young.
In fact, the only thing to distinguish Freeson from hundreds of other male Coast Guard officers was an enormous nose that had earned him the lifelong nickname "Honker," and the fact that he was the one who had spotted the skimmer.
Both vessels were located near the mouth of the Istaba estuary, a long, narrow passageway that led inland, and terminated at the city of Norton.
The hovercraft rocked from side to side as swells rolled in off the ocean. Freeson spread his feet farther apart in order to compensate for the additional movement and tried to hold his binoculars steady. A gust of wind came along and snatched the fog away from the pleasure craft's rigging. The skimmer looked like a wounded bird, one wing dragging in the water, as it crept toward safety. There was no sign of life on the other vessel. Still asleep probably.
Freeson lowered the binoculars, licked dry lips, and brought the glasses up again. Every port from Ontoon to Dowling was under surveillance. Only two days' worth of storms had prevented the authorities from catching up with the skimmer earlier. Spy sats can't locate what they can't "see" and the combination of bad weather and the skimmer's composite hull had rendered it damned near invisible.
The fact that Lando had sailed into Freeson's search sector was pure luck, but luck the officer could use, since he was in need of some visible success. The kind of success that would put the word "Outstanding" on his next appraisal and pave the way toward lieutenant commander.
Freeson lowered the binoculars. Yes, this was a lucky day indeed. He looked toward the bow. Weapons Tech First Class Shimaku sat hunched behind the twin-fifties. She was faceless behind the reflective visor. One word from him and she'd turn the skimmer into floating scrap. The idea was safe, and therefore tempting, but there was the little girl to consider.
Freeson had a daughter of his own and the thought of Shimaku's heavy-caliber slugs ripping through her body made him shudder. No, they'd do it the old-fashioned way, stop and board. Just like the stories he'd read as a kid. If the girl got in the way, well, he'd cross that bridge when he came to it.
Freeson checked to make sure that the boarding party was in place, nodded to the petty officer in charge, and turned toward Power Tech Third Class Miller. "Let's go."
Miller nodded. He was a slim young man with thick blond hair. A ready smile hid his otherwise disrespectful thoughts. "Yes, sir, Lieutenant Honker, sir. Whatever you say, sir."
A pair of powerful engines roared into life, the vessel rose on a cushion of air and skimmed across the surface of the estuary. A seabird flapped its wings, broke free from the surface of the water, and lumbered into the air.
Freeson watched the skimmer. He half expected to see it turn, speed up, and try to run. It didn't. Good. Still waking up. This would be easier than he'd thought. He turned toward Miller.
"Put us alongside."
"Aye, aye, sir."
Miller spun the wheel and brought the hovercraft in next to the skimmer in a long gentle curve. He killed power at just the right moment, and allowed the patrol boat to coast for a moment and bump into the yacht's port side. The hovercraft bounced away and both vessels drifted apart.
Metal clattered on composite as Freeson's crew tossed grappling hooks across and pulled them tight. Hulls touched for the second time, and the boarding party jumped across, protected to some extent by Shimaku and her twin-fifties. Their combat boots left scuff marks on the skimmer's pristine deck.
Freeson felt a sense of disappointment. It didn't take a genius to figure out that no one was aboard. All that reward money down the tubes. It didn't seem fair. The reports came in one at a time.
"Nothing forward, sir!"
"Nothing below, sir!"
"Nothing aft, sir!"
Freeson gave a nod of acknowledgment, gauged the movement of the boats, and jumped across. His landing was reasonably graceful, for which he gave silent thanks.
In fact, the only thing to distinguish Freeson from hundreds of other male Coast Guard officers was an enormous nose that had earned him the lifelong nickname "Honker," and the fact that he was the one who had spotted the skimmer.
Both vessels were located near the mouth of the Istaba estuary, a long, narrow passageway that led inland, and terminated at the city of Norton.
The hovercraft rocked from side to side as swells rolled in off the ocean. Freeson spread his feet farther apart in order to compensate for the additional movement and tried to hold his binoculars steady. A gust of wind came along and snatched the fog away from the pleasure craft's rigging. The skimmer looked like a wounded bird, one wing dragging in the water, as it crept toward safety. There was no sign of life on the other vessel. Still asleep probably.
Freeson lowered the binoculars, licked dry lips, and brought the glasses up again. Every port from Ontoon to Dowling was under surveillance. Only two days' worth of storms had prevented the authorities from catching up with the skimmer earlier. Spy sats can't locate what they can't "see" and the combination of bad weather and the skimmer's composite hull had rendered it damned near invisible.
The fact that Lando had sailed into Freeson's search sector was pure luck, but luck the officer could use, since he was in need of some visible success. The kind of success that would put the word "Outstanding" on his next appraisal and pave the way toward lieutenant commander.
Freeson lowered the binoculars. Yes, this was a lucky day indeed. He looked toward the bow. Weapons Tech First Class Shimaku sat hunched behind the twin-fifties. She was faceless behind the reflective visor. One word from him and she'd turn the skimmer into floating scrap. The idea was safe, and therefore tempting, but there was the little girl to consider.
Freeson had a daughter of his own and the thought of Shimaku's heavy-caliber slugs ripping through her body made him shudder. No, they'd do it the old-fashioned way, stop and board. Just like the stories he'd read as a kid. If the girl got in the way, well, he'd cross that bridge when he came to it.
Freeson checked to make sure that the boarding party was in place, nodded to the petty officer in charge, and turned toward Power Tech Third Class Miller. "Let's go."
Miller nodded. He was a slim young man with thick blond hair. A ready smile hid his otherwise disrespectful thoughts. "Yes, sir, Lieutenant Honker, sir. Whatever you say, sir."
A pair of powerful engines roared into life, the vessel rose on a cushion of air and skimmed across the surface of the estuary. A seabird flapped its wings, broke free from the surface of the water, and lumbered into the air.
Freeson watched the skimmer. He half expected to see it turn, speed up, and try to run. It didn't. Good. Still waking up. This would be easier than he'd thought. He turned toward Miller.
"Put us alongside."
"Aye, aye, sir."
Miller spun the wheel and brought the hovercraft in next to the skimmer in a long gentle curve. He killed power at just the right moment, and allowed the patrol boat to coast for a moment and bump into the yacht's port side. The hovercraft bounced away and both vessels drifted apart.
Metal clattered on composite as Freeson's crew tossed grappling hooks across and pulled them tight. Hulls touched for the second time, and the boarding party jumped across, protected to some extent by Shimaku and her twin-fifties. Their combat boots left scuff marks on the skimmer's pristine deck.
Freeson felt a sense of disappointment. It didn't take a genius to figure out that no one was aboard. All that reward money down the tubes. It didn't seem fair. The reports came in one at a time.
"Nothing forward, sir!"
"Nothing below, sir!"
"Nothing aft, sir!"
Freeson gave a nod of acknowledgment, gauged the movement of the boats, and jumped across. His landing was reasonably graceful, for which he gave silent thanks.
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