by Landon Beach
The boat was starting to move away from the pier despite Trist’s efforts with the throttle and helm to keep it alongside.
“C’mon! Sprint!” Robin yelled to Evangeline.
She caught up to him and they ran down the dock. The starboard rail was no more than two feet away from the dock as they arrived.
“What is she doing with you?” Jill yelled down.
“She’s coming with us,” Robin said.
He helped Evangeline onto the yacht. The sight and stench of the two dead bodies made her queasy and she ran up forward. The boat moved off the dock another foot.
“Dad, come on!” Trist said.
The sound of a single gunshot echoed in the cave; Robin went to leap when a bullet entered his back-right shoulder knocking him to the dock.
At the tunnel’s entrance stood the security guard with Sanders behind him. The guard was poised for another shot, when Robin turned over and squeezed off two rounds at them. He missed, but they were close enough to send the two men back into the tunnel for cover.
“Go!” Robin yelled.
“We’ll pick you up outside!” Trist yelled down and throttled forward.
A barrage of shots rang out from the tunnel entrance as Sanders and the security guard blasted away at the boat. Bullets tore into the fiberglass on the fair-weather level as Trist increased the throttle, and the cabin cruiser began to slice toward the cave opening.
“Quick, lower the cave wall to stop them,” Sanders ordered the security guard. “I’ll cover you.” He began to shoot at the section of the dock where Robin was—but Robin was no longer there.
While they were shooting at the cabin cruiser, Robin had slipped into the water and swam over to a position with better cover and closer to the tunnel entrance—the cold water helped numb his shoulder. He took aim from his new position against the cave wall to the right of the tunnel opening; he had one bullet left.
“Wait!” Sanders said.
It was too late. The guard was now in the open.
Robin pulled the trigger.
The guard spun around, dropping his gun and holding his chest. He looked at Sanders and then fell over. Robin dove for the water just as Sanders shot wildly at Robin’s position, the bullets hitting the stone where Robin had been a moment earlier. Seeing him enter the water, Sanders dashed to the control panel.
The false cave wall started to lower.
“C’mon! C’mon!” He shouted at it.
He watched as the cabin cruiser sped under it and disappeared on the wrong side of the wall as it touched the water and kept lowering.
“Shit!” Sanders yelled. He aimed his gun at the control panel and blasted it. Then, he aimed at the false wall and pulled the trigger repeatedly in anger.
The sound of ‘click click click’ echoed in the cave.
Suddenly, he saw Robin emerge from the water a few feet away from him.
The hell with this. He turned and ran for the elevator, hacking and wheezing as if his lungs were about to come up his throat and exit through his mouth. He hunched over by the cell room, pulled out his radio, and managed, “Stop the cabin cruiser—they’re on it,” before ambling the rest of the way to the elevator.
“We see them,” came the reply from the radio. “On a course to intercept.”
Robin reached the dead guard and picked up his gun. He went to follow the man but could hear him coughing far up into the tunnel. Instead, he ran for the first dock where his mask and fins were.
He put them on and swam for the bottom of the wall.
26
The cabin cruiser reached open water and Trist backed down the throttle to idle. “Take the controls,” he said to Jill.
“Where are you going?” She said.
“Below,” said Trist. “To see if there are any more weapons onboard.” He scooted down the ladder and disappeared.
“Why are we stopping?” Evangeline shouted from the bow.
“We’re not leaving his dad,” Jill shot back.
Evangeline stood up and pointed toward the Hatteras in the distance. “But what about that boat?”
Jill’s head swiveled toward the Hatteras. “What about it? It’s not going anywhere.”
Evangeline’s tone became shaky. “Not that boat,” she said, and then pointed a few points to the left of the Hatteras. “That boat!”
Jill squinted and searched the water. Then, she saw it. A small boat was approaching them at high speed.
“Trist,” she yelled down. “We’ve got to go, now!”
There was no reply.
✽✽✽
Robin surfaced twenty yards aft of the cabin cruiser’s stern. A few more kicks and he’d be onboard. Then, he heard the motor of a boat approaching fast. He kicked hard and made it to the cruiser’s swim step.
Finally hearing Jill, Trist appeared in the stern and looked up at her. “What?”
“There’s a boat coming our way.”
“T, over here,” Robin said.
Surprised, Trist whipped around and stepped between the dead bodies. He leaned over the transom. “Dad, let’s get you onboard. We’ve got a boat heading this way.”
“I heard,” Robin said.
“Where’s your tank?” Trist said.
“No time, had to leave it. Listen, that boat is faster than we are. They’ll shoot us up before we’re able to pull away. Our only chance is to draw them in without any shots fired. Go back up to the helm and have your hand on the throttle. I’m headed underwater. When I surprise them, slam the throttle down and get away.”
“But what about you?”
“Once I take care of them, I’ll catch up to you on their boat and then we’ll all leave together.”
“Wait a second,” Trist said.
“Trist, there’s n—”
But Trist had already sprinted back to the cabin.
The sound of the approaching boat’s motor was getting louder.
