Isle of Intrigue

by Ann-Marie Desiree

  "Yes, it's Charlie,” Jeff said, when he saw her expression. He tried to be amusing. “Better get fully dressed, my love. We don't want Charlie to catch sight of you and crash his plane, do we?"

  "Maybe we do,” Peggy muttered.

  There was no pretending this morning, she decided. She couldn't put on a smile. Jeff said nothing until she finished with her shoes. Then he extended his hand and helped her stand. She bent quickly to snatch up her shirt. But Jeff took her by the shoulders and turned her toward him. He avoided her gaze but helped her into the shirt. When that was done, he commandeered the buttons.

  "Look.” He fastened each one with care. “It wouldn't have worked out, anyway."

  "I know,” Peggy said. “We're too different."

  "Or maybe we're too much alike.” Jeff finished with the buttons and pulled Peggy's hair through. Then he played with the strands gently, twisting the curls in his fingers.

  With a voice gone strangely raspy, he said, “We're just a couple of lonely people, Peggy. And we used each other for a little while."

  "Yeah,” Peggy said roughly. “That's it."

  He smiled. “Don't use that tone of voice with me, Peggy. I know you're lying through your teeth."

  Charlie's flying machine buzzed the islet, then began to circle over the lake for a landing. But Jeff didn't turn Peggy loose just yet.

  "I've got something to say."

  "Then say it. Your air taxi's almost here."

  He gripped her tighter and looked steadily into her eyes. He took a deep breath. “Peggy, you think you can conquer this world single-handedly. And you'll do anything to make sure the rest of us believe you, too. You're a nice person, Peggy. You're decent and good. And you've got a heart of pure gold under that ‘hard and tough’ facade you put on."

  "I don't need to hear this today."

  "You're going to hear it anyway. You're a good woman. The best. The very best.” Jeff bent quickly and kissed her on the mouth.

  Then, with sudden ferocity, he said, “You deserve better than me."

  Peggy choked and wrapped her arms around him.

  Jeff tilted her face up for one last kiss, but when he saw her expression, he cursed softly. “Lips that taste of tears are supposed to be the best for kissing. Whoever said that is a complete and total fool."

  "Kiss me anyway,” Peggy said.

  He did, but only briefly. His rugged face looked strained, his jaw tense. Then Jeff turned away and began to pick up his gear. “Charlie will come back for you later today. Don't try to find your way back alone, promise?"

  "I promise,” Peggy said.

  He turned away. Then suddenly desperate he was going to leave then and there, Peggy chased him down the hillside. “Jeff!"

  He turned. “Yes?"

  "Will-will I ever know where you are?"

  He slung his knapsack over one shoulder and looked at her. Already, there was a distance in his eyes, coolness in his expression. “I don't know."

  "Okay.” She swallowed. “Goodbye. I hope you fall off the end of the planet. I hope you get shot by some other crazy female. I hope you get chewed up by grizzlies—and—"

  "Goodbye, Peggy."

  He left then, striding off toward the beach and leaving Peggy alone. As Charlie's plane touched down on the lake and maneuvered in close to the water's edge, Jeff plunged in and waded out until he was hip-deep in the water.

  When the plane drew close, he flung his knapsack up over the side and climbed aboard. Peggy saw Charlie lean over and shove the passenger door wide open. In less than a minute, Jeff disappeared into the machine, and Charlie turned it out onto the open water once more. Peggy stood still and watched the aircraft take off, but she didn't wave. Soon, she was alone on the little island.

  * * * *

  On the plane, Charlie asked, “Everything all right?"

  "Yeah,” Jeff said.

  He leaned toward the window and looked down as the machine lifted and banked over the islet. Peggy stood on the ground but didn't look up at it. She was too tough for that. She was already walking determinedly back to their campsite. Seeing her there, alone on the islet, Jeff felt a terrible sense of loss.

  "What's the matter?” Charlie asked.

  "I don't know,” he muttered. “I-I wonder if I'm making the biggest mistake of my life."

  That was the extent of conversation for the trip. Charlie politely kept his thoughts to himself until the plane landed near the shore, far to the northern part of Lake Superior. In the area around Sibley in the Nipigon region of Ontario.

