“What about the autopilot?”
“Leave it on. I want all our hands free until I see what develops.” He put the binoculars back up to his eyes. Every horror story he had heard about pirates and drug smugglers in the Caribbean flooded through his mind in graphic detail. “Hey, Andi,” he shouted into the cabin below, “any luck with the radio yet?”
“I finally reached the Venezuelan Coast Guard,” Andi replied, sticking her head up out of the cabin.
“Glad to hear they’re awake.”
“I gave them our position, told them about Atrophy, and asked them if they had a boat approaching us now. They said they didn’t, so that boat over there isn’t theirs.”
“Are they sending anybody out?”
“Yes. Their closest boat is refueling now in Aruba. It should be here within ninety minutes.”
“Tell them we don’t have that long. Maybe they can send out a chopper.” His eyes remained fixed to the binoculars, tracking the incoming speedboat. “Beth, bring up that twenty-gauge double-barrel shotgun we use for skeet and all the ammo you can find. I want both shotguns ready.”
“I’m on it, Dad.”
The approaching boat started to bear off from Red Sky and passed her starboard beam at a distance of about a mile and a half. Max, following them through the glasses, breathed an audible sigh of relief as they passed. While he couldn’t make out any faces, he saw at least three people on board. One of them, wearing a broad-brimmed canvas hat, was staring back at them through binoculars. He recognized the familiar Cigarette logo on its jet-black hull, probably a forty-five-footer, and figured it was some oil-rich Venezuelans out for the day in their million-dollar toy.
The speedboat, now well in front of them, suddenly twisted into a tight, high-speed turn, crossed their bow a good distance ahead, and came back for another pass, port side to port side, this time barely two hundred yards away and considerably slower.
Following along, with the binoculars still at his eyes, Max volunteered a salutary wave at the other boat with his free hand, but there was no response. He could see the man with the binoculars, his face hidden under the shade of the hat, hand them to someone else and then disappear into the cabin.
The speedboat passed astern of them, went into another turn, slower and closer, approaching Red Sky this time from the rear on her starboard side. “Max…,” he heard Andi calling him insistently from the cabin below. “They’re calling us on channel sixteen.”
He went below immediately, getting down the ladder in one long step and a quick jump. Andi was sitting at the navigation station, the microphone in her hand, her face ashen. “What’s the matter?” He put his hand on her arm, concerned about the way she looked.
“Max, they asked for Beth by name.” She was shaken.
“Did you tell them she was on board?”
“I haven’t answered the call yet. But how do they know who’s on board?”
“I think it’s Leung, but let me get at the microphone and we’ll know for sure.” Andi put down the microphone, got up from the table, and went up the ladder into the cockpit. She waited by the hatch opening to hear the conversation, motioning for Beth to come over and join her.
Max reached over to the radio and pulled the microphone off its clip. He thought for a moment, put the mike to his mouth, and depressed the transmit button: “This is Red Sky switching to channel fifty-two and standing by. Over.” He released the key, changed channels, and waited for the response.
“Red Sky, this is the vessel off your starboard bow,” announced a heavily accented Spanish voice. “Is the señorita Beth Swahn on board?”
“Identify yourself, please.”
“Standby, señor,” the voice said.
Max heard another party talking in the background over the open key. Then that other voice came on the radio with a totally different but unmistakably familiar accent: “Mr. Swahn, this is C. K. Leung. We must talk.” Max tried to respond, but the transmit key on the other boat was still depressed. In the background, he heard someone telling Leung to release the transmit button after he finished talking.
“Mr. Leung, this is Max Swahn. Over.”
“Mr. Swahn. How are you?”
“What is it that you want?” He looked out the nearest porthole on the starboard side, anxious to keep an eye on the position of the other boat.
“I was merely exchanging pleasantries, Mr. Swahn.”
“There’s no need for that, Mr. Leung. I’m real angry about the way you and your henchman treated my daughter last month. Now say what you have to say and let’s conclude this conversation. Over.”
“Mr. Swahn, let me first say that my associate Mr. Rheinhartz far exceeded his authority at that meeting and I apologize deeply for any discomfort caused to Beth. I can assure you that no disrespect was intended.”
“Well, then perhaps you need to exercise a greater degree of control over your associates.”
“Yes, your observation is well taken.”
“Mr. Leung, I’ll ask you again: What is the point of your threatening behavior?”
“I need to locate Leonard Sloane and Erica Crossland. We found their abandoned vessel a short while ago with the body of a young black on board. My captain advises that his radar indicated your arrival at that same vessel several hours before us. Do you have them on board?”
“I can assure you, Mr. Leung,” he replied with affected righteousness, “that I do not have them on board.” Technically the truth, he thought to himself.
“Mr. Swahn, my captain monitored a recent radio message from your vessel to the Coast Guard advising that you did have a survivor on board.”
“Your captain is correct. We did send out such a message.” (Got me on that one, C.K.!)
“Who was the survivor?”
“Like you, we found only the boy’s body when we boarded. Several hours later we rescued a survivor off a life raft. That was Leonard Sloane.”
“And did you also rescue Miss Crossland?”
