by Jim Craig
“What’s going on?” Greta snapped at me with a hostile glare. Her eyes shifted to the captain and down the bridge, then back to me. Captain Ferguson looked up in alarm as well.
“I don’t know,” I answered quickly. “Let me look out the door.”
She pressed herself against the wall under the counter, turned to gun toward me and nodded.
“Opening the door!” I called out. “Be cool!”
I pulled the door open two inches and peeked through. No one was on the other side, so I stuck my head out into the hallway to take a look. Darrell was lying on the deck on his belly in front of the other door into the bridge at the far end of the corridor. Larry was standing above him and motioning for me to hurry up. Great advice, I thought. Who’s got the gun in their face anyhow?
I looked to the right and one eye of the SWAT guy in the ski mask was peeking through the cracked door across the hall and pointing his gun at me. I was really getting sick of being everybody's target. I pointed at him and frowned and he closed the door and disappeared.
Knowing Greta couldn’t see my face, I shook my head slightly at Larry. I hoped he would get the message. No dice. She ain’t giving up.
I called out to him. "Bring the chopper in and stay away from that door," I yelled. I pointed at Darrell and used my thumb to motion him away from the door. I don't know what he was doing down there, but I didn't like it.
I closed the door again and turned to Greta.
“It’s okay. Let’s get that helicopter out here so it can pick us up. Isn’t that what you wanted?”
Greta’s look softened slightly. “Yes, Johnny. Make it happen, won’t you? I’m so tired of all this.”
I got to my knees, looked around and then stood up. It was totally dark outside the ferry. We were still inside the fog bank, and there were no lights to be seen outside the windows. No stars either.
I looked at the captain. “Captain, can you move us out of the fog? I don’t think the chopper can get in here, it’s so thick.”
“Johnny?”
I turned back to Greta again. The silver pistol was pointed at my face. Her blue eyes were positioned behind it, perfectly centered and perfectly deadly.
“Don’t try anything tricky. I swear I’ll use this.”
I gulped and swallowed hard. “Greta, we’ve got to get out of the fog, so the chopper can move in.”
She looked at me thinking about it. She shifted her eyes to the captain and motioned at her with the pistol.
“Okay, Betty, you’re on,” she said. “Move us out where the helicopter can pick us up. You, me, Johnny and Tambourine.”
I noticed how she didn't mention Charlie but I didn't say anything. This was her show now and she was selecting her cast with care.
“Can I use the radio?” Betty asked, getting to her knees as Greta nodded.
I watched Greta watching the captain. Betty stood up, the yellow rope drawing taut as she moved in front of the controls. She went through the steps required to start the engines. Picking up a microphone she asked for information and was told the edge of the fog bank was about two miles south of our position.
After a few minutes she moved the engine throttles forward. The vibration in the ship picked up. Gradually I felt the sense of forward motion.
The ferry pushed forward, but the picture through the front windows didn’t change. I couldn’t see anything but fog and the ocean right around us. The captain was checking the scopes beside her on the counter.
After a few minutes, the captain raised one arm and pointed to her right. I spotted flashing lights. An orange and white Coast Guard helicopter was hovering about a hundred yards away and at the same level as the bridge. A spotlight underneath the chopper cut through the fog, and a red light above the spinning tail rotor blinked like a cop car in the night.
I was standing above Greta with my back to her. She put the muzzle of the handgun against the inside of my thigh and moved it up and down. A chill ran through me but not the pleasant kind. I tried to move away but she grabbed an ankle and held me in place.
“Don’t try anything, Johnny,” she reminded me with a giggle. I couldn't believe she was playing around. My adrenaline was pumping hard.
The chopper moved across our bow from right to left. The ferry broke free of the fog, and I could see lights marking rocks and islands at the mouth of Resurrection Bay. Way in the distance I could barely see the lights of Seward Dry Dock.
I watched the helicopter and tried to keep my breathing slow and regular. Greta was watching me and motioned for me to move back against the door where she could see me better.
The radio crackled. It sounded like garbled static to me, but the captain seemed to understand.
“The helicopter pilot is telling us to shut down, so they can approach for the pickup,” she said.
“Then do it,” Greta snapped. Her jaw was set now and a frown pinched her brow together replacing the fragile little girl face of just a few minutes before.
She was thinking of the next steps. She was no fool. I could see the hard side of Greta now as plain as day. The same face that had ordered Charlie around back on Taroka.
The captain chopped the throttles and I felt the ferry slow. The helicopter moved closer and maneuvered toward us. We could hear it easily now, the big blades throbbing with a heavy beat.
Greta was watching my eyes to keep track of the situation through me. I looked up and saw her covering both me and the door with the pistol.
Our eyes met. She softened then, smiled slightly and something passed between us. She knew. And I knew it too. We didn’t have to talk about it. I would think about that look for a long time afterwards trying to make sense of it. But right then I didn’t have the time to ponder.
“How are we going to do this, Greta?”
She obviously had been thinking about it. “We’ll go out the side door here. They can send their basket down to the balcony. Tell the rug rat out there to get lost.”
I looked through the window behind me. The SWAT guy in the ski mask looked up, and I gave him a hand signal to go down the corridor. He hesitated and spoke into a radio. After a minute he got up and walked backwards down the hall until he was out of sight.
“See the door to the outside there?” Greta asked. “Open it. We’re going out that way. Tamby and I’ll go up first.”
I looked over at Captain Ferguson. She was on the radio with the helicopter relaying Greta's instructions to the pilot.
