Seize the Storm (19 page)

“Dad will be glad to see the money,” Jeremy was saying. “He didn't say make sure to tow a yacht all the way home.”

“We won't tow it,” said Elwood. “We've got the plane to worry about. We'll radio for a crew and Mr. Tygart will send one out. He'll love this yacht.”

“You're probably right,” Jeremy conceded.

These young men were so quick to agree, thought Elwood. Even when they disagreed with you, they were eager to avoid conflict, wanting your approval.

No further volley stitched the water, and the yacht was silent, crew members moving back and forth. Elwood felt the joyful anticipation of all this ending, aware that killing the crew would mean more gunfire, more damage.

And did he really want to see Shako willingly and methodically, excitedly, killing people? Elwood had never been bothered by such feelings before, not as long as he didn't have to dispatch the victims personally. But now he felt troubled.

Thanks, Elwood.

Shako was looking at him from the deck, his back against the corner of the pilot house. He was ready, his posture said. What Elwood wanted he would get.

“I'll board the yacht myself,” Elwood said. “With the two of you armed and standing by.”

“We might not kill them?” asked Shako.

Or was it a question? Elwood caught an odd tone in Shako's voice, as though the fact that Elwood might change his mind on matters of life or death had special, personal meaning.

“Why,” asked Elwood, “does it all have to end in death?”

Shako had never been asked such a question before. He looked at Jeremy, who was used to making conversation. But the interrogative had been directed at Shako, and he felt trapped by the query. Elwood must be testing him, trying out a trick question.

Shako did not know the answer to what had to be a verbal trap. And so he asked, after a long, deliberative moment, “Why?”

Elwood had his smile ready, a man who had been waiting.

He said, “Because that is the only way to get what we want.”

A
SHARD OF WOOD
had hit Axel's forehead and stuck there, a wound that looked fatal.

“I'm OK,” he said.

“Can you see anything?” asked Martin.

“Of course,” said Axel.

Claudette knelt beside him with a towel from the lazarette. “It's not as bad as it looks,” she said. “Just a very ugly splinter, and it didn't actually enter your skull.”

Claudette marveled at her own calm. She pulled out the yellow fragment of wood and said, “Axel, tell me—how many fingers am I holding up?”

She was holding up no fingers at all, and yet Axel made an effort, squinting, counting.

Martin whacked the machine gun with his fist, but the weapon would not fire.

The powerboat continued to motor forward, less than fifty meters away now, and closing the gap until the two craft had to stand apart to avoid a gentle collision, the powerboat rising and falling on the gentle seas.

“So what is your strategy now, Mr. Burgess?” Axel was inquiring, sounding almost polite, the towel pressed against his forehead. He could actually see now, after a fashion.

Leonard remained seated. “What's yours, Axel? I am entirely open to suggestion.”

No one spoke.

Martin observed, not for the first time, how much more power Axel possessed when he was silent.

“We'll come to terms,” said Claudette, ever the businesswoman, and one who held a twelve-gauge shotgun.

“Of course,” said Leonard, but Martin believed that his uncle looked worn down and defeated, his bleak smile an admission that they were as good as captured.

Martin hurried down into the cabin.

Laser was awake, sitting up and aware that some change was taking place.

“They're going to board us,” said Martin.

Susannah was already armed with a cleaver from the galley, a gleaming steel hatchet.

*   *   *

Witch Grass
eased close, and the two boats touched, the yacht rocking, the hulls grinding lightly together. Keeping a relative position with the yacht appeared to be a challenge for the strangers.

The power cruiser's continuing forward movement caused her to glide ahead of the yacht, and now the big man had to return to the helm and one of the young men had to approach the stern, with the same hook that had captured the money.

Witch Grass
reversed. This maneuver was not easy—as the powerboat moved backward, she collided with the aircraft attached to her stern.

This entanglement was mild, with no damage to the aircraft, and it had even been anticipated—the young man used the boat hook with some skill. But there was a sequence of adjustments required, the powerboat angling forward and back, edging ever closer to the yacht. Martin had the impression that whatever the abilities of these armed strangers, they did not possess complete competence over the sea.

