Long Voyage Back

by Luke Rhinehart

  opposite the open cockpit of the. Mollycoddle and then released her hold on her hat. It went flying off towards the yacht, Jeanne uttering a little scream. The hat sailed into the cockpit as planned, but then bounced on a seat cushion and flew out the other side, no, hit a metal strut and dropped back into the cockpit. She stared at it wide-eyed. In theory a guard was supposed to come out, rescue the hat, enter into conversation and ask her aboard. Nothing happened.

  Glancing up and down the dock and trying to look upset and pathetic, Jeanne next moved to the edge of the dock and contemplated either hailing the crew of the Mollycoddle or going aboard after her hat.

  Àhoy in there!' she said in as helplessly feminine a voice as she could muster, the rushing of the wind in the rigging of nearby sailboats effectively drowning her voice. No one responded There was four feet of open water between the dock and the coaming of the Mollycoddle, an easy jump for Jeanne, if only the gun didn't bounce loose. Steadying herself on the dock, gauging her jump carefully, she leapt into the yacht's cockpit, letting herself fall forward with a crash on to her left side, screaming a good loud scream and lying there askew, moaning.

  In a few seconds the cabin door opened and a large bare-chested man holding a pistol appeared, staring at her fiercely, then up at the dock and along it.

  `What the hell are you doing here?' he asked with a distinctly American accent.

  `My hat,' said Jeanne, grimacing in pretended pain but pulling down her skirt and adjusting her legs so that her gun wouldn't show. Then, sitting up, she gestured at the straw hat lying on the other side of the cockpit.

  Ànd you jumped after it, huh?' the big man said, now grinning, his handlebar moustache flicking up at the ends.

  Jeanne nodded, rubbing her left foot which she decided she had twisted. But not badly. She didn't want to be carried.

  `Need some help?' he asked, stuffing his pistol in between

  his belly and his shorts.

  No, no, I'm fine,' she said, holding up a hand to halt him. Ì'm just a little in shock, I guess.' She looked up at him and smiled wanly. He stared at her breasts.

  `You want a drink or something?' he asked.

  Òh, no, I don't want to bother you,' Jeanne said, standing awkwardly. 'Although come to think of it a drink would be nice.'

  `Hey, Mike, can the lady have a drink?' the big man asked, and Jeanne saw a tall, slender man with a neat beige sportshirt and shorts standing in the cabin door. He was eyeing her coldly. She smiled at him. He smiled back.

  `Certainly, Bart,' he said. 'We wouldn't want her to leave in pain. She might sue us.'

  Jeanne laughed prettily.

  `Come in, darling.'

  `Said the spider to the fly,' said Jeanne as she limped past Bart and Michael and into the luxurious main salon of the Hatteras. There was no one else there; no sign of either Katya's or Lisa's things.

  `Wow, this is something,' Jeanne said as she stopped in the middle of the plush carpet and looked around, still half-hoping, half-fearing signs of Lisa's presence.

  `What would you like to drink?' asked Michael. 'Please sit down.'

  `Thank you,' said Jeanne, sitting in a leather chair and quickly crossing her legs. 'Gin and tonic?' she asked. He laughed. 'How about some rum?' he asked.

  `That's fine too.'

  `Bart?'

  `Sure, Mike,' said Bart and disappeared forward into the far part of the galley. Ì'm Michael Forester,' said Michael.

  The last name so surprised Jeanne she couldn't decide who she was. 'I'm Jeannie Wilkins,

  ' she said after an awkward hesitation.

  Ànd what brings you tumbling into the Mollycoddle?'

  `Stupidity, I guess. My hat blew on to your boat.'

  À likely story,' said Michael. 'Are you sure it wasn't because you noticed my handsome face in the street and followed me here out of uncontrollable lust?'

  Jeanne smiled, again awkwardly. 'If I'd seen you before, I might have!' she managed, smiling more broadly.

  Àre you often overcome with uncontrollable lust?'

  Jeanne felt a bit overwhelmed. At the rate this conversation was going, Michael would have her in the sack before Neil had paddled halfway here.

  Ònly on hot, stifling days when there's no wind,' she answered. Àhh,' said Michael. 'What disappointing weather then, no?'

  Bart entered with the drinks and handed one each to Michael and Jeanne and kept a bottle of beer for himself. He sat down on a second easy chair in the salon".

