58
RAINEY LEE WAS FEELING A BLEND OF BOILING FURY AND ORGASMIC excitement. He was certain now that God wanted to let him have his revenge, because there he was flying out onto the lake when he should have been shackled on the pier.
The ensign seemed competent but frightened. Fine, he decided, that would help motivate him. He knew that the young man couldn’t see Doris’s spirit, but there she was floating over the transom of the boat, her hair and clothes unaffected by the earthly wind and rain, her eyes scanning the horizon. He knew she was looking for the sailboat but so far wasn’t able to communicate its location. She seemed to be waiting. Maybe until they were closer. Maybe he had to do more before she could help him. It was his quest. His family couldn’t be reunited until Martin’s blood had been shed, the atonement made complete. He knew that, and he was prepared to do whatever he could to make it happen.
Everywhere he looked, his vision was blocked by an impenetrable wall of rain. He could barely see the bow of the forty-foot-long racer. The fuel gauges read between three-quarters and full, but he had no idea how long the boat could run at almost full throttle. He was dimly aware that he had fired on a policeman and escaped, but that didn’t matter; the policeman had merely been another obstacle to overcome. He had not fired on Captain Mullin to kill him, but he could have done so with ease. He would do what he had to do, and lives lost on the fringe of his quest were of no consequence, including that of the young ensign. If he tried anything, Rainey would kill him.
“Sir, we’re lost,” the ensign said. “We have to turn back.”
Rainey allowed the words to filter into his mind. He looked at the dark screen on the dash. “That’s radar,” Rainey said.
“Yes. It’s no good for looking for the Cheetah. It’s invisible to this one.”
The young man was trying to foil Rainey’s search. “Use it to locate the sailboat,” he said.
“I don’t know how it works,” he answered.
Rainey cocked the pistol and placed it behind the boy’s ear. “Figure it out,” he said. “Do I need to count to five?”
The ensign flipped a switch, and the blackened radar screen became an unblinking green eye that looked everywhere and saw everything. The shore was a slightly curving line, the bridge a straight one.
“They’re either behind the bridge or against it, being masked,” he said.
“Go to the bridge,” Rainey said. “When you get close, if they’re using it for masking we should be able to pick them up.”
Within ten minutes they had closed on the bridge, and a blip lit up green as the sweep passed through it.
“What’s that?” Rainey asked, tapping the screen with the barrel of the .357. “Son, I’d bet your life it’s the sailboat.”
Then there was another return beside the first one.
“I don’t know. There’s two. Can’t be the Cheetah.” He looked at it for a few seconds longer. “It moved east and then west, slowly. Then it sped up along a north-south line. Could be a false return.”
“A false return? What do they teach you these days?” he said. “It’s as plain as the nose on your face. It’s the sailboat, and the other’s a helicopter,” he said, laughing out loud. “Aim for the first one, son. They’re waiting for us.”
Rainey moved back so that the rain lashed his face, and he stretched out his arms and screamed into the fury, “Thank you, God,” he yelled, “for delivering my enemies!”