"Does that mean . . . ?" Petra asked.
"I'm afraid it might."
Her shoulders slumped and she seemed on the verge of tears. "To have come so far . . . "
Hamilton put his unencumbered arm around her and said, "But we're still alive. And we have to get away." If we can get away. I was counting on our slipping through in the confusion . . . but if the airship's already down maybe there won't be enough confusion.
"Damned right you do, asshole!" sounded in Hamilton's ear, startling him.
"Bernie?" he asked. "You're alive?"
"No, I'm speaking to you from the great beyond, baas. Of course I'm alive."
"But the fire?"
"The pilot dumped fuel to gain some altitude and reduce the chance of fire. I don't know what touched the fuel off, a tracer, maybe. Then again, there's been enough shit flying that it could have been anything. Now get your ass over here. There are Swiss medics and rescue personnel taking care of us, and a helluva fight in the air and on the lake. In the confusion . . . "
While Hamilton was talking, Petra looked at him as if he'd gone slightly mad.
"Oh, and Caruthers is here. He says move your ass."
Hamilton looked down at Petra and laughed. "They're alive! And we're going to stay that way, too. Hop in, Honey. Untie the boat while I cut the chain."
The boat's electric motor was virtually silent. At first, and for just under an hour, Hamilton followed the northern shore. The lights of the fight on the water and in the air receded. When he judged it was safe enough to do so, he cut the wheel hard port and set off into the lake.
His eyes scanned nervously about, as did Petra's. He kept his weapon leaning against the steering column. Hers she kept in her hands. She knew, intellectually, that it would be little defense against a patrol boat. That didn't matter. The comfort of the weapon was not in its ability to defend her. It was in its ability to make her a target to be shot rather than a victim to be taken, tried, and crucified.
Or worse than crucified, she thought. Someone to be re-enslaved.
"Get ready," Hamilton whispered. "There's something up ahead, a patrol boat, I think."
What he saw in his goggles she didn't know. That he moved the submachine gun resting on the steering column to a position across his legs frightened her. She grasped her own weapon all the more tightly.
"Ah shit," he said. "They've seen us."
Petra pulled the submachine gun to her shoulder. She couldn't see anything yet, not having goggles. No matter; when the enemy appeared, she would be ready.
"That won't be much use, you know," Hamilton said.
"Depends on the purpose," Petra answered. He understood completely.
The boat had four life jackets draped over the back. Hamilton pointed to them and told her, "Dump the burka and put one on. The water's cold but we might still make it if we swim for it."
"Or they might take us alive from the water," she answered. "No thanks."
He nodded that he understood that, too.
"If this were faster I'd try to ram them," he said. "As is, I doubt they'd feel the nudge."
Petra heard the first inklings of a heavy engine, somewhere up ahead. The boat that Hamilton had seen seemed to loom in the darkness. She aimed her submachine gun at it and was just about to pull the trigger when Hamilton began to laugh. That was odd enough that she lowered her weapon . . . and then screamed as the boat bearing down on them opened fire.
Hamilton saw immediately, as Petra didn't, that the patrol boat ahead was firing high. He immediately ducked low into the little stolen rental, dragging her down with him. For her part, her finger was still on the trigger of her submachine gun. The twin shocks of having fire pass overhead, and being dragged downward, caused her finger to tighten. The weapon fired into the bottom of the boat, three rounds before the thing further shocked her into releasing the trigger.
That was too late, of course. Water immediately began spurting up through the newly created holes.
"Ah, shit," Hamilton said, as a stream of icy water took him in the neck. The boat wouldn't sink; he was sure of that much. Between the walls of the hull it was sealed foam. Even so, as it sank its resistance to the water would increase to the point it would be faster—and with the boat rapidly filling, no colder—to swim.
The patrol boat in front of them suddenly leapt forward, missing the little pleasure boat by feet and rocking it dangerously. It might have capsized but that its center of gravity was already somewhat lower.
Hamilton struggled to put his rear on the seat and his hands and feet at the controls. "Bail!" he shouted to Petra, as the boat began moving ahead.
"Bail?"