Hatteras Blue (33 page)

That wasn't Bernie. Whoever fired that burst had handled a full-automatic weapon before.

And that meant Keyes.

He stopped swimming. It would be suicide to close the boat now. He checked Caffey. His side was still bleeding, a thin mist of scarlet fogging the water around diem.

But there was nowhere else to go. Galloway hung motionless. They were at least forty miles from the nearest land, and the Gulf Stream would carry him away from it. Not to mention sharks...

He turned toward the boat again.

What, he imagined desperately, was Keyes seeing? He was seeing bubbles. This shallow they'd come streaming up just behind him, a white froth in salty sea. Keyes's sights would be steadied just ahead of the trail, waiting for the black dot of Galloway's head to show.

In fact, it was the way his father had hunted U-boats. Keep them down until they had to come up for air or die. And then kill them, quickly, because there was no way to tell surrender from attack before it was too late to matter. So they came up and died ... and young Coast Guard lieutenant commanders became admirals and heroes.

He made out a silhouette in the fuzzy green ahead. He burrowed downward as he neared it, leveling off at ten feet. When he was under the hull he reached up for a rudder skeg and held on, sucking what he knew were his last ounces of tanked air. He looked at the motionless props.

Again he tried to put himself in his enemy's mind. Why was he still here? Keyes should have simply abandoned him to the sharks and the sea. That he hadn't probably meant he hadn't got the gold aboard yet. Could he do that alone? Certainly; he could haul it aboard with the anchor winch. Then Galloway remembered Aydlett; he'd have plenty of help.

But he hadn't He was waiting; had waited to be sure Galloway was not coming up. Waited, ready to kill.

Was it a precaution against whoever Hirsch had called—who might, if they arrived later, fish any survivors out of the sea and get the full story?

Or was it less logical than that? Was it simply that like a shark, once seeing blood curl darkly in the sea, the man called Keyes had to kill and kill again until no one around him was left alive?

Galloway wondered: What would such a man do to a woman?

The muzzle, spitting flame and sound, jolted upward in her hands.

Hirsch dropped it. It fired once more as it hit the deck, tearing a furrow through the fresh paint. Splinters stung her legs.

Keyes had stopped in mid-stride, his mouth opening. His hand moved to his body, and she saw the little tear in the black rubber of the wet suit.

He swayed for a moment, staring down at her, then went down on one knee.

He felt for the gun, his eyes still on her.

When his bloody hand found it he rose again. She watched, not believing what she saw. Gradually, even as his free hand found the hole and probed it, the smile was returning.

"Get down there," he said, pointing down to the stern with the barrel of the rifle.

She slid around the edge of the bridge, staying as far from him as the rail allowed. "What are you going to do?"

"Shut up. Get down that ladder."

"Where?" She heard her voice shaking as if from somewhere far away. She could not believe this was going to happen to her.

"Not that way. Not the bunkroom. Into the engine room."

As they came single file through the hatch Aydlett struggled to his feet. "My man. You made it back!"

"Hello, Shad."

"Where's Galloway?"

"Dead."

"Goddamn, I wanted him."

"Well, you had your chance. I just made better use of mine." Keyes turned to her. "Untie him."

She tore at the wire. Too fast; her nail broke short and she moaned a little, not remembering how this set him off till he hit her from behind with the gun barrel.

"There. It's off."

Aydlett grunted in relief. He brought his hands around and stood up, massaging his wrists. "So. Now what?"

"Well, we got some gold to get aboard. But first I Wondered if you wanted some of that." He motioned to Hirsch.

Bernie was leaning against one of the engines, feeling dizzy; her legs were trembling, she couldn't stop them. Distantly she heard the waterman say, "Some of what?"

"This little tramp s on her way over the side. Just thought you might want to enjoy yourself first."

Aydlett looked at her. Bernie caught his eye, just for a moment. Then she lowered her head. He looked back at Keyes.

"You want to watch, that it?"

"That's right."

"Think I'll pass, this time."

"Too bad," said Keyes. Hirsch felt her arm seized. He thrust her through the hatch and pushed her up the stairs.

"Go back aft," he said.

Her whole body numb, she turned to obey him. It felt as if she floated rather than walked; the stern seemed a thousand yards away. Behind her she heard the waterman say, "Hey—where's Caffey?"

"He's dead too."

"And you're plannin' on killing her?"

"I will if you'll get out of my line of fire, damn you!"

"Just listen here a minute, friend. I wanted to gut Galloway 'cause of my dad. But I don't like the way the rest of this is goin'. You seem to be set on killing everybody aboard here."

Still walking, Hirsch looked from side to side, not knowing what she sought. Tiller, Jack—anyone or anything. But there was no one. The sky and sea were empty.

"Well, Shad, you got a point there."

"Good. Thinkin' we should let her go myself."

"That's not exactly what I had in mind. I was figuring on having you help me get that gold aboard. But I guess I can manage that myself."

"What's that mean?"

"It means you can join her."

She turned to look back; to see Aydlett, turning
sud
denly, finding himself on the wrong end of the gun. The blond man was motioning him back. Toward the stern. Toward her.

"No, go on," Keyes was saying. "We'll just clear out all the deadwood around here. It's not like I enjoy your company. Move, boy!"

'You're crazy, Keyes!"

"Get back there, Aydlett."

"We agree to split it. Okay, look, I can do without my share—"

"Too late," said Keyes. His mouth moved below the pale blue eyes. "You poor fool. Did you really think I was going to share a ton of gold with a simple nigger like you?"

