Seize the Storm (20 page)

He was bleeding from his throat, his shirt front was soaked, and the dog had taken a piece out of his forearm. The injuries did not look mortal, in Martin's view, but a few more wounds and the man might well succumb. Susannah and Martin tried to pull the dog loose but the animal only set his teeth more firmly.

*   *   *

Elwood felt entirely lucid.

He felt that he was in command of events. He recognized the absolute justice of Laser's attack, even though he was terrified of the animal. That was at the heart of his feelings about dogs, and about the canine species in general. They frightened him.

Well, he would have plenty of time to reflect on all this, he thought, when he could apologize to these nice people, for everything. Because they did turn out to be pleasant people, perky if maybe a little bedraggled. Why did he have to work for Ted Tygart? Why couldn't he have a job with a man like Leonard and his gun-accessorized, stylish wife?

Elwood knew that he would feel great sorrow, not long from now, when he had to hose the blood and brains of these nice people off the teakwood deck of Mr. Tygart's new yacht.

The dog pulled at his leg, his fangs in deep, not pulling so much as wrenching at the limb, tearing muscle. The bites hurt. But Elwood could see the bandage on Laser's ear and sensed in the brute a residual feebleness from some ordeal, a quality of reduced power.

This was good. It meant that Elwood could, with determination, not only wrest his body from the animal's jaws. It meant that he could also, given a little luck and the continued dawdling reactions of everyone on deck, find a way to actually kill the animal once and for all. As he should have done two years ago, for chewing up a pair of brand-new boots.

Elwood had trouble fitting in the clip. This was the trouble with automatic weapons, always getting stuck. Give me a revolver, he thought. Or a knife. His hands were slippery with blood, and this did not help matters.

Well, he had still another plan. He tossed the pistol to one side. As the two vessels parted gently with the motion of the sea, he let his body lean backward, all the way, and he plunged down between the two vessels.

E
LWOOD DID NOT HAVE TO FALL
far before he hit the water.

He held his breath, inhaling when it was nearly too late and sucking in a little water. The brine seared his wounds, as he ducked his head under the surface and the two hulls gently nudged together again. They barely missed Elwood, but with any luck, he thought, they would crush the tumbling dog.

No, Laser was still alive. Elwood could hear the animal barking on deck.

That was too bad, he thought. His combat boots weighed him down, and his cargo pants were leaden, so he couldn't really swim very well, treading water like an entity that ought to be at the bottom of the sea, struggling instead to keep his head above water.

He worked his way at the waterline, around the prow of
Witch Grass
, all the way to the other side, and there high above were the two faces, Shako and Jeremy. Moving through the water required a great effort; Elwood was almost amused at his own quandary. Was this the worst trouble he had ever been in? Worse than that shooting accident in Oaxaca? Worse than that moray bite off Santa Catalina?

A lifesaver came splashing down, a bright orange flotation circlet imprinted with the name
Witch Grass
. Elwood hooked one arm through the flotation device and saw that he had to make some serious changes in his life.

Mr. Tygart was important, but he was a bad influence. Elwood would find his way to Ensenada, develop some gray market enterprise, smuggling people or liquor, bribe his way into new success. Or he would head into the Far East, carry passengers to Macao from mainland China, or fly poachers up rivers to shoot crocodiles. The world was full of possibilities. Elwood had become too limited. He had responsibilities to Shako. He could make the kid huge, use his talents to take over Juárez or the newly seething neighborhoods of San Diego.

The white nylon cord attached to the lifesaver was in Shako's hands, the kid worried that Elwood might drown. This was touching, one person in the world wanting him alive, for no good reason. Shako and Jeremy were calling—screaming, actually—words that Elwood could not quite make out.

His baseball cap was off, floating on the water, and Elwood did not like the way it looked, bobbling and drifting, reminding him of dismemberment. The blood loss was making him light-headed, and maybe he was going into shock.

Finally he could hear more or less what Jeremy and Shako were saying, pointing and calling out. If only one of them had shouted, the warning would have been easier to understand. Their cries in unison had been unintelligible.

Even so, Elwood was not completely surprised when the shark struck.

But what was a surprise was how much the beast took away, a big piece of Elwood, part of his side. Ribs, too, along with muscle. Elwood did some calculations and decided that this was going to be his last emergency. He called out for a gun, any gun, it didn't matter.

Maybe they didn't hear him. Jeremy was firing into the water, and Shako, too. The surface exploded, the guns blasting the reflected blue, and ripping chunks out of the shark. The predator changed course, vanished, and reappeared, bullets following the sleek silhouette, slashing the blue hunter with scarlet.

J
EREMY AND
S
HAKO
used boat hooks and hauled Elwood out of the water.

When Elwood lay flat on the deck at last he kept his arms outstretched, and his legs, too, a human
X.
The money was nearby, the gym bag surrounded by thick plastic covering, which had been cut away. The bag was unzipped, and bundles of money protruded.

“Don't,” said Jeremy. “Shako, don't touch him.”

“He wants to get up,” said Shako. “He wants to get my Ingram and shoot that dog.”

Jeremy noted
my Ingram
.

Elwood did not sit up, but used his hands to feel his own body, all the important areas, working carefully, taking a physical inventory. His side was half gone. His breath was making whistling sounds, out through the bony cage of his torso. He glanced over at the money and reached out for it, easing closer, until he could put one hand on the bag.

“Put the money in the plane,” said Elwood, lying there on the deck and looking right at Jeremy.

Jeremy did not understand. But then, instantly he did.

“Take the plane home, Jeremy,” Elwood continued. “You can do it, just keep the airspeed steady. You have just enough fuel.”

Jeremy felt great pity for his flying instructor. The dog began to bark again, no doubt aroused by the faint sound of Elwood speaking. The yacht was already receding, the barking more and more far away.

