Mitch grabbed them both and climbed back out to the cockpit. He pulled the safety off one and gripped it in his right hand. He only had a vague idea where the shooter was, so the most he could hope for was a distraction.
He pulled the cabin door wide open so it would act as a shield. Mad Mitch quickly reached his hand up and fired. The flare shot across the bow trailed by a plume of smoke.
Mitch pushed the throttle halfway forward and then ducked into the cabin. He could see part of the shoreline as the boat moved by where the sniper was hidden.
From inside the cabin he shot the other flare in the general direction of the shooter. He climbed out of the smoke-filled cabin and ducked under the console to try to steer the boat away from the sides of the waterway.
The boat became more difficult to control the faster it went. Mitch decided to push the throttle all the way forward and get back behind the wheel. He made an effort to keep the boat moving erratically until he was out of range.
Mitch rounded a bend and put the small peninsula between him and the shooter. He had no idea if there were other snipers lying in wait for him. He decided at this point it was better to keep the boat going full throttle.
He had no idea who was shooting at him, but he’d prefer a chase from Marine Patrol than getting shot at by hidden snipers. He was half-tempted to get on an open channel and ask why people were shooting at him. He decided to wait until he knew his position was completely compromised. For all he knew, it was the government trying to take him out. The sooner he got to a more populated area, the safer he would feel. Safe as long as people kept their distance.
Mitch had the throttle fully open and was flying down the waterway. The boat would hit small waves and glide through the air. He passed several fishing boats, sending them into the trees. People shouted curses back at him.
In ten minutes he would pass from the undeveloped section of the waterway into more residential areas. If he slowed down there, he might be able to make it by at a more reasonable speed. His hope now was to be able to slip up close to a marina or a housing complex and steal some Wi-Fi to make a Skype call on the iPod he’d stolen.
Mitchell heard the sound of a boat getting closer behind him. He turned around and froze for a moment when he realized it wasn’t a boat. It was a black helicopter flying just a few feet above the water, gaining on his stern.
Fucking black helicopters?
A man leaned out the side with a large rifle. Mitch ducked down and jerked the wheel to the left, sending the boat in a tight circle and bringing it to the opposite side of the helicopter as the shooter.
The helicopter made a tight turn, too. Mitch tried to bring the boat underneath the helicopter to stay out of the shooter’s range. The pilot pulled the helicopter off to the side in a movement Mitch couldn’t replicate with the boat and brought the shooter in direct line of sight with Mitchell.
Mitch turned the wheel to the right, bringing the left side several feet higher as the boat turned into another circle. He was running out of options. The helicopter could outmaneuver him and go twice as fast.
He looked ahead and saw a narrow channel between an island and the ocean side of the Intracoastal. Mitch aimed the boat for there while swerving back and forth. The top of the seat next to him erupted in padding as another shot rang out.
The boat slid under a small canopy of trees. Mitch pulled the throttle back. He could see the helicopter fly overhead and come to a hover.
Mitchell could jump from the boat and try to make it through the thick vegetation and find a place to hide. But for how long? He had little doubt a sniper would be able to find him there.
He needed some way of minimizing the helicopter’s advantage. Mitch opened up the lockers in the stern to look for something he could use. All he had were wetsuits and dive tanks.
He opened up another locker and saw the dive belts. He could try throwing them at the windshield. Maybe if he cracked it.
Mad Mitch had a better idea. He ran to the console and pushed the throttle forward a hair, sending the boat out from under the canopy.
Mr. Lewis and Mr. Travis watched as the boat drifted from under the cover of the trees. The cockpit was empty. That meant either Mitchell had jumped off onto the island or was trying to wait things out inside the cabin.
Mr. Travis looked at Mr. Lewis for instructions. Mr. Lewis set the rifle between the seats. He pulled on an oxygen mask and slung the tank over his shoulder. He gave the valve a turn and then pulled a 9 mm pistol from a holster at his side.
“
Bring it down,” he said through the mask.
Mr. Travis brought the helicopter a few feet above the stern and matched speed with the boat as it glided along. Mr. Lewis hopped down from the passenger side door and landed in a crouch on the back of the boat.
He kept his body away from the line of sight of the cabin. One of Mitchell’s flares had already come close to burning the hair off the left side of his head. He wouldn’t let him try that again. He hopped from the top of the stern engines into the main cockpit. His finger prepared to squeeze as he shot anything that moved inside the cabin.
He took a step closer and was beginning to make out the interior when everything went dark for a moment. Hands grabbed him and shoved him into the water before he could understand what had just happened. He looked up from the water as Mad Mitch hurled a dive tank from the locker at his head. It hit the gun and knocked it from his grasp. He turned to dive for it when Mitchell hurled another dive belt at his head. It hit so hard he felt the urge to vomit.
Mr. Travis had watched as Mitchell emerged from the locker in the stern and swung the weight belt at Mr. Lewis’ head. To the man’s credit, it seemed to only faze him and not knock him out. Mitchell used the distraction to throw him overboard.
While Mad Mitch looked for more heavy objects to throw at Mr. Lewis as he tread water, Mr. Travis pulled his sidearm from his ankle holster.
Mad Mitch turned around as Mr. Travis was sliding a window open on the pilot side door. Mad Mitch looked down at his feet and opened another hatch. He reached in and pulled out a metal anchor.
Mad Mitch began swinging it by the anchor line in huge circles. When it was at the top of its arc aimed at the rotor, he let go. Mr. Travis shouted and then pulled back on the stick to avoid losing the helicopter. He heard the sound of metal hitting the hull.
From the stern of the boat, Mitchell looked up in shock. He thought he’d only hoped to hit the anchor against the window and crack the glass. When the pilot pulled back, he’d tilted it so the skid acted as a catch for the anchor.
The anchor went through the gap between the skid and the hull and fell to the water. Mitchell watched as the rope at his feet unspooled. The pilot pulled the helicopter into a hover when he thought he was at a safe distance from the anchor, oblivious to fact that he had just been hooked.
Mr. Travis spotted Mr. Lewis floating in the water. He was waving furiously at him and pointing at the helicopter. Mr. Travis brought the helicopter down to pick him up.
Mad Mitch didn’t want to lose his chance and have the man in the water ruin his catch. He ran to the console and slammed the throttle forward. The boat raced away from the helicopter.
Mr. Travis watched it try to get away out of the corner of his eye. He’d have plenty of time to catch up with him when he picked up Mr. Lewis. He turned to look at the water below and then noticed the line running from the boat to just under his chopper. He felt something yank on the skids.
“
Oh, fuck!” he said as he realized the anchor had just grabbed his chopper like a grappling hook. He jerked the stick forward to avoid being pulled from the sky.
Mad Mitch had the throttle wide open and was starting to catch air as he hit the crests of waves. The helicopter had to either match speed or run the risk of Mitchell pulling it into the water. It could come down on top of him for all he cared at that point.
After two days of constant abuse, it felt good to be able to strike out in anger and not feel bad about it. He kept the boat headed south. He could see the north end of the next city coming into view.
There was no way he was not going to attract attention with a helicopter tied to his stern. The advantage of that happening was that it would lead to a lot of questions that would be embarrassing for whomever was out to kill him. He was sure the guy that had jumped onto his boat and the pilot weren’t just a couple of assholes with a helicopter and rifle.
Mr. Travis was in an awkward situation. He tried to get over the boat and then gain altitude to try to snap the anchor cable. Physics wasn’t on his side. The helicopter had a lifting capacity of 900 pounds. The anchor rope had a tensile strength of 4,000 pounds.
Gaining altitude only raised the backend of the powerboat a few inches and increased his chances of crashing into the water. He opened up the sliding window on his door and aimed his pistol out the window.
Mad Mitch looked at the suicidal man and then turned the boat sharply to the right. The pilot had seconds to match course or get pulled down. Mr. Travis opted to match course. He also realized that shooting Mitchell wouldn’t help him get his helicopter loose from the boat. If anything, it might make matters worse if the boat ran aground.
He decided to try to wrap the rope around the boat. With any luck, it would get cut by the propellers. He brought the helicopter in a tight arc, bringing it alongside Mitchell in the driver’s seat. Mad Mitch looked over and flipped him off. The pilot pushed the throttle forward and brought the helicopter just inches off the water.
Mad Mitch looked back and saw the slack the helicopter pilot was building up. Mitchell had been water skiing enough times to know what the pilot was doing. Mad Mitch ran back and grabbed the end of the line near where it was tied off. He pulled the slack rope into the boat cockpit until it ran taut from the skid to Mad Mitch’s hand.
Mr. Travis brought the helicopter across the bow while hovering less than a foot over the water. He looked back to see if the rope went under the bow. Instead he saw Mad Mitch holding on to the slack and flipping him off again. He was grinning at him.
God damn punk!
Furious, he pulled up on the stick, yanking the rope from Mad Mitch’s hands. Both he and Mad Mitch were so engaged in their back and forth that they failed to notice the Marine Patrol boat heading toward them or the Channel 11 news helicopter that was following.
Dozens of people had called 911 about the helicopter and the powerboat that were fighting on the Intracoastal.
The Channel 11 helicopter was heading south to get footage of the Park Square Mall when they saw the battle taking place. Emergency news coverage about Mitchell was interrupted by a special news bulletin about the helicopter and the speedboat. It took ten minutes before news anchors watching the feed realized that the man driving the boat was the same person the FBI was dredging the bottom of the South Bay for.
Police helicopters from two different jurisdictions and an FBI chopper were now in pursuit of Mad Mitch and his catch. A county sheriff’s boat had also started on an intercept course. Coast Guard cutters were moving into positions along all the ocean access points.
Mr. Travis looked down at Mad Mitch and the growing armada surrounding them both. He knew that the tail numbers were already being run and coming up as bogus. Voices in his headset demanded that he identify himself.
Part of him just wanted to ram the chopper right into the boat and kill them both. He was sure Mr. Lewis would be happy with that outcome. Unfortunately for Mr. Lewis and his employers, Mr. Travis didn’t have a death wish. He would wait for the right moment and jump into the water. With the right commotion, he might be able to slip away.
Mad Mitch looked at all the heat on him and decided there was no point in not making plans for when they finally forced him to stop. Mitchell took the handset for the VHF radio and shouted over the sound of the helicopter overhead.
50
Baylor was watching the unfolding drama of the helicopter hooked to Mitchell’s boat with a sense of dread. Reporters were trying to track down the helicopter’s owners. A quick search on the FAA website revealed the numbers on the tail were fake.
His phone rang with an unfamiliar number. “Hello?”
“
It’s Lewis. We have a problem.”
“
Please tell me you have nothing to do with that helicopter. Where are you?” said Baylor.
“
I got picked up out of the water by a fisherman. I’m going to fix the problem. I need to know if the package is expendable.”
Baylor looked at the news chopper footage of the helicopter hovering over the boat as it raced down the Intracoastal. If the pilot made it away somehow, it wasn’t likely he would get very far. Although Baylor’s hire wouldn’t point directly back to him, the man was going to be in a position where he was likely to tell them everything he knew, which included Mr. Lewis and the package that was left on the helicopter.