His worry about Arnold ended as a dolphin fell from the net and smashed on deck. Billy widened the angle for a shot of the seine being drawn up the stern and through the tall power block. As the net came aboard, the entangled dolphins and tuna either fell out of the mesh, or were freed by the fishermen. Some, ensnared in the webbing, rode the net upward, and were crushed as they passed through the power block’s giant pulley. Billy kept taping, and as his anger and frustration grew, he became more and more careless about remaining in hiding. He wanted to paint it all with the camera—every gory detail of their violent death. He was so focused on making his electronic pictures, he failed to see Arnold charging along the deck for him. The pilot put a hand over the lens and forced the camera down. Billy spun, ready to strike out, and saw Arnold staring at him as if he was in mortal danger. He sensed the pilot was more concerned than angry and stopped resisting him. Arnold grabbed Billy’s wrist, drew him back behind the life-raft container, and urgently whispered, “If Gandara sees that camera, you’re in the sea again, or worse.”
“Arnold, they’re dying by the hundreds!”
“Save your sympathy for our kind.”
Billy knocked his hand away from the camera and shouted, “Leave me alone, damn it!”
Billy sensed Arnold was holding something back. Then he realized, “You didn’t tell Gandara about
Salvador
. How come?”
Arnold smiled faintly, as if embarrassed at being found out. “Ah, Billy, you ask too many questions.”
“I want to know, Arnold. Come on.”
Arnold glanced over the side at the dead and dying dolphins and then turned to Billy. “You and your damn do-gooder innocence kind of rubbed off on me, son.”
Billy probed for more. “So you took a stand.”
Arnold shook his head sadly as if no good would come of it and walked off.
On the bridge, Gandara leaned out over the starboard wing watching the seine being drawn aboard. He sensed the net was nearly full and estimated the catch would come to twenty tons. He was pleased that it was going so smoothly, and the pod had not entered shallow water. His feeling of satisfaction was shattered by a call from the radar watch. “Contact, captain. A large vessel approaching on the port side, twelve miles out. She just popped up on the screen.”
“Speed?” demanded Gandara.
“Fifteen knots.”
“Give me depth and bottom.”
The helmsman glanced at the depth sounder. “Sixty-two fathoms with a rocky bottom and shallowing.”
They were slowly drifting into shallower water, and Gandara knew the current had them. With the net out he had to use the engine sparingly. He glanced forward. Two and a half miles ahead the Refugio Shoals showed white water. He looked to the stern and noticed that the sea surface appeared ruffled. A breeze was picking up and blowing toward the shoals. With the force of the wind against the hull, and the current, they were drifting faster than he liked. Well, they’d have the net aboard long before there was any danger of going aground. But what about the approaching ship? He picked up the bridge phone and called the mast lookout. “There’s a vessel heading for us, somewhere off to port, twelve miles out. The moment it’s in sight, give me a description of her.”
He considered sending Mr. Lessing aloft, but by the time he was in the air, the lookout would have a sighting, and he might need the helicopter later. He picked up a walkie-talkie and called Santos.
“We have a vessel approaching off the port side. Bring the net aboard pronto, Mr. Santos, and to hell with the fish.”
Gandara glanced toward the port horizon. Someone was coming for them. Who? He suspected an environmentalist group. He had heard rumors in Puntarenas that
Salvador
was steaming for Costa Rica. Gandara frowned and looked seaward again. The bridge phone rang and he jumped for the receiver. The lookout confirmed his suspicions.
“Looks Navy, captain. Gray. Minesweeper type, about a hundred and ten feet long, and coming right for us. I’d guess it’s
Salvador
.”
Impatiently he demanded, “How far out, man?”
“Maybe ten miles.”
Gandara slammed down the receiver, picked up the walkie-talkie, and called Santos.
“It’s
Salvador
. If you can’t bring the net aboard in the next fifteen minutes, cut it free.”
He put the radio down and keyed the klaxon horn. When the warning blare stopped, Gandara announced, “All hands not working aft, report to your emergency stations.”