  As a member of the Ojibway tribe, Charlie had native rights and immigration-free access to anywhere in North America. And U.S. Homeland Security had no jurisdiction in Canada. If he kept a very low profile, Jeff would be relatively safe there.

  Charlie sighed. “I'll go back and get her. Right now, if you want."

  "Yes, do that. She's probably scared all alone."

  "Should I bring her here?” Charlie asked after a pause. “To you?"

  Jeff shook his head. “No. If my life changes for the better, I'll find her again. And you. You've been a good buddy, Charlie."

  Charlie grinned and shook Jeff's hand energetically. But Jeff noted a sudden gleam of emotion in his middle-aged friend's eyes.

  Sounding choked, Charlie said, “Look me up, if you can."

  "Will do,” Jeff promised.

  And he meant it. He struggled ashore and thought his troubles were over for the time being. He had enough money to travel, a change of clothes, and some food Charlie had brought along. The only thing he didn't have ... were the vials.

  * * * *

  Peggy didn't wait for Charlie to come back with his plane. She revved up Jeff's boat and tried to make her way back to civilization. Unfortunately, she got lost. Fortunately, she was found before nightfall. However, she was found by the Bayfield village older brother. Along with some strangely uniformed military officer by the name of Panzer, who was clearly insane and sadomasochistic.

  "Young lady,” Panzer said. “If you are withholding information, I am authorized to incarcerate you in the nearest government facility for—"

  "Oh, shut up!” Peggy snapped. “You can't arrest me for anything! Go use your terror tactics on someone who will actually believe your bullshit!"

  Panzer stared at her with rage boiling in his mean little eyes. “Why, you stupid, ugly, little, cunt bitch slut, I'll—"

  "Listen, you haven't got a few dollars to lend me, have you? I'm a U.S. citizen, and I need to get to Manitou as fast as possible."

  The completely exasperated Panzer had no choice but to let her go. Peggy made it into Bayfield, and blended into the wild crowds much better than expected. The busses were filled to capacity, but she finally got on one as a standing rider. Its route went into the outskirts of town, then into the small, but bustling downtown.

  She was easily able to board another bus to Manitou. Just another large breasted female going along was far too common an occurrence for Homeland Security to be at all concerned about.

  There, Peggy met with the editor of the highly regarded international newspaper. She had never done business with that particular guy before, since her gossip contacts in the newspaper business were of a slightly lower caliber.

  The well-experienced editor took her proposal seriously, however. He eyed her solemnly when she was finished with her presentation. As he was also originally from the Bronx, they both spoke in almost the same dialect.

  "You realize this amounts to journalistic blackmail?"

  "Yes.” Peggy stood at attention in front of his enormous desk. “It's exactly what I set out to do. I want to make sure that Jeff is safe to come out of hiding."

  "And you think telling his story to the entire world is going to change his situation?"

  "All who read this story will agree with me. He was right to steal the formulas. They were created by his father, not their government. And his father wanted them destroyed."

  "I'm sure the government wil
l disagree privately, if not publicly. What if he gets executed over this?"

  "He won't,” Peggy said. “Not if you publish this story! By telling everything, we'll be protecting him. You know, if Jeff gets hit by a bus tomorrow, everyone here will believe the thing was driven by some hired hit man."

  "And the public furor here over his death would be immense."

  "Right. No branch of their government—no matter how secret—could get away with killing the famous Jeff Redmond!"

  "What about the formulas?"

  "The prototypes have disappeared. They'll never be found."

  The grizzled editor looked hard at Peggy. “Are you absolutely certain?

  Peggy lied with a perfectly straight face. “Yes, I'm sure. They've completely disappeared off the face of this totally whacked world."

  "And you believe that the entire population here will take Redmond's side in this story?"

  "Yes, I know they will."

  "Against their own government?!"

  "He's a hero,” Peggy said. “He's a doctor who can't bear the thought of contributing to more mass murder. Even of those helpless people in the Middle East. Don't you think everyone here will love him for that?"

