The hovercraft was pounding along at top speed, spraying salt water onto the windows of the small cabin where the wipers were trying but failing to keep up. Though staying dry inside, the passengers were once more being tossed around. Steve and Cox were sitting on the floor, trying somewhat unsuccessfully to stop themselves from being thrown against the wall behind them. Steve's eyes were squeezed shut; he didn't want to cry out in pain but it was getting harder and harder to hold it in.
Suddenly there was a roar, much louder than that from the propellers right behind them, and a blinding white light passed over the ACV, heading in the same direction. The two detectives looked up then out the front windows as the light and the roar receded.
Williams, still standing at the control wheel, glanced up and smiled, then looked at the two detectives. "Our Navy friends!" he yelled over the din. "Looks like they're gonna get there before us!"
The CG petty officer manning the ship-to-ship radio looked up quickly. "Commander Williams!"
The commander looked up then crossed quickly to the petty officer. Steve and Cox watched as the exchange of information took place; it was hard to tell if the news was good or bad.
Williams returned to them, kneeling down. "One of the lifeboats and the chopper have caught up but the trawler refuses to stop! There's been an exchange of gunfire!"
Steve's eyes shot open in alarm and Cox looked at him worriedly. "The chopper fired on them?!" he asked anxiously, knowing the cartridges from a .50 calibre machine gun would penetrate a wooden trawler like a knife through butter.
"They fired into the water around them! Don't worry, the Navy boys know what they're doing! We'll be there soon ourselves!" Williams got up and crossed back to the radio operator.
Steve looked at Cox; the older man could see the fear and worry in his eyes.
# # # # #
They felt the ACV start to slow and scrambled to their feet. Steve's ribs were aching and he kept his left arm wrapped around his chest as he pulled himself up with the other hand. Cox shot him a concerned frown, reaching out to help, but Steve shook him off.
Through the salt-water streaked windows they could see a red-and-white trawler bobbing on the waves, almost incandescent in the blinding spotlights emanating from both the CG craft in front of it and the Sikorsky above. Even from a distance, those on the hovercraft could see at least two men armed with rifles on the small deck of the trawler.
The ear-splitting report of gunfire issued from the chopper as around the trawler little explosions of water appeared as the bullets hit. They could hear commands being made through bullhorns but were too far away to make out the words.
Both men on the boat hesitated, exchanging a brief look. One of them began to lower his rifle; the other watched him begin to surrender and started to do the same. Suddenly he brought the rifle back up and almost instantly he was flying backwards off his feet, slamming against the front of the trawler cabin, the rifle slipping from his hands as he slumped, unmoving, his chest covered in blood.
The second man let the rifle slide from his hands and dropped to his knees, lacing his fingers behind his head. Slowly, the lifeboat began to move closer. Still pinned in the blinding spotlights, a third man emerged from the cabin and, glancing over his shoulder at his dead accomplice, lowered himself to his knees as well, his hands on his head.
Steve felt the ACV begin to move closer as the lifeboat pulled alongside the trawler and secured itself. Four sailors scrambled down onto the deck of the trawler and, handguns at the ready, quickly spread out and covered the small boat, returning to the prow and nodding towards the lifeboat.
The ACV pulled up to the trawler as two of the sailors pushed the 'fishermen' forward, forcing their arms behind their backs and handcuffing them. The other two sailors holstered their sidearms and helped to pull the suspects to their feet and propelled them into the trawler cabin, forcing them to the floor. They left the dead man on the deck but pulled him closer to the prow.
The ACV stopped, bobbing in the water as Williams and the two detectives left the cabin to stand on the small deck, watching the controlled and professional action taking place on the trawler. Steve wasn't sure if he was breathing; he couldn't take his eyes off the hatch door in the centre of the trawler floor and he subconsciously pulled his leather jacket tighter against the biting chill.
"Commander Williams?!" came the request from the lifeboat, and the commander looked into the dark in the direction of the large CG craft.
"Go ahead!"
"Carter, Blum!"
The two ensigns who had holstered their weapons, and whom Steve and Cox recognized from the day before, turned into the light, squinting, and nodded. "Yes, sir!" they answered in unison, then turned as one and moved to opposite sides of the heavy hatch door.
They lifted it, letting it slam back against the deck. As before, Carter slipped the flashlight off his belt and started to get down onto his belly but even before he could do so, Blum looked up into the light. "We got 'em, Captain! They're here!"
Steve flinched, reaching out to grab Cox's forearm and squeeze. There was a split second of hesitation all around, as if nobody could believe what the ensign had just yelled, then there was a frenzy of action.
As if in a daze, Steve started towards the small ladder on the side of the ACV, but Williams grabbed him. "Steve, Steve!" he called, trying to get the young cop's attention, watching as the green eyes turned to him slowly and focused, "we're too far away, you can't get off yet. Let us get closer."
