Chapter 19

 

When Cyrus opened his eyes, everything around him was white and wet. His mouth felt swollen from the salt water spraying over the side. Still somewhat disoriented from the gas, he sensed a steady bouncing motion and surmised that he must be in a boat that was moving at a rapid clip. Every so often it rocked slightly from side to side. He tried to move his arms but his hands were tied behind his back.

Max lay across from him, at the foot of the captain’s chair; he was still unconscious, his hands also tied behind his back. The boat deck’s rolling motion kept Cyrus from lifting himself upright. They are probably taking us to the place where they plan to blow up the pipeline, he said to himself. He rolled onto his side and then spun around until Briana’s bronze legs came into view.  Turning his head and straining his neck, he observed her sitting on the back seat of the boat. Her hands were behind her back and with half closed, bloodshot, eyes, she nodded her head. Dana was on the same back seat on the other side of the boat in a supine position.

The vessel accelerated around a turn, pushing him over again on his back. Facing the cloudless blue sky above, he strained against the torque of the boat’s circular motion to keep from rolling over again. As soon as the force from the boat’s maneuver subsided, he felt two hands grab under each of his arms and pull him upright; it was Moon. His strength surprised Cyrus.

Moon forced him to stand up and then walk across the deck to the port side wall of the boat. Then he pushed him back down, so that he sat in an upright position against the side. Max remained on his back, next to the pedestal of the captain’s chair with his eyes closed. Behind Max, Cyrus could see the boat’s steering wheel tied down so that the boat maintained its circular course at high speed.

The power boat’s twin Yamaha 250 HP engines whined at a higher pitch than before. He realized he was on the Grady White, the same boat from which Duncan shot at them two nights before. As the boat continued around its wide, circular course, Cyrus spotted a larger, steel hulled, fishing trawler anchored less than a football field away. A long, rusty brown, metal boom dangled from its end a long, grey cylindrical object, just above the boat’s rail. A torpedo, Cyrus said to himself, they are going to use it for blowing up the oil pipeline.

Carrying a tackle-box and two fishing poles, Duncan stepped down from the side runway onto the main deck where Moon was standing.

“Grab the girl. We are taking her with us. She still has some value. We can use her to blackmail Dunbar, she’s Dick Carswell’s adopted daughter.” Moon said. Cyrus noticed that Briana was still nodding her head and was too drowsy to respond.

“What about Dana?” Duncan queried as he set the fishing poles and the tackle box down on the rear seat between Briana and Dana.

“He stays with me,” Moon said, “He’s going to pay for killing Mike; get used to it.”

“We already agreed. Dana comes with me,” Duncan said as he grabbed him by the arm and pulled up.

Cyrus flinched at the sound of the click coming from Moon’s nine-mike. He had just chambered a round and was now aiming it at Duncan, who stopped, bore his teeth at him, and then gave him a quick nod.

An instant later, Cyrus heard the distinctive, high-pitched, metallic, ringing sound from an MP-5 automatic being cocked right behind them on the boat’s side runway. Lifting his head, Cyrus observed a small, scowl-faced, Asian man, catching Moon from behind and keeping his weapon trained on him.

“Dana comes with me, Moon. Ask Lao.” Duncan said. Moon looked over at Lao and lowered his weapon. Duncan let go of Dana, who was alert now and sitting up on his own, and walking over to Moon’s side he grabbed the nine-mike from his hand. “You shouldn’t be so emotional about Mike. He would have wanted us to complete the mission, right? We stick to the original plan. Go down below and get the whiskey.”

Moon grunted, shook his head, and walked down the few steps leading to the galley. He came back holding a bottle of Chivas Regal scotch in one hand and a small, blue and black handled bat in the other. LA Dodgers was written along the bat’s side. Moon set the down the whiskey and then walked over to Cyrus and grabbed him by the arm. “Stand up,” he said.

Cyrus struggled to his feet. Moon lifted up his white sweat shirt to show Cyrus the fist-sized bruise on his chest.

“What do you want me to do? Say I am sorry?” Cyrus said.

Moon put his sweatshirt down, “Well that would be good for a start. Let’s hear it, Mr. Piggy. Say I am so sorry I tried to kill you Professor.”

“The only thing I am sorry for is that I didn’t use hollow point rounds or aim for the middle of your forehead. Of that I am truly sorry.”

