cross the three-mile limit on this course.”
The operator tapped some keys. “Fifteen miles south southwest of Marco Island,” he replied.
Shortly afterward, the two cutters were communicating directly. “This is Lieutenant Harris. Who’s out there?”
“Captain Burrows, Lieutenant.”
She gave him her position. “We’re tracking a suspected smuggler twenty miles north of our position, type unknown, running at eight knots. She’ll make Naples on her present heading, but we want to intercept as soon as she crosses the three-mile line. We’re pursuing using radar only. We don’t want to be seen until we’re ready.”
“What do you need, Lieutenant?”
“I’d like you to intercept from the north at that point, but launch your RIB for that purpose, and we’ll do same. I want to sneak up on her at high speed before she has a chance to jettison cargo. I don’t want to involve the locals.”
“Roger, got that, wilco.”
* * *
—
Back on the yacht, everybody was gathered around the laptop. “Dixie has taken off and is making for the strip,” Max said. “Tommy and a couple of others will greet him on arrival.”
“Where’s the Coast Guard cutter?” Stone asked.
“We can’t display her,” Max said, “but she’ll be somewhere around here”—she pointed—“staying over the horizon and painting our quarry on radar.”
Dino headed for the bar. “Anybody want a gimlet? This is going to take a while.”
The others joined him.
* * *
—
Later in the afternoon, Max’s cell rang. “This is Max.”
“It’s Harris here. We’ve just launched fast boats from two cutters, and they’re approaching the vessel at sixty knots from north and south. We want to nail them before they can jettison their cargo.”
“Keep me posted,” Max said.
“This will be over in a few minutes.”
The radio squawked. “Vessel in sight, closing fast. It’s a shrimper.”
“Proceed as planned,” Harris said.
* * *
—
As the two boats closed on the shrimper, Ensign Peter Wills, who was in charge of the southern boat, grabbed a hailer. “Shrimper Lucy Ann heave to, prepare to receive boarders. Everyone keep his hands in sight.”
The two RIBs roared up to the shrimper, cut their power, and moved alongside. Four men in helmets and flak jackets, carrying assault weapons, jumped aboard from both sides. The crew were stunned and had their hands up.
The guardsmen immobilized the Lucy Ann crew and conducted a search of the vessel. They found nothing but a full load of shrimp.
Ensign Wills called his skipper. “We’ve completed our search, and found nothing above or below.”
“Is there a load of shrimp aboard?” Harris asked.
“Yes, ma’am.”
“Then the cargo is under the shrimp,” she said. “Search there.”
Ensign Wills walked into the wheelhouse, where the captain was leaning idly against the bulkhead. “Get your crew assembled and start unloading your shrimp.”
The captain was startled. “Unload them where?”
“Into the sea,” Wills replied.
“Listen, swabbie, that’s money, not just shrimp. Who’s going to pay? My owner will want to know.”
“You and your owner are going to pay,” Wills replied. “Now start unloading shrimp, and don’t stop until we see your real cargo.”
* * *
—
Max answered the phone. “This is Max.”
“It’s Harris. We’ve secured the vessel, a shrimper, but have found no cargo. I suspect it’s hidden under their catch. The FBI is calling on the ship’s owner in Naples as we speak. I’ll call you with results.”
* * *
—
“Mr. Wills,” one of his crew called. “Take a look at this!” He pointed to a line that was secured to a cleat next to the hold. He yanked the line, and the other end disappeared into the pile of shrimp.
“Get that line to a crane!” Wills yelled. The crew did as ordered, and a crewman from the shrimper was directed to raise whatever it was attached to. He did so with reluctance, but as he did, the line tautened, and a large pallet emerged from the catch. On the pallet, secured by a cargo net, were a number of wooden crates and at least a dozen aluminum suitcases.
“Bingo!” Wills yelled into his hailer, as the cutters moved alongside.
* * *
—
Max’s phone rang and she answered it via speaker. “This is Max.”
“This is Harris. Their cargo, consisting of wooden crates and aluminum suitcases, is secured. The crates include caviar, the suitcases have cigars.”
“More gimlets!” Dino crowed.
52
Dino set down his glass. “Max, I need to speak to the FBI’s Agent in Charge in Naples. Do you have his number?”
“No,” Max said, “and if I had it I’d be too drunk to call him.”
Dino whipped out his cell phone and pressed a button. “Sergeant,” he said, “this is Bacchetti. I want