“Mom!” Jack called.
“Jack?” his mother said. “Jack!”
Jack and Hitchcock moved to get her, but Stefano was too quick.
He tugged her bound wrists and forced her into the pilothouse. “Take care of the boy,” he told The Ox, “but don’t hurt the two old women. One of them owes me two hundred thousand dollars.” He pushed Jack’s mother belowdeck.
“Jack, run!” she called before the hatch slammed shut. The Suave Man threw the hasp and padlocked the hatch. Dropping the key into his pocket, he returned to the wheel.
Jack did run, but toward his mother. The Ox raised the harpoon gun. Jack froze. He looked around. There was nothing for him to hide behind. The Ox took careful aim at Jack’s heart.
“No escape this time,” she said. The boat bobbed and dipped through the waves. But she stood firm, a fulcrum of stillness. The world seesawed around her. “Nowhere to go.”
She squeezed the trigger.
And shot wide when a shrimp net dropped over her. Jack felt the breeze on his face as the harpoon shot past him and broke through the pilothouse window. It lodged between the spokes of the wheel, locking it in place. Stefano tried to move the wheel but couldn’t. There was no way to steer.
Hitchcock swung another shrimp net over his head, this one intended for Aunt Edith. She screamed, but she wasn’t looking at Hitchcock. She pointed. One of the red towers of the Golden Gate Bridge reared up in the fog directly ahead.
The Suave Man cut the engine, but too late. There was a terrible grinding sound as the boat ran into the concrete fender, the oval-shaped wall that thrust up from the water a few feet from the tower’s concrete base, encircling and protecting it. Splinters from the shabby deck stabbed into Jack’s palms as he broke his fall.
Such was the force of the collision that the trawler heeled over, its mast, booms, and rigging dragging along the fender until they collapsed over the top of it, like a drunken sailor throwing his arm over a buddy’s shoulder. Now the hull was suspended by the tangled wreck of the mast. Waves lifted the boat and slammed it down against the concrete.
“Blast,” Hitchcock said. He landed on the deck, his net on top of him.
Aunt Edith went down too, painfully, because she threw up her hands to keep the handbag from slamming too hard.
Stefano was the first one back on his feet. He leapt over Jack and climbed the mast to the concrete wall.
Jack raced to the hatch.
“Mom!”
The splinters throbbed in his hands. Gooseflesh stippled his arms. He pulled at the padlock. It wouldn’t open. He pried at the hasp with his pocketknife, but the knife broke. The boat was constructed for work in the rough northern Pacific Ocean. The hatch would not budge.
Jack pressed his forehead against the hatch. “Mom!”
“Jack!” Mom called from the other side.
“Mom! We’ll get you out of there. Just hang on.” Jack felt a giggle burst up from inside. Would every emotion he’d buried in the past month come bubbling up all at once? His breath was coming in crumbs. He couldn’t get enough air.
“Jack,” his mother said, “listen to me. Calm down, honey.”
Jack gulped some air, then let it out slowly. One. Two. Three deep breaths.
“Jack,” his mother said, “I want you to get off this boat now.”
“What? Not a chance.”
“Jack, there is water coming in down here. The boat is sinking. Get off.”
Dismay spread through Jack like ink in water, then froze into hardened resolve.
“I won’t let you die again.” He pulled and twisted the padlock, driving the splinters in his palms even deeper. He pounded on the door.
“Jack.” His mother’s voice was firm. “Do as you’re told!” Then her voice softened. “I love you.”
“No! No!”
Then the director was there, pushing the gaff hook into the loop of the padlock. He and Jack threw all their weight against it. The hook bent. The lock remained.
“Jack. Go!” his mother called from beyond the door.
Hitchcock’s eyes were wide. “I don’t see what else to do,” Hitchcock said.
Jack looked up at the concrete island. Somewhere up there was Stefano, and in his pocket the key.
“Keep trying,” Jack said. “I’ll get the key.”
JACK SNAGGED A COILED LENGTH of rope from the deck. He slung it over his shoulder and scrambled up the rigging and booms. Each time the waves slammed the boat against the concrete fender, they threatened to shake Jack loose. As Jack reached the high point where the mast wrapped over the fender and descended the other side, the boat lurched and rolled. Soon the trawler would break free and sink.
