Diamond Bay
DIAMOND
BAY
By
LINDA
HOWARD
ISBN
1-55.166-480-1
DIAMOND BAY
Copyright ©
1987 by Linda Howington.
All rights
reserved. Except for use in any review, the reproduction or utilization of this
work in whole or in part in any form by any electronic, mechanical or other
means, now known or hereafter invented, including xerography, photocopying and
recording, or in any information storage or retrieval system, is forbidden
without the written permission of the publisher, MIRA Books, 225 Duncan Mill
Road, Don Mills, Ontario, Canada M3B 3K9.
All
characters in this book have no existence outside the imagination of the author
and have no relation whatsoever to anyone bearing the same name or names. They
are not even distantly inspired by any individual known or unknown to the
author, and all incidents are pure invention.
MIRA and
the Star Colophon are trademarks used under license and registered in
Australia, New Zealand, Philippines, United States Patent and Trademark Office
and in other countries.
Printed in U.S.A.
Contents
The clean golden sun still burned its heat into his flesh, all
along his bare chest and long legs, even though it was near sundown. The
lengthening rays threw dancing sparkles onto the tips of the waves, mesmerizing
him as he stared at them. No, it wasn't the glittering water that mesmerized
him, it was the fact that he had nothing more important to do than simply stare
at it. He'd forgotten how peace sounded, how it
felt.
For a long,
wonderful month of pure solitude he could relax and be only a man. He would
fish when he felt like it, or cruise the warm, hypnotic waters of the Gulf if
he felt restless. The water drew him on endlessly. Here it was midnight blue;
there it was brilliant turquoise; over there it was a pale, shimmering green.
He had money for fuel and provisions, and only two people in the world knew
where he was or how to reach him. At the end of the month's vacation he would
return to the gray world he'd chosen and lose himself in the shadows, but for
now he could lie in the sun, and that was all he wanted. Kell Sabin was tired,
tired of the endless struggle, the secrecy and maneuvering, the danger and
deception of his job. It was a vitally important job, but for this month he
would let someone else do it. This month was his; he could almost understand
what had lured Grant Sullivan, his old friend and the best agent he'd ever had,
to the quiet mystery of the Tennessee mountains.
Sabin had been a top agent himself, a
legend prowling
the Golden Triangle and, later,
the
Middle
East
and
South America
, all the hot spots of the world.
Now he was a department chief, the shadowy figure behind a group
of crack agents who followed his directions and his training. Little was known
about him; the security surrounding him was almost absolute. Sabin preferred it
that way; he was a loner, a dark man who faced the hard realities of life with
both cynicism and acceptance. He knew the drawbacks and dangers of his chosen
career, he knew it could be dirty and vicious, but he was a realist and he had
accepted all that when he took the job.
Still, it got to him sometimes, and he had to get away from it,
live for a little while like a normal citizen. His private escape valve was his
custom-made cabin cruiser. His vacations, like everything else about him, were
highly guarded secrets, but the days and nights at sea were what kept him
human, the only times when he could relax and think, when he could lie naked in
the sun and reestablish his link with his own humanity, or watch the stars at
night and regain his perspective.
A white gull soared overhead, giving its plaintive cry. Idly he
watched it, free and graceful, framed against the cloudless blue bowl of the
sky. The sea breeze brushed lightly over his naked skin, and pleasure brought a
rare smile to his dark eyes. There was a streak of untamed savage in him that
he had to keep under tight control, but out here, with only the sun and the
wind and the water, he could let that part of himself surface.
The restrictions of clothing
seemed almost sacrilegious out here, and he resented having to dress whenever
he went into a port for fuel, or whenever another boat pulled up beside him for
a chat, as people were wont to do down here.
The sun had moved lower, dipping its golden edge into the water,
when he heard the sound of another motor.
He
turned his head to watch the cabin cruiser, a little larger than his
own, cut leisurely through the waves.