“Time for a little payback, pig,” Moon raised the bat and then slammed it hard into his side, near his kidney. A spike of pain shot up through his torso and he doubled over. Shaking and clenching his hands, Cyrus wheezed several times trying to catch his breath. Moon dropped the bat and then grabbed Cyrus by the hair and pulled him forward so that he lost his balance and fell forwards into the deck, landing on the side of his face.

Moon picked up the bottle of Chivas and kneeling down next to him he said, “Don’t worry fat boy, you are going to go down in history a famous, or rather infamous, man. You and Robocop junior are going to be the cause of the mother of all oil spill catastrophes. You see, you and your buddy here rented a boat-this boat-to go fishing. At least that’s what the papers are going to say because we fixed it with the boat rental agent to make it look that way. Forgery is one of my better talents. I followed you around until I could steal a restaurant receipt with your signature on it. That didn’t take long; you like to eat out a lot.” He poked Cyrus’s belly with a bottle of Chivas. “You never know who is handling those credit card receipts you give to the waitress, do you? I am good friends with a lot of waitresses. I practiced for several weeks on your signature until I got it perfect.”

Cyrus caught his breath and through bloodied teeth he said, “Several weeks? Why so long, I thought you were a genius?”

 Moon straightened up, frowned, put his finger to his chin, and paused for a moment. His face brightened, and then he pointed his finger at Cyrus and said, “Speaking of geniuses, we thought it was going to be hard to capture you and we never thought we’d see Dana Mathers again for at least three years, but just like that, you broke him out of jail, just like we planned and you fell for the first trap we set. Best of all, you’ve brought Dana’s Oil Samples Report with you.”

Cyrus’s face turned bright red and he bit his swollen lip.

“I paid for the boat in advance, and then I forged your name on the agreement. You aren’t going to be able to pay me back, so think of it as a farewell gift,” Moon stood up and then he continued, “You came out here with your partner and got drunk. Then you threw the anchor overboard and it smacked that old, WWII torpedo, over there.” Leaning forward to keep his balance, Moon pointed the whiskey bottle towards the torpedo on the trawler.

 “Can you see it? What bad luck, such a tragedy, but it happens all the time. They say there are still hundreds of torpedoes left by the Japanese half buried all along the coast. But it’s all right, you and your partner are going to be so drunk, and you won’t feel a thing when it-”

The sound of the twin Yamaha engines stopped instantly and the abrupt halt of the boat caused Moon to lose his balance. He fell with a loud thud and slid across the deck headfirst into the wall of the boat on the other side. He lay there still as a stick. Duncan and his Asian guard were tossed overboard by the force of the boat’s sudden stop. Briana and Dana tumbled over Moon as he slid beneath them, and onto the deck in front of Cyrus. The same force also launched the tackle box from the rear seat and emptied its contents across the boat’s bottom.

Cyrus observed that Max had come to and was now in between the captain’s chair and the boat’s console laying on his back with a white, curled, electrical cord in his mouth. It was the lanyard, Cyrus realized. During the confrontation between Duncan and Moon, Max had managed to crawl over next to the console and yank down on the safety lanyard attached to a kill switch and flip the engines off.

Cyrus searched the boat floor filled with fishing gear and spotted a fillet knife only a foot from him. He rolled over on top of the knife and scooted up until he could feel the handle with his hands. Rolling back over on his stomach, he held the knife so that its point stood up in the air.

“Dana, can you hear me? Are you all right?”

“I’m okay. What are you doing with the knife?”

“Can you get up?”

“I think so.” Dana replied. He sat up, rocked himself forward a few times, made it to his knees, and then stood up.

“Come over here, Dana and cut yourself loose.”

Dana walked over to where Cyrus lay, knelt down beside him, turned his body so that his back was to the knife and draped the tie wrap across its sharp edge. Cyrus guided him to the knife’s sharp blade and then tightened his grip.

“Go ahead, cut them.”

It took a few tries of rubbing the plastic tie across its blade until Dana’s hands were free. He took the knife from Cyrus’s hands and cut him loose, Max and Briana were next. Cyrus went for the boat console to start the engine and escape, but before he could reach it, a loud cracking sound stopped him. It was Moon. He had come to and fired a round from a colt handgun into the air before Max could get to him. Cyrus ran over to Dana, who was standing next to the side rail of the boat,

 “Can you make it to shore?”

