Warren Murphy: Troubled Waters

Remo emerged from the companionway into sunlight. Most of the noise was coming from his left, the starboard side, so Remo moved to port. He knew there was a gunman above him, grilling Humphrey, and another somewhere to starboard. That left the one making footsteps in Remo's direction.

"Uh-" the gunner said.

"Bye," Remo said, rapping his knuckles on the gunner's rib cage. The gunner's eyes went wild as his heart rhythm revved out of control. Remo held the guy's mouth closed with one hand to keep the screams from escaping, stepped on both the man's feet with his own and pulled the spasming body taut to keep him from making any loud noises. A few seconds later the gunner had stopped making noises forever, and Remo dropped him.

Remo went looking for gunner number three. The Mulligan Stew was a sort of floating sounding board, and Remo could easily track everyone on board by the sound and vibration of their footsteps. That meant the hunt for gunner number three wasn't even a challenge. He just walked up behind the man. The gunner turned to face Remo-his head, that was in Remo's hands, turned to face Remo. His body stayed facing front. The gunner was dead before he had time to figure out why the world had suddenly started turning in circles.

That left the man up top guarding Humphrey. "Wha' joo doin?" the apparent leader of the boarding party called down to his team of thugs, not knowing the gun squad was, each in his own unique manner, very dead. Remo saw a bulky shadow moving toward the port rail of the flying bridge as he came up on it.

The commander of the boarding party was a stocky man, solid muscle underneath a layer of camouflaging fat. He had some kind of submachine gun and he brought it into play when Remo rushed him and struck at his gun arm.

The stocky man was confused as to why his gun was silent. Then he heard an abrupt splash off the side of the boat. He looked over just in time to see his submachine sinking in the turquoise Caribbean water, dragging his arm down with it.

But that couldn't be right because the man who had attacked him didn't have a knife. How could he have cut off a whole arm?

The commander of the gunners decided the question was too difficult and he wilted where he stood as the blood pumped out by the pint.

Remo gave him a side kick that launched the gunner in a long arc and ended with another, bigger splash.

"Are you all right?" Remo asked Ethan Humphrey. The old man was sitting, his hands supporting his upper body as if he was about to collapse.

"All right?" The ex-professor looked confused, as if he didn't understand the language Remo spoke. Remo bent and gripped one of the old man's earlobes, pinching lightly, bringing Humphrey to his feet.

"Were those your friendly pirates?" he demanded.

"Pirates? Ow!" The old man struggled in his grip but could not break away. "Of course not! Those were total strangers. Kidd's men wouldn't try to kill me!"

"Then we'd better get a move on," Remo said. "Find out what kind of speed this tub can handle."

"Speed?"

"Unless you want to see how many other guns these guys are packing."

"Oh, I see. Yes, quite."

The old man turned and grabbed the throttle, pouring on the power.

"YOU'RE GOING THROUGH with it?" Felicia asked.

"Don't be an idiot," snapped Megan. "What choice does she have?"

Stacy had asked herself that very question, time and time again, and still no ready answer came to mind. Of course, she could reject Kidd's offer, but would that accomplish anything? If she refused to play along with the pathetic marriage ceremony, would it stop the pirate chief from claiming her, forcing himself upon her?

No.

The grim truth was that Stacy had no viable alternatives. Escape or suicide would place her beyond Kidd's reach, and at the moment, the two words appeared to be interchangeable. And whatever her plight, the second hard truth was that Stacy Armitage wasn't prepared to die. Not yet.

Not while her brother's death was unavenged. "Are you okay?" Felicia asked.

"Christ, that's a stupid question!" Megan snapped. "She's got a shotgun wedding to a psycho killer coming up in-what, about two hours-and you ask if she's okay? Did someone drop you on your head when you were little?"

"Just get off my case, all right?" Felicia's eyes were flashing, angry tears about to spill across her cheeks.

Stacy Armitage almost didn't hear them. She had spied one bright spot in the otherwise unrelieved darkness of her waking nightmare. If she was "married" to Kidd, labeled his private stock, it meant two things. First, the other pirates would be kept away from her, her suffering and degradation minimized. And, more importantly, it meant there would be times when she was left alone with Kidd, no bodyguards or chaperones. And sometime, sooner or later, the pirate would let down his guard.

And when that happened, it would be her time to strike. She would require a weapon, then, but there was time to pick one out. She might not find an opportunity the first week-or the first month, for that matter-but her time would come. One chance was all she needed, and it didn't matter if the effort cost her her life, as long as she could take Kidd with her.

As for Chiun, she didn't know what the Korean had in mind, but it was growing more apparent by the moment that she couldn't count on him to help her.

"Penny for your thoughts," Megan said, frowning.

Stacy's voice was grim as she replied, "It's nothing, really. I'm just looking forward to my honeymoon."

"YOU THINK THEY WERE Kidd's men?" Carlos Ramirez asked.

"Who else?" Guzman replied.

Ramirez scowled across the Macarena's railing, standing with his fists clenched at his sides. The battered old cabin cruiser, Mulligan Stew her name was, had managed to outrun his newer boats despite their crews' best efforts. It was obvious someone had been tending to the old tub's engine-one more indication, if Ramirez needed any, that an ambush had been planned.

By whom? he asked himself. Who else but Captain Kidd and company knew that Ramirez would be visiting the pirate stronghold, sailing through these waters at this particular time? Who else could have prepared the ambush that had claimed four lives?

Ramirez had found one of his men floating dead in the water, minus an arm, when the Macarena started to pursue the enemy. The others had been jettisoned during pursuit, one already savaged by barracuda before they reached his body. There was no point hauling them aboard-more awkward questions if he should encounter a patrol boat on the prowl-but even when he let them go, urging his pilot to the utmost speed, the Mulligan Stew still pulled away from the pursuit craft, ultimately vanishing among the islands of a nameless archipelago. "What shall we do?" asked Guzman.

"What do you imagine, Fabian?"

Ramirez didn't know why Kidd would turn on him, betray him after they had worked together for so long. It hardly mattered now. Ramirez had a list of enemies that ran from spring to Christmas, taking special care with his security, but none of those he watched his back for on dry land had known where he was bound this afternoon.

It had to be Kidd, unless...

Ramirez had considered simple chance, and just as quickly ruled it out. The four men on his boarding party had been armed professionals, adept at killing for a fee. Armand Sifuentes had been something of a one-man army in himself, with better than two dozen murders to his credit. It defied all logic to assume that simple fishermen or tourists could have dealt with men like that and managed to escape unharmed.

There hadn't even been gunshots. They would have heard them. These men could never, ever have been brought down that quickly unless the ambush had been well planned and flawlessly executed.

That kind of work required stone killers. Thomas Kidd and his community of pirates might be loco, but they also knew their business, and killing at sea was their specialty. Who else made a more likely suspect, in the circumstances?