M.I.A. Hunter: Miami War Zone (26 page)

And then somehow Creel became his brother, and his brother became
Kathi
. "
Kathi
,"
Wofford
said. He dropped the Ingram and reached out to her.

She came into his arms, and he held her close.

Then he fell forward and died.

T
here was no one at the boats when
Feliz
got there.
Congrady
had wisely taken to the cover of the swamps when the shooting had begun. He was willing to haul passengers to do whatever it was they wanted to do. His cousin at Fort Bragg had assured him it was all right. But he didn't have to take any part in it himself.

The Cubans' pilot was hidden nearby, but neither was aware of the other. They were interested only in staying under cover and out of the way.

Feliz
was upset. "Shit! I don't even know how to start this thing. Can you do it?"

"I can try," the man with him said. He had found a way through the fence, and maybe he could do this, too. "It looks simple."

It was, in fact, and he got the engine started immediately.
Feliz
climbed in and they took off.

Stone arrived in time to get off a few futile shots, but they were already out of range. Stone got in one of the other boats and went after them.

As the pursuer, Stone had one advantage. The propeller and cage were so large that
Feliz
couldn't turn and shoot at him. He would have chopped his own propeller to pieces. Stone, on the other hand, was under no such restriction. He could fire at the fleeing boat, and he did.

His shooting didn't seem to have much effect, however. It was very difficult to shoot with one hand and steer the boat with the other.

Besides, the boats were skimming along over the water and through the grass at such high speeds that it was almost as if they were not touching the surface. It was like flying two or three inches off the ground, which for all Stone knew might actually have been the case.

They were going in more or less a straight line, and Stone knew that the men in the other boat were afraid of getting lost. In fact, he had no idea that he could find his own way back to the island, which was by now completely cut off from sight by meadows of saw grass and thousands of trees.

As he zipped through a soggy mass of weeds and grass, Stone realized that he had another advantage. The other boat was the trailblazer. He could follow their track with confidence, but they had to watch closely or they might run into a submerged log that was close enough to the surface to cause damage to their boat. Or they might run into a rare piece of solid ground.

Stone did not bother to keep track of the time. Time didn't matter. He just hoped that he had as much fuel as the boat in front. He would chase them until his fuel ran out, and if that happened he would swim. He would never let them get away.

It happened quickly, so quickly that Stone barely had time to throttle back to avoid the same fate.

Feliz's
boat had run aground.

The water in front had not looked any different, but the grasses had been matted together more strongly, or maybe a gator nest had piled up enough mud to solidify a barrier.

For whatever reason, the airboat, instead of going over, stopped abruptly and suddenly.
Feliz
and his pilot had not fastened their seat belts, and they flew over the prow of the boat,
Feliz
still clinging to the Uzi as he sailed through the air.

Stone slowed his own boat and went forward carefully, fighting the prop wash from the other craft. He put into the hummock of land and got out.

He couldn't see the other two men, which wasn't surprising. The "ground" was far from solid. Maybe someday, say in a hundred years or so, it would be a real island, with trees growing on it and sure footing. Now, it was a precarious mass of vegetation bound stoutly together with roots and vines but likely at any moment to give way and leave one treading water rather than walking.

Some of the weeds were quite tall, and the men could be behind any of them. Or they could have sunk into the water and drowned. Stone had no way of knowing, but whatever had happened, they were keeping absolutely quiet.

Stone could hear insects singing, but nothing else. He could hear the insects only because they were close to his ears. In the background, the engine of
Feliz's
boat still ran on, pushing the craft only slightly deeper into the heaving vegetation.

Stone walked carefully but awkwardly. It was like walking on springs. Sometimes his feet would sink into the growth for only a few inches. Sometimes, they went much deeper.

He stopped and looked around. The two men had to have hidden themselves. It was not possible that they had been thrown this far.

There was a rustling to his left.
Feliz's
henchman.

Stone turned, snapping off a shot with the Beretta and hitting the Cuban dead in the center of the chest.

Blood pouring from his mouth, the Cuban slammed into Stone and they both fell backward into a soft spot. They broke through the grassy cover and fell through into the water.

The Cuban was dead, but he had managed to get his hands around Stone as they fell, clasping him in the proverbial death grip. They sank through the brown water together.

Stone had taken a shallow breath before they plunged in, but he knew he had to get free of the Cuban's grip quickly. He didn't want to die down there while
Feliz
was still free up on top.

The water was not deep, no more than five or six feet. Stone and the dead man sank into the soft mud, Stone on the bottom. He released his grip on the Beretta, sorry to see it go. He reached behind his back to try to break the Cuban's grip.

The Cuban stared at him with dead, bulging eyes as Stone worked on prying his hands apart. It wasn't going to be easy. Stone's lungs began to burn. The pressure within his chest was becoming unbearable.

He tried not to give in to the temptation to breathe. He knew the water would simply fill his lungs and he would drown.

