Charlie watched as the other man produced a small computer and plugged in the storage device.
“Pretty girl. These your daughters?”
“Yes.”
“You left them behind?”
“They’re dead.”
The other man looked at him, his brow furrowing. “Something to do with that life you owed, I bet.”
Charlie nodded.
“Did you kill them?”
Charlie felt a flash of anger. “No. I killed the man who murdered them.”
“Ah. So that’s why you’re here.” The captain looked through the rest of the files while Charlie waited, then closed the folder and handed back the thumb drive.
“Sorry mate.”
Charlie clipped the thumb drive to the drawstring of his pants and made sure it was secure.
The captain then pulled Charlie’s wallet out and opened it, glanced at the fake ID, then at Charlie.
“I thought you said your name was Charlie?”
“That’s the name my mother gave me. I won’t be using it up here.”
The other man nodded then turned to the cash section and removed the folding money. He counted it carefully.
“Here’s what we’re gonna do.” He handed the wallet back to Charlie. “I’m gonna keep this,” he put the money away in his own wallet, “and the credit card and your watch, as payment for services rendered, and put you ashore and we’re gonna call it even, on account of the fact that you saved my miserable son’s life. How’s that?”
Charlie nodded.
“You don’t know me. I don’t know you. The clothes can’t be traced so you can keep them or get rid of them. It doesn’t matter.”
He rose to his feet and Charlie followed him out onto the deck. They were met by a few curious glances, quickly averted, and one genuine smile from the wife, then Charlie found himself going over the side of the vessel.
They climbed down into the dinghy—Charlie was pretty sure it was the same one he’d found capsized, only there were oars in place this time—and settled down in the bottom of the boat. The fog was beginning to lift and there were patches of clear water ahead.
“The tide’s coming in.”
The other man rowed quietly toward the shore. Charlie had twice felt an urge to ask his name. It seemed only polite, but he’d controlled himself. It was clear that curiosity was not an asset under these circumstances and it was good practice for his new life.
“There aren’t many places you can land on this part of the shore and the natives are nosey so I’ve arranged for a friend to meet you and take you to the crossroads.”
The little boat pulled around a ragged wharf and grounded on a rough beach. Charlie clambered out.
“Straight on from here is the Canadian Forces Base. I suggest you steer clear of it. Backroads. That’s what you want.” The other man held out his hand. “Good luck, mate.”
Charlie took his hand. “Thanks. You, too.” He watched the other man climb back into the boat and pull away from shore, then disappear into the fog.
Charlie turned and headed up the ramp. It was rough going. The rocks slid out from under him at each step, his feet squelched in the damp boots, and the angle of incline had him panting. Good thing the cast was fiberglass, not plaster.
At the top of the slope stood a small car, a man leaning against the hood. He nodded to Charlie, then opened the passenger side door and gestured for Charlie to get in. They drove for fifteen minutes, Charlie seeing nothing along the way except snow covered fields, then the man pulled to a stop.
He leaned across Charlie and opened the door, indicating they had arrived at their destination. Charlie climbed out, then turned to thank the driver, who nodded, slammed the door closed, made a quick U-turn, and drove off without saying a word.
Charlie looked around. They were indeed at a crossroads, but there was no one on the road. He glanced at the sky, estimating the time from the winter sun, still hiding behind the clouds. Two or three hours of daylight left, maybe a bit more, if the snow held off.
He rubbed his forehead, trying to stimulate his brain. He was stranded in Nova Scotia with no way to contact Ginny or Jim or the Homestead. He didn’t know where he was or how to get where he was going. He had lost his money and credit card, though he still had Laredo Pete’s passport and driver’s license, and the diamonds.
Well, first things first. Since he was still alive, he’d better see what he could do to stay that way. The road went either to the left or straight ahead. Straight ahead lay the military base. He shrugged his shoulders, turned left, and trudged off into the Nova Scotian winter.
