The very least she might do would be to slow the Britannia down. But without guns how was it to be done? Maybe she could ram Dave's boat. Perhaps even sink him. And probably sink herself at the same time. Sinking Dave might have been less hazardous if there had been a boat with some sort of gun, like the 25-millimetre rapid fire guns aboard one of the Coast Guard patrol boats that Sam Brockman commanded. Not that he was any help to her now. Nor Kent Bowen. There was simply no time to crack the remainder of the combination to the safe on board the Juarista and get the handcuff keys to release the two of them. Bowen would probably be more of a hindrance anyway. The more she thought about it, the more she decided it was better Bowen stayed out of her way. Things couldn't get any worse for her future with the Bureau than they already were. Finding the crew and releasing them looked like a better bet.
Kate crept up on deck, mounted the dock wall, and ran along to the accommodations block. Behind her she heard a sound that made her think she might have a little more time than she had expected. The Britannia seemed to be having trouble starting up its engines. They had just backfired and then died. The noise reminded her of Jellicoe's two trophy cannons, and suddenly she thought she saw a way of getting back into the game. Hadn't the captain boasted of firing those cannons once a year to commemorate Nelson's birthday? Jellicoe's eccentricity might provide her with just the edge she needed to stop Dave. Now, if she could only release him and his crew in time.
'Why won't she start?' demanded Al. Dave winced. 'Damned if I know.' He turned the ignition key again, listening carefully to the sound it made and then glanced at the fuel gauge. But for the needle registering full tanks, he might have said they were out of gas. Exasperated, Dave shook his head and tried again. Nothing.
'Maybe a stray bullet hit something,' suggested Al. 'Forty-five caliber goes straight through people. Must have ended up somewhere.'
'Maybe. I'm going below to take a look.'
'Well hurry it up.'
The engine room was in the stern of the boat, separated from the full-width master suite where the two bodies lay by a well-insulated watertight bulkhead. Mercifully, Dave did not have to go through the stateroom to get in there. Just climb down a narrow stairwell and open a set of double doors. Once inside the engine room, he knelt by one of the boat's two Detroit diesel engines. A cursory examination of the fuel line entering the engine revealed that it wasn't receiving any fuel at all. Dave opened the tank and shone a flashlight inside. It was full of diesel.
'There must be some kind of blockage in the fuel line,' he said as Al appeared in the doorway. He checked the fuel line to the second engine and frowned. 'Still, they can't both be blocked. Fuel pump must have packed up.'
'Shit.' Al punched the bulkhead wall hard. 'Shit.'
For a moment Dave was haunted by the recollection of something Kate had said at the party. Something about the impellers. If they packed up so did the pump and so did the diesel. Except that there were two engines, two fuel pumps, and two sets of impellers. What were the odds on both impellers packing up at the same time? Two of everything except fuel tanks. There was only one fuel tank. The problem had to be in there.
'I guess we'd better get ourselves another boat,' said Al. 'And here was me thinking I was through fetching and carrying for the rest of my fuckin' life.'
'Wait a minute,' said Dave. 'I've got an idea.'
He went back up on deck, returning moments later with a boat hook.
'It's a long shot,' he explained, inserting the end of the pole into the tank and stirring it around. 'But it could be...' Immediately golden diesel filled both clear plastic fuel lines. Dave grinned. 'Son of a bitch.'
'What?'
'There's something stashed in the tanks. I can feel it on the end of this pole. Something soft and squishy. Not hard like the bottom of the tank. It feels like some kind of a rag. Or maybe a bag.' Suddenly it dawned on him what it was he could feel on the end of the boat hook. 'Of course. These tanks must be full of narcotics. That was why they were so nervous, Al. This was the boat the Feds were watching.'
'I thought you said they were watching Captain Jellicoe?'
'He must be in it too,' Dave said, improvising. 'More than likely one of the bags broke free during the storm and blocked the fuel outlet. Look, you'd better stay below deck with the hook in case it happens again. If the engine cuts out just stir it around in there. But not too hard. If the bag bursts the engine will get a hit of whatever shit it is. Coke probably. And that'll be the whole engine OD'd. There ain't no adrenalin shot to remedy that kind of trip.'
'OK,' said Al. 'Now can we get the fuck out of here?'
'We're on our way.'
