by A Rosendale
With a heavy heart, he scrambled back to the rail and leapt to the rocky outcropping. He picked up the faded plank and waited for Sal to navigate the waves.
“Call the Coast Guard and give them our position,” Dirk said when he was back on the sound vessel.
Sal complied and took them back out of the surf a safe distance from the rocks. “Well?” he demanded when the troller was idling in growing waves.
Dirk shook his head. “He’s gone,” was all he could think to say.
“Is he…is he in there?” Wally asked in a whisper.
He shook his head again.
“Then he might be alive!” the younger man exclaimed.
Another shake of the head subdued any hope.
“What do you think happened?” Sal asked after a long silence.
Dirk hesitated, gathering, then separating his thoughts. “Can you think of any reason for the bow to explode?”
Sal motioned through the front window of the wheelhouse. Two barrels of gasoline were secured forward of the helm.
“I think there was an explosion. Maybe he was trying to make landfall on the beach, got swept up by the surf, and impaled on the rocks, where the gasoline exploded.” It didn’t explain the blood smears and he didn’t intend it to. William’s dearest friends had no need to know of the trials Dirk suspected he’d been exposed to in his last hours. In fact, Dirk had no intention of telling the man’s family, either.
Sal shook his head sadly. “That doesn’t sound like Will. Something must have happened to the engine for him to try to beach himself in a storm like that. It’s common practice to remain at sea, as far from land as possible to avoid just this.” He waved a hand at his friend’s destroyed vessel.
Wally nodded to the north where a Coast Guard cutter was coming into view. “They must have just been on the other side of the Strait.”
The boat hailed them on the radio.
“Ask if I can come aboard,” Dirk said.
Sal shot him a suspicious glance, but obeyed. The cutter came alongside, colliding violently with the bumpers on Sal’s troller. Dirk made his transition quickly, scrambling over the railing and onto the spotless deck of the military vessel. His feet were becoming numb with cold as he was led to the bridge.
“Dirk Travers,” he introduced himself to the captain.
“Captain Gutierrez.”
They didn’t exchange handshakes.
“What’s your involvement here?” Gutierrez demanded. He stood with his hands behind his back and scrutinized his guest with a raised brow.
“I’m William Decker’s son-in-law,” he began.
Gutierrez started to roll his eyes and wave him away.
“And also an operative with the CIA. I happen to have some amount of experience with…” He motioned to shore and the wreckage.
“Is that so?”
“Yes. This situation is not your typical amateur sailor. Dr. Decker has been sailing these waters for over twenty years and is an experienced mariner, as well as a renowned oceanographer. He didn’t stumble idly into a situation. You’ll find blood throughout the lower cabin. I’d like to have it tested and the boat dusted for fingerprints.”
Gutierrez considered the explanation with a frown. “I’m sorry, Mr. Travers, but we simply don’t have the means to do that. We’re more of a recovery team right now. Is there a body onboard?”
He shook his head. “If you don’t have the resources, then I ask twenty-four hours to get the job done myself. Then you can salvage to your heart’s content.”
The captain’s frowned deepened. Finally, he nodded. “Twenty-four hours.”
“Thank you.” He turned to leave the bridge.
“I’m sorry for your loss, Mr. Travers.”
With a swallow, Dirk nodded his thanks.
* * *
“Thank you for your help, Sal,” Dirk said when they were moored once more in the harbor. “You, too, Wally.”
They nodded, an identical pained expression on their faces. “I’m real sorry, Dirk,” Sal muttered.
“Me, too,” he replied quietly. He shook both their hands and stepped onto the dock. Halfway to the house, he stopped and pulled a flip phone from his pocket. “This is Travers,” he announced when the line picked up. “I need a personal favor.”
“Go ahead.”
“I need fingerprints and blood samples analyzed from a boat wreck at these coordinates.” He recited the numbers from memory. “And I need it ASAP.”
“You got it. Who’s the victim?”
