The Girl on the Yacht (28 page)

Michael’s calf burned from the salt water entering the hole in his wetsuit where red blood oozed. With each airborne leap, the added pain of the pounding surged through him like nails driven into his brain. Three minutes, and he’d be out of the harbor on open water, and then he could choose where to beach the WaveRunner, giving himself a decent chance of escape.

Killing her was going to have to wait––but she’ll get hers. Nobody could catch me on this rocket.
The Harbor Patrol boats maxed out at forty, and that meant he would be drawing away farther with each minute on the water. He tucked the gun inside of the wetsuit. Ahead, he saw three police boats coming toward him in a pattern that began to narrow as they came closer. They were going to box him in, and if necessary, run him over.
I would too, if someone had set off a bomb in one of my marinas.

He leaned hard left and pulled the handlebars over into a turn that swung the WaveRunner in the opposite direction, headed toward the other end of the harbor. All he had to do was weave around a few of the islands and get past the patrol boats to get to the sea. He watched in amazement as a speedboat, doing an incredible speed, angled right for him.
Where did that come from?
The distance was covered like two jets approaching from opposite directions. Who would survive––the odds were not on his side––but he’d faced worse in Afghanistan. He rolled the throttle to peg the engine, and the WaveRunner slipped under, and close to the brilliant-colored bow of the Donzi high performance ocean racer. All he saw was a yellow-orange blur overhead. When he hit the boat’s following wake, the WaveRunner took to the sky in flight.

From ten feet up, it landed like a sack of gravel with a bone jarring thud and a spurt of blood.

Even with the thunderous roars of the engines, they all heard the horrendous scream from the man on the WaveRunner. While they took air over the smaller craft’s wake, John, in a three point stance leaning against the side of the boat, gripped the bar and took the drop without flinching. Those seated grunted their discomfort from the hard hit upon landing.

“Sounds like he’s hurt,” John said.

“I almost shot
you
when you came flying out of your cabin. I think I got him in the leg,” Marin said.

Nate spun the wheel, and the Donzi reacted to his command like a ballerina doing a pirouette––only with upwards of a thousand horsepower pushing her forward. For an instant, the Harbor Patrol boats caught and passed the Donzi making the turn. The officer on the cruiser pointed to the side of the channel for the Donzi driver to pull out of the chase. Nate reached for the throttle.

Jackie put her hand on Nate’s and pushed it forward. When the Donzi sped by the slower Sheriff’s boat, she held her ID open to the distant officer.

He kept waving them to the side.

Over the radio came the repeated warning. “All boaters in Newport Harbor MUST dock their boats immediately.”

Cameron West raced up the ramp and headed for the park next to the marina. Her hand felt her empty holster, again reminding her that John had her gun. “Damn, I hope he doesn’t try to use it.” The Sheriff’s helicopter came in fast over the multimillion dollar homes.

As it descended, the rotor wash created static electricity and tremendous turbulence thrashing her hair in all directions. The pilot coaxed the copter into position, and Cameron made the climb inside. Buckled in, she put on the headset. “Let’s go. We need eyes in the air.” Cameron turned the radio to the emergency channel. As the pilot steered south over the Coast Highway bridge, she spotted the near collision of the WaveRunner and the Donzi below.

“Damn, that was close,” the pilot said.

Cameron picked up the microphone. “This is Cameron West. Patrol Boats One, Two, and Four––we’ll be your spotter.”

“Good to have you,” the diver on Boat One answered. “We don’t know who those people are in the speedboat chasing the guy. Is there some way you can hail them to break it off. They’re not listening to our radio advisory.”

“They’re the people that were attacked in the marina. I’ll see what I can do.”

She signaled the pilot to go lower and catch up to the Donzi. When they were forty feet overhead, Cameron flipped on the loudspeaker below the chopper.

“Marin, let us do our job. Break it off. We’ve got this.”

None of the boaters looked up. Instead, they focused all of their attention on Michael Smith and his WaveRunner.

The pilot suddenly pulled up on the stick, and the copter narrowly cleared the Lido Isle bridge.

“Forget that,” he said, “let’s just concentrate on getting this guy.”

“I need a weapon,” Cameron commanded.

