璇玑之心刃·冷血悍将-第109部分

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he　more　so　that　he　let　Portagee　run　his　boat　his　way。　‘Sure　as　hell　he　doesn‘t　sleep　much。‘
‘He‘s　going　to　be　with　us　for　a　while；　on　and　off；　and　I　want　yon　to　handle　it。‘
Oreza　tapped　the　chart　with　a　pencil。　‘I　still　say　this　would　be　a　perfect　place　to　keep　watch　from；　and　I　know　we　can　trust　the　guy。‘
‘The　man　says　no。‘
‘The　man　ain‘t　no　seaman；　Mr　English。　I　don‘t　mind　when　the　guy　tells　me　what　to　do；　but　he　don‘t　know　enough　to　tell　me　how　to　do　it。‘　Oreza　circled　the　spot　on　the　chart。
‘I　don‘t　like　this。‘　
‘You　don‘t　have　to　like　it；‘　the　taller　man　said。　He　unfolded　his　pocket　knife　and　slit　the　heavy　paper　to　reveal　a　plastic　container　of　white　powder。　‘A　few　hours‘　work　and　we　turn　three　hundred　thousand。　Something　wrong　with　that；　or　am　I　missin‘　something？‘
‘And　this　is　just　the　start；‘　the　third　man　said。
‘What　do　we　do　with　the　boat？‘　asked　the　man　with　the　scruples。
The　tall　one　looked　up　from　what　he　was　doing。　‘You　get　rid　of　that　sail？‘
‘Yeah。‘
‘Well；　we　can　stash　the　boat。。。　but　probably　smarter　to　scuttle。　Yeah；　that‘s　what　we‘ll　do。‘
‘And　Angelo？‘　All　three　looked　over　to　where　the　man　was　lying；　unconscious　still；　and　bleeding。
‘I　guess　we　scuttle　him；　too；‘　the　tall　one　observed　without　much　in　the　way　of　emotion。　‘Right　here　ought　to　be　fine。‘
‘Maybe　two　weeks；　there　won‘t　be　nothin‘　left。　Lots　of　critters　out　there。‘　The　third　one　waved　outside　at　the　tidal　wetlands。
‘See　how　easy　it　is？　No　boat；　no　Angelo；　no　risk；　and　three　hundred　thousand　bucks。　I　mean；　how　much　more　do　you　expect；　Eddie？‘
‘His　friends　still　ain‘t　gonna　like　it。‘　The　ment　came　more　from　a　contrarian　disposition　than　moral　conviction。
‘What　friends？‘　Tony　asked　without　looking。　‘He　ratted；　didn‘t　he？　How　many　friends　does　a　rat　have？‘
Eddie　bent　to　the　logic　of　the　situation　and　walked　over　to　Angelo‘s　unconscious　form。　The　blood　was　still　pumping　out　of　the　many　abrasions；　and　the　chest　was　moving　slowly　as　he　tried　to　breathe。　It　was　time　to　put　an　end　to　that。　Eddie　knew　it；　he‘d　merely　been　trying　to　delay　the　inevitable。　He　pulled　a　small　。22　automatic　from　his　pocket；　placed　it　to　the　back　of　Angelo‘s　skull；　and　fired　once。　The　body　spasmed；　then　went　slack。　Eddie　set　his　gun　aside　and　dragged　the　body　outside；　leaving　Henry　and　his　friend　to　do　the　important　stuff。　They‘d　brought　some　fish　ting；　which　he　wrapped　around　the　body　before　dumping　it　in　the　water　behind　their　small　motorboat。　A　cautious　man；　Eddie　looked　around；　but　there　wasn‘t　much　danger　of　intruders　here。　He　motored　off　until　he　found　a　likely　spot　a　few　hundred　yards　off；　then　stopped　and　drifted　while　he　lifted　a　few　concrete　blocks　from　the　boat　and　tied　them　to　the　ting。　Six　were　enough　to　sink　Angelo　about　eight　feet　to　the　bottom。　The　water　was　pretty　clear　here；　and　that　worried　Eddie　a　little　until　he　saw　all　the　crabs。　Angelo　would　be　gone　in　less　than　two　weeks。　It　was　a　great　improvement　over　the　way　they　usually　did　business；　something　to　remember　for　the　future。　Disposing　of　the　little　sailboat　would　be　harder。　He‘d　have　to　find　a　deeper　spot；　but　he　had　all　day　to　think　about　it。
