“We’ll take Sebastian’s speedboat,” called Eileen. “She’ll overtake the Maria easily!”
They got into the rowboat that was waiting there. Pete began to row hard towards the buoy where the speedboat was moored.
“I can’t see the Maria’s lights anymore,” said Eileen Denicola.
“She’s heading down the coast,” Jupe told her.
“That Ernie is one rotten pilot,” said Eileen. “He’ll run her on the rocks.”
They reached the speedboat and scrambled to uncover the cockpit. Mrs. Denicola got into the boat and the boys tumbled in after her, and Jupe fastened the rowboat to the buoy. The engine choked and ground and then took hold. Then they were skipping and bounding over the water in the rain-dark night. The prow of the speedboat slapped the waves with a report that was a loud as gunfire. Eileen Denicola gripped the wheel with both hands, and the boys hung on to the sides and braced themselves.
The lights onshore were distant and misty when Bob spotted lights ahead of them.
“There she is!” he cried.
“Right!” Eileen Denicola gunned the speedboat to a still wilder rate.
There was a glare of light which blinded them for an instant. They heard a helicopter clatter overhead. Then there was darkness again as the searchlight from the helicopter swept away across the black water.
“The Coast Guard!” said Mrs. Denicola.
The lights on the Maria III were doused, and the fishing boat became just a black shape in the night. But the speedboat was close now, and Eileen and the boys could see the wake the fishing boat threw up.
“Blast!” shouted Eileen. “She’s heading for the open sea! Those creeps! They’ll get away!”
She yanked at the wheel. The speedboat swerved. The engine strained and the small boat flashed through the wake of the Maria. Then the hull of the fishing boat was beside the speedboat and someone fired a shot from the deck of the Maria.
“Cowards!” yelled Mrs. Denicola.
The speedboat spurted ahead of the larger craft and streaked across the Maria’s bow.
The fishing boat veered and lost speed.
Now the searchlight from the Maria III stabbed at the speedboat. There was another shot from the Maria. It missed and plunked harmlessly into the water. And then the helicopter was there again, and its powerful blue-white beam found the Maria III.
“They’ve got her now!” said Jupe as the helicopter held the Maria in a circle of light.
Jupe looked towards shore. The lights there were much closer now.
“Darn!” cried Eileen Denicola. “Where is that coast-guard cutter?”
The Maria had picked up speed again. She turned and swerved for a few moments, as if she could shake off the hovering helicopter. Then she set her prow towards the open sea again and raced for freedom.
Eileen Denicola laughed roughly and sent the speedboat careering after the fishing boat. Once more the speedboat raced in front of the Maria, and once more the man at the helm reacted, swerving to avoid a collision.
Jupe saw foaming surf on his left, and he heard breakers rumble and surge.
“Watch out!” yelled Pete.
Mrs. Denicola pulled hard at the wheel and the small boat stood on its side and almost skidded on the waves. Then they were out in the blackness again, free and safe.
But the Maria III struck the rocky seabed with a scraping, grinding crash that tore half her bottom out.
The fishing boat was lifted partway out of the water, and she tilted over on one side. The men on her deck shouted and scrambled. The speedboat passengers saw a flick of orange-red flame.
“She’s burning,” said Eileen Denicola.
The shouting and the rage were gone. The speedboat drifted in neutral, bobbing on the waves, and Eileen Denicola cried. Tears ran down her cheeks and caught the light from the stricken fishing boat. “A fuel line must have ruptured,” she said.
A man dived from the deck of the Maria, then a second man, and then two more.
“Get the boat hook,” ordered Mrs. Denicola. “Keep it handy. If anyone tries to climb in here, give them a swat.”
“Yes, ma’am,” said Pete.
A swimmer came splashing through the water. “There are life jackets under the seats,” said Mrs. Denicola.
Jupe tossed a life jacket to each shipwrecked man as he approached the speedboat. Ernie tried to swim in close, and Pete brandished the boat hook. All four men got the message and kept their distance.
Bob found a length of rope which the men in the water could hold. They drifted, bobbing in the waves and watching the Maria.
The fishing boat blazed with a fierce fire that lit the night. Then there was an explosion. Part of the hull blew out, and the boat slid off the rocks and sank like a stone.
When the coast-guard ship arrived, the speedboat was still there. Four young men clutching at life jackets floated nearby.
