Chapter 64 - Outbound into the Fog
The harbor master at the private marina in Willoughby Spit didn't ask questions when Marcus tossed a heavy waterproof envelope full of untraceable currency onto his counter. Ten minutes later, the twin diesel engines of an unmarked 42-foot offshore pursuit boat rumbled to life, vibrating through the fiberglass hull like a caged predator.
The sea was running five feet, choppy and black under a sky thick with low-hanging storm clouds. Dense banks of ocean fog rolled across the mouth of the bay, obscuring the navigation buoys and swallowing the horizon.
I stood at the helm, the throttle pinned forward, the salt spray lashing across my face through the open windshield. Beside me, Marcus calibrated a tactical marine radar, watching the sweep of the green beam as it scanned through the clutter of sea returns.
"We have a signature," Marcus shouted over the roar of the diesels. "Twenty-two nautical miles off Cape Henry, bearing zero-eight-five. She’s running slow, David. Just idling outside territorial waters."
"He knows we can't bring the Coast Guard out here without risking Emma," I said, adjusting our heading into the pitch-black rollers. "He's sitting on the edge of the shelf, waiting for the trap to spring."
Behind us in the small cabin, Evelyn sat huddled against the bulkhead, her arms wrapped around her knees, shivering uncontrollably as the boat slammed down off the crest of each wave. Every rise and fall of the hull sounded like a countdown.
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I glanced at my watch. Three hours and twelve minutes until astronomical dawn. Somewhere out in that cold, bottomless expanse, my little girl was shivering on the deck of a monster's ship, looking through the dark and praying her father would come for her.
I pushed the throttle levers completely forward, and the boat surged into the void.
