He balanced the body on the railing, grasped his ankles, and lowered him into the water.
“Sidetagin’s moving,” Larson said.
“Moving? Yes, perhaps, but he will do no swimming. Grasp his feet.” Chapter 42
“Where we going?” Co rporal Carl Janssen handed Water patrolperson Geiger the note. “Read that to me.”
“Grid square seventy-one. Where’s that?”
“The bigger numbers are way on the other side of the hotel’s dock.” He pushed the Boston Whaler’s throttle three-quarters forward.
“Too fast.”
“Beth, I’ll handle the boat. You watch. No one’s going to worry about our wake at this time of night. And we’re on official police business. It’s our duty to deal with whatever the problem is as quickly as we can. Who knows what danger lurks—”
“What’s up, anyway? Paul just woke me up and told me to get down to the dock.”
“Big party out of hand on some big sailboat. We’ve got to quiet them down.” He put his arm about her shoulder. “Maybe Paul knew you’d enjoy a midnight ride with me.”
She shrugged off the arm. “Drive the boat!”
He pushed the throttle full forward.
Larson removed his sling.
Kostov shook his head.
“She’s my responsibility, Ivan.”
“But with your shoulder you could be jeopardizing her life and yours.” Larson gestured toward Kostov’s leg.
“I shall not be running.”
“You’re right. Weapons?”
“These two only had knives. Staranov may have anything in that large briefcase.” Larson nodded. “You take the Bowie knife.”
“Bowie?”
“The big one.”
“Very well. He is in the cabin where I was sleeping?”
“That’s where they took Sheila.” He hesitated. “There’s something you need to
know. There’s an emergency hatch in the master head that—”
“Hatch? Head?”
“An access door to the deck. In the ceiling of the bathroom. I’ll go on deck to cover
that. If he finds out he’s alone, he may decide to run.” “You will be pleased to know that I have regained my powers of deliberation.” Sheila looked away.
“It is obvious that you must return with me to Moscow. There you will provide me
with the required information.”
“Me to Moscow? How will you do that?”
“Galavna-ya Bohl is a strong and wealthy organization.”
“What will you use for data?”
“Data?”
“The inputs. I doubt if NOAA will maintain the data retrieval for the benefit of your
organization.” “ Quite simple. You will rebuild them. The gathering and processing of information is not the sole franchise of Americans.”
“And what will use for an AP Power3 computer?”
“Buy. Or steal. Doctor, you do not—.” He raised his head. “There is still no noise from the saloon? Have my associates slaked their sexual thirsts?”
He opened the corridor door. “Sidetagin! Tormanov!”
There was no answer. He locked the door, then walked around the stateroom. “The portholes are too small for egress. Doctor, do you suppose that I, Eugen Yakovich Staranov, will stage his last stand here? The red Indians circling?” He extracted a revolver from his brief case. “No.”
Kostov threw his shoulder against the door. “Come out! Time to die!”
Staranov turned the light on in the head and looked at the ceiling. “Perhaps not.” He locked the door, stepped on the toilet seat, stepped on the tank, and unlocked the hatch above him. He threw the hatch cover back and jumped up.
He managed to get his hands and forearms into the opening, but fell back to the floor.
Kostov was battering the cabin door. “Open, trus!”
Staranov climbed onto the toilet tank and jumped again. He spread his upper torso on the deck.
Larson was standing at the hatch. There was a flash of light as the Plexiglas hatch cover moved to reflect the light at the top of the mast. He could make out Staranov’s head.
He waited until the body was half on deck, then kicked at the head.
Staranov saw the motion and rolled his head to the side.
Larson began a second kick, when his foot struck a railing post. He fell onto the deck, his wounded shoulder bearing most of his weight. “Goddamn!”
Staranov pulled himself onto the deck. “So, Mr. Larson, my shot to your shoulder is a telling factor after all.” He pulled the revolver from the waist of his trousers and aimed it at Larson’s chest.
Larson hauled himself to his feet and tackled Staranov. They fell to the deck, wrestling for the revolver. Staranov grabbed Larson’s hair and smashed his skull against the deck.
Kostov raised his head at the noise above him. He stepped back six paces, then ran at the cabin door. The door flew off its hinges. He fell into the room.
“Ivan!” She pointed at the head. “He’s in there.”
“No, he is now on the deck.“
He twisted the head door’s knob, then stepped back and kicked the door. The lock failed.
He stepped from the toilet seat to the tank and launched himself upward.
“Carl, you’ll get us fired or killed. Slow this damn thing down!”
“Almost there.”
“Carl, I—there! That must be it. Look at the size of that thing! It must be a hundred feet long.”
“Beats my Wavescooter, all right.”
“What are you going to do?”
“Stupid question! I’m going to pull along side. If there’s anybody on deck, you’re going to toss a line. If there isn’t anybody on deck, you get to climb on board.”
“But at this speed!”
“First, I’m going to take a prelim look. That way we’ll know if there is any trouble waiting for us and you’ll know what you have to do.”
“You’re going to throw a hell of a wake. You better hope there’s no one onboard who can complain.”
