“Forget it, kid.” Seth’s voice was just as gruff but kinder. “It happens. Let’s just get back into port.”
Andy said no more. Kate, peering cautiously around the comer, saw him with tears coursing down his face, and wondered how she could attract his attention without attracting the attention of everyone else and without it being such a wonderful surprise to have his darling Kate back that he gave her away. If only he weren’t so young. If only Jack were on board in his place. But if Jack had been on board she would have brained him with her Louisville ice breaker long ago.
She drew back and hoisted a cautious eye over the edge of the porthole in the galley door. It was empty. Swiftly, silently, she opened it and slipped inside. The warmth hit her like a blow and she staggered beneath it. She steadied herself and made for the passageway. A movement caught the corner of her eye and she saw Seth gaping at her through the opposite door.
“Shit!” She dived through the entry into the passageway, hearing the starboard side door to the galley bang open and thumping footsteps behind her. She ran past the doors leading to the staterooms and out the door that led to the aft deck. She launched herself down the stairs and into the storeroom. She cast about desperately for some kind of defense among the stacked cases of canned goods, the burlap sacks of onions and potatoes, the industrial-size refrigerator and the hated walk-in freezer. There was nothing, not so much as a butcher knife or an AK-47. She had time for one longing thought of the baseball bat stacked next to the sledgehammers in the fo’c’sle before she heard a footstep on the stairs. Fear at being caught unprepared sharpened her wits, and she improvised.
He came down the stairs slowly, one cautious foot at a time. Somewhere during the chase he’d picked up a very large monkey wrench and he was carrying it ready to swing. Any liking Kate Shugak had felt for Seth Skinner vanished in that moment.
“Kate?” he said in a low voice. “Come on out. Come on, you know there’s no place to go. Don’t make this any harder than it has to be.”
She crouched behind the Elberta Freestone Peach Halves in Light Syrup, not moving.
The footsteps halted on the other side of her canned goods revetment. Her heart was banging so loudly in her ears she was afraid he could hear it. A drop of seawater, mixed with sweat, gathered on her forehead and rolled down her nose to splash onto the floor, and to Kate the 1964 earthquake and tidal wave combined had made less noise.
“Kate,” Seth said sternly, sounding for all the world like a strict, no-nonsense father chastising a recalcitrant child, “I know you’re in the freezer, you left the door open. Come on out now.”
By then Kate was so conditioned to failure she almost got up. His voice stilled her.
“You’ve just come out of the water. You must be freezing in there, literally. Come on out. The game’s over. Hey, I haven’t even told the rest of them you’re back on board. It’s just me here. Come on.”
The creak of the freezer door sounded loud and joyously in Kate’s ears and she tensed in every muscle of her quivering body. She heard him take one step, another, and with every ounce of strength she possessed hurled herself forward, knocking the boxes into him and him into the freezer.
There was a yell and a flash of light; he’d been reaching for the string that dangled from the single bulb in the middle of the freezer just as she’d hit him from behind and had pulled it on his way down. She didn’t stop to question her good fortune, she kicked boxes out of the way of the door while he was scrambling to his feet and slammed the door shut in his face.
The latch clicked and Kate banged the locking bar down into its bracket with a feral cry. The thud of his body against the door one second too late made it vibrate beneath her cheek. She heard yells and curses and after a moment he began to bang on the door with the monkey wrench. The noise was muffled by the sound of the engine and by the thickness of the door itself, but she leaned up against the door anyway, ear pressed against it, trembling from cold and relief and elation, drinking in the sounds.
Straightening, she turned toward the stairs. One down. Two to go. She wondered if he’d been telling the truth. She hadn’t heard him yell out when he’d seen her. If he’d been lying, Andy—she couldn’t think about Andy now.
The passageway was still and silent, and she mounted the stairs. The beat of the engine through the walls of the engine room didn’t falter. It was warm and dark in the stairwell, and the beat of the engine was hypnotic, a steady chant enticing her to rest, to sit down and relax for just a second. She tried and failed to remember what relaxing felt like, and shied away from the seductive temptation to sit down and find out. She opened the door to the deck. Her teeth were beginning to chatter and she was reluctant to leave the cozy stairwell for the cold, open air.
