Convergence at Two Harbors

by Dennis Herschbach

  Deidre looked at him with steely eyes. “Perhaps we better call it a night. We both have work in the morning, and I need to be sharp. Maybe we can do this again sometime.”

  John rose from his chair and extended his hand to Deidre. “I suppose you’re right. I want you to know I enjoyed the evening very much, at least until we started talking work.”

  Deidre followed him to the door, already regretting what she had said.

  “Good night, John. Again sometime,” and she closed the door behind him.

  John walked past the flowers, now colorless in the dark. He noticed the curtain of the neighbor’s window pulled back a crack.

  “Good night, Mrs. Olson,” he said out loud, although he knew she couldn’t hear him, and as he slid into the driver’s seat of his car, he glanced at the window looking out the back of Deidre’s house. She was there, watching him leave.

  Chapter Forty-Two

  “My plan is that we drive into Two Harbors after dark tonight,” Zaim said. “Surely Captain Craine will be spending the night in his apartment. His boat was in the water this morning when I visited the marina, but the operator said he was not going to be leaving until morning.”

  Zaim turned his drawing so the others could better look at it.

  “We will park our SUV over here, by the old train engine. It almost totally blocks the street light, and in the deep shadows, our black vehicle should be hidden quite well. Imad, you will stay in the vehicle in case we must make a hasty retreat. Do you think you can be ready for that, or will you have to take a walk to relieve your boredom?” Zaim asked with a sneer.

  “I will be ready,” Imad promised, his eyes averted to the floor.

  “Murad, you will position yourself in the back, near where the parking spaces for the apartments are located. I don’t want you to be by Captain Craine’s car, though. We don’t want a village police patrol to see you there for no apparent reason. They might stop to question you as to your purpose for being in the alley that time of night.”

  On his makeshift map, he pointed to a particular location. “There is an alcove next door that is the entrance to the hardware store. It has no light near it, and if you crouch down inside it, you will be able to spot anyone coming or going from the apartment and not be seen yourself.

  “Jibril, you will position yourself across the street. Once again, there is a part of a building that juts out toward the alley opposite Captain Craine’s apartment. You will be well hidden there but with a view of the street and the entrance to his building.

  “Afu, you will come with me. If we can make our way up the stairs without being detected, perhaps we can surprise Captain Craine in his bed.”

  The four men sat in silence for a few seconds, digesting what Zaim had laid out for them. They fidgeted. Finally, Zaim broke the silence. “Well, what is it. Do you not approve of what I have said?”

  “Oh, not that at all,” Afu was quick to respond. The others were quick to shake their heads in unison.

  “What are we going to do when we find him? Shoot him?”

  “What is wrong with your thinking?” Zaim snapped back. “One gunshot in that room and the whole town would be awake. Our best bet is to subdue him and escort him out of the building. Then we can take care of him like we did Herminio. They can find his body in a gravel pit in a couple of days. By then we will have carried out our plan.

  “Imad, just be ready to drive away when we have him in the SUV. If we act quickly, no one will be any the wiser.”

  The others looked at Zaim’s sketch of the streets and alleyways near David’s room. They asked a few inane questions to appease Zaim.

  “It is best that we get some rest this afternoon. It is going to be a long night, and we want to be alert. We leave at ten o’clock tonight, which will get us to our spots no later than 10:45. Then we will wait for our opportunity.”

  Each man lay down on his bunk. Afu and Imad fell asleep immediately, Murad tossed and turned for a few minutes, and eventually Zaim heard their rhythmic breathing. He did not sleep but rested on his bunk, thinking of a time and place far removed from where he was now.

  Chapter Forty-Three

  David climbed the stairs to his room, placed one foot on the tread and brought the other up beside it, then paused a second to listen for any out-of-place sound. Dunnigan’s was erupting with music, laughter, every patron shouting, trying to make him or her self heard over the din. He strained to hear, but it was impossible to pick up any hint of someone else being in the hall above.

  He reached the upper landing and slowly moved along the wall to his door. He reached out and firmly grasped the doorknob and turned it without making a sound. David was aware that anyone inside would see the knob turn, but he could think of no other way to test if the door was locked or not without inserting his key, an action that would have surely made a scraping sound.

  The knob turned without a sound, and David gently pushed on the door, half expecting it to swing inward and being ready to turn and race back down the stairs. To his relief, the door moved only a millimeter, and then he felt the deadbolt press up against the striker plate. He breathed a sigh of relief, knowing that the door was still locked. David inserted the key in the lock, released the bolt, and opened the door.

  His one room never looked so good to him, like an old friend greeting him at the end of a long day, and he closed the door behind him, making sure to turn the lock.

  He had a lamp with a low setting, and when he turned it on, it hardly lit the room, casting dim shadows on the wall. David didn’t want bright lights that might outline his shadow on the shades. He thought it would be best if no one outside could see his silhouette.

  Having choked down most of his steak at the restaurant in Beaver Bay, he wasn’t the least bit hungry. His stomach seemed to have quit working, and his late afternoon meal was a lump in his belly. He went to the refrigerator, which was making its usual loud humming noise as it labored to keep its contents cold, and took out a can of beer.

