Crown's Law (29 page)

Bo said, “Sam just leaves his gun lying
around?”

Becky was changing into a skimpy pink bikini.
She answered without turning around. “Sure. Everyone in this house
is trained in gun safety—and their use. If we have company, the
guns get put away. And he always takes it with him when he leaves.
But you’re trained, right?”

“And . . . you are?” queried Bo.

“Oh, yeah! Sam takes me to the practice range
with him all the time. I’m also in his Karate class. I can kick
some serious butt!” she laughed as she slipped into a pair of
cutoff jeans.

Bo was yet again amazed at this girl. She did
not know what to make of her.

“I think I’ll take my gun with me. I’ll just
slip it in my large tote handbag.”

“Whatever,” replied Becky as she slipped a
blue T-shirt over her head and slipped on her canvas boat shoes.
“What size shoe do you wear? You’ll need deck shoes for the
boat.”

“Nine medium.”

“Good. My size. Here’s a pair you can
use.”

“Thanks, Becky.”

“No prob.”

***

Sam, Bo, and the cooler went in his Camaro,
and Becky followed them in her VW. That way, she would not
interfere with whatever plans Sam came up with later—plans that
would not include a 16-year-old tagging along. Becky was a very
smart girl! After all, she needed to get back home and get ready
for her prom. She hoped Bo didn’t forget she was going to help her.
She would never get into that fancy bra by herself!

Sam used an electronic key card to
enter the parking area reserved for boat owners, and Becky followed
them in, using her own key card. The gray Toyota that had been
following them went on down the road toward
The Beach House
restaurant.

Bo helped Sam carry the cooler down to
the slip where the
Helena Belle
was moored. They put the cooler down next to the ladder that
was hooked over the port side of the boat.

Bo exclaimed, “Wow! This is it? I thought we
were going to be putting around in a boat! This is a . . . damned
yacht!”

Sam replied with a shrug, “Not quite a yacht,
but it’ll do. It’s quite comfortable and well outfitted. It’s a
trawler design, so it’s quite safe at sea in rough weather. Let me
get on board, then you and Becky can hand me the cooler.”

The
Helena
Belle
—named for Sam’s mother—was a 39' trawler built
in 1996 with extra amenities added to suit John Crown’s needs and
desires. It was designed for long distance cruising, but it rarely
was motored further than Catalina Island, except for the annual
trek to Ensenada when John and some of his buddies went out in
search of marlin and swordfish. It had a well-equipped flying
bridge, an ample aft deck, fully-equipped galley—oven and
microwave, full-sized refrigerator/freezer, abundant cabinets and
counter space—and a first-class head with a shower.

Bo stepped into the salon and gasped. It was
cheerily accented in teak and the two chairs and couch were covered
with soft, wine-colored leather.

“Wow! What a layout!” exclaimed Bo.

Becky finished lashing down the cooler on the
port side, where straps were available for that purpose, then
joined Bo in the salon. Sam was in the wheelhouse firing up the
twin 230 horsepower diesels.

Becky bubbled, “I’ve been fishing with
Grandpa on her. Sometimes we stay out three or four days. It’s fun
going to Catalina, too! I know how to drive her! Grandpa taught me
when I was 13. Do you ever go fishing in Colorado?”

Bo was mesmerized by Becky’s youthful
enthusiasm. She had completely forgotten that she was an FBI agent
on a mission. She was completely absorbed by the adventure she was
sharing with Becky and Sam.

“Never on a boat like this! We fish from the
river bank, or go out on a lake in a small boat with an outboard
motor. This is a ship compared to what I’m used to.”

Sam yelled, “OK, swabby, loose the lines and
up the mizzen mast! We’re puttin’ out to sea!”

Becky shouted back, “Aye, aye, Cap’n
Hook!”

She then jumped off the boat and expertly
untied the bow line, then ran along the slip and did the same with
the aft line. She tossed both ropes onto the boat.

“Raise the mains’l, begorra, Cap’n!” shouted
Becky as she pulled the fenders on board. “Take ’er t’ward the
’orizon!”

She clambered up the aft ladder and expertly
began coiling the ropes she had tossed aboard. Sam pushed the
throttles forward and backed the boat out of the slip while Becky
watched for other boats.

