Finally Mal said, “Ah,” as if he’d just eaten something delicious that Rose had baked, and he grinned broadly.
“What?” Rose said to her husband.
They all fixed their eyes on him.
Mal said slyly, “Have you ever played three-card monte?”
THIRTY-FOUR
As soon as they all understood and had agreed to Mal’s plan, Bascombe left with Kretsch, Stephen, and Aaron and headed toward the Angle. The others began their preparations. Anne and Rose helped Jenny get the baby’s things ready, while Cork and Mal walked to the end of the dock with rifles in hand to stand sentry. After a long while, Jenny came out with the baby in the basket. She’d put on a red ball cap that her father had given her, and a purple Vikings jersey, and green capris. She stood out like a clown at a wedding. She walked to the bench at the end of the dock, put the basket down, and took the baby out.
Mal said to Cork, “You got this covered?”
“Yeah.”
“All right. I’m inside if you need me.”
Mal left the dock to Cork and his daughter.
Cork stood looking out at the lake. It was early afternoon, hot and windy. Gulls rose and spun and dove above the channel, as if dodging the silver bullets of sunlight that shot from the waves. Everything appeared normal. The destruction that had been visited on so much of the lake had missed the islands nearest the Angle. Although he knew it wasn’t so, Cork felt as if a great deal of time had passed between the storm and this current moment. Changes unforeseen and momentous had occurred. And, once again, he was reminded that life was no more predictable than the flight of a dragonfly.
“Do you think they’re watching?” Jenny asked.
“I hope so,” Cork said.
She was quiet. Then she turned her face up to him. “Do you think it’ll work?”
“It’ll work,” he said, although the truth was that nothing was certain. “Are you scared?”
“No. Well, yes, but not for me.”
He understood what she meant, even though he wasn’t comfortable with it. He was a father, and his fear—he could feel the worm of it in his stomach—was for Jenny, not for himself. In her own mind, Jenny was a mother, and her concern was for her child, a concern that put her in terrible danger. And placed the rest of his children in jeopardy as well, though Cork wouldn’t say that to her. Decisions had been made, and they’d all agreed, and now they needed to be together in their intent and their actions.
He went back to watching the lake, to looking at the wall of vegetation across the channel on Birch Island for any sign that someone there was keeping them under surveillance. It was probably too much to hope for the flash of sunlight off the lenses of field glasses, but if it was there, he didn’t want to miss it.
“Dad?”
“Yeah?”
“I know you think this is crazy.”
He glanced down at her as she cradled the baby, and he didn’t have to ask what she meant. “Children are important,” he said. “That’s one of the reasons I took you out to see the pictographs. I sensed that it was an issue between you and Aaron. I haven’t had a chance to get to know him. I imagine he’s a fine man in a lot of ways, but I get the feeling that being a father isn’t big on his agenda. I wanted to let you know that I was on your side. I want you to have children. I just didn’t figure it would be this way.” He looked at the unsettled surface of the lake and heard himself sigh. “We’ve all suffered a lot of loss. You especially. It makes a certain sense to me, how you feel about this baby. And who knows? Maybe it would be good to have a strong breath of life come back into our family.”
“He’s not really family,” she said. “I’ll have to give him up eventually.”
And that, too, had been a part of his objection all along. Even if they all got out of this okay, Jenny, in the end, would be hurt. And her hurt would be his, because that’s what it was to be a parent. Still, he had to admit that it felt strangely right, the child there in Jenny’s arms. And from the way the baby’s dark eyes so often held on her face and his little mouth formed the odd-shaped smile when she spoke to him, it was clear to anyone with half a brain that something powerful bound these two.
She touched his nose with the tip of her finger, and he responded with a sound that seemed to Cork damn near a giggle. “I’ve been imagining what it would be like if somehow I was able to keep him,” she went on.
Cork shifted the rifle, cradling it in his arms in much the way Jenny held the baby in hers. “And how would that work?”
“Aaron wouldn’t want to be a part of it,” she said.
“Maybe we both underestimate him.”
