by Sue Henry
When they had him stopped, Repasky, for the first time, noticed the blood running down his face. He swiped at it ineffectively, as Jessie steered him toward the bathroom to clean it and use some adhesive tape to temporarily close the wound.
“Bastards, took over our boat,” Thorn commented on his first priority. “And they’re also after the gold.”
While Walker and Sawyer taped up their fourth prisoner, and Repasky put some ice on his rapidly swelling eye, Jensen related to the company men all that he knew about the situation, including the explosives that were somewhere on the ship.
Dick West and Gordon Thorn immediately joined the group that was taking back the Spirit of ‘98.
The game was eight to five, and, for the first time, they had the upper hand.
33
8:15 A.M.
Thursday, July 17, 1997
Spirit of ‘98
Grenville Channel, Inside Passage
British Columbia, Canada
THIS TIME, BEFORE GAGGING THE CRIMINAL THEY HAD CAP tured, they questioned him.
“We still don’t know who is the leader of this whole thing,” Jensen reminded them. “I’d like to know just who we’re dealing with.”
“You’re in a world of hurt, here,” he told the prisoner mildly. “It would be to your advantage if we knew just what was going on, and who’s in charge of it. Whoever he is, he’s in better shape than you are. We’re going to tuck you away somewhere, the way we’ve hidden three others. And if we don’t stop this, no one may ever look for you. We know about the bomb you’ve planted somewhere on this ship. If it blows, you go with it, just like we do.”
The man stared at Alex, a troubled frown wrinkling his brow.
“They wouldn’t go off and leave us.”
“No? You think they can get the gold on that boat you came in? To say nothing of the rest of your bunch? The gold alone would sink it—forget the rest of you. They’re going to take part of it and split.”
“And you’re just going to leave me tied up someplace?”
“Yes. We haven’t enough help to watch you, so well have to make sure you can’t help them.”
“And, if I tell you what you want to know, you’ll let me go?”
“I didn’t say that. But as soon as we can stop what’s going on here, we’ll put you and all the others together in one place and keep a guard on you until we can turn you over to the proper authorities. You won’t be left alone in a small space somewhere with a bomb ticking.”
The man’s face plainly showed his growing discouragement and fear.
“Damn it,” he finally burst out. “I never wanted to come to Canada at all, did I? Didn’t have much choice, did I?”
Alex waited.
“‘Just come to Ketchikan,’ they said. ‘Steal a boat and bring it to Ketchikan.’”
“They?”
“Well … he?”
“Who?”
“That’s it. I don’t know. Never saw him—only talked to him on the telephone. Walt’s the only one I ever saw until we got to Elliot Island.”
“Walt Burns?”
“Don’t know his last name.”
“What’s your name?”
“Rod … Ledlow.”
Jensen had to ask … had to know. “The sailboat? The Hazlit’s Gull?”
“Yeah. We took it.”
“Who took it?”
“Me, I took it, with Nelson. He told me to steal a boat, so I did.”
This man, without question, had something to do with the dead woman in Tracy Arm … or knew how she had died. Jensen could feel his heart rate increase, but it was a delicate, matter that could wait; they had no time to dig out the details. Now, they needed to know how to derail the rest of the plot, and the gang attempting it, before it went bad and people got hurt.
“Okay. Now, if you can’t help me find who’s in charge, then tell me how many of you are left, and where they are on this ship.”
“I didn’t say I didn’t know where he is. I just don’t know his name, or what he looks like. I never saw him.”
“Where, then?”
“On the bridge. Making sure everything runs right, while we do the rest, down on the deck with the dining room.”
“And how many more?”
“You got me and three others?”
Jensen nodded.
“Then, counting the boss on the bridge, there’s four more, and somebody on the ship that helped. My partner Nelson’s in that room with the gold. He’s scared and he’s drunk. Don’t hurt him, okay?”
“Will he give up without a problem?”
“Yeah. Probably wet himself when you show up, if he’s not sleeping it off.”
“The others in the dining room, right? Do they all have assault weapons?”
“Yeah—the boss, and two in the dining room.”
Ledlow was the picture of absolute discouragement. Jensen thought there was very little chance of him causing trouble. So they put a piece of tape over his mouth and left him. Chuck West and his wife would be here to make sure he didn’t escape, but Alex knew he wouldn’t even try.
Taking the bridge was harder than anything they had done so far, but they did it next.
“We really can’t go down four decks and leave the mastermind of all this controlling the bridge. Besides, once we have him, the rest will be easier. Then we can track down that damn bomb.”
A bomb. The nasty reality set in again. It all made sense. No wonder they hadn’t bothered to cover their faces. They meant everyone on board to drown in the icy water, where it would take only minutes. They never meant to shoot anyone, unless they were forced. Assault rifles are seriously threatening, but their purpose here seemed to be just that—threat. Jensen felt a decided chill, wondering exactly where the box that carried explosives of some kind could be located, and what it held. Most appropriate would be a bomb already rigged.
The one comfort was that it probably would not be a bomb with a timer. They would need to control its detonation—be sure they and however much gold they meant to take were off the ship, out of range. It would be a radio-controlled explosion of some kind.