He hurried inside the wheelhouse, grabbed the second mate, and slapped keys to his quarters into the man’s hand. “Open the arms locker and issue all the rifles. Pronto, man. Pronto!”
Gandara checked the radar screen. The oncoming vessel was rapidly narrowing the distance between them. He moved to the sonar display. The bottom was shallowing gradually, but still deep enough that the net wouldn’t snag for some time. He ran out on the bridge and lifted the walkie-talkie. “Santos, have the chase boats hauled aboard right now!”
He grabbed binoculars and scanned the horizon. The gray vessel was now visible from the bridge. He had seen it before, but always at a distance, while they were successfully outrunning her. There was no mistake.
Salvador
was steaming for him. He yelled at the helmsman that he was going aft and warned the man that he would personally throw him overboard if the ship went aground on the shoals. With a last look at
Salvador
, Gandara ran from the bridge.
As Billy taped the dead and dying dolphins being thrown to the waiting sharks, he failed to see Gandara racing along the superstructure for the stern. The captain noticed the open getaway bag lying by the life-raft container, slowed momentarily to glance at it, and then ran past Billy without giving him any notice.
Billy kept taping and held the lens on Gandara. The camera’s microphone picked up the captain’s urgent bellow to hurry the net aboard. A big male spinner fell from the net and crashed on the deck beside the captain. He stepped aside to avoid being struck. Then he turned slowly in Billy’s direction and saw him holding the camera. For several seconds he looked at the young man and then walked slowly toward him. His face displayed curiosity, as if he didn’t believe what he was seeing. His eyes shifted to the getaway bag and he moved past Billy to pick it up. He reached inside and withdrew the handheld marine radio. In a menacing voice that caused Billy’s guts to tighten into a knot Gandara said, “You gave them my position. You brought them here. You’re one of them. And now you take pictures!”
With a slow, deliberate movement, Gandara drew his knife from its sheath and seized a small dolphin still quivering in the net. He pulled it free and slit the creature’s throat. As its blood spurted on his white tennis shoes, he began butchering the living flesh. He sliced a long strip from the dolphin’s flank and held it out to Billy. “You want pretty pictures,
niño
? Here, make pictures of this.”
The captain thrust the bloody offering at Billy. He shrank back, and Gandara whipped the strip of dolphin flesh across his face. Stung and horrified by the lashing, Billy jumped aside. Gandara put out his hand for the camera. “Give me that,
niño
. Right now, before I make a dead man out of you.”
He was dazed from the blow and stood frozen with dread. As Gandara reached out for him, Billy recoiled and came alive. He turned and fled along the deck in the direction of the bow. Santos ran to stop him. As the mate made a grab for Billy, he swung the camera and it smashed into the man’s face. He dashed past Santos, retreating for the bow. He glanced over his shoulder, very much aware that the captain and his knife were right behind. He heard Gandara’s commanding yell, “Stop him!”
Billy looked up at the bridge and saw an armed seaman rushing down the steps to intercept him. He raced on before the man could reach the deck and found himself trapped against the high, knife-edged bow. There was no place left to retreat. He spun and saw Gandara was only steps away. The knife gripped in the captain’s hand was set for a killing thrust, and the madness that clouded his face left no doubt that he would strike. Billy took the only way of escape left him. Clutching the camera to his chest, he vaulted over the bow and plummeted to the sea far below.
A
s Billy fell, he tumbled and fought to turn his body upright so he would plunge into the sea feetfirst. In the microsecond before impact he thought, The camera. I can’t lose the camera.
He hit the water sideways, and his head smashed into the sea. The violent, slapping blow knocked him unconscious, and the momentum gained during the high fall drove him deep underwater. Twenty feet below, his body’s positive buoyancy stopped the descent. For a brief moment Billy hovered between life and death. His sight came back first. What he saw was blurred. He wasn’t sure where he was or what had happened. His eyes told him that he was not in daylight. Nor was it night. With a sudden, fearful awareness, he realized he was underwater. He told himself,
Real watermen don’t drown
. Then he sensed he was still clutching the camera to his chest and the past few minutes of his life came back in a rush of jumbled, fearful memory images. With a stab of awareness Billy realized, He was really going to kill me.
