Good Men

"The good man is the man who, no matter how morally unworthy he has been, is moving to become better." John Dewey

Chapter 1: Drowned Rats

"Pat's been hit," Kowalski yelled. He glanced at his friend as he slapped a new clip into his rifle. Pain creased Patterson's features as he tried to pull himself to a seated position in the bottom of the raft. He looked like hell, Kowalski thought, but at least he was alive, which was a miracle considering the fire they were taking. Patterson had been knocked away from the outboard motor by the force of the bullet and now the raft was careening wildly back toward their pursuers.

Admiral Harriman Nelson dove for the tiller, dropping his pistol as he struggled to bring the raft back under control. "Lee, use the grenade launcher!"

"Got it!" Crane shot a grenade at the boat flanking them to starboard, cursing softly as it exploded too wide to take out any of the men firing at them. It was like trying to aim from the back of a bucking bronco. Beside him, Nelson heaved on the tiller, pulling the raft out of its sharp turn. "We're too slow," Crane yelled. "We'll never make it!"

"Hold on," Nelson commanded, throwing the tiller to the side as a spray of machine gun fire peppered the water where the raft had been only a moment before. He turned for the open sea, anxious to escape the bay before they were cut off. If he could just reach open water, perhaps Seaview would notice their plight and send aid. It was perilous to seek the sea in the darkness, but the risks paled compared to the danger behind them.

The little raft shuddered and lurched, bringing Lee and Kowalski to their knees, but they managed to hold on to their weapons. Nelson braced Patterson with his leg as the crewman struggled to stay upright. Lee shot another grenade from the launcher and this time there were confused shouts behind them. The raft shot forward like an arrow from a bow, leaving their pursuers in their wake.

Crane smiled for the first time that night, a bright, primal light shining in his eyes. The expression faded as his gaze fell on the admiral. Nelson's head was cocked to the side and Crane had half a second to wonder what he was listening to before the sound reached his ears, as well—the unmistakable whistle of incoming ordnance. "Get down!" he bellowed. "Down!" He threw himself on Nelson, knocking the older man into the bottom of the raft, ignoring the admiral's protest. Beside him, Kowalski was covering Patterson. Lee braced for the searing pain of shrapnel tearing into his back as the shell exploded above them. Ears ringing, he could barely hear the staccato burst of machine gun fire that followed. Then silence, sudden and unnerving, fell across the water.

Nelson stirred below him. "That was too close," he grumbled. "Were you hit?" He spoke in little more than a whisper, his voice harsh with worry.

"No," Lee said, incredulously. "No, I wasn't. Ski?" He grabbed Kowalski's sleeve. "You OK?"

Ski lifted his face out of Patterson's hair and nodded, his eyes wide in the moonlight.

"Pat?"

"OK, Skipper," Patterson wheezed. "I just had a graze from before. Nothing new, thanks to Ski."

Nelson made an impatient motion to rise and Crane slid to the side, letting him up. The admiral stared into the darkness, straining to locate their pursuers. Lee applied himself to examining the raft and cursed softly at what he found. A piece of shrapnel had torn into the material just above the waterline, leaving a gaping slash. They were losing air quickly and the damage was too severe to mend. "Sir?" He touched Nelson's sleeve. "Sir, look at this."

The admiral looked over the side and blanched. His reaction confirmed Lee's own assessment. "Pat, Ski," Crane said softly, "break out the life vests. We'll be underwater in no time." As they hurried to obey, he turned back to Nelson. "We could try to start the engine again and head as far out to sea as we can before we go down."

Nelson shook his head, his narrowed gaze still sweeping the water. "No," he whispered. "They're still out there. I don't know why they haven't come for us already, but the sound of the engine would give away our location. We couldn't outrun them before and there's no way we can now with the raft deflating under us."

Lee nodded, shrugging into the vest Kowalski handed him. He took one last look at the hole in their raft. It was larger than his hand and getting worse. The water had already risen above his ankles. They wouldn't last much longer. He turned back to Nelson and was surprised to find him still sitting quietly, unmoving. "Sir, we're running out of time."

