“Twelve thousand,” said Bill. “But that’s negotiable.”
“Have you had anything done lately? I noticed the batteries were fully charged and the fresh water tank is full.”
“Yeah. I had a marine service come down and flush everything out. They did a few other repairs, too.” He smiled. “They sure charge a lot, though.”
“You have the title?” Karen said.
“Sure.” He took a Manila envelope from inside his jacked and handed it to her. “Everything’s in here.”
She examined the paperwork. It was a 1969 Columbia. I was right. Old school. The title looked good and the boat had a current license, along with a new Coast Guard inspection certificate. She handed back the paperwork. “It’s in pretty good shape,” she said, waving a hand around the boat. “Would you be willing to take ten thousand?”
Bill frowned. “Ten? I don’t know.” He hesitated. “I just put three grand of my own money into this thing to make it seaworthy. I mean it’s ready to go. You can take it out into the Straits right now, just as it sits.”
Karen nodded at him. She knew that’s what the boat works company probably told him as they were presenting the bill. She would have to judge whether the boat was truly seaworthy, but she suspected it was as represented. Glancing surreptitiously at Bill’s left hand, she noticed he wasn’t wearing a wedding band. She took an envelope from her purse and held it out. “There’s ten thousand in cash here. I’m planning to live on board if you sell it to me, and that’s all I have to spend. I might need you to drop by once in a while if you want.” She flashed her brightest smile. “I’ll need some help with the rigging and maybe I can show you how to sail if you want. What do you think?” She laid the envelope in his hand.
Bill opened the envelope and looked at the fat stack of hundred-dollar bills. He thumbed through them for a moment, thinking. He handed over the paperwork to the boat and smiled back. “What the hell,” he said. “I didn’t pay for the boat anyway. It’s yours. The title is already signed over.” He hesitated for a quick second and then said, “Uh, just in case anyone asks, can I see some ID and take down your name? You know. Estate lawyers and all.”
“Sure.” She took out her passport and handed it to him. “Will this work? I was thinking of sailing up to British Columbia for a week or so, sort of a shakedown cruise,” she explained.
Bill flipped it open. “Sounds like fun. Stephanie Turner?” He wrote the name on a piece of paper and stuck it in his wallet.
“That’s me.”
“Nice name.” He took out a business card and handed it to her along with the passport. “Here’s my number,” he said. “Call me if you need anything.”
“Thanks,” Karen said, still smiling.
As Bill hurried away down the dock with his money, Karen stared at him. Her sweet smile was gone, replaced by a grim expression. She watched to make sure he was alone and that no one else had seen her on the boat with him. He reached the parking lot and drove away in a pickup truck. After he was out of sight, she jumped down and walked to a phone booth at the end of the dock. She dragged the duffel bag out from inside the phone booth and began hauling it with some difficulty back to the boat. Few people were around. There was a family getting out of their station wagon some distance off, unloading a cooler with a handle and wheels. Probably going for a day sail, she thought.
By the time she got the heavy bag on board, her arms were aching and her heart beat like a sledgehammer. She managed to push it below decks and cover it with a blanket.
After doing some more checking around the sloop, she started up the diesel engine for a moment, just to make sure it worked, and then shut it down. It was time to prep the boat for sea. She wondered if she could still do it alone. It had been a couple of years since she and Ray had sold their own boat back in Portland. Out of curiosity, she peeked over the stern to see the name on the boat. Swan Song it said. Pulling off her red wig, she tossed it into a corner.
What the fuck is he doing in there? Ray Morris thought to himself as he waited in the Camry. It’s been half a goddamn hour! He fingered the trigger on the M-16 nervously. The rifle lay across his lap with the barrel pointed down at the passenger side floorboard. He looked in the mirrors but saw nothing unusual. Five more minutes and I’ll drag his ass out of the store myself. He continued to watch the parking lot for cops.
Diane Barlow took a second look at the man on the screen. Working security for Safeway, she spent much of her workday doing the same thing - staring at the camera feeds on a dozen different screens in the security room upstairs. The man seemed normal enough, but he looked familiar somehow. And that familiarity disturbed her. She couldn’t put her finger on it. She reached up and adjusted a different camera, to get a better look at the man’s face. He was pushing a cart up the bottled water aisle and stacking a few cases in the cart. It was already heavily laden with groceries.
Using the zoom control on the computer keyboard, she got a close-up of the man’s face. Oh my God, she thought. That’s the guy from the television. She studied his face more closely. Sure looks like him. But I have to be sure. Opening her laptop, she clicked Google and hit News. The top five articles were about the hunt for the Morris couple and a guy named Cummings. She compared a picture from one of the articles to the guy in the store.
It was Cummings, all right. She picked up the intercom phone and buzzed the manager.
“Gary here.”
“It’s Diane.”
“What’s the problem, Diane? Another shoplifter?”
“No, Gary. You’re not going to believe this. You know those three people everyone’s looking for?”
“You mean the bank robbers, the ones on the TV?” said the manager cautiously.
“Yes. One of the two men is in the store right now.”
“What? Are you sure, Diane? Every cop in the country wants those guys. Why would one of them be in here shopping? He probably just looks like one of them.”