That was
the only way to get around out here: leisurely. The warmer the clime, the
slower the time. Sabin kept his gaze on the boat, admiring the graceful lines
and the smooth, powerful sound of the motor. He liked boats, and he liked the
sea. His own boat was a prized possession, and a closely guarded secret. No one
knew it belonged to him; it was registered to an insurance salesman in New
Orleans who had no knowledge at all of Kell Sabin. Even the name of the boat,
Wanda,
had no meaning. Sabin knew no one named Wanda; it was simply a name that
he'd chosen. But
Wanda
was completely his, with secrets and surprises of
her own. Anyone who really knew him wouldn't have expected anything else, but
only one man in the world had ever known the man behind the mask, and Grant
Sullivan gave away no secrets.
The sound of the other boat's motor changed as it slowed and
turned in his direction. Sabin swore irritably, looking around for the faded
denim cutoffs he usually kept on deck for such situations. A voice drifted to
him over the water, and he looked at the other boat again. A woman was standing
at the forward rail, waving her arm back and forth over her head in a manner
that held no urgency, so he guessed they were just looking for a chat and
weren't having any sort of trouble. The afternoon sunlight glinted on her red
hair, turning it into fire, and for a moment Sabin stared at it, his attention
caught by that unusual, glowing shade of red.
A frown put furrows in his brow as he quickly stepped into his
cutoffs and zipped them.
The boat was still too far away for him to see her face, but that red
hair had aggravated some hidden little memory that was trying to surface. He
stared at her as the other boat idled toward him, his
black eyes glittering with intensity.
There was something about that hair….
Suddenly every instinct in Sabin shrilled an alarm and he hit the
deck, not questioning that spine-tingling uneasiness; it had saved his life too
many times for him to hesitate. He spread his fingers on the warm wood of the
deck, acknowledging that he could be making a fool of himself, but he'd rather
be a live fool than a dead wise man. The sound of the other motor dropped off,
as if it had slowed even more, and Sabin made another decision. Still on his
stomach, with the scent of polish in his nostrils and the scrape of wood on his
bare flesh, he snaked his way over to a storage compartment.
He never went anywhere without some means of self-defense. The
rifle that he pulled out of the storage compartment was powerful and accurate,
though he knew it would be a temporary deterrent at best. If his instincts were
wrong, then he would have no use for it at all; if his instincts were right,
they would have far more firepower than this rifle, because they would have
prepared for this.
Swearing under his breath, Sabin checked that the rifle was on
full automatic fire and crawled back over to the rail. Coolly choosing his
cover, he let the barrel of the rifle be seen, and he eased his head around
just enough to let him see the other boat. It was still closing on him, less
than a hundred yards away.
"That's close enough!" he yelled, not knowing if his
voice would carry clearly enough to be understood over the noise of the motor.
But that didn't matter, as long as they could tell he was yelling something.
The boat slowed, barely moving through the water now, seventy-five
yards away.
Suddenly it
seemed to be swarming with people, and none of them looked like the ordinary
Gulf fishermen or leisure boaters, because every one of them was armed, even
the red-haired woman.
Sabin scanned them quickly,
his extraordinary eyesight picking up details of shape and size. He was able to
identify the types of weapons without having to think about it, he was so
familiar with them. It was the people he watched, and his eyes darted back to
one man. Even at that distance, and even though he stood a little behind
everyone else, there was something familiar about him, just as there was
something familiar about the woman.
There was no doubt now, and icy, deadly calm settled over him,
just as it always did in combat situations. He didn't waste time worrying about
how badly outnumbered he was; instead he began weighing and discarding options,
each decision made in the flash of a second.
A flat CRACK! split the twilight – the sound of rifle fire over
open water. He caught the faint, warm percussion of the bullet as it split the
air over his head and splintered the wood of the cabin behind him. With a
motion as smooth as oiled silk Sabin took aim and fired, then pulled his head
down, all in one continuous flow. He didn't need the involuntary sharp cry that
pierced the air to tell him that he hadn't missed; Sabin would have been both
surprised and furious if he
had.
"Sabin!" The amplified voice echoed tinnily across the
water. "You know you don't have a chance! Make it easy on yourself."
The accent was very good, but it wasn't quite American. The offer
was only what he'd expected. His best chance was to outrun them;
Wanda's
speed
was just one of her unusual features. But to outrun them, he had to get to the
controls up top, which meant exposing himself to their fire during the climb up
the ladder.
