A Matter of Time

by David Manuel

  Well, shake hands with the Devil, he said to himself grimly, accepting the proffered hand.

  37 one by land, two by sea

  The silence in Ian Bennett’s study was broken by the brass ship’s clock ringing three bells—half past five. Then the silence returned, undisturbed by the three men present.

  Dan Burke had finished telling Ian of gaining his son’s confidence, to the point where the boy had told him of his involvement with drugs and of young Jonesy telling him he’d just witnessed a murder. Knowing how bad his friend felt about how things had played out, Brother Bartholomew had come with him to support him on this errand of conscience.

  At length Ian said, “Well, I’m glad you told me all this, Chief. It fills in the blanks.” He looked out the window. “I’m glad he told someone. He was never able to talk to me—about anything that was important to him.” He put a hand over his eyes.

  “He wanted to,” murmured Dan, looking up. “That’s why he didn’t go to the station that night, or first thing in the morning. He wanted to wait till you got home, so he could tell you himself.” He paused. “And since I’ve a boy his age, who has a hard time talking to me—I let him.”

  Bartholomew spoke. “I realize how bad it looks, but I’ve got to remind you: We don’t know for sure that Eric’s dead. If the Frenchman was going to kill him, he would have done so at the same time he killed the Jones boy.”

  Ian looked at him, not daring to hope. “What do you mean?”

  “He might see Eric as being of use to him, getting away.”

  “I don’t see how,” countered Dan. “As the inspector said, there are only two ways off the island, by plane or cruise ship. The police have copies of the artist’s sketch, and tomorrow it’ll be everywhere.” He turned to Ian. “They’ll get him.”

  “There may be a third way off,” said Bartholomew quietly. Both men looked to him. “In a small boat.”

  “No!” declared Ian. “There aren’t half a dozen charter boats still here with that kind of range—”

  Dan finished it for him, ”—and the police have already contacted them.”

  Bartholomew didn’t answer. He was looking at the wind whipping the surface of Ely’s Harbour. “He could go by sailboat.”

  They stared at him. Slowly, reluctantly, Ian nodded. “It’s possible. But if that’s what he’s planning, he’s stuck here until after the storm. No sailboat’s crazy enough to leave in the teeth of a force nine gale!”

  The Chief nodded. “By the time the weather clears, every man and his dog will know what the murderer looks like.”

  The phone rang. Ian started to reach for it, but the policewoman in the kitchen with Nan reminded him, “Mr. Bennett! Let your wife answer! We have the recorder hooked up in here, and a relay to Bermuda Telephone.”

  Nan took it. She kept the person on the other end talking the requisite 45 seconds. Unfortunately, it was not a request for ransom money.

  Nan, wrung-out and cried-out, came into the den. “It was just a friend of your brother’s,” she told Ian. “Someone named Mike at the White Horse. He said Colin’s about to leave for Maine, and he’d left off a package for you.”

  Ian stared at her. “Colin never said anything about going to Maine!” He snatched up the phone book, looked up the White Horse and dialed it.

  “You say Colin’s leaving for Maine?” he asked when someone answered. “I don’t believe it! Not in this storm! He’s smarter than that!” Pause. “But that’s insane!” Pause. “Did he say what was in the package?” Pause. “My God!” Pause. “No, he never told me!” Pause. “Has he left yet?” Pause. “Okay, I’m coming out there!”

  He hung up the phone. “Colin is sailing for Maine!” he told the others. “This Mike person’s the bartender at the White Horse. He thinks the package might be some or all of a divorce settlement—$50,000!”

  He shook his head. “I knew Amy had gone back to Georgia, but I didn’t know it had gone this far.” He frowned. “Where would he get that kind of money?”

  They all knew at the same moment.

  “I’m calling Cochrane!” exclaimed Dan, grabbing the phone. Getting through quickly, he relayed the situation and told him what they suspected.

