“Ghost?” Ben said, shrugging his shoulders. “What ghost?”
Sally frowned, but before she could reply, her eyes suddenly went wide. “Listen,” she said, raising her hand. She cocked her head, trying to hear over the background noise of the storm. Then Ian heard it too—the low roar of a distant motor.
Sally craned her neck to peer over Ben’s shoulder. Her blood curdled as she saw, emerging from the curtains of rain, the running lights of another boat, gaining on them fast.
“Ben…” she warned.
“I see it,” he said. “He’s got a motor. The cove’s just up ahead.”
“But then what?” Sally asked, terror creeping into her voice.
The water next to the dinghy suddenly erupted with tiny explosions. “They’re shooting at us!” shouted Ian.
Ben turned the dinghy toward shore, trying to dodge away from the other boat. Just then, the wind gusted, tearing the sail from Ian and Sally’s grip. The ship went dead in the water and bobbed helplessly.
“Ben!” shouted Sally.
The wind became truly ferocious then. The gunfire behind them ceased, and the trio in the dinghy could hear screams of fright coming from the other boat. Then, silence, except for the waves crashing on the nearby shore.
Ian quickly regained his grip on the rope. He felt it tear into the flesh of his hand as the sail filled with wind. He gritted his teeth and pulled back as the dinghy sped away once more.
“Did they swamp?” asked Sally. She gripped the side of the boat and tried to peer behind them.
“I’m not so sure…” said Ian, his teeth clenched as he concentrated on holding onto the rope.
As if in answer, the enemy boat suddenly appeared out of the darkness, nearly on top of them, motor roaring like a charging bull elephant.
Ian half stood up in the boat and shouted at Ben. “Look out!”
The thugs in the powerboat opened fire just as they crested a wave. The bullets went high, ripping holes in the little dinghy’s sail.
A huge wave rolled in from nowhere, nearly upsetting both boats and holding the thug’s fire for the moment.
“Hang on!” yelled Ben. He pushed out hard on the rudder. The dinghy shuddered and jerked, then skipped across the water toward the granite shore.
Sally looked behind her but could see no shoreline, only darkness. “Where’s the cove?”
Ian nodded his head just off to their left. “There. Between those big reefs.”
Sally finally saw an opening in the shoreline and shuddered. Huge waves crashed on either side of a narrow inlet. Cliffs rose up steeply on both sides, creating a huge, seething caldron of foaming water in the middle.
Ben struggled with the rudder. It was as if there was some huge beast under the waves dragging the boat in the wrong direction. For the first time, Ian saw fear in the old sailor’s eyes.
“Ian,” Ben said, “Use the oars!”
Ian placed the rope holding the sail on the seat in front of him and held it tight with both feet, then unstowed the two oars next to him and started rowing like a demon.
Sally couldn’t take her eyes off the quickly approaching inlet. It was like they were heading into a giant wall of black water, with sharp granite walls on either side. Her brain finally registered that Ian was rowing them faster toward that wall of death. “Slow down!” she yelled at him.
“No!” shouted Ben. “Faster! We’ve got to head in like we mean it or the waves’ll take us right up those cliffs!”
Behind them in the other boat, the gangsters opened fire again. Ian and Sally ducked down as the bullets whizzed over their heads.
Sally turned and screamed. Ian turned also and shouted in fear as they jetted into the maw of the cove. Their dinghy disappeared in a whirling morass of waves, spray, and foam.
The thugs aboard the other boat screamed as they too were drawn into the cove. “Slow down! Slow down!” the gangster with the gun urged his companion manning the motor. The pilot eased back on the throttle, trying desperately to steer straight. Instead, the waves drew the now-underpowered boat right onto the cliffs.
Riding a giant breaker, the boat smashed into the razor-sharp granite wall of the nearest cliff, exploding into a thousand pieces of wood, splinters, and twisted metal.
Then, just as quickly, the lake swallowed the boat whole. Another gigantic wave smashed into the cliff, engulfing the wreckage and pulling it under the water. Lake Superior left no trace of her dead.