Now fully conscious, he stroked frantically for the surface. He gasped and looked up at the ship. Gandara was leaning over the railing staring down at him. Even at that distance, he could see the captain’s green eyes, narrowed and filled with hate, boring into him. Then he turned away, and Billy was left floating under the clipper’s bow. With a feeling of utter hopelessness he asked himself, What the hell do I do now?
He did the only thing possible and began swimming away from
Lucky Dragon
as fast as he could. As his mind began to function, Billy prayed that Benny and Sarah were only minutes away.
Salvador
was his salvation. If they didn’t come soon he was dead. He looked across the water. The corkline and the seine skiff floated some three hundred yards away. Rocha and another man stood on the engine cover watching him. Would they help or only stare? Would Gandara order them to run over him as he had the dolphin pod leader?
The captain bounded up the stairs for the bridge and yelled into the wheelhouse, “Where is that ship now?”
“Six, seven miles off and still approaching.”
Gandara forced himself to remain calm. “Depth…?”
“Fifty-seven fathoms and holding.”
With his frustration growing, Gandara grabbed the wheel and yelled into the bridge, “Give me five knots.”
The captain’s eyes shifted to the water. Off the starboard side he spotted Billy swimming for the net and sent
Lucky Dragon
after him. The engines’ massive power spun the twin four-bladed propellers and the ship moved slowly forward. As it gained speed the knife-edged bow began to swing toward Billy. The clipper was responding sluggishly, and Gandara realized that the drag of the huge net was holding the ship back. He picked up the walkie-talkie again and ordered, “Santos, cut the net free immediately!”
The mate acknowledged the order, and Gandara turned to yell at the radar operator, “Target and depth?”
“Five-six miles. Depth, fifty-one fathoms and shallowing.”
He cursed, “That kid! I’ll have his ass. Now the net’s going to snag on the rocks!”
A moment later the handheld radio brought the mate’s report, “It’s going overboard now, captain.”
Gandara thought quickly. There was still a way to save it. He keyed in the skiff’s radio channel. “Rocha, hook on to the net and drag it away from the reef.”
“There’s a man in the water, captain!”
“Do as I ordered, right now, or you’ll join him!”
Freed of the net’s drag,
Lucky Dragon
began accelerating rapidly. Billy glanced over his shoulder and saw the clipper’s tall bow swinging his way. The hundred and fifty yards separation he had gained from swimming was quickly being eaten up, and the corkline was still far ahead. He asked himself if Gandara would send the clipper across the net and chance entangling the propeller. Billy thought not and sprinted for the seine.
Five miles away, on
Salvador
’s bridge, Sarah leaned over the port railing watching the dolphin ride the bow wake. Chatter’s effortless slide down the never-ending wave of tumbling white water thrilled her. For the few seconds she had been watching the dolphin she forgot that they were racing on a collision course for a ship two and a half times larger and many tons heavier than the old minesweeper. And then there was the ship’s crew.
Suddenly, Chatter leaped forward. With a powerful beat of her fluke, she sped ahead. In all the hours Sarah had observed the dolphin, she had never seen her swim so fast. She was racing directly for the tuna clipper, and Sarah knew by the dolphin’s frantic response that Billy must be in danger.
At the same moment, Billy realized there was momentary safety behind the line of floats, and Gandara’s attention shifted to
Salvador
. The gray minesweeper was much closer now; close enough for him to see a white wake tumbling off its bow. Gandara picked up the walkie-talkie. “Santos, find Mr. Lessing and bring him to the bridge. Tell him he must be airborne immediately. You’ll be flying with him. And Santos, arm yourself.” Then he turned to search the water for the kid.
Benny leaned against a sweat-soiled mattress propped against the bridge control wheel. It was awkward reaching around the thick pad to grip the wheel. When they rammed, he hoped the mattresses would absorb some of the shock. Benny glanced about and saw that his young crew were waiting for his decision. They were now a bit shy of four miles from
Lucky Dragon
and he was determined to ram. He picked up the bridge mike and switched on the public address speakers.