 “I’ll try,” Dana said and then he jumped into the water.

 Moon pointed his weapon at Max and walked toward him. Duncan must have dropped his weapon when he fell and Moon picked it up, Cyrus noted to himself. Moon put the barrel of the colt against Max’s head and cocked the hammer. Before Cyrus could stop Moon, Duncan, riding on a jet ski, pulled up to the side of the boat and jumped on to the deck. He pushed Moon to the floor and when Moon turned his head around, Duncan caught him in the face with a solid right cross. The force of Duncan’s blow caused him to drop the gun, sending it skipping across the deck to the other side of the boat. He grabbed him by the shoulders and made him sit up,

“Don’t be so stupid,” Duncan said, “We need to let them die in the explosion, not take a bullet in the head.”

Moon lowered his face, felt the side of his cheek with one hand, and raised his free hand as if he were surrendering. “All right, all right, but Dana’s escaped.”

“How did he escape? There is nowhere for him to go.”

“We’re only twenty five miles out, Dana will be to shore in about an hour.”

“This idea of keeping them off balance by having the boat go in a circle was dumb, Moon,” Duncan said.

Moon shrugged his shoulders.

Duncan turned to the man on the Jet Ski, pointed to the east, “Get him,” he said. Lao sped off.

While Moon and Duncan were arguing, Cyrus made a move toward the console to start up the engine. Before he could reach it, Moon stopped him by placing the barrel of the colt on Max’s temple. Moon walked Max over to the other side of the boat and pushed him down. He signaled to Cyrus to sit beside him and he complied.

Sitting beside Max and rubbing the side of his bloodied jaw, Cyrus noticed that the fishing vessel now appeared much larger, he observed that as soon as the Grady had stopped, it started drifting toward the trawler and was now less than twenty or thirty feet away. He could see the trawler’s name, Diane Marie, printed clearly in large black letters on its bow. It was much wider and heavier than the Grady White, probably forty ton. And though it was not powered at the moment, its momentum was much greater than that of the Grady and when they collided, it would be the winner. The prospect of hitting the trawler and sinking frightened Cyrus, but before he could warn either Moon or Duncan, he was distracted by a commotion on the other side of the boat.

Duncan held Briana by her pant’s belt and pulled her back. She waved her arms wildly in an attempt to strike Duncan. Grabbing her by both arms, he sat her back down on the rear seat. An Asian man appeared on the rail of the Diane Marie, just above the Grady. “Throw down a line!” Duncan yelled out, keeping his colt trained on Briana.

Moon grabbed a pole from below and used it to slow down the boats movement into the side of the larger trawler. A line, with a monkey’s fist knot on one end, landed on the deck behind them. Duncan put the nine-mike he carried up to Briana’s head.

“Grab hold or I’ll finish what I started on the pier at Rincon Island. Don’t get any ideas about resisting. You are expendable; I only need those two for the plan.” Briana climbed up the knotted rope and onto the deck of the trawler. Duncan kicked at the fishing gear and clutter that covered the bottom of the boat. He found the broken bottle of Chivas Regal and threw it overboard with a sigh of disgust. He handed Mike’s nine mike back to him and took back his colt, then he said, “Go down below and bring up a couple more bottles of scotch.”

Moon walked down below and came back with two bottles of Chivas Regal, he handed one to Cyrus and one to Max. He pointed his nine-mike at Cyrus and said, “Start drinking pig.”

“You go ahead, I don’t drink. If you want to shoot me, be my guest.”

“You think you’re a hero, don’t you?” Moon said, “So you don’t care about your life, what about Briana’s?”

“You wouldn’t kill her, Moon; you still want her, don’t you?”

“Oh yeah, I want her all right, I want her to take a cap from my nine mike in the back of the head, especially after she’s been with a pig.”

Cyrus stared back at Moon and then spat at him. Moon darted to the side to avoid the bloody phlegm.

“You’re the craziest pig I ever saw,” Moon said and then he kicked Cyrus again in the side, in the same spot he had hit him with the bat. “O.K. you’re a hero and you got guts. But you better start drinking or I’ll blow a hole through your partner, here.” He pointed his gun at Max’s chest.

