Page 32 of On The Beach

Meanwhile, Cato puttered around the engine compartment with a kind of quiet, efficient focus that suggested this wasn't his first rendezvous with nighttime sabotage.I knew it!

He shot me a small grin, his eyes glinting with some story I knew he'd never tell me. "You need something important disabled?" he whispered. "It's all about finesse."

"Fine," I muttered. "Work your military magic."

Cato sighed and bent again to examine the engine. "I don't know why I spend time with you two mother fuckers." He straightened. "You got any tools?"

I pulled out the pockets of my shorts. "Does it look like I got any tools?"

Franco raised a finger. "I gotdis." His drunk eyes had spotted a toolbox. Thank the fuck, God.

We opened it and found a screwdriver, a wrench, and a hammer. If all else failed, I was going to just pound the shit out of the engine with the hammer, I decided.

Franco, meanwhile, had spotted another hose, tugging at it as if he'd just unearthed some kind of hidden treasure. "This thing looks really crucial?—"

"No, Franco, that's not the…." I sighed, exasperated, as he yanked the hose free and was immediately sprayed with another burst of water. The end of the hose flailed wildly, soaking all three of us.

Cato shook his head. "This is exactly why they don't let amateurs near ops."

"Yeah?" I shot back, rolling my eyes. "Well, welcome to the amateur hour, James Bond."

Cato held up a wrench with a gleam in his eye. "Who's ready to see some true engineering incompetence?"

He reached into the engine compartment, tugged on a few cables, and promptly yelped as a stream of foul-smelling water sprayed him in the face.

"Perfect," I whispered, trying to keep it together as Cato wiped his face with a bandana. "This is exactly the level of professionalism we're going for."

Meanwhile, Franco stumbled onto another compartment next to the engine and yanked out a piece of tubing with a triumphant shout. "This thing looks important!"

Fuck, here we go again!

"Franco, no!" I whisper-shouted as he waved the tubing around like a trophy. "Put it back; that's the bilge pump line. We're trying to sabotage the ferry, asshole, not turn it into a swimming pool!"

With some coaxing, he managed to reattach the hose—although the result didn't look anything like it had before.

Well, fuck!

Cato finally pulled out a small piece from the engine, holding it up proudly. "There. Should be enough to keep this ferry grounded for at least forty-eight to seventy-two hours, especially since Papa Lou is gonna need to ship a couple of parts."

I pointed to the metal objects in the palms of his hand. "What are those?"

"The starter plug and a couple of fuses," he said, incredulous that I couldn't recognize something so basic. "What would you have done if I wasn't here?"

"I was gonna use a hammer…ifI found it," I admitted. I had absolutelynoviable plan. Bringing drunk Franco and Cato along had been the best I could do.

Cato shook his head in disappointment.

"Hey, I know fuck all about a boat," I told him, chafed at his disgust for my lack of boat-disabling skills.

"But you're a Ph fuckin' D." Franco thumped my shoulder.

"In science, not vintage boat. This piece of shit is a hundred years old."

"Thirty," Cato corrected me. “Feels like a hundred 'cause it was and continues to be a piece of shit."

"Great. Now, let's get the hell out of here before anyone sees us," I suggested.

But as we were attempting to sneak off, Franco tripped over a rope, sprawling across the dock and knocking over a stack of metal crates with a spectacular clang.

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