And the hand pump—they wouldn’t have got even this far without it. Into the wind, they paddled; when the twisting channel put the wind to their backs, Jack let Dad rest while he worked the pump to rid them of the rainwater that kept accumulating around their feet.

The canoe had been flooded when they found it. They’d flipped it to empty it, then wasted precious time trying to get the little motor to turn over. Carl finally got it going and they were off.

Jack cupped his hands around his mouth and leaned back toward Carl.

“Did we get to the shallows yet?” he shouted above the din of the rain.

Carl nodded. “Just passed them.”

And we didn’t have to get out and walk, Jack thought. Testament to the amount of water falling out of that sky.

“Let me know when we’re almost to the lagoon.”

Ahead of him Jack noticed that his father had stopped paddling. His oar rested across his lap as he rubbed his left shoulder.

“You okay?” he said, leaning forward.

Dad turned sideways. All Jack could see was his profile; the rest of his head was tucked into the poncho hood.

“I’m okay. Just not used to this sort of thing. At least I don’t have to worry about the lightning.”

“Why not?”

“I tried to lead an orchestra once and found out I was a poor conductor.”

Jack gave him a gentle shove. “One more of those and we toss you overboard!” He could see Dad was exhausted, but not too exhausted to come up with a rotten pun. He gripped his shoulder. “Take a breather. We’re almost there.”

Dad gave a silent nod.

Jack bent his back into paddling, forcing the canoe ahead into the wind. And as he sweated, he planned. They’d reach the lagoon soon. He tried to picture the layout…the houseboats, the huts on the bank. Would the clan be on the boats or ashore? Would they be at the lagoon at all?

Had to be. The lights would keep them there.

Light…it was fading fast. Somewhere on the far side of Elvis the sun was crawling toward the horizon, but the storm swallowed up its light, leaving Jack and company in growing darkness.

Good. The lower the light, the longer it would take the clan to figure out how much backup Jack had brought along.

He felt a tap on his shoulder: Carl.

“We’ll be getting to the hummock soon.”

The storm seemed to let up as they fought their way into the rainforestlike tunnel of green at the edge of the hummock. The palms, banyans, and gumbo limbo trees seemed to hang lower under the weight of the rain; aerial roots and vines brushed against their ponchos.

“Couple more turns and we’ll be in the lagoon,” Carl said.

Jack leaned back. “Should we shut off the motor?”

At that moment a bolt of lightning struck close enough for Jack to hear its buzz and sizzle; the almost simultaneous blast of thunder hit him like a fist.

He could just barely hear Carl through the ringing in his ears: “I don’t think that’ll be a problem. You?”

“Probably not, but shut down anyway.”

No telling what kind of vibrations the little motor might set up in the hulls of those ships. Why risk tipping them off?

Wind and rain blasted them again as the canoe slipped out of the tree tunnel and into the relative open. Straight for a while, then around a bend and they were in the lagoon.

At least he thought it was the lagoon. The water was wider and he could see only the near bank on his right, but where were the houseboats? He had a bad moment as he looked around and couldn’t find them, then a flash of lightning lit up the area and he saw both boats through the rain, floating straight ahead. TheBull-ship sat to the left, theHorse-ship to the right.

Dad must have spotted them too because he turned and started motioning toward the right bank.

“Put it in over there!” he said.

Jack figured he must have his reasons—and he was, after all, the only one with military training—so he passed the message to Carl.

When the canoe nosed into the bank, Dad hopped out and motioned Jack and Carl ashore. He led them to the lee side of a stand of twisted palms where they could converse without shouting.

“If they’re here,” Dad said, “they’re on those boats. Agreed?”

Jack nodded. “Agreed.”

“Okay. Then we need to deploy ourselves around the bank at wide intervals along a hundred-fifty-degree arc, no bigger.”

“Why not?” Jack asked.

“Because when you get much closer to one-eighty you run the risk of shooting at each other. Ideally we want all three of us to have line of sight to both boats, but if that doesn’t work, then the two flanking guns will concentrate their fire on the nearer boat; the gun in the center can fire on either—wherever it’s most needed.”

“Dad, I’m looking to get this done without turning the lagoon into the OK Corral.”

“Amen to that, but we have to be prepared for a worst-case scenario.” Dad patted the Mossberg through his poncho. “To get the most out of shotguns in this rain and low light, we’ll need to set up about fifty to seventy-five feet from the boats. That’s closer than I’d like, and lots closer than I’m used to, but these conditions don’t leave us much choice.”

Dad’s takeover of the tactics impressed Jack. He seemed to be talking from experience, so Jack deferred to his judgment.

“Just don’t set up too near the cenote,” Jack warned him. “You might see some lights shining up from it, but don’t get curious. Just stay away.”

“You mean the sinkhole?” Carl said. “I’ll take that spot. The lights’ve already done what they’re gonna do to me.”

Dad said, “Speaking of lights, if we do get into a firefight, don’t stay in one spot. We can hide pretty well in the rain and the dark, but our guns don’t have flash suppressers, so once we start firing, the muzzle flash will give away your position. Fire and move, fire and move. Unless of course you can time your shot to a lightning flash, but that’s a lot easier said than done.”

Jack swung the plastic bag with the grenades and the big Ruger over his shoulder. “Carl, you take the north position, near the cenote; Dad, you set up on the south end, I’ll take the middle; that way I can lob a grenade at either boat should the need arise.”

Which he hoped wouldn’t. He didn’t feature being shot at, and liked his father being shot at even less. The old guy had the experience, and he had the skills, but he also had a body that didn’t move or react like it did in its heyday.

“Anyone see any problems with that?”

Dad and Carl shook their heads.

“Good. Okay, once we’re all in position, I’ll fire a couple of shots to get their attention, then tell them I’m from the Novaton Police Department and demand they release Anya or else.”

Dad grinned. “Novaton Police Department? You’re planning to kill them with laughter…is that the plan? Better off saying you’re from the Miami-Dade Sheriff’s Department.”

“What if they don’t buy it?” Carl said. “What if they start shooting?”

“Then we’ll have to shoot back—unless of course they bring Anya on deck.”

“Then what?” Carl asked.

“Then we improvise.”

Lifting his poncho to reveal the Mossberg, Dad spoke to Carl. “Since these are loaded with alternating slugs and double-ought, I suggest we aim the buckshot at the decks and the slugs at the waterline, preferably near the bow. Anywhere but the superstructure. At this range the boat walls will, I hope, stop most of the shot, but the slugs will go through them like paper, and Anya could be in there.”

Carl nodded. “Gotcha. Easy. Those boats is too pan-o-ramic to miss.”

Dad looked at Carl, then Jack.

“Don’t ask, Dad.” Jack gestured ahead. “Let’s go.”

“And look out for that alligator along the way,” Dad said.

Carl shook his head. “I heard Semelee and Luke talkin while I was stuck here and they was sayin Devil was hurt bad. The way they was talking, I don’t think he’ll be up for chasin us.”