by John Blaine
Rick saw Gunner step in and opened his mouth to shout a warning, but he was too late. Gunner swung, Page 86
a huge lead sinker held in his hand. Scotty sank to the deck.
In brief seconds hope had flared and died. Now Scotty would have to take Wessel’s vengeance, too.
Hopelessly, Rick saw Tony rise and launch a vicious kick at the unconscious boy’s ribs. The dark foreman was clutching a wrist that dangled at an odd angle.
Wessel got to his feet, his eyes venomous. Gunner looked ready to cry.
“Where did he come from?” Wessel demanded. “He must have followed you, you fool!” His open hand rocked Gunner’s head back. “Tie him up.”
Gunner obeyed like a man in a dream. In a moment Scotty was tightly trussed. Already he was stirring, and a groan escaped his lips.
“He must have a boat near by,” Wessel said. “Scatter and find it.All of us. If he followed you, perhaps others did, too. We’ve got to get out of here.”
They hurried out to the dock, leaving the boys alone.
“Scotty,” Rick called. “ Scottyl”
“Huh?”
Scotty managed to sit up, resting against the bulkhead, his hands tied behind him.
“My head!Who hit me?”
“Gunner.Scotty, you shouldn’t have come!”
“Yes, I should. Only I should have brought a shotgun. Rick, tell them what they want to know. What is it, anyway?”
Rick explained rapidly about the envelope and Scottywhistled, his eyes wide.
“Wessel!”
Rick saw realization dawn in his friend’s face. Wessel . . . they didn’t have a chance.
“What did you do with it?” Scotty asked quietly.
“I mailed it.To myself.” Rick heard a faint scrape from outside the cabin door and knew someone was listening. “At General Delivery,Bridgeport ,” he finished quickly.
“Thank you. I rather thought you would confide in your friend,” Wessel said from the doorway. “Now that we know, the rest is simple. Tony will become Mr. Rick Brant, for purposes of retrieving that envelope. I will see that he is provided with suitable identification.”
He went through Rick’s pockets rapidly and came up with his wallet. “Something in here will do nicely, I’m sure.”
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Scotty spoke from the floor. “That plastic surgeon didn’t do such a hot job, did he? He changed you from a gargoyle into a monster.”
Wessel’seyes flamed, but he merely chuckled. “And you, my young friend, will soon be changed into fish bait.”
Tony and Gunner appeared.
“The boat’s around the point,” Tony said. “We can pick it up. Now, how about fixing this arm?”
Gunner applied a rude splint,then went out to cast off. He kicked the engine into action and the boat shuddered. Rick’s glance was anguished as he looked at Scotty.
Fish bait!
The dragger circled around and there was a pause while Gunner went out and secured the motorboat to the stern with a length of line. Then he pointed the nose straight out into the Sound.
“We have quite a ride,” Wessel said conversationally. “Are you familiar with Long Island Sound at this particular place? No? Then let me inform you. It is about sixteen miles wide. We must find the exact middle. Can you imagine why?”
There were fine beads of sweat on Scotty’s face. Rick’s throat had dried up and he could feel the pulse in his temples.
“I know you are good swimmers,” Wessel said. “But are you good enough to swim eight miles? I think not.”
“No,” Gunner whispered. “We can’t do that!”
“And why not, my fat friend?”
“It’s murder!”
Tony lunged forward.“Yeah. And you’re in it, Gunner, up to your fat neck. If we hang for it, you hang right alongside of us. This will shut your mouth, you weak sister! You won’t dare to talk now.”
Gunner lapsed into silence, his mouth working.
Sprindrift, Rick thought. We’ll never see ... he started talking, intent on keeping his mind from what was ahead.
“What do you get out of this, Wessel? What’s that job your friend is going to give you?”
“Ah, you overheard, eh? Well, that gentleman is going to own the sea mine processes within a week.
He’ll operate them on a scale your two foolish employers never dreamed of! And I will head the research laboratories. I will come into my own, as I would have once before if you two had not interfered.” He laughed. “You won’t interfere again.”
