11
Stone looked around for shelter; no trees, not even shrubs for fifty yards, and he didn’t want to get any farther from the dinghy. He looked out at the boat off the beach: it had begun to turn slowly away from them. A man stood up, holding a rifle, and Stone could hear him swearing.
“TURN THE GODDAMNED thing back on course!” the man yelled at a woman who was at the helm. She put the engines into gear and started to turn back toward them.
“QUICK!” Stone said to Meg. He helped her to her feet, grabbed her hand, and they ran away from the beach, toward some dunes, diving behind the nearest one as the rifle could be heard again and flying sand scattered around them. “Keep your belly on the ground,” Stone said to Meg, “and crawl back toward the dinghy. The dune gets higher as we go.” Then he heard automatic fire and hugged the sand beneath him. The guy with the rifle was swearing again, yelling instructions at the woman. Stone looked up, and the boat was again stern to their position. “Okay, let’s go,” he said to Meg, and they began crawling as fast as they could. Shots rang out again, but hit the top of the dune behind them. The shooter had lost their position. “Lie very still, now,” he said.
“WHERE ARE THEY?” Jane asked.
“How the fuck do I know?” Dirty Joe yelled back. “They’re behind that fucking dune. And I need another magazine.” He went below to get one.
THEN STONE heard a clattering sound from some distance away. He risked sticking his head up long enough to find its source. Dino was weighing the anchor they had put out to reinforce their mooring. Stone thanked Hinckley that raising the anchor involved only the pressing of a switch, not physical labor. He ducked back down. “Dino’s on the way,” he said to Meg.
“Does he know how to operate that JetStick thing you’ve been using?” she asked.
“Sort of,” Stone replied. “He’ll get the hang of it.” The automatic fire started again, and the shooter was panning toward them, rounds ripping off the peak of the dune as they hit. “Stay down,” Stone said, as if that were necessary. He heard the engines on the Hinckley start up, but he was afraid to check on Dino’s progress.
“THEIR BOAT is moving!” Jane shouted, and Dirty Joe stopped firing and looked at it as it accelerated. He turned his rifle back toward the beach and got off another burst, then dropped the magazine and shoved in another. “This is my last one,” he said to Jane.
Then there was a single shot from the direction of the blue yacht, and an almost simultaneous whack as the bullet struck the radome on top of his cabin. “Oh, shit, those people are armed. Let’s get the hell out of here! Head for Key West!”
Jane did as ordered and shoved the throttles forward. The boat leaped ahead. “Why Key West? We don’t want to go there.”
“When we’re out of their sight we’ll turn for Islamorada,” Joe replied.
STONE RAISED his head now and saw the boat roar away, its three outboards howling. He looked back at the Hinckley and saw Dino’s head protruding from an open hatch in the cabin roof; he was standing on the skipper’s seat, firing a handgun at the retreating speedboat.
STONE STOOD up now. “The shooter is out of here,” he said to Meg. “Let’s get to our dinghy.” They ran down the dune and back up the beach, to where they had dragged the dinghy ashore. They launched it, climbed in, and Stone started the outboard. A moment later Dino had stopped the Hinckley, and they were pulling up to the stern boarding platform of the yacht, where Viv stood waiting to take their painter.
“Are you two hurt?” Viv asked.
“No, we’re fine,” Stone said, “just a little sandy.” He tied up the dinghy, then got out the stern shower and adjusted the water temperature. He hosed Meg down as she stood on the boarding platform, then did the same for himself.
“How nice to have hot water,” Meg said. “I’ll get us robes.” She went forward toward their cabin.
Stone went to the pilot’s seat and turned the yacht back toward their anchorage.
“I’m sorry we didn’t get here sooner,” Dino said, clearing his weapon and laying it on the dashboard. “If we hadn’t had that anchor out, we might have had a real chance of arriving in time to hit them. As it was, I think I got their radome. I didn’t see the boat’s name, did you?”
“No, there were three outboard engines blocking the view of the stern,” Stone said.
“We had no chance of catching up to them,” Dino said. “That thing probably does fifty knots with all that power. They’re headed toward Key West, though. You want to go back?”
“What’s the point?” Stone asked. “By the time we get there, they’ll be tucked into a berth somewhere, and there are thousands of them. Did you recognize what kind of boat it was?”
Dino shook his head. “Nothing I’ve seen before.”
“I never even got to my weapon,” Viv said. “It was all too fast.” Viv, like Dino, went everywhere armed; it was the ex-cop in her.
Meg brought Stone a robe, and he got into it, then they motored slowly back and picked up their mooring again. This time, he didn’t lower the anchor.
Dino got out his phone. “I’ll call this in, and maybe we can have them met in Key West.” He stared at his phone. “Zero reception out here.” He grabbed the VHF microphone, pressed the on button, and dialed in Channel 15. “Coast Guard, Coast Guard,” he said. “Stone, what’s the name of our yacht?”
“It doesn’t seem to have one,” Stone replied. “I guess the previous owner didn’t get around to it.”
“Coast Guard, this is Hinckley yacht, calling from Fort Jefferson. Do you read?”
“This is the Coast Guard,” a voice came back weakly. “What is your condition and your request?”
“We’re safely afloat,” Dino replied, “but two people on another boat fired an assault rifle at two of our party on Loggerhead Beach.”
“Anyone injured?”
“No, and the shooters departed in the direction of Key West, going very fast.”
“Describe their craft.”
“Maybe thirty-five feet, powered by three large outboards, very fast. We returned fire with a handgun, and I think we hit their radome.”
“I’ll alert our Key West station and the police,” the man said. “Give me your name, address, and phone number.”
Dino gave him his office information and his cell number.
“Do you require any assistance?”
“Negative,” Dino replied.
“Leave your radio on Channel 15, in case we need to contact you,” the man said.
“Will do. Oh, and you might contact Detective Harry Kaufelt at the Key West PD. He would be interested to hear about this.”
“Roger, and out.”
Dino turned to Viv. “Who do I have to fuck around here to get a drink?”
“I am that person,” Viv replied, handing him a scotch. “How long do I have to wait to get paid?”
“Not long,” Dino said, kissing her.
They were given a couple of snappers from a passing sports fisherman, and Stone got the grill fired up again.