by John L. Monk
“You want me to drive?” I said.
“You don’t know the way.”
“Everywhere you go there’s a sign telling you how to get to the airport.”
“I’m fine,” she said, and continued at a slower pace through the town.
I stayed quiet when she passed the road to the airport. By now, hotel security would have alerted the police, so it made sense to hide somewhere for a few hours. After about a mile, the road ended in a T and Kate went left, then another mile to a circle intersection and more turns after that, and then her navigation seemed more willful than random.
“Why was that man chasing you down the road?” she said.
“Because there wasn’t a sidewalk.”
Kate swore.
“This is serious,” she said through clenched teeth. “I need to know how hard they’ll look for us. This isn’t a very big island.”
“Do you want to hear about that man or about my phone call with Fruit?”
Kate spared me a quick, shocked glance. “You talked to him? When?”
Chapter 22
Kate listened quietly as I told her about Fruit’s threats and ransom demand. When I finished, she assured me Mrs. Swanson would pay the money, no problem, but that we needed to know if Anna and Jimmy were safe.
I told her they were.
“How can you be sure if you didn’t talk to them?” she said.
“Anna had to give him my number, so she has to be okay.”
“Yeah, but after she gave it to him he could have…”
“No,” I said, shaking my head. “That doesn’t make sense. Why would he take Jimmy if he didn’t want hostages?”
She didn’t agree with me right away like I wanted.
“What?” I said.
“Suppose it isn’t about the money.”
“Well, why else would he take them?”
“What if you’ve underestimated how angry he is at you?” she said. “People like that, their reputation is all they have. You took Anna—his property. In the worst possible way. You made him look weak. The business he’s in, he won’t last long if people think he’s weak.”
Fruit had as much as told me that himself.
“But what about the money?” I said.
Kate shrugged and said, “Who doesn’t like money?”
Now that we’d left the city, the roads were free of traffic. She went through another of those circles and on through the other side.
After we straightened out, she said, “Why didn’t you demand proof they were alive?”
“I told him to put Anna on. He said no.”
“That’s it? You should have said you wouldn’t meet him if he didn’t put them on.”
“I know.”
I peered out the window at the pink and white and blue houses going by. My gaze lifted upward. You’ve never seen a sky so dark as the one over Nassau. I closed my eyes, not intending to sleep, but I must have. When I opened them again, we were on a long drive with trees. We cleared that and arrived at a modest beach house with an attached pier overlooking a small private cove. A blue and white seaplane floated in the water, tied to a pylon. Inside the cabin, a flashlight played here and there as someone moved about.
“You gotta be kidding me,” I said.
Kate parked as close to the pier as she could, then turned the car off and got out. The lights in the house were off and ours was the only car there.
“Let’s go meet your ride to Florida,” she said.
“I’m not getting in that thing,” I said, but she was already moving.
Kate strode boldly onto the crumbly wooden planks without pausing or looking back. There were holes everywhere, and I had to step over a foot-wide gap where a board was missing. Almost to the plane, I fell hard when my toe caught a nail head, then I scrambled back to my feet and wondered whether anyone saw or cared.
Ahead of me, Kate snorted.
Kate was tall, young, smart, and we both shared the same background, sort of. So why did she have to be such an amazing bitch?
“What was that?” she said over her shoulder.
“I said it’s black as pitch out here.”
“Uh huh.”
Someone came out of the plane and shined a flashlight in our eyes.
“Who’s there?” the man said. An American.
“We talked before,” Kate said.
“You’re early. Is that him?”
“Yeah,” she said, then tapped one of the fuel cans with her foot. It sounded empty and way too loud in the quiet cove. “You got enough gas in that thing?”
He laughed. “Just topping her off now.”
It was dark, but I could still make him out—a slim, forty-something white man wearing a red, Hawaiian shirt. I took a closer look at the plane. Small enough to hold maybe four or five people. Along the side, in swirly-curly writing, read, “Bimini Island Extreme Adventures,” and right below it, “Share the Experience!”
“Kate,” I said. “Can’t we just go to the airport? I don’t like flying to begin with, and definitely not in some tourist death trap from hell.”
To the guy, I said, “No offense to whoever you are.”
“None taken. I still get paid, right?”
“One second,” Kate said, then grabbed my arm and took me aside. “Mosley, don’t screw this up. The Feds think you left the country to avoid capture. If you try to go through customs then you go to jail and stay there until they see fit to try your sorry ass. So shut up and let me handle this.”
“I wasn’t avoiding capture. I didn’t even know I was in trouble until—”
“It doesn’t matter,” she said. “You left the country. Now they can say you’re a flight risk and lock you up so long you’ll beg for a shitty deal. We do it this way, you let the grownups handle it, then Tom will negotiate your surrender.” She wasn’t done. “Now listen: when you get to the mainland, call my hotel room. We have people in place from the Keys to Miami who can pick you up.”
She turned back to the man. “Frank, this is Bo. Bo, Frank. Everything set on your side, Frank?”
“I won’t know until I find out,” he said.
“That’s wonderful,” Kate said. “Best of luck to both of you.”
