Hatteras Blue (6 page)

Caffey was above him. He waved him closer, prepared a one-pound block, and gave it to him. Caffey swam aft. Galloway looked around, but saw no sign of Keyes. He spliced Caffey's trunk line to the main with a three-hole primer.

And one last charge. He swam upward, found an open hatch just below the pilothouse level. That would do. Latching it open—he hadn't brought a light, and it would be awkward to have it close on him—he moved slowly inside the wreck, checking the overhead and corners. Morays took time to move in, but there could be other nasties. But it was clear. He estimated the cen-terline, wedged the explosive against a strength member, and backed out, unreeling primacord.

And that was it. On the far side he could see Jack—or was it Keyes? Couldn't tell at this distance—waving. He guessed it was Jack. The detonator was a standard fifteen-minute delay cap. He pulled it and let go. There was a dull pop and the fuze, bubbling as it burned, sank toward the bottom.

He swam aft, looking for Keyes, but found Caffey first, backing out from under the stern. So the other figure had been Keyes. Caffey saw him and gave a thumbs up. Follow me, Galloway signaled, and swam against the current, which was increasing, round the starboard side.

Keyes wasn't there. Galloway cursed silently. He was taking the order to stay clear a little too literally. He swam upward, and saw the other man on the far side of the hull. He was reaching for his knife, intending to tap on his tank to attract Keyes's attention, when something snapped.

Something big. He paused in the water, trying to locate the sound. Then he saw it. One of the booms, heavy steel posts the trawler used to lift nets, was tearing out of the wooden deck. He swam hard, instinctively clearing its path, then spun.

Caffey would be right under it.

Even as he thought it, the boom tore free. It toppled slowly, yet too fast to evade, through the increasingly murky water. The current was increasing, drawn back through the narrow inlet by the tide. Galloway straightened his body and kicked swiftly down and aft, his snorkel fluttering against his mask as he drove through the water. As he closed he caught one glimpse of a fin, kicking downward, then reached the expanding cloud of silt and plunged into it.

Vision disappeared. He drove on, trusting to his sense of direction. It was almost correct. He crashed into steel, felt something sharp bite through rubber into his arm. He gripped the edge and swam over it in a somersault, twisting to head downward. He groped. Something soft there—rubber, or flesh. He held his breath, listening for the roar of bubbles from a ruptured hose, but heard nothing. Fine brown particles seethed in front of his eyes, as if he were diving in bean soup.

He groped again, and was rewarded with a limp arm. Pulling himself down to it, he ran his hand over the body. One shoulder, no, one whole side was pinned under the boom. He located Caffey's regulator, drifting free. He thrust it roughly into an unresponsive mouth and thumbed the "clear" button, sending a surge of air into the boy's lungs. Was it too late? He couldn't feel any movement. He held it there anyway and felt around the boom with his free hand.

He was stretched out like that when a rending sound came through the water, and something massive struck him in the small of the back. Pain flared in his head. The weight slipped to the side, slid past him. He jerked his leg out of the way just in time as it thudded to the sand.

It can't be more than a minute, he thought, since I pulled the detonator on the charge. But it seemed like five. He thought of going back and pulling it off the cord. That would safe all three charges. But in this murk it could take minutes to locate it. Caffey seemed to be unconscious. He didn't respond or move. In the minutes it would take to find the detonator, the boy would drown.

He had to get him free, and worry about the explosives later.

Galloway doubled his legs under him and braced them against the bottom. He let the mouthpiece go, hoping that Caffey, even unconscious, would keep his teeth tight on it, and wrapped his hands around the boom. He pulled. The only thing that happened was that something gripped his shoulder.

His knife was half drawn before he made out a mask. Keyes's blue eyes were wide behind it. Ah, Galloway thought. He's where I want him at last. He pulled the other man's hands to the boom. Keyes nodded.

All right, Galloway thought. If we can move this son of a bitch at all it'll be on the first try. He set his knees in sand and sucked three deep breaths, as fast as his regulator would deliver them. One ... two ... he nodded at Keyes.

The steel mass came up suddenly, slid, and toppled away toward Caffey's head. Galloway pulled him backward as the boom grated on sand once more. His hands moved over his partner, found a toggle. Gas thudded into Caffey's vest, and Galloway triggered his own.

Ten seconds later they broke surface. Sunlight, the smack of a wave in his face ... he spat out his mouthpiece and breathed salt air, tried clumsily to swim. His legs were weak. He felt a hand under his arm. Keyes, vest inflated, was helping him. His eyes were worried behind the oval mask.

"The boat," Galloway sputtered. "Don't have much time ... Bernie!"

Her head popped above the gunwale. Her eyebrows lifted, and a moment later a life ring and line sailed toward them. Galloway grabbed it, nearly done, and let her pull him in.

Keyes went up first. He and Hirsch hauled Caffey clear of the water while Galloway collapsed on the platform, pulling in great draughts of air. Blood dripped from his arm, trickling downward over rusty steel as if seeking the sea.

When he could stand he did, and looked over the transom. The two of them were working on Caffey. After a moment the boy turned his head, shuddered, and began to cough up seawater. Galloway unbuckled his tanks and climbed aboard. He went directly to the wheel and pushed in the starter. The engines whined, backfired, and finally caught. "His chest?" he said tiredly to Keyes. The older man nodded. "Bernie, watch him. Don't let him move. If he's broken any ribs, he could puncture a lung easy."

"Okay, Tiller."

"Keyes, you get forward. Cut the anchor line. Yeah, just cut it, we'll recover it later."

"Right."

When his knife lifted, Galloway slammed the throttle forward till the engines screamed. The boat leapt ahead, fleeing for the inlet.