“Dr. William Decker.”
There was a brief pause. “I’m sorry, Dirk.”
He clenched his jaw and took a deep breath. “Thanks for the help, Vasquez.” Then he hung up and continued to the house. Lightning streaked across the dark sky and rain splattered angrily on the ground. He entered and kicked off his soaked and freezing shoes.
Ava hurried to the living room, her expression one of hesitant hope. But at her son-in-law’s grim frown, she leaned against the back of the couch and covered her mouth. Dirk caught her before she could sink to the floor and held her firmly against his chest while she sobbed.
* * *
“Hey,” Alma answered. She sounded as exhausted as Dirk felt. He regretted the news he had to give her and even more so the fact that he couldn’t be with her in person.
“We found the troller,” he said without preamble.
“And?” He could tell from her tone that she already expected the worst.
“He’s gone. I’m so sorry, Alma.” He could imagine her processing the words, stowing them away for further analysis later, and raising her chin with a defiantly stoic expression.
“And Mom?”
“Not good. I finally got her to bed.” It was well past midnight now. He’d forced her to drink a cup of hot chamomile and urged Pan to accompany her to bed, where he heard her sobs for another half-hour. “I’m going to bring her back to Oregon with me. How’s Coop?”
“Much better. He walked around the hospital today. We played games and read together. Dr. O’Loughlin says he can go home tomorrow if tonight goes well.”
“Good. And you? How are you holding up?”
She hesitated a moment. “I’m very tired. I want all of this to be a bad dream. But I’ll be okay. We’ll get through this, too.”
Dirk smiled tiredly. “Yes, we will. We always do, right?”
“Yeah. Are you alright?”
“I’m very tired, as well, and very cold, but I’m okay. I’ll see you tomorrow, okay?”
“Okay. I love you.”
“I love you, too.”
Before crawling in bed, Dirk took the hottest shower he could stand, wiggling his toes in the steaming liquid as feeling finally returned to them. He leaned against the wall of the shower and sighed heavily. He’d grown to view William as a father figure and mentor. He’d loved the old man dearly. He didn’t think his imagination would ever eliminate the visions of his apparently violent death. A ball of fury grew in his chest as he wondered who would possibly torture an old man viciously enough to leave blood stains smeared across the entire cabin. There was no doubt in his mind William was dead. No one could have survived that kind of blood loss and his heart ached to think of the fear he’d experienced.
* * *
“Daddy!” Cooper exclaimed and raced across the living room to throw himself into Dirk’s arms. “Where have you been?” he demanded.
Dirk still considered the boy too thin and frail, but had to admit the color in his cheeks and energy in his little body were much improved. “I was with Grandma.” He glanced through the entryway where Alma was now tearily embracing her mother.
“What about Grandpa?” the boy asked. “Where was he?”
Dirk bit his lip and sat down on the couch with Cooper on his knee. “Grandpa went to Heaven,” he explained quietly.
“My fish went to Heaven,” Cooper replied.
“Yes, it did. Do we see your fish anymore?”
Coope
r shook his head.
“We’re not going to see Grandpa anymore, either.”
“Grandpa’s…dead?” he whispered the word fearfully, his eyes wide.
Dirk nodded sadly.
“But… But I love Grandpa!” he exclaimed as tears welled in his blue eyes and his cheeks flushed.
“I know, buddy. I do, too.” He pulled his son back to his chest where his sobs were muffled by Dirk’s shoulder. He rubbed Cooper’s back while the boy cried and rocked him gently.
“He’s asleep,” Alma whispered when she finally came in the room.
“I know,” Dirk replied. Yet instead of rising to take their son to bed, he remained where he was, hugging him close.
Chapter 44
Alma was reading in the living room while Cooper played in his room. The article she read was about oceanography of the Pacific Northwest. It reminded her fondly of her father’s constant rants about currents and glaciers and how he’d get so frustrated when his wife and daughter waved off his banter. She was smiling at memories and wondering when the pang of grief would finally fade when a loud bang at the front door startled her.
