Dylan chuckled, came out of the spiral, and shot forward again, checking and correcting his course.
“You’re a crazy bastard!” Paulito shouted.
The second boat hesitated, its crew trying to decide whether they should rescue their comrades in the water or leave them and try to find them later. But Dylan had little doubt what they would choose. For men who killed for a living, life was cheap.
A moment later, the bastards were on their tail again.
Where the hell was a grenade launcher when you needed one? He had explosive breaching charges, but he couldn’t very well ask the enemy to stop and wait for him to attach one to their boat.
Ratatat! Ratatat! Ratatat!
They opened fire, but couldn’t shoot worth shit, not bouncing along on the swells.
“Gabi, I need you to take the wheel!”
“Me?” She stood, fear on her pretty face.
He gave her a quick lesson. “This is the throttle. This steers the ship. All you have to do is hold this course and speed. Can you do that?”
Ratatat! Ratatat! Ratatat!
She looked into his eyes, clearly terrified, but nodded. “Yes. Yes, I can do it.”
God, he loved her.
He grabbed his rifle, crawled toward the stern, and got into position.
The other boat accelerated, rapidly gaining on them.
Dylan willed himself to relax, raised the weapon, and sighted on the pilot of the other craft. He watched, waited, adjusting for the rhythms of the waves, the beat of his pulse, the pace of his breathing.
BAM!
The man fell back, pulling the throttle with him.
The boat slowed, drifted, bobbing in the water as the remaining men on board scrambled to get the body out of the way and take over.
Onehijoeputodown. Five to go.
He raised the rifle again, the boat far behind them now. But someone else would take the helm, and they would catch up. And he’d take that bastard out, too.
“Dylan!” Gabriela called for him. “Helicopters!”
He searched the sky, saw three white and orange AW139s flying straight toward them. He stayed low, made his way back up to the cabin, the choppers almost on them.
“What should I do?”
He grabbed the binoculars.¡Wepa! Fuck, yes!“Those aren’t cartel helicopters. They’re Dutch Caribbean Coast Guard. We’re in Dutch waters now.”
Gabriela sagged against him, going weak with relief, her eyes drifting shut. “Thank God and the Blessed Virgin and Saint Anthony.”
Paulito stood, seeming surprised to be alive, but mad as hell. “You bastard, what will they do to me? Am I going to jail?”
“No, Paulito.” Gabriela hugged him. “You’re not going to jail. We’re very grateful for your help. We’ll make sure you get paid.”
One helo hovered over them, while the other two continued toward to the cigarette boats. Then a voice came over a loudspeaker. “This is the Dutch Caribbean Coast Guard. Cut your engine and prepared to be boarded!”
“Who are you?” Paulito asked again.