“You’re supposed to be dead,” Scotty said.
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“Yes.And very convenient, too. To satisfy your curiosity, I will explain. When I jumped from the cliff, it was not for suicidal purposes. There was considerable risk, I admit. But I am a powerful swimmer. You were so sure I had perished that your search was not very thorough. I hid behind a boulder, and when it was dark I made my way to the mainland. The gentleman Brant saw with me came to my assistance. I had known him before. In fact, I did some work for him along the line of cartels while I was inEurope .
He arranged for a plastic surgeon to make me over. Not a good job, I fear, but sufficient to hide my identity.”
“You were afraid we would recognize you. That’s why you locked us in the fractionator ,” Rick guessed.“With Tony’s help.”
“Precisely.Of course, I had an added incentive. I derived a great deal of pleasure from imagining your terrors when you found you could not get out. I was quite disappointed.”
He stopped smiling suddenly.“But enough of this. I’m sure you will enjoy the ride more if we give you an opportunity to meditate on your past sins. There will be no future ones, I assure you. I cannot afford to let you tell people that I am alive.” He turned abruptly and went on deck. Tony followed him.
Gunner was holding the wheel, staring straight ahead.
“Listen,” Rick whispered. “You don’t want to get mixed up in this, Gunner.”
“I don’t want to,” Gunner mumbled, “but I got to. They’d kill me. You see how they are.”
Tony thrust his head through the door. “No more talk, or three of you will be shark bait. Got it, Gunner?”
Silence settled in the cabin, except for the throb of the engine. Rick tested his bonds and found them tight. He saw Scotty squirm, and then relax, and knew his friend was tightly tied, too.
His vivid imagination raced ahead. He bit his lip and tried not to think. The pounding of the engine jarred at his thoughts. Each turn of the screw, each beat of the exhaust . . . their remaining time was measured by the engine. He closed his eyes. Not a chance . . . not a single chance. If only Scotty hadn’t cornel The dragger lifted to the swells and the engine beat out its rhythmic tempo. Water underneath.And eight miles to shore. How far straight down?
The steady pound of the exhaust measured the miles and the minutes. Rick opened his eyes and saw Scotty watching him. Scotty grinned, and a lump came up in Rick’s throat. It wasn’t much of a grin. It was strained and it was feeble, but it was nevertheless a grin. He returned it, and his face felt stiff when he smiled. Then the beat of the engine intruded again, hammering against his mind, forcing him to think ahead. Eight miles . . . eight terrible miles . . . and hewas weak from the beating he had taken.
“Eight,” the exhaust said. “Eight-eight-eight-eight-eight- eight , . .”
Wessel’svoice was loud. “All right, Gunner, shut it oft.”
The engine beat died, and the silence was even worse.
Tony produced a gun with his good hand. “I’d like an excuse,” he said.“In the stomach. It hurts, in the stomach.”
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“Don’t try to fight,” Scotty said sharply, and Rick stared. Not fight? Go out without a struggle? It would be better to get shot. Scotty saw his expression and said firmly, “No fight!”
He nodded. Gunner cut his bonds and helped him to his feet. Rick swayed unsteadily.
Gunner lifted Scotty to his feet and cut him loose. Tony
’s gun wavered between them with dreadful impartiality.
“Out on deck,” Wessel ordered.
Rick stumbled on the step and almost fell. He got out on deck and leaned against the cabin wall. Scotty followed him.
“Better hitch a few hunks of scrap iron to “em,” Tony said harshly.
“No, that wouldn’t do. The draggers and trawlers have a way of cleaning the bottom too thoroughly.
They might be found too soon,” Wessel objected.
“Well, I can at least knock ‘em in the head,” Tony growled.
“No, Tony. If they are washed ashore, we want the autopsy to show death by drowning.”
It was a dream, a nightmare. Even official hangmen never talked in this calm tone of voice. He would wake up. When he hit the water he would wake up, and he would find himself safe in bed at Spindrift.
He clung to the thought.
“Open the sea cocks in their boat, Gunner.”