On the other side of the fender, separated by a few feet of water, sat the massive concrete island that anchored the bridge’s tall steel tower. The rigging jumped up and down with the waves. Worse, it was being pulled back over the fender by the weight of the sinking boat. Jack leapt for the rusty red rungs embedded in the concrete island’s clifflike side. Pain shot up his arms as he grabbed hold.
Jack climbed. The grit and rust of the rungs left reddish stains on his hands. At the top he hopped the rail surrounding the edge of the concrete cliff. Behind him the boat’s metallic arms continued to groan and creak as the tide tried to pull the boat away from the fender. The twang of lines snapping punctuated the clamor.
Dark shapes rose before Jack and soared over his head—the great steel walls of the bridge’s south tower, a series of huge rectangular monoliths, coming together in sharp corners, held by a regular pattern of rivets as big as Jack’s fist. He groped his way forward, wishing he’d grabbed a flashlight. Inching around the massive columns that thrust up from the concrete, he wasn’t sure he’d see Stefano even if he tripped over him.
Kaboom! The island lit up from a flashing white brilliance that lingered in the sky. The fireworks exploded high above the fog, casting an eerie illumination, like a slow-motion thunderstorm. A black rectangle of doorway pierced the base of the huge steel tower, a stark contrast to the brightly lit scene around him. But as the light faded, the darkness seemed to leap out and envelope Jack.
Another charge exploded, blue. Jack sprang through the open door before the light faded. He was inside the tower. Sounds of labored breathing and shoe leather against metal echoed in the darkness above him. Another burst lit the skies. Enough light crept through the doorway for Jack to make out ladders stretching up the sides of the huge vertical tunnels. The ladders climbed through section after section via perfectly round holes in the horizontal cross plates, then disappeared into darkness.
Jack hauled himself up. The bridge towers were tall, easily two hundred feet to the roadway—the height of a twenty-story building. He’d climbed that much on the caving trips with Schultzie, but it was no piece of cake.
The rope chafed and scratched Jack’s neck. As he climbed, his sweat made the scratches sting. Each time he gripped a rung, the splinters in his palms shot hot rapiers up his arms.
A cough from above spurred him to an increased pace. Hand over hand, rung by rung he made the ascent. He had no idea if he could catch Stefano, but he had to try.
Halfway up, the darkness reigned complete, and the thick steel walls muffled the sound of the fireworks. Unlike some deep caves he’d visited, the bridge was far from silent. It vibrated with a regular pulse. Was it from the cars on the deck above, or from Jack’s own beating heart? The hollow center of the tower amplified the drip, drip of water and the scrape of steel against a thousand rivets. Still Jack climbed.
“Garrr!” Stefano roared above him, not too far. Metal grated against metal, and soft flesh thumped against unyielding steel. He must have come to the access door at the deck. He was trying to open it.
Boom! Another firework went off. Its light glowed above Jack. Stefano had managed to open the door. Jack could see him. But he could also see Jack.
Jack scrambled up the few remaining rungs. Stefano slammed the door, but Jack
shoved his rope between it and the jamb. Stefano pushed against the door, but he wasn’t much bigger than Jack. More, Jack had the advantage of youth and overwhelming need. He threw his weight against the door. It opened. Stefano stumbled into a crowd. They were on the pedestrian walk on the east side of the bridge, where people pressed against the bridge railing and watched the show.
Stefano tried to wedge his way through the crowd, but it was too dense. There was no escape by that route. He climbed over the railing. The steel truss that supported the road deck ran along the side of the railing. The top of it formed a ledge that stuck out from the railing about twelve inches. Various pipes and cables ran on top of it, and a sort of track, like for one set of train wheels. To the right was the railing, to the left, a drop into the bay. The ledge was lower than the road, so that as Stefano picked his way along it, his head was below the top of the railing.
Jack followed him. Only a few people on the bridge weren’t looking at the sky. A woman screamed, “Oh, dear! Somebody stop that boy.” A man grabbed him. But Jack twisted and slipped out of reach.
