by Alex Kava
No, Walter wasn’t surprised that the hurricane didn’t deter Joe. A moment later he was saying, “Hey, Walter, I wish you didn’t have to be tied up, ’cause I think you’d be enjoying this. You should see it from up here. Bet you spent rougher times out on the seas, huh?” There was more static then a click-click and he thought the connection had failed.
Then Joe added, “Might have lost you there. These radios need updating.”
Walter waited out another crest—up, up, up, and finally back down. The tuna bag rolled to one side and crashed into the other, but he stayed put.
“I learned from my dad, Walter. You can’t put off living the good life. You’ve got to take what you can whenever you can. And after all those years when my dad got sick and the navy didn’t do right by him … well, let’s just say I’m evening the score.”
Another surge.
“And you know what else, Walter? I’ve learned to love hurricanes. You just have to work them to your favor.”
Walter thought Joe was referring to the roller-coaster ride. It didn’t occur to him what Joe really meant until he saw the tuna bag moving, the zipper working its way down.
“Yup, these hurricanes have been a cash cow for me this summer. Because you know what? People disappear all the time after a hurricane. A missing person suddenly becomes a donor. You know how much one body’s worth these days?”
Walter’s head pounded and he blinked his eyes hard, thinking maybe he was hallucinating. He twisted and jerked around to see better, holding his breath while he watched a bruised and battered Charlotte Mills crawl out of the tuna bag.
CHAPTER 58
Maggie knew she’d need more than a couple of capsules of powdered ginger to get her through this. Why had she ever thought Liz Bailey’s offer of “a ride” off Pensacola Beach would be simple? Why? Because she had no idea what to expect. What was it that she had said to Charlie Wurth yesterday? “It’s one storm. How bad can it be?”
Everyone kept calling these the “outer bands,” but the air was already too thick to breathe. Maggie felt like the world had been tipped on its side. Trees bent sideways. The rain poured in horizontal streams. The few people outside teetered from side to side, leaning into the wind to avoid being blown over. She struggled to keep her own balance while sand pelted her skin like a million tiny pinpricks.
Then as suddenly as it began, it stopped. Maggie swore she could even see a swirl of blue sky through the layers of gray overhead. Liz had finished gearing up and was watching her.
“You gonna be okay?”
“Sure. Absolutely,” Maggie said, zipping open her flight suit just enough to show Liz her shoulder holster and Smith & Wesson tucked inside. “I’ve got all the control I need,” she joked.
Liz smiled but was unsuccessful in covering her concern. It wasn’t quite the same look Maggie had seen in Liz’s eyes when she thought her father might be in danger. Earlier, there had been just a hint of panic and Maggie’s immediate reaction was to squelch it. Truth was, Liz’s father might be in danger if he was still with Joe Black, but there wasn’t anything they could do about it right now.
She could tell Liz had switched into rescue mode.
“How can you be so brave?” Maggie asked her.
Liz smiled at her again until she realized Maggie wasn’t joking.
“My first instinct is simply to survive.”
Maggie raised an eyebrow. She wanted to understand.
“Just because I go up in a helicopter or plunge down into the ocean doesn’t make me brave. It just makes me a bit crazy.” She gave a short laugh. “Look, I know there are things you do instinctively, too. Things that I wouldn’t dare. Rescuing someone and coming face-to-face with a killer, in the end both those situations come down to our instinct to survive.” She shrugged. “I don’t have time to think about being brave. I bet you don’t, either.”
Maggie wanted to ask her how she had gotten so wise. She realized Liz was waiting for some response, some sign of agreement or understanding. But Maggie simply nodded.
“Anyway, don’t worry too much about this trip,” Liz added. “We probably won’t get any distress calls before we have to head to Jacksonville. They won’t let us stay up for very long. As soon as the wind hits forty knots, we’re out of here.”