  `Cheers,' said Michael.

  ÀNYONE ABOARD?' a loud voice came from the dock outside.

  `See who it is, Bart?' said Michael, frowning.

  Jeanne tensed. This was the proverbial it. She uncrossed her legs and straightened in her chair. She wished she'd practised drawing the gun. Bart arose, put his beer down, adjusted the gun in his belt, and walked up the two stairs into the cockpit and looked to his left.

  `What is it?' she heard him say to Philip.

  `You have a gaff I can borrow?'

  `You seem nervous, Jeannie,' she heard Michael say and saw him staring at her with a suspicious frown. 'What's the matter?'

  `That man's voice . . .' she said uncertainly.

  `Yes? ... What about it?'

  The yacht lurched as if a sudden new weight had been added. Michael and Jeanne both saw Bart still standing in the

  centre of the cockpit but now facing away from the door with his arms raised.

  `Don't shoot, Buddy,' Bart said loudly.

  Michael leapt up, rushed at Jeanne and past her to a drawer from which he drew out a pistol. He then crouched behind her chair facing the cabin entrance. Jeanne, frozen, was stunned by such a piece of bad luck: Michael had chosen the one place she couldn't draw her gun without his seeing her.

  Neil and Philip appeared in the cockpit, Neil nudging Bart who, with arms raised and weaponless, was coming down into the cabin.

  `He's got a gun on me, Mike,' Bart said when he saw Michael's pistol aimed at them from behind Jeanne.

  Àll right, lady,' said Neil. 'Go into the galley with-your hands behind your head.'

  `You move, lady,' hissed Michael, 'and I'll kill you.'

  `Go ahead and kill her,' Neil said evenly. 'She's none of our business. MOVE, LADY!'

  Slowly, Jeanne stood up and, appalled, terrified, walked slowly towards the galley area.

  `What do you want?' Michael asked tensely.

  Àll we want . . .' began Neil.

  `Don't turn around,' interrupted a voice from behind Neil and Philip. 'Throw your guns on the rug.'

  Someone Jeanne couldn't see had come into the cockpit behind Philip and Neil and had a gun on them. Neil, after a brief hesitation, threw his gun on to the rug between Bart and Michael. Then, as Philip threw Bart's gun and his automatic into the same place, Jeanne reached down, lifted her skirt, and, hand trembling, pulled out the loaded .38 automatic. She remembered to press the safety as Neil had instructed and held the weapon in front of her, her lower body hidden by the galley bar that separated the main part of the galley from the salon. •

  Bart picked up the two guns and Michael stood up behind

  the leather chair. A third man, black, pistol in hand, appeared in the cabin entrance behind Philip and Neil.

  `Who in bloody hell are you two?' Michael hissed angrily, relieved at last from his fear. He thrust his gun violently into his belt and crossed to the couch to retrieve his barely touched glass of rum. He glared at Jeanne, not really seeing her. Neil didn't reply. The black man, behind Neil and Jim, spoke: 'Okay, mahn, you get over against the wall opposite the galley,' he said. `Bart, you search them.'

  Neil and Philip walked slowly to the wall on the other side of the main salon. Michael, his back to Jeanne, watched. Bart dropped two guns on to the couch behind Michael and ambled over to Neil and Philip. The black man turned slightly away from her too to watch.

  Jeanne froze. As soon as she spoke and showed her gun they'd turn and shoot her. Three to one. And later Neil.
She was unable to raise her gun.

  `They're clean,' Bart announced after his search. Michael turned to Jeanne. 'Perhaps you had better check the lady, too,' he said.

  Jeanne stared at him wide-eyed with fear. As Bart came towards her she reacted instinctively: she crouched and raised her gun to her eye level, aiming it directly at the new man whose pistol was still pointed at Neil.

  `Drop it!' she snapped, so sharply it astonished her. Her eyes were wide, hysterical, only her head and the gun visible above the galley shelf to the three antagonists in the salon. Bart stopped and all of them watched her, each motionless and uncertain. Then the black man swung his pistol at her and fired, and Jeanne pulled the trigger, the gun jumping in her hand, the two shots following one after another in less than half a second. Neil leapt on the man who had shot at her, ripping the gun from his hand, and Jeanne shifted her aim to Michael who still stood only eight feet away, his hand frozen on the

  butt of his gun still in his belt. 'Don't shoot!' he screamed. Neil next took Bart's weapon and stood behind him with two guns, one in each hand. The man who had shot at her had been hit and had fallen to a sitting position; he was clutching his shoulder and looking at Jeanne with both surprise and pain: as if she had committed a social faux-pas by shooting him. Philip began retrieving the weapons-on the couch and rug.

