My phone texts Jeannie’s again: I know. I get it. I was letting my little head do my thinking... I know we can’t have a life together... And I know that doesn’t mean you don’t love me.
Jeannie’s phone to mine: Glad you see it that way. Sorry.
My phone to hers: I’ll be heading out on the ferry in the morning... It should be running again... But hey, before I go, want to see something amazing?
Jeannie’s phone to mine: Not if it’s an anatomical feature! Haha. What?
Choke leads us down a final staircase to an exterior deck at the stern, a few feet above water level. I don’t know what this type of deck is called. It’s an open area on which people can sunbathe and around which small craft can moor.
Tied to the rear of this lower deck is an inflatable boat with an outboard motor. It’s Danny Mawukura’s—the boat he showed me yesterday; his trademark designs are painted on it. Jeannie and I look at each other in mute puzzlement. Why is Danny involved in this? A motorized skiff with a squared-off bow and stern—probably the same one that carried me to this yacht—is tied up beside it. Both boats are accessible by a single short ladder.
My phone sends another text to Jeannie’s: Turns out our shipwreck didn’t go far out to sea... Clever, Leah is, bringing The Shipwreck into this text exchange, knowing it had special meaning to Jeannie and me. It’s 100 yds off shore, underwater... And it’s doing something incredible...
Jeannie’s phone: Doing? What do u mean?
My phone: I can’t explain. You have to see it... Can you meet me?
Jeannie’s: U have a boat?
Mine: Danny’s letting me borrow his... Meet me at that little dock of his in, like, 15?
Jeannie’s: K bye.
Ah, yes. I remind myself that Troop and company have been listening in on me via my phone’s mike everywhere I’ve been in the last few days. They must have heard my conversation with Danny when he offered me his boat to use. They probably sent a couple of Simon Fischer’s lackeys to go fetch it just now. Smart. When Danny is questioned by the police, he will affirm that he did indeed offer to let me use the boat.
The police? Yes. See, I’m starting to piece together what’s going on here. A chain of evidence is being established whereby I’m inviting Jeannie to Danny’s boat and we’re going to take a ride on the still-choppy waters. I have a feeling we’re going to have an “accident at sea.”
Miles cannot seriously be in on this.
No sooner does this thought occur than the man himself appears on the deck above us in the soft night-lighting. He’s talking with Trooper Danielle and Leah and looking out at the water.
“Miles, you’ve got to be kidding me!” I shout up at him. He doesn’t look at me, but I can see his face looks ten years older than it did two hours ago. “I know what you’re planning to do here. Murder Jeannie and me? You’ve got to be fucking kidding me!” He flinches as my words hit him, but he refuses to look at me.
“Seriously, Miles? Seriously? Murder?”
Miles nods to Choke: time to get things moving. I’ve never seen such a miserable, drained expression on my friend’s face. The stress of this decision must have stripped something elemental out of his soul.
“All right, you two, into the boat,” Chokehold orders Jeannie and me.
“Snap out of it, Miles!” I shout at the upper deck. “If you do this, it can never be undone. You think what happened with that whiskey bottle was bad, try living with murder on your conscience. For the rest of your life!”
Miles is staring at his phone to avoid making eye contact with me. He’s trying to appear focused and in-command.
Suddenly a voice rings out from the interior of the upper deck. “What the hell is going on here, will someone please tell me?” It’s Beth, in her bathrobe, trotting out to see what the commotion is. Thank God. Beth and I have never been besties, but she will provide the voice of reason here. She won’t condone this.
“Beth!” I shout up at her. “Miles has lost it! He’s trying to have us killed!
“Miles, what are you doing?” she demands, eyes popping with disbelief.
“Beth, go back inside!” shouts Miles.
“Miles, answer me!”
“Go back inside, Beth! I am handling this.”
Beth trots down the stairs to the lower rear deck where Jeannie and I and Chokehold are standing. She inserts herself between Choke and me, arms folded, awaiting my explanation.
