I was the one who thought he was crazy. What were all these cops doing practically WALKING on Heller?
I phoned Grafferty’s office. “You god (bleeped) fools!” I said. “He’s right there in the phone kiosk!”
The office man hung up on me.
In an agony of suspense, I stuck to the viewer.
Heller was watching the launch of the Sea Skiff. The travelift was a big contraption on wheels that lifted the large craft up into its belly and then rolled over to the dock edge and lowered the vessel into the water.
Workmen swarmed down into the oceangoing speedboat. They opened its engine covers and did things. They lowered in some new batteries. They got the engines going and checked to see if the cooling water was pumping. Then they ran it over to the Octopus Marine fuel float and gave it gas and oil and water.
Heller walked over to Mortie. “How much do you owe in bills?”
“Two Gs. I’ll never be able to pay off.”
“Here’s two Gs,” said Heller, “and another big one for your help today.”
“Jesus! You been robbing banks?”
“They think so,” said Heller. “Now, take some time off and get your eyes well. So long.”
“Wait a minute. I can see well enough to know they put a man-killing boat in the water for you. You’re not going out in that, are you?”
“I think so,” said Heller.
“Jesus,” said Mortie. “You wait right here!” He drove away at a mad rate.
Barney came over. “I checked the safety gear. If the Coast Guard stops you, you got the right foghorns and all that.”
Heller said, “You got some charts?”
“Oh, there’s a lot of old charts in the forward bunk space, up and down the coast. How far you goin’?”
“Just cruisin’ around,” said Heller.
“Well, if you’re goin’ further than a hundred miles, I better yell over to the float and tell ’em to put extra gas aboard.”
“You do that,” said Heller.
A cop walked over, eyeing Heller, the same cop who had talked to Mortie. “Come over here,” he said, gesturing.
Heller walked over to him.
“Did you know there was a reward out for the Whiz Kid?” said the cop. “Ten big ones.”
“That’s not very much,” said Heller.
“Well, I agree,” said the cop, “considering that he’s a notorious outlaw, but it is money. Now look, these (bleepards) around here are playing it dumb. Level with me. You was here when we arrived. Did you see anybody arrive or leave?”
“Not a soul,” said Heller.
The cop shook his head in bafflement and looked up and down the dock.
Mortie screeched his cab to a halt in front of the dockmaster office. Heller went over.
“Here,” said Mortie. “From me to you. Ten pastrami sandwiches and a special submarine with lots of garlic. And a six-pack of nonalcoholic beer. But that ain’t what I went for. Man, will you need this!” He shoved a package into Heller’s hands. “Dramamine. Seasick pills, kid. You’re a hacker and you don’t know what you’re getting into. Let me tell you, that sea is dangerous! Waves as tall as the Empire State Building!”
“Gee, thanks,” said Heller.
“So long, kid. But get back to something healthy like hacking.” Mortie sped away, caroming off a cop car.
Barney was there again. “Who do we make the bill of sale to? The Coast Guard will want to see it.”
“Close Shaves, Incorporated,” said Heller.
I was going absolutely crazy! These dumb cops had him right in their hands! The whole situation was insane!
Heller was shoving papers in his pocket and climbing down into the oceangoing speedboat, which bobbed as he boarded it. He studied out the controls. A dockhand cast him off.
Heller was standing behind the windshield, sun blazing down upon the chrome controls. One hand was on the wheel. With the other he waved at Barney and the dockmaster and they waved back.
Heller fed some throttle and the Sea Skiff leaped like it was spurred.
Throwing two gigantic plumes of spray, it sped out into the Hudson and banked as it curved away to the south!
The mighty roar of pounding engines lifted the vessel high in the water. It was picking up speed, planing.
HE WAS GETTING AWAY!
PART FORTY-NINE
Chapter 5
The Coast Guard!
They had mentioned it twice.
Ah, yes! I had the exact way to stop him now. But I needed just a little more data.
Viewed from the speeding craft, seen through a white fan of spray, the skyscrapers were going by like a picket fence.
There was no wind this bright spring day aside from an occasional cat’s paw. The clouds were actually reflected in the blue Hudson!
Heller was fiddling with a control attached by cord to a gyrocompass. He was evidently figuring out what it was and how it worked. It did not take him long.
He put his eye on a centerline behind the windshield, sighted past the chock on the foredeck and spotted the Statue of Liberty several miles ahead. He pressed a switch on the autopilot control and, utterly ignoring the crowds of traffic on the river, opened the companionway door that led down under the foredeck.
There were two narrow bunks, a toilet and a minuscule stove and water tap, an area so small you could not stand up in it. He opened a drawer and found a stack of charts. He sorted quickly through them, took two that he wanted and came back to the cockpit.
He checked the autopilot. The Sea Skiff was streaking straight toward the Statue of Liberty, still miles away. He went close under the stern of a big container ship without a second glance.
