"Aye, Glen. Thirsty as well. I'm glad tae see tha beer. Thank ye all for letting me nap."
Lurch laughed at him. "I doubt we could have kept you awake. You were out for the count man."
Pizza slices got passed out on napkins, along with beer. They ate with little conversation. Everyone was too hungry and too preoccupied to chat.
Thud belched, then wiped his mouth on a napkin. "Now. One of my contacts is on tha Yellowhead Highway. That's on tha way to Stewart. We've already gone beyond tha other. What are we doin, lads?"
"Here." Lurch tossed several maps and pamphlets on the bed. "This stuff on the Alaska State Ferry says it takes two days to get from Seattle to Ketchikan. You take the marine highway or fly, there's no road."
With one finger, Lurch pushed one pamphlet away from the others. "This one says the Portland Canal forms the border between the US and Canada. The canal, as they call it, is a fjord about seventy miles long. I'm not sure how fast the sailboat can go. Maybe slower than the ferry, so it's gonna take him two days at the least, and he has a day's head start."
Lurch picked up a highway map. "Now this says it's about nine hundred miles to Stewart by road. That's less than twenty-four hours. Right now we can beat him by car to Stewart."
Hamish picked up the pamphlet which showed the Portland Canal. "There may be a need for ah boat in this enterprise." He looked at the road map. "Here, Prince Rupert is right on tha ocean, a wee bit just below tha entrance tae tha Portland Canal. It looks tae be large enough for boat rental tae be available, as well as other things we may need."
Lurch pointed to the mileage calculator.
"It's a little over nine hundred miles, about fourteen hours if we go non-stop. And from what I see here, where the Cassiar junction turns north to Stewart, it's just over one hundred miles. Okay, who's the math guy here?"
Thud reluctantly raised his hand. "But I need ah bleeding pen an paper. What da ye want calculated?"
Lurch looked up at the ceiling as he ticked it off on his fingers. "Well, fourteen hours from here to Prince Rupert. Then Kitwanga to Prince Rupert is about three hours one way, which brings us back to Kitwanga, and Kitwanga to Stewart is around three hours. What is the total driving time?"
"Easy, twenty hours," Thud responded.
All four men looked at each other. For the first time since landing in Seattle, Hamish smiled. "That evens tha odds. If I can find ah rental boat and get on tha water within a few hours, I will be right behind or ah bit ahead of him. Aye, I like this. If we can get on tha road by 10:00 p.m., we can be in Prince Rupert by noon tomorrow."
Glen nodded. "And it gives us all night to hatch a plan. We need to get Lori back and get rid of Day without losing any of us or any parts of us."
Lurch stretched then groaned. "Who’s driving from here? Thud, it ain't you, and I'm not too sure about you either, MacGrough. There's just too much traffic for either of you wrong-side guys to be driving out of here."
Glen put his hand out for the keys. "Looks like it's gonna be me. We can let these other two jokers drive once traffic thins out later on. The Jeep isn’t too old. Do you think it's gonna have a problem making the drive?"
Hamish reached out for his duffel, which lay on the bed next to him. "I'll look tha thing over ah bit, check the oil an such at tha gas station when we fill up. There's nae real difference 'tween ah motorcycle an ah car mechanically." Hamish rose. "I'm first for tha shower. This may be tha last chance for ah wee while, an I'm desperate."
The other three men chuckled. They helped themselves to more beer as H.M. headed to the bathroom.
The hot water was just what he needed. He stood under the showerhead, letting the water beat on his back with a groan of satisfaction. Then Hamish felt a shot of guilt. How was Lori? What was she doing right now? He leaned his forehead against the wall of the shower and splayed both hands flat against the tile. Guilt was no help. It did not help him think. Thinking objectively was the most important thing he could do now.
He got out of the shower and toweled off. Hamish turned to look in the mirror. Soon, he would have a beard again. It was time to let someone else have a chance at the shower. He put on his single change of clothing. After giving his teeth a quick scrubbing, Hamish stepped out of the bathroom. "Next."
Thud jumped up. "I'm ready."
