Nelson DeMille - The Cuban Affair

In fact, the two patrol boats had by now been told what happened to their colleagues in the mangrove swamp, and it didn’t take too much genius for them to figure out that the radar blip they saw was the boat used by the murderers in the swamp. A little more thought would draw them to the conclusion that this was the American fishing boat Fishy Business , and those patrol boats would follow us to hell to get revenge.

The rain was getting heavier, and I wasn’t able to see much through the windshield, even with the wipers going full speed. There wasn’t much to see anyway; if you’ve seen one storm, you’ve seen them all. The radar, however, showed a clearer picture of the danger, and it wasn’t the weather.

Jack came into the cabin and looked at the radar screen. “Do I see what I think I’m seein’?”

“You do.”

“Shit.” He asked, “What’re we gonna do?”

Well, we were going to get captured or killed. Unless the other guys made a mistake. Or unless I could make them make a mistake. “It’s like a chess game. Except everybody gets only one move.”

“Okay... what’s our move?”

I looked at the radar screen. The Zhuk-class patrol boat was heading for us from the west, probably at his full speed, which was twenty-five knots. If I maintained a direct north heading, he’d veer north, and at some point his machine guns would be within firing range of us, but he couldn’t actually overtake us. The real problem was the Stenka-class boat, which at forty-five knots was close enough at six nautical miles to be alongside us within maybe ten or fifteen minutes — or within firing range with his radar-controlled guns sooner than that.

I wasn’t sure of the effective firing range of the Stenka’s 30mm rapid-fire cannons, but that’s a relatively small caliber, and the cannon shell was about the size and shape of a big Cohiba in an aluminum tube — but this was an exploding cigar. Guns like that were used mostly for anti-aircraft and ripping up a small ship — like The Maine — and I knew it was a close-range cannon. Maybe accurate at two miles.

The question was, did these guys want to kill us, or capture us? I would have said capture, except I’d left a lot of Guarda Frontera corpses back on the shore. So the guys in the patrol boats would fire first, no questions asked.

“Talk to me, Mac.”

“I’m thinking.”

“I think you gotta make your move.”

I turned on the radio and switched to Channel 16, the international distress and hailing channel, where the Cuban gunboats might try to contact me. I could hear voices in Spanish, and they weren’t singing “Guantanamera.” I would have called below for a translator, but I understood “Guarda Frontera,” and I was also able to translate “Feeshy Beesness,” and that’s all I needed to know. I shut off the radio.

Jack said, “Holy shit.”

“What do you do, Jack, when any move you make is the wrong move?”

“You hope the other guy makes a bad move.”

“Right. And what do you do when you’re in contact with a superior force and you can’t break contact?”

“You do the unexpected.”

“Right.” I looked at the radar screen. If I kept a northerly heading, I’d be intercepted from the east and the west. If I turned south, I could get back into the inter-coastal waters between the archipelago and the coast of Cuba, and maybe play cat-and-mouse with these guys for awhile, but that would just delay the inevitable.

I asked Jack, “So if the bad guys are pressing you from two sides and you can’t break contact, what do they not expect you to do?”

“Attack.”

“Right.” I turned the wheel to port and took a direct heading toward the Zhuk-class boat that was coming at us from the west.

Jack said, “I guess you want to get this over with sooner than later.”

“Correct.”

Felipe came up to the cabin, wondering, I’m sure, about our new heading. “What are you doing?”

I tapped the screen. “We’re meeting the beast. The Zhuk.”

“Are you crazy?”

Why do people always ask me that? But I took a moment to explain, “We need to stay as far from the Stenka as possible, so we’re heading directly away from him.”

Felipe looked at the radar screen. “But you’re heading right for the Zhuk—”

“I know where I’m heading.”

He asked again, “Are you crazy?”

“Go below.”

But he had a suggestion. “Turn around and get back into the archipelago.”

“Go below.”

Felipe was staring at the screen, transfixed. “Listen... if we get back into the archipelago, they’ll lose us on their radar—”

“Until they follow us.”

“Their radar is going to pick up shore clutter, islands... We can get into a mangrove swamp—”

“I’ve had enough mangrove swamps for awhile, amigo. Go below. That’s an order.”

But Felipe was not taking orders from me and he said, “You’re going to get us killed.”

We were as good as dead anyway, and Felipe knew that. He just didn’t want to deal with it.

Jack said to him, “The captain ordered you below.”

Felipe looked at him as though crazy was contagious. Felipe took a deep breath, stepped back from Jack, and pulled my.38 Smith & Wesson from under his shirt. “Turn this boat south.”

I reminded him, “You promised to take orders.”

“Now! Or I’ll—”

Unfortunately, Sara came into the cabin, looked at Felipe, and saw the gun. “Felipe! What is going on—?”

“Looks like a mutiny.” I suggested, “Take him below before I get pissed off.”

Felipe explained to Sara, “He’s going to get us killed.”

Sara looked at me, then back at Felipe. She didn’t know how I was going to get everyone killed, or what the debate was about, but she stepped past Felipe and stood between me and her boyfriend with the gun.

Well, I’m not comfortable hiding behind a woman, especially when I had a Glock in my belt and the woman was now in my line of fire. I said to Jack, “Take his gun and escort him below.”

Felipe stepped back from Jack and descended a few steps into the lower cabin. “Stay where you are.”

Jack made like he didn’t hear him and put his hand out. “Give it.”

Felipe realized he was outnumbered by crazies, but before he retreated, he had some advice for my crew. “Make him tell you what he’s doing. And make him stop. Or we’re all dead.”

Dead anyway. Once you understood that, you were left with the one move — attack — that would either keep you alive or let you go out in a blaze of glory. Sara had said she would die before she was captured, and I was taking her at her word.

Felipe retreated below, still armed, but not dangerous. For now.

Jack offered to go and disarm him, but I said, “Just keep an eye on him. We’ll need him if we get into a shoot-out.”

Sara had no comment on that, but she was very interested in what I was doing that would get everyone killed.

I pointed to the radar screen and explained, “The faster boat, the Stenka that has the cannons, would intercept us quickly if we headed north at an angle away from him. But if we head directly away from him, he has a lot of catching up to do.”

She looked at the screen and nodded, but then noticed the other blip heading directly toward us. “What’s that?”

“That’s the Zhuk — the smaller boat that goes the same speed as us.” I was going to add, “The Zhuk has only machine guns,” but that didn’t sound reassuring, so I also explained, “The closer we are to the Zhuk, the less likely it is for the Stenka to fire its cannons.”

Again she nodded, but pointed out, correctly, “The Zhuk is going to shoot at us.”