Kelly　altered　course　to　starboard　to　avoid　a　gaggle　of　sports　craft。　The　island　was　visible　now；　about　five　miles　ahead。　Not　much　to　look　at；　just　a　low　bump　on　the　horizon；　not　even　a　tree；　but　it　was　his　and　it　was　as　private　as　a　man　could　wish。　About　the　only　bad　news　was　the　miserable　TV　reception。
Battery　Island　had　a　long　and　undistinguished　history。　Its　current　name；　more　ironic　than　appropriate；　had　e　in　the　early　nieenth　century；　when　some　enterprising　militiaman　had　decided　to　place　a　small　gun　battery　there　to　guard　a　narrow　spot　in　the　Chesapeake　Bay　against　the　British；　who　were　sailing　towards　Washington；　DC；　to　punish　the　new　nation　that　had　been　so　ill…advised　as　to　challenge　the　power　of　the　world‘s　foremost　navy。　One　British　squadron　mander　had　taken　note　of　a　few　harmless　puffs　of　smoke　on　the　island；　and；　probably　with　more　amusement　than　malice；　had　taken　one　ship　within　gun　range　and　let　loose　a　few　salvos　from　the　long　guns　on　his　lower　deck。　The　citizen　soldiers　manning　the　battery　hadn‘t　needed　much　encouragement　to　make　a　run　for　their　rowboats　and　bustle　to　the　mainland；　and　shortly　thereafter　a　landing　party　of　Jack　Tars　and　a　few　Royal　Marines　had　rowed　ashore　in　a　pinnace　to　drive　nails　into　the　touch　holes；　which　was　what　‘spiking　guns‘　meant。　After　this　brief　diversion；　the　British　had　continued　their　leisurely　sail　up　the　Patuxent　River；　from　which　their　army　had　walked　to　Washington　and　back；　having　forced　Dolly　Madison　to　evacuate　the　White　House。　The　British　campaign　had　next　headed　to　Baltimore；　where　a　somewhat　different　oute　resulted。
Battery　Island；　under　reluctant　federal　ownership；　became　an　embarrassing　footnote　to　a　singularly　useless　war。　Without　so　much　as　a　caretaker　to　look　after　the　earthen　emplacements；　weeds　overtook　the　island；　and　so　things　had　remained　for　nearly　a　hundred　years。
With　1917　came　America‘s　first　real　foreign　war；　and　America‘s　navy；　suddenly　faced　with　the　U…boat　menace；　needed　a　sheltered　place　to　test　its　guns。　Battery　Island　seemed　ideal；　only　a　few　steaming　hours　from　Norfolk；　and　so　for　several　months　in　the　fall　of　that　year；　12…　and　14…inch　battleship　rifles　had　crashed　and　thundered；　blasting　nearly　a　third　of　the　island　below　mean　low　water　and　greatly　annoying　the　migratory　birds；　who‘d　long　since　realized　that　no　hunters　ever　shot　at　them　from　the　place。　About　the　only　new　thing　that　happened　was　the　scuttling　of　over　a　hundred　World　War　I…built　cargo　ships　a　few　miles　to　the　south；　and　these；　soon　overgrown　with　weeds；　rapidly　took　on　the　appearance　of　islands　themselves。
