Eric put the boat back in gear and fed some more power to the throttle as he brought the nose of the boat around and motored them toward the island in the distance.
Down in the cabin, Abby put on her shorts and one of Eric’s T-shirts. It wasn’t a cold day, but she certainly had a chill in her bones from being drenched. She grabbed a blanket off the bed and wrapped it around herself before heading back up to sit with Eric on the deck. She felt the boat slow significantly as she approached the stairs. We can’t be there yet, can we?
She was halfway up the stairs when the engine choked and died, and she heard Eric shout, “Son of a bitch!”
11
“WHAT HAPPENED?”
“We ran out of gas,” Eric shook his head. He had spent the past few hours in survival mode. It never occurred to him how much fuel they were burning by taking on all the waves.
Abby looked to the island in the distance, still several miles away. “I don’t think we can swim it.”
“We won’t have to,” Eric said, yanking open the door from where he had retrieved the life preserver a few hours ago. “We’ve got back up.” He smiled as he pulled out a small three-gallon gas can from the storage cabinet. “It’s not full, and God knows how long it’s been here, but it’s better than nothing.”
After pouring the gas into the tank, he pumped the throttle a few times to prime the engine, then turned the key. The engine whined and sputtered, but would not turn over. He cursed under his breath.
“Try it again. Maybe pump some more fuel in?”
Eric pumped the throttle and again tried to turn over the engine. It made a straining sound. It was trying, but just wasn’t catching. “Come on!” he yelled at the boat, pumping the throttle again and turning the key. The engine whined, like a child’s wind-up toy, and finally caught. He smiled as it rumbled to life. It belched and roared and made every sound but the right one. However, it was running, and that was all that mattered at the moment.
“It sounds awful.”
“It’s running,” he said, pointing the boat toward the island and slowly increasing speed. The boat sputtered and the engine died. He started it again, cursing under his breath, and continued on.
They traveled slowly like this, stopping and starting, taking an hour to cover the two miles to land, until the boat limped into the harbor and took up residence in the nearest empty slip.
Abby hopped out and tied them up as the engine died for the last time.
A young man came running down the docks. He appeared to be local, probably in his early twenties, but when he opened his mouth he spoke perfect English, “You guys were out there last night?”
Abby nodded her head.
“Wow. That was a very bad storm. You were lucky to ride it through!”
Eric smiled. “You’re tellin’ me! Damn boat almost left us marooned out there.”
“Engine problems?”
“Yeah.”
“Start it up. Let me take a look.”
Eric started the engine. It sputtered, but it ran. It wouldn’t idle at a constant speed, and after a few minutes, it choked again. “Spent the last two miles like this,” Eric said.
The man shook his head. “Probably took on some water in the engine compartment.”
Eric didn’t agree. “I don’t think so. She was running fine until we ran out of gas. Had to use the back-up can.”
“You ran out of gas in this thing?”
“We were out there fightin’ the storm for hours. Had no choice.”
The young man looked the boat up and down, “She’s what, thirty years old at least?”
“I’d say, about that.”
The man laughed. “I’m surprised you got it started again at all. When you ran out of gas, you sucked up thirty years worth of junk from the bottom of the tank and gummed up all the works inside.”
Eric hadn’t even thought of that.
Abby spoke up. “How about you boys play with it later? I just want to be on land for awhile, if you don’t mind.”
Eric agreed. “Is there someplace we can grab a bite around here?”
The man directed them to a coffee house down the street and told them to take their time. Abby and Eric quickly changed into some new clothes, and went in search of a hot cup of coffee and hopefully some type of pastry. It had been a wild night, and they were both exhausted and starving.
As they passed by the boathouse, the young man came out to stop them, “I’ll take a look at the engine while you’re gone, yes?”
“Sure thing, boss.”
A few minutes later they settled into two chairs at a small table in the coffee house. It wasn’t a fancy place, but it was warm and on dry land, so they were completely thrilled.
They sipped their coffees and picked at a couple of pastries in silence for a while before Abby spoke. “How bad do you think the boat is?”
“I don’t know. The kid back there seems to know what he’s talking about. Hopefully we get it running soon. I just know we’re close.”
“If we’re so close, maybe someone around here knows something.”
“Maybe.”
As they finished their breakfast, Abby decided, “How about you head back and check on the boat while I ask around and see if I can find any info that will get us back to Robert. Sound good?”
“What are you going to do? Just start asking folks if they know where the island is?”
“I figured I’d start over there,” she said, pointing to a long desk toward the back that housed several computers. “My computer knowledge is probably pretty outdated, but assuming the internet is still alive and well, I bet I can find out the location of the island in five minutes online.”
“Alright, well, you do that, and I’ll see you back at the boat in ten.” Eric smiled and kissed her before he left.
* * *
Her search took far longer than five minutes. Abby killed the rest of the morning and the better part of the afternoon reacquainting herself with the Internet. Basic search functions really hadn’t changed in the ten years she had lost. Nothing is more simple or intuitive than having a box where you type in what you’re looking for and hit enter. So with nothing to improve upon, the features hadn’t changed much. She did, however, become increasingly frustrated with her inability to track down any information on the location of Trial Island.