  David popped the opener tab and took a sip of the brew. Immediately, he hiccupped and for an instant thought he has made a bad mistake. But then the carbonation welled up inside and he burped a most satisfying belch. He felt better.

  David sat down in his comfortable chair and turned on the sports channel that broadcast his Minnesota Twins. They were having a tough summer, almost as tough as he was, he thought. The score flashed on the screen—bottom of the ninth and Kansas City was up, seven to one.

  He downed the rest of the beer, turned the TV off, and sat in the dim glow of the table lamp. David cupped his face in his hands and looked at the far wall.

  Eventually he stood up and walked over to his dresser. He had never wanted to do this, but if there was ever going to be a time it was now. He reached in and fumbled under a pile of unmatched socks and felt the cold metal of a pistol.

  David had always been a pacifist but not one who refused to defend himself. That was why years ago he had bought this nine-millimeter Glock. He had intended to keep it on his boat, but after only a short time he had come to think he was a greater danger to himself than was any hypothetical marauder. The pistol had remained hidden in his drawer all these years, and now he wondered if he even remembered how to use it, or if he was forced, would he have the will to pull the trigger if it was aimed at another human being.

  As a safety precaution, he had always kept the bullets for his pistol in a separate spot, and David rummaged in his closet before he found the ammunition box tucked away behind some time-worn sweaters on an upper shelf.

  The box was heavy in his hand, ominous to his touch, and he opened the lid and examined the glint of the bullets’ copper jackets before removing a handful. He couldn’t remember how many the gun held.

  David systematically pushed the cartridges into the clip and felt the restraint of the spring increase with the addition of each bullet. He shoved the clip into the handle of the pistol and heard it click into place, laid the loaded weapon on his tab
le, and went to bed to await the sunrise. He knew he wouldn’t sleep well.

  Chapter Forty-Four

  When she had watched John open his car door and climb into the driver’s seat, Deidre wanted to run out and holler, “Wait,” but she couldn’t do it. She knew she wanted him to stay longer, but she couldn’t get herself to call out to him.

  Dejectedly, she stepped to the kitchen sink and finished cleaning up after their meal, and she wished she weren’t so defensive and protective of Mr. Craine. After all, she told herself, he was a grown adult who should know the difference between right and wrong, and if he was involved in something wrong, that would be his problem, not hers.

  But at the same time she couldn’t make herself believe that her friend was in any way involved in any activity that the FBI would consider to be subversive.

  To herself she muttered, “David Craine, whatever it is you’ve gotten your tail in a ringer over, you’ll have to get it out yourself, because there are some things I just can’t fix.”

  Deidre rattled around inside her house, trying to fill the evening hours, but it wasn’t working. She was restless and at odd’s end. Even another glass of wine failed to calm her to the point where she could sit and relax. Finally she gave in to what was causing her unrest, reached for her phone, and dialed John’s cell phone number.

  She heard the phone ring, expecting him to answer, but to her chagrin, the ringing continued until she heard a click at the end of the line and then the message.

  “You have reached the voice mail of John Erickson. I am not available to take your call right now. If you leave your name and phone number, I will return your call as soon as possible.”

  Deidre’s response was a feeling of immediate rejection. She pictured John picking up his cell phone, looking at the caller ID, and then closing the lid. Surely, she thought to herself that he must not want to talk to her after she virtually had kicked him out. She pressed the “end” button without leaving a message, forgetting that the call would register on his phone as a “missed call.”

  She slumped in a chair in her living room and tried to sort out what she was feeling. Deidre had vowed as a teenager that she would never get romantically involved with a man. When she was a toddler, long before she could remember him, her biological father had deserted his family. He had never tried to contact them. He had never contributed one cent toward their living expenses. All she could remember was a nagging question, “Why?”

  Then she had seen the result of her mother’s entanglement with her stepfather, a marriage that should never have had happened, one that was filled with abuse and belittlement for them all. It wasn’t that Deidre disliked men. She simply couldn’t trust them.

  That was why her emotions tonight confused her so. Why did it matter to her at all whether John ignored her or not? She had no intentions of getting involved. But there was a wound inside her that had been suddenly reopened, the wound of rejection, and she was angered that she had placed herself in the position to be hurt again.

  But at the same time she found herself wanting to cry, an emotion she seldom had allowed to spill out. Almost as if she was praying, Deidre held her phone in both hands as tears welled up in her eyes. She jolted when the phone rang.

  Opening the cover, she answered without looking at the name of the caller.

  “Hello,” she blurted into the phone.

  “Hey, what’s up?” Deidre heard John’s voice on the other end of the call. “I was in the shower when you called a few minutes ago and didn’t hear the phone ring. Is everything all right?”

  Deidre was totally flummoxed, because she had no real reason to have called John, and a long silence ensued while her brain spun. She groped for words. Finally she said, “John, I’m really sorry for the way I reacted tonight. I was totally out of line, and I ruined what was a very enjoyable evening. I’m sorry.”

  “I must say, I was a little taken aback by the way the evening ended, and I apologize for bringing up work when I did. I’m sorry if I treated our date as a business meeting.”

