Peewee said, “You go on. Jump.” She turned to look at him and the expression on his face looked like a combination of fear and resignation. “I’ll deal with Benny.”
“I’m not leaving you, Irv.”
“If you give me the prayer gau, he’ll have no reason to hurt you.”
Benny had started through the bar, but he hadn’t seen them yet.
At the base of the wall at their feet, Riley noticed a long aluminum pole with a pool skimmer net on the end. She reached down and grabbed it. “Watch out, Irv.” She swung it up and over the wall and rested the end against a solid wood piling on the far side of the walkway.
She laced the fingers of her hands together and lowered them in front of Peewee. “Put your hand on my shoulder and one foot here.” He shook his head, but put a foot into her makeshift step. She hoisted him up until his butt slid onto the wall. “Swing your feet over to the other side,” she said as she placed her palms on the wall and jumped up. In a second, she had vaulted over and landed on the boardwalk with a jolt. She had flexed her knees and managed not to fall. The aluminum pole had stopped a couple walking hand in hand. The man reached out to Riley and offered her a hand to steady herself.
“No, help him.” She pointed at the old man above, who was wrapping one leg around the pole. The man grabbed Peewee’s knees and eased him down the pole to the walkway. When the tourist let go of him, Peewee stood and smiled up at the couple, but Riley grabbed his hand and jerked before he had time to open his mouth. They dodged around another couple of tourists and began running down the walkway toward the ferry landing. Seconds later, she heard a loud thud as someone jumped onto the planks behind them.
At the ferry dock ahead, there were several clothing vendors as well as a small shop that sold sweets, cold drinks, and cigarettes. A cluster of tourists milled around looking at the goods as they waited for a boat. When Riley plunged into the middle of them, she thought she heard someone call her name.
She looked around. The ferries used the T end of the dock along the outside of the pier, but there were several boats tied to an inside finger pier off the main dock. One of them was a long-tail that looked like it had been there for a while. The other boat looked like a smaller ferryboat, with a forward helm station and a deck built over the upswept bow. A cover ran the length of the boat, blocking her view of the inside. The boat was backed into the dock and there was water chugging out the stern exhaust. There was a dark silhouette of a Thai man who stood at the stern rail waving at her with one hand as he held the dock with the other.
Running footsteps closed in on them from behind, and Peewee’s breathing was audible over the sound of the boat’s engine.
According to Peewee, the man behind them was a killer. From her one close-up look into the man’s eyes, she believed it. She yanked and pulled him left. They ran down the dock.
“Riley!” the boatman called. His English was accented, but it was clearly her name. He waved again.
She turned down a short finger pier and pulled Peewee up even with her.
The boatman stepped back from the bulwark and reached out both arms. She gave Peewee a push. He fell into the man’s arms and the man eased him down to a sitting position in the bottom of the boat. The boat wasn’t tied to the dock and the gap was widening. Riley took several steps backward, then ran and jumped.
Her arms windmilled as she flew through the air. One foot caught on the side of the hull and she landed with a crash on her side in the bottom of the hull just aft of the boxlike structure that covered the engine and only a couple of feet from Peewee.
The boatman had disappeared forward and the engine was already revving up as the boat slid out onto the dark river.
From where she lay on the floorboards, she could see Benny standing on the dock. She started to sit up to see what he was doing. He was lifting that stick of his up to his face and putting it by his mouth.
“Get down!” Peewee shouted, and he threw himself across her upper body and flattened her.
She heard a thud.
The boat was gaining speed and the bow was rising out of the water.
“Get off me,” she said.
Breathing hard, the old man pushed himself up and rolled off her. He sat up and pointed at the side of the engine cover. There was something sticking out of the wood.
Riley reached out to touch it, but Peewee’s hand clamped onto her arm.
“Don’t touch it,” he said.
“What is it?”
Before Peewee could answer, she heard a familiar voice behind her.
“Nice landing, Magee.”
