Rocky paced the campsite where he and his family had been since last night.
“I’m scared, Rock,” Linda said.
“Ain’t no need to be scared, Lin. We’re safe.”
Being an all-season hunter (poacher, some called it) had its high points. He knew the hills, woods, and gullies of Pontocola County as well as most folks knew their own backyard, and he wasn’t worried about anyone finding them in this spot, three miles from town and buried deep in a thick woods.
“What are we gonna do?” she said.
Rocky continued to pace. “I’m worried about Ray Earl. He ain’t home and his mama don’t know where he is.”
“Oh good grief, Rock, I swear I’ll never understand why you want to bother with somebody like him.”
“Cause ain’t nobody else will,” Rocky said. “Ain’t that reason enough?”
Linda’s face softened. “Yeah, I guess it is. Still, what are we gonna do?”
“You and the kids are staying right here where it’s safe. I’m gonna go find him.”
“How?”
“I got an idea where he is.”
Chapter 120
We docked at Lucas’s pier and transferred the weaponry and ammunition from the boathouse onto the Lady, then headed out. It took only a few minutes to get to the lock, another forty to get through it. The yacht drew a lot of attention, mostly looks and whistles, which was not a good thing. Luckily, no questions from any of the lock officials.
Cruising eastward on the Tennessee River, I piloted the Lady from the fly bridge up top. The day was gorgeous and we retracted the canopy to enjoy the sunshine. I couldn’t stop glancing at the clock, and the closer we got to the appointed time for him to call, the antsier I got. The redline phone rang at 3:02.
“Yes,” I said.
“I’m ready for the details on our meeting, Mr. Bolton,” RoboVoice said.
“Tonight, ten o’clock.”
“Where?”
“Wheeler Lock and Dam, west side, on the water. If I see the slightest hint that you’re not alone, you’re going to regret it.”
“I don’t like threats, Mr. Bolton.”
“And I don’t give one happy damn what you like. Be there. Be alone. Any more questions?”
“No more questions, but I do need to share a little something with you before we finish this conversation.”
“What’s that?”
“Hold.”
The next thing I heard literally stopped my heart. “Daddy!” both of my daughters said in unison over the phone. Dear God in heaven, no.
I managed to say, “Hey, Julie. Hey, Mandy. Y’all being good girls?”
“Yes, sir,” Mandy said.
“Me too!” Julie said.
“Is your PawPaw there?” I said.
“Yes, sir.”
“I love you, girls, and I’ll see you soon, okay?”
“Okay, Daddy,” they both said.
“Let me talk to PawPaw.”
“But Daddy wants to talk to PawPaw,” I heard Julie say just before RoboVoice returned. “Still feel like setting conditions?” he said.
“If you—”
“Save your juvenile, emotional bullshit. If you want to see them again, you be sure you have nothing in your bag of tricks this evening.” He hung up.
Chapter 121
I set the yacht on a straight course and let Penny take the wheel. Standing at the point of the bow, watching the hull split the water like a knife, I tried to stop the awful churning in my gut. I stood there until the sun was almost down. Penny was uncomfortable with the wheel at night, so I took over, this time from inside the pilothouse. We encountered a bit of traffic around Florence, Alabama, but nothing serious.
Being something of a gadget freak, the cockpit was a thing of beauty in the dark. Soft indirect lighting came on automatically around the edge of the floor and ceiling, and the LCD screens shifted colors and brightened. Piloting the craft would’ve been a real treat under any other conditions.
In my present state, however, there were no treats. No joy. Just a soul full of determination, anger, fear. I had picked out a latitude and longitude, then programmed it into the GPS. At present course and speed, the computer said we were a half-hour out. It was not quite nine o’clock, so I backed the throttles down. We didn’t want to arrive on station too early.
“How you holding up?” Penny said.
“Okay. You?”
“Ready, but I’m scared. You’re not?”
