A Matter of Time (31 page)

He hung up the phone. “Colin is sailing for Maine!” he told the others. “This Mike person’s the bartender at the White Horse.
He thinks the package might be some or all of a divorce settlement—$50,000!”

He shook his head. “I knew Amy had gone back to Georgia, but I didn’t know it had gone this far.” He frowned. “Where would
he get that kind of money?”

They all knew at the same moment.

“I’m calling Cochrane!” exclaimed Dan, grabbing the phone. Getting through quickly, he relayed the situation and told him
what they suspected.

“Inspector,” he concluded, “if you’re going after him,” he glanced at the other two, “we want to come.” Pause.
“We’re aware of the danger, and we accept the responsibility.” Long pause. “But—”

Dan returned the receiver to its cradle. “Cochrane thinks he may have already left, so he’s taking the fast police boat out
to St. George’s. The territorial limit’s twelve miles. He’s confident they can catch them before they reach it. But he doesn’t
want any civilians involved.
Civilians
,” he spat the word out in disgust.

“If we were up on Cape Cod, you’d have said the same thing,” Bartholomew reminded him.

Ian was doing some figuring on a piece of paper. “They should be able to do it,” he announced. “Colin’s Venus can’t make more
than five knots on his engine, and he won’t be able to put any canvas up till he gets in open water.” He did some more figuring.
“The police boat, Rescue 2, is a rigid inflatable, powered by twin Yamaha 150s.” He shook his head. “I’ve seen that sucker
flat out. It was planing! Had to be making forty knots!”

“Yes, but for how long?” asked Bartholomew.

“Its range? I don’t know.” He thought for a moment. “It has to be forty or fifty miles—enough to get from downtown Hamilton
out to the territorial limit in any direction—and of course, back again.”

Dan stood up. “You heard me ask if we could go. He thanked us very much for all our help and input, but said they’d take it
from here. He reminded me the Frenchman’s extremely dangerous and wouldn’t hesitate to kill again.”

“Is he armed?” asked Bartholomew.

“Guns are illegal on Bermuda,” replied the Chief, “but hey, so are drugs. If he’s got one, he’s got the other. That’s why
Cochrane doesn’t want us anywhere near him. He’s taking Tuttle with a scoped rifle. Plans to drop him, soon as he gets a clear
shot.”

“That may not be too easy in ten-foot seas,” noted Bartholomew, looking out the window at the waves building beyond the mouth
of Ely’s Harbour. “Did he say anything about Eric?”

Dan shook his head.

Ian stood up. “Well, I can’t just sit here. That’s my brother out there! With my son’s”—he almost said killer—“kidnapper on
his boat. And he doesn’t even know that! I’m going out there!”

“If we were on the Cape,” said the Chief, “and it was my call, I’d tell you to stay put. Just like Cochrane. But this isn’t
my jurisdiction, and I want him as badly as you do. I say we go. How fast is your boat?”

“
Goodness
can do sixteen knots, eighteen if I really push her.” He paused. “It’ll probably be all over by the time we get there, but
it sure beats sitting around here, waiting for the phone to ring!”

“What about the storm?” asked Bartholomew.

“They’re saying it won’t peak till later tonight. It’ll be bad out there, but not suicidal—at least, not yet.”

“How much daylight’s left?”

“A couple of hours—not enough, but I’ve got good radar. We’ll find him.”

“You mean, if the police haven’t gotten him already,” said Bartholomew.

“That’s right,” Ian said, going to the back hall closet and pulling on a slicker. “Look, we’re losing time. Who’s coming?”

“What if he hasn’t left yet?” asked Dan. “If I take my scooter, I can be there in forty minutes.”

“You don’t think Cochrane’s already sent a car there?” offered Bartholomew.

“Probably. But like he just said,” he nodded at Ian,
“anything’s better than sitting here. And I’m better on land than sea.”

“You got a cell phone?” asked Ian.

Dan gave him his number, and wrote down Ian’s.

“Call me when you get there,” Ian said. “If they’ve already left, I’ll pick you up at St. Catherine’s, just below the fort.”
From his hip pocket, Dan produced a tourist’s map, and Ian showed him where it was.

“Will I have time?” Dan asked.

“Afraid so; it’ll take me a good hour to get there.”

On their way out the door, Dan frowned. “I don’t like not having my piece with me. If there was ever a time I’d appreciate
the company of Messrs. Smith & Wesson, it’s now.”

“Wait a minute,” said Ian, opening the closet again and rummaging through its top shelf. “Here’s something: an old flare pistol—an
antique, actually. Belonged to my father. But it’ll work.” He gave it to him with two flare shells.

“What about you?” Dan asked.

“I’ve got a new one on the boat.” He shrugged. “They’re not much, but they might make you feel better.”

Dan gave a wry smile as he looked down at the ancient relic. “At home I train my people never to go into a situation—not that
we go into very many—without being sure you have more firepower than you’re likely to come up against.” He laughed. “Wait
till I tell them about this!”

“That’s it, then,” said Ian, opening the back door.

“I want to go with you,” Bartholomew suddenly declared.

Dan’s eyes widened. But he was not half as surprised as Bartholomew himself.

38
  
  
a matter of time

The sea in St. George’s Harbour was as ugly as Colin had ever seen it. The more time a sailor spent on it, the healthier became
his respect for it. Colin had logged enough time to know that this was the last place he wanted to be. And the sea was giving
every indication that in a short while it would be a lot worse. Maybe bad enough to make this not worthwhile, even if it cost
him his boat.