They have such fun
together!
thought Bo, a surge of envy making her
tingle. Bo joined Sam at the helm, enjoying the view of the harbor
through the wraparound windows. The starboard side had a sliding
door, making deck access easier for shorthanded
cruising.

“This is such a treat! Is there anything I
should be doing? Becky’s busy as a bee doing nautical stuff. She’s
quite the deckhand!”

“Yes, she is. There’s nothing for you to do
at the moment.” He turned and looked at her profile. Her nipples
were pushing against the material of her tank top. “As soon as I
clear the harbor, you can fetch us some drinks.”

“Aye, Cap’n. I want to feel like a part of
this adventure, not an intruder. I can tell that you and Becky do
this together often,” she said, getting into the adventure.

“You’re no intruder. Your company is
extremely welcome. You light up the boat!” he smiled.

She considered making a snappy retort, but
merely said, “Thank you.”

***

Once out of the harbor, Sam opened her up and
got up on the plane and headed out to sea. Becky stripped down to
her bikini, retrieved her sun block and a novel, grabbed a large
towel from a cabinet in the salon, and headed up to the aft deck of
the flying bridge.

“I’m gonna get some sun before lunch. Call if
you need me,” she said as she climbed the wide, molded steps up to
the flying bridge.

I’ll give ’em some privacy.
See where it goes
, she thought.
I like Bo!

“There’s beer and wine in the cooler, Bo,”
said Sam. “I’ll have a beer. There’s a corkscrew and glasses in the
galley if you want wine. Some designer water, too. In a few
minutes, I’ll slow down and put ’er on autopilot. Then we can relax
for awhile.”

Sam put the boat in a slow, wide circle and
joined Bo in the salon. She handed him a Bud Light. She had a glass
of White Zin.

“We need to keep an eye out for boats. I
don’t want to ram anyone, but no one’s in sight right now. The jet
skis usually don’t come out this far.” He lifted his beer can and
said, “Cheers.”

“Cheers!” she answered with a smile, then
sipped her wine.

“Did you check out the master stateroom?
Great bed in there. This couch makes into a bed, too. With the
guest stateroom, she sleeps six comfortably,” remarked Sam.

“Awful lot of talk about beds,” observed
Bo.

“Relax, dammit! This is a family picnic, not
a tryst! I was merely pointing out some of the amenities,” he
snapped.

“Sorry, Sam! I was out of line. It won’t
happen again. Thanks for letting me be a part of your family
outing,” she answered.

He smiled to diffuse things. “Just relax and
enjoy.”

***

Earlier, when Sam was backing out of
the slip, the dark-haired man was watching from the walk in front
of
The Beach House
restaurant. He took a high-tech satellite phone out of his
pocket and punched a speed dial number.

“We couldn’t snatch ’em in the car. They came
in two cars—the kid in one, Crown in the other. He’s got some broad
with him. They just went out in a boat. What do you want me to do?”
he said into the phone.

“We need to know what they know! I want you
to find out!” snarled the voice on the phone. “This boat thing may
be a break for us! Don’t you still have that fast boat at the
harbor?”

“Yeah. You want me to do this at sea?” asked
the man.

“Yes. Go highjack ’em. Squeeze that girl and
that P.I. Crown. After you get all you can out of them, sink ’em!
Unfortunate accident at sea.”

“OK. I’ll send Vlastok and his two henchmen
out after ’em. It’s more their style than mine.”

“Just don’t fuck up! This is critical!”

The phone went dead.

***

Becky spread her towel on the fly-bridge
afterdeck and stretched out on her stomach to read a novel,
something she forced herself to do at least once a week. She untied
her bikini top so she wouldn’t get any strap marks that might show
when she wore her low-backed prom gown. She was the first to see
the large, rooster tail wake of the speedboat. She watched it
curiously for a minute. It was definitely getting closer.

She yelled down to Sam. “Sam, do you see the
speedboat coming our way? Starboard side.”

Sam scoured the horizon until he spotted it.
“I see it, Beck. Thanks. I’ll change course.”

He went to the helm, disengaged the
autopilot, then turned 15 degrees away from the incoming boat. The
speedboat changed course with him.