And they meant to leave most of their help, and a large part of the gold, to go to the bottom of the inlet. The latest prisoner had said, in a voice that was very small and scared, “Please, don’t leave me here to die.”
Alex realized, suddenly, just how angry he was becoming.
“There’s almost a hundred people in jeopardy down in the dining room, and I’m more concerned about them than anything else, just now. That damn bomb has got to be found.”
He looked around at the group of people who were staring at him, mute with anxiety. Even Walker was no longer having a good time. Nevertheless, he straightened his spine and stepped forward.
“Well, from the sound of it, we’ve got a rough patch ahead. What do you recommend, Sergeant?”
Jensen sat down at the table with a worried sigh and said nothing for a minute, thinking.
“Forty-five miles. It can’t be far until we exit the Grenville Channel,” he said finally. “So, it stands to reason, we don’t have too much time. We’d better get busy and take back the bridge.”
He looked slowly around at his somewhat battered band of recruits; Walker, zealous but past his prime; Repasky with his forehead bandaged; stitches in McKimmey’s chin and the lump on the back of his head; Brady, Thorn, and West, who were anything but used to fighting for their lives; and Sawyer, who knew how to escape, perhaps, but had not stayed to confront the enemy. And down on Four Deck were almost a hundred innocent people, many retired, who had no idea what was being proposed as their fate. Alex and this small group of willing souls was all that stood between them and a watery death. It was that simple … and discouraging. He wished desperately for the assistance of five or six of the best cops he knew—or the worst, for that matter.
Jessie looked sick. How could anyone have anticipated that something like petty theft could turn this serious, or dea
dly?
Jensen’s temper rose with the lump in his throat that he knew was concern—no, fear—for a lot of people, including Jessie and himself. And, he recalled, he had told Dallas and Rozetta to go to the hold, if things went bad. If things went bad it was the worst place they could be. Okay, enough of that. He let the anger take over again.
“It makes me furious,” he said aloud, feeling the need for venting as much as the others needed a pep talk to get them going. “They can’t do this to us, damn it. A bunch of cowardly, Goddamned pirates. And, if we don’t make it, I hope their souls rot in hell.
“Now. So much for being angry—we can’t afford it, or being afraid. There’s a lot to be done. We’ve caught four of them, with not a shot fired. The only two hurt are Repasky and McKimmey. Both minor injuries. Explaining that you were hit with a flying tray will be interesting, Doctor.”
The doctor grinned.
The group was looking a little more enthusiastic. Alex went on:
“We can’t let this finish us. There’s more of us now than there is of them. We have to get the one on the bridge. Here’s what I suggest, but I want all of you to think and make suggestions. We can’t afford to miss on this one, can we?”
He outlined what he had in mind. There were a couple of comments, and then they all knew what their parts were.
“Jessie, what do you want to do? Wait here?”
She looked at him for a second as if he had lost his mind. Her expression changed as she realized he was asking, not telling, not trying to protect her. Then she smiled a little and nodded. “You’re learning, trooper. I know. I’m not going to do you any good taking over the bridge, or taking care of the two or three left on the dining room deck. So, I’d really like to be back down there with Lou, and Dallas, and Rozie. Maybe I could make it back down, if I went the back way and was very careful.”
“You might. You might also run into one of them.”
“I could wait for an opportunity to get in the back door. I still look like one of the crew.”
“You could. It’s risky. Are you sure you want to?”
“Yes, I think so.”
“Take this?” He held out one of the handguns they had taken from the men they had captured. “Please?”
She had started to shake her head, but she looked at him, frowned slightly and tucked it in the pocket of the blue apron she still wore. She knew how to use it. Carried one when she drove her dog teams, in case of moose.
He nodded. She laid a hand on his wrist before she slipped out the door, alone.
He turned back to the watching group.
“Gutsy lady,” McKimmey commented.
“Yeah. Well … here’s the deal. It’s to our advantage that there’s an entrance to the bridge from either side. But we need to create the distraction from one, while going in the other. Ideas?”
“How about just banging on the door,” Sawyer suggested. “They’ll all be looking in that direction, wondering what’s causing the noise.”
It was simple, safe, and would probably do the trick. They agreed that Don and Ray should do just that.
“We must not let this guy get hold of either the captain or the first mate as hostages, so it’ll have to be quick. Don’t shoot unless it’s absolutely necessary. It’s a wide bridge, but a pretty small space for flying bullets. Everyone ready? Let’s do it.”
34
9:00 A.M.
Thursday, July 17, 1997
Spirit of ‘98
Grenville Channel, Inside Passage
British Columbia, Canada
THEY WENT OUT THE DOOR OF THE OWNER’S SUITE BEHIND Jensen. The towering cliffs loomed ominously over the Spirit, if anything, higher than when he had seen them at the northern end of the Grenville Channel. It had grown darker and, looking up, he could see that dense clouds threatened rain.
