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Back Whirlwind Save as PDF
Chapters (95)
  1. Title Page
  2. 1
  3. 2
  4. 3
  5. 4
  6. 5
  7. 6
  8. 7
  9. 8
  10. 9
  11. 10
  12. 11
  13. 12
  14. 13
  15. 14
  16. 15
  17. 16
  18. 17
  19. 18
  20. 19
  21. 20
  22. 21
  23. 22
  24. 23
  25. 24
  26. 25
  27. 26
  28. 27
  29. 28
  30. 29
  31. 30
  32. 31
  33. 32
  34. 33
  35. 34
  36. 35
  37. 36
  38. 37
  39. 38
  40. 39
  41. 40
  42. 41
  43. 42
  44. 43
  45. 44
  46. 45
  47. 46
  48. 47
  49. 48
  50. 49
  51. 50
  52. 51
  53. 52
  54. 53
  55. 54
  56. 55
  57. 56
  58. 57
  59. 58
  60. 59
  61. 60
  62. 61
  63. 62
  64. 63
  65. 64
  66. 65
  67. 66
  68. 67
  69. 68
  70. 69
  71. 70
  72. 71
  73. 72
  74. 73
  75. 74
  76. 75
  77. 76
  78. 77
  79. 78
  80. 79
  81. 80
  82. 81
  83. 82
  84. 83
  85. 84
  86. 85
  87. 86
  88. 87
  89. 88
  90. 89
  91. 90
  92. 91
  93. 92
  94. Also by DAVID KLASS
  95. Copyright Page

When we surface I see that our brief underwater duel has carried us beyond the ring of speedboats that encircled us. They spot us, turn quickly, and take up the pursuit.

Down! Gisco orders. The dinghy swerves as a nasty bit of artillery whistles past our bow.

Jack, get down flat! Present less of a target! The pigeon-hearted pooch leads by example, pressing himself to the bottom and flattening his massive belly till he looks like a throw rug covering a bowling ball.

I don’t get down. I’m still merged with the boat, still bathed in the reddish glow.

I am Jack Danielson crouching before the control panel of a souped-up dinghy that is taking evasive action as it’s chased across the Hudson River. “Do something,” I am saying to the dinghy. Or not saying, but rather thinking and feeling.

But I am also the dinghy. I feel the frenetic hopelessness of the chase, the strain of my motor, the quick read of incoming missiles and lasers.

One primary need—to escape. One grim certainty—escape is impossible. The speedboats are drawing closer. We’ll never reach the far bank in time.

A laser weapon slices the stern and I—we—feel it come searing in. The dinghy wants desperately to save us, but it can’t. It’s not fast enough. It’s outgunned. I feel its bitter frustration—our mutual frustration.

Then I feel something I don’t understand. It grows out of that frustration, blossoms incongruously from the grimness of our predicament.

Joy. Elation. Certainty of purpose tinged with nagging regret.

The bond between boy and boat is fractured.

The dinghy swerves wildly and I’m knocked off my feet. I press myself to the bottom next to Gisco, mystified. How can the boat be so jubilant at a time like this?

Another laser strike! I don’t need to be mind-melded with the dinghy to feel this one hit. They’ve got our range now. We’ll be fish food in seconds.

Jack, we’ve got to get off now!

Off the boat? How is that going to help?

No time to explain. Abandon ship!

Gisco has climbed up from his ruglike recline and is now perched at the rail, ready for a dive into the drink.

There’s no way out, I tell him. We might as well go down with our dinghy.

The dog locks his jaws around my shirt and tries to drag me over the side. I fight back. I’d rather be blown up on board a friendly craft than flash-fried in the river.

Gisco is strong, but not strong enough to drag me over the rail. He’s got me half over but I’m resisting.

Then the dinghy bucks like a bronco. It dips and twists, and dog and boy both go flying.

14

14

We splash down hard into the cold river. I hit face-first. Sink and come up sputtering.

The bank is a hundred yards away.