Gagliano,Anthony - Straits of Fortune.wps (10 page)

Assuming for the moment that her father had been telling the truth about her going out there on a Jet Ski, then the only way for Williams to have made it out to the yacht without being either seen or heard would be to swim out. It wasn't that far, a few hundred yards. He might even have used diving gear. He would have climbed on board and found a place from which he could watch or at least listen to the ne- gotiations for the tape. Whether he knew there was a second man aboard remained to be seen. So let's say--assuming that she was even armed in the first place--that Vivian had gotten mad and, out of frustra- tion, popped a cap into Matson's leering face. The surprise guest may have made a break for the engine room, at which point Williams would have gone after him, knowing he couldn't afford to let him get away or get to a weapon. That was one possible scenario, but there was another possibility, and I liked it a little better, not just because it exonerated Vivian of murder but because it felt right. It may well have been that the Colonel, without telling his daughter, had come to the conclusion that Matson had to go. He would have let Vivian think she was going out to the meeting alone, without knowing that Williams was shadow- ing her or, more likely, that he was already out in the water, near the yacht, waiting for her to show up. Better that she not know. That way her performance with Matson would be more natural. There would be no telltale nervousness to make him suspicious. Then Williams would have made his move, catching both Matson and Vivian by surprise. The second man may have been at the bar when the gun went off and then made a run for it, or maybe after hearing the sound of the shot he'd come running in from someplace else--possibly from one of the cabins below. If that had been the case, then too bad for bachelor number two. There could be no witnesses in order for the thing to work. Maybe 83

he'd seen Williams and made a run for it. He hadn't made it in this second scenario either. What happened after that was anyone's guess. Vivian might have gotten hysterical, in which case Williams would've had to bring her back on the Jet Ski himself. I could see that hap- pening. Then there was me. It made sense now why they had brought me into it. The Colonel had been telling the truth about that much at least. With two killings under his belt, Williams couldn't take the chance of ditching the boat himself, because getting caught would have defeated the purpose of the killings in the first place--getting rid of a blackmailer. Knowing Wil- liams, he would've wanted to go; he'd have pleaded his case, but Colonel Patterson would come up with another idea: get Vaughn to do it. Yet there was something wrong with that, too. What if I got caught? It would have all come out anyway. They would not possibly have believed that if I got grabbed ditching the bodies, I would have gone to jail for either Vivian or a hundred thousand dollars. I might be stupid, but they knew I wasn't that stupid. The truth was, the Colonel had needed Williams for something else tonight, but whether it was to protect him from Matson's cronies or for some other purpose I couldn't yet figure out. I looked around but didn't see any bullet casings on the floor, not a single one. Vivian would not have thought to pick them up. I made a mental note to check the upper deck where Matson lay, but I doubted I'd find anything there either. It wouldn't make much difference, though, not with- out anything in the engine room to match them against. Still, it would have been nice to know that Matson and his friend had been shot by the same gun. That would have made it Williams for sure: one gun, one killer. I got my foot under the dead man and turned him over. I 84

bent down and patted his pockets with the hope of finding a wallet. There was none. Since men don't often go anywhere without at least their driver's license, someone had obvi- ously lifted it. The killer hadn't wanted his victim's identity known. Not that it mattered now. I was going to sink the boat anyway, and the extra dead man made it even more neces- sary that I do it quickly. There was nothing else to do but find the sea cogs. It took me less than thirty seconds to locate them and another two minutes to open all the valves. Suddenly there was water rushing in from a dozen spots along the floor. By the time I got to the ladder, the water was already up to my ankles and rising fast. Even so, it would take two or three hours until the boat sank. It would be close, but by daylight The Carrousel would be on its way to the sea floor, and I would be on my way home with a lot of questions and a bad taste in my mouth. I went back up to the stateroom and walked around with the flashlight, looking for what, I didn't know, but goaded by the elusive feeling that I had missed something. I played the narrow beam along the bar and behind it. It passed over the television screen and VCR above the bar. Then I stopped and brought the beam back. The light on the VCR was on. I had a strange and not very pleasant feeling. I walked over and turned on the television and hit the play button on the VCR. I watched the tape for ten or fifteen seconds just to make sure. That was enough. I had already seen it earlier that day at the Colonel's house, the house of glass you couldn't see through. It was Vivian's tape, all right: Randy Matson's last production. I shut off the flashlight and just stood there in the dark for a while, listening to my thoughts. It wasn't likely that you would kill two men for a racy movie to begin with; it 85