  “Inspector,” he concluded, “if you’re going after him,” he glanced at the other two, “we want to come.” Pause. “We’re aware of the danger, and we accept the responsibility.” Long pause. “But—”

  Dan returned the receiver to its cradle. “Cochrane thinks he may have already left, so he’s taking the fast police boat out to St. George’s. The territorial limit’s twelve miles. He’s confident they can catch them before they reach it. But he doesn’t want any civilians involved. Civilians,” he spat the word out in disgust.

  “If we were up on Cape Cod, you’d have said the same thing,” Bartholomew reminded him.

  Ian was doing some figuring on a piece of paper. “They should be able to do it,” he announced. “Colin’s Venus can’t make more than five knots on his engine, and he won’t be able to put any canvas up till he gets in open water.” He did some more figuring. “The police boat, Rescue 2, is a rigid inflatable, powered by twin Yamaha 150s.” He shook his head. “I’ve seen that sucker flat out. It was planing! Had to be making forty knots!”

  “Yes, but for how long?” asked Bartholomew.

  “Its range? I don’t know.” He thought for a moment. “It has to be forty or fifty miles—enough to get from downtown Hamilton out to the territorial limit in any direction—and of course, back again.”

  Dan stood up. “You heard me ask if we could go. He thanked us very much for all our help and input, but said they’d take it from here. He reminded me the Frenchman’s extremely dangerous and wouldn’t hesitate to kill again.”

  “Is he armed?” asked Bartholomew.

  “Guns are illegal on Bermuda,” replied the Chief, “but hey, so are drugs. If he’s got one, he’s got the other. That’s why Cochrane doesn’t want us anywhere near him. He’s taking Tuttle with a scoped rifle. Plans to drop him, soon as he gets a clear shot.”

  “That may not be too easy in ten-foot seas,” noted Bartholomew, looking out the window at the waves building beyond the mouth of Ely’s Harbour. “Did he say anything about Eric?”

  Dan shook his head.

  Ian stood up. “Well, I can’t just sit here. That’s my brother out there! With my son’s”—he almost said killer—“kidnapper on his boat. And he doesn’t even know that! I’m going out there!”

  “If we were on the Cape,” said the Chief, “and it was my call, I’d tell you to stay put. Just like Cochrane. But this isn’t my jurisdiction, and I want him as badly as you do. I say we go. How fast is your boat?”

  “Goodness can do sixteen knots, eighteen if I really push her.” He paused. “It’ll probably be all over by the time we get there, but it sure beats sitting around here, waiting for the phone to ring!”

  “What about the storm?” asked Bartholomew.

  “They’re saying it won’t peak till later tonight. It’ll be bad out there, but not suicidal—at least, not yet.”

  “How much daylight’s left?”

  “A couple of hours—not enough, but I’ve got good radar. We’ll find him.”

  “You mean, if the police haven’t gotten him already,” said Bartholomew.

  “That’s right,” Ian said, going to the back hall closet and pulling on a slicker. “Look, we’re losing time. Who’s coming?”

  “What if he hasn’t left yet?” asked Dan. “If I take my scooter, I can be there in forty minutes.”

  “You don’t think Cochrane’s already sent a car there?” offered Bartholomew.

  “Probably. But like he just said,” he nodded at Ian, “anything’s better than sitting here. And I’m better on land than sea.”

  “You got a cell phone?” asked Ian.

  Dan gave him his number, and wrote down Ian’s.

  “Call me when you get there,” Ian said. “If they’ve already left, I’ll pi
ck you up at St. Catherine’s, just below the fort.” From his hip pocket, Dan produced a tourist’s map, and Ian showed him where it was.

  “Will I have time?” Dan asked.

  “Afraid so; it’ll take me a good hour to get there.”

  On their way out the door, Dan frowned. “I don’t like not having my piece with me. If there was ever a time I’d appreciate the company of Messrs. Smith & Wesson, it’s now.”

  “Wait a minute,” said Ian, opening the closet again and rummaging through its top shelf. “Here’s something: an old flare pistol—an antique, actually. Belonged to my father. But it’ll work.” He gave it to him with two flare shells.

  “What about you?” Dan asked.

