—Haruki Murakami
Nothing can make a man feel more helpless and impotent than being protected by a woman. I know that sounds politically incorrect and it damn well is, but that's how I felt.
Sarah put me out in the middle of the lake on a sail boat, completely vulnerable prey for my stalkers. They could either swamp me with a high powered motorboat and then, 'accidentally' run over me in the water and by the time the police launch arrived I'd be dead.
Yeah, great! And thinking about that, where the hell was the police presence?
I began rehearsing in my mind what Sarah had said, what instructions she gave me and it dawned on me—there was nothing, zilch, nada—she more or less said just carry on or words to that effect.
What the hell kind of operation was this—sending me out to the middle of the lake with no cell phone communication, not even a walkie talkie?
This was damn stupid come to think of it.
The more I stewed about it, the more incensed I got.
The girl was dangerous—the way she forced me off the Mountain Brow Road just to talk with me—and then that peck on the cheek. Was that professional? Hell, you don't even see that on TV.
Okay, she's gorgeous and it's probably a plus in undercover police stings, but leading me on in the midst of being stalked by killers? Not very reassuring.
She must be very good at her job though to get where she was, unless of course she used her charms...just saying.
I mean, what was her biggest piece of advice to me, besides warning me against being a player?. Oh yeah, she told me to be vigilant.
Be vigilant?
That was lame, but the thought reminded me of the binoculars packed away in my provisions. I dug them out and scanned the surroundings.
As I panned over the lake I can see nothing but other sail boats like mine all the way to the horizon.
I scan the wharf and Ray Hull's marina. I can actually see him by his workshop talking on a cell phone.
I randomly select different areas to view including the streets around my house—the house itself being hidden behind trees.
I'm about to put the binoculars away when a glint of light from the nearby cliffs catches my eye. I spot two men setting up some kind of apparatus that could be a camera but truth is, these guys don't look like photographers.
I adjust the focus wheel on the binoculars but can only magnify the men a little more before the view goes blurry.
They have a tripod—of that I'm sure—but the other piece of equipment could be a long telephoto lens or could be a long range high powered rifle with a telescopic sight.
I immediately crouch down in the boat and crawl on my hands and knees to the shelter of the small cabin. It's not much protection especially against a high velocity bullet and despite the distance I have no doubt a slug would easily penetrate the cabin walls.
Damn it, Sarah, I growl in my head, why the hell didn't you at least give me a bullet-proof vest?
I spot the large drink cooler I brought—it's not made of metal but hard blue plastic and would offer some protection. I tug it across the floor and place it as a shield against the wall facing the cliffs.
There are oars and an old tackle box. I slide them into place behind the cooler figuring every little bit of material helps.
Then, I simply lie flat staring up at a patch of cloud and blue sky figuring I'll wait until dark and pray they don't have night vision capability as well. If they do, I'm done.