A Dolphin's Gift (18 page)

Sitting in a
chair, eyes wide with fright, mouth gagged, and hands bound behind her, was
Nellie, a large baldheaded man with bushy black brows standing over her, and a
gun, which Will had no doubt was real, aimed directly at her head. Impulsively,
Will started for the man.

"Hold
it!" the man said, pressing the muzzle tight to Nellie's temple.
"Unless you want to see her skull and its contents splattered all over
this room."

Will froze.
"Just... get that gun away from her head," he said, his heart
pounding so hard it felt as if it might burst. He shifted his gaze from the
steely glint of the barrel, and looked into a pair of emotionless, pale blue
eyes. "What do you want?"

"Vernon
Sinclair." the man said.

"Vernon
Sinclair's dead," Will replied.

"Like hell!"
Anger flared in
the man's eyes, and corded veins bulged in his temples. "I've been tailing
you for days, and I know you're headed for Sinclair's hiding place." His
thumb stroked the handgrip of the pistol, as he said, "I don't have a lot
of patience. Now, either talk and talk fast, or this woman's not going to see
the light of day."

Will looked at
Nellie's ashen face. He tried to give her some sign of hope, some reassurance
as he thought desperately of something to do, but he felt helpless, completely
powerless. In an attempt to take the man's attention off Nellie, he said,
"What makes you think Sinclair's alive?"

"He’s
alive alright," the man said. "And you're going to take me to
him." A smirk of derision crossed the man’s stony face. "You’ve got
about fifteen seconds to make up your mind." His finger curved around the
trigger.

"
Damn you to hell!"
Will drew in a
ragged breath to steady the erratic beating of his heart, and said, "If
Sinclair's alive I swear to God we don't know anything about it."

The man looked
at Will, cold and hard. "You're lying."

"Why the
hell would I lie—" his eyes shifted to the gun "—with that aimed at
her head?"

"I don't
know. Maybe you're a fool," the man said. The smooth snick of the cylinder
rotating into place broke the momentary silence as the man cocked the gun,
shoving the muzzle harder against Nellie's temple. "Nine... eight...
seven..." Nellie closed her eyes and Will had the horrible sick feeling
that she was waiting to die... certain it was about to happen...

"Wait!"
Nate cried.
"You're right. Vernon Sinclair is alive. But these people don't know
anything about it. Now... just lower the gun and I'll tell you where he
is."

"That's
better." The man shifted the muzzle from Nellie's head and un-cocked the
gun. "Make no mistake she was almost a dead woman. Now, start
talking."

Nate gave a
heavy sigh. "He’s living north of here, across Queen Charlotte Strait and
up Strathmore Sound, near Ocean Bay."

When Nate
offered nothing more, the man said, "There's a lot of wilderness over
there and that's pretty damn vague. I want to know exactly where Sinclair's
hiding out."

Nate's eyes
dropped to the man's thumb, which was restlessly stroking the handgrip of the
revolver. "That's the best I can do," he said. "The exact
location's hard to describe. I could show you about where it is on the chart,
but you’d never find it."

"Then you
can take me there." The gunman eyed Nate, suspiciously. "You've been
tailing this boat as long as I have and I want to know why."

A single drop
of sweat rolled down Nate's temple. He hesitated for a moment then said,
"To tell Mrs. Reid about her uncle, that he was alive."

The man looked
at Nate dubiously. "How come you know so much about Sinclair?"

Nate's eyes
shifted nervously as he replied, "I'm his personal servant and he sent for
me."

"And the
other man?"

"I just
hired him and his boat to bring me here."

"Then get
rid of him. Tell him to put your things on deck, that you'll be staying aboard.
And make it fast! Like I said, I don't have a whole lot of patience."

While the
gunman stood on deck with the gun hidden beneath his jacket, yet aimed at Nate,
Nate relayed to Myles instructions to unload his belongings, and told him he’d
be staying aboard the
Isadora
. Will
listened, hoping to hear Nate give Myles some kind of a signal, but Myles
didn't seem to question Nate's request, and shortly afterwards, Myles tossed
Nate's bag and other belongings onto the deck, then turned and headed back
toward Campbell River.