  “I’ve got a new one on the boat.” He shrugged. “They’re not much, but they might make you feel better.”

  Dan gave a wry smile as he looked down at the ancient relic. “At home I train my people never to go into a situation—not that we go into very many—without being sure you have more firepower than you’re likely to come up against.” He laughed. “Wait till I tell them about this!”

  “That’s it, then,” said Ian, opening the back door.

  “I want to go with you,” Bartholomew suddenly declared.

  Dan’s eyes widened. But he was not half as surprised as Bartholomew himself.

  38 a matter of time

  The sea in St. George’s Harbour was as ugly as Colin had ever seen it. The more time a sailor spent on it, the healthier became his respect for it. Colin had logged enough time to know that this was the last place he wanted to be. And the sea was giving every indication that in a short while it would be a lot worse. Maybe bad enough to make this not worthwhile, even if it cost him his boat.

  At the tiller of Care Away, he kept her heading with the waves, as long as they were carrying him towards the narrows into Smith Sound. Her little engine was doing its best, but he was not sure how she’d do with the sea on her port beam as they headed for Bremen Cut, instead of following, as now. He was at the point of bagging the whole thing.

  Up ahead, through the rain that was starting to fall, he could make out the East End Wharf, and there was his passenger waiting, wearing a yellow life vest, his bags beside him, his car parked behind him. Odd that Dupré should be wearing a life vest. He did not strike Colin as a fearful man. Care Away had six vests stored under the aft seats. Not wearing one, even in weather like this, was preferable for the freedom of movement. And if he needed one, he could get to it in a few seconds.

  The approach was going to be tricky; he threw the fenders over the side. Just then a rogue wave, bigger than the rest, lifted his stem, exposing the propeller, which revved wildly, till he could back off the throttle. That settled it. They weren’t going. He would lose Care Away, but he was not ready to lose his life.

  He swung expertly around to the leeward side of the wharf, and Dupré gathered up his gear and started towards him.

  Colin shook his head and shouted to make himself heard over the wind. “We’re not going!”

  The Frenchman ignored him, tossing his duffles and hang bag into the aft end.

  “Did you hear me?” cried Colin. “I said we’re not going!”

  Dupré leaned close to him. “We have a deal, Monsieur Bennett. No one backs out of a deal with me.”

  “Well, I do. Look, we can go Saturday, like I said. And I’ll give you back the extra—inducement. But we’d lose her out there!”

  “I thought you were the best!”

  “I am! That’s why we’re not going! I want to still be the best tomorrow!”

  Dupré glared at him. “We are going now!”

  “Then you’re going to have to swim, because this boat’s not going anywhere!”

  “Wait here. I have something that will change your mind!” Before Colin could answer, Dupré turned and went back to his car.

  “Look,” Colin called after him, “if it’s more money, forget it! There’s not enough money in the world to—”

  He stopped. The Frenchman was getting something out of the trunk of his car, something large. A person!

  Colin squinted in the rain and the failing light. It was a man, arms duct-taped behind him, more duct tape over his mouth. There was a wire noose around his neck, attached to a two-foot pole that Dupré was leading him along by. Before they reached him, Colin knew in his heart. It was Eric.

  In his other hand, Dupré had a 9mm Glöck automatic. “Now, we’re going, I think you’ll agree. I didn’t want to do it this way, but you’ve forced my hand.”

  He prodded Eric towards the boat, and Colin, for the safety of the boy, helped him aboard.

  “Now, cast off!” ordered Dupré, jumping aboard himself. “And remember, try anything, anything at all, and I will shoot the boy first.”

  He shook his head. “Quel dommage! We would have had such a nice winter.”

  Guiding Care Away through the cut in the dwindling light and rising sea, Colin forced himself to do risk assessment. His life and Eric’s depended on it.

  What were their chances of survival? Minimal. As long as he had enough light to see by, he could keep her from swamping. But after dark? He’d have to risk putting up some canvas, in spite of the wind. Sail due south. It was the only way to get out of the maw of this storm.