At last he felt the dead man's fingers loosen. He jerked the arms apart and stood up.

His head hit the heavy growth above. They had drifted slightly past the hole where they broke through.

There was a slight air pocket, and Stone turned his face upward, breathing deeply. After several breaths, he began looking for the hole.

He located it and pulled himself out of the water, his fatigues clinging clammily to him. He ducked back as the Uzi hacked away at the weeds behind him. He wasn't worried. A few feet of water was enough of a barrier to stop nearly any bullet. However, he didn't want
Feliz
to get away.

He looked out again.

The Uzi chattered.

Stone took note of the direction and submerged, swimming under the thick matting above him. It didn't work. He had no way to judge where
Feliz
might be standing. The underside of the growth bulged in various places, all or none of which might have been caused by
Feliz's
weight.

Stone went back to the hole. He wondered how many clips
Feliz
had. Probably only one. In fact . . .

Stone came out of the hole.

There were no shots.
Feliz
was out of ammo. He hadn't taken any extra clips.

He was desperately jiggling and joggling over the moving island, trying to get to the safety of the airboat.

Stone went after him.

Thanks to
Feliz's
bad leg and the extremely uncertain footing, it was a fairly equal race. Stone caught up to him ten feet from the boat and made a flying tackle. This time, they didn't break the surface.

Feliz
was trapped and furious. He still held the useless machine pistol, and he twisted around, beating Stone with it. "You bastard! Let me go, you Anglo bastard!"

The barrel of the Uzi cut his scalp, but Stone hung on.
Feliz
clubbed at him again and again, screaming all the while. "Let go! You Anglo pig! Let me go."

With a particularly vicious swing,
Feliz
clipped Stone on the side of the jaw, rocking his head and snapping his teeth together.

Stone let him go.

Feliz
wriggled out from under the dazed Stone, flinging the gun into the water and crawling for the airboat. Reaching it, he pulled himself up by the prow and stepped on board.

Stone got up, shook his head, and started after
Feliz
, who was by now at the controls. The engine was still running, and he figured out how to manipulate the rudder.

Stone clambered in just as
Feliz
backed away from the hummock and headed for the open water. Steadying himself with one hand on the seats, Stone walked back to
Feliz
, who seemed only then to notice him for the first time.

Trying to cling to the rudder with one hand,
Feliz
swung wildly at Stone, connecting only with his shoulder.

Stone put one granite fist into the side of
Feliz's
head, knocking him aside and causing him to lose his hold on the steering handle. The boat pitched wildly from side to side, sending Stone to the floor.

Feliz
got up and grabbed at the handle.

Stone got to his feet and hit him again.

Again the boat veered sharply from side to side. Stone braced himself this time and got hold of the handle.

"You wanna kill us, is that it?"
Feliz
yelled. "Well, keep on trying!" He got up and flung himself at Stone.

The boat sped along out of control as the two men grappled.
Feliz
had the strength of desperation, and he forced Stone back toward the wire cage that contained the whirling propeller.

"I'll just squeeze a little of you through there and see what we can chop off," the Cuban panted. He held both of Stone's wrists in his hands as he pressed him backward.

Stone's muscles were rippling with effort. One of
Feliz's
hands was weaker than the other. It was the one Crazy Charlie had bitten, and its grip could not hold Stone. Slowly, slowly, he pushed it down.

Feliz
realized what was happening and tried to knee Stone in the balls, but Stone turned his hip to him. Then he shoved
Feliz
backward over the seat.

Feliz
got to his feet. There was a crazy glint in his eyes. If his men could have seen him now, they might have renamed him: Crazy Enrique.

"I'm going to be
numero
uno
in Miami,"
Feliz
grated. "That fucking Crazy Charlie couldn't stop me. The Colombians couldn't stop me. And you won't stop me either, whoever the fuck you are."

He stepped up on the seat and crouched like an animal about to spring.

The airboat whipsawed through the water. Stone was afraid that if they hit something now, both of them would be killed. "It's over for you, Anglo!"
Feliz
yelled.

He jumped, hands outstretched, fingers clawing for Stone's neck.

Stone ducked beneath him, then raised up, taking him around the waist and aiding his forward progress.

The cage that housed the propeller had wide spaces between the wires. It was like a normal house fan, into which one can easily stick one's hand or fingers if one is not very careful, except that the spaces were much wider than the spaces on a house fan.

They were quite wide enough to accommodate a man's outstretched arms.

Feliz
screamed, a scream of pure terror and horrible realization. He didn't have a chance to do much else.

There was a sort of
schnicking
sound as the propeller sheared off both his hands. His screams went higher and higher.

Stone threw him into the water, the stumps at the ends of his arms jetting blood and staining the area around him bright red.

He kept on screaming.

Stone watched him and thought of
Wofford
.

A bubbling sound cut off the screams.
Feliz
had gone under.