Also, unless there was a spectacular explosion, how would John know that his agent had done his work? Was a system of signals worked out? If so, Santiago had not sent any.
Unless… he had a radio set hidden somewhere on the vessel. And it was on a frequency not used by…
Sam felt a faint vibration in the deck, one not accounted for by the thrusting of paddles into the water.
He walked to the stern port and looked out. Wisps of smoke were issuing from the starboard side, apparently coming from the hurricane deck.
Sam ran to the intercom and bellowed into it. “Stations 15 and 16! What happened?”
A calm female voice answered. “This is P.O. Anita Garibaldi, Station 17! There’s been an explosion down here, sir! A bulkwall’s been blown up! The wires in it have been severed!”
Detweiller swore. Sam whirled around. “What is it?”
“I’ve lost control,” Detweiller said, but Sam already knew that. The wheels had slowed, and even as he looked out the stern window, he saw that they had stopped. Slowly, the nose of the boat was turning to port, and it was being carried back by the current.
Detweiller reached out and punched a button. A light by it glowed. He grabbed the sticks again. The wheels began rotating, picked up speed. The boat swung back to its original course.
“The backup system is working,” Detweiller said.
Sam grinned a little though he did not feel joyous at all. “Santiago wouldn’t know about that,” he said. “It was John, though, that gave me the idea for installing it! Hoist by his own petard!”
He yelled into the intercom, keeping his finger on the all-stations button. “All right, you incompetent bungling blind microcephalic dingdongs! You could expand your brains a hundredfold, and they’d still rattle around in a gnat’s ass!
“Find Santiago!”
“The strait’s dead ahead, Captain,” Detweiller said.
A shadow passed over, and twin motors roared. The Goose shot in front of them at an altitude of about two hundred feet. It was climbing between the dark walls, its searchlight stabbing ahead of it, dwindling in distance and darkness, then disappearing as it went around a long bend.
“Can we keep in radio contact with the Goose?” Sam said to the radio operator.
“It’s possible, sir. The long waves can bounce around that bend to us.”
Sam turned away but spun at an exclamation from the operator.
“Jesus! The pilot just said, ‘We’re hit! The starboard’s motor is on fire! A rocket…!’”
He looked up with a pale strained face. “That’s all, Captain.”
Sam swore.
“John must’ve been waiting for it! He knew I’d sent it to find out what he was doing!”
Why hadn’t he let Anderson do as he wished, fly over the mountains? Then he would have been out of range of the rockets or at least have had time to take evasive maneuvers. But no, John knew his ex-partner, knew how impatient he’d be. So he had waited, and now he had the torpedo plane out of the combat.
But the Rex wouldn’t have been taken through the strait just to ambush the airplane. He…
De Marbot’s voice crackled. “Captain!, We just got Santiago! He’d been hiding behind a bulkwall section! He made a dash up a passageway and almost got to the deck railing! Johnston shot him through the head!”
“Give me the details later,” Sam said. “Continue the search for other agents. Look…”
“Rockets!” Detweiller screamed.
32
SAM CLEMENS TURNED AROUND. SOMETHING SWIFT AND SILvery from above struck the base of the pilothouse. The explosion was deafening; the deck shook. Another roar from above. The pilothouse vibrated. Smoke shrouded the windows on all sides for several seconds. Then the wind seized it and scattered it.
“What the hell!” Sam said over and over.
“It’s from up there,” Detweiller said. He released a control stick just long enough to point up and to his right.
“Get her away!” Sam yelled. “Downstream!”
The pilot had already applied full power. A cool one, that Detweiller.
Again, another flash of silver. Dozens of them. More explosions. A battery of rockets on the starboard disappeared in a thunder of fire and smoke. A direct hit from whoever was launching those missiles from wherever.