“I’m telling you Gary. The guy in aisle eight is Benjamin Cummings. I’m looking at his picture on Google right now!”
“All right, all right. Calm down. Call 9-1-1 and get the cops out here. Don’t forget to tell them we have customers in here, too.”
“Got it.”
“Whatever, Diane. All I know is you’d better be right about this or you’ll be looking for another job.”
Ryan McKenzie, heading north on Interstate 5, was on his way back to the FBI office in Seattle. Just as he approached the Cherry Street exit, a call came over the radio.
“All units. A security officer at a Safeway store just reported that Benjamin Cummings might be inside the store right now. All units stand by. Blaine and Lynden PD and State Patrol units are in route. Ten-twenty 8071 Washington, Lynden.”
“Jesus!” McKenzie shouted. He switched to the FBI frequency. “All units, this is McKenzie. Subject Cummings reported seen at the Safeway in Lynden. Address is 8071 Washington. I am in route. All units, all units. Task force will proceed immediately to that location.”
He switched on the lights and siren and slammed the accelerator to the floor, cutting into the carpool lane. He hoped like hell this wasn’t a case of mistaken identity by some clerk with an overactive imagination. And if you’re in there Mr. Cummings, he thought, I’m taking your ass down once and for all.
Reporter Jennie Walker at KOMO-TV listened in amazement to the radio calls suddenly flooding the police scanner on her desk. It sounded like every cop between Bellingham and Seattle was burning rubber racing toward a Safeway store up in Lynden. She yelled across the newsroom at her cameraman. “Carl! Grab your gear! We’re going to Lynden!”
Carl Miller scooped up his bags. “What for?”
“We’re going shopping!” She grabbed her notebook and voice recorder and ran toward the elevators. She waved at him. “Come on, come on! Hurry!”
Ray sensed there was trouble even before the first police car rolled into view. Then he saw a black-and-white Washington State
Patrol cruiser come creeping into the lot without lights or siren. Two other patrol cars, local cops, came from another direction. Then another. He watched as they started taking positions near the front doors of the store. Two other cruisers went around to the rear of the store. None of the cops were looking his way, he noticed. Some clerk in the store must have made Ben, he thought grimly.
Reaching into the back seat, he found the grenades and slipped all six of them into his outside jacket pockets. He took three extra magazines for the M-16 and stuffed them into the breast pockets. This is it, he thought. He started the car and put it into gear.
Karen finished her inspection of Swan Song and was satisfied. Bill hadn’t lied about the boat. It was ready for sea, or at least a short cruise. There was no food on board but she knew Ben and Ray would take care of that. The fuel tank for the diesel motor was full and the sails were sound enough. Most of the lines and all of the rigging were good. One rope hanging near the bow was frayed and she made a note to dispose of it later. She was now wearing a pair of sunglasses she had found in one of the galley drawers.
Staring out into Birch Bay, the sun shone brightly and the clean smell of salt air drifted into her nostrils. Running her hands over the brass railings, they felt cold to the touch. It brought back memories of she and Ray cruising the Oregon coast. That seemed far away now, and part of someone else’s life. She had no illusions. This wasn’t another pleasure cruise. It was an escape attempt, and even under the luckiest conditions, she knew their chances were not good. So many things could go wrong.
She went down into the main cabin and waited for the men to show up. She wished they would hurry. It was already past noon, and without charts, the task of trying to sail out of the bay at night was risky. The only map aboard was a typical gas station road map of Washington, and at sea that was about as good as no map at all. Digging out the MP-5, she snapped a full magazine into it and hid it away under the dining seat cushions. She hoped she would not need it.
Ray Morris eased the car out of the parking slot and approached the front of the store. He leaned hard on the horn several times, blasting out a warning for Ben. As he did, some of the cops started getting out of their cars and drawing their weapons.
He jumped out with the M-16 in his hands, took cover behind the open door of the car, and opened up on the patrol cars on full automatic. Bullets punched through windshields and grills, and two of the officers were thrown to the ground as he put good hits on them.
“Ben! Come on!” he shouted. He slammed a fresh magazine into the rifle, but now hits were slamming into the car all around him. Ducking down lower, he took out two grenades, pulled the pin on one of them, and tossed it toward the nearest patrol car. It smashed through the windshield of the car and exploded. Another cop, who had been firing from behind the car, shouted that he was hit and dropped to the ground. Ray whirled around to see two more cars coming at him from the other side. He took a kneeling position and flipped the selector switch on the M-16 to semi-auto. He put careful shots through the windshields of both cars. One crashed into another car with the horn blaring. The other suddenly lost speed and crunched slowly into a nearby pole.
Shooting was coming from the front of the store. He turned to see Ben running full speed out the front doors, blazing away with a revolver.
Ray waved. “Come on!” Standing up now, he switched back to full auto blazed away at the other patrol cars. Another officer went down, while two others ducked away from Ray’s accurate shooting and took cover. Around the parking lot, people were screaming and fleeing the scene in terror. He stuffed another magazine into the rifle and emptied it at the cops who were still shooting at them.
Ben dived into the car through the back door and picked up the other M-16. “Go!”