Keyes came aft. He stood beside Galloway at the wheel, facing forward, their shoulders almost touching. "I saw what you did down there," he said. He spoke almost confidentially, though he was shouting to be heard above the engines.

Galloway glanced at him, reached back to rub his spine. "That so?" he grunted.

"I didn't help much on that boom. It was superhuman."

Galloway looked at him again and grunted again. The bridge loomed. "Hey! Bernie! Did you call ahead?"

⁴
Your radio needs fixing. They could hardly hear me. But they'll have an ambulance at the inlet."

"No one's fault," said Keyes. "We'll back you up on that. That wreck was ready to fall apart. It confirms my choice."

"What choice was that?"

"I chose this boat, and I chose you. Not at random. But I had to sound you out, to see you personally."

"And just what did you choose me for?" said Galloway. "Assuming I let myself be chosen."

Keyes glanced aft, to where Bernice Hirsch bent over a now conscious Jack Caffey. "How's your schedule, Captain Galloway? Not too full, I hope?"

Galloway seemed to go away for a moment, as if remembering something. Then he came back. "It was. But some things have dropped out recently. What did you have in mind?"

"Historical research. You may find it interesting. It'll be worth your while." He glanced at Hirsch again. "That is—if you can spare the time."

Galloway regarded him; was opening his mouth to speak when far behind them the sea suddenly split open. A white plume raged skyward, with black bits of wreckage in it. The shock shuddered along their hull before they heard its rumble in the air. "It seemed so long," said Galloway, looking back. "I half thought it failed."

"It couldn't," said Keyes. "There are some men who succeed. Who
will
to, no matter what opposes them. Thus they force fate. And you are one of us."

Their eyes met, and held for a long moment. No one watching could have told whether it was with admiration or distrust.

four

T
he rescue squad had come and gone, the

doctor on call decided not to evacuate Caffey north. He could recuperate from bruised ribs and mild shock as well at home as in Norfolk. Hirsch went with the ambulance. A sheriffs deputy stayed, talking first to Galloway and then briefly to Keyes. The sun was slanting toward the sound when he left and they were finally able to go below.

"Watch your head on that companionway," said Galloway.

Keyes bowed a little, keeping the stoop as he followed Galloway forward. He lingered at the door, staring around the cramped bunkroom. Plywood shelves had been hammered into the bulkhead above a neatly made single bunk. Frayed bungee cords secured the books. Navigation, history, philosophy, a Bible, a few novels. A piece of clear plastic had been roughly taped over a broken porthole.

"Drink?" grunted Galloway, pulling a full bottle of bourbon from behind his mattress.

"Don't use it much. But I guess a touch wouldn't hurt. With water."

"Unlash that chair and pull it over."

Keyes balanced it on its rear legs and lifted his glass to the shelves. "A reader, eh?"

Galloway nodded. He was pouring his second, straight, before Keyes had tasted his.

"A drinker too, I see."

"Man gets dry in four years."

"That how long you were in prison?"

"That's right."

"Where?"

"Central. Raleigh."

"You mind talking about it?"

'Yeah, I mind."

"What were you in for?"

"I was broke. A guy offered me a can't-lose deal. I'd provide the boat. He'd provide cargo and crew."

Keyes took a sip. "Marijuana?"

"Mixed. That and cocaine."

"From?"

"Colombia."

"Say, this tastes kind of ... moldy. Does yours?"

"No, liquor's okay. Must be the water. Been sitting in the peak tank for quite a while."

The blond man looked at his glass, then set it on the deck beside him. "So. What happened?"

"About what?"

"How did you get caught?"

"Just a minute, mister. I was cross-examined on all this four years ago. There any reason to go through it again with you?"

"I told you: If I have a job for someone, Captain, I like to know who he is. What happened on the way north?"

Instead of answering Galloway got up. The only light in the closed compartment was from the dying sun. It slid through the porthole and made a swaying red ellipse on the far bulkhead. Keyes had been staring at him since the interview started. Now, in the dimming bloody light, Galloway watched the pale blue irises widen even more. The effect was hypnotic: He had to blink before he could tear his gaze away. He shrugged, turned around, found himself without pacing room with Keyes in the chair, and sat down again. "What the hell ... we made one run without any problem. Then somebody turned. The Coast Guard was waiting when I made Virginia Beach the second time."

"That must have been hard on your family. Especially the Coast Guard involvement."

Galloway nodded, then caught himself and glanced up from under. "What do you know about my family?"

"Just that the name means something down here. All those Lifesaving Service heroes, going out in surfboats in storms to rescue the shipwrecked. Your—grandfather, was it?—helped the Wrights launch their flyer up on Kill Devil Hill. How long has your family been here?"

"Long as there's been English. Legend is the first Galloway came ashore in a whiskey barrel. They were probably shipwrecked here around 1700."

"I've always envied that," said Keyes. "Knowing your family, who your ancestors were. Don't know a thing about mine. And then there was your father—"

Galloway said nothing. He drank. A low, regular thump came from outside for a few minutes; then the wake of the passing boat died away, and the old PT settled again to a slow tilt.

"What did he think?"

"About what?"

"About your going to prison."

"He shot himself when the guilty verdict came down. I don't think he believed I did it till then."

Keyes sat silent for a moment. "That must have been rough."

Galloway shrugged.

'You married?"

"Not anymore."

"What about your mother?"

"Stepmother. She's refused to see me since my release. There aren't many people on this island I'm on speaking terms with anymore." "No? Why did you come back, then?"

"Number of reasons. I know fishing and salvage, I thought I could make a living. There's something I have to decide, and this is the best place for me to do it. And then there's the parole."

Keyes nodded slowly. Galloway silently refilled his glass again, lifted the bottle with a raised eyebrow. The other covered his with his hand.