“Slow it down, Larry!” Eddie shouted into the wind of their passage. Uselessly, of course. Neither of the two maniacs driving this death machine showed the least interest in anything their putative superior might have had to say. All Eddie could do was grit his teeth, hang on for dear life, and remind himself that it had been his own stupid idea to have Larry “checked out” at the Outlaw’s controls. He also tried to find some peace of mind with the thought that Jack must know what he was doing, and the old man didn’t actually seem too worried himself.
Jack leaned close to bellow something into Larry’s ear. Larry nodded, then reached for the throttle quadrant at his right hand. He inched both levers open a little further, cautiously, and the Outlaw lunged ahead, faster than ever. Eddie found himself staring at the ungainly framework of Ferrara’s rocket launcher as it bounced up and down, obviously trying to shake itself to pieces. It was ugly as hell, and he hated to think how George Watson was going to react to the gaunt abortion which had been permanently epoxied just forward of the hatches on his pride and joy’s once-sleek foredeck. At least the work had been done solidly enough to survive the beating Jack and Larry were giving it, Eddie told himself moodily.
Jack sat back and watched Larry for perhaps another ten minutes, although it seemed much longer to Eddie. Then he slapped the younger man on the shoulder and made a “shut it down” gesture with his other hand. Larry looked up, nodded obediently, and throttled back the howling engines.
The boat lost speed quickly. The repetitive shocks as it leapt across the waves eased, but its motion became even more lively as it lost way and started pitching up and down. Jack waited until they were moving at no more than a few miles per hour, then waved for Larry to get up and took his place at the controls. He cracked the throttles a little wider, to put a bit more speed back onto the boat and ease its motion, then swiveled the comfortable chair around to face Larry and Eddie.
It was hard to believe they were still in the same boat. The ear-smashing bellow of wind, wave, and engine noise had eased into a gentle burble of exhaust, and the furious sense of movement had abated into something that was almost lulling. It was actually possible to hear someone speaking in normal tones, as Jack proceeded to demonstrate.
“All right, boys,” he said, paying no attention to their official ranks with no other ears present to hear. “Larry got her up to about forty, forty-five knots. That’s about the speed of one of the old World War II PT boats. It’s also not a whole hell a lot more than half of what she’s capable of.”
“Half?” Eddie knew the word had come out half-strangled, but he couldn’t help himself, and Jack laughed.
“A bit more,” he conceded. “In smooth water, this baby will turn out about sixty-five, sixty-eight knots. Call it seventy miles an hour.” Eddie’s eyes bulged, and he shrugged. “Give us some wave action like today’s or maybe a little stronger, and at full throttle you’ll get her up to maybe seventy-five miles an hour.”
“She’s faster in waves than smooth water?” Larry asked.
“Sure. This is basically a racing hull, Larry. Get a little air under it and you reduce drag even further.” He shook his head. “George always was an idiot. Oh, I’ll agree that getting behind the wheel on something like this can be a hell of a lot of fun, sometimes. I’ll go further, and admit I’ve enjoyed playing with it even under these circumstances. But I’ll also say it again—fun or not, this thing is nothing but a speed machine, and I’ve seen him handling a dinky little fifteen-footer. He’d’ve killed his sorry ass in nothing flat the first time he cranked her wide open.”
“I wouldn’t’ve been surprised, either,” Larry said. “I thought I’d seen fast fooling around with Uncle Evan’s ski boat, but this thing—!”
“That’s the point you need to keep in mind, if it comes down to it,” Jack told him soberly. “Truth to tell, I’d sooner never see you behind the wheel for real. Nothing personal, Larry, but this is a lot bigger handful than you’re used to. In some ways, she actually handles better at higher speed—that’s what she’s designed for, after all. And as long as you’ve got plenty of open water to play with and you’re careful, you ought to be all right. But when we actually have to go in against the Danes, we’re not going to have a lot of open water. So, while I agree with Eddie that it makes sense to train someone to back me up, I trust you won’t be offended by the fact that I hope to hell you never have to do it.”