But Maggie wasn’t really listening anymore. She was watching out the window as Lieutenant Commander Wilson and his copilot, Ellis, boarded the helicopter. Pete Kesnick was waiting for Liz and Maggie. And all Maggie could think about was how quickly the sky had turned an impossibly darker shade of gray.
CHAPTER 59
“My God, Charlotte. Are you okay?” Walter could hardly believe his eyes.
The right side of her small face was one purple bruise. Her gray hair stuck out from her ponytail. Her lower lip was split and her eyes were wild, a combination of shock and panic. She stared at Walter as if she didn’t recognize him. She crawled out of the bag, dragging her right leg. The ankle was so swollen it reminded Walter of rising bread, puffing out of her sneaker.
“Charlotte,” he whispered again.
His eyes darted to the open stairwell. Joe had gone silent on the radio. Walter wanted to believe Joe wouldn’t leave the cockpit. Now he prayed he wouldn’t leave the cockpit.
“Do you know where we are?” Walter asked her.
She kicked the bag away and grabbed on to a leather strap in the floor just as the boat pitched sideways.
Other than the bruises and the swollen ankle, Walter couldn’t see any broken bones or bleeding.
“Can you hear me, Charlotte?” He kept his voice low and quiet. He knew what it could do to a person to be stuck in a hold. A bag probably had the same effect. He worried that she might be too far gone to be of any help. “Charlotte?”
“I’ve heard every word that bastard said from the time he dropped me on my head.”
Walter wanted to laugh with relief. “Good ole Charlotte.”
She crawled up beside him and started to work on his ropes but Walter stopped her.
He pointed above him with his chin. “I can wait. Do you know how to use a two-way radio?”
CHAPTER 60
They had only been in the air a few minutes when the distress call came in. Liz heard Wilson talking to their command post, getting the details. She glanced over at Maggie. The FBI agent had looked okay until another outer band swept in. Now she clenched the leather hold-down and tightened her seat belt.
Liz realized that being in the air, the sensation of wind and rain was different. Wilson couldn’t just fly above the clouds like a jetliner and get out of it. And his tight-fisted handling of the controls made the craft rock and plunge more than necessary.
She started preparing to be deployed. From the brief description it sounded like a medical emergency. The craft, a thirty-two-foot cabin cruiser, was intact, not taking on water and not disabled. That should make things easier but not much.
The water was choppy, waves cresting nine to twelve feet. It was crazy even for a professional to be out in this.
“Let’s keep the swimmer out of the water,” Wilson said.
She was still “the swimmer,” Liz thought and immediately knew she needed to keep her focus on the boat below. The adrenaline had already started pumping. She didn’t care about Wilson.
They could see the boat, the waves tossing it, almost perpendicular to the sky. Then the waves would crest and the boat would crash down. It looked like the boat was swallowed up whole then spit out, to begin the process all over.
“Let the boat deck rise up to meet you,” Pete Kesnick was telling Liz through her helmet. “But get on before the wave crests. You want to hang on to something before it breaks.”
She nodded but his eyes held hers as if he needed to see for himself that she was, indeed, up to the task.
Choppy seas always made it dangerous. The wind gusts and the moving boat contributed to the challenge.
“We’ll never get a basket down with these winds,” Wilson sai
d.
“Did they say what the medical condition was?” Kesnick asked.
“No. They lost contact before giving any details.”
“We try no more than three times,” Kesnick said. He was talking to Liz. “If I think it’s not working, I’m hauling you back up. Understand?”
“No heroics, Bailey,” Wilson told her. “We don’t want to lose our rescue swimmer before the hurricane even hits.”
CHAPTER 61
As soon as they heard the helicopter overhead Joe Black came pounding down the steps.
“What the hell did you do, Walter?”
They hadn’t been able to untie the rope yet from Walter’s feet. He couldn’t stand up without immediately losing his balance but he swung a fist at his surprised captor, hitting Joe in the face. Charlotte scrambled to her feet, her swollen ankle making her hop as she tried to land a blow. Then the boat heaved and sent them all crashing to the deck.