“For my kids, yes. For my father, yes. For myself? No. There’s no reason for me to be scared. If anything happens to my kids, I don’t want to live anyway.”
“Nothing’s going to happen to them, Gray. This is going to work.”
“I can’t figure out how he found them. I didn’t even know where they were!”
She took my hand, squeezed it. I looked at her, and she gave me a taut smile. We rode in silence for several minutes, until an artificial voice said, “Final waypoint in one mile. Secondary waypoint in five hundred meters.” I acknowledged the announcement by touching one of the LCD screens. Carefully watching the depth-under-hull readout, I guided the boat to the right side of the river, as close to the bank as I could get, and killed the engines.
The GPS navigation system had been perfect. We were right at a bend in the river, just steep enough to be out of sight to oncoming traffic. “Secondary waypoint achieved,” said the system. I acknowledged, and the voice said, “Engage dynamic positioning?” I touched a big YES icon. “Dynamic positioning engaged. Current position will be maintained.”
I had read about “electronic anchors” like this on cruise ships, but had no idea it was available on “small” private craft like this. By using a system of jets around the perimeter of the hull, the yacht’s computer kept us at that exact GPS position. The jets were silent, but obviously working, because we stayed exactly where we were. At least we should have the upper hand from a techno-perspective.
“Get us linked up with Jimmy,” I said.
Penny dialed, talked for a minute, looked to me and gave a thumbs-up. “He hacked into the manufacturer of the yacht’s control systems, says he has everything.” She started pushing buttons in the cockpit as Jimmy relayed instructions to her, occasionally reading information back to him from the screens.
“Test,” a male voice suddenly boomed from the cockpit speakers.
“Jimmy?” I said, assuming this to be a two-way communication. “Jimmy?”
“He hears you over the phone, but not the link,” Penny said. “He says to find the cabin mike control, and set it to vox...should be on the leftmost control screen, accessed through the icon that says COMMS.”
I found the icon, made the setting. “Jimmy?”
“Reading you now, bud. Jimmy here.”
“Gray Bolton, Jimmy. I appreciate your help.”
“De nada. Let’s finish the setup.”
“Roger that,” I said.
“Penny Lane, got your notebook booted?”
“Yup, ready to go,” Penny said.
“Okey dokey, here’s what I want you to do,” he said.
Chapter 122
TENNESSEE RIVER
8 MILES EAST OF WHEELER LOCK & DAM
This bullshit had gone on long enough. Tonight, it would end. Completely. All the loose ends neatly clipped and tied. One man standing. One man in charge: Ricky Ballard. His new adversaries had shown a serious lack of foresight when they failed to sweep the hotel suite for listening devices, and as a result, he knew exactly what their agenda was for the evening. He had to give the pawnbroker credit: For an amateur, he had done a hell of a job setting up the game on the water. Harder to run. Everything takes place in a tightly contained space. Smart. Unfortunately—for the pawnbroker—he had a losing hand and that was that.
The sun was down and the water dark. On the first pass, Ballard overshot the canal that branched from the river and wound back into the thick woods. Dug by the government during the Great Depre
ssion to provide waterway access to the CCC work camp, the channel had once been wide enough and deep enough to accommodate a hundred-man crew boat. After decades of neglect, trees and underbrush from both banks had narrowed the canal’s width by half, but it was still plenty wide enough for those who had used it of late, and those who would use it tonight.
Keeping his speed down and his noise level low, Ballard steered a tight circle and ducked beneath the overhanging tree limbs as he maneuvered the small fishing boat into the nearly invisible entrance to the channel. Forty-five minutes later, he cut the engine and drifted into a tiny cove on the right bank. He got out and pulled the aluminum boat onto dry ground and into a patch of tall weeds. The old camp building was a quarter-mile ahead. Ballard hitched up his pants and set out through the woods.