“They’re going to take us out on the water and kill us,” I tell her. “They planted fake texts on our phones to make it look like it’s going to be an accident.”
Beth grabs my phone from my hand and studies the recent text exchange. “Did you write this?” she shouts up at Miles, incredulous.
“The three of us did,” says Miles defensively, indicating Leah and Trooper D. “It’s what has to be done, Beth. Stay out of it!”
“I’m in shock,” she responds, staring up at him with her head cocked back. “It’s actually pretty good.” She wipes her prints off the phone and places it back in my hand.
“Let me know when it’s over,” she says to her husband and starts back up the stairs.
Chapter 43
“Beth, no!” I yell after her, my voice going high with panic. “You’ve got to help us, you’re the only sane one here. Come on, Beth, please. As a friend.”
“Friend?” She freezes on the stairs and spins her head toward me. “Is that what you said? Friend?” She turns and walks back down a couple of steps, staring at me slack-jawed. “You’re not my friend. I fucking hate you, Finnian Carroll, don’t you know that? Ever since that night in the car, I’ve wished you were dead.”
“Jesus, Beth, I didn’t throw that bottle. All I did was—”
“I’m not talking about the bottle, jagoff; that was an accident. I’m talking about before. When Miles had his meltdown. When he was crying and thrashing on the ground and saying he was jealous of you and what you had with her.” She juts her jaw toward Jeannie. “Do you remember what you said to him? I do. ‘You don’t love Beth,’ you said. ‘And if you marry her, you will be profoundly unhappy for the rest of your life.’ Well, those words crawled under his skin and laid eggs, you ass-fuck. And those eggs hatched in our home and our bedroom. And now every night it’s like you’re lying between the sheets with us.
“Who does he call whenever he’s having doubts about our marriage? Who does he visit whenever he needs time away from the ol’ ball and chain? Who does he claim to visit whenever he slips away for a Hilton Weekend Special with the intern of the month? Finn Carroll, his blood brother in Beth hatred. Help you? Help you? I can’t wait till fish are eating your dead eyes.”
“If you believe I planted those thoughts in his head, Beth,” I say, “you are delusional to a degree even I didn’t imagine. If Miles really loved you, you wouldn’t have to—”
“Stop right there, Finn!” shouts Miles. “Don’t say another word. It’s time for you to go. Get on the god-damn boat.”
“Are we really going to do this, Miles?”
“Get on the boooooat.” He looks as if he’s about to cry.
Choke steps closer to Jeannie and me, nudging us toward Danny’s inflatable boat.
A seed of a strategy has germinated in my mind. I eye-signal Jeannie to go first, then, with a very small gesture of my hand, mime the act of starting the boat motor. I hope she reads me. Jeannie knows her way around boats, big and small.
My plan won’t help me, but it might help Jeannie.
She steps toward the short ladder leading down to the tied-up inflatable. I notice as she descends the ladder and scrambles into Danny’s boat tha
t the lower part of her body is shielded from view from above. I’m counting on that small bit of shielding—and the rapidly deepening darkness—to buy me some cover when I follow her.
I stall as a long as I can, giving Jeannie a chance to scope out Danny’s boat and its engine. Then I start down the ladder after her. The moment my waist is blocked from view, I slip the knife out of my pocket.
I grab the rope that’s mooring Danny’s boat and whisper to Jeannie, “Start the engine.” I slice the rope with a couple of brisk swipes of the blade. The moment the engine kicks over—it must have been warm; it starts first pull—I give the boat a big kick-shove away from the yacht’s stern. I turn and take a step back up the ladder.
“Go! Go! Go!” I shout behind me at Jeannie.
The reason I didn’t climb into the boat with her? Because I know we can’t outrun a skiff in a rubber inflatable. But if I can buy Jeannie enough time to escape alone, she might be able to make it back to shore—it’s only a few hundred yards away. I stand on the ladder, prepared to defend it against all comers.
“I’m not leaving you here, Finn!” Jeannie shouts.
