“There’s nothing close ahead. We just passed St. George Wharf a bit ago,” he said. “Do you want to go back?”
Dirk eyed the closing speedboat. “No, let’s just keep on.”
The sedate old Thames grew busy as they neared central London, the waterway bustling with tourist boats and the occasional small barge. The First Attempt held to the center of the river to avoid the growing traffic, the old man holding a steady hand on the wheel. While he was looking ahead, Dirk and Summer stared out the rear window at the approaching boat.
Mansfield brought his boat alongside the First Attempt’s starboard beam and slowed to match speeds. He tapped his horn to get the old man’s attention, then drew his hand horizontally beneath his chin.
“This fellow seems to want me to stop,” he said. “Is he the one who tried to kill you?”
Summer gave him an earnest look and nodded.
The old man smiled and waved at Mansfield, then turned away, keeping the throttle set at full.
Mansfield moved in tighter and displayed a pistol beneath his jacket.
The old man repeated his wave and smile.
“I believe he may use that piece.” He looked to Summer and stepped away from the window. “You might want to keep your head down.”
Mansfield didn’t shoot but dropped behind the First Attempt, then eased up to its port flank. Martina stood on her seat cushion and reached for the trawler’s rail.
“The woman is trying to climb aboard,” Summer said.
Dirk scanned the pilothouse and spotted a half-empty wine bottle on a wall rack. He grabbed the bottle by the neck, stepped out of the doorway, and tossed it rearward. The bottle skidded across the deck and struck Martina in the chest. More startled than injured, she fell back into the boat.
Mansfield replied by pumping three shots from his Beretta into the wheelhouse as Dirk dove for cover.
“I think you got them angry now,” the old man said, wheeling the trawler to port.
“They weren’t too happy to begin with,” Summer said.
Rising to his feet, Dirk scanned the river ahead. There was a pier a half mile downstream, but until then shore access was nonexistent. On the river itself, a small barge was approaching along the shoreline, while ahead a triple-decked tourist boat cruised slowly off their starboard bow.
He had to catch his balance as the old man spun the wheel hard over, sending the boat careening. A second later, he reversed the helm and the boat swerved back. He was trying to dodge the speedboat as it attempted another boarding.
“If you can get us alongside that tour boat,” Dirk said, “we’ll get out of your hair.”
“I can try.”
The old sailor continued corkscrewing his trawler, tormenting Mansfield’s attempts to transfer a now cautious Martina aboard. “When I give the word,” he said, “slip in front of the wheelhouse and stay low.” He swung the trawler in a hard turn to starboard and held the wheel until the side doorway was out of view of the speedboat. “Now!” he yelled.
Dirk and Summer bolted out the door and crouched on the bow as the boat heeled back to port. A few seconds later, the First Attempt caught up with the tour boat.
The old man could see that the tourist boat’s rear deck offered the easiest point of access, so he pulled parallel, then rapped on the windscreen to alert Dirk and Summer.
As the speedboat approached on his port flank, the old man swung the trawler hard right until it slapped the side of the tour boat.
Dirk and Summer leaped without hesitation and scampered up and over the side of the tour boat, blocked from Mansfield’s view by the First Attempt.
“Sorry for the troubles, but thanks for the lift,” Dirk called out.
The old man stuck his head out the side window and waved. “No worries. But you do owe me a half bottle of Bordeaux.”
He killed the throttle and let the tour boat slip ahead as the trawler drifted with the current. Mansfield caught the move late but slowed and pulled alongside and Martina easily jumped aboard.
With gun drawn, she sprinted to the wheelhouse. In the doorway, she leveled her weapon at the old man as the dachshund erupted in a howling frenzy. “Where are they?”
The old man smiled and said nothing. Martina looked over his shoulder and noticed the tour boat pulling ahead. She looked back at the old man and shook her head. “Today, you are lucky.” She aimed a kick at the barking dog and ran back to the speedboat.