Typically Heller, he perched himself sideways on the edge of the pilot seat, hooked a foot under a rung and without the least concern for the absolutely jammed traffic on the river, sat comfortably in the warm sun and began to examine the chart.
He was giving me the data I needed.
His finger went close to the Jersey shore, past the Verrazano Narrows Bridge, changed course to Fort Hancock and Sandy Hook, followed the dots of the Intracoastal Waterway as they went through the expanse, wide open to the Atlantic, found the point where it entered sheltered waters at Manasquan Inlet, went down past Silver Bay, traced south through the wide, long waters of Barnegat Bay, past Barnegat Light, then the rest of the wide inland waterway past Beach Haven Inlet and then, curving around, to Atlantic City.
“Well, well,” he said. “There we go. About a hundred and eight nautical miles, give or take a few. Right to Gardner’s Basin. And lady love, like it or not, here I come!”
And here you don’t! I said grimly. I had everything I needed to know. On that chart I had seen—right across from the Statue of Liberty—Fort Jay, the Coast Guard station! He would be going close to it!
I called the United States Coast Guard. To the reception telephonist who answered, I snarled, “Give me the man who polices New York Harbor, fast!”
Switches clicked. Then a cheerful voice, “Harbor Traffic Control Tower, Fort Jay. Seaman Second Class Dicey Bergsom, USCG, on watch. And what can we do for you today?”
“You can apprehend a criminal!” I snapped, offended by his cheery tone. “You see that speedboat coming down the Hudson?”
“I’ll take a look. Oh, yes. I’ve got it now. It just changed course a bit, went under the bow of a cruise liner. Yes, I see the one you mean. Let me get a telescope on it. . . . Petey, you got a speedboat out there, about two-eight-four true on your radar. Clock it. . . . I’m trying to read its numbers, mister. She’s moving so fast she’s hard to keep in my field. . . . Got it! ‘Sea Skiff 329-478A? Is that the one, mister?”
“(Bleep) it, yes!”
“Jesus, is that right, Petey? Mister, Petey says she’s clocking 42.3 knots. Man, look at her go! . . . Hey, wait a minute. That number is familiar. Petey, ain’t that the old Faustino Sea Skiff? . . .Yeah, I thought so. Man, look at her GO! Petey, git your nose out of that
radar and eyeball this. . . . You ever see a prettier sight?”
Another voice, “Yowee! Man, would I like to be in that on a beautiful day like this, huh, Dicey?”
“(Bleep) it!” I screamed. “DO something!”
Seaman Second Class Dicey said, “I’m sorry, mister. That’s just some guy from the Narcotici mob going out to pick up a load of dope from some foreign freighter off Sandy Hook. Why would the Coast Guard be interested?”
“Arrest him!” I howled.
“There’s no speed limit where he is now. He can’t be arrested unless he doesn’t have a foghorn and I didn’t see him throw anything overboard to litter the harbor.”
I glared glassy-eyed at my viewer. Heller was going by the Statue of Liberty with a roar. He raised his hand to it just as if he were returning the salute of a raised torch. He was sighting in on the Verrazano Bridge several miles ahead and getting ready to shave the westernmost point of Brooklyn to pass through the Narrows.
I had an inspiration. “It’s a stolen boat!”
“Hold on, please,” said the guardian of New York Harbor Traffic.
Heller reset his autopilot. He glanced to his left toward the very point I was talking to, Fort Jay.
Seaman Second Class Dicey was back on the phone. “I’m sorry, sir. I just called the Hudson Harbor dockmaster and he said they just sold it to Close Shaves, Incorporated. So it ain’t stolen, sir.”
“(Bleep) it!” I screamed. “Let me talk to your commanding officer!”
There were a bunch of clicks on the line. Then a very gruff, old voice. “What’s all this?”
I said in a deadly voice, “A desperate criminal is escaping in Sea Skiff 329-478A.”
“Is this Federal?”
“YES!”
“Who am I talking to?”
It was time to take the gloves off, time to roll up the carronades and give them a broadside. I had become wise. And deadly. “Swindle and Crouch, the Rockecenter attorneys,” I said.
“Jesus!” Ah, what a satisfactorily shocked voice! “What was that number again?”
“Sea Skiff 329-478A. He’s heading for Atlantic City via the Intracoastal Waterway!”
“And you want him arrested?”
“Put in leg irons,” I said, “and delivered to the New York City Police!”
“Well, it would do no good to send a chopper after him. They don’t carry irons.”
“Are you going to act,” I snarled, “or do I get you court-martialed?”
“Oh, yes, sir, yes, sir, we’ll act. Just a minute. Hold on!” There was a pause. Then, “The fast patrol craft 81 happens to be patrolling down off Barnegat Light. It can speed north and intercept him. Should be able to make contact well before he can enter Manasquan Inlet. He’ll still be in the broad Atlantic and not yet in protected inland waters.”