After that, she turned around and left. I think Frank was a little shocked at the abruptness of it because he didn’t tell me how good it was to meet me.
“Not big on small talk, is she?” Frank said.
“Never.”
Wistfully he said, “She sure is tall.”
Kate’s stride was calm, strong, and purposeful as she made her way back to the car. Most girls walk like girls. Kate walked like a gladiator who happened to be a girl—coiled and menacing and ready for disaster. When she got to the car, she didn’t look back or wave goodbye. She just got in, drove off, and left me there to die with a perfectly good stranger.
“No offense again,” I said, “but have you ever crashed before?”
Frank scratched the back of his head. “Not this plane.”
I sighed.
***
Because of my adventures at the hotel, Kate and I had gotten there early. Frank took the time to get some sleep while I mostly sat out on the pier counting falling stars. Three hours later, sounds from inside the plane told me he was up again and ready.
You know all those TV shows and movies with hard drinking, disreputable, wild and crazy pilots living in remote places? Well those guys are all based on Frank of Bimini Island Extreme Adventures, I’m convinced of it. It started when he offered me a beer—at four in the morning. When I declined, he got one for himself and said, “More for me.”
The engine was so loud I worried I might lose my hearing long before we landed. And then I stopped worrying about that as the smell of fresh diesel washed over me.
“Frank, there’s a gas leak!” I shouted, trying to convey the proper amount of panic.
“Nah, that’s just how it smells,” he said. “Don’t worry about it!”
A m
inute later, he had us moving. Takeoff was something. Like skipping a rock, we bounced a few times. Unlike skipping a rock, on the last bounce we skipped right into the sky and stayed there. When we leveled out, Frank handed me a puke green headset and showed me the push-to-talk switch. I felt immediate relief when I put it on because it cancelled out the worst of the engine noise. Then I almost had a heart attack when Frank’s voice cut in.
“Having fun yet?” he said.
I went to tell him not really and he pointed to the switch. Then I figured, if I had to die, I might as well not be a baby about it.
I pushed the button and said, “Yeah, sure, it’s great.”
The only good thing about the little seaplane versus a commercial flight with dual-engines and teams of mechanics and investors was I could look out the windows and watch both wings more or less at the same time. To keep from straining my neck, I tried to do about ten seconds on one side, then ten on the other side, back and forth.
“What are you doing?” Frank said, giving me a queer look.
“Nothing,” I said, and forced myself to stare straight ahead through the windshield. I don’t mind climbing in high places because it’s me doing all the climbing and it’s my choice where I do it. But flying in that noisy, smelly box was unraveling the remains of my daredevil self image. I kept wanting to scream at him to land the plane.
“Wanna see a trick?” Frank said.
Before I could say no, he turned the seaplane upside down, laughing like a maniac. The blood rushed to my head as I hung in my straps. I hoped to God they wouldn’t break and send me crashing through the ceiling.
“Dammit, Frank, turn it back!” I yelled in a pained groan. It felt like someone was standing on my chest.
“Hey!” he yelled. And then, “Bo, hey, look!”
I opened my eyes so I could see him drink his beer upside down. After that, he turned us right again.
“You’re too easy,” he said, laughing some more, coughing and snorting beer out his nose.
“Just drive safe, okay?”
Frank shook his head and grinned. He didn’t do anything crazy after that.
After about twenty minutes I couldn’t see land anymore. This calmed me some because, if one of the wings snapped off or the propeller flew apart, we had a better chance of survival gliding gently into the water than smashing nose-first into the ground.
Out of nowhere, Frank said, “So what did you do that you can’t go home like a normal person?”
I didn’t feel comfortable telling him my business. Just like I hadn’t wanted to tell Kate why hotel security was chasing me around in the middle of the night.
“I broke the law.”
“Bo,” he said, “I’m sensing you’re a private sort of fellow, and normally I’d respect that. But I’m wondering—you know how to fly a plane?”
“No, why?”
Frank laughed a small, frightening laugh and said, “Well, that makes you basically my prisoner, don’t it? Now, get back there and get me another beer, then I’ll hear your story.”
I stared at him. He seemed serious.
“Don’t make me ask again. I’ll turn this thing around right now, mister…”
He jerked the controls and we started to twist in the air again.
“Fine,” I said, and the plane leveled back.
I removed the headset, got up and went to the cooler. One of the bottles had broken during the stunt flying. I grabbed a beer and handed it to him, little bits of glass and all. Then I sat down, put on my headset and found, to His Lordship’s dismay, that the bottle wasn’t a twisty top and the opener was hanging from a string just over the cooler.
I got up again and opened it.
After I sat back down, Frank said, “So why can’t you fly home like a normal tourist?”
I bit back what I wanted to say, figuring it was best to humor him since he was the only pilot. He was right about me being his prisoner.
“I stole some things, then went on vacation. Now the law thinks I fled the country. It’s really not that big a deal.”
“That’s it huh? What did you take?”
“Jewelry, for the most part.”
“Seems like some people really want you back,” he said, “they put this kind of money up for you. You sure that pretty girl back there isn’t trying to get the loot for herself?”