  The editor put on his glasses and studied Peggy's article before answering. But at last, he looked up at her. And only at her face, intently communicating directly to her intellect. “Okay. There are many here who have been against the Middle Eastern wars, the conscriptions, and the enormous combat casualties. I think most everyone here will love him. And not just because of his actions, Peggy. Your story is excellent. It comes from the heart. Your passion for this issue is easily apparent. If Jeff Redmond can come out of hiding, it will be to your credit. I hope he can come out and shake your hand some day."

  "Then you'll run the story?!"

  The editor nodded. “In tomorrow's edition."

  "Thank you,” Peggy breathed.

  "Now you can start crossing your fingers,” he cautioned.

  "Why?"

  "Because I can't publish before morning. Jeff could die at any time in the night before then. And no one else will ever know about him nor even give a damn."

  [Back to Table of Contents]

  Chapter 11

  For four days after the news story became public and widespread, Peggy waited for Jeff to contact her. But he didn't. No cell phone call, no letter, nothing. At the end of the week, she telephoned Charlie for comfort.

  "Maybe he's dead,” Charlie said bluntly, clearly annoyed by her call.

  "I'm so glad I thought of calling you,” Peggy retorted. “You hate my guts, don't you, Charlie?"

  "You did a foolish thing, young lady. How were you so sure this ploy would work?"

  "It's my business,” she snapped. “I know a good story when I hear one. And I know how to write it so the public reacts. Especially the one here in your country."

  "Well, the public here reacted, all right. We've still got reporters swarming all over the lake. And more of them are looking for Jeff Redmond than for Jonny O'Dawg."

  "Oh, everyone still believes he's there?"

  Charlie made a disgusted noise. “Thanks to you, this lake looks just like the La Guardia airport. People, vehicles, boats—the works. But most of them are looking for Jeff, hoping to be the first to actually present him to the public on some kind of silver platter, as you New Yorkers say. You did a really good job. Jeff's name is almost as well-known as Jonny O'Dawg's is right now."

  "Listen, Charlie.” Peggy gave up trying to sound calm about the situation. “If you hear from Jeff, will you ... I mean, have him contact me sometime, will you?"

  "Yah, sure, you betcha,” Charlie answered. “If I hear from him."

  Peggy spent the weekend flying out to see Jeff's mother, who lived in a modest neighborhood in Cloquet. But when it came time to hire a taxi to actually deliver her to the house, Peggy changed her mind.

  What if his mother hated her on sight? Or worse, what if she believed Jeff was dead, too? Peggy went back to New York without contacting anyone.

  The next day, the postal service delivered an interesting letter to Peggy's mailbox. She opened it immediately. The note was handwritten in old-fashioned ink on rough notepaper:

  New York Times lady,

  Thank you for the publicity.

  If you want more of the story, meet me behind the Bayfield post office tomorrow at noon.

  —Jonny O'Dawg

  Peggy called the reservation number and booked a flight immediately. She wondered why she'd ever doubted Jeff's acting ability. He'd even got Jonny O'Dawg's trademark signature down pat on the note.

  Naturally, the weather turned bad. Heavy rain and fog had kept her departure too long in the city. The airport was crowded with every kind of new arrival from everywhere else on the planet.

  She took a quick commuter bus to the Red Cliff region. Desperate to get to Bayfield by noon, she hired a taxi and driver to take her the rest of the way. They arrived in a pouring autumn rain, two hours late.

  "Look,” she snapped at the driver, “I'm just asking you to stick around an hour or so. I may need a lift back to civilization."

  "Look, lady,” the driver said, “I've got to get home before sunset myself. So hurry up with your business. You've got fifteen minutes."

  "Fifteen—I...” Peggy seethed, then controlled herself. She mustered the sweetest voice she could. “Look, amigo, I don't want to get stuck in this godforsaken place any longer than you do, so will you please—"

  Someone interrupted. “What are you calling godforsaken?"

  Peggy whirled around in the rain. “Jeff!"

  He took her by the elbow and leaned down to the driver. “Go home, man. I'll take her from here."

  Peggy couldn't breathe. She considered shouting with joy, screaming with frustration, weeping with relief. As it was, she couldn't do any of those things. She let Jeff hold her by the arm and just stared. Jeff looked just the same as he had nearly a week ago—hair too long and a scruffy style jacket over trousers and a warm, flannel shirt.