His boots and duffel hit the floor when Hamish lay back on one side of the double bed nearest the door. Lurch lay on the other side. "How are ye holding up big man?" Hamish rolled over onto his side and pillowed his head on one arm.
Lurch turned his head toward H.M. "Truthfully? I'm fine. I've sure been worried about you. You've been looking really rough. But we will win this. You'll get her back, and the slimy turd is going down, one way or another. Believe it."
"I'm trying, mate. But this is ah real hard one for me."
Lurch looked at Hamish. "If I were in your shoes, I would have gone off the deep end about eight hours ago. Under the circumstances, you're doing fine. She's a good lady. Lori's always been good to me. So have you. I'm happy to return the favor. Don't worry about me; let's just concentrate on getting this one done."
The door opened. Glen was smiling as he walked in. "Francie says to tell everyone hi. So does Cadell. I figured I’d better check in while I had the chance."
Glen looked at Lurch. "You next man?"
Lurch gave a huge stretch. "Yep. I'll take it. Soon as the crazy-assed Irishman gets finished taking all the hot water."
Hamish rolled onto his back. Ankles crossed, he put both arms over his head with his face in the crook of one arm. First order of business was getting Lori out of danger. How to put the killer away was the next question.
The easiest would be to blow the boat to smithereens. It would take all of them out, Day and his crew. It was the easiest, but also the one which would leave the coppers with too many questions unanswered. How to explain Lori escaping unharmed was the biggest problem. There was no way he would take a chance on her being hurt in the explosion. And God willing, she wasn’t injured now.
On down the list was simply killing Day. And yet, how was he to kill someone probably much more skilled at these things than he was? Hamish considered the Very pistol. He was familiar with them. Anyone who had spent any time boating knew about flare guns. They were single-shot, but all one had to do was to hit someone on their torso, and they would die. The chemical composition of the charge it fired was sufficient to kill if a person got hit with one.
If fired inside an enclosed space, like the inside of a boat, the shooter would be as vulnerable as the person being targeted. The job Very pistols were designed to do, fire a distress signal high in the air, made them questionable for this mission. In an enclosed space it would at the least, blind the individual who fired the shot, not to mention blowing a hole in the vessel.
The schooner was a big one. Depending on where they were holding her, getting her out unharmed could be difficult. The ship was older, and unless the entire interior had been ripped out and remodeled, the companionways were going to be narrow.
What would the crew do if he killed the owner? Elden said Juan had tried to warn him off. Did that mean something? If so, what? The number of variables bothered him.
The bathroom door open and closed again. Everyone else chatted around him. Hamish tuned the noise out. If he mounted a sneak attack on Day to attempt slitting his throat, the odds of success were low. The man would be wary of those unknown to him. Since he’d stalked Lori for several years, Hamish was willing to bet his face would be familiar to Day.
He could move about quietly. It wasn't that he couldn't be stealthy, the question was how close did Day keep his gun? Did the man wear one at all times? Hamish guessed if he didn’t wear one on the boat, he had a pistol handy in the stateroom.
The layout of staterooms in vessels adhered to a standard. In a big luxury boat, there were still things which would be the same. Hamish thought it safe to assume the owner and guest staterooms had been modernized. The man liv
ed aboard and would want certain luxuries.
Nightstands, designed to keep lamps or other items from sliding around using a rail were standard equipment. They were likely to be on each side of the bed right at the head. And if Hamish were Day, that's where the gun would be. Readily available, right where his hand would automatically reach for it.
Spear guns were too unwieldy in the confines of a cabin on a vessel. He discounted the thought at once. There weren't too many choices left. Toss a bomb on top of the feckin shite and hope he could make it out of the boat before it sunk? Maybe, as a last-ditch measure.
Another line of thought surfaced in Hamish's brain. A long time ago, he got introduced to lock picking. He recalled something he had not thought about in a long time. As a young boy, he had considered a life of crime as a means to help his mother.
