Dirty Harry 12 - The Dealer of Death Read Online Free PDF Page A

this clown who still hadn’t revealed himself, there was Dick who seemed to have disappeared, and he presumed there was at least one up front, keeping the passengers under guard. They must be paralyzed with fear, Harry thought. Not a sound could be heard from them.
    “Dick?” the man called again, but his voice betrayed his growing doubt. He knew someone was there, and it didn’t seem to be Dick, and once this conclusion dawned on him, it placed him in a position where he had to do something.
    He decided to lob a grenade in Harry’s direction. But since he had not the slightest notion of who or what he was aiming at, Harry was spared instant obliteration. The grenade, instead of landing on the deck, skipped over the railing and plummeted into the bay. A moment later it detonated, causing the water to erupt, drenching half the length of the boat while simultaneously setting it in motion again. Whether the ferry had been damaged or whether it was simply the convulsive surge of water around it, Harry had no way of determining. But it sure as hell felt as though the damn thing was going under the way it tilted way to the starboard side. It was all Harry could do to hang on. But hang on he did, and after two or three very tense minutes, the ferry, more or less, righted itself. Still, the groaning of machinery down below sounded worse than before.
    Hearing someone behind him, a noisy sound of sloshing accompanied by curses. Harry turned and saw, not more than ten yards away, a man in a windbreaker, with a duffel cap shadowing his eyes. Harry had the feeling this was the elusive Dick.
    Dick obviously had not been expecting to find Harry here. His face contained a look of such astonishment, it was almost comical. Like a twelve-year-old boy caught by his mother with a dirty book. Too late, he attempted to raise the Baretta he gripped. The .44 took him in the right shoulder, catapulting him over the railing and into the water. For an instant Harry could see his face, or rather just his continuingly astounded eyes and his improbable duffel cap. Then nothing at all except a gathering circle of blood on the water’s surface.
    Now he could hear shouting. There was one hell of a racket, people screaming and exhorting one another to take cover. A series of shots came in angry reply, but they seemed to have no effect. No one fell quiet. From elsewhere on the disabled craft, the echo of a great many footsteps reverberated down the decks and passageways. Harry guessed the hostages had perceived an opportunity to escape and were doing everything possible to exploit it.
    He raced down the deck, saw in front of him a series of stairs leading to the bridge, which he promptly mounted. Although in doing this, he almost was knocked back down by a panicking businessman who wielded his attaché case as if it were a lethal weapon. No doubt he was thinking this was one hell of a way to end a hard day at the office. A hijacking was no substitute for a cocktail.
    Attaining the bridge, Harry discovered another armed man, who stood viewing the confusion on the deck below. He seemed uncertain how to reassert his authority. He might have wanted to shoot at somebody, but couldn’t quite make up his mind who. By now, his intended targets had scattered so he was left with no one.
    Except for Harry. He might not have seen Harry—and how could he when he was looking away from him?—but he evidently sensed his presence for all at once he dropped to the deck, and attempted in a clumsy motion to direct his shotgun toward this unexpected invader. Clumsy he might have been, but he was not without a certain manual dexterity. The weapon he possessed was the sort hunters use when they want to bring down wild game in the middle of African jungles and don’t want to take the risk of getting too close to their quarry. The noise it produced was deafening. God knows what it could do if it tore a hole in one.
    Harry was engulfed in a cloud of smoke, his lungs stung with