Gunner moved to obey. There was gurgling from the motorboat. Gunner untied it. In an incredibly short time it filled. Then there were only bubbles.
“Who is first?” Wessel asked. “Scotty? Marines volunteer for anything.”
“Sure,” Scotty said amiably.
“In a moment,” Rick thought, “I’ll wake up. When I hit the water I’ll wake up.”
Scotty disappeared in a froth of bubbles.
Rick walked like a sleepwalker to the side of the dragger. Now! He’d wake up now. Cold water engulfed him, filled his mouth, his nose. He sank, and the chill of the water penetrated and his head cleared and he knew he wasn’t dreaming.
A hand grabbed his collar and pulled him up.
“Swim,” Scotty commanded. “Tread water!”
“Yes,” a voice said from above them. It mingled with the sudden bark of the engine. “Yes, my young friends Swim-or die!”
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CHAPTER XVII
An Angel in a Lobster Smack
The dragger gathered speed, its bow lifting. Rick watched it go, hungrily, hopelessly. He was treading water automatically, his eyes fixed on the stern light. It dwindled, became a distant star, winked out. They were alone now-eight miles from shore.
Scotty’s voice cut into his despair. “Okay! Get out of your pants and drop your shoes.”
“What?”
“Come on! We’re not giving up yet. Why do you think I told you not to struggle on the boat? We have an ace up our sleeves, old son. But we needed all our strength. Now, get out of those pants, and quick!”
He couldn’t guess what Scotty meant, but he knew that tone of voice. He lifted his legs, letting himself sink as he fumbled with his shoelaces. The knots came undone with a little tugging and the shoes drifted silently downward. Then Rick unbuckled his belt and slipped out of his trousers, holding to them and awaiting further instructions.
“Now tie a knot in each leg.”
It was hard work, managing the wet cloth, but he succeeded.
“Now watch me.”
Scotty held his own trousers by the tops and whipped them through the air over his head. They caught the air, ballooned out slightly. Then he thrust the top down under the water. The air-filled legs thrust up like two oversize sausages.
Rick got the idea immediately. He tried it, and after a moment got the knack of inflating the wet trousers.
Then, holding the open top downward with both hands, he rested between the inflated legs. They acted just like water wingsl
“The cloth is too porous to hold air for long,” Scotty said. “We’ll have to keep doing it. They taught it to us in the service. I knew a sailor once who kept afloat this way for thirty hours before he was picked up.”
But . . .
“No buts! We’ll make it. Just keep moving a little so your arms and legs won’t get numb. And no more talking. We’ll need our breath. This is going to be hard work.”
Some of Scotty’s hopefulness caught him. They weren’t done yet!
Scotty paddled close. From his shirt pocket he took a small scrap of paper.
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“Watch this.” He cast it adrift. It sank almost at once, but not before they saw it drifting away from them.
“The current is towardLong Island . It’s about high tide now, and the tide will be running out soon, too.
All we have to do is stay afloat and we’ll end up onLong Island .”
They fell silent. The faintly luminous swells lifted them, dropped them. Now and then one of them whipped his trousers through the air to refill them. The water brought a kind of spreading numbness, so that after a while Rick wasn’t even conscious of his body.
To inflate the trousers was automatic. His mind seemed insulated from the sea and the darkness. He didn’t even notice the crescent moon that floated up out of the farther dark.
“Rick! Rick!”
He came out of the half-daze into which his mind had drifted. “What?”
“Are you all right?”
“Yes.You?”
“Okay. I didn’t see you moving.”
How much time had passed? How far had they floated? He was tiring fast. It was a painful effort now to lift the trousers above water to inflate them. He couldn’t last much longer. A time would come when his aching arms would refuse to lift, and the last air would seep from the tied trouser legs, and he would struggle just a little before sinking.
How far is down? It really didn’t matter. Six feet or six hundred, it was all the same. The numbness flowed over him again and he pinched his arm, hard. There was only a faint response of pain. He tried to slap himself in the face, but only dashed water into his eyes.