“Complain? We’re the one’s answering a complaint.”
Staranov held the revolver above his head. “Is there enough light for you to see this, Colonel? I wager that it is the only gun on board. That being the case, I recommend that you back up.”
Kostov didn’t move. “Where is Larson?”
Staranov jerked his head toward Larson’s body. “He is resting. We had a difference of opinion as to who should have the gun. I was selected.” He cackled. “He will awaken shortly.” He paused. “Where are my associates?”
“Drunk.”
“Valubin should never have recruited them.”
Kostov stepped forward.
Staranov took aim.
“Unimportant, Eugen Yakovich.”
“Unimportant who has the gun? I am a marksman. You would already be dead, were I not concerned with who might report a gunshot.”
“The shape gives it away. It is a Webley.”
“And if it is?”
“Your friends here have provided you with an old and unreliable weapon. We encountered them in Afghanistan, left over from British days.”
Staranov pulled back the hammer.
Kostov stepped forward. “I am willing to bet that between the quality of your weapon and your skill in this low light, I shall survive your first shot. You will not have a second. ”
“Your bravery, Colonel, is flavored with stupidity.”
The roar of the police boat interrupted the conversation. Staranov and Kostov turned to the sound.
Kostov recovered first and ran toward Staranov.
Staranov turned back to Kostov and pulled the trigger, but the old revolver misfired. He pulled the trigger again. Misfire.
Kostov was almost on Staranov.
Staranov threw the revolver at his head.
Kostov grabbed Staranov’s hand, then the other arm, and turned him to face the water. He leaned back and placed his
right foot in the small of Staranov’s back.
He clutched the railing. “No! Do you not see what is coming? No!” He fluttered his arms aimlessly. “Ya ne mogu plavat'!”
Kostov smiled. “You cannot float? Do you imagine that I care whether you can float or not, bolvan?”
Pomogite-mne!”
Staranov faced the oncoming boat. “Nyet!” Kostov pushed Staranov over the railing, then raised his hand to ward off the oncoming bow wave.
There was the sound of an impact in the water, then a thud on the deck behind Kostov.
The Carl Jansen waved, then veered away at full speed.
Waterpatrolperson Beth Geiger grabbed Jansen’s arm. “Where are you going!” He breathed deeply. “Got to find the noisy boat. That wasn’t it.”
“Bullshit! That was Grid 71.”
“Guy waved at us. No noise. Wrong boat.”
“You’re out of your cotton picking mind! You hit something. Something big.
You’re lucky you didn’t wreck the boat.”
“Not true.”
“You can’t get away with this! The guy saw the boat. Police is painted on the side in
big letters. He saw you and he saw me. Whatever you’ve done, you’re not taking me down with you. Get back there and deal with whatever the problem is.”
Jansen reduced speed and turned the Whaler back toward El Cisnero Blanco. Kostov grasped Larson’s shoulders.
Larson flinched. “No.”
“I am sorry.” Kostov shifted one hand to Larson’s belt, then pulled him upright.
“Sam!”
“What—”
Kostov slapped him. “Wake!”
Larson shook his head. “Okay, okay. I’m with you. Where’s Sheila?” “Still in the cabin, bound, but she is all right.”
Larson started toward the cockpit, but Kostov restrained him. “She can wait. We
have much to do.”
“I—okay, where’s the nut case?”
“Overboard.”
“Overboard? We’d better fish him out.”
“There’s no hurry.”
Larson frowned. “No hurry?”
“He was trying to get away. He fell over the side. A boat approached at high
velocity and ran over him.”
Larson glanced at Kostov. “Fell over the side?”
“Yes.”
“And where’d the boat go?”
“It turned away after it passed us. The word police was painted on the side.” “It’s dark. Are you sure?”
“I am.”
“I’ll turn on the flood lights. Switches are in the cockpit.”
He found Linda huddled in a corner of the saloon. “Sheila’s tied up. Untie her and then stay below.” Kostov was staring at the water when Larson returned. “Anything?”
“No.”
“Let’s get the Zodiac.”
“Zodiac?”
“The rubber dinghy attached to the stern.”
“In order to do what?”
“To search for the body.”
Larson cruised alongside the port side of the sloop.
“Anything?” Kostov said.
“No. The body may have sunk. Maybe the currents may have already taken it
away.”
“I think we are wasting our time. Let us return.”
“Okay.” Larson steered the Zodiac toward the boat’s stern. “Let get our story
straight before we tie up.”
“Straight?”
“Correct. Everything in order. I’m sure that he fell in—as you say—but if there were
a question, well, in some circles pushing a man into the path of an oncoming powerboat might be considered murder.” “Extermination, in this case, but I understand. He lost his footing. I reached for him, but missed. The boat was coming too fast. No one could have done anything. Most regrettable.”
“Most regrettable.” Sheila and Linda were in tears when Larson and Kostov returned to the cockpit. Larson frowned. “It’s over, girls. Get a grip.”
Linda took Kostov’s hand. “Come with me.”
