“And if I don’t comply?”
“My men and I take the girl to the hospital and then we’ll make all the other incriminating evidence available to the police and the FBI.”
“Incriminating evidence?”
“The evidence that shows your complicity with Gerald in the plot to murder Rachel. Then when you are answering some very probing questions, your diary shows up in the mail at the D.A.’s office, and then the police will be looking into the murders of Robert St. Clair and the rest of his family. I cover all the bases. You should have learned that about me.”
“Yes, Gordon. I have certainly been remiss.”
“You have one hour, Augusta.”
*****
Willy was dozing at his desk when the creak of the front door opening woke him up. He looked up at the two men coming to the counter. One was of medium height. He was older but his hair was still sandy with a touch of gray at the temples. He carried himself like a military man. He wore a short green flight jacket with a sheepskin collar and a Stetson hat. Hanging at his side was a service revolver with the holster strap snapped over the handle of the pistol. The man with him was Amish, but the look in his eye was grim. He was tall, with long dark hair and a beard. A faint scar ran along the side of his forehead. The two men stood at the counter. Outside, the wind began to howl.
“You gotta be Sheriff Halverson.”
“That’s me, Willy. This is Jonathan Hershberger. He’s Rachel’s father.”
“You made good time, considering the storm coming in.”
“We got in just ahead of the front. I did kind of push it a little. Good thing the State Police were huddled somewhere along the road drinking coffee. It’s really blowing up a mess out there.” Bobby looked around to see if anyone else was in the waiting room and then spoke quietly. “Where’s Daniel?”
“He’s at my place. It’s only a block away.”
“How do we get out to the St. Clair place?”
“It’s out on Field Point Road. Daniel knows where it is. But they’re not going to let you in there. In fact, Sergeant Franklin and Augusta’s security boys have buttoned that place up tight. As soon as they see Daniel, they’ll arrest him.”
“How do we get in there, then?”
“There’s only one way. You’ve got to go out on Long Island Sound and go around the back of the point, by boat. I’ve got it all worked out. My cousin, Frank, has a Boston Whaler and he’ll take you. I’ve already talked to him. It’ll be tough because the wind is really starting to blow. But you can make your way along the shore and stay out of most of it.”
Bobby glanced over. Jonathan was staring at Willy and there was anguish written on his face. Jonathan took a deep breath. “Out on the ocean? Long Island Sound?”
“Yes, sir, Mr. Hershberger. It’s not far and it’s fairly protected. The St. Clairs have a big dock with a covered boathouse, and once you land, it’s only a short walk to the house... Why, what’s wrong, Mr. Hershberger?”
Jonathan’s eyes had a strange look. He passed his fingers over the scar. They were trembling. He sat down on a bench and put his face in his hands. “I can’t go out there, I just can’t.”
Willy looked over at Bobby.
Bobby stepped over to Jonathan and put his hand on his shoulder. “Jonathan, we’ve been friends for a long time. So I feel like I can speak straight to you. I once had a discussion like this with Jenny’s father, Reuben. He didn’t think he could go into battle because of his conflicting fears. But in the end, he went, and he saved my life. Now is the time for you to put everything aside, all your fear, all of the past, all of the terrible things that happened to you out on that ocean, and think only of your duty to Rachel. If we don’t go now, she will die. That’s the bottom line.”
Jonathan took a deep breath, almost a sob. Then he slowly lifted his head. As Willy watched him, a change passed over his face and a fire kindled in his eyes. He stood up. “You are right, Bobby. We’ll say no more about it. Let’s go.”
Bobby slapped Jonathan on the shoulder and smiled. He looked out at the storm blowing wildly through the square in front of the station. He turned to Willy. “Can I use your phone?”
Willy pointed to the desk.
Bobby pulled out a notebook and looked up a number. He dialed. When a man answered, Bobby quickly filled him in on the situation. Then he shook his head. “Over an hour, Jerry? That’s too long for us to wait. Rachel may be dead by then. Tell you what. We’re going after Rachel. You get out to St. Clairs’ as fast as you can. We’ll hold the fort until then.”
