SILENT GUNS (48 page)

“
Let’s go get them,” Conover
bellowed, pouncing on the young Lieutenant’s
dissolution.

Lt. Elston wheeled around on Conover. He swallowed
hard and took a deep breath. With a whiff of new found courage, he
said firmly, “Commander, my authority extends to air search, rescue
and interdiction. Mounting a land action is out of the
question.”

“
Rubbish!” Conover ploughed on
determinedly, “I’ll fly in two squads of Marines and clean out the
whole, bloody bunch. I have the authority.” Elston stared in
shattered disbelief. Simons found his voice just before Elston had
a chance aggravate the moment. He spoke up, “Conover, all of which
takes time, very valuable time. I suspect Rabbit is about to take
his final ‘hop’. Trent is not going to sit there and wait knowing
we’re hot on his tail. Besides, he has a ship to catch.”

“
What do you suggest, Chief?” Lt.
Elston deferred, a whiff of courage bolstered his
demeanor.

“
Make do with the hand we’ve been
dealt. Otherwise, the Rabbit will surely outwit the
Foxes.”

“
That’s a load of crap. What
hand?” Conover shouted.

Simons responded, “The fleet of helicopters and the
cutters under the control of the Lieutenant, of course. These are
our tools; let’s use them.”

“
How, Chief?” Frances blurted out,
then demurred, thinking the better of it. “Let Rabbit take-off and
proceed to her final destination,” Simons replied. Conover
exploded; his thick voice filled the room, “That’s ridiculous. Why
don’t we just give them free airline tickets and a police escort to
the airport.”

Lt. Elston relaxed for the first time, a faint smile
creased his face. “If Rabbit lands safely on the
Bandera
,
Trent has no reason to harm the pilots - assuming they can locate
the
Bandera
. Fox 3 is fueled, and can stay with Rabbit, just
in case. He’s good out to 300 miles.”

Conover frowned in defiance. “Fox 3 will never make
it back. Rabbit can wait: she only has a one-way trip.”

Lt. Elston ordered, “Ona, have Fox 3 set down and
tell Navy 1 to cover Tatoosh and report Rabbit’s departure. I want
surveillance only. Advise Fox 3 to top off, if she can, and standby
for further orders. Advise them what we have in mind. Tell her she
is only to track Rabbit. Make sure Rabbit knows she is nearby. She
is to make no effort to intercept her. Advise SurfaceOps to have
Yacona proceed to intercept Fox 3. Have her clear her decks for an
emergency landing.”

Simons jammed a cigar in his mouth and smiled.

“
I still don’t see what good this
gambit is going to do,” Conover grumbled. “Trent will get away and
we are providing his escort.”

Elston replied, “Rabbit’s pilots are skilled. We
know Trent is listening to Den Mother. Patience, Conover, we may
get a break yet.”

~ * * * ~

CHAPTER 32

Four men huddled, exhausted, cold and wet, on the
small, narrow sandy beach where they had been cast. They found
shelter under an overhanging, black threatening rock a safe
distance from the surging surf. To no avail, they beat their chests
and stomped their feet to ward off the cold.

Floray stuttered, “I’m freezing my ass off,” his
teeth chattering.

“
We need a fire,” Kapur
whined.

“
We better find shelter,” ‘Zeke’
Zediker said.

“
I spotted a path over that way,”
Co-pilot Wolak pointed up at the craggy rocks of Tatoosh Island. A
treacherous pathway snaked skyward, clawing its way to the heavens,
the path poked a hole in the white haze. The promise of warmth and
shelter of a boarded-up lighthouse and keeper’s station drew them
on.

“
At least, let’s get off this damn
beach.” Wolak declared, “And no shirking.” The men laughed at his
weak attempt at a joke. They grabbed what gear they could carry and
in single-file headed up the treacherous climb. Moss-covered and
slippery, the path had been hewn into the face of a sheer rock
cliff, most likely by the lighthouse keeper out of sheer boredom.
Wolak swore as the turbulent wind smacked and battered him, he
mumbled, “How could anybody live out here? Zeke, Craig, Raj, you
guys close up,” he ordered. “No strays.”

“
The sky is clear straight up.
Stars, too,” Floray stopped short and pointed up.

“
Den Mother is probably looking
for us right now.”

“
She’ll never find us under this
stuff,” Zeke muttered.

“
We’re up. It’s flattening out,”
Wolak called back.

