Hatteras Blue by David Poyer Read Free Book Online Page A

some things have dropped out recently. What did you have in mind?"
    "Historical research. You may find it interesting. It'll be worth your while." He glanced at Hirsch again. "That is—if you can spare the time."
    Galloway regarded him; was opening his mouth to speak when far behind them the sea suddenly split open. A white plume raged skyward, with black bits of wreckage in it. The shock shuddered along their hull before they heard its rumble in the air. "It seemed so long," said Galloway, looking back. "I half thought it failed."
    "It couldn't," said Keyes. "There are some men who succeed. Who will to, no matter what opposes them. Thus they force fate. And you are one of us."
    Their eyes met, and held for a long moment. No one watching could have told whether it was with admiration or distrust.
    four
    T he rescue squad had come and gone, the
    doctor on call decided not to evacuate Caffey north. He could recuperate from bruised ribs and mild shock as well at home as in Norfolk. Hirsch went with the ambulance. A sheriffs deputy stayed, talking first to Galloway and then briefly to Keyes. The sun was slanting toward the sound when he left and they were finally able to go below.
    "Watch your head on that companionway," said Galloway.
    Keyes bowed a little, keeping the stoop as he followed Galloway forward. He lingered at the door, staring around the cramped bunkroom. Plywood shelves had been hammered into the bulkhead above a neatly made single bunk. Frayed bungee cords secured the books. Navigation, history, philosophy, a Bible, a few novels. A piece of clear plastic had been roughly taped over a broken porthole.
    "Drink?" grunted Galloway, pulling a full bottle of bourbon from behind his mattress.
    "Don't use it much. But I guess a touch wouldn't hurt. With water."
    "Unlash that chair and pull it over."
    Keyes balanced it on its rear legs and lifted his glass to the shelves. "A reader, eh?"
    Galloway nodded. He was pouring his second, straight, before Keyes had tasted his.
    "A drinker too, I see."
    "Man gets dry in four years."
    "That how long you were in prison?"
    "That's right."
    "Where?"
    "Central. Raleigh."
    "You mind talking about it?"
    'Yeah, I mind."
    "What were you in for?"
    "I was broke. A guy offered me a can't-lose deal. I'd provide the boat. He'd provide cargo and crew."
    Keyes took a sip. "Marijuana?"
    "Mixed. That and cocaine."
    "From?"
    "Colombia."
    "Say, this tastes kind of ... moldy. Does yours?"
    "No, liquor's okay. Must be the water. Been sitting in the peak tank for quite a while."
    The blond man looked at his glass, then set it on the deck beside him. "So. What happened?"
    "About what?"
    "How did you get caught?"
    "Just a minute, mister. I was cross-examined on all this four years ago. There any reason to go through it again with you?"
    "I told you: If I have a job for someone, Captain, I like to know who he is. What happened on the way north?"
    Instead of answering Galloway got up. The only light in the closed compartment was from the dying sun. It slid through the porthole and made a swaying red ellipse on the far bulkhead. Keyes had been staring at him since the interview started. Now, in the dimming bloody light, Galloway watched the pale blue irises widen even more. The effect was hypnotic: He had to blink before he could tear his gaze away. He shrugged, turned around, found himself without pacing room with Keyes in the chair, and sat down again. "What the hell ... we made one run without any problem. Then somebody turned. The Coast Guard was waiting when I made Virginia Beach the second time."
    "That must have been hard on your family. Especially the Coast Guard involvement."
    Galloway nodded, then caught himself and glanced up from under. "What do you know about my family?"
    "Just that the name means something down here. All those Lifesaving Service heroes, going out in surfboats in storms to rescue the shipwrecked. Your—grandfather, was it?—helped the Wrights launch their flyer up on Kill