“Sun, where are you? The Mercedes man is here and they left the boat unguarded. Never mind the distraction, just get back here and be ready to drive. I’m going in.”
Bosch pocketed the phone and stood up. He checked the crane boat one last time and then bolted from cover. He crossed the wharf to the pier and began moving toward the end. He held the gun in a two-handed grip, up and ready.
36
Stacks of empty crates on the pier afforded Bosch partial cover but the last twenty yards to the gangway of the crane boat were wide open and exposed. He picked up his speed and quickly covered the distance, ducking at the last moment behind the Mercedes idling next to the gangway. Bosch noted the distinctive sound and smell of the diesel engine. He peeked over the line of the trunk and saw no reaction to his moves coming from the boat. He jumped from cover, moved quickly and quietly across the gangway and then picked his way between six-foot-wide hatch covers on the deck. He finally slowed his pace as he reached the pilothouse. He pressed himself against the wall next to the door.
Harry slowed his breathing and listened. He heard nothing over the sound of the throbbing engines other than the wind through the rigging of the boats on the pier. He turned to look in through a small square window in the door. He saw no one inside. He reached to the handle and quietly opened the door and entered.
The room was the operation center of the boat. Besides the wheel, Bosch saw glowing dials, double radar screens, twin throttles and a large gimballed compass. Against the back wall of the room was a chart table next to a set of built-in bunks with curtains that could be pulled for privacy.
On the floor on the forward left was an open hatch with a ladder leading down into the hull. Bosch moved over and crouched next to the opening. He heard voices down below but the language spoken was Chinese. He tried to separate them and count how many men were down there but the echo effect of the hull made this impossible. He knew at a minimum there were three men in the hull. He did not hear his daughter’s voice, but he knew she was down there, too.
Bosch moved to the boat’s control center. There were several different dials and switches but all were marked in Chinese. Finally, he zeroed in on two side-by-side switches with red button lights above them. He turned one switch off and immediately heard the hum of the engines decrease by half. He had killed an engine.
He waited five seconds and turned the other switch, killing the second engine. He then moved to the rear corner of the room and onto the lower bunk. He pulled the curtain closed halfway and crouched and waited. He knew he would be in a blind spot for anyone coming up the ladder from the hull. He returned his gun to his belt and took the switchblade out of his coat pocket. He quietly opened the blade.
Soon he heard running steps from below. This told him the meeting of the men below was in the forward section of the hull. He counted only one set of approaching steps. That would make it easier.
A man began to rise through the hatch, his back to the bunks and his eyes on the control center. Without looking around he moved quickly to the controls and looked for a reason for the double engine stall. He found nothing wrong and went through procedures to restart the engines. Bosch quietly crawled out of the bunk and moved toward him. The moment the second engine trundled to life, he put the point of the switchblade against the man’s spine.
Grabbing him by the back collar, Bosch pulled him away from the control center and whispered in his ear.
“Where’s the girl?”
The man said something in Chinese.
“Tell me where the girl is.”
The man shook his head.
“How many men are below?”
The man said nothing and Bosch roughly yanked him out through the door onto the deck. He moved him over to the rail and bent him over the side. The water was twelve feet below.
“Can you swim, asshole? Where’s the girl?”
“No…speak,” the man managed to say. “No speak.”
Keeping the man down over the rail, Bosch looked around for Sun-his translator-but didn’t see him. Where the hell was he?
The momentary distraction allowed the man to make a move. He swung an elbow backwards into Bosch’s ribs. It was a direct impact and Bosch was knocked back into the sidewall of the pilothouse. The man then spun around and raised his hands to attack. Bosch prepared to cover but it was the man’s foot that came up first, kicking Bosch’s wrist and knocking the knife into the air.
The man didn’t bother tracking the flight of the knife. He quickly waded into Bosch with both fists, striking with short, powerful impacts to the midsection. Bosch felt the air explode out of his lungs just as another kick came up and hit him below the chin.
Bosch went down. He tried to shake off the impact but his eyesight started to close into tunnel vision. His attacker calmly stepped away and Bosch heard the switchblade scrape on the deck as he picked it up. Struggling for consciousness, Bosch reached behind his back for the gun.
As the attacker approached, he spoke in clear English.
“Can you swim, asshole?”
Bosch pulled the gun from behind his back and fired twice, the first shot only ticking the man’s shoulder as he narrowed his aim and the second catching him in the center left of the chest. He went down with a look of surprise on his face.
Harry slowly pulled himself up onto his hands and knees. He saw a line of blood and saliva dripping from his mouth to the deck. Using the wall of the pilothouse, he started to get to his feet. He knew he had to move quickly. The gunshots would have been heard by the men in the boat.
Just as he got to his feet, a riot of gunfire erupted from the direction of the bow. Bullets zinged over his head and ricocheted off the steel wall of the pilothouse. Bosch ducked around the corner and behind the pilothouse. He came up and found a line of sight through the windows of the structure. He saw a man on the bow advancing toward the stern with pistols in each hand. Behind him was the open hatch through which he had climbed out of the front hold.
Bosch knew he had six rounds left and had to assume the approaching gunman had started with full clips. Ammunition-wise, Harry was outnumbered. He needed to go on the offensive and take the gunman out quickly and efficiently.
He looked around for an idea and saw a row of rubber docking bumpers secured along the rear gunwale. He put the gun into his waistband and then grabbed one of the bumpers out of its receptacle. He edged back to the rear window of the pilothouse and looked through the structure again. The gunman had chosen the port side of the pilothouse and was preparing to move to the stern. Bosch stepped back, raised the three-foot-long bumper over his head with two hands, and hurled it high and over the top of the pilothouse. While it was still in the air he started moving down the starboard side, pulling his gun out as he moved.
He got to the front of the pilothouse just as the gunman was ducking away from the flying bumper. Bosch opened fire, hitting the man repeatedly until he went down on the deck without getting off a single shot.
Bosch moved in and made sure the man was dead. He then threw his empty.45 over the side and picked up the dead man’s -weapons-two more Black Star semiautomatics. He stepped back into the pilothouse.
The room was still empty. Bosch knew at least one more man was below in the hold with his daughter. He popped the magazines on both guns and counted eleven bullets between the two.
He stuck them in his belt and took the ladder down like a fireman, locking his feet around the vertical bars and sliding into the hull. At the bottom he dropped and rolled, pulling his weapons and expecting to be fired upon, but no more bullets came his way.