Read Jack Ryan 6 - Clear and Present Danger for Free Online

took on a heavier but slower roll.  Wegener looked aft to the machine gun again.  The sailor had it aimed in about the right direction, but his thumbs were well off the firing switch, just the way they were supposed to be.  He could hear the five empty cases rolling around on the deck.  Wegener frowned for a moment.  The empties were a safety hazard.  He'd have some one rig a bag to catch them.  The kid on the gun might stumble on one and shoot by mistake . . .
    He turned back.  The Zodiac was at the yacht's stern.  Good.  They were going aboard there.  He watched Lieutenant Wilcox go aboard first, then wait for the rest.  The coxswain pulled back when the last was aboard, then scooted forward to cover their advance.  Wilcox went forward on the portside, with Obrecki backing him up, the shotgun pointed safely at the sky.  Riley went inside with his backup.  The lieutenant got to the two men in under a minute.  It was odd to see them talking, but not to hear what they were saying . . .
    Somebody said something.  Wilcox's head turned quickly one way, then back the other.  Obrecki stepped to the side and brought the shotgun down.  Both men went down on their faces, dropping from view.
    “Looks like a bust, sir,” Ensign O'Neil noted.  Wegener took one step into the wheelhouse.
    “Radio!” A crewman tossed him a Motorola portable.  Wegener listened but didn't make a call.  Whatever his people had just found, he didn't want to distract them.  Obrecki stayed with the two men while Wilcox went inside the yacht.  Riley had sure as hell found something.  The shotgun was definitely aimed at them, and the tension in the boy's arms radiated across the water to the cutter.  The captain turned to the machine-gunner, whose weapon was still aimed at the yacht.
    “Safe that gun!”
    “Aye!” the sailor answered at once, and dropped his hands to point it at the sky.  The officer next to him winced with embarrassment.  Another lesson learned.  A few words would accompany it in an hour or two.  This had been a mistake with a gun.
    Wilcox reappeared a moment later, with Chief Riley behind him.  The bosun handed over two pairs of handcuffs to the officer, who bent down to work them.  They had to be the only two aboard; Riley bolstered his pistol a moment later, and Obrecki's shotgun went up to the sky again.  Wegener thought he saw the youngster reset the safety.  The farm boy knew his guns, all right, had learned to shoot the same way his skipper had.  Why had he taken the safety off . . . ?  The radio crackled just as Wegener's mind asked the question.
    “Captain, this is Wilcox.” The lieutenant stood to speak, and both men faced each other, a hundred yards apart.
    “I'm here.”
    “It's a bad one, sir . . . sir, there's blood all over the place.  One of 'em was scrubbing the salon down, but—it's a real mess here, sir.”
    “Just the two of them?”
    “Affirmative.  Only two people aboard.  We've cuffed 'em both.”
    “Check again,” Wegener ordered.  Wilcox read the captain's mind: he stayed with the prisoners and let Chief Riley do the search.  The bosun appeared three minutes later, shaking his head.  His face looked pale through the binoculars, Wegener saw.  What would make Bob Riley go pale?
    “Just these two, sir.  No ID on them.  I don't think we want to do much of a search, I think—”
    “Correct.  I'll send you another man and leave you Obrecki.  Can you get the yacht to port?”
    “Sure, Captain.  We got plenty of fuel.”
    “There's going to be a little blow tonight,” Wegener warned.
    “I checked the weather this morning.  No sweat, sir.”
    “Okay, let me call this one in and get things organized.  Stand by.”
    “Roger that.  Sir, I recommend that you send the TV camera across for a permanent record to back up the stills.”
    “Okay, it'll be over in a few minutes.”
    It took half an hour for the Coast Guard base to get the FBI and DEA agreed on