Bobby hung up the phone and looked at Jonathan and Willy. “That was my friend, Jerry Cowell, head of the Connecticut State Police. The closest large force he has is at Milford, but it’s going to take an hour to get here because of the storm. So we have to go get Rachel on our own.”
Bobby looked out the window at the gathering fury of the storm. “It doesn’t look good out there, Jonathan, but suppose we put our trust in this God of yours and see what happens.”
Jonathan smiled and turned to Willy. “Take us to Daniel, Willy.”
Chapter Thirty-Five
The Greatest Trial
Daniel King, Jonathan, Bobby, and Willy stood on the dock looking at the old Boston Whaler as it rode in its moorings. Willy’s cousin, Frank, was cranking up the engine and getting the boat ready to go. He motioned to the men to come aboard. They clambered over the side onto the deck. Waves from off the sound were starting to move into the harbor and boats up and down the quay were pitching and rolling in their slips.
Frank slapped the side of the boat. “She’s old, but she’s the most sea-worthy craft on the sound. It’s just a short run down to St. Clair’s place, biggest boathouse on the North Shore. We’ll slip this baby right inside, and nobody will be the wiser.”
Jonathan walked to the bow of the boat and looked out over the water. Grey-green, choppy swells rolled toward him from off the Atlantic. A mist rose from the water. The waves were endless, moving toward him out of the mist and disappearing away toward the unseen horizon. It was dark, so dark, and the strange smell of the salt water was overpowering and somehow terrifying. A stiff breeze drove the icy spray off the tops of the waves into Jonathan’s eyes. He raised his hand to wipe his face, but the mist and spray were continuous, blinding him. The chill of winter not yet dead...the gulls circling behind the boat...the plaintive cries whirling away on the wind. The sea ominous and lifeless...
And then he was in the darkness and the cold and the spray and the waves, the endless waves, rolling, rolling, rolling by and where were they going? Suddenly, a great longing to see Jenny and Rachel swept over him like one of the swells rolling ceaselessly and vanishing away, beyond his sight. He was lost, gone, alone on the bridge of a ghost ship that cut through the waves like a sword... He was frozen, dead, lost on the sea. He looked in through the porthole and watched the ship’s wheel spinning crazily and no hand was on it—there was no one to pilot the boat. Where was the captain? Then he felt a hand touch him...
“Jonathan, are you all right?”
Jonathan jerked around. The hand on his shoulder did not belong to his father. His father was dead. He had died out on that lonely sea a long time ago. The hand on his shoulder belonged to his old friend, Bobby Halverson, who was staring at him with eyes filled with concern. And then Jonathan knew he wasn’t lost on the sea. He was here with his friends, and they were going together to save Rachel. Jonathan shook his head and passed his hand over his eyes. “Bobby! I...I kind of got lost there for a minute...”
Suddenly, the wind blew straight in on them and the boat leapt up in its moorings and twisted to the left. They heard a cry, then a thud and a groan behind them. Bobby and Jonathan looked around. Frank was lying on the deck, holding his arm. Daniel was bending down. He looked up at Jonathan and Bobby. “The boat twisted and Frank slipped on the ice and fell.” He turned back to Frank. “Are you okay?”
Frank groaned. “I think I broke my arm. I’ve
been on this boat for thirty years and I’ve never fallen. Ooooh!”
Bobby and Daniel crouched over Frank, checking out his arm. Bobby nodded at Daniel and then looked up at Willy. “Willy, Frank did break his arm. You’re going to have to get him to the hospital.”
Frank grimaced in pain. “But what about the girl, Sheriff? She’s going to die if you don’t get her and this is the only way.”
From behind them came a voice, soft but unafraid. “I’ll take them, Frank.”
Bobby looked up at Jonathan. “Are you sure, Jonathan?”
Jonathan nodded. “Look, Bobby. I grew up on Long Island. I’ve cruised these waters in a six-foot sailboat. I’ve been up and down every inch of the north shore in a boat just like this. We’ve got to get Rachel, and I’m the only one who can take us. You and Daniel are landlubbers. You couldn’t sail your way out of a paper bag.”