  Michael slowly turned to look at the wounded black man now slumping back against a chair, at the bewildered look of Bart, at pleased-looking Philip now holding a .45 aimed at Michael, and finally at Neil, who was smiling at him tensely. Finally, slowly, Michael looked back at Jeanne. He stared at her with frank hatred. 'You bloody bitch,' he said quietly. Àre the boobs fake too?'

  Ì'm afraid that information is classified,' Neil answered, coming up behind Michael to remove the gun from his belt.

  `You'd better pray I never get a chance to find out for myself,' Michael said. Jeanne, feeling at last safe, lowered her gun on to the countertop and leaned against the counter. The big war might be over, but the small wars seemed to be getting worse. In planning their raids on the Mollycoddle and the estate Neil and Philip had known of a storm passing south of them but felt it could work to their advantage. Normally the easterly trade winds made it difficult to sail east from the Virgin Islands, but the counterclockwise winds of the storm would give them a southerly wind as it moved westward. What they had failed to consider was the unexpected size of the storm and the slowness with which it moved to the west. Because it was big and maintained a leisurely pace westward into the central Caribbean, the waves it was sending northward were huge, much larger than they had anticipated, as were the winds -thirty knots and gusting to forty-five.

  Standing with Philip on the dock beside the captured Hatteras, which 01ly, Macklin and Jeanne were busy ransacking for everything of value, Neil could feel doubt and fear blowing through him with the wind. Events were moving too fast, involving too many people, too many variables, too many unknowns to permit him to deal with all that had to be done. The wind and seas were rocking the boats at the dock, and Neil watched with increasing anxiety the size of the swells rolling into the supposedly protected harbour. The noise level from the beating of halyards and lines against masts, the whine of the wind in the rigging, and the slamming of waves against docks and boat hulls was unnerving. As they tried to discuss their plans Philip had almost to shout to make himself heard. don't like this blow,' he shouted. 'I'm not sure we have the time to raid the estate before dark.'

  For Neil the initial purpose of the raid - food and weapons -was no longer worth the risk. But there was the question of Katya and Lisa. Neither had been aboard the Mollycoddle and

  Michael and the others wouldn't talk about who was at the estate.

  `We need food,' Neil replied loudly to Philip. 'There's too damn little on Mollycoddle.'

  He was watching the waves rolling in at them, at times froth blowing off the tops in a horizontal saltwater rain. The. Hatteras had already produced two automatic rifles, a small shotgun and four automatics, at least two pounds of marijuana, four bottles of rum, but only a small cache of food. Either Michael and his men bartered for food on a daily basis or their food supply was at the estate.

  Ì know,' said Philip, 'but this wind . . . I don't know. Is it worth it? There's the girl, of course.'

  `The girl's worth it, Phil,' Neil answered grimly, feeling a disturbing lethargy and dread. '

  And Lisa may be there too. I know we're going to have a helluva time getting out to sea in this, but . . . I have to go out there. If you want to . .

  `No, no. If that's the case, let's get on with it.'

  So they went ahead. Bart and the wounded black man were tied up in the forepeak of the Hatteras while Michael was to accompany the raiders to the estate. The plan was to use the Mollycoddle right up to the last minute to tow Vagabond up over her anchors to get her out of the harbour against the strong winds. Scorpio, too, would need a tow if she returned; she was already overdue. Neil only hoped that Vagabond didn't drag anchor before they got back out to her. It was already past four-thirty: only two and a half more hours of daylight.

  They divided into groups. Frank and 01ly were to barter some of Mollycoddle's marijuana and surplus weapons and other 'useless' valuables for food while Neil's raiding party was at the estate. Sheila and Conrad Macklin would remain to guard Mollycoddle and continue to try to make radio contact with Scorpio, while awaiting her. Going the mile and a half to the pirate estate were only Neil, Philip and Jeanne with their hostage, Michael. They rode bicycles.