When the boat steadied, Joe had Charlotte by the back of her collar and his snub-nose revolver pointed at Walter’s chest.
“I knew I should have killed you both. I just didn’t want you stinking up my boat by the time I got to Biloxi.”
He pushed Charlotte down onto the floor next to Walter. Then he stood over them, glancing at the steps. Walter could see he was anxious to get back up.
If the helicopter didn’t see any signs of distress, would they risk sending someone down? And dear God, Walter silently prayed, please don’t let it be Liz. He hoped she was already on her way to Jacksonville and this was another crew left behind for a last-minute search.
“I haven’t ruled out shooting you both,” Joe was telling them. He set his feet apart and braced one hand on the wall to steady himself while the boat rocked and climbed again. “I just hate using a gun or a knife. Damages too much tissue. There’s nothing worse than a cooler full of damaged goods.”
He was ranting, and Walter wondered if his internal check-and-balance system had cracked under the stress. Madmen were dangerous. Was it too late or could he get through to the kid?
Walter pressed a hand against the wall, and tried lifting himself up to his feet.
“Just stay put, Walter, or I’ll shoot you in the hand. I’ve got plenty hands. Once they figured out how to repair carpal tunnel, hands as a commodity went bust.”
“It’s over, Phillip Norris’s son,” Walter said, deliberately using his father’s name.
Walter watched Joe’s eyes. He wanted to bring back the boy who enjoyed Coney Island hot dogs. He was certain that if he could do that, they would be safe. He wasn’t prepared for Joe’s response.
Joe aimed the gun, pulled back the trigger, and Walter’s left hand exploded.
CHAPTER 62
Scott ignored Trish’s phone calls. He turned the cell phone off and threw it on the embalming table.
She wanted him to get to her father’s house. She couldn’t find her dad. Couldn’t get in touch with her sister. She was panicked again. Earlier he had told her that he needed to stay at the funeral home to make sure everything was okay. If a window blew out he wanted to be here to board it up so there wasn’t any water damage. She didn’t understand. After all, he hadn’t lifted a finger to protect their brand-new home.
“This is different,” he tried to explain. This was their livelihood. They could stay in a hotel if their home was destroyed. But if the funeral home was damaged, they would have no money coming in. How could she not understand the difference?
He’d just finished washing his hands. He couldn’t get rid of the smell of decomposing flesh. He checked cupboards. Washed down the embalming room. Sprayed disinfectants. Still the smell persisted. He’d heard about olfactory hallucinations at one of the funeral-director conferences. At the time he thought it sounded ridiculous. Now he wondered if, in fact, that’s what was happening to him.
Outside the world grew dark. Power lines danced in the wind. The sporadic downpours left water flooding the streets. Pine trees had already snapped in half. With every wave, the storm grew more intense. From the radio Scott learned that once the hurricane made landfall there would be no break for six to ten hours. Twelve to fifteen if the backstorm was just as intense.
He had to admit, now that he’d seen a piece of the pre-storm, he was frightened. As a kid he had fought claustrophobia after being locked inside the trunk of a neighbor’s car—his punishment for mouthing off to the older, stronger kids. This storm renewed his claustrophobia.
A crash brought him to the window.
“Son of a bitch.”
A branch from the huge live oak outside the back door had been ripped off. The heavy part tumbled to the ground but power lines held up the other end. Sparks flashed. The lights in the funeral home blinked a couple of times but stayed on.
He realized the tree could end up coming through the roof. If windows exploded and branches flew in, he might not be safe inside. Trish had said that earlier, but he hadn’t listened.
He grabbed a flashlight and started looking for cover. The utility closet? On the radio they had said an interior room with no windows was best. He paced the hallway. Then suddenly he stopped and turned around.
