Crash Course by Derek Fee (pdf to ebook reader .txt) 📕

in the water and sheets of cold grey spray flew over the cockpit canopy and splashed on the cargo and the hapless Jaime. He kept the throttle full out as he powered forward due east towards the safety of the coastline.

On board the Santo Cristobel, Silva watched the radar as intently as Kane watched his. He shouted at his helmsman to give him more speed, knowing full well that his boat was already travelling at full speed. The information on the Mexican ship had been concise but nobody had anticipated the rendezvous to be so far out at sea. It would now be a race for the coast and Silva would give it his best shot. The young Spaniard looked out the window of the bridge into the pitch darkness. It would be hours before streaks of grey light would illuminate their world. Silva would prefer to take them alive but his orders were to blow them out of the water if it looked like they were getting away. The blip on the radar screen changed direction and Silva shouted the change of course to his helmsman. No, you don’t, Silva thought watching the green blip on the glass screen. We are now locked together and we will stay that way until I take you.

Kane glanced at the radar screen as the boat shuddered from the impact with a wave. It had been half an hour since the first radar contact and it was now incontestable that the contact was pursuing them. There was still about seven miles between the two boats but because of the angle of approach to the coastline, the contact was gaining slowly but steadily. Kane had opened the throttle and the sound of the engines whining cut through the silence of the night. He looked up from the radar glass and glanced back at Jaime. The Colombian had moved forward to a position about eight feet behind his back to avoid the steady flow of seawater which lashed the afterdeck like a rain squall. Kane was concentrated on evading their pursuer but in the back of his mind was the thought that he would somehow have to avail himself of this occasion to attain his primary objective – his own survival. Jaime still held the Uzi trained on his back. The look on the Colombian’s face was alert but Kane noticed something new in his eyes. It was fear.

If the Colombian hadn’t been so cold and wet, he would have been sweating. Seawater streamed off his sodden clothes and formed a puddle at his feet. His sense of apprehension had been increasing during the trip and he certainly didn’t need the pummelling the boat was receiving from the waves as it raced away from the pursuing radar blip.

They hit a wave and lifted out of the water momentarily, only to crash back into the dark waters.

“Madonna, ayuda-me,” Jaime said softly his feet slipping on the wet afterdeck as the boat pounded the waves. Kane turned from the wheel and stared at him. The Colombian thought he saw a smile flicker on his lips. The hijo de puta was laughing at him. If only he didn’t need the bastardo so badly. Jaime made himself a vow that as soon as they reached land, he would not delay in putting a burst from the Uzi into the puerco. They would see who would have the last laugh.

Lieutenant Silva sat in his chair and stared through the window of the bridge. The chase had been on for more than an hour and still their prey ran before them. He settled back and took his mug of coffee from the receptacle built into the arm of his chair. His patrol boat crashed through the waves with the engines pushed to their limit. He told himself to be patient, remembering the fishing expeditions with his father. Patience, the old man had whispered when Jorge had hooked his first skate in the very waters they were passing over. A big fish must be played before it can be landed. The electronics on his boat were his line keeping contact with his fish. Little by little the line was growing smaller and soon the fish would be in sight. The young lieutenant had learned that one did not land the big fish with one tug of the line. He watched the blip on the radar screen while he sipped his coffee. They were gaining but the early morning light would show that the coast with its numerous bays and inlets would shortly be within reach. The young Spaniard knew that if their quarry reached the coves and inlets, the balance would suddenly tip away from him. He mentally urged his powerful vessel to move forward faster.

It was pitch black and the shape of the rocky coast of Galicia could be seen in relief against the dark sky. Kane didn’t have to keep an eye on the radar to know that they were still being pursued. In open water, the Spanish patrol boat would be locked onto them like a Patriot missile to a Scud. It would be a different matter if he could reach the coastline before they sighted him. The Mercury engines hummed as he poured on every ounce of power they could deliver. Time was running out. As soon as they reached the safety of the coast, he would become expendable. The boat launched into the air as it hit the top of a wave. Kane turned in time to see Jaime totter slightly as the speedboat crashed back to earth. The Colombian quickly and agilely regained his stance, the Uzi barely wavering during the second of instability.

Kane was heading directly for the series of inlets known as the Rias Bajas which stretched from the city of Vigo in the south to Cape Finisterre in the north. The coast was now only four miles ahead but his radar told him that the Spanish patrol boat had closed to less than