  John was shocked by what he had just said. Deidre sat bolt upright in her chair at the word “date.” She had never been on one in her life, and it hadn’t even dawned on her that she had scheduled a real and true date with a man.

  John stuttered into the receiver, “I, I suppose you might not have considered it a date. That was a poor choice of words on my part.” Then he paused. “I think I’ll shut up now. I’m digging myself into a deep hole here, and I don’t want to mess this call up like I did our evening.”

  For the first time, Deidre could laugh. “So you thought you were on a date, huh? Well, that sounds pretty good to me. And it wasn’t you who messed up the evening. I’ll take full responsibility for that.”

  “No, no, I’ll take the responsibility for that. But this could go on all night. The question is, where do we go from here? I’d definitely like to see you again, in a non-working way, a date if we can call it that.”

  Deidre could feel her face getting flushed, but she regained her composer. “What would you say to another try again tomorrow night? I have another quick recipe we can put together for a semi-elegant meal. Same time as tonight?”

  John relaxed. “Same time. Oh, and warn Mrs. Olson that I’m coming. That way she won’t have to stand at her window, waiting.”

  They both laughed at the thought.

  “Good night, John.”

  “Good night, Deidre. Sleep well.”

  Chapter Forty-Five

  It was 9:00 in the evening, and Zaim had not slept, although he lay quietly the whole time, his eyes closed as though he were sleeping. He got up from the bed, not able to stay still any longer and started to rouse the others.

  Murad, a light sleeper, heard Zaim swing his feet to the floor and scuffle putting on his shoes. The others slept more soundly, and Zaim first grabbed Jibril and then Afu by their shoulders and roughly shook them awake.

  “Put your shoes on. It is time for us to leave. Jibril, you are in charge of making sure the extra ammunition for each gun is in the SUV. Afu, you store the rifles under the seat where they will not be seen. Murad, I want you to double check that everything we need is in the Ford. Be sure to bring a couple of flashlights, and don’t forget the plastic fasteners to wrap around the captain’s wrists. Make sure we have something to stuff in his mouth to prevent him from yelling.”

  The men jumped at Zaim’s commands, and within minutes, everything was placed in their vehicle.

  Zaim looked around the two rooms, searching for any forgotten item, but he found none.

  “Check your pistol, each of you. Make sure there is no bullet in the barrel but that you have it loaded with a full clip in the magazine. Make sure you each have an extra loaded clip with you.”

  One by one he said their names, waiting for each man to affirm that he was armed.

  “Okay, let’s go. It’s a little early for us to be leaving, but I’ll drive a little slower than the speed limit so as not to attract attention by speeding.”

  They rode in silence. Afu fidgeted with a button on his shirt sleeve. Murad watched the trees speed by outside the SUV’s window, and Jibril and Imad rested their heads on the back of the seat, their eyes closed.

  Zaim looked at his watch, 9:40. He did a little calculating in his mind and realized they were going to be arriving in town earlier than he had expected. At their current speed, they would be to the waterfront before 10:30, but he knew that driving too slowly might attract as much attention as driving too fast.

  They arrived at the stoplights on Highway 61 at 10:25, and Zaim complained they were far too early to take their positions by the railroad engine that sat immobile on its stub of track. Engine 9 had been a museum piece for fifty years and wasn’t going anywhere. But Zaim suspected that at this early hour of the night, people would be out walking their dogs, watching the dock lights, or maybe just enjoying the evening’s fresh air off the lake.

  Rather than taking the highway into to
wn, he decided to stop at a small parking spot by Burlington Bay. He calculated it would be in the shadows of trees, and their black vehicle wouldn’t be easily seen.

  “We’ll wait here for about twenty minutes,” he informed the others. By that time most people will have gone inside. There may be a drunk or two on the street, but we can avoid them.”

  The men sensed the tenseness that had begun to grip them, and no one was at ease in his seat. The evening breeze cooled the interior of the van, but they all had a thin film of sweat on their foreheads.

  At 10:45 Zaim turned the key and the engine instantly came alive. He backed out of the parking spot under the spruce tree and headed for the waterfront, where to his dismay he found the street cluttered with people.

  “Heathens,” he muttered at the sight of revelers standing in groups, beer bottles in their hands.

  It was a Saturday night, and one of the downtown clubs was hosting a wedding reception. The two hundred plus guests were enjoying the exceptionally warm August evening. Zaim turned up the alley behind the businesses and then cruised onto Main Street.

  “We can’t stay here right now. It would be foolish for us to try to get into the apartment undetected with all these people around. We’ll have to wait somewhere else for a time.”

  He returned to the hidden spot by the lake to wait for the party to end and for Dunnigan’s to close.

  They sat in the shadows until almost one in the morning. A car’s headlights appeared behind them, and for only a flash of time, they illuminated the SUV’s interior, then swung away as the driver turned his vehicle away from them and headed up Burlington Road.

  The car lights spooked Zaim, although through the trees he could not see the vehicle.

  “We’ve sat here long enough. I’m afraid if we stay longer, we will attract attention to ourselves,” he announced to the others.