Superior Storm (Lake Superior Mysteries)

by Tom Hilpert

  I went down the companionway. It was still warmer than the cockpit, since the heat came from propane rather than electricity, but it was dark; the dim light outside barely penetrated the narrow windows.

  “Nice and easy Borden,” said Phil. “I’m holding Leyla, and my gun is in her side.” I could dimly make out their two figures near the front of the cabin.

  “Okay,” I said.

  Angela came down behind me, and I felt her gun grind into my right kidney. “I’ve got him covered Philip,” she said. Phil took another pair of plastic cuffs out and secured Leyla’s hands in front of her. He helped her sit on the starboard settee, and she shifted around the U.

  “Now you,” Angela said. She walked me forward to where the mast descended from above. She fastened my hands together around the pole. “I think we’re better off without you moving around,” she said, jerking on my wrists to make sure I was secure.

  “Any chance I could get some coffee?” I asked hopefully.

  I couldn’t see Angela’s eyes very well in the dimness, but she looked at me for what seemed like an unreasonably long time.

  “No electricity,” she said at last. “If you could fix that, maybe I could get you some.”

  “I don’t know how to fix it,” I said truthfully enough. “But you can make coffee on the stove. Boil a few cups of water, and add a tablespoon of coffee for every cup.”

  She shook her head, “You never quit, do you?” she asked.

  “It’s one of my best things,” I said.

  “Says who?” she muttered and turned away. “I think it’s time, Philip,” she said.

  My heart began to pound. But Phil only went over the wall where the radio was mounted and began unscrewing the face-plate. He pulled out the non-functioning radio and stuck his hand in the hole beyond. He came out with a big orange plastic radio that looked a lot like the dead one I had found in the dinghy.

  However, this one worked. He turned a knob and the sound of static flowed out of it. Angela snatched the radio from him. She turned a few knobs and then held it up to her face.

  “Tiny Dancer to Great Escape, Tiny Dancer to Great Escape, come in please.”

  I thought that was a very nice name for the getaway boat. I said as much, but no one paid any attention.

  Angela released the talk button and static hissed again. She repeated the call again. Suddenly the unit crackled to life.

  “I’ve got you Tiny Dancer,” said a voice, hollowed out by the radio waves. “This is Great Escape.”

  “The day our father died, over,” said Angela cryptically.

  “Was a happy one, over,” replied the voice.

  “What a sweet little password phrase,” I said. No one acknowledged me. It seemed to be a trend.

  “OK,” said Angela, “switch to sixty-seven.”

  “Sixty-seven, roger,” said the voice, which had to be Red Holland, Angela’s brother.

  Angela leaned toward the dim light of a window and changed the channel. The digital LED on the radio read “sixty-seven.”

  “Red?” she said, holding down the talk button.

  “I’m here, over,” he said.

  “What’s your position, over?”

  Holland read out some GPS coordinates.

  “We’re a little behind, too” said Angela. “The storm slowed us down, the engines died, and we ran out the battery, over.”

  “Any trouble? Over?”

  “Borden tweaked Phil a little, and the FBI pig took a shot at us, but we’re in control.”

  “I will proceed along the course further, over,” said Red Holland over the radio.

  “OK,” said Angela. “Expect to find us along the same line, maybe two to five miles from our original rendezvous point. What’s your ETA? Over.”

  “It’s a little rough,” commented Holland. “I can’t really plane in this weather. Should be maybe half an hour to forty minutes, over.”

  “You tired, over?”

  “I expect to sleep while you get us home. You’ve had all that help, and I’ve been up all night. Over.”

  “We’ll see,” said Angela. “See you soon, over and out.”

  There was relative quiet in the cabin.

  “Can I make Jonah some coffee?” asked Leyla suddenly.

  Angela looked at her. My eyes were a little more used to the dimness, and I thought her expression was contemptuous. “He’s just a man,” she said. “You don’t need to serve him.”

  Leyla tossed her hair back. “He’s my man,” she said. “I want to.” I suddenly felt warmer.