He nodded and jerked his head back to signify it was stowed behind her seat.

She reached back and pulled the rifle from the canvas bag. When she scanned the route ahead, she saw what really scared her––people. Hundreds, if not thousands, were flooding into Newport Harbor to witness the spectacle. The bridges were packed with men, women, and children.

“This could get ugly if he gets into that crowd,” the pilot said.

“Or someone takes a stray bullet.” Her mind drifted to John with her gun––her stomach started to churn.

She watched while the WaveRunner made the loop around Lido Island followed closely by the Donzi. By the time they had rounded the tip of the longest island in the enclosed bay, the Harbor Patrol boats were literally an island away.

“Attention patrol boats, they’re clearing the back of the island headed for the main channel again. Boat One, stay on course in case they double back. Two and Four, swing a U-turn and try to pick them up coming out the other side.”

Ahead of the two speeding water craft was a long, wide section of yachts that looked like they were at anchor. The two-hundred boats were twelve abreast as far as could be seen. The WaveRunner headed straight for them––or more probably, the narrow gap of twenty feet between the boats. When it screamed by the first set of yachts, the entire inlet started to rock from the waves, and the boats began swaying back and forth making all manner of sounds from creaking lines to breaking dishes.

When the Donzi hit the same path, the boats were thrashed into a frenzy like stallions pulling at their lead ropes.

John focused on the narrow space––
how would they make it with the boats ahead rocking from side to side.

“Hold on.” Nate expertly guided the seventy-mile-per-hour vessel through the moored boats.

John wanted to close his eyes and duck down into the helm. If they hit one of the boats, this fiberglass missile would disintegrate from the impact. Instead, with adrenaline surging, he cheered on his captain. “Go for it, Nate.”

When they broke free of the moored boats, Nate cranked the wheel hard left and gave the Donzi full throttle. “I always wanted to do that.” He had a big grin on his face.

Jackie went flying to the right when the boat lurched left. Dan caught her. The former USC linebacker held on to her as if she were a running back with the ball, going for the end zone. “I have you,” he said.

For a thirty-five-foot boat, the Donzi was mind-numbingly fast and agile. However, when compared to the WaveRunner, it was like a motor home chasing a Porsche. Michael had a good lead and kept pulling away.

“Let’s run the killer over,” Jackie said after she reached out and turned the noisy radio off.

Everyone turned and stared at the usually easy-going district attorney.

“Sounds good to me. Let’s run the creep over,” Dan added.

Cameron needed more eyes on the water in case Michael tried to dock the WaveRunner. She dialed the radio to 16 and pushed the radio mike down. “This is Homicide Investigator Cameron West of the Orange County Sheriff’s Department. This message is going out to all boaters in Newport Harbor. We are in pursuit of an armed and dangerous murder suspect. He is driving a black and blue WaveRunner at high speed through the channel. He’s six foot five inches, chestnut hair, wearing a black wetsuit. Keep channel sixteen clear for official communications. Do not try to stop this individual. I repeat, do not try to stop this individual. Relay any information on his location to us on channel sixty-nine.”

The instant her finger released the microphone button, the radio speaker responded with a message, “This is the Coast Guard. We have three vessels on station at the mouth of the harbor. The blockade is in position. Attention all boaters, Newport Harbor is closed to boat traffic. No boats will be permitted to enter or exit the harbor. Ferry traffic has been suspended. All boaters must tie up their vessels at the nearest public dock, fuel station, or mooring.”

The waterway divided into two runways. The widest was the main channel to the south. To the north, going around Balboa Island, a much narrower path could also be used to get to the basin leading to the harbor exit. Either of the routes would put the WaveRunner on course––toward the unexpected blockade.

Cameron watched the high-speed procession continuing down the main channel, going toward the split. Abruptly, the WaveRunner made a tight left turn and headed back toward the back bay––the dead end back bay.

“We’ve got you,” Cameron said into her microphone. The big yellow and black boat lost momentum with the sudden turn, and she saw that Nate swung it around in an attempt to regain the distance lost on the little rocket.

The WaveRunner made another tight turn to the right and ducked in behind the smaller Harbor Island with its tapered canal and short, really short bridge. He pulled the throttle back, and the watercraft leapt toward the bridge.