Chapter 123
TENNESSEE RIVER
4 MILES EAST OF WHEELER LOCK & DAM
The man leaned on the bow rail of the borrowed yacht, a twenty-year-old but still nice sixty-footer named Aces & Eights. He turned and looked at the artwork on the main cabin’s forward wall—ace of hearts on the left, eight of spades on the right—and smiled at the irony of riding into battle aboard a “dead man’s hand.” If he were a superstitious man, it might have given him pause. But he was not a superstitious man. He had gotten ahead through meticulous planning, by playing by the rules and waiting for the right opportunity. Luck had nothing to do with it. The years in his profession had given him all the right contacts in all the right places. Law. Legal. Illegal. It was all a game, one whose outcome was usually determined not so much by right and wrong as by who had the money and who held the power. He had both, and he was about to have a lot more.
He turned back to the bow and stared straight ahead. Night drew close and the stars were coming into view. The moon was just cracking the horizon. And Gray Bolton was out there. He could smell the sonofabitch. He knew what he and the girl were up to. He also knew about the friend, but he’d be in no position to help them tonight. He looked over his shoulder and saw Docker sitting on a leather bench on the side of the cabin structure.
“Jack,” he said, “come here, please.”
Docker sprang to his feet and walked to him. “Yes, sir.”
“Where are the old man and the kids?”
“That middle room where the couches are.”
“That’s called the salon, Jack.” Docker was dumb as hell, but that’s often what you needed in a lieutenant, someone too dim to ask questions, someone who did what they were told, and at that, Jack Docker excelled.
“Yes, sir.”
He checked his watch. Twenty minutes to go. “Gag them and tie them up in the aft stateroom.”
Docker nodded and turned to leave.
“And be sure they’re tied where they can’t make any noise.”
* * *
Before tonight, Jack Docker had never been on a boat. Not a cruise ship. Not a yacht. Not a fishing boat. He had no clue what or where the “aft stateroom” was, but he didn’t want to look stupid to his new boss, so he simply nodded and walked away.
Now he looked down at the old man, who sat in the middle of the couch with the little girls on either side of him. The old man stared right back, no fear in his eyes. Tough old codger. “Let me ask you something,” Docker said.
The old man arched his eyebrows.
“What’s an aft stateroom?”
Chapter 124
As the showdown drew near, a surprising but welcome calm spread over me. One moment at a time; that’s how I would approach this battle. To do otherwise, to start thinking about how it might turn out in the end, could only tear down my strength. Although I felt no particular right to expect an answer, I bowed my head and said an earnest prayer.
In books and movies, heroes regularly take on the forces of evil and confidently fight their way to victory. I’m no hero. I spend my days making loans against VCRs and chainsaws. Those heroes often have the CIA, or the FBI, or some other alphabet agency behind them. I had a lady who spent her time doing background checks. They had satellites in space, missiles, rooms full of computers. I had a beat-up computer nerd in his Arkansas living room. This was no movie, no book. My fate, along with the fate of those I loved, would be determined right here, on the very real waters of the Tennessee River.
“Everything still going according to plan?” I asked.
“Yo,” Jimmy said through the cabin speakers. I was still getting used to this guy and his vocabulary. “Almost ready for a test.”
“Just say when. “
“Comprendo, muchacho.”
I could hear him over the speakers, typing, muttering to himself. I looked at Penny. She paced the pilothouse, back and forth, back and forth.
“Here we go,” Jimmy said.
“What?”
“Check the left screen.”
I looked. Penny looked over my shoulder. The screen changed from an instrument cluster to what looked like a radar readout.
“See that blip?” Jimmy said.
“Yup,” Penny said.
“What is it?” I said.
“Boat.”
“I figured as much, Jimmy. What else?”
“Three miles in front of you, far side of the lock. Good-sized, probably another yacht. Coming your way.”
Chapter 125
ARLINGTON RESIDENCE
WEST MEMPHIS, ARKANSAS
No doubt about it, this was one of the greatest hacks of all time. It was almost worth being beat up for. No, it was worth being beat up for. He’d make a visit to the ER when this was over, get some drugs to ease the pain. He had a digital video camera set up behind him on a tripod, recording the whole affair. Tomorrow, he’d watch it, write a kick-ass account of the whole affair, and post it to his blog for the world to see.