The powerboat was still having trouble, one of the airplane pontoons now rising up onto the stern.
Witch Grass
's starboard engine rumbled, churning the water.

“
H
ELP ME STAND UP,
M
ARTIN,”
insisted Leonard.

Leonard leaned heavily against Martin, and then, as they reached the helm, he took hold of the wheel spokes, keeping his body erect with an effort.

Claudette was like someone squinting through smoke, although she was not smoking now, watchful but with no other outward anxiety. Axel was on his feet looking angry and injured, his head cocked to one side, the fist tattoo dark on his muscled arm.

The three strangers looked at them from the helm of the powerboat, a point well above the deck of the yacht. The young man with the submachine gun wore aviator glasses and had an unfriendly, set look to his mouth.

The other looked on with no apparent weapon, one hand on the wheel of the helm, the light wind ruffling his hair. He wore a blue T-shirt under his life jacket and met Martin's gaze with a nod, but not a smile. He wore a pair of black gloves, like someone prepared for dangerous work.

“Good afternoon,” called the big man.

At the sound of the stranger's voice, the dog let loose a long, low growl from the interior of the cabin.

“Good afternoon to you,” said Leonard. He sounded brisk, a friendly man with a lot to do.

These were people who could kill them all, thought Martin. He had never been aware of how dangerous his fellow human beings could be. And he had never been so impressed with Leonard, the man shuddering with pain but setting his feet, leaning on Martin for support.

The big man gave his name, but he did not introduce his two associates.

Leonard made his own introductions. “You have had a long day, Elwood,” concluded Leonard.

“Yes, Leonard, I have. And it sounds as though you have found our dog.”

Susannah was on deck, closing the cabin door. She carried the galley cleaver like a person who had been chopping kindling. She stood beside Martin and said, “The dog found us, actually, and you can't have him back.”

Elwood gave a quiet laugh.

“That dog,” he said, “hates me.”

“
Hates
isn't a strong enough word,” said Susannah, “by the sound of it.”

Elwood tossed a line, and the white rope coiled loosely on the deck, no one wanting to touch it.

“Tie it, Martin,” said Leonard quietly.

Martin was reluctant to let Leonard stand on his own, but he did as he was told. He secured the vessels together, winding the new rope around the cleat on deck, and then returning to support his uncle.

“But I'd appreciate it, Elwood,” said Leonard, “if you would not bring your weapon onto our yacht.”

The man glanced at his submachine, and gave it a what-this-old-thing? smile.

“A gun like this,” he said, “can have a chilling effect on conversation, can't it?”

Leonard laughed, sounding breathy but putting up a good pretense of nonchalance. “A little, yes.”

The big man handed the gun to his associate, the one at the helm. He said something in a low voice, and the young man adjusted a switch along the side of the weapon.

“But I carry a pistol,” said the red-haired stranger. He lifted his aloha shirt so they could see. “Right here in my belt. I don't go anywhere without it.”

Claudette stepped to one side, not in retreat but to get a clearer angle if she had to use the shotgun.

Martin had never been so awed by his aunt. But he could see the limits of her composure, the way she held the gun, her finger on the trigger. She glanced Martin's way and she mouthed
We'll be all right
. Martin was not exactly reassured. She was probably calculating how hard it would be to shoot both young men and then deal with Elwood.

“Take the clip out, Elwood,” said Leonard.

Elwood let his eyes take in the Browning on its tripod, a hint that he found the machine gun proof of violent intentions.

“Please,” added Leonard.

Elwood let the ammunition clip fall out of his Glock or Beretta or whatever it was—Martin knew little about pistols, but this one was matte black and looked heavy. Elwood slipped the clip into a pocket of his cargo pants.

The big man descended the steps from the helm and called out, “Permission to come aboard?”

“Certainly,” said Leonard.