What did come up in the searches, though, were news stories about where Abby and Eric had gone, and more recently, several articles about Bryce and his death. She clicked through some of the articles for her own curiosity. He was a figure in organized crime, though not a well-known one until recently. She clicked past another article that featured a large picture of eight men laid out on the street, dead after the gunfight. Right at the top of the next article his photo suddenly confronted her. It was an old mug shot; it had to be. He looked much younger than the man she fought a year ago. She found herself staring at it.
Who are you? How did we meet?
On the other side of the coffee house, a tray of dishes and mugs went crashing to the floor, sending Abby up out of her chair in panic. When she realized what it was, she sat back down and slowed her breathing.
Enough of Bryce, she told herself.
She decided to change tactics and try to track down information on Robert. Specifically, how she could contact him. She was far from a computer whiz, and was unable to find anything but general contact information. Basic email contact forms for his various companies that probably received thousands of messages a day, and phone numbers that would connect her to a call center. What were the chances they would believe who she was and get her in touch with him? Probably zero. She doubted the phone numbers would even connect her with anyone who would have the slightest idea how to get a message to Robert if they did believe her.
Although she had already done so in a dozen various ways over the past couple of hours, she went back to the search page and typed in “Location of Trial Island?” Exasperated, she sighed, seeing nothing bu
t a list of links she had already clicked on.
Abby sat back in her chair, defeated. A young man sitting next to her smiled at her, and she smiled back.
He asked, “You a fan?”
Abby looked confused. “A fan?”
“Trial Island,” he pointed to her screen. “You’ve been pulling up pages on it since I sat down twenty minutes ago.”
Abby laughed and spoke without thinking. “Try three hours!”
The young man shined a youthful smile. “Well, I guess you are a fan, then. Me, too. What are you looking for?”
Abby thought for a second. Maybe he would know, if he’s a fan. “I’m trying to figure out where the island is.” She watched him for a reaction.
“Good luck. There are a ton of theories on the message boards, but no one really knows. No one I’ve ever heard of anyway.” He drummed his fingers on the table. “Why are you looking anyway? Are you going to try to crash the party?” He laughed.
“No, no, just curious, that’s all. Our travel agent said it was near here, so I don’t know. I thought maybe we could catch a glimpse, fly by or something. Silly, huh?”
“There’s not much happening this season anyway. I mean, it’s been all right, but a little boring now, don’t you think? Since Abby and Eric escaped, the last few couples have sort of paled in comparison.”
Abby smiled, a little uncomfortably, but thankful that they were sitting side by side so that he wasn’t looking directly at her. She shut down the screen to leave. “Nice talking to you.”
As she stood to leave, he looked at her and did a double take. “Hey, wait a second.”
Abby froze.
The young man looked her over. “You said your travel agent, so you’re on vacation?”
“Yes.”
“Well, if you’ve got some cash to spend, go talk to Captain Frank. He knows all these islands like the back of his hand. If anyone knows where the place is, it’s him. If you pay him enough, maybe he would be willing to take you by.”
Abby sighed, relieved. “Thanks.” She turned to walk out the door before he could stop her again, but stopped herself after only a few steps. “Where do I find this Captain...?”
“Frank. He’s usually down at The Shantyman’s at night. It’s by the docks. I’d start there.”
Abby smiled, trying not to look directly at him. “Thanks.”
“Good luck.” He watched as she walked out the door. He turned back to his work and mumbled under his breath, “Tourists.”
* * *
Eric looked up to see Abby walking down the dock. “Hey, good lookin’. I was starting to get worried.”
She jumped down into the boat. “Since when do you have to worry about me?”
She kissed him on the lips as he gave her a look that said, Really?
“Fair enough,” she said. “You’re greasy.” She examined his forearms and T-shirt, both black with sludge from the engine. “How does it look down there?”
Eric turned to indicate a pair of legs sticking out of the engine compartment, “Ray here is pretty handy. You’ll have to ask him.”
Ray, the young man who had greeted them when they first docked, turned around upon hearing his name, “Hello!”
After reintroducing themselves, Abby spoke, “Do you think you can get it running again?”
Ray nodded his head, “It’s a mess in there, but we just need to clean things out and flush the system. It’ll be a little bit, but we’ll get you going again.”
“That’s great news!” She turned to Eric, “I have good news too. I’ve got a lead.”
“A lead?”
“A lead!”
“What are you, some kind of detective?”
She playfully punched him in the arm. As she turned and walked down the stairs, she called over her shoulder, “Don’t rain on my parade. I’ve got to go meet someone.”
Contrary to his entire life’s experience with women, in the two minutes that Abby was out of view, she had stripped, changed into her sundress, put on some lipstick and ran a comb through her hair, emerging from the cabin a new woman.
Eric took in the view. The flowing sundress hugged her curves in the right places, like it was made just for her.
“Who are you going to meet?” he asked.
She had a devilish look in her eyes. “No one you need to worry about.” She kissed him before climbing up to the dock.
He called after her. “Who are you going to meet?”
“Captain Frank.”
