Tahoe Hijack

by Todd Borg

  Javelins.

  As I hit the floor, Nick leaped up, his reaction deadly swift. He picked up a fireplace poker from a holder next to the woodstove and swung it at my head. It just missed and rang off the floor. I grabbed it on the bounce, jerked it from his hand, and tossed it away. Nick dove onto me.

  I knew he was strong, but his frantic manic attack seemed to possess a kind of double strength. We grappled and rolled.

  He let go of me with his right arm, giving me a big advantage. I got on top of him, one hand on his left wrist, my other hand on his throat. At the last moment, I realized the folly of it.

  His right arm came up with a shiny knife. I leaned forward and put a forehead butt into his face, The blade missed me by inches.

  We were too close for me to get his knife hand, so I jammed my elbow down onto the upper arm flesh just below the shoulder. He screamed. The knife clattered to the floor. I grabbed it and threw it into the corner. Then I lifted his head a half-foot off the floor and slammed it back down. Nick went limp.

  “Spot, watch him!” Spot looked at me. I grabbed his head, pointed him toward Nick, gave him a little shake. “Watch him!”

  I turned toward the bed.

  Teri Georges was backing away from Anna, a feral intensity in her darting eyes. Her arms were out in front of her, and she held the fireplace poker in both hands like it was a baseball bat. Her arms still telegraphed cheerleader strength. She looked crazed.

  “You must have known that getting involved with Nick O’Connell carried a huge risk,” I said, trying to distract her. I moved sideways, my hands open, ready for her swing.

  Her eyes narrowed.

  “Hard to believe that he convinced you to go along with his plan to murder Grace,” I said.

  “You don’t have a clue,” she said.

  I moved closer. She lifted the poker higher, like a batter ready for the pitch.

  She clenched her jaw, and I flashed on a memory. Three years ago. Grace’s cousin trying to come to grips with Grace’s murder. The same clenched jaw. A look that gave me empathy, then. Contempt, now.

  “As Melody Sun,” I said, “you had a good life. You could have shared in Grace’s possible fortune. Instead, you faked your own suicide and signed on to Nick’s sick plan.”

  “She was a righteous bitch.” Melody’s voice sounded like the hiss of a rattlesnake. “So high and lofty with her ideals and her dreams. Everybody loved Grace so much. It made me sick. Grace, with her charming awkwardness, and her masculine body, and those giant hands. Instead of it making life a challenge, it made life easier for her. I did better in school, but she always had the better job. I was first runner up to prom queen. I was the better musician. I could draw and paint. I was coordinated and athletic. The boys liked me.” Her voice had changed to a whine.

  “But Grace always came first. People felt sorry for her size and her hands and her man-ish look. And when she got pregnant, she didn’t even have the courage to keep the baby. So she gave it up. Then she had the audacity to complain about how life was so harsh, how people looked down on single mothers. She was a hopeless loser.”

  Melody was circling, poker up in the at-bat position, ready to swing.

  “I couldn’t have babies, and she could. But she thought a baby was a problem, not a gift. I detested her attitude. And just when I thought that maybe I was done putting up with her, along comes the daughter she gave up for adoption. So I had to endure a never-ending lovefest between them.” Melody shot a poisonous look toward Anna on the bed.

  Anna looked deadened, her body curled as if to implode. Yet, I saw the reflection of light in her eyes. She had narrowed them as if squinting. The squint wasn’t about bright light. It looked like anger, and it gave me hope.

  “The whole world consisted of Anna and Grace. Grace and Anna,” Melody said. “Instead of that daughter being outraged that her own mother got rid of her like some kind of parasitic pest, she acted like Grace was some kind of goddess. It made me want to puke! It was suffocating, and I couldn’t stand it!”

  As she said it, I made another little mental leap. One that explained why Grace and cousin Melody looked nothing alike.

  “It sounds like you hated that you were adopted, Melody. You focus on how you were given up by your own mother and raised by Grace’s aunt and uncle, right? And now you want to punish Anna, your relative through adoption. So you hooked up with Nick, and you both changed your names and got a boat.”

  I saw Melody making little telling motions in her shoulders.

