Langston Marsh …
A single blast could have resulted from something random and mechanical. But two spaced this close could only be sabotage, and professional at that. Raiff came to this conclusion in the moments just before the power died, replaced only by emergency floodlights that did little to break the darkness. The harsh stench of oil and the sight of thick clouds of black smoke flooding the tour boat’s covered area told him the bomber, or bombers, knew exactly what they were doing.
As he moved to help Dr. Donati, who’d slipped out of his chair, Raiff also registered the fact that the explosions had been triggered in the hull, well below the waterline. Divers, then—commandos, in all likelihood, well versed in such things—which again suggested the work of Marsh’s modern-day Fifth Column. Clearly he was upping the ante and, just as clearly, enough information had reached him to suggest that Dancer was no ordinary target.
“What happened? Are we sinking?” a ghost-white Donati managed to ask, as Raiff helped him back to his feet.
“We were attacked,” Raiff said, leaving it there. Then, swinging fast, “Alex?”
“I’m fine.”
The smell of oil was already stronger, the smoke thickening, when the covered area of the boat began to take on water. Raiff couldn’t tell where it was coming from, meaning it was coming from lots of places at once, which suggested a catastrophic hull rupture.
“Lifeboats!” he called out.
But Alex had already surged ahead of him for the stairs, joining those who’d chosen to enjoy the tour without the bother of the biting wind or cool mist rising off the sea. They pushed up the stairs in a pack, needing to cling to both railings with the boat now listing at what felt like a forty-five-degree angle and increasing. Raiff clung as close as he could to Alex without shoving the other passengers forcefully aside. Keeping the boy safe had been his sole purpose for eighteen years, hyper-exaggerated over the last forty-eight hours. So strange to think of little else for so long without needing to act, only to have the tables turned so suddenly and violently.
Once on deck, Raiff had no choice but to forgo his attempt at restraint. An all-out panic had set in, exaggerated further by the boat’s desperate, dying keeling. For all Raiff knew, Marsh’s men had infiltrated the tour and had waited for just these moments of chaos to strike, when their target would be most vulnerable. So his rapid scan of faces focused on eyes filled with precision instead of panic. In the process, Alex drew too far ahead of him in the direction of the life rafts, which the crew were doing an incredible job of readying to abandon ship.
“Stay with me, Alex!” Still holding fast to Donati so as not to lose him to the crowd, Raiff’s gaze captured Samantha as well. “Both of you!” he added, leading them away from the cluttered mass of humanity funneling toward the aft side.
“But the life rafts are there!” Alex protested, holding his ground.
“Not all of them,” said Raiff.
100
LIFEBOAT
THEIR LIFE RAFT HIT the water hard, Alex tensing and instinctively taking a deep breath when it seemed certain to topple over from absorbing the initial brunt of impact solely on its nose. But the raft flattened out quickly, melding with the waves instead of fighting their swell, and it was just the four of them sliding about the soft bottom and going for the life vests clasped to the sides.
Except Raiff, who went for the oars instead, to get them clear of the tour boat before it keeled all the way over.
“Is everyone all right?” he cried out, as he began to row, alternating the oars to turn the raft away from the listing boat.
“Oh, my God,” Donati cried out.
“Alex, talk to me!”
“I’m fine!” Alex called back to him, as he tightened the straps on Sam’s life vest for her.
“Oh, my God,” Donati said again.
A big swell tossed a gush of water over the side, the raft feeling weightless against the power of the wave rocking it. Alex didn’t ski much but he’d taken to it quickly, as he took to pretty much anything athletic. He recalled the sense of “getting air” off a mogul jump or natural hump in the trail. That’s what this felt like, the whole raft getting air. He felt Sam throw herself against him and captured her in his grasp, hugging her tight. She clung to him, trembling horribly from the cold and shock. Alex ran a hand through her hair, tightened his grasp.
All he could do.
“Oh, my God,” Donati repeated.
Raiff had somehow managed to get the raft righted, the waves still fighting him every inch of the way, but now he seemed to be winning. Angling them for the nearest landmass, which was little more than a dark blotch set against the mist and the night.
“That’s it!” Donati cried out, rising in the raft to point in the direction Raiff was steering.