Chapter Twenty
Ian let go of the mast line, then leaned over and hugged Sally, who sat shivering, huddled against the cold and her own fear.
Ben spoke with a calming voice from the stern of the little dinghy. “It’s over, kids. We’re safe now.”
The sail, riddled with bullet holes, fluttered down as Ian released the rope, but it was useless now anyway. Only a slight breeze blew on the cove, in stark contrast to the raging storm out on the open lake.
McCargoe Cove was a deep protected inlet safe from the ravages of the winds lashing the coast. Steep hills rose up on either side of the narrow, fjord-like finger of water. The ghosts of Norway pine, aspen, and birch poked through the mists on shore. The moonless night enveloped the terrain in eerie silence, except for the wind whistling through the treetops on ridges high above the water. It was as if they’d entered another world, safe from the terror of the Lady and her dark moods.
The trio sat in the dinghy a few minutes, catching their breath as they contemplated their narrow brush with death. Ben finally gripped the rudder and motioned for Ian. “Better row in as far as we can,” he said. “In case more of those gangsters follow.”
Ian picked up the oars and slowly started rowing. The waters of McCargoe Cove, though not perfectly still, were smooth enough. The little dinghy moved quickly, its bow cutting through the murky water toward the darkness ahead.
Sally, who had shifted to the middle of the boat, sat curled up, holding her knees. Her eyes stared out, unseeing. “I looked back when they hit,” she said blankly. “Their whole boat just exploded.” She looked up at Ian, who continued rowing, grim faced. “Do you think any of them made it? Should we go back and check?”
“No,” said Ben from the rear. “Let the lake eat ‘em. That’s what they deserve.”
A silence fell over the boat. Ian’s muscles began aching, but he rowed on, concentrating on watching the oars dip below the surface, then reappear, water cascading down from the wood and dripping back into the cove. They glided onward, well up the long, narrow cove.
Sally nodded toward the lantern still stowed away on the bottom of the boat. “Why don’t you light that up so we can see where we’re going?”
“Can’t do that now,” said Ben as he squinted into the night. “Like to. But if anyone’s following us, we’d sure make a good target with a lamp burning in the boat.”
Ian kept rowing, his mind turning over the events of the last hour. Finally, he blurted out, “What were you doing back there, Ben? Following us?”
“It’s like I said before, Ian lad,” said Ben, shrugging. “Got to help those in need.”
“But how did you…”
Sally interrupted, her voice urgent. “What are we going to do now?” Another long silence fell over them.
When it was apparent that Ben had no answer, Ian stopped rowing a minute to rub out the cramps in his shoulders and arms. Gentle waves rocked the dinghy as they glided noiselessly over the water of the deep cove.
“My dad said to get the Coast Guard,” Ian said. “It’ll take too long going overland, though. It’s ten miles to town.”
“But we have to wait out the storm if we sail the dinghy,” Sally pointed out. “We waste time either way.”
Ian commenced rowing again, this time with more vigor. “Actually, I was thinking of sneaking back to the lighthouse.”
“What?” Sally said, stunned, looking at him as if he’d completely lost his mind.
“Think about it, Sal. As soon as the storm lifts, they’ll
do their business and leave. If we’re going to rescue our families, we’ve got to do it tonight.”
Sally thought this over a few moments before speaking. “I know my dad wouldn’t want me walking back into the hands of those thugs. I don’t think your dad would either.”
“Sal,” Ian said, chuckling, “you know how good I am at listening to my dad.”
From the stern of the boat, Ben spoke up, a devilish grin on his face. “Listen,” he said in a conspiratorial voice. “If you kids are bound and determined to go back tonight, you’re going to need some help. And I think I know where to get it.”
Chapter Twenty-One
The storm, which had lulled in the past hour, was starting to become nasty once again. The waves beneath Wolf Point reared up and pounded the granite walls ferociously.
High up, at the summit, the lighthouse stood firm against the wind and rain, its beacon shining bright into the dark tempest.
Suddenly, a scream pierced the night. A body, tiny against the scale of the great cliffs, fell off the high granite wall. After plummeting one hundred fifty feet, it finally hit bottom, dashed on the rocks below, then was swept out to the open lake by the waves crashing against the shore.