She twisted around so fast she nearly knocked Peewee down again.
There, standing on the far side of the engine cover, was Cole Thatcher.
Aboard the USS Bonefish
Sea of Japan
June 19, 1945
“Skipper! Oh my God! Skipper!”
Ozzie heard Westbrooke shouting, but waited several seconds listening to what the others were doing before he rose from his bunk. He stood in the doorway and tried to look over the crowd of men in the companionway. Up around the skipper’s cabin someone was shouting for the medic and the man was pushing through the crowd from the forward torpedo room where he bunked.
“What’s happening?” Ozzie asked the men who were craning their necks to see the skipper’s cabin.
“Don’t know,” Ensign Bates said. “I think the skipper’s sick.”
Westbrooke yelled at the men to get back to work, but his voice sounded shaky and unsure. When the companionway cleared, Ozzie went to the door of the skipper’s cabin. The door was closed. Ozzie knocked. The door opened and the medic slipped out, so Ozzie took the opportunity to slip in.
Inside he found Westbrooke hyperventilating, his eyes wide with fear. “My God, man, he’s dead.”
Ozzie looked at Commander Johnson’s body. His mouth was open and his lips were curled back in a snarl. There was a bit of blue in his lips and hands, but not so as to be noticeable if one didn’t know what to look for. Clearly, death had come hard. “What happened?”
“We don’t know. The pharmacy mate said it could have been a heart attack, but the guy’s only got a couple of weeks of first aid training. He tried to revive the old man, but it was pointless. Must have happened several hours ago. The body was already cool to the touch.” Westbrooke bashed his fist against the bulkhead. “Shit, shit, shit.”
“Pull yourself together, man. You’re in charge now.”
“Skipper wasn’t sick or anything. How does something like this happen?”
“Listen, Westbrooke. You’ll need to tell the men.”
“Oh, God.” He bent at the waist and buried his head in his arms. “I think I’m going to be sick.” Westbrooke leaned over the tiny stainless-steel basin in the captain’s cabin and vomited.
Afterward, neither man said a word. Westbrooke sat on his haunches and leaned against the bulkhead. Ozzie didn’t think a man could look so white.
Westbrooke rubbed his hand across his mouth for the third or fourth time and then said, “What the hell are we going to do with him?”
“Burial at sea, I should think.”
“No, can’t. I’ll have them put him in the freezer. We’ve eaten through half our rations. There should be room.”
Ozzie frowned. He didn’t like that idea, but there would be time to change those arrangements. “Fine. Westbrooke, I need to speak to you. Skipper received new orders last night.” Ozzie went to the desk, where he had placed the message decrypt sheets several hours earlier. He handed the papers to Westbrooke. “Based on intelligence I got from our Japanese prisoner, we’ve been ordered to proceed to the Tsushima Strait and exit through the minefields there. Then we are to make way to that position off the Philippines.” He pointed to the latitude and longitude on the message sheet. “And we’re to maintain absolute radio silence.”
“What about Operation Barney?”
“The other Hellcats are continuing north to La Pé
rouse Strait. We’re the only boat on this mission. As you can see, it’s top secret.”
“What’s this about?”
“I’m not at liberty to say.”
Westbrooke stood up. “Christ, Ozzie, how the hell am I going to command this fucking submarine on some top-secret mission when I don’t even know what we’re doing?”
“Listen, Westbrooke, you’ve got me.” He patted the younger man on the back. “Make me your executive officer. You can do that. I’ll see you through this. Together, we’ll manage, and I’ll have you home driving that sports car before the summer’s over.”
Chao Phraya River
Bangkok, Thailand
November 17, 2012
“Cole?”
The note of disbelief in her voice made Cole’s chest constrict like a big fist was in there squeezing his heart and lungs. How could she not know him? Maybe she didn’t recognize him now that he had grown a beard and the troubles of these past years had etched new wrinkles on his face.