was even less likely that you would leave the tape behind if you had. Vivian might panic and forget, but not Williams, not the man who had once used human ears as cashier's re- ceipts. So if not for the famous video, then what had it all been for? Something was missing. Then I remembered, just vaguely, that the Colonel had mentioned something about some research of his having been stolen. That didn't make any sense either, but maybe it would later on, once I got back to shore. I thought of Vivian then with a mixture of anger, sadness, and curiosity. She must have been in pretty desperate straits to bring me into such a game. But, of course, she had just allowed herself to be used as bait to do her father's and Wil- liam's dirty work. This was the Colonel's master plan, not hers, but what was the game? Two men were dead, and for what? And as for me, the only thing that kept me from being a complete idiot in all this was the fifty grand at home under my sink and the promise of fifty more. Right then and right there, I made a promise to myself that I would get the rest of the money even if I had to break that glass house apart with a sledgehammer. Then the four of us--me, the Colonel, Wil- liams, and Vivian--would have us a little sit-down. I looked forward to that. All I had to do was make it back. It was time to go. The answers I needed were all on shore. I went out onto the dive deck and looked around me, but there was nothing except an endless plain of water stretching out in all directions. The only light came from the quarter moon and the stars over my head. Slender cirrus clouds slipped by like long white canoes headed west with the night and the soft, salty breeze blowing from the east. It was a beautiful night, and I was a fool. I got the kayak loose and slipped inside. I paddled out a ways until I was a few hundred feet from the yacht. I ate a 86

protein bar and washed it down with water from my can- teen. Then I swallowed two capsules containing a mixture of ephedrine, caffeine, and ginseng. The protein bar would take two hours to digest, and when it did, the capsule would be quickly absorbed into the bloodstream, delivering a jolt of energy just when my blood sugar would be dropping. I didn't like to take them, and I could certainly make it back without them, but the night had been full of surprises, and I didn't want to come up short on juice if there were any more. The northbound current was running smooth and strong, and there was nothing to do but go with the flow, which would mean making landfall somewhere just south of Fort Lauderdale. I was so intent on my strokes that for a long time I forgot to look back at The Carrousel, as though the water behind me were already part of the past. Then it came to me, and I stopped and turned the kayak around. The yacht was only a shadow now, but even in the weak, halfhearted, side- real light, I could see that its stern was starting to list ever so slightly toward me, like some great and dying, air-breathing leviathan still unwilling to give up its life. I watched it for a few seconds, then started for home. That's when I heard it. At first I thought it was the sound of another plane, but the engine sounded more like a boat's, possibly a speedboat, and it was to my left and very close. The engine revved, then died out again as though waiting for something. I had just started to paddle away from the noise when the wake hit me broadside and knocked me over. I was upside down in the water before I had a chance to take a breath. I gathered myself and whipped my body hard to the right, hoping for enough momentum to execute what's called an Eskimo roll, but the water was too rough and I missed it. Then I was upside down again, trying to steady myself for another attempt. The craft was right above me. A 87

bright light illuminated the boiling water as I struggled. My lungs were empty. I had swallowed half of the ocean. I gave my body a vicious but calculated twist, and sud- denly I was right side up again, bobbing and weaving and coughing up water, struggling damned hard not to capsize again, because I knew that if I did, I might not make it. I yelled over the roar of the engine for whoever was on board to turn the goddamned thing off. I knew they could see me. The light was right on my face now. I could feel its heat, as though I had landed on the surface of the sun. The ocean danced around me as I squinted into the glare, shielding my eyes with one arm and holding the paddle with the other. I was ready to come out of the Hell Chaser and strangle somebody. "Get that fucking light out of my eyes!" I shouted. "Your damned boat nearly killed me!" There was no answer. Then, suddenly, the light went off. "Who's out there?" I yelled. I began to feel around inside the kayak for the Glock, but the spill I had taken must have dislodged it from its pouch. I groped for it on the bottom of the kayak but couldn't find it. I was afraid that maybe it had gone overboard. Then, by my right thigh, just above the knee, there was something hard that shouldn't have been there. I reached down and felt the familiar outline of the gun inside the plastic bag. I got it out as quickly as I could with my shaking fingers and sat back, holding it in my lap and trying to look unarmed. The light flashed on again and blinded me. I turned my head away. I was pretty sure who it was, and if I was right, then I was in trouble. "Is that the fucking coast guard, or just some idiot with too much time on his hands?" I shouted. "Turn out that god- damn light!" "It isn't the coast guard, Jack," a familiar voice called out. 88

