THE HELICOPTER PILOT REACTED TO THE IMPENDING COLLISION BY rolling off and flying south with Woody and Reb swinging in the basket under the Sikorsky. Laura, certain Reb would be safe, turned and watched. It was at that moment that the Cigarette boat burst from the wall of rain and aimed directly for the sailboat. She saw the racing boat close the distance between itself and the Shadowfax. It slammed into the sailboat slightly in front of the cockpit, the impact rolling the sailboat a few feet up on its side—the larger vessel was impaled. As she watched in horror, there was a white flash followed almost at once by a deafening, superheated blast wave that pitched the Cheetah’s bow high into the air. She felt as if she’d had her ears slapped, and her eyes watered from the impact. The brilliant white ball turned red as it rose into the sky, leaving a floor of white vapor. Above them the chopper tilted crazily back and forth and then straightened as the shock wave passed. Then Reb and Woody disappeared into the chopper. Finally Laura was pulled up into the helicopter and took her son into her arms. Both of them were crying.
Thorne was the last one in the basket. The pilot, the navigator, and Brooks would stay with the Cheetah until a vessel could be sent out to tow it back. The helicopter moved over and picked up the ensign who had fled from the Cigarette boat.
“We’re heading in,” the man who operated the basket said.
“My daddy!” Reb yelled. “He’s out there!”
The man’s face reflected what they had all known when they had heard Martin’s voice on the radio. Paul Masterson was certainly dead, his body most likely vaporized along with Rainey Lee, the young policeman, Reid Dietrich, and Martin Fletcher.
“Son,” Thorne said. “Your father is gone.”
“No, Thorne!” Reb screamed, grabbing Thorne’s Mae West and shaking it. “He’s not! I know he’s not.” He looked up into Thorne’s face and the tears streamed down both cheeks. “He’ll die if we go away! He promised!”
Laura tightened her grip on him, but he twisted free. “He promised me he’d save Biscuit! He would never lie to me again. You look for him!”
“I’m sorry,” the man in the orange suit said. “We have to get this man back.” He indicated Woody, who was lying on a cot, conscious now, being given first aid.
“Do it,” Woody said through his pain.
“Look for a few minutes,” Laura said. “Paul’s a hard man to kill.”
They followed the Shadowfax’s reverse course for several minutes, the spotlight a white plate floating on the propeller-beaten surface below them.
“He’s not here,” the guardsman at the open door said. Reb was beside him, looking down, Thorne holding the boy back by the shirt gathered in his fist.
As they started the turn for home, Reb screamed and pointed. “Look!”
There was something just outside the spotlight beam, bobbing and waving. When the light moved a few feet to the east, it became Paul Masterson floating on his back with Reb’s birdcage propped on his chest.
“Well, I’ll be fried,” the man in the orange suit said to himself.