Jill stood up and looked down at Robin. “Get onboard. We have to go.”
Trist flew up the cabin steps and was back in the stern, leaning over the transom. Slung over his shoulder was an automatic rifle. “I found these below.” In his hands was a nylon belt containing two yellow canisters, each with a pull-ring on top. “Remember Jaws 3?”
Robin snickered, “I never watched past the second one, remember? No Roy Scheider.”
Trist exhaled, “Should’ve known. Anyway, I think they’re underwater grenades. You just pull the pin,” Trist said.
“Makes sense,” said Robin. “These guys don’t want anyone messing with their business operations.” He paused, a new plan forming. “Give me the grenade belt.”
Trist handed it over.
“Okay, when they arrive, I’ll swim under their boat and either stick this belt to their hull with my knife or wrap the belt around their propeller. Then, I’ll come up and pull on the rail, knocking them off balance. When that happens, punch the throttle and get as far away as possible. I’ll dive back down and pull the rings, then bust ass out of there. At worst, we disable them so that they can’t follow us; at best, the two grenades have enough power to hit the fuel line and explode the boat. Either way, after the grenades go off, look for me on the surface. Then we’ll get out of here for good.”
Trist looked at the large yacht in the distance. “What about the Hatteras?”
“Nothing to worry about. She’s slow compared to us.” Robin stared into Trist’s eyes. “Okay, now get up there with Jill and be ready. Hide the rifle but use it if it all goes wrong.”
“Dad...”
“It’ll work. Trust me.” He held Trist’s hand, gave it a squeeze, and then slipped below the surface.
Trist climbed back up to the console and sat down next to Jill where he explained the plan.
“Think it will work?” Jill asked nervously.
“It’s the only chance we’ve got. That boat can outrun us and outgun us.” He looked as the boat got closer and slowed. “And look, there are four of them
onboard.”
Evangeline worked her way back to the stern. “You are all fools,” she said, her voice shrill with panic. “You’re letting them get close. Let’s go!”
The boat was twenty yards off the starboard beam. The helmsman throttled up a bit, then cut to idle. Throttled up, then cut again. The other three men had their weapons drawn and had them aimed at Trist, Jill, and Evangeline. The boat drifted toward the cruiser. Fifteen yards...Ten yards...
Evangeline turned toward the men on the boat. “Thank God you’re here!” She pointed up toward Trist and Jill. “They took me hostage.”
“Be quiet, bitch,” one of the men said.
Five yards...
Evangeline continued. “You’re in danger. There’s one in the water!”
The men looked at each other and then down at the water surrounding the boat. Two hands burst out of the lake and grabbed the port rail.
Robin Norris yanked down hard, and the helmsman and another man tumbled overboard while the other two men lost their balance and hit the deck. Robin went back under.
Trist slammed the throttle down and the cabin cruiser launched away.
The helmsman and other man surfaced a few yards away from the boat to see their fellow crew members standing back up onboard.
One of the men onboard said, “We have to go after them.”
The helmsman replied back in anger, “No.” He looked at the other man in the water. “Let’s get the sonofabitch in the water first. He can’t be far.”
They both dove under.
✽✽✽
“They’re not following us,” Jill shouted to Trist over the sound of the wind blowing against their faces as the cabin cruiser sped through the night water.
Trist looked back. “It should be any second now,” he said to Jill. “I’m going to turn us around.”
The cruiser slowed, and Trist turned the wheel to port.
Evangeline cried hysterically in the stern but gathered herself enough to shout up, “I’m so sorry. I didn’t mean to—why are we going back?!”
“Shut up,” Jill said, and then pointed off the bow.
Evangeline ran up forward, and they all focused on the powerboat as Trist eased the throttle forward.
Robin swam to the belt affixed to the powerboat’s hull. He reached for the pull rings...
Two arms closed around his legs and his fingers missed the rings. The man held on and tried working his way up to Robin’s torso. Robin found the man’s eyes and gouged at them. The man let go of his legs and Robin kicked him away.
He went to turn toward the hull when a second person grabbed him from behind. Robin struggled, but the man tightened his arms around Robin’s chest and he could not break free with just his good arm. His shoulder wound was getting worse and his lungs ached for air.
He strained to twist his body enough to get a look up at the hull. His effort paid off, and again he could see the grenades hanging from the belt above. He put the remainder of his energy into his legs and kicked.
They rose.
Reaching, he pulled the rings out of the canisters...
...and was brought back down by the man. Then, the second man returned and wrapped his arms around Robin’s legs.
Unable to break free, Robin closed his eyes.
✽✽✽
Fifty yards out and closing, Trist, Jill, and Evangeline watched as the powerboat exploded.
EPILOGUE
JUNE 1996
—From the Journal of Robin Thomas Norris—
Mom & Family
This is the most important entry, Trist, but also the one I hoped that I would never have to write. All of my capacities will soon fail me—first the physical, then the mental. Let’s get to it. I know the question that has been on your mind for the past few years: Was I the only reason that mom and dad ended up together? At first, yes. Later, no.