Why hadn’t he thought of it sooner? The walk-in refrigerator was stainless steel. Nothing could rip that apart.
He turned on the light and pulled a chair inside. He shoved the table with Uncle Mel to one side. Joe Black had left two shelves filled with body parts. The other table was still occupied by the young man that Scott had imagined moved.
He closed the walk-in refrigerator’s door and made himself sit down. This was perfect. No way this hurricane would touch him.
The lights blinked again. He heard a click, followed by two more. The electronic locks on the walk-in refrigerator’s door had just engaged. He raced to the door just as the lights went out. His stomach sank. He wouldn’t be able to open the door until the electricity came back on.
CHAPTER 63
Liz wiped at her goggles. It didn’t help. Just as she could see, the spray clouded her sight, again.
The wind yanked her up and down, whipping her from side to side. Once she almost made contact and Kesnick pulled too far up. Finally, her feet hit the deck. Kesnick slackened the cable. She dropped and rolled as a wave swallowed the boat. It almost pushed her overboard. She felt the cable go taut just as she grabbed on to a railing. Before Kesnick could change his mind, Liz waved that she was okay.
Communication would be tough. Almost impossible. Her hand gestures might become invisible as the rain intensified. But if the boat swirled out of control, she was still connected to the helicopter. And at the first sign of trouble Kesnick would pull her up.
She crawled along the deck, grabbing on to hooks and cables attached to the boat. She couldn’t see anyone at the helm. She focused on her task. She was in control. There was no room for panic.
Liz pulled at the cabin door. The wind fought her. She hung on and ducked just as another wave came crashing over the top. The hoist cable tugged at her waist. Kesnick was impatient, nervous. She took the time to wave up at him. Could he see her thumbs-up?
The time between crests grew shorter. She had maybe a dozen seconds. She yanked at the cabin door again, using all her strength. It popped open.
No one was at the wheel. The engines were turned off. The owner must have realized there was no fighting the waves.
“Hello,” she yelled and stood still, listening for a response.
Nothing. Static behind her. The radio.
“Anyone down there?”
She pulled off her goggles. Let them dangle around her neck. She waited to catch her breath then she started down the steps.
The gun was pressed against her left temple before she even saw it.
CHAPTER 64
“She’s in,” Pete Kesnick said, but Maggie didn’t hear any relief in his words. If anything he sounded more on edge. Their swimmer was out of sight and they still didn’t have any idea what the situation was down below.
; “If the medical condition or injury is serious, she may not be able to use the quick strop.” Kesnick practically hung out the open doorway. He leaned against his own cable, fighting the rain and wind, trying to watch for Liz.
He had double-checked the cable. A good thing, because Maggie was certain she wouldn’t be able to help this time. Not with the wind violently shoving the helicopter around. The roar made it difficult to hear even the voices inside her helmet.
“She’s gonna need to hurry.” Wilson sounded as tightly wound as the cable. “We gotta go. Command center is telling me ten minutes. Tops.”
“We can’t do this in ten minutes,” Kesnick told him. “She might be stabilizing someone on board.”
“I’m watching the clock. That’s all I’m saying.”
“Can someone go down and help her?” Maggie asked.
Silence. It was as if they didn’t want to acknowledge her presence.
Wilson had already put up a fuss about her being on his craft. He had complained to Liz as they geared up. Didn’t care that Maggie was standing right there.
“No one else is authorized to deploy except the rescue swimmer,” Wilson finally told her. “We can send down anything she needs. Anything that might help her. But we stay in the helicopter. Or we have to leave and send a cutter back.”
“You’d leave her down there?”
More silence.
“Sometimes you don’t have a choice. You follow the rules. I have a responsibility to the entire crew.”
“But the hurricane—”
“Exactly,” was his one-word answer. A pause, then, “Seven minutes, Kesnick.”
“You can’t just leave her.”
“Agent O’Dell, you do not have any authority in this craft. I do. Understand?”