Cyrus took a sip, gagged and wheezed, and then spit it out. He could hardly breathe. Moon pushed the barrel of the gun as hard as he could against Max’s chest. He started to force another drink down Cyrus, but stopped and then laughed.

“The fat boy can’t swim and he can’t drink,” he said, “No wonder you became a pig, you’re a loser. That’s okay, as long as you get the stuff on your breath and your clothes that’s all I need. You too, Robocop, take a big drink, now.”

While Max drank down a small gulp of the scotch, Moon walked over to the boat’s console and broke the key off in the ignition. He grabbed the microphone of the VHF radio and yanked on it until it broke away and threw it onto the deck. He walked up the runway and tossed over the anchor. Cyrus could see Duncan signaling him to hurry up. Moon walked back over to the side of the boat where Cyrus and Max were still sitting.

“You can’t swim and your partner can’t let you die alone. Besides, Max, you would never make it if you tried to swim back. The ocean water temperature is a brisk fifty five degrees. A man of your swimming ability wouldn’t last more than an hour, maybe two at the most. The ocean swells are somewhat calm out here now, but inshore the waves are breaking head high and there’s a strong undertow. You might as well keep Cyrus company. Besides all that, if you do make a swim for it, you’ll get a bullet in your head from the guard up there.”

Duncan grabbed the rope and started climbing up toward the rail of the trawler. “Come on Moon,” he said, “They’re not going anywhere, we got Briana as a hostage. If they try to escape we’ll kill her.”

Moon knelt down so that he was face to face with Cyrus. “I’m going to kill her anyway,” he whispered.

Cyrus jerked his head forward in an attempt to deliver a head butt, but Moon avoided the blow and then laughed. “Take your chances on the boat,” he said, “you probably won’t be killed; you’ll just wish you were dead because you’ll be blamed for the oil spill. I did the math; the force from the torpedo explosion will be deadened by the water because the ocean bottom here is about sixty feet down. You’ll more than likely just capsize.”

Moon grabbed hold of the rope and shimmied up to the trawler’s rail. Cyrus looked over at the anchor line and sighed.  He was relieved that Moon had tightened it so that the boat was no longer in danger of colliding with the trawler.

“What the hell did you do all that for, Cyrus?” Max said, “Are you crazy? He could have killed us both.” He stood up, smiled, and waved at the guard. Then he grabbed Cyrus by the hand and helped him up.

“Relax, Max, he couldn’t kill us, Duncan removed the firing pin from his nine-mike.”

Max returned a puzzled gaze.

“I saw the hammer earlier,” Cyrus explained, “When he had it pointed at your head, I saw the firing pin was missing.”

“Cyrus, I think you’re wrong. Moon had Duncan’s piece when he pointed it at me, after they scuffled, he gave Moon back his nine-mike. You saw Duncan’s colt with the firing pin missing, didn’t you?”

Cyrus nodded affirmatively and then said, “Oops.” He and Max stood near the rail of the Grady for several moments deciding what to do when they heard a loud voice call out. It was Duncan; he stood near the bow of the trawler and held a megaphone with one hand, with the other he held a gun pointed toward Briana’s temple.

“Get on the Jet Ski, Dana, or we’ll kill Briana!”

A moment later, Duncan lowered the gun from Briana’s temple and pushed her back from the boat rail and out of sight.

“They got Dana, Cyrus.” Max said.

“We have got to get on board; somehow, we need a distraction.”

“Get on board? And then what? We don’t have a weapon and they have Dana and Briana as hostages. Besides, there are four of them and two of us.”

Cyrus ran his tongue along his bruised and swollen gums, and then he bent down and picked up the bottle of scotch. He held it up to the guard above who waved back and then he took a big swallow. Max raised an eyebrow, “You O.K.?”

“My jaw hurts like hell, Max.” Cyrus held up at the bottle of scotch, stared at it for a moment, and then he said, “Civilization is a kid with a Molotov cocktail; culture is the L.A. cop who guns him down.”

“You shouldn’t drink, Cyrus,” Max said, then he took the bottle of scotch from him. “You’re already babbling.”

“No, it’s one of the quotes from one of the fanatics Moon admires. I just want to change it around a little.”

“What are you talking about?”