There was nothing left of the Maria III and its deadly cargo but some bits of wreckage bobbing on the waves.
21
Mr. Sebastian Gets Curious
A WEEK AFTER THE SINKING of the Maria III, the Three Investigators rode north again through Malibu, and turned off the highway on to Cypress Canyon Drive. Hector Sebastian was waiting for them outside the old restaurant called Charlie’s Place. Inside, in the huge room that looked out towards the ocean, the smiling Vietnamese named Don was setting out a feast on the glass-topped table.
“All-American favourites for all-American champs!” announced Don. “Mr. Goober peanut-butter-marshmallow-fluff sandwich. Super-Juicy frankfurters for taste of yesterday with all-meat goodness. Burger on Sunshine Bran bun and Picky Pickle Taste-Treat relish.”
Don grinned broadly and backed out of the room, bowing as he went.
Mr. Sebastian sighed. “I think if Don were turned loose in a market that had no advertised brands, he would be completely paralysed. He wouldn’t be able to buy a thing.”
“Everything looks very good,” said Bob politely.
Mr. Sebastian scowled. “Do you mean that you could eat a peanut butter and marshmallow fluff sandwich?” he demanded.
“Well,” said Bob, “I’m not sure about the sandwich, but I like frankfurters.”
“And hamburgers,” said Pete. “And we get Picky Pickle relish all the time at home.”
“Then help yourselves,” said Mr. Sebastian.
The frankfurters and hamburgers quickly disappeared, but the plate with the peanut butter and marshmallow fluff sandwiches was left untouched. Pete looked at them in a doubtful way.
“Maybe we should eat some of those,” he said. “Don seems so . . . so proud of them.”
“Sooner or later, Don has to face reality,” said Mr. Sebastian. “It won’t hurt him to know that Americans aren’t nourished entirely by peanut butter, carbonated drinks, and Hostess Twinkies.
“Now about the scar-faced man and the wallet–I’m curious. I’ve talked with Mrs. Denicola several times, but she has a temper to match that red hair. When she thinks about Ernie Villalobos and his friends, she gets too mad to talk. She splutters. I think she feels personally deprived.”
“Because the fishing boat sank?” asked Pete.
“No. Because the police won’t let her get her hands on Ernie and do something drastic to him.”
Jupe chuckled. “She’s a strong-minded lady. She doesn’t like being duped.”
“Who does?” said Mr. Sebastian. “However, since she does have this tendency to choke up with rage, and since she’s very busy arguing with the insurance agent for the Maria III and negotiating for the purchase of the Maria IV, I thought you boys might fill me in on the case. After being an investigator for so many years, I have an itch to know more than the newspapers tell.”
“Would you like to read my notes on the case?” said Bob. He picked up a Manila envelope that had been under his chair and took a file folder out of it.
“Mr. Hitchcock used to review our cases with us,” said Pete.
Mr. Sebastian bowed. “I’m honoured,” he said, and began to read Bob’s notes on the mysterious beggar and the patriots of Mesa d’Oro.
For a while there was no sound in the room except the hum of traffic on the Coast Highway. Mr. Sebastian was completely absorbed in the notes. When he finished reading, he looked away, out at the trees and at the ocean beyond.
“There are times,” he said, “when we must be grateful for the small vices of men. If Shelby Tuckerman hadn’t been a petty, greedy man, he wouldn’t have kept my wallet and you wouldn’t have stumbled on the gun-running plot. How many people would have died if that shipment had gone through? We’ll never know.”
Jupe nodded. “People like Ernie will probably go right on bombing and sniping in Mesa d’Oro, but at least we did stop one shipment of guns.”
“I assume that Mr. Bonestell isn’t under suspicion anymore,” said Mr. Sebastian. “He wasn’t mentioned in the newspaper stories.”
“He never really was a suspect,” said Jupe, “and Ernie and his two friends have cleared him of any suspicion. They’re really angry at Shelby, so they’re talking. They feel that Shelby is a cheat, that he was just playing at being a spy and courier. There were lots of groups like Ernie’s contributing to the cause of the Republicans of Mesa d’Oro. Shelby would collect the money from the leaders, bring it home to Mr. Bonestell’s, in frozen-food packages, and hide it in the freezer. Then, once a month or so, he flew to Mexico City to turn it over to Rodriguez’ people there. Ernie and his pals think Shelby was siphoning some of the funds into his own bank account–and that certainly seems more than likely.”