  “You’re brainwashed. He is part of the patriarchal system that keeps women like you oppressed.”

  “I’m sure you wouldn’t understand,” said Leyla.

  “You’re right.”

  “I want coffee too,” said Leyla.

  “Fine. You need to do it with your hands the way they are.”

  Leyla scooted around the table and slipped past Angela behind the galley counter. With her wrists together, she rummaged around and found a small pot. She put it in the sink and then used both hands to turn on the faucet. Nothing happened.

  “Rats,” she said. “I forgot – the pump is battery operated.” She looked at Angela. “You mind if I go up and dip some out of the lake?”

  “You’re crazy,” said Angela. But she reached up and unlatched the companionway door for Leyla. Leyla went up, but she wasn’t gone long. The pot was about half full. “It’s about the cleanest water we’ll ever drink,” she said. She bustled around some more with the stove and coffee. I slid down the mast and sat on the floor, leaning back against the bulkhead next to the door to the forward sleeping quarters, my arms stretched in front of me around the mast pole. No one said anything.

  After a few minutes, the most beautiful aroma in the world began to fill the cabin. I was filled with vicious longing for the dark elixir of the gods. After a few more agonizing moments, Leyla came forward and knelt in front of me.

  “Can you hold and drink?” she asked. I took the cup in my hands. If I scooted in close to the mast and craned my neck to the left, I could drink awkwardly without spilling too much. As I experimented with this, Leyla leaned closer and whispered, “Channel sixty-seven is a commercial shipping frequency. If there is a ship around, they might have heard.”

  At first, I was filled with a rush of hope. Then I remembered that Lake Superior is bigger than a lot of East-Coast states, and the chances were good that no one was within radio range out there. The Superior Rose had a schedule to keep and had moved out hours ago. And even if someone else overheard, it was just two boats figuring out a rendezvous – they really hadn’t said enough to make anyone suspicious. However, hope is good, and sometimes hard to come by, so I didn’t say anything to Leyla.

  “Thank you for the coffee,” is all I said.

  As I finished the hot drink, I began to finally feel warm again, and with the warmth came a powerful drowsiness. I had slept less than an hour all night. Twice, I felt my head jerk downward. I cursed myself for a fool, sleeping away my last hour on earth, but it was hard to see what else I could do.

  CHAPTER 5 2

  I was startled awake by the popping of sound from the radio. I didn’t hear what was said at first.

  “Okay,” said Angela. “I’ll go up and watch out. Over.”

  I squinted my eyes as Angela walked over to the table. She faced Leyla. “How do you stop this boat when it’s under sail?”

  “Why should I help you?” said Leyla.

  Angela took two more steps and regarded me dispassionately. She took out her pistol and held it by her leg, bending over a little to see me better.

  “Wait,” said Leyla.

  But Angela drew back her hand and struck me with her gun exactly where she had done so before. The pain exploded above my eye. I couldn’t cover my head with my hands, so I scooted up to the mast and tried to shelter my head from further blows. But Angela was finished. Leyla was standing up.

  “Stop it! Stop and
I’ll help you.”

  “That’s better,” said Angela with satisfaction.

  “I’ll need my hands,” said Leyla. I was waiting for the stars to stop interfering with my vision, so I didn’t see for sure when Angela cut her free.

  “Philip,” I heard Angela say, “Why don’t you secure Agent Stone, too? I’d rather not trust to his injuries at this critical moment.”

  I looked up to see Leyla’s feet disappear up the companionway, followed by Angela. I was alone with Stone and Phil. Stone was straightening up. He glanced toward me and dropped his left eyelid smoothly and slowly. My head throbbing, and fresh blood beginning to drip over my eyebrow, I hitched myself up and gripped the metal mast pole. Phil tucked his pistol into his waistband and reached out with both hands to shift Stone. He put his hands under the armpits of the wounded man. I watched, like a cat stalking a bird. Stone reached up to grab Phil’s right hand with his left. “It hurts,” he rasped. Phil shifted awkwardly, his arms tangled up with Stone. I swung my body around the mast and drove both feet like a scythe into Phil’s legs. Stone held him with his left hand, so that Phil’s legs went out from under him, while his body fell toward me. As he hit the floor, the breath exploded out of him, and I scooted down and wrapped my knees around his neck. Stone winced, but moved quickly for all that, and pulled the gun out of Phil’s waistband and held it up to his head.