Bobby laughed. “You’re right about that, pal.”
Jonathan looked back out at the sea. “Besides, I can’t let this ocean beat me again.”
Bobby slapped Jonathan on the back. “Okay, Jonathan, let’s do it then.”
Willy clambered back onto the dock and they lifted Frank over the side. He stood morosely on the dock, holding his arm.
“Sorry, fellas. I let you down.”
Jonathan waved back. “Frank, we’re good. Daniel knows the St. Clair place and he can show me the boathouse. We’ll be back with Rachel before you know it.”
He turned to his crew. “Bobby, you and Daniel cast off those two hawsers...those ropes.”
Jonathan stood at the wheel, his dark hair flying in the wind as he eased the boat out into the wild waters of Long Island Sound.
*****
Gordon Randall watched the storm through the window of the cottage. The wind had picked up in intensity. Through the blowing snow he saw a figure approaching. It was Jamison. He came inside banging his arms across his chest to get warm.
“Temperature’s dropping, Colonel, and the wind is picking up. Pretty soon it’s going to be locked down tight out here.”
Randall looked at his watch. It was 9:45. Augusta was half an hour late.
Jamison got right to the point. “Colonel, when I was patrolling the house, Augusta pulled me aside and tried to buy me off. She said if I would kill you she would give me the securities. She has them, but she hasn’t called you yet. I played along and said I’d do it. She cackled like a chicken. That old lady is crazy. She’s coming unglued. She’ll do anything to stop you.”
Randall’s senses were on high alert. “Jamison, this whole operation is coming unglued. Augusta is extremely dangerous and the King kid is out there somewhere. He has to have contacted someone by now. We’ve got to get the men and get out of here, before the whole thing blows up in our face.”
“It’s not Augusta you have to worry about, Colonel.”
The two men turned. Rose was standing in the entryway. He had slipped in unnoticed and was holding a small but deadly looking pistol equipped with a silencer. Randall saw the look in Rose’s eye, the connection between brain and trigger forming, and knew he was about to be shot. It was a skill he had developed over the years and it had saved him many times.
He pushed Jamison to one side and at the same time leapt the other way. Rose hesitated for a split-second deciding which man to shoot and then shot at Jamison. That gave Randall time to drop his arm. The concealed throwing dagger slipped into his hand, and with a flip of his wrist, the knife flew through the air and caught Rose in the neck. Rose looked at Randall in surprise and then collapsed. Randall stepped over and kicked the gun away. Rose’s eyes were glazing over.
“Who paid you, Rose? You might as well tell me, because that knife has killed you.”
Rose grimaced and then gasped. “Duvigney.”
Then his eyes closed and he was gone.
Randall went to Jamison. Jamison was clutching his arm.
“Are you okay, Jamison?
Jamison grimaced. “The bullet caught me in the fleshy part of my arm. It went clear through but I think it broke the bone. Thanks for pushing me out of the way. He had me for sure.”
Randall shook his head. “For some reason, Rose forgot that I trained him.”
Randall pulled off Jamison’s coat and rolled up his shirtsleeve. Blood poured from the wound and Randall could see that the arm was indeed broken. Randall went in the kitchen and grabbed some kitchen towels and a wooden spoon. He broke the end of the spoon off and, using it as a splint, set Jamison’s arm and tied a compress over the wound. “That should keep it from bleeding.” Jamison put his coat on over the bandage. Then Randall used the other towel as a sling. “You okay?”
Jamison winced, but nodded. “It doesn’t hurt too bad, but I’ll need to get it in a cast soon. Say, Colonel, if Rose was working for Duvigney, that means the guys he brought in are working for Duvigney, too.”
Randall nodded. “That’s right. So we have three guys working for Duvigney and the cops working for Augusta. I think we need to redefine the mission.”