She hadn’t changed a bit. Of course, this wasn’t the first time he’d seen her in the last four years, but he’d never been this close. She’d grown her hair out, and he wondered if it still smelled like citrus. He wanted to take her in his arms and explain everything, but there wasn’t time.
Then Cole realized what was stuck in the wood engine box.
“Both of you, lie down, flat as you can make yourselves,” he said to her and the old man. Cole stayed aft and squatted behind the engine cover. He raised his head just enough to peer over the top. He didn’t like the way the pack on her back stuck up into the air, making it easy to spot her location. He wanted to go to her and protect her.
Ashore, a dark figure was running full tilt down the riverside walkway, knocking pedestrians aside.
Cole glanced up at his new Thai friend, Rak, who stood up at the helm forward. After getting Riley and the old man aboard, Rak had maneuvered the boat away from the dock, but they were still running close to the riverbank. Cole called out, “Faster, Rak! That guy on shore’s gaining on us and he’s got a weapon.”
Rak turned his head to look, then Cole saw him flinch and reach up to the collar of his shirt. He yanked something out of the side of his neck and threw it into the river.
“Uh-oh,” the old man said from where he lay next to Riley. “That’s not good.”
“What is it?” Cole asked.
“Blowpipe. And poison-tipped darts.”
“What?” Riley started to sit up.
Cole dashed out, pushed her back down, then ducked back behind the engine compartment. Rak’s knees had just given way, and he’d slumped over the wheel. The boat was starting a wide turn toward shore.
Cole saw that the walkway along the river had come to an end. The dark figure had stopped almost even with them, and he was lifting something to his face. Half-scared and half-fascinated, Cole watched. Then he heard a hiss as something passed through the air next to his right ear. He ducked down out of instinct, but he knew that he was just lucky the man had missed.
Where the shoreside walkway ended, a wooden wall stopped the tourists. The man had disappeared behind that wall as their boat executed the slow turn and closed with the shore. They had to be out of range of the blowpipe now, but their boat was heading straight for a collection of dark, ragged-looking shanties built on stilts over the river.
Cole rushed forward, eased Rak off the wheel, and spun it to put the ferryboat back on course. He heard their wake breaking against the rocks under the shanties. It had been close.
He smelled her before he saw her. She was there, right next to him, citrus scent and all. He looked all around. They’d left the man with the blowpipe far behind. But what had he done? Were there others coming? Focus, he told himself. One step at a time. Right now, he had to see to the driver.
“Riley. Can you take the wheel?”
He was thankful she stepped behind the helm without bombarding him with questions. He knew that would come later.
Cole felt Rak’s neck and a weak pulse throbbed under his fingers. He hoisted the boat driver onto his shoulder and carried him back to the flat top of the box that covered the engine. The old man was using one of the seats along the side of the boat to pull himself upright. He grunted with effort, but waved Cole off.
“Don’t worry about me. Take care of him first,” the old guy said.
Cole set the unconscious man down on the warm wood where Rak had been working that afternoon. Cole had introduced himself and asked if he could rent the boat. The boatman had looked so happy to have a farang rent his boat for a couple of days.
The old guy made it to his feet and came over to help. He moved a collection of greasy engine parts aside so they could stretch out Rak’s legs.
“So what do you know about this?” Cole asked. Then he realized that he didn’t even know this guy’s name. “I’m Cole Thatcher, by the way.”
“Yeah, I know,” the old guy said. He put his hand out. “My name’s Irv Weinstein, but everybody calls me Peewee.”
Cole turned away and didn’t take the old man’s hand. What did he mean, Yeah, I know? Other than Theo, nobody had called him by that name in four years. He’d used a string of aliases. Cole Thatcher was dead. And he intended for it to stay that way. But right now he had to deal with the situation at hand.
“So what’s this poison we’re dealing with?”
“It comes from a tree called the upas tree. They cook up the sap and tip their darts with it.”
“They?”
