Coincidence

by Alan May

  32

  It’s come then, Mac thought, as he kept his eyes trained on the deck of the Inspiration. For good or ill, there was no turning back now.

  Dave had called him on the walkie-talkie as soon as Anika had alerted him to the hijackers’ plan. Mac had immediately tried to call Kathleen in Montréal, but had gotten only the answering machine. Where could the lass have gone at that time of day? He fervently hoped she had received his message not to call the Coincidence again. Within an hour or two now, the hijackers would be reboarding, with Anika and Dr. Williams in tow. One accidental call from BWA headquarters would eliminate any chance of their survival.

  Trying to quash that horrible thought, Mac had set about eradicating all traces of his presence aboard the Coincidence. He doubted the hijackers would notice the small dent he’d made in their food supply, and he had taken careful note of how all of the dishes were stowed before he’d used them. It had been easy to clean them and return them to their rightful places.

  He had swept up the few crumbs that had accumulated by his chair and had made up the bed with nautical precision—and immediately remade it a little less precisely, remembering that whoever had slept in it before had been somewhat less inclined to tidiness.

  He had wiped the sink in the head with his shirt; then, putting on his own things again, he’d folded up the spare clothes he’d borrowed and put them back in the drawer as he’d found them. He had stuck the walkie-talkie in his rear trouser pocket.

  He had also taken one of the two emergency beacons onboard. That was risky, to be sure, but worth it, he believed, because it could prove invaluable back on the Inspiration. Even if the hijackers noticed its absence, they’d have no reason to suspect that he had cadged it. They didn’t even know of his existence, much less his existence on their boat for the past couple of days.

  No, they’d more likely be blaming one another for its disappearance, which might even help the hostages drive a wedge between their captors. The beacon was the sort that activates automatically when it hits the water, so he’d wrapped it tightly in three layers of plastic bags. The bundle sat at his feet now as he watched, waiting for signs of activity on the Zodiac.

  The walkie-talkie squawked in his pocket.

  “Mac? Dave.”

  Dave’s voice sounded tinny through the little speaker, and his words came in a rush.

  “I just saw the captain coming from the galley. Phillip sent him to get all of the bags of sugar from the pantry. They’re going to dump them in the hydraulic cylinders to disable both the steering systems, the automatic and the manual. Guess they figured we could replace the oil if they just drained it out, so they’re wrecking the whole system.”

  Damn and blast, Mac thought. There were no spare hydraulic cylinders onboard. That meant the whole system would have to be replaced.

  “Phillip’s shut down the engine. He and Sam and Matt removed the injectors and tossed them overboard, and Sam’s gone to get the spares out of the workshop and throw them over, too. Phillip checked the injectors for the generator, too, but they’re from a different manufacturer and can’t be used on the engine, so at least he’s letting us keep the generator on. Thank God for small favors, eh?

  “Once they finish with the hydraulics, all they have to do is take out the wiring harnesses for the electronics.”

  Take them out, or more likely smash the equipment to pieces, Mac thought. Time was getting short and desperate criminals were not generally noted for their patience.

  “The captain and Anika spent yesterday afternoon scrounging up whatever might be used as weapons. Not much. Some knives, the usual tools—I can hardly see them fending off six bad guys with a hammer and a screwdriver.

  “We can’t get to the flare gun on the bridge, but we’ve got the one from the transom and the spare from your locker. I don’t suppose you’ve got a Colt 45 stashed away down there somewhere, have you?”

  “No gun at all, I’m afraid. But hang on—I do have an axe that might do you some good. I picked it up in Zambia.”