I reached over and opened the door on the side of the ship. The smell of sea salt and wet air burst into my face. The sound of the helicopter washed over us like a wave. The turbine engines howled and the blades knifed through the night sky with a roar. I blinked back the moisture flooding into my face and pulled my jacket tighter around my neck. I could feel the quiet mass of the cold ocean below us moving with an eerie roll. Small waves slapped against the side of the ship where we wallowed in the swell.
I watched as the chopper edged slowly into position above us. It’s side door was open and a crew member in a white helmet, orange jumpsuit and black gloves was standing there beside a pile of duffel bags and gear. He was looking toward us and had a lift basket hanging by a cable from a pulley by his feet ready to let down toward us.
Greta stood up pulling Tamby along with her and moved to the doorway making sure that my body was between her and the men at the other end of the bridge. We pushed out into the turbulent air on the landing. The chopper moved in directly above us and the basket started down.
The noise and the wind from the chopper blades threw mist in our faces and made conversation impossible. Our collars flapped like crazy and I had to hold my hat on with one hand while I held onto Greta with the other and watched the basket approaching. Greta had one arm around Tamby's neck and her other hand held the gleaming chrome handgun pressed against the side of his head. Her hair was whipping in the turbulence. The basket was spinning in the wind as it came into
range. Just before it got close enough to hit us Greta stuffed the gun under her jacket and reached her hand out to grab the basket.
Just then I spotted an erratic blinking light next to the helicopter crewman. But it wasn’t a light. It was a reflection in the lens of a rifle scope. There was another person in the chopper. Inside the pile of duffel bags and gear a sniper was set up with a rifle aimed directly at us.
It dawned on me in a flash. They had no intention of letting Greta get on board the helicopter. In an instinctive reflex I threw my arms around Greta and Tamby and lunged back into the bridge just as a bullet smacked into the door frame inches from my head. Before diving through the door I saw Larry and Darrell at the end of the hall with weapons and angry faces pointed our way.
We hit the floor together and Greta scrambled to free herself from my arms kicking violently and crawling backwards under the counter. I covered my head with my arms expecting more gun shots at any second. Greta jerked my head up by my collar and pointed the handgun back in my face.
“Go close that damn door!” she screamed pointing down the bridge behind me.
The yellow rope lay on the floor. The captain was gone. I looked down the bridge in alarm and saw the other door standing open. The throttles were full forward and the ferry was moving.
Outside, the pounding helicopter blades changed pitch and we heard it turn and move away, the whopping sound growing gradually softer.
I got up and moved down the bridge. Darrell and Larry were standing outside the open door in the hallway. I raised my arms to wave off their guns and reached to close the door between us. But before I could get it shut the door jammed against something. I looked down to see Darrell’s boot in the way. As I looked up in irritation his arm reached in, grabbed me by the front of my coat and jerked me into the hall like a bag of laundry.
I was pushed face down onto the tile floor. Darrell’s heavy knee pinned me in place. Larry went to the door and leaned in just an inch to look down the bridge.
“Give it up, Greta. Last chance!” he barked.
“Screw you!” she screamed back and a shot rang out. The window beside Larry shattered and sprayed glass out into the night as he jumped out of the way.
Larry threw his arms up and said, " Nobody move. She’s got a gun to the kid’s head.”
I realized then he was talking to his team. There were several other men in black in the corners and the stairwell halfway down the hall.
"Send Johnny back in here or the kid gets it," Greta shrieked.
"Take it easy, Greta. Calm down," he called out to her.
"I mean it," she screamed back.
"Get the grenade," Larry murmured to someone behind us.
Darrell shifted his weight off me to make room for someone else who moved up beside Larry at the door. They whispered together with rapid fire instructions that I couldn't hear.
I pushed myself to my knees and jammed my head between them to look into the bridge. Greta was at the far end but she didn’t look scared. She looked lethal. She was on her knees glaring at us with one arm around Tambourine’s neck. His little face was contorted and grimacing, and his eyes bulged with the chrome handgun pressed into the mass of red hair on the side of his head.
Darrell tried to block me with his knee, but I twisted around him, squirmed between them and lunged through the doorway. I landed on the side of my face just in time to see a small metal canister spitting sparks fly through the air. It clattered to a stop on the counter beside the throttles.
“NO!” I shouted and covered my face with my arms. The blast rocked my world. Glass shattered and flew in all directions and papers and debris sprayed across me like a hailstorm.
Stunned and reeling from a fiery pain in my back I struggled to my feet and looked for Greta and the kid. The bridge was filled with smoke and dust. The acrid smell of cordite assaulted my nostrils, and my ears rang with an hollow roar. I rushed toward her in a panic.
Waving my arms to clear the smoke and shouting, “Don’t shoot, don’t shoot!” I crossed the space in seconds, but then I stopped in confusion. Greta was gone.
Tambourine lay shaking under the counter curled in a fetal ball. He was clutching one of Greta's sparkling sandals. The door was open and so was the outside door to the balcony. I felt the rush of chilled ocean air hit me full in the face again. The other sandal twinkled at me from the wet deck just below the railing.
I turned around to see Larry and Darrell approaching with their guns drawn trying to see around me. They were shouting something at me but I couldn’t hear a thing.
They moved to push their way past when I saw their eyes react to a movement behind me. I whirled just in time to see a wild blur of red hair moving through the outer door, up and over the railing and into the dark.
A hard wind blew through the ship then and slammed the doors behind us like shots in the back. I should have stopped like Larry and Darrell, but I charged forward like a man possessed. It only took me three giant steps to reach the landing. There was no stopping me. Autopilot took over and I launched.