Collene stepped forward. “Jean, stop it!”
“You have to choose,” LeBeck snapped back at her, his voice rising above the thunder crashing outside. “Tonight. Now.” He turned his full attention back to the lightkeeper. “Did you know she kept all my letters, Clarence?”
“Jean, shut up!” She saw Clarence freeze, his eyes widening with shock.
“After all these years,” LeBeck said, the words spewing out with malicious glee, “she kept every love letter I ever wrote. They’re upstairs, right now, at the foot of your bed. Why would she do that, Clarence? Who does she really love?”
Collene watched in horror as Clarence went into a crouch, a snarl curling on his lips. He’s taken the bait, she realized. “Stop this!” she cried out. “Clarence! Jean!”
“Out of the way, Collene!” Clarence shouted, keeping his eyes on his adversary. The center of the room cleared as the two men circled, making tentative jabs and sizing each other up.
Instinctively, Collene made a move forward, trying to protect her husband, but she was stopped once again by Edward Young, who stood behind her, tightly gripping her arms. “No, Collene,” he rasped, “You’ll get yourself killed. Let Clarence do what he must.”
Collene tugged against the assistant lightkeeper’s grasp, but it was no use. She could only stand there, wide-eyed and filled with terror, waiting for her husband to die.
Down on the wind-swept shoreline, a monstrous breaker collided with solid granite, sending a jet of icy water up like a sheet. The wind and rain outside the protection of McCargoe Cove was fierce, beating relentlessly on the landscape. The spray from the breaker landed directly onto Ian and Sally, who were busy scrambling as best they could over the slippery shoreline.
Thirty minutes earlier, they had found the relative protection of the Minong Ridge trail, which wound its way through a canopy of pine and aspen. Now, however, the narrow dirt path hugged close to shore, exposing them to the full force of the storm. The two teenagers, soaked to the skin and shivering uncontrollably, trudged onward in silence, concentrating on finding a firm foothold in the darkness. Ian knew that if they didn’t find shelter soon, they were in serious danger of shivering to death.
Ian, who had taken the lead for the moment, was beginning to wonder if, somehow, they hadn’t taken a wrong turn somewhere in the thick woods and wound up south of Wolf Point, bypassing the lighthouse altogether. He slipped on a wet stone, cursed, then regained his footing. What on Earth were they thinking, coming out here in the dark, in the storm, trudging through dangerous woods with no real plan of action except to somehow save their parents from a group of gun-wielding mobsters? What could they realistically hope to do, anyway?
It suddenly struck Ian that he knew precisely why he was out there: it was his duty, simple as that. Ian realized with some shock that, for the moment, anyway, he’d become his father, duty-bound and ready to sacrifice everything for the greater good. There were lives at stake, lives that were depending on him. And the lighthouse had to stay lit; there might be ships adrift in the storm. Somehow, Ian vowed, he had to get the job done, come hell or high water.
Just then, he saw it. Ian froze in his tracks, staring up the path in front of them, which rose upward following behind a towering cliff that kissed the water. He felt Sally bump into him.
“What is it?” she asked, trying to peer around him.
“There!” Ian grabbed her arm and pointed forward, up the hill. In the distance, the lighthouse beacon shone through the storm clouds, a ray of hope at the end of their journey. They’d finally reached Wolf Point.
Ian reached in his pocket and pulled out his mother’s locket, then opened it. He stared at the picture inside for a moment, pursing his lips with determination. He snapped the locket shut. “Come on,” he said crisply.
The teenagers moved up the path with renewed vigor, heading toward the light.
Collene gasped as LeBeck’s hook hand swept in, slashing at Clarence’s chest and drawing a ragged line of blood. The lightkeeper countered with a thrust of his own, but LeBeck easily dodged away, punching Clarence hard in the gut as he moved to the side. Collene struggled to move in to help, but was held firm by Edward Young. “Wait, Collene,” he rasped in her ear. “Wait for the right moment.”
LeBeck mocked Clarence as the lightkeeper touched a hand to his freshly opened wound. “You’re weak, MacDougal. You always were.”