He studied hard, under a talented burglar, for many weeks. Then, suspecting something, his mother went looking around his cubby. She found the tools. Hamish could almost feel the beating his mother administered. He thought he was quite slick. At twelve, being as tall as his mum, he felt there was no way she could discipline him. More fool he.
Oh, he remembered the feel of the big metal spoon as if it were yesterday. His mum bent the bleeding thing over him. What truly broke him was when she asked why. Hamish never forgot the look of dismay on her face when he told her he wanted to make life easier for her.
There, in the tiny kitchen, she had gone on her knees, crying in a manner which nearly broke his heart. Falling on the floor next to her, with his sobbing mother in his arms, Hamish gave in. He swore to his mother he would never cause her that kind of pain again. Hamish kept his promise. He took any odd job which came along, but none of them ever entailed breaking the law. Now, here he was, trying to figure out how to kill a man.
Oh, how he spouted off about how horrid it was when Vince got killed. Lori tried to get him off the judgment seat then. And by a turn of fate, here he found himself in exactly the same position Francie had been in. He was committed to freeing his wife by any means necessary. Hamish was willing and ready to kill to protect Lori, just as Francie had killed Vincent to protect Cadell.
At least he had moderated his position regarding Francie. In the beginning, the only reason he helped the woman was because of Vincent’s child, the one in her belly. He took far longer to forgive Francie herself. Life could turn the tables on a person, a matter he was experiencing.
Hamish could see the forgiveness lesson plainly. Just as Francie had, he wanted to murder the man and get away with it. This one could and would leave scars on his soul if it could be managed. Unlike Francie, he could not take his internal struggle to a counselor. To do so would mean a life without Lori, as he would be in jail, or executed. Because as much as he loved his wife, there was no other place but Scotland and the glen for him.
In his head, he heard his mother telling him that nothing was impossible with God. She always said to take the impossible to the Lord. This is impossible, God. So I need you to show me the way here. I dinnae want tae have his blood on my hands!
A thought popped into his head. Ah, well now. Bar the door in a manner which makes it impossible for Day to get out. Those doors usually opened inward or slid. So how to bar them? Whatever method he used, it had to be silent. He would also need to get Lori out of wherever they had her locked up. And he was praying the bastard wasn't using her physically. Hamish had no idea what he would do if Day were sleeping with his woman.
If, if, if. Far too many ifs. Keep it simple, get her out, and then blow the bloody bastard and his bleeding boat sky high! That way, there was a chance for the wanker to get away. It sort of left the matter to God. It might be the best he could do.
"Hamish? You ready to go? Are you awake?" Glen shook his arm.
"Aye." He sat up on the edge of the bed to pull on his boots. "I think the only way I can figure this is tae get Lori out, then blow tha whole thing to smithereens."
Thud looked at him. "So that's tha plan? Make splinters of the thing?"
Hamish reached down for his jacket and duffel. Without looking at the other man, he picked them up off the floor by the bed. "Aye, Thud. Now, how tae get tae that point. I'm gonntae need lock picks. Not sure where tae find them, but they are gonna have her locked up for sure or Lori would have already run off. And whatever is done has tae be done absolutely silently."
When he straightened up, bag in hand, Thud was looking at Hamish with a grin. "And would ye know how tae use tha tools, boyo?"
"Would I be lookin for the dratted things if I dinnae ken how to use them, lad?" Hamish shook his dark head.
Thud darted in front of Hamish to hold the door open for him. With a wave of one hand in a sweeping gesture, Thud ushered Hamish out. "Ah, tha talents ye’ve kept hidden, MacGrough. First ah wee sticker, and now yu're wantin lock picks. I knew I voted right when I said ye should be the mastermind here."
They all piled into the SUV. Glen was now the driver. Hamish got in front with him. Thud leaned forward, tapping Hamish on the shoulder to get his attention. "I'll be making tha call for fun stuff when we stop for gas. I think me friend may be able tae line up ah bit of equipment for ye, along with tha other goodies."
"Be sure tae do so. I can foresee I’ll be needin tha things." Hamish knew Thud was enjoying himself teasing him, but as long as it did not give him mental pictures which pushed his anger button, Hamish didn’t mind. The two-hour nap and the shower had reduced his exhaustion level to something bearable. For years, he had functioned on three hours’ sleep, if necessary.
