Robin Cook - Critical

"Hey! Don't you remember, that was the idea. What is she drinking? I'll get it and we can blow this shithole. I want to finish this job. It's aggravating me."

"Wait!" Franco said, restraining Angelo. "Let me get it. I don't want you shooting up this joint because of those drunks at the bar."

"Fair enough," Angelo said. "I'll stay here with this beautiful young lady."

Franco pulled Angelo a step away from the table and, cupping his hand over his mouth, whispered, "We're SEC agents, so act according."

"Yeah, sure," Angelo said. He sat down next to Amy, and she moved in to accommodate him.

It was only fifteen minutes later when it was evident to Franco that Amy had had quite enough and was enjoying herself, perhaps even a little too much. Franco had seen the bartender look over on several occasions when she laughed. It was a high-pitched squeal.

Franco looked across at Angelo and motioned toward the door with his head, and Angelo nodded his.

"Where's the Black Beauty?" Franco asked.

"Just around the corner," Angelo said. Then, to Amy, he said, "I'll be back in a moment, hon."

Franco watched Amy sip her drink. "Why do you do that with your hair?"

Amy shrugged and then laughed. "It's fun. Before I did it, nobody noticed me."

Franco stared across the table. Amy was now evincing slight intermittent jerky motions just to keep herself sitting upright.

A few minutes later, Angelo came back. "The car's right outside."

"Come on, Amy," Franco said, giving her arm a tug.

"I haven't finished my drink," Amy said, with an exaggerated expression of sadness. She laughed.

"I think you've had enough," Franco responded. He motioned to Angelo, and together they got her onto her wobbly feet. With both men supporting her, she walked out of the bar. With a little difficulty, they got her into the backseat.

"Sit with her," Franco said. "If it looks like she's going to throw up, get her head out the window."

As they positioned Amy in the backseat with her head in the far corner and with the window down, they didn't notice the man who came out of the bar. He was dressed in casual hip-hop gear with a long, ill-fitting sweatshirt and a Yankees baseball hat on backward. Without stopping to watch Franco and Angelo's antics, he walked north up Broad Avenue.

"Are you ready?" Franco asked, looking in the rearview mirror.

"All set," Angelo said. Amy now had her seat belt on and her face practically out the window. Angelo was supporting her head with his outstretched hand. Amy herself was passed out cold.

After checking the map for the fastest route back toward Hoboken, Franco made a U-turn in the middle of Broad Avenue and accelerated south.

For a time, they drove in silence. It was Angelo who spoke up first. "I certainly hope Vinnie appreciates all this effort. Driving in the city during rush hour was bad enough, but it was nothing compared to getting into the tunnel and then out here in New Jersey. I mean, it was a bitch."

"I would have traded places in a heartbeat," Franco said. "Commuting day in and day out on a bus like the one I was on is a nightmare."

They didn't talk again until they pulled into the marina. Franco drove to the same place he had the night before and parked at the base of the main pier. He turned out the headlights. As it was the previous night, it was completely dark. Both men got out of the car and converged at the driver's-side rear door. As they opened it, Amy's head sagged to the left.

"Okay, baby!" Angelo said. "Time to rise and shine." He poked his head into the vehicle and released the seat belt. With that accomplished, they got Amy out of the car.

"She doesn't weigh much, does she?" Franco commented.

"When her boss last night said she was small, he wasn't joking."

With relative ease, they walked Amy out the pier. The cold air off the river revived her to a degree, and she actually helped them so they didn't have to support her entire weight. The only relatively difficult part was getting her across the narrow gangplank and into the stern of the boat.

"What should we do with her while we get under way?" Angelo asked.

"Well, she hasn't gotten sick, so let's put her into one of the forward cabins. I don't want her getting up and just falling overboard. Wait here and hang on to her while I turn the light on in the main saloon and below."

It was a little more difficult moving Amy on the boat than it had been on the open pier, but they managed to get her into a cabin and draped her over a bed with her feet still on the floor. Just in case she did get sick, they spread towels under her head. When they were finished, they stood up and looked down at the woman.

Suddenly, Franco bent over, grasped the lapels of Amy's coat, and rudely ripped it open. The buttons flew off in various directions and clattered to the floor.

"You know something?" he said. "If you don't look at the hair and you ignore the zits, she's not bad. What do you say?"

"We did give her a date-rape drug," Angelo said, as his scarred lips twisted into a half-smile. "We shouldn't waste things."

"Yeah, it would be like the stem cell and frozen embryo hassle. I mean, if you're going to flush them down the toilet, why not use them?"

Franco and Angelo regarded each other. Their respective smiles broadened until they laughed.

"Okay," Franco said. "Once we're under way, we'll flip for who goes first."

"You got a deal, man!"

With more alacrity than they'd shown all evening, Franco and Angelo went back up on deck. Franco continued up to the bridge deck while Angelo disembarked to handle the mooring lines. By the time Angelo had the bowline free and tossed onto the bow, Franco had the diesel engine purring like a contented cat. Angelo ran back and loosened the stern line from its massive dockside cleat. Just as he was about to toss it into the stern, his eye caught a glint of light back along the pier in the area of the fuel pump. For a second, Angelo stared into the darkness. When it didn't recur, he assumed it was a brief reflection of the light issuing from the Full Speed Ahead on the fuel pump's glass gauge cover.

Angelo tossed the mooring line onto the boat, scampered across the gangplank, and pulled the gangplank aboard. "All clear," he shouted up to the bridge deck. As the yacht began to move out of its slip, Angelo went around and pulled in the thick, white bumpers. As he did so, he was caught in the reddish glow of the running lights that Franco had just turned on.

BRENNAN HOVERED BEHIND the fuel pump for longer than he thought necessary. He didn't want to take any additional chances. He was worried that while he was trying to make out the name of the yacht, he'd caught Angelo's attention. The problem had been that in the corner of his field of vision, Brennan had seen Angelo suddenly stand bolt upright and stare directly toward him for a beat. Brennan realized after the fact that it was possible for light from the yacht to reflect off the front of his rather large binoculars.

When the sound of the yacht's engines had receded enough that he was reasonably sure he'd not be seen, Brennan hazarded a glance around the pump and saw the Full Speed Ahead's running lights close to two hundred yards beyond the end of the pier. Believing there was no way he could be seen at such a distance, he jogged back down the pier, past Franco's car, and then all the way up to the rear of the marina's parking lot. He didn't see Carlo's black Denali until he was almost upon it. He quickly climbed into the front passenger seat. He was out of breath. "Well?" Carlo demanded.

Brennan held up his hand to give himself a few deep breaths.

"They took her onto a yacht," Brennan managed.

"Since we've come to a marina, that's not all that enlightening, especially since you thought they drugged her in the bar."