“We didn’t search for her, but Leonard says she drowned during the storm last night.”
“Would you be kind enough, then, to ask Leonard if he would join us on board my vessel? There are several matters I would like to discuss with him.”
“Mr. Leung, I am responsible for the safety of my passengers, including those we rescue at sea. That is an elementary rule of admiralty law. Sloane will be turned in to the proper authorities.” He hoped he sounded more confident than he felt about that one.
“Leonard Sloane abused the great trust placed in him by my family. It is essential that he be turned over to us.”
“Let me remind you, Mr. Leung, that he caused an equally serious outrage to my family.”
“That is not my concern.” The voice coming out of the radio was icy cold, devoid of any emotion.
Max felt his own tension turning to fury at Leung’s arrogance. He pressed the transmit key. “I will turn Sloane over to the Coast Guard when it gets here and he will ultimately be called on to answer for his crimes.”
“That will not be a satisfactory resolution of the problem.”
“Why not? You’ll get your money back and Sloane will go to jail. End of problem.”
“Not entirely. There are more important matters we need to discuss with Leonard.”
“You can resolve them through the legal system. Sloane will have to stay on board.”
As soon as Leung pressed the transmit switch again on his radio, Max was able to hear at least two angry voices talking between themselves in Chinese over the open channel. “Please stand by the radio for a moment, Mr. Swahn,” Leung finally said to Max in English. “My brother wishes to discuss something with me.”
Max used the opportunity to look through the porthole. Leung’s boat was circling slowly around Red Sky. The rocking motion caused by the broadside action of the waves against her hull must have been considerable. The Cigarette was totally out of its environment, wallowing around inefficiently in the water, doing about
5 knots. He could see two men in ridiculous black suits standing in the cockpit, staring intently over at Red Sky, holding on to the gunnels with both hands, and looking quite seasick.
Max looked behind him and realized with a start that Leonard Sloane had squeezed his way out of his cabin during the radio conversation with Leung. He was sitting on the opposite side of the main salon, supporting his head with his good left arm.
“It seems our guest is up,” Beth observed casually from above. Max looked up at the hatchway and saw her sitting there at the top of the ladder, the 12-gauge shotgun pointed directly at Sloane.
“Do you know what’s going on here, Len?” Beth asked him.
“I saw Leung on the speedboat through the porthole in the cabin and then I heard your father talking to him on the radio. That’s why I came out here. I want you to let me go over to his boat.”
“The only boat you’re going to is the Coast Guard boat when it gets here.” She wasn’t in the mood to debate the issue with Sloane or anybody else.
“Look, the game is over,” Sloane protested. “I lost it years ago but never realized it.” He sounded convinced of his failure, his stamina beaten down beyond the fatigue caused by the storm.
It was hard for Beth to accept. How could this man be so resigned to his fate? It was unbelievable. She finally decided it must be Sloane’s exhaustion talking. “And what do you think Leung is going to do to you if he gets you on board? Pat you on the back for stealing his money?”
“C.K. is not going to let you turn me over to the Coast Guard. There’s a lot more at stake besides the Jasco money. He needs me, and the bank codes on a CD in my bag, to access all the Arab money he’s laundered.”
“Is that the only copy of the CD?” Beth asked.
“Why do you want to know?”
“I’d be surprised if you didn’t leave a backup copy behind just in case.”
“As a matter of fact, I did. There’s a copy of the CD back in my condo.”
“Somehow I figured.”
“So let me go over to C.K. He’s desperate and won’t hurt me.”
“I tend to doubt that,” Beth said. “You go over to C.K. and you’re dead.”
“Counselor, listen to me, will you?” he yelled with what strength remained. “This is not a courtroom you’re in now. There are no guards standing around to protect you. No 911 emergency number to call. Before Leung is finished, the only evidence left of this boat will be a few sharks swimming around with big fat grins on their faces.”
“Come on, will you?” Beth replied, exasperated by all this melodrama. “Stop the crap!”
“You don’t understand his rules. Let me go over there with his bank codes and you’ve got nothing to worry about. He doesn’t care about you and I don’t care about me. That’s why I can handle him. It’s between him and me.”
“I’m not so sure I agree, and anyhow, you seem to have forgotten the little matter of the Coast Guard.”
“You think I give a damn about that? I’ll never do a single day’s time.” Though dead tired, he sounded confident about his position.
“What makes you so sure of that?”
“None of your business, but take my word for it. C.K. and Erica took care of my future a long time ago.”
“I have no idea what you’re talking about.”
“It doesn’t matter.”
“Nothing matters to you, but my reputation matters to me, so I’m afraid you’re going to have to stay on board Red Sky for a while longer.”
“I’m too worn out to fight. Do what you want.” Still exhausted from the storm, his right arm throbbing painfully and his head aching, Leonard got up from the settee and crossed over to the galley. He reached into his pocket for the bottle of pills he kept there, looked at the label as though he were just seeing it for the first time, and put two codeine capsules into his mouth, then washed them down with a glass of water. Swallowing was getting to be a problem for him. He staggered and reeled like a punch-drunk fighter back to his cabin, closing the door behind him. Beth went back up to the steering wheel.