Her reluctance abated when she realized she’d forgotten the boat hook racked next to that door, as well as the ladder leading to the catwalk, the catwalk that circled all the way around the cabin’s second story to the bridge itself. The bridge where Harry Gault stood before a large, spoked wooden wheel, steering his ship into harbor, no doubt smug as all get out in his sense of self-satisfaction over a difficult job well done.
She was about to mount the ladder when a gasp startled her. She jerked around, boat hook at the ready.
Andy was standing there, blue eyes enormous in his white face. “Kate?” He took one faltering step forward. “Kate! You’re alive!”
She let go the ladder and leapt forward to slap one hand over his mouth. “Shut up!”
Ignoring her, he folded her in his arms and hugged her unselfconsciously, his head buried in her soaking hair, muttering over and over again, “Thank God, thank God, thank God. I thought you were drowned. We all did. Thank God you weren’t! How did you get back on board? When did you get back on board? Why didn’t you—”
“Andy,” she said, shaking him, “hush up. Dammit, I said be quiet!”
Her hissed words finally penetrated his consciousness and he pulled back to stare down at her, his expression confused.
“Never mind how, but my going overboard was no accident.”
He stared down at her, his hands lax on her arms.
“It’s true, dammit!” she said fiercely, her teeth beginning to chatter again. “N-Ned signaled t-to H-Harry to throw the b-boat on a sh-sharp tack wh-while h-he l-launched the pot. Th-they w-waited until I was h-hanging the b-bait jar.”
“Why?” he said simply.
“Th-they’re sm-smuggling dope.” His face changed. “C-cocaine. Th-they land it on A-Anua and s-sell it in D-Dutch.”
His face changed again, to something older and harder. Looking at her through narrowed eyes, he said, “What are you, really? A cop?”
She was surprised at his quickness, and immediately ashamed of her surprise. She wouldn’t have liked him so much if he was just another dumb blond. “N-no.” She took a deep, shuddering breath, trying to control the shudders rippling through her body. “N-never mind that now. Seth’s locked in the meat freezer in the storeroom.”
“What!”
“But there’s still Ned and Harry. I don’t think they know I’m back on board yet. I want you to lock yourself in our stateroom and stay there until I come to get you.”
He stared at her. “Lock myself in our room?” He drew himself up, seeming to grow a foot and age twenty years in a single instant. When he spoke his voice was deep and certain. “I won’t go to my stateroom like a good little boy, Kate. I’m not a good little boy.”
“Keep your voice down!” She had pulled him against the bulkhead of the aft cabin and they crouched there together, speaking in furious whispers.
“I want to help,” he said, his face stubborn.
“You want to what?”
He gave the pale imitation of a grin, but it was a grin nevertheless. “‘Not by abstention from actions does a man gain freedom, and not by mere renunciation does he attain perfection.’ Lead on, MacDuff.”
She swore once, and gave in. “Is Harry on the bridge?�
�
“He was the last time I looked.”
“Where’s Ned?”
“Picking up the deck.”
“Okay. I’m taking this boat hook up the ladder after Harry. Can you distract Ned long enough for me to do it? Then the two of us can take him on.”
The scared look was back but he said stoutly, “No problem.” He rose to his feet.
“Andy!” He paused in the act of turning the corner of the cabin and looked back at her inquiringly. “Be careful, dammit. No heroics, no trying to take him yourself. These guys are playing for keeps. They’ve already killed twice. Once they find out you’re in the know, they’ll try to kill you, too.”
His grin flashed and a measure of his youthful cockiness returned. “I love you, too, Kate. Even if you are a heathen and an atheist.” He disappeared around the corner of the cabin before her tired mind could formulate a retort. A moment later she heard his voice. “Hey, Ned. Something in the fo’c’sle I think you should see.”
Kate could hear the bad temper in Ned’s responding growl.
“No,” Andy said, far too cheerfully to still be mourning Kate, “this I think you’ve got to see for yourself.”