Sheila and Larson followed them onto the deck. Linda pointed to a shoe lying farther
along the deck. “I came on deck to find you and saw this. It must have been his. He might be hurt.” “Stay here.” Kostov examined the shoe, then crooked h is finger at Larson. The blood had been washed away, but there was a foot and a shredded stocking inside.
Linda stepped forward to look at the shoe, then ran for the railing.
“What?” Sheila said.
Linda managed a strangled don’t before she vomited over the side.
The Whaler returned at a much lower speed. “Ivan, this guy’s in the wrong. I’m going to take the initiative away from him. Play along.”
Beth Geiger threw a line to Larson. “We’d like to come aboard.”
“Welcome,” Larson said.
He led them to the saloon.
“I’m Corporal Janssen. This is Waterpatrolperson Geiger.”
Larson introduced the foursome.
Janssen produced a small notebook. “Tell us what’s going on here. We—” “You tell us.”
“What?”
“You came storming along side the—”
“I was not storming!”
“What kind of boat is that?”
“Boston Whaler. A TwoSeventy Outrage.”
“How fast were you going?”
“I don’t think that’s any—”
“There couldn’t have been much left in the throttle.”
Jansen stared at Larson.
“Do you know what you did?”
“Did?”
“There was a man in the water. You ran right over him.”
Geiger rolled her eyes.
“Is he—”
“Dead? We don’t know. We turned on the flood lights and searched with the Zodiac, but we didn’t find anything.”
“He may be all—”
“We did, however, find something that was thrown onto the deck.”
“What?”
Larson led them to the foot.
Jansen made it to the rail. Geiger did not.
Larson led them to the saloon, then stood front of Jansen. “Why are you here?” “We were looking into a complaint. People on a boat making a lot of racket. I didn’t hear any excessive noise from this boat.” He pointed at Kostov. “And since I saw this man wave, I assumed that everything—”
“I did not wave.”
“Your hand flew up,” Geiger said.
“I was attempting to stop your approach. There was a man in the water.” “I wasn’t—”
Larson took a step forward. “Where’d you go after you hit him?”
“We were still looking for the boat that had been reported.” He hesitated. “Wait a minute! I’m the police here. I’m asking the questions!”
“You killed a man tonight!”
Jansen closed his eyes.
“Where have you been since then?”
“I just told you. We—”
“I’ll tell you where you were, mister. You were off thinking about what you did and what you were going to do about it.”
Geiger began to cry.
Larson sat. “Now, we’re ready to give you our statements.”
Jansen stood. “We don’t do that kind of work. There will be detectives out here when it gets light. Don’t go anywhere.”
“How about diving for the body?” Kostov said.
“Useless. This is deep water and it’s dark with the river water. The body will sink. The shrimp will have eaten whatever is left before divers could hope to find it.”
Jansen led his partner from the saloon.
Larson watched the police boat move slowly away, then joined the others in the saloon.
“Coffee anyone,” Sheila said.
“Dash of brandy in mine, please,” Larson said.
“So, what will happen to the speedy policeman?” Kostov said.
> “For hitting Staranov or for speeding?”
“Both,” Linda said.
“He can’t avoid acknowledging that he hit him, but for speeding? Nothing.”
“No?” Sheila said.
Larson smiled. “That’s my best guess. Look at it this way. Who’s going to report him? The little girl? She might be held culpable. One of us? For what reason? Are we angry at what he did?”
“But what will the cop do about us?” Linda said.
“I took charge to get him off balance—it’s the way to handle customer complaints in a brokerage firm. I didn’t want him thinking we were involved in this tragedy. He’s going to report the accident and be glad to get out of this with his job or maybe even avoiding manslaughter. His partner is going to back him up.”
“He did appear to be on the defensive, “ Kostov said.
“An understatement, I’d say,” Larson said, “which brings me to what may have been a genius stroke.” He faced the women. “The four of us need to get our story straight concerning this whole incident.”
“Incident?” Sheila said. “And what do you mean by straight?”
Larson took a deep breath. “Okay, here’s the way I remember it. Colonel Kostov received word yesterday that his tour of duty in Birmingham may be extended. We were happy and partying pretty heavily. We want to apologize to the boats moored near us for the noise and to the police for having to come out.
“We went to bed around twelve. Soon after I heard something hit the side of the boat. The crew had gone ashore for the evening and would be returning, so that I wasn’t concerned. Still, the sounds on deck didn’t seem to be the sounds of an experienced crew coming on board.
“I went to the cockpit. There wasn’t much moonlight, but the instrument lights were on so that I could see a little man in a business suit standing near the wheel. I asked him what he was doing on the boat and how he got there. He smelled like he’d had his share of bourbon. He muttered something about looking for the Nettleton boat—the Molly, I think he said—maybe Polly. Anyway, he said he’d come out from the hotel in a rowboat. I told him he was on the wrong boat. Without another word, he climbed onto the deck and started walking forward along the starboard side. I looked along that side of the boat, but there was no boat tied up. I yelled at him, but he was belligerent— told to mind my own goddamned business. Maybe he was angry at having picked the wrong boat.
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