international distress and calling channel. I lifted the mike. Jack had printed the
Above me, Jack cried, “Got it!”
“Jack,” I yelled up, “the radio’s broken.”
There was no immediate answer, but then I saw him making his way below. Even in the dimming light, I could see his face was set in a frown. “We dismasted because someone pulled the clevis pin on the upper shrouds on the port side and replaced it with a wooden dowel. It was only a matter of getting enough wind in the sails when we made the port tack.”
I didn’t really know enough about sailing to understand exactly what he was saying, but I managed to grasp the implication. “So it didn’t happen accidentally?”
“No. It’s part of the standing rigging. Someone intentionally changed it.”
“What the hell does he want with me?” I said frantically. There was no need to explain who I meant.
“I don’t know, Irene. To scare you, I suppose. So the only way we can beat this is to stay calm. We’re not in as much danger as it looks. If I can’t get the engine running, I’ll try to jury-rig the mast. Even if that doesn’t work, we’re not all that far off shore, and we’ll be seen. I’ve got flares and other ways to signal another boat.”
I nodded. “Let me know what I can do to help.” I put my good hand in my pocket and found my little stones. Anything to calm myself.
“You’re safest down here for now. I only have the one harness on board, and it’s getting dark. If we lurched and you went into the water with those casts, I’m not sure I could get you back on board without hurting you.” As he spoke, he reached for a flashlight and turned it on. I felt an inordinate sense of relief when it worked. “They forgot to steal my flashlight battery,” he said with a grin.
He tried to start the engine again. This time, it worked, but we didn’t seem to be moving much.
He came back down and turned the cabin lights on.
“What’s wrong?” I asked.
“I’ll have to take a look. I can’t get it to do much more than idle,” he said, then made his way behind the ladder, near the engine. He moved the cover off the engine, flashing the beam of light over it. “They jammed the throttle linkage,” he said after a moment. He moved out from behind the ladder and over to a low compartment, kneeling to open it, and then pulled out a padlocked foot locker. He took a set of keys out of his pocket and used one to open the lock. “I learned a few things before I got kicked out of the Boy Scouts. I’ve got spares for almost everything — no spare mast, I’m afraid — I do have the tools and spares we’ll need to fix the engine.”
As he opened the locker, his light-hearted manner was suddenly lost. His eyes widened, as if in shock. “Stole your tools?” I asked, looking over his shoulder.
But he just shook his head and rocked back on his heels, gingerly lifting a large, lumpy manila envelope that sat on top of the other contents. In black felt pen, across the front of it, was scrawled, “Dad — Open only in the event of my death or disappearance.”
“Oh God,” he said hoarsely. He pinched the bridge of his nose and took a deep breath, as if trying to will himself not to lose his self-control. He shook his head again, then looked up at me and handed me the envelope. “Hold that for me, please.” I took it from him, and hearing an object slide within it, was almost positive that we had just found the missing knife.
Jack, although obviously still shaken, went to work on the engine. After a few moments, he corrected the problem with the throttle linkage.
“That should do it,” he said, “provided they haven’t done some other damage.”
“You think we’ll be able to make it back in, then?”
Before he could answer, we heard the sound of an approaching powerboat. He gave me a tentative smile and hurried to the companionway. “They may have seen the mast and come over to help.”
The powerboat drew closer. I felt the hair along my neck rise.
“Jack!” I called, but it was too late, he was already on deck.
I heard Malcolm Gannet’s voice call, “Having a little trouble, Mr. Fremont?”
37
“STAY WHERE YOU ARE, Mr. Fremont,” I heard Gannet say. “It would be inconvenient to shoot you now, but I’m not entirely opposed to the idea.”
Looking desperately around me for a hiding place for the envelope, I moved beneath the ladder and wedged it between the engine cover and the hull.
Above me, I heard the sounds of two men boarding. Gannet had apparently brought help. Thinking over what Murray had told me of him, it made sense — he had said that Gannet couldn’t swim and didn’t know how to sail. I moved away from the engine and sat at the small table near the galley.
“Come on up from there, Miss Kelly,” Gannet called.
“I can’t,” I called back. “I can’t make it up the ladder steps on my own.” It was a lie, but I figured that if I could separate him from his assistant, we’d stand a better chance of evening the odds.
“Don’t let him out of your sight, Stevens,” Gannet said, apparently to the other man. “Mr. Fremont here is resourceful, as you can see by the fact that he has already managed to repair the engine. If he makes so much as a single move, kill him.”
“Look, Mr. Gannet,” the other man said, “we were in a powerboat. We would have caught up to them no matter how fast he fixed his sailboat engine. His engine’s not designed to—”
“ — I don’t need mariner’s lessons at this point,” Gannet said sharply. “That’s why I pay you, Stevens — to mind the details for me. And right now, Mr. Fremont is the detail I’m paying you to mind.”
I heard Gannet move toward the companionway. From the cabin lights, I could see his face as he loomed over