Randall grabbed his briefcase and opened it. He took out some small cassettes and put them in Rose’s pocket. Then he took the bag with the two detonators out of his pocket and put one in Rose’s hand and wrapped the hand and the thumb around it. Jamison looked puzzled. Randall pointed at the detonator. “We take the girl with us and use her as a shield. On the way out, if they don’t let us through with the girl, we can use our detonator to blow the propane tanks, and in the confusion, we slip by the cops at the front. When the cops get back here, they’ll find Rose with the cassettes and the detonator. They’ll think Rose blew the tanks before he died. The tapes will implicate Duvigney in the plot against the St. Clairs. That will take care of that treachery. Then we’ll send the D.A. the info on Augusta. It will take them a while to sort everything out but Duvigney and Augusta will both be in deep water. We’ll just have to cut our losses and disappear.”
Jamison shook his head. “It’s a good plan, Colonel, but there’s only the two of us and my arm is broken. There’s three of Rose’s men and all of Augusta’s cops. We’ll never carry that girl out to the car and be able to cover ourselves at the same time.”
Randall scowled. “You’re right, Jamison, we’re in a real bind here.”
Randall took a pair of binoculars out of his case, walked to the window, and scanned the grounds. He could not see the front of the house, but he knew the men were there. He swung the glasses toward the back of the estate. And then stopped in amazement. Out on the storm-tossed waters of Long Island Sound was a small boat. It was heading in toward the St. Clair dock. Randall looked closer. There were three men on the boat. “Halverson.”
Jamison walked over to the window as Randall pointed. “What did you say, Colonel?”
“Out there, on the sound, there’s a boat coming in and Sheriff Bobby Halverson is on board with two men. I think we may have just gotten our help.”
*****
Bobby Halverson watched as Jonathan eased the boat out into the sound from the protective confines of Greenwich Harbor. The wind began to blow straight in at them. The six-to-eight-foot waves were running before the wind in a chop that was like riding a bucking bronco. Jonathan looked at Bobby. He shouted over the wind. “There’s only one way to get through this! I’ve got to power the boat up and jump the tops. It’s going to get rough so hold on tight.”
Bobby held on to a stanchion and nodded to Daniel to do the same. “Whatever you have to do, Jonathan. You okay?”
Jonathan smiled and in that smile, for the first time in years, Bobby saw his friend. He glanced at Daniel and saw that he was holding on tight and then turned back to Jonathan and nodded. “Cut’er loose, cowboy.”
Jonathan pulled back on the throttle and the boat picked up speed, heading straight into the waves. As the speed increased, the boat lifted up out of the troughs and began to skip along the tops of the waves. Soon they were flying along, lifting off from the top of one wave and crashing down onto t
he next. Bobby looked at Jonathan. He was staring up into the sky and shouting something, but the wind snatched the words away, and Bobby didn’t catch them. Jonathan’s hair was flying in the wind, and he stood strong and powerful against the storm.
After about twenty minutes, Daniel yelled and pointed toward the shore. Through the spume and the spray, they could see a large, brick boathouse nestled on the shore in a protected cove. Daniel shouted over the wind. “That’s the St. Clair place. Take her right inside and we’ll be out of the wind.”
As they entered the cove, the waves dropped down and Jonathan was able to navigate safely into the large boathouse. He pulled the boat up to the dock and Daniel and Bobby jumped over the side and made the boat fast to the pilings. Jonathan stood staring out at the ocean. Then he clambered over the side onto the dock. The boathouse was cavernous and there were several other boats in the water or drawn up on hoists.
Bobby pulled his hat off and knocked the water off against his leg. “Boy, quite a place the St. Clairs have here.” He turned to Jonathan. “Say, what were you yelling out there when you were in the middle of that storm? Who were you yelling at?”
Jonathan grinned. “I was yelling at God. I told him that if He wanted to kill me in the ocean, after all, there wouldn’t be a better time to do it. And if it was not yet my time, would He mind helping me get this tub around the point and into safe harbor. Looks like it was not my time.”
Bobby looked at Jonathan’s face. Years of pain and sorrow, fear and confusion, had been washed away by the fierce blast of the storm. The man who stood before him was the Jonathan Hershberger he knew and loved. Bobby put his hat back on. “Well, let’s go find Rachel. And keep an eye out for Randall and his men.”
The Amish Heiress (The Paradise Chronicles Book 1) Page 27