“I am talking about being a Santa Barbara cop with a Molotov cocktail.” Cyrus took back the scotch from Max, “Are you finished?”

Max nodded affirmatively and Cyrus emptied the remaining whiskey in the bottle onto the deck. Picking up the fishing knife, he knelt down next to the gas line of one of the outboard engines. “Stand in front of me so the guard doesn’t see,” he said, while he cut the rubber hose.

“Hey Cyrus,” Max said, “The trawler’s moving away from us.”

Once he finished filling each of the whiskey bottles he stood up. “This is a rental boat, maybe they have a flare gun on board.”

“They have to keep a flare gun on board, Coast Guard regulations,” Max said.

He and Max crawled on their bellies to the cuddy cabin and went below. Two cushioned seats lined either side of the cabin space and a small table sat in between them. There was a small bathroom near the forepeak. Cyrus handed his whiskey bottle filled with gas to Max and then opened the door to the bathroom. He searched the medicine chest above the sink and found the first aid kit. There he found a flare gun and several flares and gathered them up. Spotting a candle and some gauze, he grabbed them as well. He laid all the material on the cabin table. He picked up one of the whiskey bottle filled with gas.

“Get the other bottle and copy what I do,” he said to Max. Max rooted around the cabin and found the other whiskey bottle. He returned to the cabin table and stood next to Cyrus.

As Cyrus stuffed a couple gauze pads down the neck of the bottle he said, “This gauze is the wick. Don’t push it in too far. You have to keep the end of it above the gasoline so that when the flame reaches inside the bottle, the fumes explode before the gasoline ignites.” Max put a couple of gauze pads in the other bottle while Cyrus lit the candle. They each set their bottle down on the cabin table. He spread the melted wax around each bottle’s opening and sealed it closed.

“The wax-” Cyrus started to say.

“I know,” Max said, “The wax will help maintain the pressure and build up fumes.”

Cyrus nodded affirmatively. “Let’s get out there and really start a party. Don’t forget the flare gun.”

They scrambled back out to the deck of the Grady and hid close to the side out of sight of the guard. Max loaded the flare gun and took aim for the trawler.

“Don’t shoot the guard; we need to get his friends busy too.” Cyrus said. “Try for the window of the wheelhouse.”

“What is a wheelhouse?”

Cyrus made a dour face. “You know all about Coast Guard regulations but don’t know what a wheelhouse is, you are a strange bird. Aim for the front window, there.” Cyrus pointed to the front window of the wheelhouse and the Asian looked over the rail and glared, simultaneously pointing the MP-5’s muzzle at them. Cyrus put his hand on Max’s chest and said,

“Wait a minute Max, until the guard settles down again.”

Once Lao put the MP-5 down, Max stood up from his hiding spot and fired a flare into the front window of the trawler’s wheelhouse. The sound from the flare gun frightened the guard. When he turned to one side to see what had happened, Max and Cyrus each lit their gasoline bombs with the lighted candle.  As Max began to throw his cocktail, Cyrus grabbed his arm. “Wait,” he said and then staring intently and the burning gauze he started to count, “One, two, three-now!”

They flung the gasoline filled bottles for the bow of the boat near the wheelhouse. An instant later a succession of two explosions and two streaks of orange and blue fireballs engulfed the wheelhouse of the trawler.  One of the Asian guards emerged from the pilot house screaming and covered in flames. He dove over the side.

Lao fired a volley of several rounds wildly across the deck of the Grady, sending Cyrus and Max scurrying for cover. Crouched down against the starboard side of the boat wall, the rounds from the guard’s automatic barely missed them.

Jumping up and down and yelling something in what sounded like Chinese to Cyrus, Lao pointed at the two other guards. Cyrus peeked up over the boat rail and saw the other guard meet the excited Asians and then together they ran to the wheelhouse, one carrying a bucket and the other dragging a large hose.

The instant the guards were out of sight, Max and Cyrus jumped over the side of the Grady White and swam for the trawler. The rope with the monkey’s fist was still hanging over its side. Once he reached the vessel, Max grabbed the line and started shimmying up toward the boat rail.

“When I get to the top, I’ll pull you up, Cyrus.”