Ray took out two more grenades, pulled the pins on both, and threw them. He jumped into the drivers’ seat and put the car into gear. The tires screeched and burned as he floored the gas and headed for the street. A few bullets banged into the car, while Ben shot out the back window and fired back, forcing the remaining officers to duck out of the way. Several of them were lying on the pavement now, wounded or dead.
Ray sideswiped another patrol car on his way out of the parking lot, and as he did, he saw Ben lob a grenade through the side window. It dropped directly into the patrol car and exploded. Bullets pounded against the trunk of the car as they raced away.
“Jesus! Go! Go!” Ben yelled.
“You okay?” Ray shouted back.
“Yeah, yeah! What the fuck are we going to do now? Do you even know where we are?”
“I don’t know. We’re going west. We have to get the hell out of this area and ditch the car.”
Sirens wailed from everywhere. Ray checked the rear-view mirror and was relieved to see they weren’t being followed, but he knew that was only temporary. The cops would regroup and be on them in minutes, maybe less. They were on an open road with little traffic. He saw a street sign ahead: Grandview Road. “We’re on Grandview Road, heading west,” he said.
“Where’s it go?” said Ben.
“I don’t know!”
Ben saw a group of tall, round objects in the distance, off to the left. He smiled. “I got an idea. Turn left at the next street,” he said. “Then crash through the gate if they have one.”
“Why?”
“Just do it.”
Ray turned left and raced past an open gate with a guard box out front. As they passed the box, a security guard shouted at them angrily and waved his arms. About five hundred feet ahead Ray saw a parking lot with some buildings behind it.
“What is this place?” said Ray.
“It’s the Cherry Bay Oil Refinery. And I got an idea to get the cops off our asses.”
“Oh, no,” said Ray.
“Oh, yeah. I knew that C-4 would come in handy,” he said, laughing. “Go as far as you can up this way until you get to that parking lot. We’ll head into whatever looks like the administration building. We’re hijacking this goddamn place.” He slapped Ray on the shoulder. “Fuck it. I never liked BP ever since the Gulf oil spill anyway.”
“You’re crazy,” said Ray.
“You got any better ideas?” Ben shouted at him.
“No.”
“Fine. We do it my way then. I’m sending this place straight to hell. They’ll be weeks putting out the fires.”
When they reached the parking lot, several armed guards were already running toward them with pistols in hand. Ray aimed the car directly at them and forced them to scatter. The car crashed over a grass embankment and came to rest on the other side in front of a group of buildings. He grabbed the rifle and got out of the car. Two of the guards struggled over the embankment. Ray turned and emptied his magazine into their chests. The force of the bullets knocked them back over the other side of the embankment.
Ben snatched the keys from the ignition and bailed out the back door. He slung his rifle over one shoulder and opened the trunk. He piled all the C-4 blocks, the detonation cord, and the rest of the grenades into a single box. “Cover me!” he yelled, running toward the main building.
Workers were screaming and pouring out of the buildings, running from the scene. Some were heading to their cars.
As bullets from the other security guards whizzed past, the pair sprinted for the administration building. Ben was out front, the box in one hand, a pistol in the other, with his rifle still slung over his shoulder. “Get out of the way!” he shouted at the workers coming outside.
Ray fired several short bursts back toward the parking lot, forcing the security guards to take cover. He carried the ammo box in one hand while firing his rifle with the other. Both men ducked into the building.
Ben fired his pistol into the ceiling. “If you’re in here, you better get the hell out!” he shouted at anyone who could hear. Several people were screaming and doors were slamming shut everywhere. He ducked into a hallway around the corner from the entrance and saw two security men running at h
im through a side door into the building. He squeezed off several shots at them, hitting both men dead center. They collapsed to the floor and did not move.
“What now?” Ray said, ducking around the wall on the opposite side of the hallway.
“Out the back. We have to get out to the tank farm and slap a few of these C-4 blocks into place.”
“You can’t blow up oil tanks with those. The steel’s too thick, probably.”
“No. We put it on the pipes, the connections, and valves. Not the tanks.”
“I still say you’re crazy, man.”
“You got any better ideas, Ray? I know where we are now, too. It’s about a half mile from here down to the beach. We blow this place and go west. We can follow the woods along the beach back to the marina. They’ll be busy for weeks fighting the fires. By the time they figure it out, and that we’re not even here anymore...we’ll be halfway to fucking Fiji.” Sweat poured down his face and there was blood on his pants.
“You’re hit,” said Ray.
“It’s nothing. Just a graze on my thigh. Come on, let’s go. The cops will be here any second.”
They ran toward the side door leading outside to the main part of the refinery, stepping around the dead security guards on the floor.
Karen came back up on deck. She thought she heard something in the distance. It was very faint, but it sounded like firecrackers – or gunfire. There was something a bit louder occasionally, an explosion perhaps. She put her hand over her mouth and tried hard to identify the noises. It has to be Ray and Ben. Sounds like rifle fire and maybe grenades going off. The little pops and explosions continued for a bit, and then faded away to nothing. She went back into the cabin and sat down at the dining table.
Revenge Story Page 20