At the tiller of
Care Away
, he kept her heading with the waves, as long as they were carrying him towards the narrows into Smith Sound. Her little engine
was doing its best, but he was not sure how she’d do with the sea on her port beam as they headed for Bremen Cut, instead
of following, as now. He was at the point of bagging the whole thing.

Up ahead, through the rain that was starting to fall, he could make out the East End Wharf, and there was his passenger waiting,
wearing a yellow life vest, his bags beside him, his car parked behind him. Odd that Dupré should be wearing a life vest.
He did not strike Colin as a fearful man.
Care Away
had six vests stored under the aft
seats. Not wearing one, even in weather like this, was preferable for the freedom of movement. And if he needed one, he could
get to it in a few seconds.

The approach was going to be tricky; he threw the fenders over the side. Just then a rogue wave, bigger than the rest, lifted
his stem, exposing the propeller, which revved wildly, till he could back off the throttle. That settled it. They weren’t
going. He would lose
Care Away
, but he was not ready to lose his life.

He swung expertly around to the leeward side of the wharf, and Dupré gathered up his gear and started towards him.

Colin shook his head and shouted to make himself heard over the wind. “We’re not going!”

The Frenchman ignored him, tossing his duffles and hang bag into the aft end.

“Did you hear me?” cried Colin. “I said
we’re not going!
”

Dupré leaned close to him. “We have a deal, Monsieur Bennett. No one backs out of a deal with me.”

“Well, I do. Look, we can go Saturday, like I said. And I’ll give you back the extra—inducement. But we’d lose her out there!”

“I thought you were the best!”

“I am! That’s why we’re not going! I want to still be the best tomorrow!”

Dupré glared at him. “We are going
now
!”

“Then you’re going to have to swim, because this boat’s not going anywhere!”

“Wait here. I have something that will change your mind!” Before Colin could answer, Dupré turned and went back to his car.

“Look,” Colin called after him, “if it’s more money, forget it! There’s not enough money in the world to—”

He stopped. The Frenchman was getting something out of the trunk of his car, something large. A person!

Colin squinted in the rain and the failing light. It was a man, arms duct-taped behind him, more duct tape over his mouth.
There was a wire noose around his neck, attached to a two-foot pole that Dupré was leading him along by. Before they reached
him, Colin knew in his heart. It was Eric.

In his other hand, Dupré had a 9mm Glöck automatic. “Now, we’re going, I think you’ll agree. I didn’t want to do it this way,
but you’ve forced my hand.”

He prodded Eric towards the boat, and Colin, for the safety of the boy, helped him aboard.

“Now, cast off!” ordered Dupré, jumping aboard himself. “And remember, try anything, anything at all, and I will shoot the
boy first.”

He shook his head. “
Quel dommage!
We would have had such a nice winter.”

Guiding
Care Away
through the cut in the dwindling light and rising sea, Colin forced himself to do risk assessment. His life and Eric’s depended
on it.

What were their chances of survival? Minimal. As long as he had enough light to see by, he could keep her from swamping. But
after dark? He’d have to risk putting up some canvas, in spite of the wind. Sail due south. It was the only way to get out
of the maw of this storm.

What were their chances of rescue? Minimal. No one knew they were gone. No one had even seen them leave.
If only he’d told Dupré to meet him at St. George’s, instead of St. David’s. Never mind that now. Focus on the now and the
soon.

How long was their situation tenable? If they didn’t founder, four hours, maybe six. Then fatigue would become the overriding
factor. Normally, as owner/captain of the boat, he would be in command. But with Admiral Glöck on board, all rules were waived.

Should he resist? Or cooperate? Or seem to cooperate? They were in a hostage situation. Eric was the most at risk. Dupré could
get him to do anything he wanted, merely by threatening to do harm to his nephew.

Until he started to fall asleep. Then what?

He looked over at the Frenchman, who was watching him. He still held Eric by the noose attached to the pole. The wire had
already cut his neck. His blood stained the front of his school uniform. One yank on that pole, and the wire would reopen
the wound. A hard enough yank could kill him. And Colin had no doubt the Frenchman would do it without hesitation. He would
have left him in the trunk of the car, had Colin gone willingly.

His and Dupré’s eyes met, and he sensed the Frenchman was doing his own evaluation. The one unknown was just how much he knew
about ocean sailing. Probably enough to keep on a southerly heading. And if he knew how to use a GPS, it would not be too
difficult to get where he wanted to go. The only thing he didn’t know was how to set the automatic pilot. And Colin determined
not to teach him. That knowledge might be all that would keep Dupré from putting him and Eric over the side.

Which was going to happen eventually anyway, Colin realized. There could be no returning to civility now. The only question
was, how soon?

They had reached open water. And eight-foot swells. The boat was riding them, but her engine was laboring. “We’re going to
have to switch to canvas,” he called to the Frenchman over the sound of the storm. “She doesn’t have enough petrol to go another
hour this way.”

Dupré nodded. “Do it.”

“I could use the boy’s help.”

“Do it yourself. I’ll man the tiller and keep the boy company.” Tucking the Glöck in his belt, he took over the helm.

Colin unreefed the mainsail and raised it four feet. It was all he dared. Even with that little canvas showing,
Care Away
heeled over and drove forward. But she was under sail now, and Colin could cut the engine. As he did so, he was dismayed
to see how well Dupré managed the tiller. He knew what he was doing.