"It's your old friend Williams. I guess you didn't expect to run into me out here, did you?" "Why not?" I yelled. "Shit floats, doesn't it?" "You've done well, Jack. You've done very well, but as you may have guessed, there's been a dramatic change in plans." "Does the Colonel know you're doing this?" "Who do you think sent me?" I used my hand again to shield my eyes from the glare of the searchlight. Then Williams swung the light a little to his left so that I could see his silhouette. He was smiling broadly. Very casually, and as though he had all the time in the world, he reached down, lifted up a rifle, and calmly placed the butt end against his right shoulder. Then, still smiling, he slowly lowered his eye to the scope. "Oh, Jackie," he said in that fake Scottish accent he some- times used, "I'm going to miss you so." I brought the gun up and fired at the spotlight. I would have gone for Williams, but the kayak was dancing way too much and the light made a bigger and better target. The spot- light exploded with a loud pop, and just like that it was dark again. I fired once more at where Williams had been stand- ing, shoved the gun into my vest, paddled off a few yards, then stopped, pulled the Glock out and fired at the boat yet again. I didn't think I would hit anything, but I wanted Wil- liams worried enough to give me some room. The reality of the situation was that it would be almost impossible to hit anything under those conditions, except by accident. My one advantage was that Williams couldn't afford to stay still long enough to get lucky. Then there was a sudden roar as the engines of the speed- boat came alive, and a white rush of water burst from be- neath the bow, nearly knocking me over. The boat lifted itself out of the water like a flying wedge and zoomed off 89

toward the east, the white foam burgeoning like the exhaust from a rocket. I waited for the wake and rode it until the water calmed. Then the first bullet went past my cheek, hit the kayak, and took part of the front end off. The impact swung the Hell Chaser around a full 180 degrees. I reached over my right shoulder and fired back at the darkness, hoping for a miracle. I heard him coming at me then, the engines nearly silent, slow and relentless, giving off no more noise than a blender with a towel thrown over it. I fired again, and the boat's engines flared and the speed- boat went by me and flew off into the night, fishtailing as it swerved. There was just enough light for me to see it now, then nothing again but foam and spray in my face. The wake came up like a big paw and smacked me over. I dropped the paddle, and the Glock went flying into the wind. Then the ocean had me, and I was underwater again. The only differ- ence this time was that I had the presence of mind to take a deep breath while there was still a chance. There was no sense trying to stay in the kayak now, so I kicked myself free of it while I was still almost upside down. I'm thinking, This is suicide. When my legs were free, I twisted out of the life jacket, extended my arms, and swam straight down into total blackness, knowing I was dead, still not quite believing it. So this is the way I die, I thought with- out panic. I went down maybe ten feet, then leveled off and swam toward what I hoped was the south. I needed desperately to surface. I was out of air. Under normal circumstances I could hold my breath for one and a half minutes, but the excitement had burned up every molecule of oxygen in my lungs. I made a deal with myself for ten more seconds and swam hard. When I had counted to ten, I made the same 90

deal again. I made it till twelve, and then I arched my back and swooped for the surface. I came up gasping at the edge of a pool of white light no more than ten feet ahead of me. Another searchlight--not as powerful as the one I had shot out but good enough to catch me if I lost my luck. I took another gulp of air and dove again, this time not as deep. Again I leveled off, but instead of swimming away from the boat, I swam toward it, hoping to get on the other side of him. The water above me turned yellow-green and lingered there, and I knew if I came up too soon, he would have me and it would be over. The boat passed above me. I could feel myself being sucked upward. I kicked and tried to pull myself away but only suc- ceeded in maintaining my position. Then the glow was gone and the water was quiet. I played the ten-second game again and made it to eight only with the utmost effort. I came up facing in the wrong direction. I could see the lights stretched north and south across the still-distant shore. I turned around and saw the shadow of the speedboat about fifty yards away and moving east, the light probing the water in the general direction I had at first begun to swim. If I hadn't turned back, he would have had me for sure. I watched the light on the boat for a few seconds, marked its location, not sure which way to go. If he found the life vest, he would assume that I'd gotten rid of it because I needed to get underwater and the vest's inherent buoyancy would have prevented that, in which case I would still be somewhere in the area. Or he might think that I was dead and therefore floating on the surface of the water. In either case he would keep looking. He would start near the place where he had rammed me, and for a while he'd restrict him- self to a fairly tight perimeter of the site. When that failed, he would become more systematic. I watched the light angle south, and then I turned and 91