Nelson met his gaze and for a moment Lee saw the tormented indecision in his eyes. Understanding hit Crane like a slap of cold water, but he kept his voice calm. "Sir," he repeated evenly, "you need to put your life vest on immediately. Pat and Ski are already wearing theirs."

"Pat and Ski can't answer questions," Nelson said softly, "or be held for ransom to embarrass our government."

Crane grasped the admiral's arm tightly, squeezing it hard for emphasis. "It's too soon to make that call. Put the vest on. We'll worry about the rest later."

Their gazes remained locked for a long moment, then Nelson looked away. He rubbed his hand across his eyes and smiled wanly, as if he couldn't quite believe what he'd been contemplating. "You're right. Of course you're right." He took the proffered life vest and put it on without further comment. The weight of responsibility settled on his shoulders with it. Despite Lee's encouragement, he could only see two outcomes to their predicament: either they would be picked up, in which case questions would undoubtedly be asked, or they would spend the night in the water with Patterson slowly bleeding out. It didn't take much imagination to guess how that would end. There wasn't a shortage of sharks in these shallow, tropical waters.

Nelson considered himself an optimist but try as he might, he couldn't come up with a scenario that brought comfort.

X X X

Treading water in the darkness, Lee tried to look on the bright side. At least the water wasn't cold: there was no chance of freezing to death. Despite the fury of the firefight, no one but Patterson was wounded. And, as much as he wished the others were safe on Seaview, he was glad of his companions. He couldn't think of a more reliable group to be floating in the ocean with in the middle of the night.

The moon shone above them, casting its pale light on the deceptively peaceful scene. The little raft was gone with all their weapons, food, and supplies, leaving no sign that it had ever been. Seaview was perhaps four or five miles off the coast, but it might as well have been a hundred leagues. In the distance, Lee thought he could make out the dim shape of the shoreline. "Admiral!" he hissed. "That way."

Nelson nodded and tugged the rope connecting him to Pat and Ski. They had tethered themselves together before the raft sank. He motioned toward the shore and started to swim with purpose, trying to splash as little as possible. The admiral was certain their pursuers hadn't given up. Colonel Wilson, the dictator of the tiny Caribbean island, was a persistent man and expected the same tenacity from his secret police.

They had gone perhaps 100 yards when the sound of an outboard motor in front of them brought them up short. They treaded water for a moment, uncertain where to turn. Another motor revved behind them and Lee realized they were trapped. Perhaps Wilson's goons had known where they were all the time and were playing with them. He glanced at the admiral. Nelson's features were set in hard, hopeless lines. He shook his head once, briefly. There was nowhere to go.

Several small lights flashed in their faces as the nearer boat approached, cutting back its motor. It was a small skiff, the kind smugglers and drug runners used to navigate the shallow, island coves. The men on board were dressed in black, their features impossible to make out in the darkness.

"Look!" one of them said. "We've found some rats that abandoned the sinking ship." He laughed and threw a rope, hitting Kowalski in the face. "Take it and don't try any tricks!"

Kowalski looked at Crane, waiting. Slowly, the captain nodded. Sighing, Kowalski allowed himself to the pulled aboard. One by one, the others were hauled in. As soon as they were onboard, their hands were bound tightly and sacks were pulled over their heads. Then they were forced to sit in a row against the bulkhead. Patterson moaned softly as their captors pushed him down next to Nelson.

Lee concentrated on keeping his breathing even as he listened to the admiral's low voice soothing the injured crewman. He wished he felt as calm as Nelson sounded. It was hard to draw enough oxygen into his lungs and he hated being blindfolded. It brought back unpleasant memories, too recent to have faded completely. He shivered, partly from the night breeze against his wet skin and partly from his thoughts.

"Skipper?" Kowalski was sitting so close their shoulders were touching. Lee knew he'd felt the tremor that ran through his body and understood the source of his anxiety. "Skipper, I'm here."

"I know," he said, making an effort to speak lightly. "You're practically in my lap."

"No talking!" The butt of a rifle rammed into Lee's ribs, knocking the wind out of him. He struggled to suck in air, but it was too hard to breathe through the sack. His last memory was of slumping against Kowalski, and then darkness took him.