He knows where he’s going. They can’t get a Harbor Patrol boat under that bridge––it’s less than eight-foot clearance,” she said to the chopper pilot. She flipped the radio switch. “Patrol Boat One, he’s on the backside of Harbor Island. Run to the other end and pick him up when he comes out. Keep him going toward the blockade.”

Nate was still the closest when he made the turn up the narrow aisle.

Cameron expected him to throttle down and backtrack around the island. She couldn’t believe her eyes when the Donzi picked up speed down the tight corridor headed for the bridge. “Don’t do it. You’ll never make it,” she said aloud.

For some reason, her mind went back to the cheering people on the bridge. Now every bridge, walkway, and dock in the harbor was bursting with spectators. It had become a flash party, and the city of Newport Beach was at a standstill. She studied the possibilities. Cameron began to worry that Michael had the perfect cover to escape if he got to a dock. She ran the possible scenarios––they would have a better chance of catching him if he left the harbor by WaveRunner than by foot. If he got out to the open ocean, he might run out of fuel, have difficulty in the rougher seas, or at the very least, he would beach the craft where they could station officers without the cover of crowds.

If he gets off that WaveRunner, we’re in trouble. She picked up the microphone when Michael shot under the short bridge.

“Coast Guard Cutter
Narwhal
––come in.”

“We’re in position.”

“Pull the blockade. Let him out of the harbor. There’s too much risk for bystanders. We need to get him out in the open water.”

“It’s your harbor. I’ll give the order,” the captain said.

The bridge ahead looked tiny with its rusty steel arches holding it up like legs of an old chair. To Marin, it looked heavier with all the people hanging over its side, cheering on the Donzi to go for it.

Nate looked at the bridge and ordered, “Everyone down on the deck. This is going to be close, but I think we can clear it. Hold on to something.”

The people on the bridge were chanting, “Go! Go! Go!”

Nate’s head dropped down just as the Donzi steering wheel cleared the bridge by a few inches.

Thank God for no windshield
, Marin thought.

Back at full throttle, they were again chasing Michael toward the harbor exit and then out to sea.

“You’re crazy,” Marin shouted at Nate.

He shrugged his shoulders. “I thought you wanted to catch him.”

“You’ve got that right.” Jackie lifted herself from the floor.

With its enclosed helm, Harbor Patrol Boat Two pulled up short of the bridge and had to retrace its path back around the island to resume the chase.

The WaveRunner and the Donzi streaked by the empty Sheriff and Coast Guard docks. When they approached the Coast Guard blockade across the entrance, an opening between the military boats appeared.

“What’s going on? Why didn’t they stop him?” Marin asked.

John pointed to the rocks. The harbor jetties creating the harbor entrance had hundreds of people watching for the chase. “Too many people.”

Michael pointed the WaveRunner toward the opening and shot between the two Coast Guard boats at full speed. Marin watched the wave of water drench a petty officer standing at the deck gun on the cutter. She read the guy’s lips, “Son of a bitch!”

The crew above deck on the cutter couldn’t contain their laughter.

The E-Dock team watched Michael shoot along between the jetties some two hundred yards to the ocean.

“He’s
not
getting away,” Dan said.

“Come on, Nate, get this thing in gear,” Jackie responded.

The Donzi surprised the crew of the Coast Guard boats when, at fifty-miles-per-hour, it squeezed between the two vessels. The tsunami that hit the petty officer the second time was enormous. This time, most of the deck crew were soaked and no one was laughing.

Marin saw the gruff looking petty officer key his mike, and she could imagine the request––“Permission to fire?”

Nate looked at his own crew and let out a sigh, “That was close.”

Past the rock outcroppings of the jetty crowded with people, Michael aimed the WaveRunner at the distant deserted beach backdropped by a high cliff and a narrow path leading up to the highway.

Marin felt his only hope for escape involved driving the rocket on to the beach and disappearing before the cops could get there through the traffic jams. If Michael made it to that path, he’d be gone.

She pulled her gun from her pocket and tried to steady it on the flat surface of the Donzi’s helm.

“Get close––give me a shot.” She pulled off a round. “Too far––closer.”

