Sweet Dreams, Irene

“There, a nice, firm square knot,” Gannet said in a low voice. His face was close to mine and he stank of cigarettes and whiskey. Apparently he had needed something to bolster his courage before playing at buccaneer.

He stood up. “Just in case you manage to free yourself from your bonds, I’m locking you in here. And should you try to crawl up those steps, you should understand that I’ll kill Mr. Fremont the moment I hear you rattle the hatch.”

True to his word, he closed and locked the hatch. The air around me quickly grew stuffy, and once again I had to force myself not to panic. Even though the lights were still on in the Pandora’s cabin, I pictured myself in a small, dark room in the mountains. I could not abide being shut up in a small space. I closed my eyes and forced myself to calm down.

I heard the sounds of the anchor being raised, of someone leaving the Pandora, and then the roar of the powerboat, heading away from us. Before long, the cabin lights dimmed briefly as the diesel engine of the Pandora started as well. We were under way.

I discovered the knot tied on my ankle was a granny knot, not a square knot, and gradually, by straining my cast and foot against it, it slipped and gave way. I twisted myself around, scooting myself farther under the table, so that I faced my left wrist. Using my teeth, I found this granny knot easier to loosen. Murray was right. Gannet was no sailor.

I worked my way to my feet. I opened a porthole, putting my face to it, taking in deep breaths to further calm myself. Only then was I able to notice the disturbing view before me: we were slowly moving farther out to sea. Sailor or no, Gannet was right about one thing. If he took us far enough away from shore, the Pandora could be destroyed with few traces left behind. Our bodies might never be found. I shook off visions of helping little lobsters grow into big ones.

Somehow, I had to stop the engine, to at least keep us within range of the traffic between Catalina and the harbors along the coast. Taking my cane as a weapon if needed, I turned to make my way aft. I hooked the cane on the ladder and moved nearer the engine, which still lay uncovered.

The working quarters were tight, and maneuvering within them was made all the more awkward by my casts. But I had learned to be more adept with my left hand by then, so I wasn’t impossibly clumsy. I managed to remove the bilge plate. I found a pair of vise grips in the toolbox, located the fuel line, and pinched it closed. I quickly rummaged through the toolbox again, found the biggest wrench I could handle with one hand, and awkwardly stood up. I stayed behind the ladder, keeping the wrench in hand, the cane nearby.

Some minutes passed, during which I began to doubt my handiwork. Just at the moment I was sure I needed to start loosening every single bolt I could lay the wrench on, the engine choked to a standstill. The sudden silence didn’t last long.

“What the hell did you do?” Gannet shouted. I felt a wave of relief. I hadn’t been sure which one of them had stayed aboard, and I suspected Stevens would have been much more likely to be capable of getting the boat back under way.

“I didn’t do a damned thing, and you know it,” Jack answered angrily. “You’ve been watching me the whole time.”

“Try starting it again,” Gannet said.

Jack dutifully pressed the starter button, to no avail.

“What’s wrong with it?” Gannet’s voice.

“I’ll have to go below to find out. Maybe your man did more damage than you suspected.”

“It’s a trick!” Gannet hissed. “She’s done something to the motor.”

“I thought you said she was tied to the table. She couldn’t reach the engine from there.”

“Never mind. Go on down the ladder and fix it. Hurry up. I’ve got the gun on you, remember.”

The hatch opened and Jack slowly stepped down the ladder, Gannet hesitating to follow him too closely. Without so much as a glance in my direction, Jack walked toward the table and bent low, blocking it from view from the ladder. “Irene!” he said, as if talking to me under the table. “Irene! Wake up!”

“What’s going on?” Gannet yelled.

“I don’t know — something’s wrong! I can’t wake her up!” Jack shouted, his voice frantic. The man deserved an Academy Award.

Gannet’s curiosity brought him to the ladder. He came down one, two steps.

“Irene!” Jack said again.

Gannet took another step down. His head just cleared the hatch. I held my breath. I couldn’t knock him out unless he came down another step. But he stayed where he was.

“Step away from her!” he said nervously.

Jack shook his head. “She’s hurt.” If Jack moved, Gannet would know he had been tricked. I made a decision, tucking the wrench into my sling.

“Step back!” Gannet shouted, motioning with the gun. As the gun swung away from Jack, I reached through the ladder and pulled with all my might on Gannet’s shin. Surprised, he twisted toward Jack and fired the gun as he fell off the ladder. Jack and I both fell on him, pinning him to the floor. Jack wrestled the gun away from him before he could fire again.

“Jack!” I cried. Blood was staining his left sleeve.

“Flesh wound,” he said calmly, as if it were nothing more than a mosquito bite. “He’s as lousy at shooting as he is at everything else. Are you all right?”

I nodded.

“Let me up!” Gannet said, apparently not enjoying having my cast in his kidneys.

“You’ve got to be kidding,” Jack said, reaching for the ropes. “Irene, hold the gun on him.”