* * *
Thursday Noon
Digby, Nova Scotia
Ginny sat huddled in a booth in the back of the pub and tried to think.
There was a TV in the corner of the bar. Not surprisingly, the local news was having a field day. They had gotten hold of eye witnesses and were interviewing them, most of them delighted to tell the lurid tale of sudden death. There was footage of the rescue—the boy being hauled aboard the ferry—and footage of Charlie diving into the water, climbing up on the whale’s fluke, cutting the rope, then disappearing under the waves. She tried not to look at it. Tried not to cry when she couldn’t help seeing it.
Her head came up as a man sat down in the seat opposite her, putting something down between them. She looked at the kindly, bearded face across the table from her.
“Drink. It will do you good.”
Ginny regarded the bartender, for that was who it was, then nodded.
“Thank you.” She picked up the drink and took a sip. It was not the best whisky she’d ever had, but it was not bad and it had the desired effect.
“I recognized you from the tube,” he said, nodding at the television. “Friend of yours?”
Ginny shook her head. “No. We met on the boat.” She took another sip of the Scotch. “It was a shock, seeing him die like that.” In a moment of inspiration she added, “I had a brother.” She let the lie hang in the air.
The bartender nodded. “Are you hungry?”
Ginny shook her head. “I’m fine, thank you. What do I owe you for the drink?”
“It’s on the house and you should eat something. I’ll be right back.” He slid out before Ginny could protest. He was back in five minutes with an excellent fish stew and hot bread. In spite of herself, Ginny found it was possible to eat and the hollow feeling inside turned out to be partially her empty stomach.
Her host sat across from her, when he wasn’t needed to tend the bar, asking questions and telling her about life in Digby. Ginny told him she was here to do some genealogical research and asked about historic sites, libraries, and any local specialties she shouldn’t miss. He was well informed and very entertaining. An hour later she took her leave, feeling a good deal better.
She pulled out onto the roadway and headed for Nova Scotia 101, still with no idea what to do. The road ran parallel to the beach, the Bay of Fundy off to her left. Out there, somewhere, was Charlie. Out there, somewhere, was her reason for being here.
Digby was located on the inside of a large cove, sheltered from the wind and water, but most of the western shore of Nova Scotia was open to the Bay. According to the barman, there were lighthouses all along the shore, most of them still in use. Ginny wondered if there was any chance of seeing anything from one of the promontories. She spotted a sign, slowed for the turn, then headed for the coast.
The fog had lifted and she could see the water, though the sky still lowered, heavy with impending snow. She walked the cliffs for a bit, watching the tide rise in the Bay of Fundy.
Just so had women walked and gazed and ached for all the men lost to the sea, for a thousand years. How many men lost? How many women left behind? The tears were warm as they ran down her cheeks, until the wind hit them, then they felt cold as death.
Ginny was trying to be sensible. It had been his choice to save that boy. He died a hero’s death. That was something. It was
more than something. It was redemption.
She wiped her eyes, then pulled out the tracker. It was a morbid thought, but she should check to see if the beacon was sending. At the bottom of the bay, maybe. Or in the belly of a fish. He could have lost it, of course. It didn’t have to be his body she was trying to locate.
Reggie had shown her how to press the edge of the tiny receiver, then touch the screen to activate the search. Nothing. Out of range, perhaps. Or not active. When had he had a chance to turn it on?
She looked up from the device, her eyes scanning the water. Would the body come ashore? Or would it wash out into the Atlantic on the next receding tide? The locals would know. They’d be looking. She swallowed another bout of tears, hunting for a tissue in her pocket, wiping her eyes, not really hearing the first faint response from the beacon.
It wasn’t until she tried to brush a loose strand of hair back from her face, bringing the receiver up to her ear, that she heard it. She started, then looked down, then sat down hard on the ground. A blip, faint, and straight ahead of her, in the Bay. In the water.