Steve nodded distractedly, the words taking time to sink in, and Williams gestured with his chin through the window towards the helmsman, who began to ease the hovercraft up to the trawler.
Someone on the deck of the lifeboat began to wave a large flashlight into the sky, the beam raking back and forth across the bottom of the Sikorsky. Within seconds the chopper began to lift, the spotlight snapped off, and it turned, starting back toward land.
Steve watched as Carter and Blum disappeared into the hatch, flashlights in hand, not even waiting to lower the rope ladder. More sailors dropped onto the trawler from the lifeboat, blankets and what looked like military-issue canteens being handed down to them.
Two of the sailors had noticed a long wooden gangplank with crossbars lying against the side of the boat; it had hooks on one end. They picked it up and, after yelling down to Carter and Blum inside the hold, lowered it in, securing it onto the deck.
Almost immediately, Carter's head appeared above the hatch, staring into the spotlight. "We've got eleven men down here, Commander!" He paused fractionally, then his voice lowered slightly, almost unconsciously. "One is deceased, sir!"
Steve, about to follow Williams as he stepped onto the trawler from the hovercraft, froze and Cox grabbed his arm. The slightly older man leaned forward, whispering urgently in his ear, "It's not Mike. I know it's not."
Steve nodded reluctantly, not entirely convinced, and, holding his breath and gritting his teeth, followed Williams over the side of the ACV, dropping down onto the deck of the trawler while trying to mask a gasp of pain. Cox was close on their heels.
As Steve started towards the hold, Williams crossed to one of the non-coms guarding the two detainees in the trawler's cabin. He held out his right hand. "I need your firearm, Baptiste," he said, more a request than an order, but the young sailor instantly laid the .40 calibre S&W in his commanding officer's hand.
Closing his fist around the grip, Williams reached down with his other hand and hauled the suspect who had been manning the wheel of the trawler to his feet. He nodded towards the other man, still sitting against the wall. "Get him out of here."
"Yes, sir," Baptiste snapped, grabbing the suspect by the collar, dragging him up and propelling him out the door.
Williams raised the pistol and put it against the other man's head. The heavyset dark-haired, mustachioed older man began to sweat even more. "I need you to get on that," he indicated the transmitter with a tilt of his head, "and radio that big ship that's waiting out there for you and tell them you're not going to be making it tonight. Do you understand me?"
The big man didn't move. Williams tightened his grip on the man's collar, choking him slightly.
"In case you didn't understand, that wasn't a request. You either do what I said, or you end up like your friend out there." He nodded towards the prow, where the body of the dead trafficker was lying face up. "And nobody here is gonna stop me, I can assure you. 'Cause if I don't do it, one of them will."
Under his grip, he could feel the suspect begin to shake. More beads of sweat appeared on his already glistening forehead and he swallowed heavily. "What do you want me to tell 'em?" he asked hoarsely.
"Use your imagination," Williams growled. "You ran outa gas, you spotted the Coast Guard… I don't care. Just make it believable. But don't make a slip, 'cause I can pull this trigger a lot faster than you can talk."
Nodding hesitatingly, the suspect reached out and took the receiver off the hook on the wall.
# # # # #
Grimacing from the pain, Steve started carefully down the gangplank, grabbing onto the lip of the hatch above his head before he'd gone down far enough that he had to let go. The hold was pitch black and so cold they could see their own breaths; the beams of several flashlights were bouncing around as the sailors were starting to release the captives. He caught glimpses of men sitting against the walls, their heads down, their hands bound above their heads.
Cox trotted down the plank behind him and a flashlight beam snapped on. The blankets and canteens were being dropped down into the hold beside them as Cox swung the light back and forth, both of them looking for Mike.
Ensign Carter's voice cut through the dark. "Your partner's over there." His flashlight beam snapped to the far end, briefly playing over a very still form against the wall.
Though the hold was very deep, Steve instinctively ducked as he almost ran the few steps towards the back, dropping to his knees. Cox knelt behind him, the beam of light now on the limp body of the man tied to the wall. In the thin cotton dress shirt he'd been wearing in the bar, the lieutenant was leaning against the rough wood, his cuffed hands lashed with a thick rope to a large iron ring that was bolted to the wall slightly above him. Eyes closed, his head rested limply against his upraised arms.
"Mike…" Steve breathed, reaching out to put his hand under his partner's chin, gently raising his head. The two-day stubble was rough under his fingers. "Mike…"
Gradually the blue eyes opened, blinking slowly as they tried to focus. Cox moved the flashlight so Steve's face could be seen. Almost imperceptibly a small smile began to build. And in a voice so low and raspy that both Steve and Cox had to strain to hear him, Mike whispered, "Hey, buddy boy… I was wondering when you were gonna find me."