She came to her feet instantly, years of strange occurrences having honed her reflexes. She could hear the jingle of keys as she neared the front door. Suddenly, it flew open and Dirk stumbled into the entryway. Alma let out an involuntary gasp. Blood streamed down his face. Some of it looked dried while glistening rivulets dripped down his cheeks and neck and onto his shirt, turning the blue fabric black.
“Mommy?” Cooper’s little footsteps echoed down the hall.
“Cooper, go to you room!” she called. “Now!”
Her harsh tone scared the boy and he fled to his room without ever setting eyes on the scene.
Dirk staggered, his eyes unfocused and clouded with blood. Alma reached out to steady him, but he fell forward onto the tile floor with a painful grunt.
“Dirk!” she said urgently. “Dirk! Can you hear me?”
He blinked slowly, but never managed to meet her eyes before his eyelids fluttered shut and he sprawled on the floor. Alma took a deep breath to steady her firing nerves, recalled all the first aid skills she’d learned over the years from Dirk, Christian, and Vasquez, and steeled herself. She stood, closed the front door and locked it, and tossed Dirk’s bloody keys to the nearby table. Then she went to the kitchen, soaked a dishtowel in cool water, and knelt at her husband’s side. She gently wiped away blood until she found a long, gushing gash that ran from his temple and along his skull above his right ear. With cold certainty, she knew it was a bullet graze.
She fetched a fresh towel and alcohol to finish cleaning the wound. A wince escaped her as she poured alcohol over the wound; she was suddenly glad he was unconscious. It was still oozing blood when she applied a bandage and wrapped gauze around his head, gently lifting him to her lap to secure it in place.
She probed his body for other injuries. Besides dark bruises appearing on his cheek and neck, she found nothing obvious. She threw out the bloodstained towels and replaced medical supplies in the bathroom before grabbing his wrists and dragging him unceremoniously to the living room. Sweat glistened on her brow by the time she had wrestled his inert body onto the couch.
After catching her breath, she cleaned the blood from her hands, checked her clothes for any signs, and went to her son’s room. He was sitting on his bed playing idly with two dinosaur toys. His anxiety was clear by the terrified glint in his eye.
“Everything is okay,” Alma lied, sitting next to him.
“What happened?” he asked quietly.
“Daddy had an accident at work,” she answered. “But everything is okay.”
“Daddy’s home?” he asked, brightening.
She bit her lip. “Yes, but he’s resting now. Can we let him rest?”
Crestfallen, he nodded and fiddled with the dinosaurs.
“Why don’t we get ready for bed?” she suggested.
Cooper sighed and scooted off the bed to go brush his teeth. Alma watched him carefully, worried he’d try to run off and find Dirk. She didn’t want him seeing his father like this, covered in blood, pale and unresponsive. Worry held her chest in a vice grip, but it wouldn’t do to let Cooper feel it too.
She tucked him in, read a short story, and kissed him goodnight. Then she returned to the living room to keep vigil. She didn’t know who had injured him, but the thought that they might not be far behind never faded from her mind.
* * *
A low groan startled Alma from a light doze. She jumped from her armchair and leaned over Dirk.
“Alma,” he muttered indistinctly, eyes still closed.
“I’m right here.” She squeezed his hand.
“Alma.”
“Dirk, open your eyes.”
For a moment, she thought he’d faded out again. Then his eyes opened. They were dilated and unfocused as he struggled to look at her face. “Where…”
“You’re home,” she answered. “What happened?”
He shook his head weakly and his eyes fluttered shut.
“Dirk!” She shook him by the shoulder and he moaned. “Dirk! Stay awake! Please!” The crack in her voice betrayed her fear and he struggled to open his eyes again. “What happened?”
Shaking his head, he muttered something.
“What?”
“Got the drop… Almost…” The effort of four words wore him out. His chest heaved with gasping breaths.