A　new　war　and　new　weapons　had　brought　the　sleepy　island　back　to　life。　The　nearby　naval　air　station　needed　a　place　for　pilots　to　test　weapons。　The　happy　coincidence　of　the　location　of　Battery　Island　and　the　scuttled　ships　from　World　War　I　had　made　for　an　instant　bombing　range。　As　a　result；　three　massive　concrete　observation　bunkers　were　built；　from　which　officers　could　observe　TBFs　and　SB2C　bombers　practicing　runs　on　targets　that　looked　like　ship…shaped　islands　…　and　pulverizing　quite　a　few　of　them　until　one　bomb　hung　on　the　rack　just　long　enough　to　obliterate　one　of　the　bunkers；　thankfully　empty。　The　site　of　the　destroyed　bunker　had　been　cleared　in　the　name　of　tidiness；　and　the　island　converted　to　a　rescue　station；　from　which　a　crashboat　might　respond　to　an　aircraft　accident。　That　had　required　building　a　concrete　quay　and　boathouse　and　refurbishment　of　the　two　remaining　bunkers。　All　in　all；　the　island　had　served　the　local　economy；　if　not　the　federal　budget；　well；　until　the　advent　of　helicopters　made　crashboats　unnecessary；　and　the　island　had　been　declared　surplus。　And　so　the　island　remained　unnoticed　on　a　register　of　unwanted　federal　property　until　Kelly　had　managed　to　acquire　a　lease。
Pam　leaned　back　on　her　blanket　as　they　approached；　basting　in　the　warm　sun　beneath　a　thick　coating　of　suntan　lotion。　She　didn‘t　have　a　swimsuit；　and　wore　only　a　bra　and　panties。　It　didn‘t　offend　Kelly；　but　the　impropriety　of　it　was　vaguely　disturbing　for　no　reason　that　stood　up　to　logical　analysis。　In　any　case；　his　current　job　was　driving　his　boat。　Further　contemplation　of　her　body　could　wait；　he　told　himself　about　every　minute；　when　his　eyes　darted　that　way　to　make　sure　she　was　still　there。
He　eased　the　wheel　farther　to　the　right　to　pass　well　clear　of　a　large　fishing　yacht。　He　gave　Pam　another　look。　She‘d　slipped　the　straps　of　her　bra　down　off　her　shoulders　for　a　more　even　tan。　Kelly　approved。
The　sound　startled　both　of　them；　rapid　short　blasts　on　the　fishing　boat‘s　diesel　horns。　Kelly‘s　head　scanned　all　the　way　around；　then　centered　on　the　boat　that　lay　two　hundred　yards　to　port。　It　was　the　only　thing　close　enough　to　be　of　concern；　and　also　seemed　to　be　the　source　of　the　noise。　On　the　flying　bridge　a　man　was　waving　at　him。　Kelly　turned　to　port　to　approach。　He　took　his　time　bringing　Springer　alongside。　Whoever　this　guy　was；　he　wasn‘t　much　of　a　boat　handler；　and　when　he　brought　his　craft　to　a　halt；　twenty　feet　away；　he　kept　his　hand　on　the　throttles。
‘What‘s　the　problem？‘　Kelly　called　over　the　loud…hailer。
‘Lost　our　props！‘　a　swarthy　man　hollered　back。　‘What　do　we　do？‘
Row；　Kelly　almost　replied；　but　that　wasn‘t　very　neighborly。　He　brought　his　boat　closer　in　to　survey　the　situation。　It　was　a　medium…sized　fishing　cruiser；　a　fairly　recent　Hatteras。　The　man　on　the　bridge　was　about　five…eight；　fiftyish；　and　bare…chested　except　for　a　mat　of　dark　hair。　A　woman　was　also　visible；　also　rather　downcast。
‘No　screws　at　all？‘　Kelly　asked　when　they　were　closer。
‘I　think　we　hit　a　sandbar；‘　the　man　explained。　‘About　half　a　mile　that　way。‘　He　pointed　to　a　place　Kelly　kept　clear　of。
‘Sure　enough；　there‘s　one　that　way。　I　can　give　you　a　tow　if　you　want。　You　have　good　enough　line　for　it？‘
‘Yes！‘　the　man　replied　immediately。　He　went　forward　to　his　rope　locker。　The　woman　aboard　continued　to　look　embarrassed。
Kelly　maneuvered　clear　for　a　moment；　observing　the　other　‘captain；‘　a　term　his　mind　applied　ironically。　He　couldn‘t　read　charts。　He　didn‘