A sodden mass floated by him, and in the dim light he saw a white face. Strange . . . very strange . . .
was someone else around? A faint message from his memory stirred his senses. Suddenly he yelled:
“Scotty! Wake up, Scotty!” He found the power to kick, to push himself toward the other boy.
“Hmm? Wha’ say?”
“Scotty!”
He reached him, slapped him hard. His palm didn’t even tingle, but Scotty shook his head and straightened up.
“Thanks,” he said simply. “Thanks, Rick.”
Scotty was the stronger of the two, and Scotty was so tired that he had drifted off. Utter hopelessness gripped Rick. No chance, no chance at all. Why prolong the agony? It would be so easy to let go. They would drift downward, moving gently in the current, and they would sleep, deeply, without dreams.
He struggled with the temptation to let go of his trousers, and he won. He kicked feebly and reinflated the trousers. Wessel hadn’t won yet!
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How long had it been? He made himself think. Time is important. But time is relative. During vacation, days turned into hours, weeks into days,months into weeks.
There weren’t really three months in a vacation, but only three weeks, because you enjoyed yourself.
But here, in the dark sea, a second became a minute. A minute was an hour. And an hour was eternity.
They had been floating for about ten eternities.
The minutes that seemed to be hours blended and were one with the unceasing lapping of the water.He tried watching the moon; he had just discovered it. Moonrise wasn’t until almostone o’clock , was it?
Had so much time passed? When he watched, it floated in the sea of darkness and didn’t advance. But when he looked away and made himself think, and then looked back, it had sneaked upward, toward the zenith. It became a game. He tried to outwit the moon, to look away,then look up before it had a chance to move. It was angry, because he was winning. He knew the moon was angry, because it had turned pale. He laughed, and chose the wrong moment to laugh. He gulped salt water and choked. The choking brought him back to full consciousness and he called:
“Scotty! Scottyl ”
“I’m okay, Rick. What is it?”
“Dawn! It’s almost daylight!” That was why the moon had grown pale.
“Who’s there?”
/>
“It’s me, you dope! What’s the matter, Scotty?”
Scotty’s voice sounded strange. “I didn’t say anything.”
The sense of that penetrated, and then they were both yelling. A voice hailed them and an angel appeared, an angel in a tattered sweater and disreputable hat, and his chariot was a lobster smack.
The angel extended a golden wand-or perhaps it was only a boat hook.
“Grab a hold,” he said, in a very prosaic voice. “We’ll have ye out o’ there in two shakes.”
CHAPTER XVIII
Setting the Trap
“That’s about all there is to it,” Rick said. “The lobster-man-his name was Jake Bray-took us to his house. Mrs. Bray made us eat breakfast,then I called you. Then she insisted that we go to bed, and we slept from aboutsix until eight this evening.”
“Mr. Bray went out and bought sneakers for us,” Scotty added, “because we’d dropped our shoes in the water. Then, when we woke up, he drove us into Port Jefferson. We caught the ferry toBridgeport and took a bus, and here we are.”
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Tom Blakely and Doug Chambers looked at each other and shook their heads,then they looked at the boys again.
“If you’d lend me a few choice hairs off that rabbit’s-foot you carry, I’d appreciate it,” Tom said.
“I could use a couple, too,” Doug added grimly. “I’ve never heard of such phenomenal luck.”
“We were lucky, all right,” Rick admitted. “ButScotty’s knowing how to make water wings of our pants helped plenty, too. Now suppose you bring us up to date.”
“Well, Tom called the police right after you phoned,” Doug said. “They sent out an alarm for Wessel, Tony, and Gunner, but they’ve had no success thus far. They promised to let us know.”
“I’ll feel better when Wessel is safely in the clink,” Scotty remarked. “We’ve had trouble enough from that bird. I hope he gets a hundred years at hard labor.”
“How old a man is Wessel?” Tom asked.
“I don’t know exactly,” Rick said.“Not very old, anyway.Maybe forty. And he’s in good shape, believe me. The way he kept up with me inNew York scared me silly.”
“Remember how he got away from us and jumped off the cliff at Spindrift?” Scotty reminded him. “He’s a pretty good athlete.”