His first thought was that he was alive, that they were alive. But this was quickly replaced by the thought that without a life belt, there was no way he could swim for much more than thirty minutes; and thirty minutes wasn’t going to get him anywhere near the shore.
He didn’t think they could both be supported by Tony’s life belt. And then he realized that, too, was a moot question. Even if they could stay afloat, they would be swept out to sea.
It would have been better, neater, easier, if the fucking thing had blown up in the air.
He saw Tony bobbing around in his life vest at the same moment Tony saw him. They started to swim—Tony to paddle awkwardly—toward one another.
There was a far-off explosion, followed by a dull flash of yellow light, and then a second explosion, and a second flash of light, and then a third.
“We got the sonofabitch!” Tony said.
“The Navy got the sonofabitch.”
“Yeah, where the fuck was the Navy before…”
There was a final explosion, a spectacular series of explosions, accompanied by brilliant fire rising high in the sky.
The light died quickly, and then all that they could see was burning fuel floating on the surface.
Then there was a series of splashes.
Christ, that blew pieces of the ship all the way over here!
And then there was silence.
“Put your life belt on,” Tony said.
“I don’t have it.”
“I’ve got it.”
With a good deal of effort—it was unbelievably difficult to manage in the water—Clete finally got the life belt on.
And now we get swept out to sea by the waters of the beautiful Río de la Plata.
“There’s a light,” Tony said.
Clete looked around. A searchlight was sweeping the sea. He could hear the sound of a marine engine.
“Over here!” he shouted.
“It may be from that fucking ship!” Tony said.
“And it may not be. I’ll take my chances.”
The spotlight found them, blinding them.
Two minutes later a boat hook caught Clete by the collar of his life jacket. He felt himself being dragged to the boat.
“Señor Cletus,” Enrico’s voice said. “If you would turn around, it would be easier to lift you in the boat.”
Clete turned and found himself facing a polished mahogany hull. A moment later, he was jerked into the boat, falling flat on his face. He raised his head and saw another familiar face, this one at the controls.
“Where’d you get the boat, Chief?”
“Same place we got everything else,” Schultz said. “From your father. Enrico and I didn’t want to say anything, but we figured you was going to go in the water, and we figured we’d be here to fish you out. You all right, Mr. Frade?”
“I’m fine. Where’s Mr. Pelosi?”