He was now thinking clearly enough to take a poke or two at Thud. "Laddie, ye say ye were a bit of ah lad when ye caused things tae go boom in tha night. Do ye think ye still recall how it might be done? Mayhap yur goin to blow the lot of us intae mince?"
Thud's rich laugh flooded the interior of the vehicle. "Low blow, boyo. But we shall just havtae see. Who knows, I may have lost tha touch. But I will try tae be careful. After all, there are no markets for one-armed drummers."
When they reached the last gas station before the border crossing, Hamish checked the vehicle's engine oil while Glen filled it. Thud went off to make his phone call, and Lurch went into the convenience store end of the station. Hamish moved the vehicle over to the air and water self-service area when Glen went inside to pay for the gas. He checked the air in all the tires, including the spare.
There was a jack where one was supposed to be, in a little compartment in the back. A four-way wrench lay next to the spare. Pleased to see it, Hamish put the cover back over the spare and pulled the rug into position.
The next order of business was the coolant. The Jeep might be worked hard on this run, and he wanted to make sure it had a full radiator. After releasing the pressure from the cap, Hamish checked the level of the antifreeze. It looked good. As long as he was under the hood, he checked the level of the windshield washer fluid and brake fluid.
The former owner had kept the vehicle up. A real plus as he didn't have the time or tools to effect any repairs. The Jeep needed to get them where they were going and back again. Spare time was something they had little of in this circumstance.
After checking the tension on the fan belt, Hamish inspected all the hoses on the engine. None of them looked as if they might be leaking. The engine itself was clean. The terminals on the battery were also clean and free of corrosion. Hamish was satisfied they had the best chance possible. Lurch’s finding the Jeep had been a stroke of good luck. Hamish felt the vehicle would do what they expected of it. It was one less thing for him to worry about.
The border station was a few blocks from the gas station. Thud and Lurch returned to the SUV at the same time. Lurch had a bag full of assorted candy bars and small containers of nuts. He put the bag on the console cover between the front seats.
"Feel free to eat anything in there, just leave me one candy bar and one bag of peanuts. Other than that, I'm good. Unless it's an emergency, don't wake me once we get into Canada." L
urch covered himself with his jacket as he got comfortable in the back seat.
With the crossing in sight, Thud and Hamish dug out their passports. Neither having driven into Canada before, they didn't know if they would need them or not. The Canadians were slightly surprised to see passports. The man who questioned them asked for driver's licenses. He seemed satisfied with Glen's explanation: they were tourists. The border guard inquired about how much money they all had and was swamped with at least two credit cards each. In Hamish's case, it was four, two personal cards and two for the business. They got waved through.
Glen looked over at Hamish. "You okay with navigating for me?"
"Aye." Hamish reached for the map on the dash as he took a small pen light from his jacket pocket. "We are gointae stay on Canada Highway 1 until Cache Creek. Then we take Highway 97 tae Prince George. On tha eastern end of tha city, we take Highway 16 westbound. Pretty straightforward, mind. Nothin like trying tae find your way around London. But if we miss tha transitions 'tis ah long way tae go before ye can fix tha matter. There's a lot of country out here from what I see on tha map. I can manage ah few miles if ye get tae needin ah break."
Glen adjusted his rear-view mirror. He took a quick glance over at Hamish. "If I get to where I can't see, I'll let you know. Otherwise, keep on thinking."
Juan continued to check on her regularly. He didn’t take her back to the dungeon. Lori suspected, as her motion sickness was better, her captor was willing to leave her in the stateroom where she was. With easy access to the bathroom, she could maintain herself.
But the crewman wouldn’t answer questions, no matter how much she nagged him. He would tell her the time, but that was all. When she tried to find out how long they would travel, Juan shook his head and refused to answer.
Lori supposed that might be reasonable. Once they reached their destination, things would change. But speculation on how the change would affect her didn’t help. When her hands trembled, Lori tried to turn her thoughts to something else.
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