"A little waterlogged. Thanks for hauling us out of the harbor."
The steersman extended his free hand. "Josh Slade. I'm the officer of the deck on board the U.S.S. Constitution. We saw you from up there," he said, pointing to Old Ironsides, which sat in the water a few hundred feet away, her three tall masts brightly illuminated by floodlights.
"My name is Kurt Austin. I'm with the National Underwater and Marine Agency."
"What's NUMA doing in these parts?" Slade gave him a funny look as he asked the question. Austin brought his hand up to his face and felt his fake nose.
It was hanging half off from the effects of the dunk in the harbor. Austin ripped the nose off and tossed it over the side.
"Long story," Austin said, with a shake of his head. "How's my friend?"
"Looks like the bleeding has stopped. We'll give him first aid when we get back on board."
Music from Razov's yacht drifted across the water. Austin hoped Kaela and Lombardo were all right. He saw no sign of the c
hase boats and their gun-happy crews, but instinct and experience told him they hadn't gone far.
"Did anyone see the powerboats that were following us?"
"Just a glimpse. They were right on your tail, but when you got into trouble, they disappeared. We couldn't figure out why they didn't stop to help. Don't know where they went. We were busy launching the captain's gig and didn't pay much attention."
"Lucky you were here. It would have been a long swim back to land."
"I'll say. Normally we wouldn't be out here this late. The Constitution does one turnaround cruise a year, on the Fourth of July. We were taking the ship out on a midnight cruise. Got the master gun team, so we can fire a twenty-one-gun salute. The governor and the mayor got the okay from the Navy Department for us to do a nighttime sail-by. What happened? We saw you zipping it along, but then your boat seemed to vanish from under you."
Austin saw no point in beating around the bush. "We were leaving the party yacht. Those boats you saw shot us out of the water and killed our helmsman."
He stared at Austin as if he suspected his sanity. "We didn't hear any gunfire."
“They had silencers on their guns."
"Come to think of it, we saw flashes of light that could have come from guns. We thought they were camera strobe lights. Who were those guys? Whoops," he said, not waiting for an answer. "Going to have to excuse me for a minute."
Slade steered them around behind the Constitution under the white eagle and ship's name emblazoned on the stem. He maneuvered the boat under the davits that projected overhead like extended wooden arms. The rowers lifted the oars out of their locks and stood them in a vertical position, then attached the lines hanging down from the davits and winched themselves up to deck level.
With help from the deck crew, Petrov was extricated from the boat. The Russian had revived and was able to walk with the help of a sailor on either side. Someone made a mattress of life jackets so he wouldn't have to lie on the hard wooden deck. Another crewman gave Austin a coat to replace his dripping jacket.
Slade took his hat off and tucked it under his arm. He was a dark-haired young man in his twenties, a couple of inches taller than Austin's six feet one. With his chiseled features and ramrod posture, he could have posed for a navy recruiting poster.
"Welcome to Old Ironsides, the oldest commissioned warship in the world, still manned by an active-duty U.S. Navy crew." The pride in his voice was obvious.
" 'Ay, tear her tattered ensign down! Long has it waved on high,' " Austin said, quoting the first line of the Oliver Wendell Holmes poem, "Old Ironsides," that had inspired the nation to save the ship from destruction.
Slade grinned and quoted the second line, " 'And many an eye has danced to see that banner in the sky…' Sounds as if you know your naval history, sir."
"I know the ship fought the Barbary pirates and gave the British a major headache during the War of 1812. That she was undefeated in battle. And during the fight with the British frigate H.M.S Guerriere, cannonballs bounced off her sides as if they were made of iron." His eyes fondly swept the two-hundred-four-foot length of the frigate, taking in the long bowsprit, We expansive spar deck with the neat rows of cannon and the two-hundred-twenty-foot-tall main-mast. "Hope I look half as good when I'm her age."
"Thank you. We take great pride in keeping her ship-shape. She was built not far from here, launched in 1797. Actually, her sides were made of live oak from the south-eastern U.S. Her hull is twenty-five inches thick at the waterline. Paul Revere did the copperwork and made the ship's bell. Don't mean to give you the guide routine," he apologized, "but we're awfully proud of the lady." His face grew serious. "Instead of giving you a history lesson, I should call the Coast Guard and let them know we've got an injured man on board." Slade patted the pockets of his coat and frowned. "Damn. My cell phone must have fallen out when I got in the gig. I've got a walkie-talkie we use to keep in touch with the tugboat when we're being pushed or towed. I'll ask the crew to relay a message to the Coast Guard."
While Slade retrieved his handheld radio, Austin went over to where Petrov was stretched out on the deck. Someone had covered him with a section of sail. A crewman was keeping watch.
Austin knelt by Petrov's side. "How are you feeling, tovarich?"
Petrov groaned. "I have a splitting headache, as you would expect after having a bullet bounce off a comer of my skull. Why is it that every time I get too close to you, I get blown up or shot up?"
"Just lucky, I guess. Razovmust have taken something I said the wrong way. Sorry that you lost your man."
"I am, too. He wasn't a bad sort for a Ukrainian. He was aware he was in a dangerous business, though. His family will be well-compensated."