I was part of the generation that still expected a couple to quickly marry and make it work if there was an unexpected pregnancy. Your mom and I fell into line. I can’t count the number of times we almost packed it in, but, somehow, we carried on and eventually fell in love with each other. If you look at the statistics, we shouldn’t have made it. In fact, most of our friends are getting divorced right now. I could try to list all the reasons we should have failed and all of the reasons we miraculously overcame our shortcomings, but it wouldn’t do any good. There is no yellow brick road to follow in marriage. No path. No ‘right way’. No answer book to the test. For us—at the root—it came down to only us. However, there are sometimes moments of support from the outside. You’re at a disadvantage, and it bothers me; I wanted to be there for you if you ever decided to commit to someone, and I won’t be. Your mom will be, though, and that is a good thing. Seek her out. Lean on her experience. Mom has always been the Swiss Army Knife for my life and for our family—resourceful, steady, and founded on one of the things in this world that is never negotiable: quality.
Which brings me to the end of this entry. You and Mom. I know I’m not big on saying things like this in public or in private—just how I’m wired—but I don’t want there to be any questions: I love you both, and I will miss this wonderful family. Hence, I have a final Norris Family Standing Order for you, Trist. I know you hate these, and they are laughable at times, but as someone once said, ‘Here we are.’ The easy part: as a mom, Levana will always be there for you—no matter what. The more challenging part: be there for her as the years go by. Check in with her, let her be a part of your life, help her, love her, and give back. It’s hard to see at your age, but don’t let this relationship slip.
Trist closed the diary and placed it back on his nightstand. He let the tears come, thinking of his dad. Tomorrow, he was graduating from high school along with one hundred and thirty-one other students ready to take their places in the world machine. He swung his legs over the side of the bed and walked toward his second-story bedroom window.
Tied up smartly to the new dock that he and his Uncle Tyee had put in was the sailboat formerly called Levity, which he had re-named Robin’s Nest. It was past eight p.m., and the sun was almost down on the horizon behind him. The entire beach, dock area, and water were shrouded in blue-gray.
He turned away from the window and headed for the stairs.
✽✽✽
“You ready for tomorrow?” His mother said as he entered the kitchen.
“I guess,” he said. “I’m going to head out to the boat and check something real quick.”
“Everything okay?” She said.
“Yeah, I thought I saw a line coming loose from my bedroom window,” he lied. “Just take a minute.”
He left out the door and shuffled down the back deck steps. The moon’s light was starting to get stronger as the sunset’s glow continued to fade behind him.
He stepped onto the dock and bent down to check the aft mooring line just in case his mom was watching him. Then, he boarded the boat and headed below. The salon was tidy; he had removed a portion of the bookshelf, stripped down the wood, and put on fresh coats of varnish a month ago. The mahogany now shined brighter than ever. That wasn’t all he had done.
One weekend before that, he and Uncle Tyee had taken Tyee’s boat Magnum up to Lake Superior and anchored over the plane site. He had watched as Tyee disappeared into the darkness and went down to 200 feet to recover the second bag. His dad had been right about the bag being bulkier: there were twice as many jewels in that bag compared to the first one.
“No one needs to know about these, Tristian,” Tyee had said. “Keep them until the time comes to use them.”
“I understand what you’re saying,” Trist had said, “But wouldn’t the fair thing be to turn these jewels over too?”
His uncle had been firm. “No. Don’t expect life to be fair. Expect ups and downs, triumphs and disappointments, and when you think you’ve got it figured out, you don’t. Your dad more than paid for these that night he saved you. Keep ‘em.”
When they
returned, Tristian had gone to work. On the long side of the bookshelf facing the bulkhead—that couldn’t be seen—he had taken special care to carve out a compartment. In the long trough, he placed the jewels. Then, he glued a piece of wood over it and sanded and varnished it until the compartment was unrecognizable. After screwing the section back in, he placed his father’s favorite books on the shelf and lined them up tight so that no more could possibly fit.
Sitting at the salon table, he let a wicked grin escape as he gazed at, perhaps, the most expensive bookshelf ever made. His grin died out as he wished that he and his father could have built the shelf together.
The first bag of jewels had been turned over to the authorities along with their stories, especially Evangeline’s information regarding the operations up north. Their identities had been protected, and Trist had found it weird to attend school the past year with the knowledge that no one knew what had happened. The Hampstead community thought his father had succumbed to pancreatic cancer in a battle that had been bravely and privately waged. The newspaper announced that Robin Thomas Norris had been cremated and a service was held less than a week after Trist returned home last summer. In fact, the biggest news to come out of Hampstead in the past year was that Gary Hawthorne, owner of The Hawthorne Fish Company, had died suddenly of a heart attack in the fall.
Jill had been taken home by police escort; her parents had immediately looked for someone to sue but found no one. You don’t bring suit against the entire narcotics empire (there was a momentary dip in trafficking last summer, but by the fall it had picked back up again). Trist and Jill had been e-mailing each other off and on since the ordeal. She was in law school and couldn’t make it for his graduation, but they planned to see each other in another month. Levana was treating them to a week on Nantucket Island.