Clarence lashed out again with the switchblade. With a wolfish grin, LeBeck sidestepped again, then brought the blunt edge of his hook down on Clarence’s arm, stopping the attack. In the blink of an eye, the hook swept upward, slashing viciously across Clarence’s face. Blood spurted as Clarence cried out in pain.
Collene felt Edward Young release his grip, then in a blur saw him step in front of her, raising his arms over his head and shouting, evidently trying to distract LeBeck enough for Clarence to regain his senses. The ploy worked, but a thug standing behind Young smashed the butt of his pistol down on the assistant lightkeeper’s head, crumpling him to the ground, unconscious. Collene snarled and lashed out at the thug, but another man, a large brute with two missing front teeth, snared her and held her arms tight behind her back. She stopped struggling long enough to watch Clarence, blinded with pain and gushing blood from his facial wound, step back, slashing wildly into space with his knife.
Collene turned her head toward the sound of laughter. She saw LeBeck standing at the other end of the small room, his lips curled in a smile. “That scar’ll remind you of me, Clarence,” he shouted across the room, eyes blazing murderously. “When you’re sitting up in your little lighthouse, you’ll think of me and Collene drinking wine in Paris.”
Collene jerked madly against the arms restraining her. “Jean, Goddamn it!” she said in ragged bursts. “Stop!”
Clarence staggered forward, knife waving left and right as he slashed at his tormentor. But once again, LeBeck dodged the attack, then quickly slashed at Clarence’s arm with his hook, tearing open yet another wound. This time Clarence dropped the knife, his hand recoiling in pain.
LeBeck saw his chance now and rushed in. To Collene, he seemed like a wolf moving in for the kill, anxious to put down its prey once and for all. She imagined the same feral snarl on his face the day he leapt into that foxhole in France, thrusting his knife into the chest of the German boy. In a frozen moment of time, Collene knew in her heart that she despised her old lover. He wasn’t Jean LeBeck anymore; he was an animal.
LeBeck jabbed his fist into Clarence’s throat, then swept him off his feet with a well-aimed kick. Clarence landed hard on his back, the wind knocked out of him, unable to defend himself. LeBeck straddled the lightkeeper’s body and pinned his shoulder to the floor with his hook hand. Amid a flurry of curses and shouts, he viciously smashed at Clarence’s face, his own knuckles cut open by teeth and skull, until the lightkeeper was knocked nearly unconscious.
Finally, the blood lust lifted from LeBeck’s face. He slowly rose, appearing dazed, like he’d just walked out of a thick fog. He glanced down at his fist, which dripped with blood, examining it with an uncomprehending stare.
Collene broke free of the thug behind her and rushed to her husband. She dropped to her hands and knees and cradled his head in her arms. Clarence was a mess. As his eyes rolled back in their sockets, he gurgled once and spat up blood. Collene saw that his nose was almost certainly broken, several teeth were chipped, and one eye was swollen nearly shut.
Out of the corner of her eye, Collene sensed LeBeck staring down at her. The smuggler stood there, a broad grin spreading across his stupid-looking face. He began giggling madly. “I won,” he stuttered in between bursts of laughter. “I won, Collene. You’re mine now. You’re mine!”
Collene whipped her head around, baring her teeth and snarling. “Bastard! I hate you!” In the blink of an eye, LeBeck’s grin vanished clean off his face.
“I hate you!” Collene shrieked. “Rot in hell!”
Chapter Thirty-Three
Under cover of darkness, Ian and Sally made their way stealthily across the lighthouse compound, creeping toward Ian’s home. It was the only structure that showed any signs of life; bright yellow light filled the windows, a warm contrast to the windy cold that wrapped itself around everything else. Ian noticed several dark shapes moving back and forth across the lights. The compound seemed abandoned. If guards were still watching the perimeter, they remained hidden, probably sheltered from the storm.
The pair made it to the house, then crouched down below the living room window. They heard shouting and screaming from inside. “Can you tell who it is?” Sally whispered above the whistling wind. Ian shrugged his shoulders and slowly shook his head. After chewing on his lower lip a moment, he pointed his thumb upwards. Together they slowly rose and peeked their heads over the windowsill, peering inside.
