Preoccupied with concerns about Sue, I hadn't bothered to listen to the latest radio transmission. 'What's going on?'
'They just came around Flattop Island,' Paul answered. 'Then they sort of eased into a ninety-degree turn and headed northwest.'
Once again I picked up the atlas and studied the chart. On it, land masses were colored the same green as Sue's complexion. Water was white with black depth markings that indicated the depth of the water around the various islands and rocky shoals. Suggested courses were lined and numbered in red. Shipping lanes and precautionary areas were marked with purple.
It didn't take long for me to locate the landmarks Paul had mentioned. 'What's northwest of Flattop?' he asked.
'Cactus Islands with Spieden before that. Farther north there's John's Island, Stuart Island, and Satellite Island.'
'I can't figure out what this guy is up to,' Paul said. 'Why the sudden course change?'
'Beats the hell out of me,' I said, but I had forgotten to push down the microphone button with my foot, so I don't think anyone heard me.
After that, time seemed to slow to a crawl. I tried to follow our course on the charts, struggling to see some correlation between the land masses and water we were seeing below us and the abstract shapes outlined on the charts.
'How do you want to play this one, Detective Beaumont?' Paul asked me finally.
The temptation was there, but I'm a little too old to go around pretending to play the Lone Ranger. It looked as though Sue was out of commission for the duration, but Captain Powell's specialty teams were well on their way by now. It was no time to go in for phony heroics.
'Once we find them,' I said, 'all I want to do is maintain visual contact until our reinforcements show up.'
'Sounds good to me,' Paul Brendle answered.
And it would have been a great plan-if things had just worked out that way.
We finally sighted One Day at a Time just as she passed between John's Island and started past the lower outcropping of Reid Island. By then I was familiar enough with the charts that I could actually see the relationship between what was on the maps and what was visible through the plastic bubble.
For a time, we stayed far above them-far enough to stay out of range of a bullet. Some time passed with no visible reaction. The boat continued to stick to her course without the slightest deviation. Then, slowly at first, she began to veer off toward the left.
Prevost Harbor takes a big chunk out of the northeast side of Reid Island. Inside the harbor is a piece of land called Satellite Island. As Paul and I watched, whoever was skippering One Day at a Time turned her sharply in that direction, heading toward the easternmost tip of the island where a sandy beach came to a narrow point.
Just as it takes time and distance to slow down a moving train enough to stop it, it takes time to stop a boat as well. As One Day at a Time neared the spit of sand, instead of slowing down, she seemed to leap forward. Straight forward.
'Holy shit!' Paul Brendle announced over the intercom a moment later. 'She's going aground.'
As we hovered far overhead, watching helplessly, the boat seemed to suddenly rise up out of the shallow water. For a moment, it seemed as though it would ride on up the sand onto the narrow strip of beach. Instead, One Day at a Time shuddered to a stop, then slowly the aft swung around until it was lying crosswise in the water. Seconds later, it began to list to one side on the curving hull until it seemed as though it would tip over altogether.
'Look at that!' Paul shouted into my ear.
While we watched from above, two figures slipped under the rail, dropped off the lowered side of the listing boat, and fell a couple of feet into the water. After a moment or two, they struggled upright in the waist-deep water and made for shore.
'Go after them,' I yelled back to Paul. 'Don't let them get away.'
The helicopter was low enough that our view of the scene below was surprisingly intimate. As the helicopter bucked forward, I caught sight of a lone figure on deck. A man. I recognized the fringe of red hair, the balding head. It was Alan Torvoldsen, hunkering against the side of the pilothouse, using one hand to keep himself upright on the steeply slanted deck.
Sunlight glinted off something in his other hand-something metal. Instinct more than visual evidence told me the metal object had to be a gun.
I saw Alan Torvoldsen, but only for an instant before he disappeared from my line of vision. Then, instead of seeing the boat, I was staring down at the two escaping figures splashing through the water, churning now in the powerful draft of the helicopter blades.
The two people paused as we passed overhead. They stopped and stared up at us, shading their eyes from the glaring noonday sun, then they both started signaling frantically, beckoning us to come down.
Somehow Sue managed to forget she was seasick. 'My God!' she exclaimed from the backseat. 'It's Else. Else Gebhardt and Kari!'
'Quick!' I ordered. 'Put this thing down as soon as you can.'
Paul brought the helicopter down on a narrow patch of beach just as Else Gebhardt came staggering out of the water. As I opened the door, she came running through the swirling cloud of sand kicked up by the rotating blades and fell into my arms.
'BoBo,' Else sobbed. Distraught, soaking wet, and shivering uncontrollably, she sagged against me, shouting to be heard above the roar of the helicopter. 'My mother! They've got my mother. They'll kill her!'
Sue Danielson had scrambled out of the helicopter behind me. Glancing over Else's quaking shoulder, I saw Sue assisting Kari out of the water and up onto the beach. Kari was limping on what looked like a severely sprained ankle.
I took off my jacket and wrapped it around Else's shoulders, then I led her a few feet away from the roar of the helicopter in hopes of hearing better. 'Where is Inge on the boat?' I asked. 'And is she hurt?'
'N-n-not…yet,' Else answered through chattering teeth. 'Sh-she's on one of the b-bunks. B-but they both have g-guns. I'm afraid they'll k-kill her.'
After easing Kari down on the ground, Sue joined Else and me. Now that she was back on solid ground, Sue's color was improving. Instead of green, her skin was simply pale. 'Who has guns?' she demanded. 'Alan Torvoldsen and who else? Who all is in on this with him?'
'Not Alan,' Else returned, glaring at Sue with some of her old ferocity showing in her vivid blue eyes. 'He's done everything he could to help us,' she said. 'Even wrecked his boat so we'd have a chance to get away.'
I knew what I had seen from above the foundering boat. 'If not Alan, then who?'
'Hans Gebhardt,' Else answered. 'Gunter's father. And the old man's girlfriend.'
'His girlfriend,' Sue repeated. 'Erika Weber? Erika Schmidt?'
'Her name's not Erika,' Else answered, shaking her head. 'The girl's name is Denise. Denise Whitney.'
28
When Paul switched off the helicopter engine, a sudden eerie quiet surrounded us. Gradually, the airfoil blades slowed and stopped rotating. As they did so, the pilot-side door swung open, and Paul Brendle jumped out. Carrying a first-aid kit and a pair of space-age, tinfoil-looking survival blankets, he hurried toward us.
He stopped first beside Kari and covered her with one of the blankets. Then, leaving the first-aid kit on the ground beside her, he came to where the rest of us stood. He wrapped the blanket around Else's shoulders and eased her down onto the sand as well.
'I just heard from Roger,' Paul said. 'The SWAT team's on its way, but they're still at least twenty minutes out. The San Juan Sheriff's Department police boat should be here about that time as well.'
From out on the water, I heard the sharp report of gunfire-a single shot that sounded like a cannon. Ducking reflexively, I quickly scanned the narrow strip of sandy beach for some cover. There wasn't any. Not a scrap.