Her legs began to shake. She turned when there was no more deck and hugged herself. When she raised her eyes the big waterman stood halfway between them, rigid, facing Keyes. She could see that he'd made up his mind to jump.

"You bastard," she heard him mutter.

She closed her eyes then, intending to pray. But instead, without volition or intent, she had a kind of vision. It was of Shabbat again, but this time it was no memory, she was there; she could smell it. The
schalet
in the oven, perfuming the house with simmering barley and meat and beans; the bite of phosphorus and then burning wax as her mother, throwing the shawl over her long dark hair, waved her hands before the candles and then covered her eyes for a moment before gazing with the surprised joy of a gentle child at the light. And then all the eyes, her father's and brothers' and mother's turning to her; herself moving forward, believing then, one with them, lifting her trembling match to the fresh white wick.
Blessed art thou O Lord our God, King of the Universe; who has sanctified us and commanded us to light the Sabbath light

The carbine cracked, a single shot, and she started. She peeped between her eyelids.

Aydlett lay like a fallen tree across the deck.

She could pray now. And she did, murmuring it half-aloud, the ancient Hebrew of the Viddui. Not for rescue, or mercy. Only the same stark words every Jew had said at death since Abraham.

The Lord is God

The sound hit her like a thunderclap. She flinched all over. Then stiffened.

Hardly believing that she was still alive, she opened her eyes. Keyes was leaning against the rail, rifle raised, sighting on something out on the sea.

She was not alone. And not alone, she might still have a chance.

She jumped into a desperate sprint. Her feet slapped on the deck. She had to leap over Aydlett's sprawl, but Keyes never turned. As she crouched by the wheel two more shots cracked out. She could see the splashes through the window, but couldn't see what he was aiming at. It looked like empty sea.

Hirsch bit her lip and hammered her fist on the wheel. It
had
to be Tiller and Jack. He'd lied, they weren't dead. But they could never get aboard as long as Keyes had the gun.

Something dark bobbed on a crest, then vanished. A burst of fire whipped the water where it had been like a thrown handful of rocks.

What could she do? Attack him with bare hands? He'd shoot her down in an instant, and her sacrifice would not buy the others another minute of life.

She had to have a weapon. She scrambled down the companionway, into the galley. A bread knife
gleamed
up at her when she slammed open the drawer. A good, stout, sharp blade. She turned it in her hand. It
would kill.
But could she? Did she have the courage to face death in the hope of saving the others?

That was easy.
If
they didn't live, neither would she. If Keyes killed them she would be next.

As her hand tightened around the handle the last of her fear fell away, and something quite different took its place.

Below her, at that same moment, Galloway felt his tanks go finally and completely dry.

There was no more time. He had to put his plan, not half thought through, into effect at once. Shooting or drowning, Tiller, he thought. That's what your greed bought you. That's the prize your golden ticket drew.

You fool.

He hauled dead weight upward. Pinning it under the arms, holding it against the keel, Galloway tripped his harness. His tanks dropped away. He kicked his fins free and let them go.

He began to need air. He pulled furiously at the unwieldy parcel in his arms, grinding his teeth. At last it was positioned to his satisfaction and his clawed fingers found the buckle beneath the boy's vest.

Ten pounds of lead dropped away, and the body grew light.

He shoved it upward, and pushed himself in the same motion to the left, forward and up along the opposite side of the hull. He counted to five while the ache in his throat grew. Air bubbled from his lips. Each time he swallowed the madness went a step away. But when it came back it was worse. At "four" he tripped his own belt, watching it fell away into the deep blue abyss.

At "five" he launched himself upward, arms outstretched.

He snatched for air and for the handhold he knew should be there. Instead he got a wave in his open ttiouth and gripped only the smooth side of the hull. He slid backward, his fingernails chipping paint. The Water closed green over his staring eyes and water filled his throat.

His body revolted, screaming red pain. It coiled and leapt upward again, legs thrashing at the sea.

Air at last—and—his arm scrabbled along the side—a handhold. His fingers locked. He hauled himself up and got his other arm over the gunwale. The first thing he saw was Aydlett, face down and unmoving. So Keyes had disposed of him, too, when he'd got what he wanted from him. Galloway threw a leg up, twisting his torso, and was reaching for his knife when a nova exploded in his back.

His mouth opened in a soundless cry, his eyes rolling upward. His legs jerked and his hands drummed against the inside of the gunwale. The knife thudded to the deck on the far side.

The sound was obliterated by three shots close above.

He came back from the nonself of unendurable pain to find his body slipping toward the waves. He tried to pull it back. Caffey's floating corpse wouldn't fool Keyes for long. But his arms were quivering taut on the gunwale just keeping him where he was. He tried to get a foothold, but nothing happened.

He realized that he could not move his legs.

Galloway slipped farther. He hung face-down over the water, staring down into it.

This, he thought, in the blinding clarity of the final moment, is where you brought yourself at last.
Your
grandfathers risked their lives for strangers, for ten dollars a month. Your father fought at sea, defended his home, for a hundred. It was not the money that made them heroes. It was because it was their duty.

He had sold their honor and destroyed his own, for cash. And now he'd sold his life, and the lives of others, for a golden ticket that led only down forever into the glittering sea.

The
waterline sucked at the waves, dripping barnacles, and a stink of rot came up from it. Only one arm held him. He closed his eyes as weakness and
nausea
swept over him. He wanted to let go. To drop back into the cool green and never leave it again, to drift downward into the dark sleep...