The Empty Chair (Lincoln Rhyme 3)

"Just have a feeling," he said.

"There's enough air under there?" Trey asked.

Jesse said, "Sure. It's high enough in the water. We used to do that with canoes on Bambert Lake. When we were kids. We'd play submarine."

Lucy said, "What do we do? We need a boat or something to get to them." She looked around.

Ned pulled his police utility belt off, handed it to Jesse Corn. "Hell, I'll just go out and kick it back into shore."

"You can swim that?" she asked.

The man took his boots off. "I swum this river a million times."

"We'll cover you," Lucy said.

"They're underwater," Jesse said. "I wouldn't worry too much about them shooting anybody."

Trey pointed out, "A little grease on the shells and they'll last for weeks underwater."

"Amelia's not gonna shoot," said Jesse Corn, Judas's defender.

"But we're not taking any chances," Lucy said. Then to Ned: "Don't flip it over. Just swim out and steer it over this way. Trey, you go over there, by the willow, with the scattergun. Jesse and I'll be over there on the shore. We'll have 'em in a cross fire if anything happens."

Ned, barefoot and shirtless, walked gingerly on the rocky embankment down to the mud beach. He looked around carefully--for snakes, Lucy supposed--and then eased into the water. Ned breaststroked out toward the boat, swimming very quietly, keeping his head above water. Lucy pulled her Smith & Wesson from the holster. Cocked the hammer. Glanced at Jesse Corn, who looked at her weapon uneasily. Trey was standing beside a tree, holding the shotgun, muzzle up. He noticed her cocked pistol and he racked a round into the chamber of the Remington.

> The boat was thirty feet from them, near midstream.

Ned was a strong swimmer and he was closing the distance quickly. He'd be there in--

The gunshot was loud and close. Lucy jumped as a spume of water shot into the air a few feet from Ned.

"Oh, no!" Lucy called, bringing up her weapon, looking for the shooter.

"Where, where?" Trey called, crouching and adjusting his grip on the shotgun.

Ned dove under the surface.

Another shot. Water flew into the air. Trey lowered the scattergun and started firing at the boat. Panic fire. The twelve-gauge didn't have a plugged tube; it was loaded with seven rounds. The deputy emptied it in seconds, hitting the boat squarely with every round, sending splinters of wood and water flying everywhere.

"No!" Jesse cried. "There're people under there!"

"Where're they shooting from?" Lucy called. "Under the boat? The other side of it? I can't tell. Where are they?"

"Where's Ned?" Trey asked. "Is he hit? Where's Ned?"

"I don't know," Lucy shouted, voice raw with panic.

"I can't see him."

Trey reloaded and aimed at the boat once more.

"No!" Lucy ordered. "Don't fire. Cover me!"

She ran down the embankment and waded into the water. Suddenly, near the shore, she heard a choking gasp as Ned bobbed to the surface. "Help me!" He was terrified, looking behind him, scrabbling out of the water.

Jesse and Trey aimed their weapons at the far shore and stepped slowly down the incline to the river. Jesse's dismayed eyes were fixed on the riddled vessel--the terrible, ragged holes in the hull.

Charging into the water, Lucy holstered her gun and grabbed Ned's arm, dragged him to the shore. He'd stayed under as long as he dared and was pale and weak from lack of oxygen.