So far they had been successful. Could they be lucky one more time? A lot of people’s lives depended on it, but hesitation would gain them nothing. He glanced at McKimmey, who grinned humorlessly back, waiting for his direction. He nodded. Go!
The group of liberators split—Sawyer and McKimmey one way, the rest the other—creeping like commandos, as quietly as possible, past the owner’s suite and up the stairs that led to the doors on both sides of the bridge. When the larger group heard Sawyer begin to pound on the opposite side, Jensen led the rush through the door and onto the bridge itself. The surprise was total and effective, and they used it to their advantage, but it was not without resistance.
In the noise and confusion of the harried first few seconds, they were up against a very stubborn and tenacious garden-variety street-fighter, who fractured Sawyer’s arm with a particularly vicious blow with the wooden butt of the AK-47 he held onto like death, and kicked Alex so hard in the shin that he was still favoring it a week later.
Walker finally hit him with the butt of the pistol he was carrying, just enough to stun him. McKimmey and Brady once again used the tape quickly and effectively, before he could shake off the effects of the thump on the head and turn to fighting them again.
When it was over, Repasky looked at Don’s white face and the way he was holding his forearm, and went to see what he could do to help.
Captain Kay smiled and nodded at Jensen, who was holding his injured shin and gritting his teeth. “Took you long enough,” he said.
“You both okay?” Alex asked.
He was assured of their continued good health and gratitude.
But it was the identity of their captive that startled them all.
Bill Prentice slowly regained his senses on the floor of the bridge, where they had laid him down, confined and no longer a threat.
And, near the door to the captain’s office, sitting on a chair borrowed from within it, was Judy Raymond, though she did not move—just watched with narrowed eyes and a cynical half-smile.
Alex raised a questioning eyebrow at the captain. “She part of it, too?”
“Not to start with. She followed him up here, and he made her stay. But, when she knew what was up, what they were after, she definitely wanted to be in on it. Lot of money—big temptation. He was having none of her. Wouldn’t hurt to make sure she’s not going anywhere, I think, till we get it straightened out. You can decide.”
McKimmey took care of her with a couple of strips of duct tape, though she spit like a cat and glared in fury.
“What about the passengers?” the captain asked. “Are they okay?”
“We haven’t gone down yet,” Alex told him. “Thought we should take care of the operating part of the ship, and the boss of this business, first. We need to go down now and get the last three of these bastards as soon as possible. I’m sure the passengers are sick of being there, as is most of your crew, who were probably forced to join them. We haven’t seen any.”
He walked across to Prentice, who was sitting up, glowering.
“Where’s that locked box Walt brought on board, Prentice? We know it’s there, somewhere. You might as well tell us where, because we’ll find it, and, if we don’t, you may wish we had.”
Prentice just stared at him and said nothing, as Carlson had.
Quietly, Dick West had been telling the captain what they had learned about the suspected plot to sink the ship. His reaction was as close to temper as Jensen had ever seen in him. He walked across to look down at Prentice. He said nothing at all, but gave the man such a look of contempt and anger that, after one glance, the man on the floor turned his head away.
“We’d better get the Canadian authorities out here,” Jensen said. “I know you’d like this bunch off the ship as soon as possible, and so would I.”
“We’ll be at the end of the channel soon, and able to radio again. But I’m going down with you to the dining room. We’ll take that thing with us, shall we? When his thugs see that we have him, and they know you’ve caught the rest, maybe they’ll give up. Where are the others, by the way?”
McKimmey told him, and, for the first time,
he laughed. “Not bad. I want to hear everything, but first let’s get the job done. I do want these … people … off my ship, and we’ll find that box and its explosives, wherever they’ve put it.”
They left Sawyer with Chuck West and his wife. Thorn and Brady, with one of the pistols, stayed on the bridge with the first mate, to guard Raymond and Ledlow, whom they double-taped before leaving. But they released Prentice’s legs so he could walk, and, mouth still taped, took him along, as the rest—Jensen, the captain, McKimmey, Repasky, Dick West, and Walker—headed down the three flights of stairs to the dining room level. Deciding against splitting up, they went together, West and Walker last, with Prentice between them.
Walker suggested the elevator, but Alex refused. “I don’t want one of them there when the door opens so he can make a trap of what is, effectively, a metal box.”
When they reached the last flight, Alex had them wait at the top, while he crept silently down and looked cautiously into the corridor outside the galley. While he looked, McKimmey slipped down behind him and disappeared through the door to the engine room. In only a minute he was back, nodding. Carlson was still there, secured to the sewage pump. None of the conspirators had known he’d been taken, or they hadn’t found him, if they’d looked.
The corridor was empty, except for a crewman sitting on the floor beside the partially open sliding door, watching the powerboat. He was startled to see someone besides members of the gang, but he nodded, at Jensen’s gesture, to keep still. Waving the others down the stairs, he led them into the corridor and toward the galley door. It remained empty.
With one swift look through the galley, in the doorway to the dining room, Jensen could see the back of one of the gunmen guarding the passengers. They were still seated at the tables. Stepping back, Jensen gestured to West and Walker to bring Prentice forward, then pushed him to stand in front of them at the doorway.