  His mind flashed back to a scene so vivid he’d almost have sworn it was unfolding before his eyes now. His first day at the copper mine in Kalulushi, watching in awe as two sinewy men wielded the heavy axes, swinging them back and forth in a seemingly effortless rhythm. At the instant the honed blades struck the sides of the tree trunks, the men exhaled in unison, a sharp whuh! sound. They had reminded him of martial artists, they really had—their motions were so controlled, so adroit. And Caroline was there, watching by his side …

  Och. None of that now. What did they call it, anyway, that axe? The Bemba word for it; he’d known it like the back of his hand in those days. Like the curve of Caroline’s neck. If he’d been smart he’d have written down all of those words at the time to refer to later on, when they were no longer part of his day-to-day surroundings. He’d thought he would remember them forever, of course, and, of course, he hadn’t. Nothing lasts forever.

  Not that it made a particle of difference now anyway.

  “Mac?”

  “Right, Dave, I hear ye.”

  “They’re starting to put their things in the Zodiac now, the doctor and Anika and the hijackers. It won’t be long now. Oh damn, Phillip’s taking all of our emergency beacons with him. Gotta go now, Mac. Good luck. I—”

  Dave’s voice was replaced by a short crackle of static.

  Mac opened a corner of the top layer of plastic encasing the emergency beacon, tucked the walkie-talkie inside, and sealed the plastic tight again.

  Within five minutes, he saw the Zodiac start its descent into the water. Clutching the bundle, he eased to the swim platform and lowered himself into the water. As the Zodiac turned toward the starboard side of the Coincidence, he dived under and swam to the port side. Mac watched, treading water, as the dinghy swung around the boat and was tied off at the swim platform. A man with jet-black hair and a long pointed nose jumped out first, then crouched on the platform stretching his hands out to someone in the dinghy.

  A slightly older version of the man appeared over the edge of the dinghy, with Elliott Williams beside him. That would be Stefano, Mac thought, and the first lad must be his brother. The brother pulled as Elliott pushed, and Stefano landed safely, if awkwardly, on the platform. After a minute’s rest, the other two men hoisted him up on his feet between them and half carried him aboard the boat.

  Anika came next, followed by a tall man who grabbed her hand as soon as he was on the platform. She walked stiff and unsmiling beside him. Bringing up the rear were three men of three strikingly different dimensions: one scrawny, one average, one more than a little stout.

  What a crew, Mac thought.

  He felt the water around him begin to vibrate. The engine was starting up, humming, warming.

  The average-sized man and the scrawny man stayed on the platform, waiting by the Zodiac. They lit cigarettes. The tall man who had held Anika’s hand came back and the three conferred, gesturing toward the dinghy.

  Right, Mac thought. They’ll be deciding what to do with the dinghy now. Only three options, lads. Tow it, sink it, or let it loose. What’ll it be, then?

  He watched as the skinny fellow bent to open the valves to allow the air out of the Zodiac. Ah, good choice, lads. I was hoping you’d go for that option.

  With the weight of its motor and its hard bottom, the Zodiac would inevitably sink—but not for some time. As the tall man cast off the lines and the Coincidence began to move, Mac darted under water again and swam behind the motor of the Zodiac. He stayed low in the water until the Coincidence had traveled a mile or so and then, sliding his plastic-wrapped parcel over the edge, clambered in and shut the valves.

  It’ll no’ be a fast ride, he thought, but at least I’ll get there.

  Dave peered through his binoculars as the Coincidence grew smaller and smaller against the horizon. His arms ached from holding the glasses to his eyes so long, but he couldn’t put them down. He couldn’t yet admit that Mac might no
t be coming back.

  Suddenly he caught sight of the Zodiac, or what was left of it. A half-deflated mass of red rubber, bobbing sadly in the ripples, was slowly making its way toward the Inspiration. With something—no, someone—lying inside.

  Dave’s heart sank. He lowered the binoculars.

  Then raised them again as a sudden movement in the little dinghy registered in the corner of his eye.

  He refocused the lenses. Thank God. Mac was up and kneeling now, back straight, the proud captain of his derelict vessel, grinning and snapping a military salute.