She started crying again, then gave way to anger. She hadn’t seen this coming when she agreed to accompany Jim on this trip. And where the hell was Jim anyway? Why wasn’t he here, helping her? Why was she sitting all alone on a frozen cliff watching a dead man tumble through the waters of a frigid bay?
Angus had been wrong to trust her with Charlie. She’d managed to get him into Canada, but not to Halifax. Maybe Jim was right. Maybe she really wasn’t up to the task.
She covered her face with her hands, rocking back and forth, then pulled herself together, wiped the tears away, and faced the situation.
She looked at the receiver again. The blip was still there, moving slightly. Not surprising. Waters were known to ebb and flow. If it was his body she was watching, she could follow it, find out where it came ashore and retrieve it, maybe, for a proper burial. The waters were still coming in, still rising.
Would the body come toward her? It wouldn’t float, not yet, not until the gasses formed, so it wouldn’t be on the surface. Nothing to see. Unless the beacon had come loose and was floating around on its own. That might come in. Her eyes were on the water, scanning the surface, hopeless, but looking anyway. That was how she saw it. Not a body, a boat.
Her heart leaped in her chest and she quashed it ruthlessly, but her heart had been right. Thirty minutes of watching convinced her the signal was coming from the boat. The signal was headed for Digby. So was the boat. The tide was still rising in the opposite direction. The signal, whether a body or a man or just a floating keychain, was on that boat.
* * *
Chapter 44
Thursday Noon
Halifax Homestead
Jim slept through breakfast Thursday morning. He’d been up very late, letting Himself know that Ginny and Charlie were trapped in New Brunswick, and trying to come up with a plan.
He slipped past the door to the Great Room and helped himself to the lunch buffet laid out in the dining area. He had the room to himself and that suited him just fine. In his present mood he didn’t want to have to make small talk.
He finished his meal, then got another cup of coffee and wandered back to the Great Room. It had a huge TV mounted on one wall and more than a dozen people in front of it. They were making noises Jim classified as ‘ghoulish,’ the kind onlookers make when watching a horrific scene, usually involving blood and body parts.
He stepped into the room and approached the back of the crowd, his eyes on them, then on the screen. He watched for a moment as the announcer explained what they were seeing.
“In a spectacular feat of bravery today, an unknown man dove off the ferry, swam over to a passing whale, and freed a teenager that had somehow gotten caught in a rope twisted around the animal’s tail. The boy was rescued by the ferry. The man has not been found and is presumed dead. The story is even more remarkable because several passengers were filming the whale and caught the whole thing on camera. Here is an exclusive, first-hand look at what happened.”
Jim had his coffee to his lips as the picture changed. He stared, then realized what he was looking at.
“Ginny!” He dropped the coffee.
Several people turned to look at him.
“That’s Ginny!” He pointed at the image, gone as soon as seen. “Can we get it back?”
Mrs. Robertson had hurried over to deal with the spill.
“Come with me,” she said.
Jim found her hand on his arm, pulling him first into the kitchen, then beyond it to an elevator. She took him up three levels, then let him into a room full of electronic equipment.
“John, can you pull up the noon news, please?”
“Which channel?”
“Let’s start with CBC.”
Jim watched as the tech pulled up the Canadian Broadcasting Company feed.
“What are we looking for?” he asked.
“Something about a whale in the Bay of Fundy.”
“Oh, that!” The young man spun a few controls and the image of the ferry popped onto the screen. He let it roll.
Jim watched over his shoulder. “There! Freeze that!”
“Can’t. We’ll need to do a frame by frame to get anything other than copyright image and blur. Watch it again.”
He launched the clip again, then two more times. By the end of the third viewing, Jim was sure.
“That’s Ginny. She was on that ferry.” What’s more, the man who had dived off the ferry and saved the boy’s life was Charlie.
“Can you get me a copy of that clip? Something I can put on a computer?”