  “Be still, OK?” he said. Phil blinked. I released some of the pressure on his neck, and he nodded.

  “Lock it in again, for a minute,” said Stone to me. I put one foot behind my opposite knee and squeezed a little. “I don’t want to hurt you, Phil,” I said quietly. “But I will if I have to.” He blinked.

  Stone lurched to his feet, stumbled, and slid back to his knees. He tried and failed again, and finally stayed up on the third try. “Didn’t realize how much blood I lost,” he muttered. He went to the galley and got a knife, came back and cut my handcuffs. He handed me the gun. “I’m right-handed,” he said, and collapsed back onto the settee. I felt dizzy, and my head was throbbing, but I held the gun in both hands and pressed onto the top of Phil’s head.

  “I’m going to get up, Phil,” I said. “You stay right there, Okay?”

  He coughed and groaned and finally rasped, “Okay.”

  The Tiny Dancer suddenly swung firmly to port and then seemed to hover, wallowing in the waves. Leyla had swung into the wind to stop our progress.

  “Get him up and use him as a shield,” said Stone, grunting with pain.

  “Okay, Phil,” I said. “Get up now.” He stood, and his right knee was clearly giving him pain. I stepped behind him, wrapping my left arm firmly around his neck and keeping the gun in his back.

  I felt awkward and mean. “Sorry,” I mumbled.

  Stone looked at me incredulously. Phil said, “That’s okay. I did it to you guys.”

  For a minute, I thought that little exchange might finish Stone off, where bullets had failed. He looked like he was having a heart attack. “I must be delirious,” he muttered. He shook his head. “Okay, get in position and wait for Angela to come down.”

  The companionway door thrust open, and Angela started down the steps. “What was that noise?”

  “I’ve got Phil,” I said. “Come down slowly.”

  Angela gave an unearthly scream, something like that of the cougars I have heard in the hills above my cabin. She bent down, and in one smooth motion drew her gun, and fired at me. This was not how it was supposed to go. My reactions slowed, and my mind churned uselessly. I ducked behind Phil. I felt terrible about it later, but there it is. Phil made a little sound in his throat, almost a squeal. I stuck my gun around his body and fired twice, quickly. The boat was heaving, so accuracy was not really an option, though with my ignorance of handguns, it probably never was. Angela screamed in rage and backed up the stairs.

  “You have thirty seconds to let him go, or I’ll kill Leyla. I mean it!”

  There was a hole in the cupboard next to Phil’s head, and a splinter of wood drawing blood from his cheek. “She shot at me,” he said in a low moan. “She shot at me. She shot at me.” He kept repeating it like a mantra, emphasizing different words, as if that would somehow help him understand what happened.

  I glanced back at Stone. His eyes were wide and shocked. “I guess he isn’t much of a hostage,” he said. “She’s willing to trade his life for Leyla’s.”

  “I’m not,” I said. I released Phil. “Get up there,” I said. “You’ve got to control her somehow. She’s going to kill us all.”

  He slumped limply toward the companionway, and then turned back. “She coulda killed me,” he said.

  “She nearly did,” I said.

  He hobbled up the stairs.

  “Borden!” Angela’s voice was shrill. “The gun – now!”

  “Send Leyla down,” I called. “We’ll stay here, and you can leave with your brother.”

  I heard Jasmine murmur something, and then Phil.

  “Borden,” shouted Jasmine, her voice harsh and impersonal. “Give us the gun now. We aren’t messing around here.”

  I turned quickly to Stone, who was sitting on the floor, eyes closed, leaning against the wall and breathing heavily. “Jasmine – whose side is she on, really?”

  He opened his eyes and looked at me. “She’s good, isn’t she? She’s playing dirty-cop, but she’s still with us.”

  I breathed a deep sigh of relief.