“
Now which way?” Kapur winced as
wind whipped rain lashed his face.

“
Beats me. Can you see the
lighthouse?”

“
The path heads this way, most
likely to the lighthouse,” Wolak said, stepping cautiously,
twisting expertly past rocky outcroppings as the wind tore at his
clothing. Out of the fog, the lighthouse loomed ghost-like, a
weather-beaten monster dominating the moor. It’s creepy. It looks
like Dracula’s castle. Sidestepping rickety steps, Wolak pushed at
a door, rusty hinges creaked as the door swung open.

“
Christ! A back door, it’s a
kitchen,” Zeke exclaimed as he stepped inside. An iron cook stove
tinged with salty rust sat against a wall, its mouth open oven door
unhinged. Dry matches sealed in a mason jar were hurriedly used to
start a fire. The men stripped and hung up their clothes to dry as
the kitchen slowly warmed. Hovering over the stove, hands extended,
Zeke said, “Floray. We need firewood. No thanks to the last
tenant.”

“
Aye, Sir.” He put on his wet
jacket and quickly left.

“
Jesus!” Floray returned out of
breath. He banged the door shut and leaned his back against it. He
whispered: “They’re here. On the Island.”

“
Who’s here?”

“
Rabbitt.”

“
Christ! Where?”

“
An eighth of a mile
off.”

“
What are they doing?”

“
Refueling.”

“
Did they see you?”

“
Not so that I could
tell.”

“
Shit. We have no
weapons.”

“
Let’s go take a look,” Zeke
ordered.

“
I’m still wet.”

“
Hell. It’s raining,
anyway.”

Floray led, “There they are. The black guy is
standing guard, but he doesn’t look worried. The big guy has been
dumping in fuel from those jerry cans. From the looks of it, they
must be nearly finished. The two pilots just climbed into the
cockpit.”

“
Keep your heads and voices down,”
Zeke warned.

“
What’s going on?”

“
The big guy just leveled the
black man.”

* * *

Out of corner of his eye, Harper barely caught
Graves’ charge. “You got a gripe, Graves?” In one quick move,
Graves snatched the M60 out of Harper’s hands, tuned it over and
smashed the butt across Harper’s head. A sharp pain shot down
Harper’s back as he heard his neck crack. He thudded to the turf
like a brick. He rolled over and brought up his left arm,
stiff-arming a descending gun barrel, the blow nearly rendered his
arm useless.

“
You son of a bitch,” Harper
screamed in a hot agony.

“
I’ll son of a bitch you, Harper,”
Graves cried in a screaming rage, an animal possessed. “You’ve
bugged me since the first day.” Harper ignored the grit and sharp
stones scuffing his body as he rolled away dodging Graves’
heavy-booted foot. Graves, caught off balance, tumbled to the
ground.

Reacting to the immediate threat, Trent clambered
aboard the helicopter and jammed his gun to the back of the pilot’s
head. Madden threw a gas can aside and rushed to Harper’s defense.
Graves spun to face him. “And this is for you, Madden.” Madden
rushed him, deflecting the barrel from his stomach. Graves reeled
at Madden s quickness. Shaking it off, he growled with rage,
re-cocked the gun barrel and whipped it club-wise. Madden closed up
to block the blow. Graves shifted the barrel, slashing him across
the jaw. Madden stumbled backwards, tripped and fell on his back.
Madden did not rise. Graves turned back to Harper. “You get off
here, Harper. This is the end of the line for you.” He raised the
weapon and slammed home a shell.

Harper screamed, “You dirty bastard. Cheat me of my
share, will you.”

“
Yeah! No pretty dollies and tanks
full of booze. I can put the dough to better use.” Graves’ laugh
shattered the air.

“
You planned this all along,”
Harper blasted.

“
Thirty-million splits better
three ways,” Graves laughed.

“
You’ll have to kill me first,”
Harper’s voice filled with helpless, impotent rage…

“
I got that idea ahead of you.”
Graves rammed the nozzle viciously into Harper’s chest. Harper
fended off the barrel, grimaced in pain and rolled over. He braced
himself on his bad arm; he could move it, he felt no pain. Harper
reached back, and in a blurred, half-seen movement, his good arm
surged forward. A shiny object flew from his hand and sliced into
Graves. Graves grabbed for his gut and howled with pain. His eyes
were fearful. With his other hand, he raised the M60 to pull the
trigger. A solid object caught him on the side of his head. Graves
went down in a heap. Madden stepped over Graves’ prostrate body and
yanked out the knife. Unsteadily, Madden rubbed at his aching
jaw.