  “Is your plan to kill Anna? That will really set things right, won’t it?” I said, tensing.

  Melody lifted her foot and stepped sideways as if at the plate and swung the poker so hard that it flew out of her hands. The sharpened steel missed my head and clanged against the wall of the stateroom.

  As fast as I registered the movement, she spun and pulled a javelin from the ceramic pot. She raised it, aimed it toward me.

  “Cut with your pop psychology, McKenna! That doesn’t work with me.”

  “Think about it, Melody. Anna is a sister in kind. A fellow adopted daughter. But you have such contempt for your own kind that you torture her. It shows how you feel about yourself.”

  Behind Melody, Anna squirmed on the bed.

  “So you did whatever Nick wanted you to?” I glanced over at the prostrate figure on the floor. Spot was still watching the man, but his attention was drifting.

  “If you think Nick orchestrated this, McKenna, then you’re dumber than I thought. This was my plan and my revenge. He was my pawn, and he did what I said. When I caved in Grace’s thick skull, he was so stupid that he said he would let me set him up for it in return for promises of riches. And when I put Thomas Watson’s shinbone skin under her nails and told him that Watson would eventually be blamed, he was like a dog, panting, waiting until I gave him his reward. He knew he was nothing more than an enforcer, a second lieutenant, a knife man. I dangled the ultimate prize of money and a new life and endless days of physical reward. Like most men, he was just like a stupid stallion who cared about nothing other than the mare in heat. For that simple thing, he did whatever I said.”

  I turned and saw Nick on the floor, his eyes open, staring past Spot to Melody. I stepped away from him, toward the sideboard, picked up a bottle of Jameson whiskey, and held it like a club.

  Behind Melody, Anna struggled on the bed, tugging at the line that tied her to the bedpost. Her eyes telegraphed fear and anger. Spot turned and looked at her. I wondered how to get Anna untied without getting my head run through with a javelin. I wondered how to use Spot without getting him skewered, too. I tried not to think of the yacht racing through the night on a collision course with the shore.

  “But you never found Grace’s journal,” I said. “You never learned where the treasure is.”

  Nick used his legs to inch toward the vase with the javelins.

  “I had a good idea,” Melody said. “Grace had made hints about some kind of diary entry and how a gift she gave Anna completed it. I realized that it was about money and that the ring was part of it. I sent Davy Halstead to watch you. When you found Anna, and Davy followed her to where she was staying, I had Nick pick her up and shut up Davy for good. Nick likes being a tough guy. Just like when that militia man Kyle called me and told me he’d overheard something about me. I told him he could be in on my plan if he helped Nick hijack the boat. Kyle was so dense that he suspected nothing until Nick dropped him into the water. But the genius of my plan was getting you to bring Anna out of the woods.”

  She turned and sneered at Anna.

  “That vile woman was so suspicious that she didn’t respond to my reasonable emails. But you were the perfect dupe. I knew you’d find out about her and contact her. I knew she’d look you up. I knew she’d find out about your reputation and learn that everybody thinks that Owen McKenna and his big dumb dog are some kind of safe zone. Little do they know. It was obvious that Anna would come out of the woodwork and into yo
ur false comfort. Then I’d get the ring and force her to tell me what I want to know.”

  Nick’s arm suddenly swung out and snatched a javelin out of the pot. I dove onto him, grabbing the javelin. We rolled, the javelin between us. I was about to call Spot, but Melody came into my peripheral vision, javelin held high.

  She threw it.

  I twisted.

  The point of the javelin glanced off my leg, hitting the nerve bundle on the inside of my knee. Electric pain shot up my leg. I couldn’t move.

  Spot grabbed Melody’s ankle, and she screamed.

  Nick jumped up next to the bed. Raised his javelin back, its big sharp point aimed at my chest.

  Anna did a sudden spasmodic stomach crunch on the bed, pulling her arms down against the tie line for support. She shot a front snap kick up into the air above her body and caught Nick’s chin with the ball of her foot. He dropped the javelin. Staggered back. Reached for his face.

  Anna twisted sideways, flashed out a second snap, lower. Her foot struck his solar plexus. Hard.

  Nick grunted and doubled over.