The delay allowed Stefano to get ahead. He inched along, carefully in the dark, toward the southern end of the bridge, where he could climb off and disappear into the night.
“Hey, you!” someone shouted. “Get back up here!”
A pair of policemen, probably assigned to crowd control, were pointing at Stefano and pushing through the crowd along the rail.
“Make a hole!”
Between them and Stefano a maintenance gondola hung over the side of the bridge, a cagelike scaffold that moved along the track Jack had noticed. Stefano hopped onto it. He broke the tiny lock that secured a trapdoor and scrambled down to the lower level.
Still Jack followed.
Stefano climbed out from the gondola’s lower level and onto a steel stairway that was part of the bridge. It led down to the honeycomb of steel that formed the underpinnings of the road.
Jack grabbed a beam, ready to swing after him. The cold steel of the beam cooled the pain in Jack’s hands. He felt the solidity of this bridge that stood, mighty and unmoving, while the ocean tides tore constantly at its feet. The whole span flashed in the next strobe of light. Stefano had made it to the lowest level of the truss. Now he eased his way carefully, slowly, along the slick top of the steel beam.
Jack closed his eyes for a moment and imagined the bridge’s strength flowing into his body. He envisioned the structure as if he were going to draw it. Two parallel lines formed a graceful, horizontal arc in the darkness behind his eyes—the top and bottom of the bridge truss. Dozens of diagonal braces, like ladders with X-shaped rungs, zigzagged between these parallel lines. Wherever a diagonal touched the parallel lines, solid vertical posts sprang up or down from one parallel to the other. In his mind Jack saw the path Stefano took. The man walked on the beam, holding the diagonals, up to a point. But when an up-sloping diagonal soared out of reach above his head, he was forced to let go and inch along like a tightrope walker, navigate around the vertical post, and continue slowly until the next down-sloping diagonal again came within reach.
Jack saw a better way. In his mind a golden path followed up and down with the diagonals. It wasn’t as direct, but he could monkey up and down the X-shaped cross bracing much more quickly than The Suave Man could creep along, trying to keep his balance. Jack need never let go of the diagonals. It would be like mounting and descending a ladder.
He opened his eyes. He wrapped the rope around his waist and tied the other end to the truss. With his mind map firmly in place, Jack moved confidently toward the suave little man, unwinding the rope over his head as he went.
Stefano crept along, sliding his feet inch by inch on the fog-slicked bridge.
Jack climbed up and down the diagonals. As he did, he wove through every third or fourth X-shaped rung like a needle through cloth. His rope stitched its way behind him, adding to his confidence, until a misfired rocket exploded close to the bridge. The crowd above hooted and shrieked, a jumble of terror and delight.
Jack slipped.
The brace he’d been descending rushed up to punch him in the gut, thrusting air from his lungs and certainty from his legs. He grabbed for it as he slid, but missed. He tumbled off the side, spinning like a dropped spool of thread.
Jack caught the rope. He dangled beneath the bridge, desperately trying to catch his breath. Far below, tiny reflected sunbursts in red, yellow, and blue capped the waves. The boat with his mother dragged like chalk on a slate, leaving bits of itself as it grated along the concrete wall.
Jack hoisted himself up onto the bridge and continued quickly on. He overtook Stefano as the man negotiated one of the vertical posts.
“Give me the key,” Jack said.
“I think not,” said the man. A staccato of explosions ripped the air. “Things didn’t go as planned, but with no witnesses this will be just another boating accident.”
“Don’t look down,” said Jack.
Stefano did. He gave a weepy little shriek, closed his eyes, and clung to the vertical post. He pressed his cheek to it. His breath came in short gulps. With a low gurgly growl he opened his eyes and glared at Jack. He took a small step away from the post.
“I know you and your aunt are squeamish about a bit of murder, but you’ll find some things are necessary if you stay in the kidnapping business long enough.” His face shifted from red to blue to green as the fireworks lit the foggy night.
“Business?” Jack said. “I’m not in her business.”
“You brought my payment to the mission,” Stefano said. Another small step.