Ray perked up, “Captain Frank? Bring him back with you. He still owes me money for the parts I got for him last month!”
“I’ll try.” She smiled and walked down the dock back toward the shops.
Eric looked at Ray. “Who’s this Captain Frank guy?”
Ray smiled. “He’s a good guy. Just isn’t real good about paying his bills, you know?”
Eric nodded.
“Why does she need to see him?” Ray asked.
Eric shook his head, unsure. “Does he know his way around these parts?”
Ray chuckled, “Absolutely. If you’re looking to get somewhere, he’ll know better than anyone.”
“I can take a guess then.” Eric watched as Abby disappeared from the end of the dock and turned into town.
* * *
The Shantyman’s was very small and very local. It was a literal hole in the wall. Walking in, Abby saw that the bar took up most of the interior real estate, with a few tables scattered around the outside wall. She walked to the far corner of the bar where she could take a seat and still have a view of the door.
She didn’t know who Captain Frank was. However, local faces populated the place for the most part, and no one she saw appeared to be a “Frank”. Being the only woman – and the only white face – in the establishment, she immediately garnered her fair share of attention. A quick survey of the faces surrounding her showed they were curious more than anything else. No one seemed to recognize her.
These were working men, not tourists. Judging by the smell of the establishment, and the locale, they were mostly local fisherman and dockworkers. She wondered why she hadn’t thought of this before. A local place like this, where everyone who ventures the sea comes to congregate, was the perfect place for her to dig for information. If anyone knew how to get where she wanted to go, it would be someone in here.
The barkeep, a local man with gray hair, a deep skin tone, and even deeper wrinkles, approached her. “You want drink?”
“Cranberry tonic with a lime, please.” Abby said with a smile.
The man stared at her as though he didn’t understand.
Abby thought a moment. He did just ask what I want in English, right? She repeated herself, but slower and more specifically, “Cranberry juice, tonic water, with a wedge of lime?” She asked him, more than she told him.
“We no have here.” His words were sharply cut, reprimanding her like a child. “No water. You want drink, you drink. You no want drink, you go. OK?”
Deciding that apparently her order was unacceptable, she just smiled and said, “Light beer, please.”
He nodded, twisted the cap off a brown locally labeled bottle and placed it in front of her before moving on to wipe down the bar.
Abby had planned to ask if he knew anything about the island, or knew anyone who would, but she determined that the barkeep wasn’t in a talking mood. He was probably never in a talking mood from what she could tell.
She examined each of the dozen or so patrons around the room. All of them were young men, around her age, or younger. No one looked the part of someone named “Captain Frank”. She was sure that she had the right place, but maybe he wasn’t here.
After some effort, she was able to get the barkeep’s attention to ask, “Captain Frank, is he here?”
At the mention of Captain Frank, the barkeep’s eyes lit up, “You here for Captain Frank?” He laughed a fast, high-pitched laugh. “You here for Captain Frank! Yes. No, he is not here.” He looked
at his watch. “He be here usually five, five thirty. He be here soon.” He beamed a huge smile at Abby and laughed again. “You here for Captain Frank!” Shaking his head, he walked away. “Oh, he like you. Captain Frank like you very much.”
Abby thought the barkeep seemed overly amused at the fact that she was looking for Captain Frank, and this gave her pause. What exactly does that mean? She rubbed her right thigh, feeling the knife under the thin fabric of her sundress.
She looked up at the clock behind the bar. It was a few minutes before five. She smiled and said, “I’ll wait.”
12
IT WAS FILTHY WORK, but Eric and Ray finally got the engine running again. They let it run for about twenty minutes with no problems, so they called it a victory and topped off the gas tank.
Eric was just finishing cleaning himself up in the cabin when he looked out the porthole and saw what was becoming a familiar sight – the hull of QUEST II pulling into the harbor. He was looking at the front of the boat so he couldn’t see the name, but it was QUEST II, he was sure of it. The boat was too far away for him to get a good look at the pilot, but the longish, dark curly hair and rough beard were easily seen from this distance. “Who is this guy?” he asked himself aloud.
Eric remembered that JJ had warned him that there were other investigators out here looking for them. Was he one of them? And if so, why hadn’t he confronted them yet? Eric figured he should do some confronting of his own and find out the story. Showing up three times, like this man had, was too much of a coincidence, and Eric was going to get some answers the first time the opportunity presented itself.
* * *
Abby was still nursing her beer twenty minutes later when a notable patron walked into the bar, or rather, stumbled in. He was older, probably mid-to-late fifties. He wore an old blue Hawaiian shirt over his thin-built, tan frame. Wavy hair that hung just below his ears appeared from under his well-worn straw cowboy hat, and he had a short, trimmed beard. The hair and the beard were probably black once upon a time, but were now a salt-and-pepper mix of gray and white.
With some effort, he found his way to an empty barstool closest to the door and plunked himself down. His head flopped forward, and he stared straight down at the bar. Is he collecting his thoughts? Abby wondered, unable to take her eyes off him. If nothing else, he promised to be interesting people watching.
Escape, the Complete Trilogy Page 31