  I reached for the poker, but the nerve electricity in my leg was still acting like a stun gun, paralyzing me.

  Nick stumbled forward, leaped over me, and ran out of the stateroom door. I struggled to my knees.

  “Spot!” I yelled, hoping that Nick no longer had a weapon on him.

  Spot let go of Melody’s ankle. She bent, reaching her hands to clutch where he’d bitten her.

  Spot looked at me, his face a mix of confusion and eagerness. He sniffed my face. I grabbed him around his chest. Shook him for emphasis. Raised my other arm.

  “Find the suspect!” I did the pointing motion, dropping my hand toward the black hallway where Nick had disappeared. “Find the suspect and take him down!” I smacked him on his rear.

  Spot shot out into the darkness.

  There was movement behind me. I spun.

  Melody had grabbed a javelin. She threw it toward me in a practiced throw.

  I jerked to the side. The javelin crashed into the wall next to my head. It broke in half with a loud snap. Fiberglass splinters rained through the air.

  Melody was reaching for the last javelin in the ceramic vase, but I was up. I picked up the javelin that Nick had dropped and hobbled toward her. A little feeling was coming back into my leg, but it collapsed as I tried to put weight on it. I hopped on my good leg.

  Melody brought her javelin back to throw. Her eyes were demonic.

  I shifted my grip on my javelin. Swung it as she released hers.

  They connected, one breaking and folding. They clattered to the floor.

  Enraged, Melody ran to the corner and picked up Nick’s knife. She held it out and charged me, uttering a loud guttural roar. I dropped to the floor. Stuck my leg out.

  Melody tried to jump over me, but her foot caught on my leg. She went down. Landed on her hands, knife skittering away. Her jaw hit the edge of the broken door. She collapsed.

  I hobbled toward the knife. Brought it to Anna. Cut the rope and tape that bound her hands. Pulled out her gag. Helped her to a sitting position.

  “Hurry!” I yelled, hoping the command would cut through her shock.

  I pulled her to her feet.

  We stepped over Melody, went out the door into the black hallway.

  My leg was a mass of pinpricks as the nerve tried to recover from the javelin blow. I stumbled through the dark passage, feeling the walls with one hand, dragging Anna with the other.

  We felt our way down to the lounge and the staircase. I could only step up with my good leg, so I did a leaping climb, two steps at a time with the good leg, lifting the numb leg behind me.

  From below the stairs came the powerful vibration from the engines. The locked doors had swing bars on the inside that opened them.

  We went out onto the rear deck. The glow of stars and distant shore lights were bright compared to the blackness below. To the east was the faintest hint of the coming dawn. I looked around for Spot or Nick, but I saw nothing.

  The yacht continued its roaring trajectory across the lake.

  I pulled Anna down the side aisle toward the bow, watching for Nick to appear.

  If he’d gone up the stairs, maybe Spot would have caught him. But if he’d climbed up a ladder through one of the many hatches, Spot might still be searching. Nick could be waiting for us, another javelin raised and ready.

  When we got close to the bow, I looked ahead and saw that the starry sky had been replaced by the dark mountain above us. Directly in front of us was blank darkness. I paused for a moment, trying to make sense of what I was seeing. Then I understood.

  We were heading directly for the Rubicon cliffs. They looked less than a quarter mile away. The Tahoe Dreamscape was about 45 seconds from impact with a solid wall of granite.

  And I didn’t know where Spot was.

  “Spot!” I called. “Spot!”

  If he was close, maybe he’d hear me. If not, my words would be drowned out by the roar of the racing yacht.

  We came around the front of the salon.

  I tried the door.

  Still locked.

  Spot might be trapped inside.

  I gritted my teeth against the nerve pain and put my best sidekick against the window in the salon door. Glass shattered.

  I reached through, found the latch, turned the lock.

  Anna came with me into the salon.

  “Spot!” I ran through the blackness to the rear of the salon. Poked my head into the dining room. “Spot! Come!”

  There was no response.

  I ran back forward and glanced out the front of the salon. The cliffs of Rubicon were rising in the sky above us.

  Something moved. An odd shape at the pointy front of the bow.