  33

  Kathleen Tutty was kicking herself for being out of the office when Mac had called. There had been no need for her to drive all the way to Dorval to meet Edward Flynn’s flight; he had left his car in the long-term lot. No need whatsoever, except for her desperate wish to share the burden of the past few days with someone else. Waiting alone in the office was beginning to be unbearable; most of the usual BWA business was on hold until this crisis was resolved, so there was little to occupy her time.

  And, of course, she hadn’t expected Mac to be calling at that time of day. But that was no excuse. He might call anytime there was anything new to report. He had called. And now it was too late to talk to him, to find out any more details about what exactly was going on.

  Still berating herself, she left a message on Flynn’s answering machine—poor man wouldn’t even have made it home from the airport yet—then picked up the phone to call Rob Montgomery with the little she had gleaned from Mac’s brief message.

  “So, as far as you know, the bad guys are back on the Coincidence now with two hostages, sailing away from the Inspiration,” Rob said when she was done. “Okay, I’ll round everyone up ASAP and we’ll see about a revised plan.”

  Rob was back to her surprisingly soon. He had practically had to sit on Flipper Markman to do so, of course, to restrain him from getting out his infernal flip charts and markers. But the consensus among all those at the hastily assembled meeting was that there were only two options now, in light of the new situation—hardly enough to warrant all of Flipper’s color coding. But each option posed its own dangers to the hostages.

  The first, Rob told Kathleen, was to have the Coast Guard cutter—the Serendipity it was called—that was already on course for the area continue and intercept the Coincidence at sea.

  “We’re all pretty much agreed, given their current position, that the hijackers are going to aim for Easter Island. The Air Force is getting ready to do another flyover ASAP to determine the exact position of the Coincidence, and to make sure the Inspiration is still afloat.”

  Kathleen winced. The thought that the Inspiration might not be afloat had not entered her mind.

  “Of course there’s some risk to the hostages in confronting and challenging the Coincidence in the water. And we don’t know how the hijackers will respond if they see the Serendipity approaching them.

  “Even so, we’re thinking this is less risky than the second option, which is to wait until the hijackers reach their destination and then overtake them once they’ve docked. For one thing, as soon as they’ve gotten to Easter Island, the hostages—”

  Rob broke off, uncertain of how to put this without unduly alarming Kathleen. Unduly? How the devil could any amount of alarm be considered undue now? Still, he groped for the words to use.

  “As long as they’re at sea, the hostages are useful, especially the doctor. Even though at last report Stefano was improving and is probably over the worst, he’s still getting the intravenous fluids and meds, and there’s always a chance something could go wrong. They’ll want to have the doctor around as long as possible.

  “But once they come ashore, the hostages will become more of a liability than an advantage for the hijackers. They have no idea that the Inspiration has been able to get the word out about the whole affair, so they’ll have no reason to believe that anyone on Easter Island will be on the lookout for them. If the hostages decided to act up in any way … Our guess is that they’ll decide they’re better off if they don’t have the hostages with them.”

  Kathleen let out a small gasp.

  “Then, too,” Rob went on quickly, “Vogler—he’s the State Department guy—he pointed out that if we approach them on Easter Island we’ll have to involve the Chilean officials and that might lead to all kinds of jurisdictional problems.

  “And, since the Serendipity is the only ship in the area, we’re thinking it’s best to keep it as close as possible to the Inspiration, just in case they need any help there, rather than sending it all the way to Easter Island.”

  Assuming that those on the Inspiration were still alive enough to need help, Kathleen thought.

  “At any rate,” Rob said, “the Air Force will be flying over and taking photos soon. They’ll try to establish communication somehow with your ship so we can tell them what the plan is. We’ll just have to sit tight until then, right?”

  Right.

  34

  It was all a matter of balance. Captain Luke Marzynski had logged almost two hundred thousand miles in his sailing career; sailing without a rudder had been one of the first lessons he had learned. On a ship the size of the Inspiration, you couldn’t fine-tune the adjustments, but it was perfectly possible to sail effectively in the right general direction. It was all a question of balance, of the set of the sails.