“Okay, people. We’re going for it in about fifteen minutes, so get yourselves set.”
He turned to look at Sarah, saw the apprehension on her face, and reached out to squeeze her shoulder. “I did this once before to that pirate whaler off Spain and nobody got hurt, remember?”
“But you rammed outside a harbor.”
“We’re committed now, so don’t give me a hard time.”
He lifted the binoculars and watched the clipper begin to move ahead. He swung the glasses on her stern and saw that the net was drifting free. He called to Sarah. “Gandara’s running for it, but it’s not going to do him any good. We’re too close now!”
Calculating a new intercept point, Benny made a slight course change. He knew the shoals would prevent Gandara from turning tail and outrunning him. He was set up for a perfect ninety-degree beam attack. If nothing went wrong, he had
Lucky Dragon
in a perfect position to slice open her hull. Then he remembered his promise to Billy. “I’ll do my best to take out his stern.”
The pounding of the tired Cummings diesel pushing
Salvador
to maximum speed, and the slamming of the hull into the chop sent an urgent vibration into the soles of Benny’s bare feet, adding to his growing excitement. He was fully charged, a human bomb of emotions set to explode. Benny wanted to scream out a savage, primal cry to lead his kids into combat, but held it back. They wanted him cool—their big daddy who would save them if anything went wrong.
He stared ahead. Something was going wrong for Gandara. The ship had slowed again and was swinging toward the net. He turned to the spotting binoculars and sighted on the clipper to see what the ship had turned toward, or away from. Through the lenses he saw the faint image of someone in the water swimming for the net. He couldn’t be sure who it was, but he had an awful feeling who the swimmer might be. Without thinking, he shouted out, “It’s Billy!”
Sarah shoved him aside and peered through the glasses. There was no doubt. The blond hair and beard that had tenderly brushed her cheek so often were his. They were close enough now that she was able to tell he was sprinting, and between strokes, looking over his shoulder. She moved the glasses a fraction of an inch to see what he was escaping from. On the bow of the clipper stood the tall dark man they had seen on the clipper’s bridge when it was docked at Puntarenas. With a gasp, Sarah realized he was holding a rifle to his shoulder and the barrel was aimed at Billy.
Billy had no doubt that Gandara would fire. As best he could while holding the camera, he made a surface dive and continued swimming underwater until his need for air drove him to the surface. He sucked in a deep breath and dove again. He was beginning to pant from his desperate exertion. He had to stay on the surface longer and longer between dives, offering Gandara a better target. A second before he made his next plunge, bullets splattered the water around him. Then something slammed against his side and he froze with terror, thinking he had been shot. Off to his left he saw the dark graceful bulk of a dolphin. It was Chatter. She shoved against him and he grabbed her dorsal fin. Billy felt her muscular body quiver against him. She began towing him so rapidly he almost lost his grip. She surfaced to blow and inhale, and bullets pocked the water beside them. He took a deep breath and down they went, deeper this time, until his ears pained from the pressure.
Rocha stood on the engine cover staring at Gandara with shocked disbelief. His eyes jumped from Billy and the dolphin to the captain firing the rifle. He tried to figure out what the hell was going on. With the next explosive roar of the automatic weapon he knew that Gandara was trying to kill Billy. Into his mind came the roar of another gun—a handgun he had fired. For a brief moment he saw Yolanda sprawled on the parking lot blacktop, her blood and brains seeping from a massive hole in what had been the left of the side of her skull.
Rocha shook off the horror of what he had done and jumped from the engine cover. He grabbed the skiff’s wheel, jammed the throttle full-forward, and sent the skiff racing for Billy. The bewildered deckhand yelled over the pounding engine, “What the hell is this all about?”
“Something you want no part of,” Rocha yelled. “Lie down on the deck and stay there, unless you want to get killed!”
“I wanna know what’s going on!” he demanded.