“
Lucky you, Graves. The blade went
clear in to the hilt; but looks like you’ll live. Too bad, it
missed your vitals. You might get to spend some of the money, after
all.” Madden said, “What you did was stupid. Who was to be next?
Me? Trent? There is enough for all of us, you greedy idiot.” He
picked up Graves’ weapon and kicked him in the ribs. “Get your ass
in the ‘copter?”

“
You mean you ain’t goin’ at leave
me here?”

“
Don’t tempt me. You’d bleed to
death before anybody found you. Christ! We’ve got the Coast Guard,
Navy and the Police breathing down our necks. We don’t need you to
muck things up worse. You’re deadweight, Graves.”

“
Madden.” Trent fought to keep his
temper in check.

“
Graves is hurt, but he’ll
live.”

“
We’re pulling out. There’s a bad
weather front moving in and that means butting headwinds. No time
left, let’s go. Toss him in,” ordered Trent. Madden hesitated, and
then he turned angrily toward Graves. “Hear that, get your butt
in.” Graves held his stomach, grumbled, then stumbled to the cargo
hatch. He fell in letting his bulk roll onto the ‘copter floor.
Harper kicked him in the head as Madden slammed the cargo door
shut.

“
What the hell is that?” Trent
exclaimed. Thudding objects pounded the sides of the
‘copter.

“
Rocks. Someone’s throwing
rocks.”

Trent squinted out the cockpit window, but couldn’t
see the source. Madden slid open the cargo door and sprayed, firing
wildly. He shouted, “They’re trying for the engine inlet and
windshield.” Madden fastened on a safety strap, then leaned out the
door and fired again. The crisp `rasp of the M60 sounded like the
tearing of heavy cloth. The throwing stopped. The cold air of the
slipstream of the blades bathed his face as the blades whipped
faster and faster. The ‘copter lifted, dipped its nose and
accelerated sharply off.

“
What the hell was all that?”
Trent shouted.

“
Two men, I’d swear they were
Coast Guardsmen.” Madden said. “I caught one of them in the
shoulder. He clutched his arm and keeled over. They must have
landed somewhere nearby. That Navy ‘copter, that dropped in
earlier, must have ferried them over.”

Trent said, “But, rocks. Why rocks?”

Suddenly they heard, “Rabbit, this is Den Mother. We
have you on our scope.”

“
I copy,” Rabbit’s pilot replied.
Trent relented; their location was no longer a mystery. Trent
clicked on the inter-phone. “Den mother. This is Rabbit. We’re
underway.”

“
I copy,” Den Mother replied,
“Thank you. Fox 3, Rabbit is heading 270 out of Tatoosh. Pursue.
Watch for weather front. Winds to 70 knots from the
Southwest.”

“
This is Rabbit. You might check.
Some of your boys dropped in for lunch at the lighthouse. They
didn’t get to finish their meal.”

“
Fox 3. Roger. Den Mother. We’re
up and after ‘em. Tanks are full.”

Trent checked his chart and said, “Follow this
heading.”

“
Christ. There’s nothing out there
but ocean,” the co-pilot mumbled. “I don’t get it.”

“
Do it,” Trent ordered.

* * *

On course 280 degrees, Fox 3 easily picked up Rabbit
on their infrared radar. The operator tracked the green and white
image on the cockpit screen. Zooming in on Rabbit, he adjusted for
detail and locked on. Operator Cleo Warnes clicked on his
inter-phone. “I’ve locked on our man,” he said. “Speed 120 knots,
course 270.” Warnes marked his chart under a small red spotlight.
“We’ll intersect in twenty minutes.” He settled back into his seat
and focused on the screen.

Warnes reported, “Five miles ahead. Five-hundred
feet below, closure rate ten knots.” Fox 3’s pilot, Lt. Ken Ambrose
moved closer to drop down behind his quarry. The Pelican’s FLIR,
its forward-looking infrared radar, fixed on Rabbit’s red-hot
engine exhaust. Ambrose inched the ‘copter up carefully, taking
station off to the rear and slightly to the left side. “Den Mother
says they got machine guns. Stay away from the cargo door. They
sprayed Navy 1. She’s holding steady. I bet they don t have a clue
we are here.