“The Dayak. That guy’s Benny Salim. He’s from Borneo. Used to be headhunters, and Benny, he likes doing things the old-fashioned way.”
“So, what’s happening to this guy?”
“He’s gonna die from heart failure unless you can get him to a hospital.”
“Why is this guy after Riley?”
“How do you know she’s the one he wants?”
Cole looked up at the old man. His voice sounded different all of a sudden. And the guy’s eyes were dark and flat. Cole had the sense that he’d just got a peek past the man’s cover. No doubt about it. He was one of them.
“Let’s just say I keep an eye on her,” Cole said. “And this isn’t the first time I’ve seen that guy around.”
Peewee turned away and Cole wondered why he’d answered a question with a question. Who was he? Cole only knew what Riley had written in that blog of hers. This old guy claimed to be a friend of her grandfather’s. She had no idea what she was dealing with.
“Look,” Cole said. “Watch him, and if he stops breathing, start CPR. You do know how to do that?”
“Yeah, go on.” Peewee put two fingers on the man’s throat to check his pulse. He pulled at the man’s collar and leaned down to examine it. “Looks like it passed through his shirt before it stuck him. That might save him.”
Cole made his way forward to the helm. He had been concentrating on Rak, and he hadn’t noticed that the scenery had changed. He was surprised to see that they were speeding up a canal and approaching a very low bridge.
“Riley, I want to explain—” he said when he reached her.
She held up an iPhone. “I checked the web for the closest hospital. Bumrungrad Hospital is up ahead off this canal. I called for an ambulance.” She inclined her head toward the back of the boat. “How bad is he?”
“Your friend says he’s likely to go into cardiac arrest at any minute.”
She looked again at the glowing face of her phone. He recognized what was on the screen—it was a small nautical chart. She was using the phone’s GPS to navigate their way to wherever she was taking them. Cole stared at her profile as she turned the wheel to pass a slower vessel on the narrow canal. She didn’t return his gaze. He wanted to touch her, to hold her, to tell her how much he’d missed her, but it was like there was this wide, cold canyon separating them.
“Poor guy,” she said. “This had nothing to do with him.”
“Did you know that guy back there on the dock?�
�
She shook her head.
“He does.” Cole inclined his head toward Peewee. “Your friend back there.”
She glanced back at the old man. “Yeah, I know.”
“You’d seen him before, too.”
She nodded and turned the wheel to edge around a long-tail boat idling in the middle of the canal. “In the market today. That trunk. That was you?”
“Yeah.”
She said nothing for several minutes. He kept trying out words in his head, but he couldn’t find any that worked.
“Listen,” she said at last. “We’re going to be docking on the starboard side in a couple of minutes. You want to make sure there are lines or something?”
“Yeah.” He meant to move immediately, but he paused, hoping she would look at him. When she didn’t, he turned away and started for the starboard side of the boat.
“And Cole?”
He spun around.
“Once we get this guy into the ambulance, you’ve got a hell of a lot of explaining to do.”
That fist in his chest went all white-knuckled on him.
Khlong Saen Saeb
Bangkok, Thailand
November 17, 2012
By the time the navigation program on Riley’s phone told her she was approaching the Nana Nua ferry dock, Peewee had started doing CPR on the boat driver. No way she could miss the covered dock that was tucked up right next to the bridge. The flashing colored lights of the ambulance parked at the base of the bridge lit up the sides of the buildings on both sides of the street.
Cole was alive! She kept repeating it over and over to herself but she still wasn’t sure she believed it. He was alive and she didn’t know whether she wanted to kiss him or beat him to a bloody pulp.
When he’d started to talk to her, to explain or apologize, she couldn’t deal with it. There was a man dying on this boat because of her. She’d met up with Peewee and started this chain of events, and now it was taking all her reserves of strength to continue to function. Her one priority was to get the boat driver to the hospital. She had to let her training take over. She could not afford to get emotional right now.
Dragon's Triangle (The Shipwreck Adventures Book 2) Page 11