  What were their chances of rescue? Minimal. No one knew they were gone. No one had even seen them leave. If only he’d told Dupré to meet him at St. George’s, instead of St. David’s. Never mind that now. Focus on the now and the soon.

  How long was their situation tenable? If they didn’t founder, four hours, maybe six. Then fatigue would become the overriding factor. Normally, as owner/captain of the boat, he would be in command. But with Admiral Glöck on board, all rules were waived.

  Should he resist? Or cooperate? Or seem to cooperate? They were in a hostage situation. Eric was the most at risk. Dupré could get him to do anything he wanted, merely by threatening to do harm to his nephew.

  Until he started to fall asleep. Then what?

  He looked over at the Frenchman, who was watching him. He still held Eric by the noose attached to the pole. The wire had already cut his neck. His blood stained the front of his school uniform. One yank on that pole, and the wire would reopen the wound. A hard enough yank could kill him. And Colin had no doubt the Frenchman would do it without hesitation. He would have left him in the trunk of the car, had Colin gone willingly.

  His and Dupré’s eyes met, and he sensed the Frenchman was doing his own evaluation. The one unknown was just how much he knew about ocean sailing. Probably enough to keep on a southerly heading. And if he knew how to use a GPS, it would not be too difficult to get where he wanted to go. The only thing he didn’t know was how to set the automatic pilot. And Colin determined not to teach him. That knowledge might be all that would keep Dupré from putting him and Eric over the side.

  Which was going to happen eventually anyway, Colin realized. There could be no returning to civility now. The only question was, how soon?

  They had reached open water. And eight-foot swells. The boat was riding them, but her engine was laboring. “We’re going to have to switch to canvas,” he called to the Frenchman over the sound of the storm. “She doesn’t have enough petrol to go another hour this way.”

  Dupré nodded. “Do it.”

  “I could use the boy’s help.”

  “Do it yourself. I’ll man the tiller and keep the boy company.” Tucking the Glöck in his belt, he took over the helm.

  Colin unreefed the mainsail and raised it four feet. It was all he dared. Even with that little canvas showing, Care Away heeled over and drove forward. But she was under sail now, and Colin could cut the engine. As he did so, he was dismayed to see how well Dupré managed the tiller. He knew what he was doing.

  Just then, the cell phone in his pocket went off. Colin pulled it out and answered it. “Ian?” He put his hand up to his other ear, to hear his brother better. “Say again?”

  The French
man reached over Colin’s shoulder, took the phone out of his hand, and tossed it over the side.

  Colin glared at him. And tried to keep his expression from revealing what he had just heard. They were coming!

  Below, the ship’s radio crackled to life. “Harbour Radio calling southbound vessel, three miles from Bremer Cut.” The call was repeated three times.

  “I ought to answer that,” said Colin. “They can see us on their radar.”

  The Frenchman pondered this, as the radio crackled again. “Southbound vessel, be advised: We have received your distress signal. Rescue 2 is on its way to you. Stay within the limit.”

  Dupré made up his mind. “Take this,” he commanded, turning the tiller over to Colin. He peered into the hatch, keeping his hand on the pole attached to Eric’s neck. With his other hand, he took the Glöck from his waist and shot the radio.

  Colin looked at him in disgust. “You’d better pray we don’t need that to save our skins!”

  Dupré ignored him. “What distress signal?”

  “I don’t know what he’s talking about!”

  The Frenchman leaned towards Colin and suddenly smashed him in the side of the face with the pistol. “I said, what distress signal?”

  Wincing in pain, Colin angrily replied, “And I said, I don’t know what he’s talking about!”

  “Shall I shoot the boy?”

  “I told you, I don’t—”

  Taking careful aim, the Frenchman shot Eric in the upper left thigh. The boy screamed. Colin screamed. “Are you crazy? I said I don’t know what he’s talking about!”

  Dupré smiled. “Now I believe you. Which means they were lying. Why?” He thought about it. “They want you to know help is on its way. Rescue 2 is a police boat, isn’t it?”

  When Colin didn’t answer, Dupré took aim at Eric’s other thigh.