“I thought it was a ransom,” Jack said. “I wanted to save my mother.”
The flare and pulse of light built to a crescendo and faded in the fog above.
The Suave Man stopped. “That woman in the hold is your mother?” Step.
“Yes.”
Stefano looked confused. “A boy shouldn’t be without his mother,” he said.
“Give me the key.”
“My mother died when I was a little boy. Barely known, always missed,” The Suave Man said. One hand held tight to the bridge post. He reached out for the next rising diagonal. “Who knows what I might have been had she survived. Still—Miss Marion raised me as her own. Taught me everything she knew, except for shooting. She is a crack shot, while I could never take to guns.”
“The woman back there? But she’s still on the boat.”
“I’m not worried,” said Stefano. “She’s a crack swimmer, too.” Stefano resumed his inching progress along the bridge.
“But she’s caught. In a net,” Jack said.
“A net?”
“It’s sinking. The boat,” Jack said. “Give me the key. Give me the key, and I’ll get them both off the boat.”
Stefano hesitated, midstep. His eyes met Jack’s. “Promise,” he said. “Promise to get Miss Marion off first.”
“Yes.”
Stefano took one hand from the post and reached deep into his pocket. The fireworks started again. Stars and thunder fractured the night, startling him. He slipped. He reached out, seized the collar of Jack’s shirt. Buttons popped. The chain around Jack’s neck caught and held Stefano for just a moment before it burst. But it was long enough for Jack to catch Stefano’s sleeve with one hand, the broken chain with the other.
Stefano’s weight pulled Jack forward. He slid down the diagonal, until his waist wedged in the V shape where the brace met the vertical post.
The dog tags cut the palm of Jack’s left fist. The other end of the slender chain wrapped round The Suave Man’s hand. Jack’s right hand twisted the nubbly fabric of Stefano’s sleeve. Jack heaved both Stefano’s arms toward him. The chain broke entirely, and Stefano dangled beneath Jack, holding by one hand.
The man was slipping. The coarse tweed of the sleeve slid from Jack’s grasp, replaced by the smooth hot skin of Stefano’s wrist.
“The key!” Jack called. But The Suave Man looked helplessly
up at him, dread rimming his eyes.
Jack looked at his father’s dog tags and the coffin charm in his left hand. IPSE OIS. A worthy man. Stefano’s slick, sweaty wrist shifted in his right hand.
Jack had to get the key.
He opened his left hand and let the dog tags and charm drop. They reflected the fireworks, green and gold and blue, before they disappeared in the fog below.
Jack clutched The Suave Man’s wrist now with both hands.
But it wasn’t enough. Gravity was stronger than Jack. Jack’s hands slid over the man’s wrist, slick with sea spray, fog, and sweat. Jack’s grip widened as Stefano’s fist was pulled between his hands. The man’s hand opened to curl his fingers around Jack’s.
Jack gripped tighter. Sharp points of pain stippled his left hand. The fireworks grand finale lit the sky. With each burst of noise and light, Stefano’s hand inched down Jack’s. The sky blazed with a final salvo of every possible color. The tighter Jack clutched, the less hand he held, until Stefano’s fingertips slicked past his own.
The Suave Man fell, disappearing into the fog—his face a mask of red terror in the fireworks’ light, his scream lost in the percussive cacophony of their explosions.
“No!” Jack cried. His hands were clasped together, like a prayer was left where The Suave Man’s hand had been seconds ago.
He brought his hands to his heart, and opened them.
In them was a brass key, its teeth edged in blood.
“I GUESS WE WON’T NEED this anymore,” Jack said. He tossed the key far out into the bay.
“I guess not,” his mother said. She pulled Jack toward her and hugged him tightly. The scratchy wool blanket the police had provided slipped from his shoulders, but here in his mother’s embrace, he was plenty warm enough.
They stood atop the seawall at Fort Point, across the water from the bridge tower. A police boat had ferried them over after Jack had released his mom. Deputy Whatley and Alice Trapp had been on the boat, and George, Opal, and Shen had been waiting with the police cars at Fort Point.
A Hitch at the Fairmont Page 19