Ian felt his chest tighten. He saw his father on his hands and knees, spitting blood from a face that was ravaged and swollen. At first, Ian didn’t even recognize Clarence, but then he saw the lightkeeper’s uniform, and the shock of red hair. Ian’s mother stood next to her husband, defiant, shouting at LeBeck and pointing her finger at him. Ian couldn’t make out her exact words, but he’d never seen her so angry. LeBeck was stood a distance away at the other side of the room, seemingly dumfounded, with a glazed-over look to his eyes.
Ian and Sally dropped back down below the windowsill and leaned their backs to the wall, shoulder to shoulder. Ian’s breath came in ragged gasps.
“Now what?” asked Sally. She put a hand on Ian’s shoulder, trying to settle him down.
Ian forced himself to concentrate, to calm his breathing. “We need a diversion,” he said finally.
The wind howled through the lighthouse compound as the two teenagers crouched there, thinking. Finally, they turned their heads simultaneously and looked at each other. “The oil house,” they said in unison.
A single sentry, his coat collar pulled up high to protect himself against the unrelenting cold wind, leaned against a tree growing near the center of the lighthouse compound. He held his Tommy gun gingerly, as if it was an unexploded mortar about to go off in his hands. By hunching down and keeping the tree trunk between himself and the cliffs, the gangster was able to keep a match going just long enough to light a much-needed cigarette. The man was smallish, and had a timid air about him, not at all a hulking brute like the rest of LeBeck’s thugs. He did share their stupidity, however. When lightning crackled overhead, he looked up with frightened eyes. It never occurred to him that standing under a lone tree in the middle of a clearing might not be the best of spots to ride out an electrical storm.
Ian and Sally watched the man from behind a clump of sheltering bushes at the edge of the compound. They sized up their situation. The sentry was positioned with his back to the oil house, which stood about twenty yards away, between the tree and the lighthouse. The small, round brick building stood just off the path, and from their vantage point the teenagers could see no other sentries.
Ian was edgy, anxious to get on with their task. But Sally held him back a moment, waiting to see if the thug would move away from the tree, perhaps to make his rounds. When it was apparent that the man was staying right where he was, the teenagers crept off behind him, then made their way quietly to the door of the oil house. For a few brief moments, Ian was terrified that the man would turn and spy them, raising the alarm. But he never did, and the two soon slipped inside unnoticed.
Ian and Sally stood inside the darkened oil house for a few moments, letting their eyes adjust to the darkness. The revolving beam from the nearby lighthouse flashed through the partly opened doorway behind them, helping them see. Large barrels of kerosene and fuel oil were stacked in the single room, along with a collection of gardening tools and a few work shirts stored near the door.
“Grab one,” Ian said to Sally as he picked up a shirt and began ripping it to shreds. Immediately realizing Ian’s plan, Sally picked up a shirt and followed suit, tearing it into long, thin strips. Soon, they had several cloth strips, which they tied together and dipped in a barrel of kerosene, making one long fuse. Ian dropped an end into a barrel of fuel, then laid the remainder out on the ground, making his way toward the door.
“Well, now what?” asked Sally when their work was finished.
Ian picked up two shovels and handed one to Sally.
“We need a light.”
The lone guard still stood watch under the tree, trying in vain to shelter himself from the wind. Damn this weather, he thought. Of all the nights to pull sentry duty. He took a deep drag on his cigarette and then hunched down, cursing his luck as a chill gust of wind blew up his coat.
The man heard a heavy thud. He jerked his head around, suddenly alert. The wind hit him in the face, rain snuffing out his cigarette. The noise seemed to have come from inside the oil house. Spitting out the sodden cigarette, he raised his Tommy gun, squinting his eyes as he tried to see through the wind and rain. A chill went through his body as he saw the door of the fuel house ajar, slowly bumping against the sill from the force of the wind. He advanced slowly, cautiously, one nervous finger twitching on the finger of his gun.
“Who’s in there?” the thug called out, peering into the darkness. No response. After thinking a moment, he raised his gun to his shoulder and, once again showing his stupidity, quickly stepped inside.