Elwood died lying there just like that, like a man doing it on purpose.

Jeremy was stunned. He had never seen a person actually expire, and it was not like he had imagined. Elwood was still smiling. He didn't look at peace. He looked smaller, instantly shrunken, but in on a private joke.

Shako saw that he was dead, and he felt that he had failed Elwood. He did not like this sensation, the acid of personal blame, so he worked at the thought, pummeling the emotion, until he had a new sentiment.

Getting killed was Elwood's own doing, and not a blunder, either. He had done it to teach Shako. Shako wanted a picture of himself to record how he looked when he was learning one of life's tough truths, even though Shako wasn't sure what the truth was.

He freed his phone from his pocket and held it out, getting a picture of himself looking down at his late mentor, and then another of his face looking right at the lens. The intensifying twilight would make him look especially—especially something. Spooky, he thought, and—he mentally searched for the word—intense.

“Jeremy,” Shako asked, sounding as unruffled as ever, and putting the phone back into his pocket, “should I shoot the dog now?”

Jeremy was upset and had to take a moment to respond.

As always, he had to be careful what he said to his new friend. He had increasing confidence. But this last question was troubling. And what was Shako doing just now, taking pictures of his own tight-lipped countenance?

Besides, both of them had experienced an opportunity to get off a shot during Laser's attack. Neither of them had used their weapons. Of course, Elwood had always acted supremely capable of dealing with any crisis. Even when he had called for someone to shoot the dog, he had seemed primarily unconcerned. Besides, thought Jeremy, maybe both he and Shako had seen the benefits of Elwood's possible demise.

“No,” said Jeremy.

“As a payback,” said Shako.

“We'll let Laser live,” said Jeremy. “They're taking good care of the dog, so they can keep him.” Actually, Jeremy liked Laser very much and would miss the animal. But he did not want Laser anywhere near the unpredictable Shako.

Shako nodded, unsurprised.

“We can still capture the yacht,” Shako said, his eyes blanked by the lenses of his sunglasses. He sounded not excited, not hopeful. He was just going through his list of options.

“We'll let them all go free,” said Jeremy.

“We could radio your dad,” said Shako. “He could send men and a boat to tow it.”

“We have the money,” said Jeremy, keeping his voice steady, working hard to reason with this friendly scorpion. “That's all that matters.”

Shako nodded, considering Jeremy's response. He said, “It's what Elwood wanted.”

Jeremy did not want to explain to Shako what a bad idea capturing the yacht had seemed from the beginning. And yet in Shako's view maybe Elwood's death should be honored by stealing the yacht and killing everyone on board.

Jeremy could understand the reasoning, but he did not want to see any more bloodshed. He experimented with the phrase mentally first, and then decided to trust the words to do the job.

He said, “Shako, I'm in charge now.”

Shako gave his tight, thin-lipped smile in response.

He said, “Whatever you want.”

And then Jeremy had the first stirrings of a new sensation.

A feeling of power.

A
THENA'S
S
ECRET
WAS UNDER
sail for the first time in many days, under a medium-sized working jib, the canvas lovely and full, catching the first hint of trade wind from the east in the ruddy light.

The sun was setting, bursts of cloud blazing on the horizon.
Witch Grass
was abandoned again, observed at an increasing distance by the crew of
Athena's Secret
.

Martin was at the helm, weary but happy. More than happy—he felt released from all that had happened. Susannah was with Martin on deck, and Laser was there, too.

“Brave dog,” Susannah was saying to the German shepherd, a low approving phrase she repeated.

Martin watched as the aircraft took off from the surface of the sea and swept upward and then turned back. The plane flew in a ragged circle over the yacht, a wide, slightly unsteady circuit, and then it headed west, into the rising darkness.

Axel was asleep in his bunk, stupefied by scotch and codeine. He had wailed aloud that they would never see such a fortune again, until the liquor and pain pills shut him up.

Now, Martin could detect a soft murmur, Leonard's voice, and then Claudette's, sounding relieved and eager to recount what had happened, turning naked event into another of Leonard's personal legends. For Leonard, money seized and money lost was nothing compared with escaping with their lives—and having a good story to tell.

Susannah was singing.

Martin had never heard her sing at all, and now she kept her voice low, confiding her lyrics to the dog. But then she was not keeping her song so quiet, and the song was right there for him.

Athena's Secret
was alive under their feet, the strakes and beams communicating the texture of the ocean, through the deck, into Martin's body. The canvas strained the rigging, and the wind gently pulled the mast. The keel cut a space where the water had vanished, a space that the vessel sailed across as they soared.

By Michael Cadnum

Seize the Storm

Flash

Peril on the Sea

The King's Arrow

Can't Catch Me: And Other Twice-Told Tales

Nightsong: The Legend of Orpheus and Eurydice

The Dragon Throne

Starfall: Phaeton and the Chariot of the Sun

Blood Gold

Ship of Fire

Daughter of the Wind

The Leopard Sword

Forbidden Forest: The Story of Little John and Robin Hood

Raven of the Waves

Redhanded

The Book of the Lion

Rundown

Heat

In a Dark Wood

Edge

The Lost and Found House

Zero at the Bone

The Judas Glass

Taking It

Skyscape

The Cities We Will Never See

The Horses of the Night

Ghostwright

Breaking the Fall

Saint Peter's Wolf

By Evening

Sleepwalker

Calling Home

Nightlight

 

Farrar Straus Giroux Books for Young Readers

175 Fifth Avenue, New York 10010

Text copyright © 2012 by Michael Cadnum

All rights reserved

First hardcover edition, 2012

eBook edition, September 2012

macteenbooks.com

The Library of Congress has cataloged the print edition as follows: