Poseidon's Arrow

Halfway across the lab, the gunman raised his arm and fired three quick shots on the run. Pitt felt a sting in his leg as he yanked the crutch after him and slammed the door closed.

Springing to his feet, Pitt wedged the crutch’s arm pad beneath the door handle as a makeshift lock. It might give him an extra ten, maybe twenty seconds. But that still wouldn’t be enough. Somewhere in the darkness, A

He scrambled toward their car, but then heard a motor cranking over nearby. It didn’t come from the road but down by the lake. Pitt spun in his tracks and ran for the water, thinking that they might just have a chance after all.

24

THE MOTOR RUMBLED TO LIFE, NOT THE TINNY whine from a compact rental car but the throaty gurgle of a powerboat. Pitt took off toward the dock, admiring A

Inside the lab, the gunman found himself stymied by the back door. The aluminum crutch had pi

Pitt was breathing hard, and his left leg ached, as he reached a gravel footpath that led to the lakefront. He could faintly make out the figure of A

“Cast off, A

A

As Pitt approached, he was surprised to see the boat was an old dual cockpit runabout, built of mahogany. Had there been sufficient light, he would have recognized it as an early 1940s Chris-Craft.

Not losing a step, Pitt crossed the dock and leaped into the rear cockpit. He bounded off the cushion and vaulted into the front pilot’s seat, jamming down the boat’s throttle. As he fell into the seat, the old boat charged away from the dock with a bellow from its vintage six-cylinder Chrysler engine.

“This was fast thinking,” he told A

“I was afraid you’d never make it out of there.”

He looked back at the dock to see the dark figure of the lead gunman charge onto the platform.

“Better get down!” Pitt yelled, spi

The cockpit floor was spacious enough for both of them and they ducked beneath the cowl as the boat jutted left. Pitt reached up and eased back the wheel, letting the boat run blindly ahead.

His move had turned the boat parallel to shore as it sped across the lake, its occupants hidden from view. The gunman ran to the end of the dock and aimed at the pilotless craft, firing until his clip was empty.

The roar of the engine drowned out the gunshots, but Pitt detected several faint thumps when a few rounds struck the hull. He waited a minute, then popped his head up for a quick look. The dock was lost from view among the trees as the boat skittered toward shore. Pitt slid into the seat and bumped the wheel over to keep them in deep water. Once on course, he pulled A

“Are you all right?” he asked.

She nodded. “That was a little too close for comfort.”

“It would have been even closer if I hadn’t had your crutch handy. Sorry to leave you off balance.”

“I was so scared, I didn’t even think about my ankle. I just saw it was downhill to the dock and remembered I had the house keys in my pocket. Fortunately, the boat keys were also attached.”

She unconsciously rubbed her ankle, now noticing the pain.

“Where to now?” she asked.

The wheels of justice had already been turning in Pitt’s mind. “Simple,” he said. “We head them off at the pass.”

There was only one road out from Heiland’s cabin. Pitt knew the thieves would have to pass through Bayview to escape with the stolen documents. They could be stopped, but only if he and A

Though long in the tooth, Heiland’s Chris-Craft was no turtle. The Custom Runabout was fitted with the company’s Model M engine, which churned out 130 horsepower. The old speedboat was as stylish as she was speedy, featuring a varnished mahogany finish, dual cockpits, and a rakish “barrelback” stern. A desirable boat when it had left the Algonac, Michigan, factory in 1942, it was now a prized collectible for classic boat lovers.

The elegant boat cut easily through the waves as Pitt kept the throttle down, mustering full speed from its inboard engine. Although they had a healthy head start, Pitt knew the gunmen would be desperate to escape and could travel the road back at nearly twice the boat’s speed.

A star-filled sky gave him ample light, and he nudged the boat near the shoreline to trim the distance. After a few minutes of hard ru

“How do we stop them?” A

Pitt had been ruminating on that question since they had cleared the dock. Sitting weaponless in a seventy-year-old boat with a woman who could barely walk did not give rise to many options. The obvious course of action would be to storm into the Navy facility and request help. But such an assault would more likely get them shot or arrested than gain them immediate assistance. Peering ahead, he spotted a marina dock close to the lab’s fenced security entrance. The road from Heiland’s cabin intersected the town’s main street just a short distance away. He pointed out the dock to A

“I’ll run us in there,” Pitt said. “See if you can make it up to the guard hut and convince them to call for some security to seal the road. I’ll see if I can find something to slow them down.”

“Okay, but be careful.” She reached into the rear seat for her lone crutch and braced herself to exit the boat.

The old speedboat roared through a no-wake zone and past the main marina. Angry houseboat residents ran to their windows, staring at the noisy source of their homes’ rocking. The shoreline dock was filled with small fishing boats, but Pitt spotted an empty berth and barreled toward it. Cutting power at the last second, he slid in with just a slight bump to the side of the boat. He popped from his seat and leaped to the dock, helping A

“I’m fine,” she said, tucking the crutch under her arm and hobbling down the dock.

Pitt sprinted ahead of her and ran toward the main road, leaving a trail of bloody footprints behind him. A

The streets of Bayview were deserted and the town almost silent. In the distance, Pitt detected the sound of a speeding car, and he looked down the inlet. Sure enough, headlights glimmered through the trees on the road from Heiland’s cabin.