“Sure. I’ll collect the rest of them, too.”
Jim turned to the Matron. “I’m going to Digby. I don’t know when I’ll be back.”
“How can we help?”
“Make a copy of that footage and send it to Angus Mackenzie.”
Jim grabbed his coat and keys, then flew down the stairs and out the front door, cursing the snow that now lay on the SUV, forcing him to sweep it off before he could drive the vehicle. Even so, he was out the gates and on the road to Digby in fewer than twenty minutes. He pulled out the burner phone and called Himself.
“Grandfather!”
“Auch Jim! Ye sound a wee bit flistert.”
Jim explained the incident on the ferry, his words tumbling over one another, forcing him to repeat himself to be understood.
“Charlie dove off th’ ship?”
“And saved the boy’s life. Yes.”
“Ginny was wi’ him?”
“Yes.”
“Where is she noo?”
“I don’t know. I’m on my way to Digby to see if I can pick up her trail.”
“Let me know, lad, when ye find her.”
“I will.”
Jim hung up the phone, but left it turned on, cradled beside him in the car. Now, with Charlie no longer in danger from the police, maybe now she’d call. He set his jaw and drove as fast as he dared toward Digby and the ferry dock.
* * *
Thursday Afternoon
Nova Scotia 101
Ginny ran to the car, turned it around and headed back toward Digby, the tracker out on the seat beside her. It took her several tries and two hours, but she finally managed to locate the pier where the fishing trawler had pulled in. She found a place to wait and watched as a couple, obviously in the midst of a quarrel, got into a battered truck and headed into the town. The signal was coming from that truck. No Charlie.
Her heart sank again. Still, if that man had the beacon, he could tell her something. How had he gotten it? Could she ask him to give it to her? What would he think? Nothing good, she suspected.
She followed the couple into the city and straight to the police station. Ginny caught her breath. She couldn’t follow them in there. She found a parking space and settled down to watch the doors. Sure enough, an hour later they emerged with a boy in tow, the boy, the one Charlie had rescued.
Ginny tailed them back across town to a rather grubby neighborhood full of tract housing. She let them unload their unhappy cargo, the man cuffing the boy as the argument continued, showing her which door to approach.
Ginny carefully pulled out the velvet bag with the loose gemstones in it and looked them over. The most impressive was a dark blue topaz. It was larger than the others, being almost the size of her thumbnail, a fine quality, not absolutely flawless, but close, and cut to sparkle in any light at almost any angle.
It was all she had to bargain with and she might not need it, but it was better to be prepared. She tucked the other jewels away and climbed out of the car. The light was fading and she could feel snowflakes settling on her cheeks as she knocked on the door.
It took a moment, but eventually the woman came to answer the knock.
“Yeah?” She looked Ginny up and down.
“I’m looking for the man who saved your son’s life.”
The woman hesitated for a fraction of a second. “We haven’t seen him.”
Ginny put on her coldest expression, hoping she was being mistaken for someone with a badge under her coat. “You have either seen him alive or seen him dead, or both.”
The woman’s eyes flickered. She studied Ginny for a moment, then stepped back to let her in, then closed the door behind her. She looked Ginny in the face. “He was alive when he left the boat.”
Ginny nodded. She might be lying, but she might be telling the truth. “You have a keychain you took off of him. I’d like it back.”
By this time the man had joined his wife. “What’s going on here?”
The woman answered, her eyes still on Ginny. “She wants the keychain.”
The man turned to look at her, one eyebrow raised. “How do you know about that?”
“None of your business.” Ginny tried to make it sound harsh and true. She crossed her arms on her chest and looked at him, imagining him as the face on her paper target, her gun settling down to make nice little groupings; eyes, nose, forehead. It must have worked for he shifted his weight from one foot to the other, looking uncomfortable.
“It ain’t worth nothing.”
“Then you won’t mind giving it back.”
Viking Vengeance Page 28
