Jack Ryan 1 - Without Remorse by Tom Clancy Page A

deserved it. It was a shame, in a way, that his gruesome fate had to be kept a secret, but that was business, too. That was how you kept the cops from finding out. Hard to prove murder without a body, and here they had accidentally found a way to conceal a number of murders. The only problem was getting the bodies here - and not letting others know of the method of disposal, because people talk. Tony Piaggi told himself, as Angelo had talked. A good thing that Henry had found out about that.
    'How 'bout crab cakes when we get back to town?' Eddie Morello asked with a laugh, just to see if he could make Tony puke.
    'Let's get the fuck outa here,' Piaggi replied quietly, settling into his seat. Tucker took the engine out of idle and picked his way out of the tidal marsh, back into the Bay.
    Piaggi took a minute or two to get the sight out of his mind, hoping that he could forget the horror of it and remember only the efficiency of their disposal method. After all, they might be using it again. Maybe after a few hours he'd see humor in it, Tony thought, looking at the cooler. Under the fifteen or so cans of National Bohemian was a layer of ice, under which were twenty sealed bags of heroin. In the unlikely event that anyone stopped them, it was unlikely that they'd look farther than the beer, the real fuel for Bay-boaters. Tucker drove the boat north, and the others laid out their fishing rods as though they were trying to find a good place to harvest a few rockfish from the Chesapeake.
    'Fishing in reverse,' Morello said after a moment, then he laughed loudly enough that Piaggi joined in.
    'Toss me a beer!' Tony commanded between laughs. He was a 'made man,' after all, and deserved respect.
    'Idiots,' Kelly said quietly to himself. That eighteen-footer was going too fast, too close to other fishing boats. It could catch a few lines, and certainly would throw a wake sure to disturb other craft. That was bad sea manners, something Kelly was always careful to observe. It was just too easy to - hell, it wasn't even hard enough to be 'easy.' All you had to do was buy a boat and you had the right to sail her around. No tests, no nothing. Kelly found Rosen's 7 x 50 binoculars and focused them on the boat that was coming close aboard. Three assholes, one of them holding up a can of beer in mock salute.
    'Bear off, dickhead,' he whispered to himself. The jerks in a boat, drinking beer, probably half-potted already, not even eleven o'clock yet. He gave them a good look, and was vaguely grateful that they passed no closer than fifty yards. He caught the name: Henry's Eighth. If he saw that name again, Kelly told himself, he'd remember to keep clear.
    'I got one!' Sarah called.
    "Heads up, we got a big wake coming in from starboard!' It arrived a minute later, causing the big Hatteras to rock twenty degrees left and right of vertical.
    'That,' Kelly said, looking down at the other three, 'is what I mean by bad sea manners!'
    'Aye aye!' Sam called back.
    'I've still got him,' Sarah said. She worked the fish in, Kelly saw, with consummate skill. 'Pretty big, too!'
    Sam got the net and leaned over the side. A moment later he stood back up. The net contained a struggling rockfish, maybe twelve or fourteen pounds. He dumped the net in a water-filled box in which the fish could wait to die. It seemed cruel to Kelly, but it was only a fish, and he'd seen worse things than that.
    Pam started squealing a moment later as her line went taut. Sarah put her rod in its holder and started coaching her. Kelly watched. The friendship between Pam and Sarah was as remarkable as that between himself and the girl. Perhaps Sarah was taking the place of the mother who had been lacking in affection, or whatever Pam's mother had lacked. Regardless, Pam was responding well to the advice and counsel of her new friend. Kelly watched with a smile that Sam caught and returned. Pam was new at this, tripping twice as she walked the fish around. Again Sam did the honors