Kicking with all his strength and swinging wildly with his arms at the water, Cyrus finally reached the hull of the big boat. Exhausted, he grabbed hold of the monkey’s fist and tried to pull himself up. He made little headway. He managed to get about three feet further up the rope by the time Max pulled him up close enough to reach the rail of the trawler. Cyrus fell over the rail and landed on his back. Max helped Cyrus up and they looked around for the guards.

“What do are we going to do now?” Max asked, “Try to take them? There are two of us and five of them.”

“Four actually, the pilot jumped over the side covered in flames. And if we free Dana and Briana first the sides will be even. Besides the guards are busy putting out that fire,” Cyrus said through chattering teeth. “So actually it’s two against two.”

“Yeah, and Duncan is holding a gun with no firing pin.”

“Can you get up on the roof of the cabin?”

“I think that ladder at the end of the walk-around goes to the roof of the cabin.”

“You go up on the roof and sneak up on them from the port side and I’ll come at them from this side.” He reached down and picked up the pole Moon had with him when he came on board.

Max looked around and found a foot long length of chain lying on the deck.

“Probably came off of the chain they used for securing the torpedo onto the boom.”

Cyrus walked slowly down the walk-around toward the main deck as Max climbed up to the top of the cabin and over to the port side runway. He stopped at its end where he could see Dana and Briana sitting on the trawler’s hatch. Moon stood beside them, holding the nine-mike and talking. Probably bragging about his grand plan for restoring Mother Nature, Cyrus thought.

Since Moon faced the same direction he was coming from and he would be instantly spotted by him if he made a move towards him, he decided to wait. He had forgotten about the guards however, and when he stepped back from the light to hide himself, he stepped into the grasp of the two Asian guards. They grabbed the pole from him before he could use it and gripping him by each arm, they pushed him out on to the main deck.

“Pretty impressive, the pig can swim after all,” Moon said. “Man, you are really starting harsh my mellow. I think that the only way we are going to be able to pull this off is to go ahead and put a bullet between your eyes and make it look like your partner shot you.”

“You don’t even know what it is you are pulling off Moon. You think I’m dumb, at least I knew that what I was trying pull off didn’t have much of a chance. You are deluded if you think creating this oil spill and starting a second Platform A disaster will change anything.”

“What are you talking about?”

“I am just saying, all you are going to do is trade an American technological Satan for a Chinese one. Duncan’s a true believer, he’s no anarchist. Why do you think he wants to keep Dana alive?”

“Because he doesn’t believe Dana killed Mike, but he’s wrong, Briana saw him.”

“Duncan could care less about who killed Mike Tanner. He needs Dana to get to the oil. Only Dana can tell them how to locate the oil off the coast of Santa Rosa Island. The Chinese oil company Duncan works for needs him to interpret the data and learn his algorithm for finding more oil. It’s in his report, the Oil Samples Report. You know about that, don’t you?”

“I think you still have residual effects from the sleeping gas, fatso. There’s no oil near Santa Rosa Island.”

“Yes there is, Moon.” Dana said. “The area is rich in hydrocarbon deposits. Even old man Gherini had a small oil rig on his ranch on nearby Santa Cruz Island. The seismic response data I analyzed showed the probability of finding a sweet crude deposit there to be greater than ninety percent.”

“Don’t listen to him, Moon!” Duncan yelled out over the noise of the diesel. “They’re trying to pit us against each other. Go ahead and cap him!”

“Why would Duncan be helping me cause an oil spill if he was working for the Chinese? Once this torpedo goes off and floods the beaches with oil, the moratorium will be set permanently. That means no new oil exploration or any new oil rigs.”

“No new oil exploration by law abiding American Oil Companies, not secret Chinese oil companies with controlling interests in a small-time, local oil company, like TANOCO.”

“TANOCO, now I know you’re crazy. Old man Tanner is too much of an old school patriot to be dealing with the Chinese.”

“Just shoot him, Moon. He’s talking nonsense!”

“It still doesn’t make sense. If Duncan works for the Chinese, then why would he help me make the moratorium permanent? TANOCO can’t secretly drill for oil out here, no one can. We’re twenty five miles out and it’s still another five miles to Santa Rosa Island. Tanner’s special rig, the one Mike told me about can’t go that far. Besides, the California EPA would be all over him if he tried a stunt like that. I will personally turn him in.”

