A boatswain's mate stepped aside and allowed the Coast Guard officer to step down into the cockpit.
Freeson looked around. There was a scattering of empty meal paks, some crumpled clothes, and a pair of unmade bunks. They confirmed what he already knew. The fugitive had been aboard but left. The question was where? He addressed himself to no one in particular.
"Is the NAVCOMP on?"
"I certainly am," the machine answered cheerfully, "and welcome aboard, sir. It's a bit nippy out there. Would you be wantin' some nice hot coffee?"
Freeson shook his head impatiently. "No, that won't be necessary. Tell me, was there a man and a little girl aboard?"
"No," the NAVCOMP replied matter-of-factly. "How 'bout some breakfast? Nothing like some bacon and eggs to get your day off to a good start."
Freeson frowned and stepped up to the controls. Blunt fingers tapped a series of keys. An auto log appeared on the screen in front of him. There they were, departure times, headings, fuel consumption, weather notations, and more for the Nadia's maiden voyage, and every trip thereafter. Outings that invariably listed Nathan Izzo as skipper and various women as crew.
Freeson shook his head sadly. Some guys had all the luck. Now to look at the last few days. His fingers flew over the keys. The screen flickered, dipped to black, and came up loaded with random junk. Keys clicked as the Coast Guard officer hit them again. The screen shimmered but remained as it was.
Damn! Like the NAVCOMP the log had been wiped clean as a whistle. Conscious of the boarding party's curious stares Freeson made his way up to the skimmer's deck and looked around. The fog had started to burn off. It would be a long, long day. A day of tedious explanations, boring reports, and endless repetition. Once again luck had passed him by.
"Hold on!"
Melissa did as she was told and grabbed the ropes that ran down both sides of the inflatable raft.
Lando faced her, paddle poised above the water, and waited to dig in. The trick was to catch a wave just so, ride it toward shore, and reach the beach without flipping over.
Lando sensed that it was time, looked over his shoulder to make sure, and paddled for shore. The wave slid under the raft, raised it up, and carried it toward the beach.
There was a moment of pure undiluted pleasure as the wind pressed against his face, spray flew up around the raft's bow, and Melissa screamed with excitement.
But pleasure turned to fear as Lando felt the bow drop, saw Melissa fall backward out of the raft, and found himself tumbling head over heels into the surf. A current pulled the smuggler down, bounced him off a sandy bottom, and jerked him back up. Lando yelled the moment that his head broke through the surface of the water.
"Melissa! Melissa! Can you hear me?"
A faint "yes" came from off to the right, and Lando was just about to swim in that direction when another wave broke over him and dragged him toward the beach.
Fighting like a mad man, Lando struggled forward, clawed his way up the steeply shelving beach, and rolled over. His breath came in gulps. He looked right and left. Melissa. Where the hell was Melissa?
Then he saw it, over to the left, a flash of red as her life jacket was pulled under.
Jumping to his feet, Lando ran down the beach, angled out into the water, and dived toward the spot where he'd last seen her. His hands found her first. Slick fabric, a tangle of hair, and a wad of soggy clothing.
The smuggler grabbed the little girl under the armpits, pulled her up onto the beach, and fell backward into the sand. Melissa coughed, spit out some water, and fought to catch her breath.
"Melissa? Are you okay?"
Melissa smiled weakly. "Yes, I think so, but I lost Ralph."
Lando gave her a hug. "I'm sorry."
Melissa forced a smile. "That's okay. Ralph's a good swimmer. He'll make it."
Lando started to say something about buying her a new Ralph, caught himself, and nodded instead. "Right."
Lando got up, helped Melissa to
Freeson looked around. There was a scattering of empty meal paks, some crumpled clothes, and a pair of unmade bunks. They confirmed what he already knew. The fugitive had been aboard but left. The question was where? He addressed himself to no one in particular.
"Is the NAVCOMP on?"
"I certainly am," the machine answered cheerfully, "and welcome aboard, sir. It's a bit nippy out there. Would you be wantin' some nice hot coffee?"
Freeson shook his head impatiently. "No, that won't be necessary. Tell me, was there a man and a little girl aboard?"
"No," the NAVCOMP replied matter-of-factly. "How 'bout some breakfast? Nothing like some bacon and eggs to get your day off to a good start."
Freeson frowned and stepped up to the controls. Blunt fingers tapped a series of keys. An auto log appeared on the screen in front of him. There they were, departure times, headings, fuel consumption, weather notations, and more for the Nadia's maiden voyage, and every trip thereafter. Outings that invariably listed Nathan Izzo as skipper and various women as crew.
Freeson shook his head sadly. Some guys had all the luck. Now to look at the last few days. His fingers flew over the keys. The screen flickered, dipped to black, and came up loaded with random junk. Keys clicked as the Coast Guard officer hit them again. The screen shimmered but remained as it was.
Damn! Like the NAVCOMP the log had been wiped clean as a whistle. Conscious of the boarding party's curious stares Freeson made his way up to the skimmer's deck and looked around. The fog had started to burn off. It would be a long, long day. A day of tedious explanations, boring reports, and endless repetition. Once again luck had passed him by.
"Hold on!"
Melissa did as she was told and grabbed the ropes that ran down both sides of the inflatable raft.
Lando faced her, paddle poised above the water, and waited to dig in. The trick was to catch a wave just so, ride it toward shore, and reach the beach without flipping over.
Lando sensed that it was time, looked over his shoulder to make sure, and paddled for shore. The wave slid under the raft, raised it up, and carried it toward the beach.
There was a moment of pure undiluted pleasure as the wind pressed against his face, spray flew up around the raft's bow, and Melissa screamed with excitement.
But pleasure turned to fear as Lando felt the bow drop, saw Melissa fall backward out of the raft, and found himself tumbling head over heels into the surf. A current pulled the smuggler down, bounced him off a sandy bottom, and jerked him back up. Lando yelled the moment that his head broke through the surface of the water.
"Melissa! Melissa! Can you hear me?"
A faint "yes" came from off to the right, and Lando was just about to swim in that direction when another wave broke over him and dragged him toward the beach.
Fighting like a mad man, Lando struggled forward, clawed his way up the steeply shelving beach, and rolled over. His breath came in gulps. He looked right and left. Melissa. Where the hell was Melissa?
Then he saw it, over to the left, a flash of red as her life jacket was pulled under.
Jumping to his feet, Lando ran down the beach, angled out into the water, and dived toward the spot where he'd last seen her. His hands found her first. Slick fabric, a tangle of hair, and a wad of soggy clothing.
The smuggler grabbed the little girl under the armpits, pulled her up onto the beach, and fell backward into the sand. Melissa coughed, spit out some water, and fought to catch her breath.
"Melissa? Are you okay?"
Melissa smiled weakly. "Yes, I think so, but I lost Ralph."
Lando gave her a hug. "I'm sorry."
Melissa forced a smile. "That's okay. Ralph's a good swimmer. He'll make it."
Lando started to say something about buying her a new Ralph, caught himself, and nodded instead. "Right."
Lando got up, helped Melissa to
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