“It’s show time,” Kate muttered. “Move your ass, Shugak.” As Ned was so fond of saying. She went up the ladder and slithered onto the catwalk. There was only the catwalk beneath her and the bulkhead of the cabin’s second story on her right; the rest was open sky, and Kate had never felt so exposed or so vulnerable. Every time the Avilda creaked, every time the boat hook scraped against something, every time her wet clothing caught on something else and she had to pull it free, she started and froze in place and had to talk herself forward. After about a year of this she reached the portside door of the bridge.
She didn’t stop to think or plan or calculate the odds; she was too far gone for that. In one smooth motion she swung the door open and, boat hook held in a loose grip in both hands in front of her, darted inside.
The bridge was empty.
So was the chart room.
She dropped like a stone to the floor of the bridge and swore helplessly and uselessly. “God damn it.”
She propelled herself crablike through the opposite door and back out onto the catwalk, where she crouched, flattened up against the bulkhead and tried to think of what the hell to do next.
There was a yell from the forward deck and her head snapped around, straining anxiously to see what had happened.
The worst possible sight met her eyes. Andy in one hand, the baseball bat in the other, Ned emerged from the fo’c’sle door. Andy’s face was bleeding profusely and one of his arms was bent up behind his back in a remorseless grip whose force showed clearly on his agonized face. “Harry! I got the kid! Get the bitch!”
There was a shout aft in reply, followed by the sudden pounding of rapidly moving feet. Kate took one last look at Andy’s bruised and battered face and gathered herself to tackle Harry as he went by beneath her.
A miracle occurred. Ned, attention divided between hanging on to Andy and calling for backup, tripped over the raised edge of the hold and lost his balance. He dropped the bat, which clattered down to the deck and rolled out of reach. He dropped Andy, who fell to his hands and knees, his head hanging, blood dripping from it to the deck. Ned waved his arms to catch his balance. It didn’t work. The hatch cover, which Andy had apparently caught Ned in the act of replacing over the hold when Andy called him to the fo’c’sle, lay over only one corner of the opening.
Into the hold Ned went, headfirst, in a swan dive that would have earned him ten points in any Olympic competition. The hold was only half full, but it was only half full of salt water and tanner crab, and he disappeared beneath a scrabbling layer of long, spiny legs and claws. His head reappeared immediately, spitting, coughing, his arms reaching frantically for purchase that wasn’t there. “Help! Harry! Help me! Harry!”
Kate surged to her feet. “Andy! Andy! Close the hold! Close the hold!”
Andy, still on his hands and knees, shook his head, once, twice, and just as Kate, despairing, had decided he was too dazed to hear her or understand what she was saying, he crawled forward. He laid hands on the hatch cover, a metal lid six feet square that probably weighed more than he did. Kate could hear him grunting from where she crouched. He was a fearful sight, his face twisted into a snarl of strain, covered in congealing blood. For one awful second that seemed to last a year the hatch cover resisted, and then the Avilda, as if she knew, took a steep slide down an unexpected swell, Newton kicked in and the hatch cover slid over the hold with a resounding clang.
As the last light disappeared Ned’s voice rose to a shriek, until the Avilda’s hull seemed to vibrate from the sound. “Harry! Ouch shit get away from me goddam motherfucking sonofabitch I’ll kill you you cocksucking little bastard HARRY GET ME OUT OF HERE!”
Unhearing, uncaring, Andy collapsed forward on the hatch cover and lay there. The running footsteps had ceased at Ned’s first yell for help but the slide of wet leather against a slippery deck alerted Kate. She tore her attention from the forward deck and peered cautiously over the catwalk. Harry was crouched against the railing, a pistol in his hand, sighting carefully around the corner of the cabin. Terrified, Kate grabbed instinctively for the boat hook with both hands and thrust it hook first over the side of the catwalk.
Just when she could have used a nice gale-force breeze to make some covering noise in the rigging, the wind died. She must have made some sound, because Gault whipped around and looked up, in the same motion raising the gun. There was a loud bang, a smack and a whine of a bullet hitting and ricocheting off metal, Gault’s savage curse, another shot and another as Kate crouched back out of range. She thought of Andy, all smiles and ideals, all energy and enthusiasm, all blood and silence on the forward deck, and she hurled herself forward, boat hook in hand, and thrust blindly before her into the shower of bullets.