“Is that patrol craft armed?”
“Oh, yes, sir. They carry a forward gun that could blow that Sea Skiff to bits. And the 81 can go a bit faster than the fugitive vessel. I’m sure it can do the job.”
“You make (bleeped) sure it does!” I grated.
“Oh, yes, sir! You can depend on the Coast Guard where Rockecenter interests are involved. My name is Grumper. Captain George C. Grumper, USCG. . . .”
“Issue the orders!”
“Oh, yes, sir. I’m writing the message right now! ‘Sea Skiff 329-478A on southerly course from New York, traveling at 42.3 knots. Intercept before it can enter protected waters at Manasquan Inlet. Arrest the man in it. Put in irons. Deliver to the New York Police. Succeed at any cost. Do not fail.’ I am sending this to the 81 with highest operational priority instantly. Will that be all right?”
“Yes,” I said. “But you better deliver, Captain Grumper!”
I rang off.
Only then did I permit myself a smile, a very Apparatus smile. Heller was just passing under the Verrazano Narrows Bridge, white spray, blue water and bright spring sun. Little did he know the trap that had been laid.
He had gotten past or around the police some way I could not fathom.
But I had not mentioned any name of identity to the Coast Guard. They would grab anybody in that boat! And I would make sure, through Dingaling, Chase & Ambo, that that was a grab that would be made to stick!
Heller, admire the gulls as you streak by. This is NOT the day you will see your lady love!
PART FORTY-NINE
Chapter 6
About an hour later, Heller was well past Sandy Hook and was flashing down the coast of New Jersey with the broad Atlantic to his left. The glassy swells were slight, the scattered white clouds reflected in them. As the sea was on his beam, all it did was make the Sea Skiff rise and fall a bit, rhythmically, as it planed. It did indeed seem to be riding with only its propellers and rudders in the water.
It was on autopilot and Heller had the long-cabled remote control in his pocket. He was walking about the cockpit drinking a nonalcoholic beer and eating a pastrami sandwich, admiring the distant shore and evidently enjoying the sun.
How typically Heller, I thought. I would have been as seasick as a dog and it made me feel queasy just watching him enjoy the day and his lunch.
I began to wonder what had happened to the Coast Guard. And then Heller, looking forward, caught sight of a speck several miles away, dead ahead.
There had been other ships, big freighters and tankers, paralleling the coast. He seemed to detect a difference in this item. I couldn’t distinguish it on my screen but evidently he could with his naked eye.
He finished his beer and threw the can into a trash bucket. He stepped up on top of the instrument ledge and over the windshield, standing up on the foredeck, to raise himself a few more feet. He leaned against the wind of passage. He looked intently.
“Hello, hello,” he said. “You look like a military craft. And traveling at high speed.”
He stepped back over the windshield and dropped to the cockpit. He perched on the edge of the pilot chair. “And now we’ll see, Mr. Military Craft, if you have any interest in me.”
He hit his autopilot remote and banked the ocean speedboat due east, away from the shore and more than right angles to his former course.
He watched the speck.
“Aha,” he said. “An intercept!”
Baffled, I wondered how he knew and then I realized that the Coast Guarder had promptly changed course when Heller turned.
“Now, how fast are you?” said Heller. He watched it intently. Then, having somehow worked it out, he said, “Doing about three percent more speed than I am. That’s bad.”
He shifted his course a bit more southerly. The speck became a mast and bridge that even I could see. The vessel had a single large gun in the bow. It was manned!
“Well, nothing like finding out,” said Heller.
He banked the speedboat in a steep turn of flying white spray. He sighted across his bow chock and began to close the distance!
He reached down through the companionway hatch and threw the switches of his radio on. He spun a dial.
“Sea Skiff 329-478A!” the radio crackled above the engine roar, “lie to! We will come alongside!” The message was repeating over and over.
The interval between the ships was closing at blinding speed.
Heller hit the remote. The Sea Skiff banked into a foam-flying 180-degree turn. He brought it on its new course, going straight away from the Coast Guarder.
A flash from the bow!
A GEYSER OF SALT WATER DEAD AHEAD OF HELLER!
BLAM!
The sound of the shot reverberated like a single beat of a bass drum.
The Sea Skiff tore through the geyser made by the projectile.
“That’s all I wanted to know,” said Heller.
He hit the throttles a clip, closing them. The Sea Skiff sagged out of its plane.
Heller was diving into the bag that Izzy had brought. He came up with a Voltar handgun!
His thumb spun its control dial.
I
thought, my Gods, I didn’t know he was armed!
His eye was trained across the handgun sights. A finger was spinning another dial.
The Coast Guarder was about two hundred yards away. It killed its speed. The gunsights passed over the bridge, then centered on the black round hole of the forward deck gun muzzle. At the instant that circle passed the sight, Heller hit another button. The handgun swung back.
Mission Earth Volume 6: Death Quest Page 27