Poseidon's Arrow (Dirk Pitt 22)

His move had turned the boat parallel to shore as it sped across the lake, its occupants hidden from view. The gunman ran to the end of the dock and aimed at the pilotless craft, firing until his clip was empty.

The roar of the engine drowned out the gunshots, but Pitt detected several faint thumps when a few rounds struck the hull. He waited a minute, then popped his head up for a quick look. The dock was lost from view among the trees as the boat skittered toward shore. Pitt slid into the seat and bumped the wheel over to keep them in deep water. Once on course, he pulled Ann up beside him. With all focus on their escape, he had ignored the throbbing pain in his leg, and the sticky wetness that told him he was now bleeding.

“Are you all right?” he asked.

She nodded. “That was a little too close for comfort.”

“It would have been even closer if I hadn’t had your crutch handy. Sorry to leave you off balance.”

“I was so scared, I didn’t even think about my ankle. I just saw it was downhill to the dock and remembered I had the house keys in my pocket. Fortunately, the boat keys were also attached.”

She unconsciously rubbed her ankle, now noticing the pain.

“Where to now?” she asked.

The wheels of justice had already been turning in Pitt’s mind. “Simple,” he said. “We head them off at the pass.”

There was only one road out from Heiland’s cabin. Pitt knew the thieves would have to pass through Bayview to escape with the stolen documents. They could be stopped, but only if he and Ann got there first. It was a race that would depend on a seventy-year-old boat.

Though long in the tooth, Heiland’s Chris-Craft was no turtle. The Custom Runabout was fitted with the company’s Model M engine, which churned out 130 horsepower. The old speedboat was as stylish as she was speedy, featuring a varnished mahogany finish, dual cockpits, and a rakish “barrelback” stern. A desirable boat when it had left the Algonac, Michigan, factory in 1942, it was now a prized collectible for classic boat lovers.

The elegant boat cut easily through the waves as Pitt kept the throttle down, mustering full speed from its inboard engine. Although they had a healthy head start, Pitt knew the gunmen would be desperate to escape and could travel the road back at nearly twice the boat’s speed.

A star-filled sky gave him ample light, and he nudged the boat near the shoreline to trim the distance. After a few minutes of hard running, a wide inlet appeared on Pitt’s left, and he angled the boat into it. The lights of Bayview appeared off the bow, twinkling at the far end of the aptly named Scenic Bay. Pitt glanced toward the shoreline road but didn’t spot any headlights.

“How do we stop them?” Ann shouted.

Pitt had been ruminating on that question since they had cleared the dock. Sitting weaponless in a seventy-year-old boat with a woman who could barely walk did not give rise to many options. The obvious course of action would be to storm into the Navy facility and request help. But such an assault would more likely get them shot or arrested than gain them immediate assistance. Peering ahead, he spotted a marina dock close to the lab’s fenced security entrance. The road from Heiland’s cabin intersected the town’s main street just a short distance away. He pointed out the dock to Ann.

“I’ll run us in there,” Pitt said. “See if you can make it up to the guard hut and convince them to call for some security to seal the road. I’ll see if I can find something to slow them down.”

“Okay, but be careful.” She reached into the rear seat for her lone crutch and braced herself to exit the boat.

The old speedboat roared through a no-wake zone and past the main marina. Angry houseboat residents ran to their windows, staring at the noisy source of their homes’ rocking. The shoreline dock was filled with small fishing boats, but Pitt spotted an empty berth and barreled toward it. Cutting power at the last second, he slid in with just a slight bump to the side of the boat. He popped from his seat and leaped to the dock, helping Ann up after him.

“I’m fine,” she said, tucking the crutch under her arm and hobbling down the dock.

Pitt sprinted ahead of her and ran toward the main road, leavi

ng a trail of bloody footprints behind him. Ann cringed when she realized the damp prints weren’t created from lake water.

The streets of Bayview were deserted and the town almost silent. In the distance, Pitt detected the sound of a speeding car, and he looked down the inlet. Sure enough, headlights glimmered through the trees on the road from Heiland’s cabin.

Pitt scanned the roadway where it entered town, searching for something he could use as a barricade. The road was lined by the Acoustic Lab’s tall security fence on one side and a sloping hill on the other. There were no rocks, logs, or even other cars within view that he might use as a blockade. The only vehicles in sight were for construction, parked up the hill, a gravel truck and a yellow earthmover.

He glanced again at the approaching lights; they’d arrive in less than a minute.

“Road crew it is,” he muttered, then ran up the hill as fast as he could.

25

ANN CHARGED INTO THE ACOUSTIC LAB’S GUARD station with all the subtlety of a Kansas tornado.

“The lab’s been robbed!” she shouted. “I need your help out front now!”

The duty guard had been seated behind a tall security glass, casually reading the sports page. He flew out of his chair as if stung by a cattle prod.

“Ma’am, I can’t leave my station,” he stuttered. “Now, calm down and tell me who are you and what this is about.”