  “Come on now!” said Jasmine.

  “Empty the magazine,” said Stone in a low voice.

  I pushed the button, pulled out the magazine, and furiously thumbed shiny brass bullets out of it.

  “Quick,” said Stone.

  I slammed it back in, checked the safety and called, “I’m tossing it up now.” Stone was crawling on the floor, scooping up the bullets. I walked to the companionway and gingerly flipped the weapon up into the cockpit.

  “Did you get the one in the chamber?” Stone’s voice was low and tight.

  Of course I hadn’t. They really hadn’t trained me for this at seminary. Maybe I could go back and teach a course on pastoral weapons handling. I just shook my head.

  I could hear Angela yelling from the deck above. “You are a moron, Philip. You can’t do anything right. I just asked you to watch them for five minutes, and I can’t even trust you to do that.” She said more, and it wasn’t very lady-like. It know it’s stupid, but I felt sorry that we had jumped him.

  “You two stay put,” called Jasmine. “If you show your face, someone will shoot it.”

  Now I could hear the roar of a marine engine, which quickly turned to a low rumble. I couldn’t really see out of the high windows. There was some shouting and more engine sounds. I assumed Red Holland was here and was maneuvering the power-boat into position. Abruptly, I felt the Tiny Dancer shift and start to bounce out of rhythm with the waves. I heard a banging and scraping from the stern. A minute later, Angela called out.

  “Borden? Stone? I’m coming down. You two sit on the settee, back behind the table. If I so much as squeal, Leyla loses a knee. If I scream, she dies. You understand?”

  “Got it,” I said. I helped Stone get up onto the settee and scoot around. He groaned twice.

  Angela came down the companionway. She glared at us, and then marched forward into her cabin. She came back with two heavy-looking bags, and dragged them up the companionway. After a moment, she returned to the forward cabin for a third. My heart began to pound. She hauled that up the companionway as well.

  She didn’t come back. Instead, she called, “We’re leaving now, and we’re taking Leyla to ensure your good behavior. Don’t even think about trying anything.” She pulled the companionway door shut and did something to it.

  Stone began to curse, low and steady, and with surprisingly few repetitions. I felt the same way, though I refrained. I contented myself with leaping across the table, and jerking open the cupboard that held my duffel bag. I pulled it out and opened the zipper.


  “Stone!” I said sharply. “Shut up and listen. They were going to blow the Tiny Dancer to pieces with explosives. But I switched the bags. Now, when they hit the switch, they’ll blow themselves up, and Leyla and Jasmine along with them.”

  CHAPTER 5 3

  I grabbed my bag and raced up the steps. I thrust at the companionway door, but it wouldn’t budge. I backed up and threw my shoulder against it, but it still didn’t open. Angela must have locked it or jammed it from outside. I tried again, and pain shot from my shoulder up to my bruised head. I felt dizzy and sick, but I stepped down and threw a side kick at the seam of the doors. I have splintered two-by-fours with that kick, but at the time, I wasn’t dizzy with pain and exhaustion; I wasn’t standing two steps down from my target on a rocking and rolling sailboat in the middle of a gale on Lake Superior. The doors gave a little, but held.

  “Here,” rasped Stone. He had pulled the fire extinguisher off the wall of the galley. I held it like I’ve seen the police hold door-rams on TV, and slammed it into the doors. They gave a little more. I pounded it frenetically, again and again, and then I turned and put every ounce of force I had into another kick. The doors splintered and fell open.

  I pushed them aside and thrust my way up into the cockpit, dragging my bag with me. I knelt down, unzipped the bag and grabbed a bundle of money – the money that I had taken from Angela’s luggage and put into my own. The money I had replaced with explosives in her bags. I snapped the rubber band off the stack, and stood up and threw it in air, scattering green bills into the wind. I shouted “Angela!” as loud as I could, and then dipped down and latched on to the bag with my left hand.

  I stood again, with another bundle of money in my right hand, and held the bag out over the water with my left.

  “Stone,” I called over my shoulder. “Get the other two bags in the starboard cupboard, quick.”