“It’s okay,” she muttered, suddenly sorry she’d upset him. “It’s okay. You’re home. I’m here. Just rest.”
He squeezed her hand faintly as his head lolled to the side once more.
* * *
He woke again at dawn. “Alma,” he called weakly.
“I’m here,” she answered, coming to his side instantly.
“What time is it?” he muttered.
“Six in the morning.”
Clearly startled by the news, he tried to sit up.
“Easy.” Alma placed a hand on his shoulder. “You’ve lost a lot of blood.”
“From a head injury,” he added. She was encouraged to hear him speak clearly.
“Yes.”
“How long have I been home?” He managed to focus on her face, but his pupils were still dilated.
“About ten hours.”
“How’d I get here?”
“You don’t remember?”
He gave a single shake of his head.
“I don’t know how you got home. You stumbled through the door at Cooper’s bedtime.”
“He didn’t…”
“No. Speaking of which, we should get you to bed before he gets up.”
Dirk looked around as if realizing for the first time that he was in the living room. He took her hand and used her to stand up, then swayed dangerously. Alma quickly drew his arm around her shoulders. Her nose wrinkled at the coppery scent of his shirt.
It took ten minutes to stumble to their bedroom, where Dirk fell onto the mattress in a dizzy heap. He started to lie down, but Alma steadied him and wrestled the bloody shirt from him. By the time his head hit the pillow he was unconscious again.
Alma frowned at the bright red blood soaking through the bandage. She redressed it quickly, drew a blanket over him, and pulled the door closed behind her.
* * *
“Where’s Daddy?” Cooper asked. He slurped milk from his cereal bowl.
“He’s still in bed, honey. He doesn’t feel very well.”
The boy frowned and pushed his bowl away.
Alma took the dish and rinsed it before placing it in the dishwasher. When she turned around, Cooper was gone. Groaning tiredly, she started down the hall. As expected, his bedroom was empty. She found him perched on her side of the bed, leaning over his father.
“Daddy?” he whispered, prodding Dirk on the shoulder. His pokes became more urgent when Dirk didn’t stir.
“Cooper, come on.” Alma took his hand, but he refused to move. Panic filled his littl
e being and he started shaking the still form. Alma grabbed him around the middle and hauled him out of the room while tears filled his eyes. She settled him on her lap on the couch. “Cooper, Daddy is okay.”
“He won’t wake up!” he exclaimed in a high-pitched voice.
“It’s okay, baby. He’s sleeping. He got hurt, but he’s going to be okay.”
Cooper’s face was screwed up in anguish. “But-”
“Cooper, listen to me,” she ordered sternly. When he settled she continued. “Daddy is going to be okay. He needs to sleep now, but he’ll wake up and be okay. Do you understand?”
After a brief pause, he nodded. She squeezed him to her and rocked him gently. When his pounding heart had calmed a little, she released him to go play in his room. A sharp pounding on the front door interrupted her trip to the kitchen to finish cleaning up breakfast.
With a nervous swallow, she went to the door and noted the deadbolt was still locked before saying, “Who is it?”
“I need to talk to Mr. Travers,” a strong, masculine voice replied.
“He’s not home right now,” she lied.
“I’m no fool, Mrs. Travers. I’m well aware he’s home and sporting a head injury. That is, unless you’re painting your front door red. And doing a poor job of it, if I might add.”
Alma bit her lip uncertainly, scrambling for another lie.
“Come on, Mrs. Travers. I need to see your husband. It’s important.”
“He’s asleep,” she replied.
“Then wake him.”
Filled with a fear she hadn’t experienced since that day in Venice years ago when she truly realized how dangerous a life with Dirk could be, she retreated to the master bedroom.
“Dirk?” she called gently, shaking him by the shoulder. When there was no response, she jostled him harder. “Dirk! Dirk, please wake up!”
He finally moaned and lifted a hand to bat her rough hands away. “What?” he grumbled.