he noticed the deck below him was not moving forward in a straight line. No, he felt a very noticeable and very strong pull to the right of the eighty-foot craft. He had no idea why, guessed only that the machine guns had already damaged the rudder.
He pushed this out of his mind and pressed the trigger. The light exploded in a flash of sparks. Suddenly the Fatima was enshrouded in darkness, and the gunboat across the water was the bright spot, as its windows and electric lighting exposed all the men on the deck.
Court fired the remainder of the first AK’s magazine in full automatic mode at the men, killing two and sending the rest diving to the deck of the hundred-foot craft. When his weapon ran dry, Court dropped it and ran to the port side of the yacht. He knew the bright flash of the gun would have attracted attention, and he needed to get as far away from the bow as possible. He made it back to the stairs to the lower decks just as the machine guns on the yacht again began belching hot steel. On the stairs he saw his boat was sinking now, leaning to the port side, although its forward propulsion still pulled to starboard.
Court returned to the lower saloon and dropped to his hands and knees. It was below the waterline and therefore mostly safe from direct gunfire. He found Zack lying in the same place. His bare chest was covered in the ersatz bandages and a thick sheen of sweat. His eyes were open and blinking.
“Fucking navy,” Zack said as Court crawled up next to him. A passing sweep from the machine gun sent splinters and glass and seawater throughout the saloon just above their heads. Seconds later the engines stopped, and the Fatima began to drift.
But the gunfire continued. Court had to scream to be heard. “We’re going up on deck!”
“Don’t forget the sunscreen.”
“We’re sinking. We’re going to have to go over the port side. Maybe we can wait a while, transmit the distress on the VHF when they leave.”
“Not gonna work. We’re nowhere near international waters. The Sudanese will hear the distress, come back, and finish the job.”
“I’m not going to sink that navy boat. I don’t have any other alternative.”
Zack laid his head back flat. “Do what you gotta do, bro. I’m staying right here.”
The machine gun fire stopped abruptly. Court looked around. He noticed the water bottle he’d left on the floor earlier had rolled to the port side. Within seconds other items in the room began to slide on the mirrorlike finish of the deck.
“We’re dead in the water,” Court said. “The engine room must be filling up. But why aren’t they shooting?”
Zack said nothing.
“I’ll be right back.” Court climbed the stairs on his hands and knees. The yacht was sinking incredibly quickly. Already it leaned to port at a ten-degree angle. On the deck he laid flat, so he was concealed to the starboard side by the list to port. He crawled to the railing and peered over carefully, looking for the gunboat. The navy vessel was moving out of the area, away from the yacht, and Court could not imagine why. Quickly he looked into the sky, worried about a fighter plane with a bomb or some other attack that would necessitate the patrol craft hauling ass. But the starry skies were clear.
He was about to turn to slide back to the companionway when he noticed it, above the waterline, just below his position at the railing. In the darkness it glistened and hung there like a big, wet tumor on the hull of the Fatima.
It was attached to the hull with cables and suction cups, and had been below the waterline before the yacht began listing hard to the opposite side.
Cigar-shaped, black as onyx, and twenty feet long, an enclosed prop and rudder at the rear, and a clear plastic canopy on the top.
A mini submarine.
Court shook his head in disbelief and mumbled with a little smile, “Zack, you rat bastard.”
Court realized now why the boat had pulled so hard to starboard at speed.
Hightower had neglected to mention it because his primary mission was to kill the Gray Man. His secondary mission would be to save his own life.
Court had an incredible respect for Sierra One’s mission focus, even if it did piss him off.
Court looked back to the Sudanese patrol boat and realized they must have seen it, too. But apparently