  Neil felt frail and vulnerable on a bicycle, and the gusty

  wind increased his feeling that events were moving too quickly, decisions made too hastily. He wondered how many officers had led their forces into battle riding bicycles. Although the three others had ten-speed bikes, Neil rode a cumbersome old one-speed, and had to labour to keep himself just behind his prisoner, Michael. Both of them were periodically blown several feet to one side by a gust of wind. The estate was a large rambling summer house overlooking the water. It had a swimming pool on one side and a set of swings and slide on the other. Its only landscaping were a few low shrubs and flower beds. The grass was dry and brown from lack of water. In the driveway was an old Ford station-wagon with its hood up.

  Michael was ordered to hold his unloaded pistol and pretend that he and Neil, who was armed with a fully-loaded automatic rifle, were guarding Philip and Jeanne, who preceded them up the gravel walk to the front door with their hands clasped behind their heads.

  `What is this?' a little man with glasses asked after he'd opened the door, gun in hand, to Michael's knock and hail. `Some new booty,' Michael answered sullenly. Philip and Jeanne pushed their way in past the man. Michael, with a tense glare back at Neil, followed.

  Ì say, who are you?' the little man asked Neil.

  `Michael's cousin,' Neil answered, smiling and holding the automatic rifle casually aimed at the little man's stomach. In the living-room were two couches, some handsome carved wooden chairs and a piano.

  Òh, really? Where'd you come from?'

  When no one else appeared Neil saw Philip lower his hands, remove the revolver he had wrapped and tucked in as part of his belly, and move towards a doorway at the far end of the room. When the little man, bewildered, turned to watch, Neil struck him in the neck with a karate chop and dropped him to the floor.

  Neil crouched back against the closed front door, watching

  Philip approach the doorway at the far end of the room. Jeanne came up to him.

  `My gun,' she said softly to Neil, and he remembered, and pulled the automatic out of his belt and handed it to her. At the far end of the room Philip disappeared through the doorway and there was a bang that made Neil swivel his gun to the right: the wind had blown a shutter loose and it had banged alongside a window there. As he watched, still tense and fighting off trembling, it banged again. Philip emerged from the far room.

  `Kitchen,' he said. 'I'd say it's quite well-stocked.'r />
  `Call your friends,' Neil said to Michael. 'Ask them to come down here.'

  Michael glared at him without replying. Neil swung his rifle to point it at his stomach.

  `Jeanne,' he said. 'Go into the kitchen and start getting the food into boxes and bags. Michael,' he went on. 'I'm waiting. Call your friends.'

  Michael turned and walked slowly to the second doorway leading off the main room. As Neil followed he saw that it led off into a hallway that had a stairway leading to the second floor and a closed door leading somewhere on the ground floor. Michael stopped near the stairway and called: 'I say, Larry! Rick! Tolly!' he shouted. 'Come down and have a chat! It's me, Mike.'

  A door opened upstairs. 'Welcome home, old buddy,' an American voice said. 'What brings you back so soon?'

  Ì brought you a lady, Rick. Tall. Dark long hair. I know how fond you are of long hair..'

  `Be right down.'

  Àsk who's around,' Neil whispered to Michael, the muzzle of his rifle against his back. Ì say, Rick, who's here today?' Michael yelled up the stairs. 'Is Tolly around?' A silence followed, then Rick's voice, puzzled: 'What d'ya mean, "Is Tolly around?" You know that Tolly . . .' The voice stopped and left only an ominous silence. Neil raised the butt of the rifle and slammed it into Michael's head, sending him in a heap to the floor. Neil ran up the stairs two at a time and burst into the room from which the voice seemed to have come. Rick was standing at a bureau groping into the top drawer. '

  NO! DON'T!' Rick yelled and dropped back into the drawer the gun he'd been after. Neil wheeled and backed himself against the wall inside the door.

  `Who else is in the house?' he asked. Rick, a tall, thin young man with glasses, looked with nervous eyes first at Neil, then at the door.

  `There's Arthur, I think, and Larry and the Pussycat . . Àrthur's a little man?' Neil asked.

  `Yes?'

  `Where's Lar . .

  Two shots rang out from downstairs. Neil ran to the door, then wheeled back on Rick who still stood frozen, but now with both arms stretched towards the ceiling.

  `Don't shoot!' he said again fearfully.