“I don’t think so.” She glanced up at the sky, where clouds hurried across the immense blue in a race without apparent purpose, then she looked at Cork. “I remember a long time ago, when you and Mom were having that really bad patch in your marriage.”
“I wish you didn’t remember that,” he said.
“No, it’s a good thing. What I remember is how, through all that hard time, I never felt that you’d leave us. I knew that, no matter what, you’d always be there. I don’t feel that way about Aaron. I don’t trust him.”
“Okay, if Aaron is out of the picture, what do you imagine with the little guy?”
Her eyes skated away from Cork’s face, as if she was a little embarrassed by what she was about to say. “When I imagine raising him, I imagine it in the house in Aurora. I see him growing up on Gooseberry Lane, just like I did.”
“It was a good place to grow up. I ought to know. I grew up there, too.”
“It’s silly,” she said. “It’s crazy. Impossible.”
Cork said, “In my fifty-two years on this earth, the one thing I’ve learned absolutely is that nothing is impossible, Jenny. Especially where love is involved.”
“Maybe so,” she said. “But my life has taught me that you should always be prepared to have your heart broken.”
Probably wise, Cork thought, though he didn’t say so.
Bascombe returned first. Kretsch wasn’t far behind him in his own boat, and then Stephen and Aaron, in a rented launch. One after the other, they eased up to the dock and Cork helped them tie up. When they’d all disembarked, they headed with Jenny and the baby to Bascombe’s lodge, where Mal and Rose and Anne were waiting.
“Any trouble?” Mal asked.
“Nope,” Bascombe said. “And plenty of folks know about the extra boats, so word’ll spread quick.”
Cork shot a glance at the clock on the wall. It was set into a polished piece of driftwood.
“How long should we wait?” he asked.
Bascombe said, “Give it another hour. If they’re watching and keeping their ears to the ground, they’ll know by then.”
“I wish to God I knew who ‘they’ was,” Kretsch said.
Cork lifted a hand, as if volunteering. “That’s something I intend to find out when Jenny and the baby are safe.”
“You’re not a cop anymore, Dad,” Anne reminded him.
Cork replied coldly, “This is personal.”
“I’m with you on that,” Kretsch said.
“Me, too,” Bascombe threw in with a thumbs-up. “I haven’t had this much excitement since I left ATF.”
Rose looked unhappy at that. “Seth, this isn’t a game or some kind of military exercise.”
“Sorry,” he said, clearly chagrined. “Didn’t mean it that way.”
“We ought to eat,” Rose suggested. “For some of you, it’ll be quite a while before your next meal.”
“I’ll help,” Anne volunteered.
“And the rest of us still have things to do,” Cork said.
They all stood up, separated, and headed to their duties.
At four o’clock, Mal’s plan was set in motion.
They gathered around the table of the lodge. From a back room, Bascombe brought a large, red plastic ice chest. He’d softened the bottom with a pillow and folded blankets. He held it out toward Jenny.
“Think this’ll do?” he asked.
Jenny pressed the blankets, felt the softness of the pillow beneath, and smiled. “It’s fine, Seth. Thank you.”
She’d changed her clothes. She wore jeans and a dark blue T-shirt. Anne was now the one dressed in the purple Vikings jersey and green capris and crowned with the bright red ball cap. She did a little turn for everyone. “How do I look?”
Jenny saw her father nod seriously. “If you keep your back to the lake and the brim of that cap pulled down low over your face, even if they have binoculars, you ought to fool them, kiddo. Good job.”
Bascombe said, “I still think we ought to use my boat.”
“If they’re watching for us to cross the big water,” Kretsch said, “they’ll be figuring for you to do it, Seth.”
“If the wind gets bad out there, that little toothpick you call a boat could be in for a rough ride.”
“We’ll be fine,” Kretsch said.
Jenny was very glad that he sounded absolutely certain.
“Aaron, Stephen, you guys all set?”
“I’d still rather stay here,” Stephen said. “I want to help you track down Smalldog.”