Sabin weighed the situation and
accepted that he had perhaps a fifty-fifty chance of reaching the top, maybe
less, depending on how surprised they were by his move.
On the other hand, he had no chance at all if he simply sat there
and tried to hold them off with one rifle. He had a lot of ammunition, but they
would have more. Moving was a risk he had to take, so he didn't waste time
worrying about his diminishing chances.
He took a deep breath, held it, then
exhaled slowly, coiling his steely body in preparation.
He needed to get as high up the ladder with the first jump as he
could. Gripping the rifle firmly, he took another breath and leaped. His finger
pressed the trigger as he moved, the automatic fire making the weapon buck in
his hand and forcing everyone on the other boat to take cover. His outstretched
right hand caught the top rung of the ladder, and his bare feet barely touched
before launching him higher. Out of the corner of his eye he saw the white
bursts even as he swung himself over the top and two red-hot sledgehammers
slammed into his body.
Only sheer momentum and determination carried him onto the deck, and
kept him from falling to the lower one.
Black mist
almost obscured his vision, and the sound of his own breathing was loud in his
ears.
He'd dropped the rifle. "Goddammit."
He'd dropped the
rifle!
he thought furiously. He took a deep breath, forcing the black mist
away, and summoned the strength to turn his head. The rifle still lay there,
clutched in his left hand, but he couldn't feel it. The left side of his body
was washed with his own blood, almost black in the dwindling light. His chest
heaving with his rapid breathing, Sabin reached across with his right hand and
got the rifle. The feel of it in his hand made things a little better, but not
much. Sweat broke out and ran off him in rivers, mixing with his blood. He had
to do something, or they'd be on him.
His left arm and leg wouldn't obey
the commands of his brain, so he ignored them, dragging himself over to the
side
using only his right arm and leg.
Bracing the rifle against his right shoulder, he fired at the
other boat again, letting them know he was still alive and dangerous so they
wouldn't come rushing in.
Glancing down, he took stock of his injuries. A bullet had gone
through the outside muscle of his left thigh, another through his left
shoulder; each was serious enough on its own. After the first burning impact
his shoulder and arm had gone numb, useless, and his leg wouldn't support his
weight, but he knew from experience that the numbness would soon begin to fade,
and with the pain he would regain some use of his wounded muscles, if he could
afford to wait that long.
He risked another look and saw that the other boat was circling
behind him. The upper deck was open at the rear, and they would have a clear
shot at him.
"Sabin! We know you're hurt! Don't make us kill you!"
No, they would much rather have him alive, for
"questioning," but he knew they wouldn't take any chances. They would
kill him if they had to, rather than let him escape.
Grinding his teeth, Sabin dragged himself over to the controls and
reached up to turn the key in the ignition. The powerful engine coughed into
life. He couldn't see where he was going, but that didn't matter, even if he
rammed the other cruiser.
Panting, he slumped back to the deck, trying to gather his strength; he
had to reach the throttle, and he had only a few moments left.
Hot pain was spreading over his entire left side, but his arm and
leg were beginning to respond now, so he figured that was a fair trade. He
ignored the growing pain and levered himself up on his right arm, forcing his
left arm to move, to reach, until his bloody fingers touched the throttle and
shoved it into forward gear.
The cruiser began sliding through the water with
slowly increasing speed, and he heard the shouts from the other boat.
"That's it, girl," he panted, encouraging the boat.
"Let's go, let's go." He stretched again, every muscle in his body
shaking from the effort, and managed to reach far enough to push the throttle
wide open. The boat leaped beneath him, responding to the surge of power with a
deep-throated roar.
At full speed he had to see where he was going. He was taking
another chance, but those chances were getting better with every foot of
distance he put between himself and the other boat. A grunt of pain exploded
from his throat as he hauled himself to his feet, and salty sweat stung his
eyes; he had to keep most of his weight on his right leg, but the left one
didn't buckle beneath him, which was all he asked. He glanced over his shoulder
at the other cruiser. He was rapidly pulling away from them, even though they
were giving chase.