake wanted to know.

“I don’t know. Burns like fire.”

“Can you keep going?”

“We’ll see.” As they dropped the body in a dark aisle, Flap muttered, “Always knew I’d get it with a knife.”

He led the way down a gloomy aisle, almost feeling his way along. “The stuff we want is down here. Fuses and wire. Found it this afternoon.”

They attacked the side of a box with Flap’s throwing knife. The nails ripping loose sounded loud as gunshots.

“How do you know what’s in each box?”

“Seen crates like these before, in Cambodia. This is all Russian stuff. The crates got symbols on them for the comrades who can’t read Russian. Like me.”

The side of the crate came loose. Flap dug into it. He came out with a handful of primers and wire. After a little more digging they extracted a timer.

“Now all we gotta do is find the plastique.”

Jake was horrified. “You don’t know where it is?”

“Couldn’t find it this afternoon.”

“Maybe it’s still on the ship.”

“Maybe. Get out your lighter and look.”

They found a crate with the lid already open. Grenades. Each man stuffed four or five into his chest pocket, then they went on.

Time was dragging. The lighter got hot and flickered. It was about out of butane. Someone was going to come check on the guards any minute now.

Jake was about to give in to despair when they found the plastique. There were at least five crates of it, piled one on top of the other.

“Boost me up,” Flap said.

Lying on top of the crates, Flap pried at the lid of the topmost one with his knife. More groaning noises, as loud as fire sirens. Finally he said, “Okay, pass up the primers and stuff.”

“How long do you want on the timer?”

“Thirty minutes.”

The timer was mechanical. Jake began winding it up as fast as he could. When the spring would go no tighter, he used the lighter. The clock face would take up to a twelve-hour delay. He set thirty minutes, then passed it up to Flap.

Two minutes passed before Flap asked for help to get down. His side was wet with warm blood.

“Those antitank rockets are down this way,” he murmured. He took four steps and fell.

Jake helped him up. “Let’s try to get a bandage on that.”

“With what?”

“Shirt off one of the corpses.”

“We don’t have the time. Come on!”

They took four of the rockets, two for each man. Flap was visibly weaker now, but in the spluttering light of the butane lighter he took the time to explain how to arm, aim and shoot. The lighter died for the last time before they were through and couldn’t be relit. Jake dropped it and slung his rifle over his back. Then he hoisted two of the rockets.

He had to help Flap to his feet. Flap hoisted his two and let the rifle lay. He turned and led the way.

Two steps out of the aisle Flap froze. A figure stood in front of him with a rifle leveled.

The captain!

“You two! I knew you weren’t dead.”

He took a step closer. “You have caused me a great deal of trouble. Now I’m going to cause you a great deal of pain.”

Quick as thought he moved forward and smashed Flap in the head with the butt of his rifle. Flap collapsed.

The captain drove a kick at Jake Grafton that caught him right where his rib was broken. He almost passed out from the pain.

When he came to his senses he was lying almost across Flap. The captain was talking. “Been into the weapons, I see. What else have you done?” He kicked Jake again, but he took the blow mostly on his shoulder.

Jake felt for Flap’s left arm. He found it. The sleeve was loose. The knife came free in his hand.

Another kick. “What have you done in there? Answer me!”

As the foot flashed out again Jake grabbed it and pulled. Off balance, the captain fell. Jake scrambled to his knees and went for him but the man was too quick. He was coming off the ground so Jake slashed with the knife, a vicious, desperate backhand.

The captain staggered back. Through all the kicks he had kept his rifle in his left hand. Now he dropped it and grabbed his stomach with both hands as a shriek of agony escaped him.

His guts spilled out.

The captain fell to the ground. Jake crawled toward him and stabbed, again and again and again.

When the captain went limp Jake slashed at his throat for good measure, then rolled over moaning. He couldn’t breathe. His side!

The captain quivered. In a haze of pain, Jake stabbed the knife into his chest and left it there.

Somehow he got to his feet.

Le Beau seemed only partially conscious. Jake grabbed him by the back of the neck of his flight suit and heaved. The Marine slid about two feet.

Jake needed both hands.

The boat dock. He had to get Flap to the boat.

No way but to drag him.

In a haze of pain, struggling to breathe, he pulled. He paused occasionally to glance over his shoulder, because he was dragging him backward. Right by the lights of the village.

Someone would see him and shoot him.

He didn’t care.

How he made the journey he didn’t know. Flap stirred several times but he didn’t come to.

Finally he had the Marine on the boards of the dock. In a supreme effort he got him over the side of the cabin cruiser onto its deck.

He paused, breathing raggedly, not getting enough air but sucking hard anyway.

Cast off. He had to cast off.

Somehow he remembered the other boats. He got out on the dock and fumbled with their ropes.

The knife! Damn, he had left it sticking in the captain.

He managed to untie all of the ropes except one, which was knotted too tight for his fingers. In his pain and anxiety he forgot all about the second knife that Flap carried.

The ropes for the cabin cruiser came loose easily.

Jake got aboard just as the current began to ease it away from the dock. Those other boats that were free from their moorings were already drifting.

The grenades.

He fumbled in his chest pocket for one. He pulled the pin and held it as the distance increased.

Now.

He let the spoon fly, gritted his teeth and heaved. It hit on the dock, bounced once, then rolled into the moored boat.

Jake sagged down just as it went off.

The noise would bring the pirates. Maybe this would be a good time to see if the engine in this boat can be started.

Fumbling with the switches by the helm, he found the one for the battery. A little light came on. There was a button just beside it. Here goes nothing!

Please, God.

The engine turned over.

He jabbed the button in and held it. Grind, grind, grind as he played with the throttle.

A choke. Maybe there was a choke. Desperately he felt around the panel.

He found it and pulled it out. The engine ground several more times, then caught. He inched the throttle forward from idle and spun the helm.

He had the boat headed downriver when the first bullets thudded in.

One man shooting. No, two.

He hunkered by the wheel and fed in full throttle.

The boat accelerated nicely. He slewed it and craned his head to see. The banks of the river were even darker than the water.

Stay in the middle.

More bullets whapping in. The windshield in front of Jake shattered. Then something hit him in the shoulder, drove him forward into the panel. Somehow he kept his feet under him.

The shooting stopped. He was rounding a bend. He got himself into the seat behind the wheel.

How far to the sea? Would the pirates follow?

He was worrying about that when he heard the explosion, a roar that grew and grew and grew, then died abruptly.

His head swam and he worked desperately hard to breathe. Somehow he stayed conscious and kept the boat in the channel.

Eventually the darkness of the trees on the riversides merged with the night and the boat began to pitch and roll. The ocean. They were out of the river.

There was a bungee cord dangling from the wheel. With the last of his strength Jake managed to hook the free end to the bottom of the chair where he had been sitting.

He rolled Flap over to check on him. He had a terrible knot on his forehead and the pupil of one eye was completely dilated. Concussion.

“Hey, Flap. It’s me, Jake.”

The Marine moved. His lips worked. Jake put his head down to hear. “Horowitz had a brother. Tell him…Tell him…”

Just what Jake was to tell him Flap didn’t say.

Jake was so tired. He lay down beside Flap.

The boat ran out of fuel an hour later. It was rolling amid the swells of a sun-flecked blue sea when a pilot of an A-7 from Columbia spotted it. The crewman the helicopter lowered found Jake Grafton and Flap Le Beau lying side by side in the cockpit.