“You need to turn him in then. Peter Grigoryan claims his new rig can get out to at least thirty miles off shore.”

“Duncan is not a traitor. He’s not working for the Chinese, I don’t believe it.” Moon spoke softly for the first time.

“He’s what Kaczynski called a true believer, remember? You know, green on the outside and red in the middle. If it’s true he’s not working for the Chinese, where did you get the money for the boat, for the DET, the torpedo, and those ten thousand dollar a piece, illegal as all hell, MP-5 automatic weapons?”

Moon lowered his gun. For a moment Cyrus believed he had broken Moon’s trust of Duncan, but then Moon raised his arm and aimed the nine-mike he was holding at him, “Mike Tanner, that’s who, so shut up before I cap you!”

“Mike could have given you money, Moon, but you can’t buy MP-5s from a local Wal-Mart. You can’t buy them legally anywhere unless you are the FBI or some other representative of a nation-state, like China. Your torpedo is filled with DET, a very expensive and state controlled explosive. It’s not used for clearing out tree stumps, it’s weapons grade. Think about it, Moon, how come all the guards Duncan picked were Asian, and where could Mike find an authentic WWII Japanese torpedo? You ever heard of the Camorra gang, Moon?”

“Yeah I heard of them. They are a Chinese gang out of Frisco, so what?”

“Duncan’s not a union man, Moon; he is a Chicom agent with a mission. That mission is to get oil for China. If you check his hand, you’ll find a tattoo for Camorra, a dragon with three heads.”

Duncan was standing on the port side of the boat holding a line that ran through a block and tackle and held up the torpedo. It hung over the side rail, swinging back and forth and waiting to be dropped into the water.

Moon pointed his nine-mike at Duncan. Duncan raised his Colt and squeezed the trigger, but his weapon did nothing but click. Moon fired and shot him in the shoulder. Duncan fell to the deck, letting go of the line that held the torpedo as he went. The line snake danced through the block and tackle making a loud hum as the underwater bomb fell into the sea. Briana stood up as soon as Moon fired and kicked him hard in the back of the head, knocking his weapon from his hand and sending him even harder to the ship’s deck.

One of the guards holding Cyrus ran over to Duncan and knelt down beside him. Max darted out from his hiding place. Taking up the piece of chain in his hand, he slapped the guard’s wrist that held his automatic with the chain and sent the MP5 tumbling across the deck. Jumping up and swinging at Max wildly, the guard left himself wide open for the uppercut punch to the stomach which Max delivered with catlike speed. Winded and choking, the guard grabbed his stomach and fell to the deck.

Reacting to the assault on Duncan, the guard covering Cyrus trained his automatic on Moon, but Dana was in the way, so he raised the automatic’s muzzle into the air, just at that moment, Cyrus landed a solid punch to the side of his head that knocked him to the deck. He lay there, motionless.

“Are you all right, Briana?” Cyrus called out as he ran to her side. He took the knife he still had from the boat and cut her loose. Then he freed Dana.

“I’m fine, except I think I sprained my ankle on Moon’s hard head.” Sitting back down on the hatch, she reached down and rubbed her ankle.

“You ought to try punching the perp in the head.”

“No, it’s too hard on my nails.” She sat up and showed off her beautiful red nails to him.

Cyrus smiled and shrugged his shoulders. He shook his swollen hand. Maybe she has a point, Cyrus thought. How could he argue with her? Moon was flat on his back, laying spread eagled and motionless. He knelt down beside him and checked his wrist for a pulse. “He’s still alive, believe it or not,” he said. He got up and began searching the deck for Mike’s nine-mike, “Where’s the other guard, Max?”

“He’s near the bow. I tied him up and took his automatic.”

Max ran across the deck, leaving Duncan alone, and stopped when he got to Moon. He nudged him with his foot several times.

“Briana, remind me never to cross you. This guy is done.” He knelt down beside him and removed his wallet.

“What are doing Max?” Cyrus asked.

“I am getting back the thirty-five dollars I gave him, see?” He held out a twenty and three five dollar bills he took from the billfold. Briana and Dana laughed and Cyrus shook his head. As Max put Moon’s wallet back, Cyrus noticed Duncan sit up and reach into his pocket. He pulled out what looked like a TV remote control and pressed several buttons in a sequence.