The hook struck something and caught. There was a flat, heavy tug, like a large halibut on a line, and a kind of a gurgle. Grimly, sickly determined, Kate sawed back and forth on the pole. There was a hideous grunting sound, a clang of something metallic falling. And then silence.
Kate released a long, shuddering breath, and looked over the side of the catwalk.
The boat hook had caught Harry Gault beneath his chin, the hook penetrating up through his jaw. He stared at her, eyes wide and surprised. His mouth was slack and through his open lips she could see the bloodstained hook had penetrated the roof of his mouth.
She was afraid she was going to vomit. There was a step behind her and she felt a surge of relief. “Andy? Are you okay?”
She turned and looked straight into Seth Skinner’s mild, slightly mad gray eyes.
Her mouth opened and closed. At last she said, her voice weak, “But you’re in the freezer.”
His mouth twisted into something that might have been a grin. “I was. Harry let me out.” The grin widened. “Your turn, Katie.”
He raised the monkey wrench over his head. Kate wanted to close her eyes, but she couldn’t. She wanted to move, to run, but she couldn’t do that either. All she could do was lie there, too exhausted to flee, too numb for fear, and watch Seth Skinner kill her.
And then Andy Pence came around the corner of the bridge with an avenging rage in his blue eyes and a feral scream ripping out of his throat and the Louisville Slugger in his hands. He brought that baseball bat down across the back of Seth Skinner’s head and Seth Skinner’s eyes rolled up and he went limp and he dropped the monkey wrench and he fell, heavily, across Kate’s prone, unresisting body.
*
The next thing she knew Andy had her by the shoulders and was shaking her roughly. “Come on, Kate. Wake up. Wake up, dammit!”
“Andy?” she said groggily. She came upright and clutched at him. “Andy. I thought you were dead.”
He grinned down at her, a fearful sight what with all the blood and swelling. “Turnabout’s fair play. You okay?”
<
br /> “I think so,” Kate said vaguely. She couldn’t look at the thing sprawled so obscenely on the deck below, the boat hook still protruding from its head. She shoved Seth’s limp body farther away. “Is Seth dead?”
“Him?” Andy said contemptuously. “Not a chance. I just brained him a little. Come on, let’s get you below and out of those clothes.”
She shoved him away. “Take care of—take care of it first. Please?” she said when he would have argued with her. “Please, Andy?” She offered him a tired smile. “I’d do it myself but I don’t think I can.”
For all his bravado Andy stumbled a little as he produced a blanket from the chart room and tucked it around her where she sat, with her back against the bridge bulkhead. He shinnied down the ladder from the catwalk to the deck and handed her up the pistol. She held it in a loose grip, not sure she could summon up the strength to fire it if Seth woke up.
Andy produced a tarpaulin, rolled Gault’s body in it and rolled the body into the fo’c’sle. Armed with Gault’s pistol in one hand and the baseball bat in the other and with the biggest butcher knife in the galley clenched between his teeth, he got Ned out of the hold. Ned was numb and dazed and didn’t put up much of a fight. Seth moaned when Andy dragged him by his feet down the stairs and over the raised sill of the galley door, but he, too, was safely behind the locked door of the fo’c’sle before he woke up enough to protest. Andy pushed a crab pot in front of the door to be sure, and to be surer still pushed and shoved another seven-by in front of it. Fifteen hundred pounds of insurance. He decided it was enough.
Kate watched him, sitting on the catwalk with her back against the bulkhead and her feet hanging over the edge. Andy climbed the ladder, took one hand and pulled her to her feet and hoisted her over his shoulder in a fireman’s carry. In their stateroom, he stripped her down and bundled her between the covers. “I’m starting to feel like your mother,” he told her.
“Can you get us back to Dutch?” she managed to ask him.
“Piece of cake,’” he said, pushing the blond thatch of hair out of his eyes. “After all, the lady’s line is out, and I know my girl’s been pulling on it since we left the breakwater.”
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