“Go! No time to argue!”
“Jump in!” Jeannie pleads, refusing to go without me.
“No! You have a daughter, don’t screw around!”
Those words get through to her. She shifts the prop into forward and gives the small engine some gas.
Chokehold steps toward the ladder I’m standing on. I know he’s armed only with a stun gun. In order for that weapon to work, it will need to make solid contact with me. I don’t plan to let that happen. Before Choke can reach the ladder, I lash out at him with the knife, swiping the blade from side to side.
I don’t intend to let him, or anyone, onto this ladder.
I don’t intend to let him get close enough to stun me or to climb into the skiff.
“This doesn’t mean I’m leaving you!” shouts Jeannie as she aims Danny’s boat toward land, maxing the throttle. What she’s telling me is she’s coming back with help. The truth is, I was hoping help would already have arrived. But I guess my little burner phone ploy didn’t work. It was a long shot anyway.
The good news is that the sea has finally calmed a bit. For the first time in days, the waters are reasonably safe for small craft. Jeannie ought to be able to make it to land if I can buy her a head start. I swing the knife back and forth as I watch Jeannie start to make progress toward shore in the rubber boat.
Suddenly I’m blinded by a brilliant light from an upper deck, and I hear a voice shout, “Drop the knife, asshole!” The light-beam shifts its angle for a moment to show me that the holder of the high-intensity flashlight has a pistol in his other hand. Then the light strikes my face again. I see a second beam of white light hit Jeannie, as another voice shouts at her, “Freeze! Stop the boat!”
Jeannie hasn’t traveled far enough to be safely out of pistol range. She stops the boat and lifts her hands in surrender. I drop the knife and do the same.
It never occurred to me that Simon Fischer would have armed bodyguards. But of course, why wouldn’t he? Troop and company are mission specialists; they’re not around him 24/7. A guy like Fischer would naturally have round-the-clock personal protection.
Have I made it abundantly clear yet how giant an idiot I am?
“Bring that boat back, NOW!” Chokehold shouts at Jeannie. She obediently putters back toward the stern of the yacht.
. . . . .
I stand on the rear deck with Chokehold and the two armed bodyguards, my hands held aloft. Jeannie waits in Danny’s boat at the bottom of the ladder, a gun trained on her.
Miles descends the stairs from above, carrying himself with an erect, shoulders-back posture meant to look commanding, presidential even. He sells the effect pretty convincingly, if you don’t know him too well. As he approaches me, he and I can’t avoid making brief eye contact. He casts a glance up at the rail of the second deck for my benefit.
His glance is meant to tell me, Sorry, but I’m being watched; there’s nothing I can do about this. I look up to see Simon Fischer and Beth, side by side, leaning on the upper rail and looking down on all of us like the Lannisters watching a death match.
So I guess I’m supposed to forgive Miles for what he is about to do. Why? Because he’ll be in hot water with his wife and father-in-law if he doesn’t. Jesus, Miles, get a grip.
“Into the boat,” Miles orders me, his voice cracking slightly.
I have no choice but to obey. I climb down into the inflatable craft, eyeing Miles every step of the way. He evades my glance with care.
“You two,” Miles says to one of the bodyguards and Chokehold, “into the skiff.” Choke and Bodyguard clamber down into the larger of the two small crafts.
I know Miles so well I can watch his thoughts play out on his face. At this point he’s still thinking he’s going to be able to delegate this whole operation. But then he looks up at Simon Fischer, and I see awareness blossom. Miles realizes this is a test. Of his mettle. Of his “courage.” Of his hands-on leadership and decision-making. Delegating won’t do.
He climbs down into the rectangular skiff and takes the wheel, a general with his two lieutenants. He reassesses the personnel arrangement and orders Choke out of the skiff and into the rubber boat with Jeannie and me. Damn, I was hoping he’d leave Jeannie and me alone.