“What’s that in Duncan’s hand?” Dana asked.

“He’s setting the fuse.” Cyrus shouted.

Max jumped across the hatchway and ran across the deck until he reached Duncan. He kicked him in the head and bounced it into the side of the boat. The remote he had been holding flew onto the deck and shattered into pieces.

“I was too late to stop him Cyrus; I saw the “fuse on” indicator flash on the remote.”

“Briana, you and Dana look around the deck or by the wheel house and see if you can find some line or rope to use to tie up Moon and the rest of the guards. Max and I will see if we can reach the Coast Guard from the trawler’s radio.”

Briana found an axe and Dana used it to sever several lengths of rope. They used them to secure the three Asian guards and Moon. Duncan was in no shape to go anywhere so they left him where he was. Cyrus and Max went into the wheel house. Everything was charred black and the air stank like boiled plastic. The VHF radio hung from the ceiling, an elongated, mass of melted plastic and steel.

“It’s no use, Cyrus,” Max said. “The ship’s VHF is fried. And Moon ripped the mike off the radio in the Grady White. I think we have about twenty minutes before the torpedo goes off.”

“Will the engines still work?”

“I don’t know. There’s a lot of damage to the electronics.” Max replied, “Why don’t we just get in the Grady and get out of here?”

“No gas,” Cyrus said, “I noticed that when were making the gas bombs.”

“I guess they weren’t that stupid, were they?”

The sound of someone running diverted their attention. Cyrus put his head out of the wheel house and spotted Dana coming up the side runway.

“Hey Max,” Dana shouted, “Look out to the southwest. I can see a boat.”

“Find some flares or anything. Maybe a horn, we’ve got to get their attention.” Cyrus said.

“I think it’s the whale watch boat from Ventura,” Max said.

Cyrus shook his head, “No, it’s going the wrong way for that. You two check out the hatchway, engine room, and the main deck.”

“Right.” Max said and then headed toward the stern with Dana right behind.

Cyrus searched the wheel house for a flare gun or a horn. The wheelhouse was a mess. All the equipment was charred and melted.  Below the helm he spotted a part way opened cabinet door. Inside the small compartment he found a horn, only slightly damaged from the fire.

He hurried out of the cabin and flipped it on, letting loose one loud blast after the other. Max, Dana, and Briana came up quickly along the side runway toward him.

After a dozen or so more loud hoots, the horn fizzled out until it could only produce a soft hiss. They all stood along the rail and watched the boat disappear over the horizon. Cyrus threw the empty can down on to the deck and walked back into the wheelhouse. 

“What are you doing?” Dana said, standing in the doorway, “You can’t leave. That torpedo is armed and sitting down there next to the pipeline!”

“I am not going to sacrifice our lives just to keep the birds from getting oil on their feathers and the ocean side restaurants open.” Cyrus said.

“That’s a main connection; it’s called a Christmas tree.” Dana replied. “This is where the FPSO connects to TANOCO’s other platforms and extracts oil. If it goes up, the natural gas could explode and cause a blow back on those rigs.”

“I don’t care if there are a hundred oil rigs connected here, it’s not worth us getting killed over.”

Dana shook his head and raised both his hands, “You don’t understand, Cyrus, When this torpedo blows it is going to ignite the natural gas that flows in the pipeline. That explosion could make its way back to the oil platform it is connected to and kill everyone.”

“What gas?” Cyrus asked.

“There’s always natural gas with the crude oil, it is what creates the pressure that pushes the crude to the surface,” Dana said, “And one other thing, I think you are right about the boat, it’s not the whale watcher’s boat.”

“What?”

“I have friends on Platform Irene. Today’s open house on that rig. That boat we just saw is taking their kids out to them.”

“They have ‘Take you kid to work day’ on oil rigs?”

Dana nodded.

 “So instead of several hundred, the explosion of this oil pipeline could mean the deaths of thousands of people, men, women and children.” Max said.

 “That’s right.” Dana replied.

 “I really, really, hate it when people use acronyms. What in hell is an FPSO?” Cyrus asked.

“It stands for floating point storage and offloading. It’s a big tanker specially designed to connect to this junction and extract the oil. Anyway, we can’t let this torpedo explode.”

“So what do you want to do, dive down there and disarm it?”

“What else, we can’t just cut and run!”