Rocha spun and drove his shoulder into the deckhand’s chest. He struck with all the hostility and anger that had been building so long within him, and knocked the boatman over the side. He took the wheel and glanced between Billy and the captain, who was slamming a fresh magazine into the rifle.
“Oh, God. No!” Rocha cried out as he saw Billy’s hand slip from the dolphin’s fin. There was more sadness to his wail than anger. Billy, he could see, was exhausted, and before the dolphin could take him under again Gandara would have the rifle loaded. He had to shield Billy with the skiff, so he turned the boat to send it between his friend and the captain’s aim. He screamed at Gandara, trying to divert his attention. “No! Don’t!”
Billy heard Rocha’s yell and saw the skiff charging for him. He realized that Rocha was attempting to block Gandara’s fire with the boat’s hull, and a sudden swell of gratitude surged within him. The skiff thundered toward him and he kicked away from its bow. The engine’s booming throb stopped and the boat slowed. He gave Rocha a wave of thanks and threw the camera to him. Rocha caught it and waved back. Then came the sharp
brrrupp
of the automatic rifle and wood splinters exploded from the skiff’s hull. Billy looked up at Rocha as he took three bullets in the chest. He was slammed back as if struck by a sledgehammer and driven against the wheel. Rocha’s wide dark eyes betrayed his disbelieving shock. He made an unintelligible sound, then shook his head as if denying death, and fell across the engine cover. A profound sadness swept over Billy, darkening his heart. He wanted to cry, to kill, to rip apart Rocha’s slayer with his hands. But most of all he wanted to give Rocha his life back. He would live the rest of his days knowing that Rocha had died to save his life. He turned away from the skiff and found Chatter. Overcome by Rocha’s death, he put his arms around the dolphin and allowed his head to sink against her side.
When the last spent brass cartridge case was ejected onto the deck and the rifle clicked empty, Gandara reloaded. Out of the corner of his eye he saw Santos and the pilot running across the bridge. He noticed that the mate clutched an assault rifle and Lessing was wearing his army Colt .45. He liked the mate’s fierce look.
“Mr. Lessing, you will take off and intercept
Salvador
. And you, Santos, you will fire down on the bridge. Do anything necessary to stop her. We only have a few minutes, so hurry.”
Arnold looked at the captain with disbelief. He had heard similar orders many times before. Was it in Cambodia, Laos, Afghanistan?
They’re breaking through, go get ’em. We’re evacuating Quan-Trang. Take the gunship. They’re in the open, you can’t miss!
He could still see bodies blown apart and flung across the open rice fields in a bloody aerial butchery.
“Hold on a minute!” Arnold shouted. “They’re civilians! And this isn’t any damn war.”
Gandara shoved the rifle muzzle into the pilot’s belly. “It’s my war, Mr. Lessing, and I intend to win it.”
He turned to the mate. “Santos, you are the one man I can always trust and depend upon. See that he does as I say.”
“
A sus ordenes
, Louis,” the mate responded, daring to use the captain’s first name.
“Thank you, old friend.”
Gandara watched Santos prod the pilot up the ladder leading to the bridge heliport. I have a chance now, he thought. And I have been lucky for too many years to be defeated by a boy and a dolphin.
He turned to look for Billy. What he saw shook his momentary feeling of confidence. Less than a half mile ahead of the clipper, the Refugio Shoals showed white water.
Gandara ran aft. As he passed the ladder to the helicopter pad, he glanced up and saw Arnold climbing into the cockpit. Santos was freeing the clips that would release the machine, and Gandara called to him, “You must kill a few or they won’t stop. Remember that, Santos!”
The mate waved his understanding and Gandara ran on for the stern thinking, Now for the
niño
.
The captain sprinted across the aft deck and saw a chase boat still hanging from its davit. He climbed aboard, placed the rifle carefully on a thwart, and yelled at the second mate, “Lower me at once!”
He pressed the starter and had the outboard motor running before the speedboat hit the water. As the hull slapped into the sea, Gandara glanced at the bridge and saw that the helicopter’s rotor blades were beginning to spin.