  “So the first thing is to raise the inner jib and the main staysail,” he told Mac. “That’ll get us moving in the right direction. Then we’ll hoist the mainsail. Just keep moving it in and out, in and out, to find the balance.”

  “What about the square sails?” Mac asked.

  “Right. Easter Island is almost due west, and the prevailing wind is from the east, so we can use the square sails as well. Raise both the upper and lower topsails.”

  It felt good to be in command again. The past few days had been a severe trial for the captain. He was accustomed to being in charge, to taking whatever action was required to get a job done, and, most of all, to ensuring the safety of anyone in his care. Standing aside while someone else took over his boat, looking on impotently while his crew and his students were imperiled, remaining impassive through the long hours of waiting—all this had taxed him as nothing he had ever experienced.

  He watched now as Mac and a crew of Floaties attended to the sails. Thank goodness Mac was safe and back onboard. The man had his share of problems, especially where alcohol was concerned. Luke had known that from the start. There was, lurking just behind his outward joviality, a shadow of tragedy. Mac had never mentioned anything of the sort, and Luke had never inquired, but he felt sure that somewhere in Mac’s past lay the key to his occasional lapses of judgment.

  Luke had taken a risk in hiring him, but his instincts about him had been right. There was no one more capable—or more kindhearted—than Mac. Edward Flynn had been dubious about signing him on, but Luke had won out over his objections, and on innumerable occasions Mac had proven his worth. And over the course of years of working with the Floaties, Mac had seemed to become more settled, and less inclined to brood—or to drink to excess—although that faint tinge of suppressed melancholy never quite left him.

  Now the five sails were up and pulling, and the Inspiration gliding along neatly, on course, at about four knots. By making frequent entries in the ship’s log and navigational charts, they would be able to estimate their position reasonably well. Luke would try to keep the routine as close to normal as possible, under the circumstances. It wouldn’t be easy without Anika to shepherd the kids—and the kids, although for the most part keeping their upper lips stiff, were worried sick about what was going to happen to her and the doctor. But with the help of Dave and the other teachers, and the ever-resourceful Mac, they’d manage.

  In the morning, they would activate the emergency beacon that Mac had brought from the Coincidence.

  At least they were doing something.

  35

  “What about
the doctor and the, uh … the girl?” Phillip asked Stefano.

  Things were looking up now that they were back on the Coincidence, no doubt about it. Stefano was stronger. He was still hooked up to the IV pole but was able to walk around on deck for short periods of time. In a few days they’d be handing over the cocaine to Giorgio on Easter Island and hopping a plane back to the States to be there in time to meet his shipment of the Moai statuettes, their ticket to prosperity.

  In the meantime, Philip thought—and maybe even afterward, who could say?—he had the lovely Anika all to himself. Hitching up with the Inspiration had been a stroke of good luck after all.

  “No witnesses,” Stefano said, shaking his head.

  It was the reply Phillip had expected. So why did his stomach lurch when he heard it?

  He nodded as Stefano ran down the list of reasons why they had to get rid of the hostages. He knew them already, of course; he could have spouted them out just as well himself. Easter Island was a small place. They couldn’t risk attracting any attention. One or both of the hostages might decide to make a break for it once they were ashore. Not that they’d ever be able to escape alive, but they might decide to sacrifice themselves to put the hijackers behind bars.

  “We been through too much, come too far,” Stefano said. “We’re not gonna risk throwing it all away now. We got no choice. We gonna have to off them.”

  Phillip nodded. It wouldn’t do to have Stefano think he had any reservations about the plan.

  “How soon?” he asked.

  “A day before we get there. We gonna let nature do the dirty work for us.”

  “Nature?”

  Stefano took a drag on his cigarette, then, gesturing with the stub at the expanse of sea surrounding them, said, “All we gotta do is make sure we still far enough out they can’t swim to the island.”