The speedboat reared up the backside of a wave and crashed down. Her hand hit the fiberglass hard and her grip gave way. The gun flew into the back of the boat.

Michael had picked his spot and was making for it.

“Don’t let him get away,” Dan said.

Michael hit the beach at full speed, and the WaveRunner careened up the sand forty feet from the water’s edge. The deceleration threw the killer head first over the handlebars, and he landed face down in the sand. Obviously dazed, he picked himself up, shook it off, and limped toward the path to freedom.

Seeing him up on the sand, Nate backed off the throttle. “I can’t beach my boat. No way.”

Dan looked at Nate, “How much do you want for it?” Dan said.

“What?”

“I’ll give you a million bucks––no strings.” He nodded at Nate his sincerity. “Now, if you don’t mind, I’m taking
my
Donzi on to that beach. He’s going to pay for what he did to my Laura,” Dan said.

Nate, without hesitation said, “Dan, one request. I’ve always wanted to drive a boat on to the beach. May I?”

“Be my guest. Now let’s get that bastard.”

Nate yelled at the group, “Get off if you don’t want to go in. The Harbor Patrol can pick you up.”

“Get this boat on the beach! We’re with you,” said Jackie.

“Everyone get down and hold on to something solid. It’s going to be interesting.” Nate pushed the throttle full forward, and the Donzi jumped out of the water headed straight at the running Michael.

The beautiful black over yellow Donzi shot up on the sand more than the required forty-feet.

Still shaken from his tumble, Michael shook his head in amazement.

Dan seemed to be off the boat before it came to a stop. The former USC linebacker charged at the killer. John slipped over the side and was ten feet behind his friend when Michael sidestepped the big football player and laid him out with a thunderous blow to the back.

Marin couldn’t find her gun. She glanced up in horror when Michael reached for his gun inside the wetsuit. He pulled it out and started to take aim.

“John.” She was over the railing and running toward him. “Get down.”

Michael looked from John to Marin, choosing a target. It was too late.

John had beaten him to the draw and started firing Cameron’s gun. He continued squeezing the trigger until the magazine was empty. The killer never got off a shot.

Marin grabbed the pistol, shoved John to the side, and advanced, knowing the gun was empty. From the killer’s dilated eyes, she knew in an instant that he was dead. The two large holes in his chest weren’t from a handgun––at least none that she’d ever seen. She scanned the beach, then the cliff. Finally, she heard the helicopter and glanced up. Cameron was hanging out of the open door of the chopper a couple of hundred feet above unslinging the sniper rifle.

John had been fearless. That monster was a half click from getting a bead on him.
Fearless
. It would be Cameron’s and her little secret.

A team of sheriff’s deputies ran down to the beach with their guns drawn, and Marin slowly put Cameron’s pistol on the sand. She raised her hands––palms open.

“Put your hands up,” Marin said to the E-dock heroes. “It’s over.”

The helicopter banked in the morning sky and disappeared over the ridge.

Dan Douglas walked away with his head down. Marin overheard his private conversation to his Laura.

“That was for you, babe. I miss you, and I’ll always love you.”

Minutes later, a sheriff’s officer approached the group of mariners who beached the Donzi. “Which one of you was piloting the boat? You’re going to be arrested for beaching a boat on a public beach, excessive speed, reckless endangerment, and whatever else they want to throw at you.”

Dan stepped forward with his arms outstretched for the cuffs. “Take your best shot,” he said.

Rob stepped forward with his arms outstretched, “I’m the driver.”

“Are you kidding me? It was me, officer, it’s my boat. I’m the driver,” said Nate.

“All of these guys are liars––it was me,” Jackie said. She pushed her way to the front.

“I’m going to take all of you clowns in, and we can sort it out at the station.”

Cameron ran down the path from the cliff and made her way over to where several deputies were leading the E-Dock team off the beach.

“What are you doing?” she asked.

“These jokers all claim to be piloting the boat. I’m taking them in to get their stories.”

“These are my temporary deputies. We needed their speedboat to catch the suspect.” She looked over at them and shook her head.

“Yeah, is this any way to treat a fellow deputy?” asked Jackie.