“I understand,” Cork said, and he did. “But, Stephen, I need you at Henry Meloux’s to make sure Jenny and the baby are safe there. And you and Henry, well, everybody knows how special you are to him. He won’t say no if you’re there.”
“He wouldn’t say no anyway,” Stephen countered. “If he did, he wouldn’t be Henry.”
“I’ll feel better about sending the baby if I know you’re helping at the other end, okay?” Cork said.
Which was the truth, but not the whole truth. If things got bad on the Angle, Cork wanted as many of his children as possible out of harm’s way. For Mal’s plan to work, Anne had to stay on Oak Island. Stephen didn’t.
“Don’t forget,” Aaron threw in helpfully. “I’ve never piloted a boat, Stephen. I need you to get us safely back to the mainland.”
Stephen seemed to see the wisdom of that and, although not necessarily happy with it, nodded his agreement.
They shook hands around and the family hugged and bid one another Godspeed and then it was time. Bascombe headed out first, Kretsch next, and finally Aaron and Stephen. Mal and Anne brought up the rear. Mal carried a rifle. Anne carried the basket, inside of which was a rolled-up bath towel swaddled in a blanket. While Mal helped the others cast off, Anne sat down on the bench with her back to the water, lifted the rolled-up towel in its blanket, and held it to her chest in what, from a distance, would certainly appear to be a loving embrace. Aaron and Stephen pulled away in the rental, motored out a short distance, and waited. Kretsch joined them, easing his little Lund Tyee alongside. Bascombe swung away last. As he came abreast of the other two crafts, they all throttled forward, headed into the channel, and curled north.
From inside the cabin, Cork watched until they’d rounded a point of land three-quarters of a mile northwest and disappeared. He knew that as soon as they were out of sight they would split up. Bascombe would head toward Windigo Island. Aaron and Stephen would head toward Young’s Bay Landing on the mainland. And Kretsch would follow a circuitous route that would, eventually, bring him to the other side of Oak Island, where Jenny and the baby and Cork would be waiting.
It was Mal’s three-card monte—which was the important boat?—but with a twist: Jenny and the baby still appeared to be on the dock.
Cork turned from the window to Jenny, who stood holding the baby. Rose was next to her, and on the floor at their feet sat the ice chest, which Bascombe had stuffed with bedding. “It’s time,” he said. He saw the apprehension in his daughter’s eyes, and he smiled and said, “Everything’s going to be fine, Jenny.”
She nodded, meaning that she’d heard him and, perhaps, meaning to convey as well that she believed him. But her eyes told a different story.
“Let’s get our little guy settled in,” Rose suggested.
Jenny laid the child in the soft bedding of the ice chest and covered him with a light blanket. He was awake and stared up at her as she leaned over him. Cork was relieved to see that he didn’t seem upset at all with his new carrier. He simply studied Jenny’s face with what seemed to be utter fascination.
Cork took up the rifle Bascombe had left for him, then he hefted a pack filled with clean diapers, a canister of formula, and other items for the baby. “This way,” he said.
He took them through the kitchen to the rear door of the lodge, which opened onto a small grassy apron between the log structure and the woods that backed the old resort. Hidden from the lake by the body of the lodge, they quickly crossed the grass and stepped onto a path that cut into the woods. Cork led the way, with Jenny in the middle and Rose bringing up the rear. Bascombe had given them a map of the island that showed the walking trails. He’d warned them that the trails could be a little difficult, muddy at times. He’d marked the route to a private cabin and dock owned by a couple from St. Cloud who’d left the Angle a week ago to visit their daughter in Orlando.
In the woods, the bugs were fierce, and the trail, as Bascombe had warned, was often a bed of muck. They made their way quickly, the sounds of their passage masked by the rattle of leaves in the wind. They climbed a modest ridge for a while, then dropped again toward the lake. Half an hour after they started, they emerged at the cabin and walked into the blast of the wind out of the southwest.
Kretsch was there, waiting for them at the dock. His boat rocked on the waves. Cork felt Jenny hesitate.
“It’ll be all right,” he said.
