Crystal Blue (Buck Reilly Adventure Series Book 3), John Cunningham [top fiction books of all time TXT] 📗

Once amidships, I killed the motor. The side of the ship went nearly 60 feet straight up to the top, but there was a lower deck thirty feet above the water. I hoped the guard on the bow hadn’t alerted his associate on the back end of our presence. I took one of the oars and started to paddle toward the rear of the dark monster. Boom-Boom caught on and grabbed the other oar. The water ahead was lit up and I realized they had lights on under the waterline.

Of course.

If we were discovered, we’d say the engine failed. If they threatened us—

“What’s the plan?” Diego whispered.

I nodded toward the back of the yacht. It was the logical place to try and board, but with the water lit up—

In the darkness I spotted a white line hanging down the side of the ship from the lower deck above, not more than ten feet above the water. From that lower deck the superstructure tiered down toward the back of the yacht, with what I assumed to be three different deck levels.

“Psst!”

They turned toward me. I nodded toward the rope.

“Paddle over there.”

From the bow, Boom-Boom switched sides and turned us toward the yacht. If they had radar or any other types of perimeter alarms, we’d know soon enough. I pitched in with deep thrusts into the black water, which produced a swirl of phosphorescence around our paddles, and in what seemed a long couple of minutes we zigzagged our way up to the hull of the yacht.

Next to it, I felt infinitesimal.

“Now what?” The urgency in Diego’s whisper made it clear he thought I was nuts.

“See that rope hanging down from the second deck? If I get up on Boom-Boom’s shoulders, maybe I can reach it and climb up. You continue toward the back. When the guard sees you, steer close and if he says anything, chat him up for a minute.”

“Can you climb that fucking thing?” Diego said.

“We’re about to find out.”

TWENTY FEET UP THE wall of fiberglass I knew I’d made a foolish decision. My palms oozed blood and my arms weighed a hundred pounds each. I focused on my breathing and tried not to flop against the side of the ship.

A flashback to reruns of Batman my father used to make me and my brother watch when we were kids. This looked a hell of a lot easier on TV.

One hand after the other…

My hand slipped. I slid—my toe caught—I stopped. I held my breath.

A glance down spied my right big toe clutching a piece of black metal trim.

With the rope wrapped around my forearm, I rubbed a blister-bubbled palm against my sweat-soaked shirt and risked a glance all the way down. The dinghy, which now looked tiny, had just entered the radius of light that emanated from beneath the ship.

I sucked in a deep breath—I was behind schedule. I gritted my teeth and renewed the ascent.

One hand after another…come on, Batman…one hand…after…the other.

So focused on each inch of ascent, I was surprised when the rope turned at a ninety degree angle below the railing—I’d reached the top. I glanced up and down the walkway. To the left were stairs going up. To the right was about a twenty-foot straightaway that dropped off in what I assumed were more steps.

No people. My arms shook like a luffing sail in a twenty-knot wind as I pulled myself up over the edge. I lay flat on the teak deck for a moment. The sound of my heart throbbed in my head, my hands were raw meat, my legs wet spaghetti. A voice sounded below—

Shit!

I got up off the deck, rushed ahead in a crouch, and found stairs down toward the back. I descended into darkness. A line of soft lights were imbedded in the outer edge of the deck, and what had appeared as dark blue fiberglass along the side was actually glass tinted the same color as the hull. Perfect. For all I knew, I was being watched right now as I ran down the stairs toward another straightaway that again dropped into oblivion.

I hadn’t heard any more voices, but I assumed—hoped—it was the guard on the back calling out to the dinghy. And that it was only one guard.

The closer I got to the rear deck, the brighter the red light became.

“Stay back!” A voice ahead sounded.

I stopped so fast I slid on the wet teak.

Another voice responded from below, but all I heard was “brudda.”

Boom-Boom.

“No closer!” the man on the deck said.

Hunched over, I crept up to the corner. A sentry in black was peering over the edge. He held a machine pistol behind him so they couldn’t see it from below. A quick glance around revealed he was alone.

The distance was about fifty-feet—

“I said get back!” The guard swung the gun forward.

I rushed toward him, and halfway there it occurred to me I needed a plan. On a table ahead of me was a silver thermos. I grabbed it as I hurried past, making a metallic scrape. The guard half-turned as I closed the distance—

“You want some weed!” Boom-Boom bellowed from below.

Apparently he did, because he turned back as I lunged forward and beaned the side of his head with the thermos.

The guard’s legs buckled. As he fell toward the edge of the deck he pulled the trigger on the gun and it exploded into the night with a flame a foot long. I grabbed the gun while he kept going, fell the twenty feet and made a large splash ten feet away from the dinghy.

Boom-Boom and Diego stared up at me, their eyes bathed in the brilliant red light I now stood under. Boom-Boom held up both hands, palms up, and shook his head. They paddled toward the dive platform on the bottom deck.

The sound of an alarm broke the silence.

So much for our plan to be super stealth.