The man stood just within the darkened entryway to the oil house, muscles tensed, gun at the ready. He could see nothing but darkness, his eyes not yet adjusted to the dim light. Suddenly, the beam of the lighthouse swung through the open doorway. The man gasped as he caught a glimpse of Ian standing off to the side, a heavy iron shovel held high.
Ian swung with all his might, beaning the guard on the head with a metallic clank that echoed inside the little room.
“Ow!” cried the guard, dropping his gun and grabbing his head, just in time to receive a kick to the shin. The poor fellow grabbed his leg and turned away to protect himself, but his eyes bugged out when he came face to face with a second attacker, Sally this time, wielding another shovel. She let her weapon fly, conking the guard on his already-sore head. Another clank echoed off the walls. He turned away, only to be hit again by Ian.
“Stop hitting me!” he cried. “Stop hitting me!” The man tried covering himself as the two frantic teenagers alternately hit him in the head with the shovels and kicked at his shins.
Finally, Sally got in a final headshot with the shovel. A thunderous clang echoed inside the room. The thug stiffened, his eyes rolling back in their sockets, a stupid grin plastered on his face, and then he fell stiff-as-a-board onto his back, sending up a cloud of dust as he hit the floor.
Chapter Thirty-Four
Collene struggled to help Clarence to his feet, then half-led, half-dragged him to the couch. The dazed lightkeeper touched his fingers to his bloody, bruised face and winced. He coughed once and spit out part of a broken tooth. Leaning back on the soft cushions, he tilted his head back, fighting to stay conscious. Collene leaned down and whispered to him. “Stay with us, Clarence. Don’t you go now.” She looked into his eyes and saw Jean LeBeck reflected there, standing in the middle of the room, stone-faced and silent.
Collene whirled on her former lover. She felt her pulse pounding in her head, her bloodstream still surging with the flow of adrenaline from watching the fight. She glared at LeBeck, her eyes ablaze with hate.
But LeBeck saw none of it. Why had she cursed him earlier? Simple hysteria. She would come around, he was sure. Hadn’t he proved himself in combat? Didn’t she see how much he loved her?
“Go get your bags, Collene,” LeBeck said evenly, taking a step toward her. “We’ll wait out the storm on my yacht. Then we’ll get away from this rock.”
Collene snapped then. Without thinking, she flew into a rage and rushed LeBeck, hands and legs flailing, trying with all her might to erase him from the Earth. LeBeck’s men were so surprised they didn’t have time to rea
ct. “Leave us alone!” she screamed. “I’ll never love you! Never!”
Taken aback by the assault, LeBeck threw his hands up to protect his face, but Collene began landing solid blows to his head and neck. “Collene, please…”
“I hate you!” she shrieked. Through the flurry of strikes, she managed to get a hand past LeBeck’s defenses and raked him across the face with her fingernails.
LeBeck felt a searing pain shoot through his left cheek. Suddenly, he was in a muddy foxhole back in France, with star-shells exploding overhead, an eerie red incandescent light washing over everything. Someone was in the foxhole with him, a red form that attacked him relentlessly—the enemy. LeBeck had no choice. It was kill or be killed. He snarled and drew his fist back, then struck at the attacking form. He heard a satisfying pop as he felt soft flesh give way under the force of the blow.
Collene went down hard, crashing to the wooden floor with a thud. She turned over, sobbing, then saw LeBeck standing over her, his face transformed into the mad beast she’d seen earlier. “I hate you!” she screamed at him again.
“Goddamn you then!” LeBeck roared back at her. He pulled his massive .45 from its holster. “If I can’t have you, then nobody will.” He turned and leveled the pistol at Clarence, who gazed up helplessly. “Damn you all.”
The yellow-red flame from the match burned bright in the murky darkness of the oil house, illuminating Ian’s face. His hand trembled slightly as he cupped his other hand around the match, trying to keep the wind blowing in from the open doorway from extinguishing it. Finally, the flame steadied. Ian bent down and touched it to the kerosene-soaked cloth fuse the teenagers had fashioned. With a whoosh, the fuse caught fire, quickly spreading back toward the center of the room where the barrels of fuel oil sat, ready to explode.
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