When Will and
Nate stepped back into the salon, Mike's muffled voice rose from behind the
closed door to the fo'c'sle. "Let me out you big oaf," he yelled, his
angry kicks hitting the door with a thud. "You can't keep me in
here."

The gunman
looked at Nate and gestured toward the fo'c'sle with the barrel of the pistol.
"Shut that kid up or I'll do it permanently—not you!" he interjected,
when Will started to move. "Him." He cocked his chin and looked beyond
Will at Nate.
"Now!"

Nate walked
over to the fo'c'sle but found the door locked. He looked at the gunman,
shrugged and waited. Keeping the gun pointed at Nellie, the gunman moved to the
door, shifting his eyes briefly while he shoved the key into the lock to unlock
it, then stepped aside to let Nate pass. "Don't do anything funny,"
he said to Nate.

Nate moved
quickly, pushing Mike back inside when he tried to leave. On closing the door,
Will could hear Mike's impatient words at being shoved back.

The gunman
turned the key in the lock, and said through the closed door, "You'd
better make it clear to the boy that this isn't a game. I don't have a lot of
patience with kids." With the gun, he motioned towards the wheelhouse, and
said to Will, "Get up there and set a course north." His eyes
narrowed. "And don't do anything foolish like contacting the police. I've
killed a half-dozen people. One or two more won't make a hell of a lot of
difference."

Will knew he
had to get Nellie to the relative safety of the bridge, and he hoped the man
didn't know too much about night-time navigation. Holding the man's steely
gaze, he said, "It's open ocean when crossing the strait and the water's
rough, and since I can't monitor the instruments and the charts and watch for
drift logs and deadheads at the same time, I’ll need the woman on the
bridge." When the man said nothing, Will added, "If we hit a deadhead
it'll go right through this hull, and finding Sinclair will be
irrelevant."

The man was
silent for a few moments, seeming to ponder the situation,
then
he said in an menacing voice, "Okay, take her. But the kid's dead if
either of you tries to pull anything."

***

Will removed
the gag from Nellie's mouth and untied her wrists and ankles. Once free, Nellie
flexed her stiff muscles and stood beside Will, the nearness of him solid,
reassuring. She looked at the gunman's stony face. Goosebumps rose on her arms,
and her skin felt cold and damp as she eyed a jagged scar that stood out white
against the man's ruddy cheek. After an uneasy silence, she asked, "Can I
check on my son?"

"Look,
lady. This isn't a goddamn party," the gunman said in an agitated voice.
"Get the hell up there, both of you—" he gestured with his head
toward the bridge, "and take me to Sinclair." Moving a chair adjacent
to the door of the fo'c'sle, he settled back. Resting his hand holding the
revolver against his legs, he angled the barrel toward the door, his finger
tucked around the trigger. "I might doze off," he added, "but if
anyone tries to jump me, I'll shoot first and ask questions later. And I'll be
aiming through that door."

Will nudged
Nellie up the ladder to the bridge. When the engines were turning and water
lapped against the hull once again, he leaned toward Nellie, and said in a
hushed voice, "The man aboard the small cruiser is Nate's brother. Since
he didn't ask any questions, I’m sure he knew something was up and will get
help to us. Meanwhile, we'll head out and hope the man downstairs falls asleep.
It's our only chance."

Just thinking
about the man, sitting outside the fo'c'sle, his gun aimed at the door,
Nellie's throat felt so dry she had to swallow before words could come.
"I'm so worried about Mike," she said. "He’s so impulsive.
There’s no telling what he’d do if the gunman got impatient with him."

"Well,
there's nothing we can do for him without jeopardizing his safety," Will
said. "With any luck, he'll go to sleep soon. And the old guy's with
him."

Nellie tried to
visualize Mike curled in his berth, Captain Nate reassuring him that everything
would be fine, while telling him the stories he'd once told her. But the image
did little to relieve her anxiety. There were still so many unanswered
questions. She had no idea why Captain Nate had been tailing the
Isadora
, and when he'd first stepped
through the door to the salon, she'd felt certain he was somehow connected with
the gunman. But after hearing his admission about Uncle Vern, she knew the men
were on opposite sides.