Jean LeBeck stood at the precipice, looking down with mild interest. A faint smile curled its way onto his lips. He turned to face his nervous men, who were assembled before him there on the cliff.
As he turned, LeBeck winced in pain. He held a rag to his bloody trousers, where Ian’s knife had found its mark.
“Right,” he said. “Who wants to be my next bodyguard?”
LeBeck looked over the men. His assistant, the toady MacGlynn, looked downward, coughing, as he pointed to a large fellow standing next to him who was trying to hide in back of the group.
“You there!” LeBeck said, pointing his hook at the unfortunate fellow. “Take over.”
The man, looking downcast and afraid, took his place a few paces behind LeBeck, Tommy gun out and ready. The rest of LeBeck’s gang dispersed to their stations on the lighthouse grounds. As LeBeck began walking back toward the houses, he turned his head and quipped at his new bodyguard. “If you see any kids lurking around, shoot ‘em.”
The thug nodded. He twitched nervously as MacGlynn approached, at first unsure whether to open fire or not. Then he regained his senses and stepped aside.
As MacGlynn came close, LeBeck narrowed his eyes to slits, like a viper. “Where’s the Duluth gang?” LeBeck said. “The bastards are late.”
“It’s the storm,” MacGlynn said, worry laced in his voice. “They probably won’t show till morning.”
LeBeck pursed his lips in anger. “I want that locket, MacGlynn.”
MacGlynn check his watch. “They’ve been gone a long time. The lake must have got them.”
“Take another boat out.”
“Not with this storm brewing,” he said, shivering and drawing his coat tight around himself. “The lake, she scares me.”
LeBeck reached up and snared MacGlynn’s chin with his hook, forcing the man up on his tiptoes. “Do as I say, or you’ll be flying off these cliffs next,” he hissed.
“Right, boss,” said MacGlynn, choking out the words.
LeBeck released him. MacGlynn fell tumbling to the grass, then sat there stupidly, rubbing his chin.
“Find me that locket,” LeBeck said. “I don’t care how you do it. Just bring it to me.”
MacGlynn nodded and scrambled to his feet, then ran off toward the path leading to the dock. As LeBeck strode away, he was surprised by Collene appearing out of the shadows.
“Jean,” she said in a quavering voice. “My son…”
LeBeck turned and sneered at his bodyguard for failing to see her approach. The big man gritted his teeth and shook, nearly peeing his pants.
LeBeck turned back toward her and instantly changed personality, comforting her with a soothing, sickly sweet voice. “Now, Collene,” he said, taking a step forward. “We’ll find the kids. It was all a big misunderstanding. You know that.”
He tried to hold her hand, but she jerked back, a leery, terrified look in her eyes. LeBeck could see that she was shivering.
“You’ve got to do something,” she pleaded with him. “They’re out in this storm. I’m worried sick.”
He reached out and snared her hand. Then, without a word, his arm snaked its way up to her shoulder, like a python constricting around its prey, wrapping her in his grasp. He moved, gently leading her back toward the house. “By tomorrow morning,” he murmured in her ear as they strode away, “everything will be fine.”
High up on the lighthouse, Clarence looked down from the narrow catwalk. He grimaced as he watched LeBeck and Collene fade into the shadows. The lightkeeper gritted his teeth in a feral snarl, then banged his fists on the rail. The storm gusted fiercely, whipping his coat back and threatening to hurl him from the tower. Gripping the railing with white knuckles, he shouted curses at the storm, at God, and his own weakness, only to have his screams drowned out by the howling wind.
Chapter Twenty-Two
“Over there,” said Sally. Ian glanced up from his rowing and saw her pointing toward shore, on the starboard side of the dinghy. The storm had blown past, leaving the cove in eerie silence; even the treetops on the ridges were at rest. The air, however, remained heavy with impending violence. Across the sky, swiftly moving clouds flashed a brilliant gold every few seconds, lit by the distant lightning of another storm front.
