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I shake my neck, trying to reposition the gold chain that heats my skin out of the blue.
Clay notices. “You want me to take it off?” It’s from Mom; my brother has a matching one on him.
“Nah.”
I step onto a dinghy that will take us to The Peregrine, or ‘The P’ for short—a hyper-speed vehicle that looks more like a jet than a boat. Not only because it uses an engine made for airplanes, but our military backgrounds have also influenced the design.
The Peregrine’s white surface gleams in the sun, its body bobbing calmly in the waves.
“Get it, brother,” Clay says.
We pat each other’s shoulders as I stand one step away from the racing beauty.
I put my helmet on, and then strap myself in. I have faith in what we’ve built, and most of all, I know Lady Geneva won’t let me down—despite her having thrown some weather tantrums over the past few days, delaying our D-day.
Clay checks on my gear one more time before closing the hatch.
“Let’s do this,” I tell Clay via the radio.
The engine roars. The water beneath me jitters. I take three deep breaths, hands clutching the steering wheel. On Clay’s mark, I stick my foot on the pedal.
The Peregrine cuts through the crystal water, rapidly gathering speed.
At the ninety-mile-per-hour mark, the flying sensation kicks in. When you attempt something like this, inevitably people will label you a daredevil. But this is a meticulously calculated run. There’s science behind it, there are brilliant minds poured into it. I’m not trying to conquer the water, I’m simply asking her to fight with me—for Dad (and to save our own asses).
“Leaving Blue in ten seconds,” my brother radios in, indicating that I should start thinking about my peak speed.
I acknowledge Clay’s reminder as The P shudders, taking on slaps of oncoming waves.
“Entering Amber in three… two… one.”
The speedometer clocks at just under 280 mph.
“Leaving Amber in ten.”
Past this point, I know I won’t have much of a stretch of deep water to allow me to stop safely.
“Red!” Clay’s voice shakes my eardrums.
While I feel like my heart rate has halted to zero beats per minute, I keep the speedometer in front of me ticking over. The water smooths its flow, as if telling me I have clearance to keep going.
“Throttle back!” Clay yells. “Rob!”
“Come on, baby!” The P is on it, giving everything she’s got.
“ROB!”
Water splashes at the windshield, and I can feel the shallows approaching. I lift my almost-numb foot off the pedal, and The Peregrine eases her speed. My focus now is to maneuver her before I get too close to shore. I don’t even know how fast she peaked just now.
“You fucking crazy man!” Clay curses. “No more of this! Do you hear me?”
I blow air as I gently turn The Peregrine back to where my crew is. I tap on the dashboard. “Well done, P.”
And thank you, Lady Geneva.
I emerge to a hugging-frenzied Clay and an elated crew. But no one has told me yet if the cheers are simply for my safe return, or for me breaking the record, too.
I take off my helmet.