I wanted to laugh, the idea of goody-goody Kate stealing something, but a quick glance showed he was actually concerned.
“No, it’s not like that. The one who put up the money—wait, how much is Kate paying you, anyway?”
“Ten thousand,” Frank said. “Up front, wired from the Caymans. I’m supposed to get another ten if you get home safe, though I got no idea if she’s good for it. You think she’d stiff me?”
I shook my head. “Her boss will make sure you get paid. She’s my foster mother. It’s complicated and kind of personal, so…”
“Don’t sweat it, Bo, I just wanted to make sure you weren’t a terrorist or something, that’s all.”
“Am I still your prisoner?”
“Yep,” he said.
When I looked out the window to my right, the sun was up.
Chapter 23
At one point, Frank took the plane dangerously low to the water. I assumed to avoid radar detection, though I didn’t ask. Other than the occasional tiny island, I hadn’t seen a serious landmass in over an hour. Airplanes were a mystery to me, and I grew concerned we’d run out of gas hundreds of miles from civilization. I was about to ask him about it, but then Frank did something with the radio and my ears filled briefly with static.
“I repeat: mayday, mayday, mayday,” came a woman’s panicked voice over the headset. The quality was faint and grainy, as if from far away. “This is sailing ship Misty Moon. We have been attacked by armed men. We have one man dead and two wounded. My husband…” Her voice broke. “They have taken my husband hostage and are escaping northeast in fast boats. Please, someone help us!”
I stared at Frank, horrified at what I was hearing, but his face betrayed no emotion.
“Misty Moon, this is Coast Guard cutter Vigilance,” came a man’s voice, calm in contrast. The transmission quality sounded less grainy. “Do you have a GPS position? Over.”
The woman’s voice came back: “Yes, we have a GPS. I have to get it, please wait a second.”
“Roger, Captain. Over.”
Moments later, she was back. “We are north two five degrees, two four point one four one. West, seven nine degrees, three two point five four three. Please hurry!”
“Roger, captain, good copy on GPS. Request bearing on hostile vessel. Over.”
“Oh thank you, praise Jesus,” she said, her voice a bit grainier than before. “They are heading northeast in … fast … our engine … destroyed.”
There was a brief splash of heavy static.
“Misty Moon,” the cutter captain said. “Request number of hostile vessels, length and color and approximate speed. Over.”
“There are three … gray and the others are white. All—”
Another voice cut in—inaudible, at first, due to crosstalk. A man’s voice, with a Hispanic accent.
“… warned you, remember? Now we … back and kill you too, and we still get away. You hear that, asshole Americans?”
The woman sobbed something I couldn’t understand. Frank reached out and flicked a switch, sending another splash of static over the headset, and then it was quiet again.
“Frank, we need to help them,” I said. “Did you get those coordinates? Do you have a GPS?”
“How do you think we’re getting you home?” he said and pointed out the little device in front of me that may as well have been invisible for the last hour. There was a strip of paper taped above it with numbers on it.
“Well?” I said. “How far are they?”
“Oh, I’d say about sixty miles,” he said.
“How fast can you fly this thing?”
“A hundred an
d forty—faster with this breeze out of the west.”
He kept flying straight, seemingly unconcerned about the nightmare we’d just heard.
“Well, shouldn’t we do something?” I said. “We could be there in twenty minutes, sounds like.”
Frank shook his head as if dealing with an imbecile. “And why for the love of God would we do that? That damned cutter’s sole purpose is to put people like you and me in jail, and now you want to mess up our good fortune. Don’t you want to get home?”
I bit my lip to keep from grinding my teeth in frustration. What was wrong with this guy? Good fortune? He acted like he was happy those people were in trouble. As if it couldn’t have come at a more opportune time. I started to say something and … and then I just watched him. Sitting there pretending nothing was wrong and acting cold, when not an hour ago he was concerned about Kate ripping me off or whether I was a terrorist.
“Let me guess,” I said. “You know that woman, don’t you?”
“I do?” he said, like it was news to him.
“It just seems strange they’d kill someone, kidnap that woman’s husband, and leave a witness. Then they get on the radio with the Coast Guard listening?”
Frank grimaced. “That obvious, huh? I told my lady to leave that last part off, but she thought it’d pull out the fleet. How’d she sound?”
“It fooled me until you got all cold-blooded out of nowhere,” I said.
He handed me a pair of binoculars.
“Well, if her acting don’t work,” Frank said, pointing out the window, “that will.”
I glanced at the binoculars and then back at him.
“Out there, look for it,” Frank said, pointing steadily.
It took me a moment to find it on the horizon: a barely visible plume of smoke snaking into the sky.
“That was my idea,” he said. “Something practical to show them, what with all the hoaxes these days. Some people know how to run a good idea into the ground.”
“What is it?”
“An old sunfish a friend of mine tried selling, only nobody wanted her. Then he tried giving her away, but all she did was sit there growing a reef on her bottom season after season. Then he moved away and left her.” He pointed again. “That’s what she looks like on fire with five barrels of diesel in the hold. I think George would have liked to have seen it. Hopefully, that’ll keep the Coasties tied up looking for bodies and pirates while we get our work done.”