“Couldn’t we just take our chances driving out?”
She said. Cork turned to his daughter and, for an important moment, held her eyes with his own. “We could. But that’s not what we’ve planned, and with good reason. We know that Smalldog’s after this kid, and we know the kind of cruelty he’s capable of. I think we have a good chance of confusing him, and anyone who’s helping him. But it depends on taking your boy out across the big water. Tom says he can do that. I believe him. We’ll be fine, Jenny, I give you my word. Okay?”
He believed this or he wouldn’t have said it. But he also knew that the foundation of his belief was a matter less of the facts than of faith.
“We should go,” Kretsch urged. “Before we’re spotted.”
Rose said, “You’ll call us when you’ve reached the other shore?”
“Count on it,” Cork said. “Just make sure Seth keeps his land line open.”
Rose gave them all hugs, even Kretsch, who seemed a little embarrassed at the display of affection. The deputy got aboard and helped Jenny in. Cork handed over the ice chest with the baby inside and then the pack. Kretsch set the ice chest between the two rear seats and put the pack next to a couple of ten-gallon cans of extra fuel he’d secured near the engine. Cork cast off the lines and boarded, too. They donned life jackets, then Kretsch backed away from the dock. The flat stern pushed awkwardly against the roll of the waves until the deputy spun the wheel and put the nose of the bow into the wind. He nudged the throttle ahead, and they started south.
Cork recalled that Bascombe had likened Kretsch’s modest Tyee to a toothpick. The comparison seemed to be more than a little apt as they bounced across the chop of waves toward the big water, which at that moment, appeared to be as broad and perilous as an ocean.
THIRTY-FIVE
Rose, Mal, and Anne sat at the table in Bascombe’s lodge. Rose had made coffee, and the three of them sipped and listened to the wind and watched the clock set in the driftwood on the wall. Rose thought she’d never known time to pass so slowly. She wasn’t sure what the others were thinking, but she was praying.
“I remember once when I was a kid and Dad was sheriff,” Anne said eventually. Despite the heat of the day, she had her hands wrapped around her coffee mug as if she were cold. “He had to go out to a cabin where a man was holding his wife hostage.”
“Vernon Lucasta,” Rose said.
“Right,” Anne said.
The clock on the wall ticked away.
“What happened?” Mal finally asked.
“Dad got there and went inside, unarmed. He found Mrs. Lucasta—”
“Bianca,” Rose said.
Mal glanced at her.
“She sang with me in the St. Agnes choir,” Rose explained.
“Right. Bianca,” Anne said. “Anyway, she was tied to a chair in the bedroom, and Lucasta had a rifle and he told Dad he was going to kill her if someone didn’t get the damn bugs out of the cabin.”
“Insects?” Mal asked.
Anne shook her head. “Listening devices. Lucasta was convinced someone was spying on him, and his wife was somehow involved.”
“Delusional?” Mal asked.
“That’s what Dad thought,” Anne said.
“And with good reason,” Rose added, taking up the story. “Vernon was an odd duck.”
Anne said, “Remember when he joined the kids in the Christmas pageant and he was dressed like an elephant?”
“An elephant in Bethlehem?”
“He wasn’t even supposed to be a part of the pageant, Uncle Mal,” Anne said. “He just showed up. I think he might have been drunk.”
“He wasn’t,” Rose said.
“Okay,” Mal said. “So he’s got his wife tied up and is threatening her. What did your father do?”
“He told Lucasta he’d look for the bugs. He was thinking that, while he did that, he might be able to talk sense into the man or figure a way to surprise and disarm him.”
“Did he?”
“No. He found three bugs.”
“What?”
“One in the telephone. One in the bedroom, and one in the bathroom.”
“Who put them there?”
“Bianca,” Rose said. “She sold Tupperware and was convinced that, whenever she was away, Vernon had women there. She wanted proof.”
“What did Cork do?”
“He talked Lucasta into giving him the rifle, then talked them both into going into therapy that very day.”
“He didn’t arrest the guy?”
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