There were two narrow bunks, a toilet and a minuscule stove and water tap, an area so small you could not stand up in it. He opened a drawer and found a stack of charts. He sorted quickly through them, took two that he wanted and came back to the cockpit.
He checked the autopilot. The Sea Skiff was streaking straight toward the Statue of Liberty, still miles away. He went close under the stern of a big container ship without a second glance.
Typically Heller, he perched himself sideways on the edge of the pilot seat, hooked a foot under a rung and without the least concern for the absolutely jammed traffic on the river, sat comfortably in the warm sun and began to examine the chart.
He was giving me the data I needed.
His finger went close to the Jersey shore, past the Verrazano Narrows Bridge, changed course to Fort Hancock and Sandy Hook, followed the dots of the Intracoastal Waterway as they went through the expanse, wide open to the Atlantic, found the point where it entered sheltered waters at Manasquan Inlet, went down past Silver Bay, traced south through the wide, long waters of Barnegat Bay, past Barnegat
Light, then the rest of the wide inland waterway past Beach Haven Inlet and then, curving round, to Atlantic City.
"Well, well," he said. "There we go. About a hundred and eight nautical miles, give or take a few. Right to Gardner's Basin. And lady love, like it or not, here I come!"
And here you don't! I said grimly. I had everything I needed to know. On that chart I had seen-right across from the Statue of Liberty-Fort Jay, the Coast Guard station! He would be going close to it!
I called the United States Coast Guard. To the reception telephonist who answered, I snarled, "Give me the man who polices New York Harbor, fast!"
Switches clicked. Then a cheerful voice, "Harbor Traffic Control Tower, Fort Jay. Seaman Second Class Dicey Bergsom, U. S. C. G., on watch. And what can we do for you today?"
"You can apprehend a criminal!" I snapped, offended by his cheery tone. "You see that speedboat coming down the Hudson?"
"I'll take a look. Oh, yes. I've got it now. It just changed course a bit, went under the bow of a cruise liner. Yes, I see the one you mean. Let me get a telescope on it.... Petey, you got a speedboat out there, about two-eight-four true on your radar. Clock it.... I'm trying to read its numbers, mister. She's moving so fast she's hard to keep in my field.... Got it! Sea Skiff 329-478A? Is that the one, mister?"
"(Bleep) it, yes!"
"Jesus, is that right, Petey? Mister, Petey says she's clocking 42.3 knots. Man, look at her go!... Hey, wait a minute. That number is familiar. Petey, ain't that the old Faustino Sea Skiff?... Yeah, I thought so.
Man, look at her GO! Petey, git your nose out of that radar and eyeball this.... You ever see a prettier sight?"
Another voice, "Yowee! Man, would I like to be in that on a beautiful day like this, huh, Dicey?"
"(Bleep) it!" I screamed. "DO something!"
Seaman Second Class Dicey said, "I'm sorry, mister. That's just some guy from the Narcotici mob going out to pick up a load of dope from some foreign freighter off Sandy Hook. Why would the Coast Guard be interested?"
"Arrest him!" I howled.
"There's no speed limit where he is now. He can't be arrested unless he doesn't have a foghorn and I didn't see him throw anything overboard to litter the harbor."
I glared glassy-eyed at my viewer. Heller was going by the Statue of Liberty with a roar. He raised his hand to it just as if he were returning the salute of a raised torch. He was sighting in on the Verrazano Bridge several miles ahead and getting ready to shave the westernmost point of Brooklyn to pass through the Narrows.
I had an inspiration. "It's a stolen boat!"
"Hold on, please," said the guardian of New York Harbor Traffic.
Heller reset his autopilot. He glanced to his left toward the very point I was talking to, Fort Jay.
Seaman Second Class Dicey was back on the phone. "I'm sorry, sir. I just called the Hudson Harbor dockmaster and he said they just sold it to Close Shaves, Incorporated. So it ain't stolen, sir."
"(Bleep) it!" I screamed. "Let me talk to your commanding officer!"
There were a bunch of clicks on the line. Then a very gruff, old voice. "What's all this?"
I said in a deadly voice, "A desperate criminal is escaping in Sea Skiff 329-478A."
"Is this Federal?"
"YES!"
"Who am I talking to?"
It was time to take the gloves off, time to roll up the carronades and give them a broadside. I had become wise. And deadly. "Swindle and Crouch, the Rockecen-ter attorneys," I said.
"Jesus!" Ah, what a satisfactorily shocked voice!"What was that number again?"
"Sea Skiff 329-478A. He's heading for Atlantic City via the Intracoastal Waterway!"
"And you want him arrested?"
"Put in leg irons," I said, "and delivered to the New York City Police!"
"Well, it would do no good to send a chopper after him. They don't carry irons."
"Are you going to act," I snarled, "or do I get you court-martialled?"
"Oh, yes, sir, yes sir, we'll act. Just a minute. Hold on!" There was a pause. Then, "The fast patrol craft 81 happens to be patrolling down off Barnegat Light. It can speed north and intercept him. Should be able to make contact well before he can enter Manasquan Inlet. He'll still be in the broad Atlantic and not yet in protected inland waters."
"Is that patrol craft armed?"
"Oh, yes, sir. They carry a forward gun that could blow that Sea Skiff to bits. And the 81 can go a bit faster than the fugitive vessel. I'm sure it can do the job."
"You make (bleeped) sure it does!" I grated.
"Oh, yes, sir! You can depend on the Coast Guard where Rockecenter interests are involved. My name is
Grumper. Captain George C. Grumper, U. S. C. G...."
"Issue the orders!"
"Oh, yes, sir. I'm writing the message right now! 'Sea Skiff 329-478A on southerly course from New York, travelling at 42.3 knots. Intercept before it can enter protected waters at Manasquan Inlet. Arrest the man in it. Put in irons. Deliver to the New York Police. Succeed at any cost. Do not fail.' I am sending this to the 81 with highest operational priority instantly. Will that be all right?"
"Yes," I said. "But you better deliver, Captain Grumper!"
I rang off.
Only then did I permit myself a smile, a very Apparatus smile. Heller was just passing under the Verra-zano Narrows Bridge, white spray, blue water and bright, spring sun. Little did he know the trap that had been laid.
He had gotten past or around the police some way I could not fathom.
But I had not mentioned any name of identity to the Coast Guard. They would grab anybody in that boat! And I would make sure, through Dingaling, Chase and Ambo, that that was a grab that would be made to stick!
Heller, admire the gulls as you streak by. This is NOT the day you will see your lady love!
About an hour later, Heller was well past Sandy Hook and was flashing down the coast of New Jersey with the broad Atlantic to his left. The glassy swells were slight, the scattered white clouds reflected in them. As the sea was on his beam, all it did was make the Sea Skiff rise and fall a bit, rhythmically, as it planed. It did indeed seem to be riding with only its propellers and rudders in the water.
It was on autopilot and Heller had the long-cabled remote control in his pocket. He was walking about the cockpit drinking a nonalcoholic beer and eating a pastrami sandwich, admiring the distant shore and evidently enjoying the sun.
How typically Heller, I thought. I would have been as seasick as a dog and it made me feel queasy just watching him enjoy the day and his lunch.