“What the hell is wrong with them?” he
mumbled. He unclipped the powerful binoculars from their rack on
the dash and focused in on the incoming boat. He saw three men, one
driving, two behind the driver. The latter two had what appeared to
be automatic weapons.

“Shit! What is this? Better be safe than
sorry!” he muttered to himself. Then he yelled, “Bo! Becky! Hold
on! I’m going to full power! Get into life jackets if you can!”

He eased the throttles forward and the boat
picked up speed, climbed up on the plane.

“Becky!” he yelled over the roar of the
engines. “Take the helm up there!”

When Sam had yelled, “Hold on,” Becky had
raised up to see what was happening. The sudden rush of wind swept
her bikini top overboard.

“Shit!” she groaned. Then Sam had told her to
take the helm.

“OK, Sam! I’ve got it! What’s happening?” she
shouted back.

She was standing at the wheel on the flying
bridge topless and was powerless to do anything about it at the
moment. She settled back into the leather seat and checked the
instruments.

“Just keep aiming at that speedboat until I
tell you different.”

“Aye, aye, sir!” she yelled as she turned
hard to the starboard.

Bo staggered over to Sam and said, “What’s
going on?”

“I don’t know. That speedboat’s populated
with men with automatic weapons. I’m not taking any chances until I
know what the hell is going on! If they break off, I’ll just call
the Harbor Patrol and report it.”

He opened a teakwood panel on the starboard
side of the wheelhouse and extracted a shotgun and pumped a shell
into the firing chamber. Bo ran to her tote bag and retrieved her
nine millimeter.

Bo said, “OK, I’ll go take up a position on
the stern and watch them from back there. You can stand by
here.”

“OK, but put this life jacket on—just in
case.”

“OK. You do the same, all right?”

They both donned life jackets.

Sam opened the sliding door and held on to a
brass handle and saw the speedboat veer when Becky turned into it.
Becky kept in her turn, confusing the speedboat driver for a
moment.

Shit!
thought
Sam.
We’re outgunned and they have the
speed advantage! What in hell is going on?

“Hot shit!” Becky screamed, having a
ball!

The speedboat, of course, was much faster
than the trawler, so it outmaneuvered Becky and came screaming up
on the starboard side and one of the men let loose with his AK-47.
Two of the slugs hit close to where Sam was standing. Becky turned
sharply to starboard again, quickly closing the distance between
the two boats. Bo didn’t hesitate. Since they had been fired upon
without provocation, she mentally declared this attack an act of
piracy on the high seas, a Federal offense, and holding her nine
millimeter in two hands resting on the railing, carefully hit the
driver twice in the body with two rapid shots.

The driver’s body flipped overboard, but
since he was wearing a life jacket, the body didn’t sink. Sam
calmly stepped out on the starboard walkway and put two shotgun
blasts into the engine compartment. The boat—exploding in a big
ball of fire as the gas tank blew—came to a stop. Becky continued
her starboard turn and throttled back, circling the debris and the
floating men. The one Bo had shot was floating face up—not
moving—but the other two were flapping around, trying to get away
from the burning fuel of their destroyed boat.

“Hold it here, Beck!” Sam yelled, and Becky
throttled back. Sam laid his shotgun down on the couch and got a
long-handled boat hook. “You cover them, Bo, and I’ll fish ’em
out.”

“I’ve got ’em in my sights! Assholes!”

“Why, Ms. Trout, I do believe you used a
curse word!” smiled Sam.

After the two unwounded ones were pulled
aboard and tied up, Sam pulled the one Bo had shot aboard, then he
called the Harbor Patrol and, using his GPS, reported his position
and what had happened. They dispatched two fast boats immediately.
Bo was using the boat’s First Aid kit to stop the bleeding on the
wounded attacker.

Sam yelled up to Becky, “You can come down
now, Becky. Everything’s under control!”

“OK, but I’m freakin’ topless up here! Bo,
could you bring me my shirt?” she responded.

***

Bo declared the whole thing a Federal crime
scene under FBI control. She called the L.A. SAC, who in turn
dispatched Carl Fenster and two of his agents to the harbor. Bo
turned the details over to Carl (it was his jurisdiction afterall),
saying that she had a pressing appointment (Becky’s prom
preparation), without revealing what it was.