Ian hoisted the oars and looked off to his right. A small mining village, decrepit and long deserted, appeared out the mist that now cloaked the shoreline. Decaying wooden shacks wearing carpets of green moss loomed out of the darkness, like skeletons from some long-forgotten graveyard. The dinghy slid noiselessly past the village, plying the black waters of the cove. The effect on the trio was somber, almost hypnotizing.
Suddenly, Ian jumped at the sound of a loud, deep grunting noise echoing off the water. He looked past Sally and was shocked to see a marshy area dead ahead. He’d been so intent on rowing that he’d lost all track of time. He realized that they’d finally reached the end of McCargoe Cove, having traveled down the entire two-mile length of the fjord-like inlet. In the marsh, which was fed by a stream emptying into the cove, Ian sensed a huge animal moving on the shoreline. He squinted, trying to make out the mysterious shape. Finally, in the strobe light of the approaching storm, he could see a bull moose, foraging through the rushes.
“We’re here,” Captain Ben said from the stern. The sudden arrival of his voice caused both teenagers to jump; the old mariner had remained silent for much of the journey, having told them only in cryptic terms that they would find some sort of assistance up ahead. “End of the cove,” he said, smiling now. “Home.”
“What do you mean, ‘home’?” asked Ian.
Ian felt Sally grip his arm hard. He turned and saw her pointing silently at the shoreline, her face ashen.
“What, Sal?” Ian said, squinting. “What’s out there?”
Following Sally’s gaze, Ian looked toward the misty far shore, the area between the marsh and the abandoned mining village. As the mist parted, what he saw next made his jaw drop nearly to the deck.
Gaseous green lights, dozens of them, moved silently up the shore through the woods. “Oh, my God,” said Sally. “The place is crawling with ghosts!”
Ian raised his hand. “Listen,” he whispered. They all heard it then, faint music coming from somewhere nearby. A fiddle, an accordion, and a chorus of men’s voices wafted over the water.
“This… it’s too creepy,” Sally stuttered. “There’s nothing over there.”
Ian squinted, trying to probe the darkness to find the source of the ghostly orchestra. Then, the green orbs suddenly winked out in rapid succession. At the same time, the music came to a sudden halt, enveloping the cove in a terrible silence.
“Time to leave,” urged Sally.
Ian locked eyes with Captain Ben, who had once more lapsed into s
ilence. Ian stared at the old man’s weathered face, searching. A faint smile crept onto Ben’s lips. Ian nodded, then dipped the oars in the water and started paddling with strong, swift strokes, closer to shore.
“What are you doing?” Sally said, panic rising in her voice.
“Let’s go take a look, Sal,” he said. She glared at him. Ian grinned back, his eyes full of mischief. He looked back at Captain Ben. “What’s the worst that can happen? Ghosts can’t swim. Right, Ben?”
At that moment a flash of yellow light erupted from someplace on shore. They heard a thunderous, ear-splitting boom, and then Sally and Ian both screamed as a geyser of water exploded in their faces.
Chapter Twenty-Three
LeBeck’s silver hook slammed down on a beautifully finished oak table. The metal talon scraped back and forth, gouging and scratching the fine wood. LeBeck groaned in pain, then gritted his teeth and let loose a low growl that crescendoed to a raging howl.
The smuggler was lying face down on the MacDougal’s dining room table, his pants pulled down, displaying a full moon. A deep gash ran along his left buttock A thug with an alcohol swab clumsily poked at LeBeck’s knife wound.
“Blast it!” LeBeck jerked his head back and snarled at the man. “Careful back there!”
“Sure, boss,” said the thug, trying to be tender. “Sorry, boss.”
One of the other henchmen, a guard standing near the doorway, broke out into a sweat. He watched LeBeck lying there, his butt sticking up for all the world to see. To his horror, he felt a smile creep onto his face. Suddenly, a titter of laughter burbled up from his throat and escaped his lips. Wide eyed, he clamped his hands to his mouth.
LeBeck reached into his vest pocket, pulled out his .45, and promptly shot the man in the leg. The wounded thug howled in agony and collapsed to the floor.
LeBeck scanned the other faces in the room as smoke rose from the muzzle of his pistol. “Anyone else think this is funny?”
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