  I pulled Anna with me across the foredeck.

  It was Spot. He stood over Nick who was flat on his back. Spot’s jaws encircled Nick’s neck. I knew the posture. It wasn’t a biting maneuver, but a holding maneuver.

  Despite the faint starlight, I could see the fear in Nick’s eyes.

  “Good boy, Spot!”

  I held tight to Anna and pulled her with me over to the gangway gate at the side of the bow railing. I unlatched it and slid it to the side. Below was a rush of black water mixed with the foam from the bow wave.

  “Can you swim?” I shouted over the roaring yacht.

  “What? Yes. Why?”

  I pointed at the wall of rock. The cliff loomed above us. We were less than twenty seconds from impact.

  “The boat is going to crash. You need to jump off. Now.”

  “You’re crazy,” she said. Despite the darkness, I could see that she was terrified.

  “No, I’m not. I mean it. Jump.”

  “I could never jump,” she shouted, her voice a panicked cry.

  I looked again at the fast-approaching wall of rock.

  “It’s going to be very cold,” I said. “But we’ll come for you. It will take a minute or two.”

  “What?” she shouted.

  I picked her up and threw her, screaming, off the deck and into the black ice water below.

  Her shriek stopped as she hit the water and the boat rushed on ahead.

  I sprinted back to Spot.

  He still had his jaws on Nick’s throat.

  I put my hand through Spot’s collar and looked at the looming wall.

  The roar of the Dreamscape grew exponentially as the sound echoed back from the vertical wall of rock. We had maybe three seconds at the outside.

  “Spot, come!” I yelled. I took his collar and sprinted with him toward the open railing gate. As we got close, I tightened my grip on his collar in case he wanted to hesitate.

  We leapt up and out in a broad arc, six legs bicycling through the night. The impact on ice water was hard. The temperature was a gasping shock.

  A moment later, the Dreamscape hit the cliff.

  The impact was an explosive boom, followed by metal popping
, grinding, twisting, ripping as the boat crushed itself against the immovable wall of granite.

  The bow collapsed and disintegrated and was followed by the yacht’s midsection. The first wave from the impact hit us, lifting us up, pushing us back. I still had Spot’s collar, and I frog-kicked my best, pulling us away from the impact.

  A second wave, reflecting off the rock, hit us. This wave was bigger and choppier. We tossed and spun. I inhaled water. Spot struggled to swim up the wave. I kept pulling him.

  The yacht’s engines kept roaring for several seconds as the stern raised up, props exposed to the air. Freed of the resistance of water, the props spun faster and faster in a screaming rise of RPMs. Then came a muffled explosion followed by the squeal of tearing metal. The prop whine quickly dropped in pitch until it stopped. It was followed by a sudden, eerie silence.

  I tread water. Spot swam in a tight circle around me.

  What was left of the front half of the yacht had disappeared beneath the water, raising the stern farther in the air until the wreckage was near vertical, the dinghy still tied to the tender deck ladder and dangling like a dead gray beetle in the black night. Then the stern with the attached dinghy dropped back down the way a whale’s tail flukes slap the water. As the bulk of the Dreamscape wreckage submerged, there was a whooshing sound of water rushing in from the sides to fill the sucking void.

  The stern was about to disappear. I realized that the dinghy was still floating. I let go of Spot and swam toward it with my fastest crawl. Maybe I’d get sucked down into the vortex of the sinking boat. But Anna was out there at risk of hypothermia. As was Spot. As was I.

  We needed the dinghy.

  I grabbed the little boat and pulled on the end of the line where I’d tied the slipknot. The line came free. The dinghy bobbed in the waves caused by the crash. I held the line and swam away from the sinking yacht.

  There was a last moaning, screeching shriek of metal being torn in two as the Dreamscape sunk beneath the surface. I felt the swirl of a powerful current pull at my legs, trying to suck me down into the icy blackness. The current lessened. Then, from many feet below came an eerie, scraping howl of submerged metal against the underwater cliffs of Rubicon. It was followed by a creepy silence and a small gurgle of eddy currents created by the huge yacht as it began its descent down one of the tallest underwater cliffs on the planet.