Chapter 25
They were going to need Gandalf if the ruse was going to have even the slightest chance of success.
The dryfoots would be just as ignorant to his sudden loss of position as they were to any of the other aspects of the inner workings of the Raft. As far it concerned the FBI, Gandalf was as close to an elected leader of the Raft is they would get. He spoke for his people, and should it became apparent that Maggie did not, in fact, have the identity of Meerkat's murderer in hand, she'd need Gandalf at her side to attempt to negotiate some sort of peace between the blockade and Orac's Armada.
If Gandalf could return to the Raft with something tangible to show – some sort of compromise with the powers that be – perhaps he'd be able to re-exert his old influence over the Rafters. He was still Gandalf after all, Web Master of the Exchange, the man who backed the money that filled each and every one of the Rafter's pockets. If Maggie could position him as the voice of reason to Orac's pie-in-the-sky idealism, there might be a chance that the Armada could be turned around.
Yes, Maggie was going to need Gandalf along for the ride.
And even with him aboard, the chances of getting any kind of concession out of the Feds was slim. But it was Maggie's only shot. She had to try before guns started getting waved around.
The Kalakala was missing from the coastline of Bainbridge Island as Maggie sailed back through the fog to its former moorage. The whole Raft was gone, not a styrofoam cup or a slick of oil was left to indicate that anyone or anything had ever occupied those fathoms of water.
Maggie was late. Throughout this whole murder investigation, she'd been one step behind the crowd. But the wind from the south was strong. Unfurling the sails of the Soft Cell, Maggie quickly turned the bow northerly, and soon the whitecaps were slapping at the stern.
Like a crew of a dozen, Maggie scrambled back and forth over the deck of the Soft Cell, adjusting this stay, cleating off that halyard. Soon, the sails were full and by, and the Soft Cell was heeling under the power of the breeze.
Inevitability, seasickness overcame Rachael. Luckily, her stomach was full of nothing but coffee and the good intention to eat as soon as she found time.
An hour passed into two and the morning fog began to give way. Kingston was to the port in the haze as Maggie began to overtake the first stragglers of the Raft. If Rachael had known no better, she'd have assumed that the crews of the small ships were on their way to a party. The impending collision with the Coast Guard's blockade had dampened none of the festival spirit of the Rafters. They were treating the day exactly like it was: the first day of the Freaky Kon-Tikis. The ships all had a Mardi Gras float feel to them, decked out in streamers and bunting. Despite the cold, men in Polynesian grass skirts and women sporting coconut bikinis were already celebrating on the decks. Pre-noon beers were open. Confidence was running high.
Rafters cheered as Maggie sailed by, standing grimly at the helm of the Soft Cell, trying to milk every last knot out of the tailwind. She ignored them as they hooted, urging her on. She kept her eyes firmly fixed on the horizon, hoping to catch a glimpse of the Kalakala's stern.
They were running out of time, Rachael could feel the tension building in Maggie. If they couldn't reach the blockade before the mass of the Raft attempted to run it... Maggie sailed for all her worth, letting the plodding Rafters fall off in her wake.
“I want your pistol, Maggie,” Rachael said out of the blue.
Maggie stole a quick glance of surprise over to the seasick Rachael, then returned her attention to the task at hand. “What?”
“Your gun, that small black revolver, I want you to leave it on the boat.” Rachael's stomach churned. If she'd had anything left to throw up, she would have.
“Are you serious?” Maggie kept her eyes forward.
“Yes, I don't want you meeting Kid Galahad carrying that gun.”
“I'm not going to -”
“Maggie,” Rachael scolded, as motherly as her green complexion would allow. “You've been out here on the Raft too long, you've forgotten. You had the pistol with you the whole time we were onshore, didn't you? When we met Senator Hadian? When you were in the cell with Horus?”
“Yes, but -”
“You can't do that Maggie! You've lot sight of dryland. You've been out here so long you've forgotten how regular people think. You can't just carry a gun around a Senator, Maggie! You can't take one into a jail. What if Horus had gotten it off you?”
“He wouldn't.”
“But what if he did? You're lucky they extended you the courtesy of skipping the perfunctory pat down, or you'd been in a cell right alongside Horus. No, Maggie, maybe I can't talk you out of this plan to scam the US government, but I can make sure you don't try to do it armed.”
“Rachael,” Maggie sighed.
“They'll kill you, Maggie. One glimpse of the butt of that gun, and they'll shoot you dead. No questions asked. People just don't carry around revolvers, not on dryland, not anymore. Not without the intent to shoot someone. You've got to keep that fact forefront in your mind, Maggie. This is how the people you're dealing with think. They're not Rafters, they don't expect everyone to be armed. Carrying a gun is an act of provocation.”
“If they want to shoot me, Rachael, they'll shoot me. They can find an excuse later.”
“They don't want to shoot you, Maggie. I think the Kid might even have a passing respect for you, but they will shoot if they see that gun. Give it to me,” Rachael demanded.
In frustration, Maggie dug into the back of her belt. She came back with the small polymer revolver, tucked away in a nylon holster. She handed it over to Rachael.
“There,” Maggie said with unhidden disgust.
“Is it loaded?”
The patronizing look Maggie gave her was answer enough.
Rachael pulled herself wearily up off the cockpit bench that served as her perch. She opened its seat, stowing the handgun away in the compartment next to the electric outboard, then closed the lid again, dropping heavily back down onto its cushion.
“Happy?” Maggie tried to grin.
“Yes,” Rachael said without irony.
Maggie returned her attention to the water. The Raft craft were growing thicker. The closer to the blockade the Raft came, the harder the party seemed to be raging. Alcohol and guns, Rachael mused, and the Raft and the cops... it would only take one spark...
The Raft Page 38