Elwood waited for the two vessels to pause in their mutual, sea-driven waltz.

It took a few long seconds, and all the while Martin did not like the way the one with the aviator glasses gazed down at them, picking out first Martin, and then Axel, selecting targets.

Martin watched as Elwood got ready for the two decks to roll in synch, and at last he stepped down onto the yacht, doffing his baseball cap in a brief show of courtesy. He had red hair, spiky with sweat, and the aloha shirt hung down over the top of his pants, a bird of paradise pattern, orange on blue. His combat boots made shrill whispers on the wooden deck.

To Martin's surprise, Elwood dropped to one knee and ran his hand along the wooden planks of the deck. He picked up a splinter, one of the fragments caused by the recent gunfire.

“I'm sorry to see harm,” he said, “to such beautiful teak.”

In the cabin the dog continued his ferocious barking.

“It could have been worse,” said Leonard.

Elwood looked at Leonard, his gaze going from Leonard's eyes to the way he was standing, supported by Martin. Elwood rose to his feet again. “Old-growth wood, I bet,” he said. “The kind you can't get anymore.”

“Let me,” said Leonard, “offer you and your associates some hot chocolate.”

They were speaking in code, a kind of chess match, increasingly friendly, but not entirely. If Elwood and his crew were going to commit violence, Martin believed, the bloodshed would have started already.

But at that moment Axel made his decision.

His face was a bloody mask. He pointed the Glock at Elwood, holding it steady with both hands.

Axel spoke the words as though they were pasted on a ransom note, each word separate and poorly aligned.

“We. Want. The. Money. Back.”

Axel was tense—beyond fearful—and he was aware what a terrible gamble he was taking. This was why he spoke in such an exaggerated, command-robot voice. He was making a mistake, and he knew the depth of his blunder right when it was too late.

Martin felt Leonard shake his head beside him, but even that slight motion made him catch his breath with pain.

“No, Axel,” hissed Claudette.

“The money,” Axel insisted. But he sounded shaky now, riddled with second thoughts. “We will take it back now.”

Elwood tilted his head with a puzzled smile, pretending he did not know what Axel was trying to say.

Martin realized once again how stubborn Axel was. It was a shame, Martin thought, that the splinter had not knocked him out. The late afternoon had been ripening into harmony, no one getting hurt, Leonard's good nature smoothing any lingering conflict.

But now Elwood's associates on
Witch Grass
leveled their weapons at Axel.

Laser had been throwing his body relentlessly against the cabin door, and at last the barrier broke open.

The dog lunged onto the deck.

L
ASER TOOK A MOMENT
to bark threateningly, crouching and feinting, showing his teeth.

Elwood kicked him.

Susannah called out, shrill and sharp, “Stop that!”

The animal growled in a new way, a sharp warning combined with a blue note of pain, and then seized Elwood's arm, clinging hard.

Martin cried out, and Susannah grasped the dog's tail and pulled.

Laser hung on, blood spattering the deck.

Elwood had the pistol out, working with one hand, and he struck at the animal with the weapon, glancing blows.

Susannah cried out, and Martin raised his voice, too, but the animal would not let go.

When Laser did release the arm it was only to try to seize Elwood by the throat. The dog succeeded briefly. The man fought the dog off, but the animal did not retreat far, setting his jaws around the big man's leg. For someone in a difficult situation, Elwood seemed remarkably calm, as though he had expected this to happen and he had a plan.

Martin and Susannah had their hands on the animal's hackles, calling out, but the animal paid them no heed.

Elwood dragged Laser, the creature's paws slipping along the wooden deck. The man kicked at the dog with his other leg, calling out, “Shoot it. Somebody shoot the animal.”

Claudette was ready with the gun but did not pull the trigger. Leonard was doing his best, calling, “Take it easy, everyone just calm down,” like a cop trying to soothe a riot.

Elwood climbed up onto the ship's rail, pulling the dog along.

He sat there, fumbling in the side pocket of his cargo pants, pulling out the ammunition clip, working deliberately.