  He seemed healthy, and he was certainly as handsome as ever. Best of all, he was real. He was alive. Peggy felt her heart begin to pound like an entire percussion section. The hired cab drove away, leaving them alone.

  "Well, well.” Jeff turned to her. “I hardly recognize you. Did I just hear you use the word ‘please'? Have you turned over a new leaf, Manhattan Miss?"

  The right words jammed in Peggy's throat. “Jeff! Jeff, it's that I was so scared that you—damn you!” she shouted, finally getting a grip on her self-control. “Where in the hell have you been?"

  A grin flashed across his face. “Now, that's the Peggy I remember."

  "Enough pleasantries! Where have you been, you son of a bitch? Why haven't you called me?"

  "I've been busy."

  "I've been busy, too! You didn't have five minutes to pick up a phone and tell me you were safe? I've been worried!"

  "Worried? You?"

  "I've been frantic, as a matter of fact!” Peggy tried to keep the level of anger intense, but she couldn't manage. Already, she could feel herself faltering. “I just—I didn't know if—"

  "Now, now,” Jeff said. “Don't fall apart at this stage of the game. I'm all right, love."

  At that, Peggy burst into tears. She threw her arms around Jeff and held him tight. He rocked her gently, murmuring words of reassurance that Peggy didn't hear. It was his voice that sounded best. That and the solid heat of his body against her own.

  "How about if we get out of the rain?” he said at last. “I've just found where you dumped my boat. What do you say we head over to my place for a chat?"

  "A chat? What kind of chat?” Finally she noticed that he had a steely look in his eyes.

  Barely controlling the force in his voice, he said, “Surely, you can guess what's on my mind, Peggy. You have something that belongs to me."

  Hastily, she wiped her nose on her sleeve. “Jeff, I—"

  He gripped her arm
hard to silence her. “I want to know one thing immediately, Peggy. Do you still have them?"

  "Jeff, if you'll just—"

  He exploded. “Damn you, Peggy. I don't know what to expect. For all I know, you've sold them to some foreign terrorist! Now, tell me before I wring your neck. Where are they?"

  "You-you think I sold them?” she sputtered. “Sold them? To whom? The moon people? The Martians?"

  "Do you have them?"

  She sent him a sullen glare. “Yes."

  He relaxed visibly. “In that case, I'd like the rest of this conversation to take place when we're completely alone. I don't want any witnesses if I'm forced to strangle you. Shall we?"

  He gestured toward a boat dock. With her head held high, Peggy preceded Jeff to the boat. They made the trip across the lake in a drizzling rain that Peggy found uncomfortable, but surprisingly pleasant.

  She sat in the bow and kept her eye on Jeff during the entire journey, wondering if he was truly angry with her, or if there was still a chance for the two of them.

  He seemed content to watch her, too, but she couldn't guess what he was thinking. They did not speak. The Apostle Islands came into view and, at last, they reached the Mystic Isle cabin. It seemed strange not to be greeted by the wolfdogs, but Peggy assumed they were in Charlie's care.

  Once inside, Jeff stripped off his wet jacket and set about building a fire and lighting the oil lamps. Peggy peeled off her wet jacket and moved to the fire to dry her pants.

  "Now.” Jeff faced Peggy in the middle of the room, and he folded his arms. “How about telling me what you did with my prototypes?"

  "They're in a safe place,” Peggy answered primly.

  "That's for me to decide,” Jeff retorted darkly. “Where are they?"

  "I've put them somewhere where no one will tamper with them. So relax and stay calm."

  "Peggy,” he spoke severely, “I explained how dangerous those compounds are. You can't just leave them in your refrigerator or bury them in your auntie's garden! For heaven's sake, they're—"

  "In the vault at the bank in Manitou."

  "What?"

  "I rented a safety deposit box, and it's five floors underground. Even a proton nuclear attack won't disturb them. They're perfectly safe until you can make arrangements to destroy them. And Homeland Security has absolutely no authority there. The entire area is officially considered to be a direct part of the new free enterprise zone. No one else from anywhere can get to them."