Page 55 of Touchdown
“Water!” Noah yelled. “Come on, guys!”
Even this close, the two men were little more than silhouettes. Impossible to read their expressions. After a minute, the taller one bent down and then came back from the crouch with his arm cocked back for a forward pass. I caught the plastic water bottle one-handed, the slap of its arrival making a satisfying sound as it connected with the palm of my hand.
Grinning in spite of myself, I handed it to Noah. Lifting my empty hand, I signaled for the next.
The man threw, and I caught.
I tossed my head back to drink like my gulps were being captured on video for the ultimate sports beverage commercial.
Water had never tasted so good.
The shorter guy in our Zodiac was brandishing a familiar weapon. One of those tranquilizer guns.
But he didn't move any closer. They just stood there waiting.
We'd somehow made a fool of one team, and they weren't taking any chances.
Well, that was just too fucking great.
And then, just to make the scene complete, we could hear the familiar chop-chop-chop of a helicopter. Our great escape was officially foiled.
Chapter 39
The helicopter was directing search beams down at the ocean. Did they have to be so blindingly bright? Why didn't they get our coordinates from the Zodiac's transponder? Those things were accurate enough to keep the Zodiac from being run down by big freighters on the high seas, so they ought to be good enough to get her found.
Even as I was wondering, the scrappy little inflatable began to move closer to where me and Noah dangled helplessly in the water.
Really?
You don't move in on two half-drowned water rats until you've called in air cover?
Maybe I should feel flattered that we seemed to represent such a threat. But these guys were nobody's idea of a hero.
You really put the ‘bad’ in bad guys.
I tried to keep my face bland and expressionless in case they could read my contempt even in the dark. As the taller guy guided the Zodiac nearer, Shorty with the tranquilizer gun raised his weapon in a distinctly sinister manner.
Oh, for fuck's sake. Knocking us out was the logical next move from their point of view, but game over for me and Noah.
“Please,” I had to shout over the noise of the approaching helicopter. “You don't have to do this. Those things put us out for hours. You sure that's a good idea? It'll delay your ability to ask any questions for quite some time.”
“We'll never be more softened up than we already are right now.” Noah caught on right away to what I was doing. “Why give us a chance to nap?”
“We're cooperating here,” I yelled. “Both of us. You can see there's no good reason to knock us out.”
“Also, we're sitting ducks,” Noah yelled. “Where's your sense of sport?”
None of these arguments moved the guy with the trank. He aimed, and he fired.
Fortunately, he also missed. Shooting off the side of even the slowest-moving boat was apparently beyond his abilities. It didn't help that the wind was being whipped up artificially by the helicopter, which was now swooping very low.
Between the wind and the flashes of too-bright beams, I had to keep closing my eyes. The whole scene felt stroboscopic and unreal.
How is this movie my life?
“Better watch out,” I shouted. “You might shoot your captain by accident.” If I was going to be zapped anyway, I was going to enjoy a few taunts first. Even if nobody was going to remember my sterling wit later.
The rifleman replied in sign language—the one word of sign language that every American knows. Then he dropped to his knees in a (hopefully ineffective) attempt to brace himself better for the next shot.
