She just needed to make it into the lights of the marina, now two hundred yards away. The bow of her boat slammed the water at full speed in a steady pounding rhythm.
She heard more crack-crack-crack then a sickening bink-bink-bink of the shots penetrating the Cobalt’s engine. She spun the wheel to serpentine her route, but the rudder didn’t respond. The boat raced straight ahead toward the concrete docks of the marina, now fifty yards away. Out of the corner of her eye, she saw a bright orange light behind her. Her engine was on fire!
Could she make it to the marina before the engine blew? She was still speeding ahead, unable to turn. Ricky was gaining. She took one last glance at the dock ahead, then at the cigarette, then counted . . . one, two, three . . . and dove headfirst into the water . . . four, five—Ka-boom!—the Deputy Director’s boat exploding in a ball of flames.
35.
U.S. STATE DEPARTMENT HEADQUARTERS, WASHINGTON, D.C.
THURSDAY, 8:22 P.M.
Where the hell is Jessica?” Judd shouted to his empty office. He slammed down the phone.
He hadn’t wanted help from his wife. But he hadn’t seen any option, so he’d reluctantly asked Jessica to go to the fund-raiser for Brenda Adelman-Zamora and see what she could find out. He was hoping she would discover a link to Ruben Sandoval. Or at least a clue as to the political activities of the Cuban exile community in Florida. Something. Anything.
But she hadn’t called him back. Jessica also hadn’t replied to his text messages and now she wasn’t answering her phone. It was going straight to voicemail as if her phone were turned off. Or lost. That wasn’t like her.
Judd tried to concentrate on his work, on figuring out the connections between Sandoval, Richard Green, the captured Americans, the White House, and the U.S. Congress. Judd knew he was missing something, probably something big. And he was now reliant, yet again, on Jessica to find the lost piece of the puzzle.
Where they hell was she? Assist was rule one. This was why Judd and Jessica had promised to help each other when they could. They wouldn’t become entangled in each other’s missions, but they were supposed to be a team. So where was she?
Maybe asking his wife to go to a party at a fancy house in South Florida was a mistake? Party . . . Judd thought. I’m stuck here in the stale air of a State Department office while Jessica is probably sipping champagne?
36.
PORT EVERGLADES, FLORIDA
THURSDAY, 8:24 P.M.
The reverberation of the blast rocked Jessica’s skull, but she retained consciousness.
She watched the orange fireball plume from just below the water’s surface. Jessica then held her breath and waited a few more seconds, just as she had been trained, pausing to allow the smoking debris from the destroyed Cobalt to slam back to earth and fizzle. She swam underwater a few yards closer to shore, searching for a safe place to resurface. The gnarled knuckles of mangrove roots provided the perfect camouflage.
Jessica, hidden among the mangroves, grabbed a quick breath and then stealthily lowered her body again so just her eyes were above the water. Like an alligator stalking prey, she floated motionlessly, watching Ricky Green pilot the cigarette boat in circles, searching for her body, in the black water amid the smoldering flotsam. She could taste the brackish, salty water on her lips. Ricky then shut down the engine and pulled out a heavy-duty Maglite, sweeping a bright beam across the marina.
After finding nothing, he cursed loudly. An old man in a security guard uniform suddenly appeared on the marina dock. “Hey, buddy, you see that?” he shouted, cupping both hands around his mouth.
“No! I didn’t see what happened,” Ricky replied, shrugging. “Grab my line!” Ricky tossed the man a bowline and they tied up the cigarette. Small specks of burning embers floated where Jessica’s boat had been.
“Holy moley,” the old man’s voice quavered. “I just saw a ball of fire. Golly, anybody on that boat?”
“I’ll keep looking,” Ricky said, holding up his flashlight. “You go call nine-one-one!”
Jessica watched the guard limp off as Ricky hustled across the marina to the parking lot. He checked over both shoulders, then the lights of a bright yellow Hummer flashed and she could hear the chirp-chirp as the doors unlocked. Ricky slid into the Hummer’s driver’s seat and drove out toward the gate.
Jessica swam over to the dock and scampered up a ladder. The old man emerged from a small shed, holding a cell phone, his eyes wide as he suddenly noticed the beautiful woman in a soaked cocktail dress. “Hey, lady, you all right?” he shouted.
“Call the police!” she shouted.
“I’m on the line right now!” he said, holding up his phone to show her.
“Give me the phone,” she ordered. “You get a spotlight and start searching the shoreline.”
“Where’d that other guy go?” he asked, tossing her the phone.