Max got tired of waiting by the radio for the call from Leung and decided to go up on deck. He turned up the volume on the radio and adjusted the squelch. Then he went over to the galley to pour himself some soda.
“Dad, get up here!” Beth suddenly called from above as he opened the two-liter bottle.
“Coming right up,” he responded, his mind still focused on Sloane’s erratic behavior. “Want a Coke?”
“No. Get up here, will you!”
He heard her insistence but kept on pouring. There was a sense of urgency in her voice, too, but he was too preoccupied to hear it.
“Be right there—,” he started to answer.
“Now, Dad!”
Then he heard the shotgun go off on deck, and that got his attention. The explosive report of a 12-gauge magnum load was a heart-stopper for him. He dropped the soda into the sink and made it up the companionway ladder in two giant steps and one painfully cracked shin.
Beth was standing in the cockpit, the shotgun up against her shoulder, smoke coming out of its barrel. She aimed, fired again at her moving target, pumped the action to chamber a fresh shell, and then fired again before lowering the gun. Andi was standing next to her, reloading the smoking flare pistol in her hand. About fifty yards away now, the object of their disaffection, a twelve-foot rubber dinghy, its outboard engine revved up and screaming in protest, was heading at full speed back toward the Cigarette. The two men in black suits were flattened in the bottom of the dinghy, cowering in terror, while a third, wearing a green bathing suit, was sitting up at the tiller only high enough to see where he was steering.
“You both okay?” was Max’s first question as he checked out the situation.
“We are now,” Beth responded, nodding. “Those bastards tried to sneak up on us. While Mom and I were watching the speedboat circling around us, they moved their dinghy in on our blind spot. Those two goons were on it. One of them is Scarface, an old ‘friend’ of mine. If he’d been a little closer, I could have put a few holes in his butt.”
“Sloane is right, then,” Max said, realization flooding in. “Leung has no intention of walking away from this. Andi, see if you can get the Coast Guard on the radio again.”
“Okay, call me if you need me,” she said.
“I will.”
“I’ll leave you the flare gun.” She slowly released the hammer on the pistol, easing it down into a safe position, and tried to hand it to Max.
“No. Take it below with you in case Sloane gets cute. If you screw in that .410 shotgun barrel I bought, it will discourage him if he gets in your way. Now go ahead, take a crack at the radio.”
“Better make it a Mayday, Mom, and tell them we’re being attacked by pirates.”
“Pirates?”
“She’s right, pirates,” Max said. “Let’s not quibble. If Leung is monitoring channel sixteen, it may cause him to back off.” Faced with actual violence for the first time, he no longer felt the uncertainty that had plagued him when he had boarded Atrophy. He looked over at Beth and saw only the determined look on her face.
“What do you want me to do now, Dad?” she asked.
“Well, first off, let me have that pump shotgun. I’ve had more experience with it than you, and my two-hundred-pound body will be better able to handle its kick if we have to fire it again.”
“I’ll be okay,” she said, handing him the shotgun.
“I’m not worried about you. Get the twenty-gauge and check on Sloane.”
“I’ll be right back.” Beth went below and came back with the double-barrel. “Mom says she didn’t have any luck getting the Coast Guard on the radio.”
“I guess we’re responsible for ourselves. Maybe that’s the way it’s supposed to be.” He took a box of 12-gauge shells from Beth, ejected the spent one from the chamber, pumped in a new round, and added an extra one to the magazine. Beth opened the 20-gauge and inserted a sh
ell into each barrel.
“Beth!” Andi interrupted from the base of the ladder. “They’re calling you on the radio again.”
“Coming.” She got up and handed the 20-gauge to Max. “Keep your eyes on our blind spot.”
“I will.”
Beth went below and picked up the microphone again. “This is Red Sky,” she announced.
It was C.K.: “Beth, I want to apologize for that unpleasant incident a few minutes ago. Unfortunately, my brother Andrew took it upon himself to send our tender over to pick up Leonard. I am sorry that it frightened you.”
“It didn’t frighten me, C.K., but it did piss me off. Red Sky is our home and we deeply resented the effort to enter it without our permission. I trust that no one on the dinghy was injured.” Beth was in her milieu. She could obfuscate with anyone.
“Beth, my brother and I are due back in Panama in a few hours. We must resolve this difficulty without any further delay so that we can each go back about our business.”
“Then I strongly urge you to head for the Canal now.”
“I intend to do that, but I must have Leonard Sloane on board. Our business depends on it.”
“C.K., you’re making me repeat myself. We’ll turn Leonard over to the proper authorities.”
“Beth, we are the injured party. You must allow us to pick up Leonard now.”
“The answer is no. Now is there anything else you would like to discuss? Over.”
“Why don’t you and your family take a few minutes to consider the consequences of your decision while I talk with my brother?”
Beth replaced the microphone on its clip and looked at her mother sitting at the table.
“Are we going to be okay?” Andi asked her.
“A piece of cake, Mom,” she responded, running her hand through her mother’s short curly hair for good luck and bending down to kiss her on the cheek.
Noble Chase Page 24