Still, nothing
made sense. He'd said Uncle Vern was alive, which couldn't be. No one could
have survived the plunge into the ocean. But then, his body was never
recovered…

"You'd
better look busy in case the gunman comes to check on us," Will said,
motioning for her to get back to the chart table. "I don't want him taking
you down there again. I couldn't take a repeat of what was happening when I got
here."

Nellie started
shivering, the gunman's words gripping in her mind. She vaguely remembered what
happened after the countdown, other than the feel of the hard cold bore of the
pistol against her temple. At that point, everything seemed to swirl dizzily
around her, and the man's voice became distant. For an instant her lungs were
screaming for air, and she thought she was going to faint. Yet surprisingly,
when the man moved the gun from her head, she felt only a kind of dull relief.
But she knew the reality of it all would hit later, like now...

Her teeth
started chattering, and a cold sweat broke out on her brow. "I don't...
know what's... happening," she said, "I'm so cold." Feeling
lightheaded, she took several deep breaths and gradually it began to pass.

Will slipped
his arm around her and pulled her to him. "We'll be fine," he
reassured her, holding her tight. "He doesn't want us, he wants your
uncle. Pull yourself together. You'll need all your strength later."

Nellie had no
idea what
later
would bring, but for
now, she couldn't seem to think beyond the moment. Her heart began to pound
frantically as her mind whirled between the terror of what had been, and what
might yet come—thoughts of what would become of Mike if something happened to
her... who'd take care of him. She looked up at Will, and said, in a wavering
voice, "If something happens to me, call my mother, Anita Sinclair, in
Seattle—"

"Stop
talking like that," Will snapped. "We're going to get out of this.
It’s just a matter of time." He released her to spin the wheel sharply,
turning windward so the waves wouldn't batter the boat from side to side.
Unlike the quick choppiness of the water in Johnstone Strait, they’d encountered
the first swells of open sea, and Will knew they'd entered Queen Charlotte
Strait. "We may be in for a rough ride," he said. "The wind's
picking up and it can be rough going crossing the strait, especially near the
cape."

"I wish
Mike was wearing a seasick patch," Nellie said, her statement seeming
ludicrous when she considered the magnitude of their situation.

"It may be
a blessing in disguise he isn’t," Will replied. "It'll give him
something else to think about besides what's going on out here."

They headed
further into open sea, and the
Isadora
began to rise and fall with the relentless movement of the ocean swells. The
barometer continued to fall, and after a while the wind freshened, until the
sea churned with ragged peaks that bucked and twisted the boat constantly. A
swell washed over the bow, swallowing it momentarily. Will checked the compass
heading and glanced at the barometer, noting that the pressure was falling
rapidly.

"The
wind's picking up," he said. "We may be heading into a gale. I've got
to batten down the hatches before all hell breaks loose up here, so you'll have
to take the wheel."

Nellie looked
at him, alarmed. "I don't know what I'm doing," she said, her voice
anxious. "It's been years since I steered this boat, and never in rough
water."

"Just keep
us heading into the wind," Will explained. "I won't be long... I
don't think."

As he turned to
go, Nellie reached for his arm, and said, "Please don't try anything while
you're down there, not with Mike up front."

Will passed her
the wheel. "If there's any chance the guy might be dozing, I've got to
jump him," he said. "We might not get another chance."

"No,"
Nellie cried. "He said he'd fire into the fo'c'sle. Please Will,
don't."

"I won't
do anything to jeopardize Mike," Will replied. "But if the guy's not
disarmed before he gets to your uncle, it'll be too late for us. He's only
keeping us alive to get to him."

Nellie tried
desperately to reason another way out, but all she could think to say was,
"Please, be careful."

"Just keep
us on a straight course," Will said. Turning quickly, he slid down the
ladder.

In the salon,
he found the gunman sitting with his legs braced against a low table and one
hand gripping the arm of the chair. But his other hand still held the pistol.
The man raised the muzzle of the gun. "That's close enough," he said,
as Will started across the room.

Will's gaze
narrowed. "If you shoot me you're a dead man too," he said.
"We're heading into a gale, so unless you know how to run a boat, you
won't get through it without me. Meanwhile, I have to batten down the
hatches."