Fuentes looked back over his shoulder, seeing Almond back a ways behind, and pushed the throttle down a little further, trying to gain some distance between himself and his pursuer. His blood boiled inside as he realized the full intensity of his unrequited revenge.
He silently swore revenge on Almond and the unknown woman who had impeded the quest for his long-awaited vengeance. They had taken part of his life away, and the first chance he got, he was going to exact his pound of flesh from them.
Looking down at the dashboard gauges, he finally smiled a little bit, seeing that he had over three-quarters of a tank of gas left. He steered the Sport Cruiser around the channel markers that marked the channel just off the Biscayne Flats. He was starting to have a hard time reading the green day markers in the bay that signaled shallow water, and realized that he needed to get back to deeper water in the middle of the bay. He couldn't afford to run the boat aground on a shallow reef or a sandbar and be a sitting duck. Th ere was no doubt in his mind that if Almond caught up with him, the CIA spy would definitely try to kill him.
The narrow bow of Almond's boat heaved up and down in a rhythmic pattern of loud splashes as he nudged the throttle forward a little more, simultaneously hearing the 6.2-liter V-drive engine growl in response to the added thrust of power. Dusk had settled in, as Almond realized that it would be getting dark soon. Glancing down at the dash, he reached over and flicked on the two toggle switches that activated the running lights. The last thing he wanted was for someone not to see him or to run the boat aground and lose all hope of catching the deadly assassin.