He couldn’t swim and was petrified of water, so he didn’t have much experience with boats, but that Lady of Justice was one sweet ride. His rightmost computer monitor was dedicated to her video feeds, forward-looking on the top half of the screen, and rear-, no, make that aft-looking, on the bottom. What the Lady saw, he saw. At the touch of a button, he could see inside the pilothouse, where Penny Lane and the Bolton dude were. He started humming the tune to “Penny Lane.” She was hotter than hot.
He had wheeled in The Chair, normally reserved for the most intense gaming sessions, but definitely appropriate for this op. It was an Aeron Highly Adjustable, customized to his needs. Half the custom split keyboard was built into the left armrest, half into the right. Secured on a platform on the right, the best joystick in existence. All wireless. Geek utopia, baby.
They had gone touchy-feely on him. Time to rein them back in. “Can we move past the mush fest you two are having and get back to the test?”
“Proceed when ready,” Bolton said.
Jimmy raised his hands to his face, looked at his fingertips the way a gunslinger might examine his gun, lowered them into place, and said, “Let us go forth.”
Chapter 126
Penny crawled over the gunwale and into the john-boat that still hung suspended at the Lady’s stern. I worked the winch and lowered it into the water. Penny released the harness latches. I wound the apparatus back onto the Lady, then dropped a duffel down to her. She pulled the starter rope on the outboard. Nothing. It sputtered on the second pull, and caught on the third. The scent of gas and oil floated up as Penny gently throttled up the twenty-horse motor and pulled away on the black water. She looked back and gave me a raised thumb. I returned it and headed back to the Lady’s pilothouse.
“Okay, boys and girls,” Jimmy said, “the enemy draweth nigh.”
“Are they through the lock?” I said.
“Just came out.”
I shoved the throttles all the way forward and felt the smooth thrum of the big diesels as she picked up speed. A few minutes later, I saw another yacht a half-mile ahead. When we were a hundred yards apart I eased back. A few minutes later we were side by side, my starboard to their starboard. I switche
d on dynamic positioning, drew a deep breath and said, “Here I go.”
“Gray?” Penny said over the radio headset in my ear.
“Yeah.”
“Be careful.”
It struck me right then that I loved the sound of her voice. Loved the thought of her. In just a few days, I had developed deep feelings for this woman.
“Penny,” I said, “I want you to know that...well...I...” I sighed. “You be careful too, okay?” Then I opened the door at the rear of the pilothouse and stepped out onto the deck. Docker was standing at their starboard rail, roughly midway down the length of the boat, which was a little smaller than the Lady. He had a gun pointed at me, a red light glowing beneath its muzzle. I glanced down and saw the brilliant red dot on my chest, then looked into Docker’s eyes.
“My kids. My father. I want to see them,” I said.
“Where’s the merchandise?” Docker said.
I shook my head. “Not until I see them.”
I heard a brief electronic squeal, then a voice blared from the PA speakers on the other boat: RoboVoice. Which didn’t surprise me. This had gone above Ballard and the real boss wasn’t taking chances. “Mr. Bolton, my patience with you has expired. I want my property and I want it now.”
“I don’t have it.”
“Then we have a real problem.”
“Don’t worry, it’s nearby. When I get my kids and my dad, you’ll get it.”
A pause.
“They’re not here.”
My gut tightened and my heart raced.
“Don’t worry,” RoboVoice said with an evil-sounding electro-chuckle. “They’re nearby.”
We hadn’t prepared for this. Our meeting place, in the middle of a river, was designed specifically to prevent it. I felt like an idiot. We had a plan to protect our position in the swap. Did I think we were the only ones smart enough to think of that?
Pawnbroker: A Thriller Page 22