It’s tight quarters on the inflatable with Choke aboard. The boat can hold three adults, but not in “style, comfort, and class”; Choke’s a sizeable dude, in case I haven’t mentioned.
Jeannie is left to helm the tiller. Maybe Choke doesn’t know how to operate an outboard.
“Go!” Miles orders, pointing eastward. Why east? I wonder.
We strike off toward the black horizon. The full dark of night is upon us now, and the moon is only a high sliver in a cloudless and oddly starless sky. The island lies to our starboard side. In a few minutes we’ll be clear of it, and out into the depths of the open Atlantic.
Miles follows us in the skiff without any lights. Even though I can hear his motor a few yards behind ours, I can barely see his boat, so dark is the night.
I don’t understand why we’re going in this direction. The way the fake texts were written, I thought we were supposed to have our “accident” near Table Rock, which is on the northwestern edge of the island, in the opposite direction.
But eastward we go.
The only bits of light we can see are from the scattered homes to our right, on the northern side of the island. Soon the last of the lighted world will be behind us.
I am heading into blackness, never to return, it seems. How strange. A mere nine days ago, I was living a marginal existence in my parents’ decaying home, feeling unloved and alone, wallowing in low-level melancholy and despair, failing to savor the life that was mine for the grabbing. Then I was given the gift of attempted murder. Yes, gift, because it made me hunger for life again. The past several days have been terrifying, exhausting, and more stressful than anything I’ve ever endured, but they’ve been electrifying too. I’ve tasted true love again and had my heart ripped to the core. I’ve made love as only the angels can. I’ve used my mind and body in ways I didn’t know I could. And I’ve discovered I’m not a coward when my back is against the wall. These are life-changing revelations.
Alas, there is little life left for the changing. It’s all going to be over soon. My crazy hope was that, even if I couldn’t figure out a way to escape this mess, help would arrive. That’s why I called Enzo on the burner phone and let the line stay open all through dinner and beyond. I was hoping he would listen in on what was happening and send in the reinforcements. Maybe fetch our policeman from Monhegan or figure s
omething else out.
But no. Maybe my call didn’t really go through, maybe Enzo wasn’t listening, maybe he couldn’t make out anything being said, or maybe he just didn’t give a crap.
I still can’t believe Miles, my best friend, actually intends for Jeannie and me to die out here, but that seems to be the course he’s committed to.
Ahead on the right I see the lamppost at Mussel Cove. That’s the last light we’ll pass on the eastern end of the island. Then it’s nothing but blackness till Ballyconneely Bay in County Galway, my ancestral home.
I look behind me at the western horizon. It’s still showing some faint luminescence from the setting of the sun. Enough to create silhouettes. If anyone was following us in the distance, even with their lights off, I think I’d see them. But I see nothing. We’re all alone out here.
If I’m going to die on the black ocean, though, I refuse to die in servitude to Miles’ lies. I refuse to make this easy for him. I still have a few things to say to him. And I want to make sure that on the off chance Enzo is still listening and my burner phone still has power, there is a record of what is about to go down. But the hitch is, if we go much farther, we’ll lose cell-phone reception. The island’s lone cell “tower” barely covers the island itself, on a good day. So I need to stop this boat somehow. Force the endgame to happen close to shore. Make it harder for Miles to pull his crime off cleanly.
Time is running out, so I have to try something fast.
“I wonder how much gas this thing has,” I say to Jeannie, lading my words with meaning I hope she will unpack. What I’m really saying to her is, “Can you make the engine quit somehow?”
“Shut up,” orders Chokehold. Silver-tongued rogue.
We cruise along for a minute or two, followed by the skiff. We steer past the Mussel Cove light and its protruding apron of rocks. Now the last thing we’ll pass on the right is Seal Point, which has no lights, and George’s Knob on the left. George’s Knob is not as obscene as it sounds. It’s just a rock formation lying off the northeastern edge of the island; large enough to merit a name, too small to be called an island. Once we get through the channel between George’s Knob and Seal Point, it’s H2O as far as the eye can see.
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