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Back Falling Save as PDF
Chapters (29)
  1. Title Page
  2. Copyright Notice
  3. Epigraph
  4. ONE
  5. TWO
  6. THREE
  7. FOUR
  8. FIVE
  9. SIX
  10. SEVEN
  11. EIGHT
  12. NINE
  13. TEN
  14. ELEVEN
  15. TWELVE
  16. THIRTEEN
  17. FOURTEEN
  18. FIFTEEN
  19. SIXTEEN
  20. SEVENTEEN
  21. EIGHTEEN
  22. NINETEEN
  23. TWENTY
  24. TWENTY-ONE
  25. TWENTY-TWO
  26. TWENTY-THREE
  27. TWENTY-FOUR
  28. ALSO BY CHRISTOPHER PIKE
  29. Copyright Page

Fortunately the battery in the Farallon was still strong. But he feared spending time on the surface. Behind him was a mass of activity. Three boats and two helicopters and their search beams raked the spot where David had dumped the container. But soon—perhaps too soon—those lights would begin to search elsewhere.

Matt finally decided to stay on the surface and race for his boat. He did not want to turn his flashlight back on and his air tank was gasping. The stealth of being submerged and having a compass were nice, but there was no substitute for seeing exactly where he was going. Keeping his head low and the Farallon at full speed, he covered the distance to the boat in a matter of minutes.

He had placed a ladder off the side of the boat. Throwing the container aboard, he climbed up and removed his flippers and air tank before hauling the Farallon on deck. He did not bother taking off his wet suit before reaching for the ignition. The big engines kicked to life with a low but meaty roar. He drew in the anchor and eased away from his position at reduced speed. Still, the searchlights remained on the drop spot. To them he was just another boat on a vast area of sea that presently contained at least two dozen ships.

From the harbor he saw another two helicopters approach the FBI party. He wondered what Amy was doing right then, if she was being fed regular updates. He felt bad for her, but happy for himself. Every rose had a thorn, he reflected. But for once, it was nice to have a grip on the petals.

EIGHT

EIGHT

Picking up the pieces.

Monday afternoon, two days after losing the kidnapper and the rich ransom. The pieces, lots of them, were all over the place. But a few were beginning to fit into a coherent picture. Unfortunately, the picture kept telling them the same thing. Falling was smarter than they were.

Kelly and Charlie stood outside a rental shop in Newport Beach—and inside the harbor—not far from the jetty. Another overcast day, white winged sailboats drifting into an ocean of gray. From conversations on the phone, they were already ninety percent sure Falling had rented two boats from this place—Kamin’s Rentals. One boat they knew—the Scallop, the one David had taken to Catalina. The other one they didn’t know, not its name, and yet they were fairly certain the kidnapper had used this latter ship to escape into an early retirement. They had driven down to Orange County to verify these facts, and to get away from Vicki, who was kicking wastepaper baskets, and any agent foolish enough to cross her path.