A Matter of Time (33 page)

He turned to Colin. “How far are we now from ‘the limit,’ as you say?”

“How should I know? Not more than a couple of miles, I should think. I could call Harbour Radio and ask them, but then, we
don’t have a radio or a cell phone, do we.”

The Frenchman shook his head. “You disappoint me, Colin. You take me for a fool. I was informed you have the best navigational
equipment of any boat in Bermuda. Suppose you go below and bring your handheld GPS up here.” Colin didn’t move. Dupré jabbed
his pistol into Eric’s leg wound. The boy shrieked in pain. Colin swung down the hatch and in a minute was back with the GPS
and a folded map. From the coordinates it gave them, they were barely a quarter of the distance from the limit that Colin
had estimated. The invisible line in the water was half a mile ahead. Six minutes—at most.

The Frenchman raised the binoculars and resumed his narrative. “They are, perhaps, two miles behind. And they are definitely
gaining on us. It is going to be a close thing. Very close.” He lowered the binoculars and looked at Colin. “Can you make
this boat go any faster?”

“Listen to her bow wave, man! Feel the vibration in her keel? She’s got to be making close to eight knots. She’s never gone
this fast!”

“It’s not fast enough! They won’t catch us before we cross the line, but we’ll soon be within range of that rifle.” He raised
the glasses again. “In fact, the man with the rifle appears to be getting ready to take a shot.”

He said to Colin, “Move over here, so that you are between me and them.”

“Suck eggs!”

Dupré aimed carefully and shot Colin in the upper thigh, exactly as he had his nephew. Colin cried out and doubled over, grabbing
his leg.

In the next instant there was a sharp crack next to the Frenchman’s head, and the running block flew to pieces. It controlled
the mainsail which, suddenly freed, swung wide, bringing
Care Away
to an abrupt halt and leaving her wallowing broadside to the waves.

The Frenchman was shocked. “That was meant for me!” Realization of his partner’s subtle betrayal sank in. “Get that sail under
control!”

“I don’t know if I can,” said Colin, still holding his leg. He pushed the tiller away from him, and the boat swung into the
wind.

“What are you doing?” demanded Dupré.

“How else am I going to bring the main within reach?”

Colin retrieved it and looked at the shattered block. “I can’t fix this.”

“Liar!” cried the Frenchman. “I was told you could fix anything!”

Blasted Town Crier, thought Colin. He was going to have a word with Mike, if he ever got out of this.

“Fix it—now!” ordered the Frenchman, waving the pistol in Eric’s direction.

Wincing and groaning, Colin turned the tiller over to Dupré and worked his way forward, taking the topsail halyard and making
it fast to a cleat at the base of the mast. Then, he ran it aft on the starboard side, through the outermost scupper hole
to the starboard toe rail. “It’ll work for a while,” he gasped, when he’d finished.

“Good! Now, as I said a moment ago—”

The top trim of the hatch, four inches from his face, exploded into splinters.

“I want you
here
!” cried the Frenchman, indicating that Colin should position himself between him and their pursuers.

When the latter did not move, he jerked on the pole, hard, so that the wire re-opened the wound on Eric’s neck. This proved
too much for the boy, who until then had bravely held himself together. As blood oozed from his neck, he began crying hysterically.

Enraged, Colin gathered his good leg under him and prepared to lunge at the Frenchman, when he found himself staring into
the muzzle of the Glöck. “Go ahead!” shouted Dupré. “You’re of little use to me now, anyway!”

Colin forced himself to relax and, as instructed, put himself between Dupré and the other boat.

He would bide his time, wait for his chance. For the first time in his life, he realized he was prepared to take another man’s
life. In fact, he was looking forward to it.

With the delay to jury-rig a workable mainsheet arrangement, the other boat was almost on top of them. Colin guessed they
were beyond the twelve-mile limit now, but at this point no one was thinking about that.

It had grown too dark for the rifleman to risk another shot, even had Colin not been in his direct line of fire. But in a
few more minutes, it wouldn’t matter.
Goodness
was so close, he could almost make out his brother’s face.

His brother could certainly make out theirs. Ian had a searchlight atop his cabin for feeling his way back into Ely’s Harbour
on a foggy night. He suddenly switched it
on, momentarily blinding everyone in the sailboat. He must have been overjoyed, Colin thought, to see Eric—
alive
!

But now the Frenchman demonstrated his own marksmanship. Disdaining the fashionable two-handed grip, he stood sideways to
his adversaries, and, feet apart, gracefully extended his arm like a master of the épée (which he had once been, as captain
of cadets at St-Cyr). He fired three rounds in rapid succession. The first went through
Goodness’s
front windshield, in the vicinity of the driver. The second went through the scope and into the eye of Sergeant Tuttle who
died instantly. The third extinguished their searchlight.

“That should give them cause to reconsider,” gloated the Frenchman, as darkness returned.

But
Goodness
continued to bear down on them.

“Why aren’t they stopping?” cried Dupré, grabbing Colin and jerking him back in front of him. “We’re in international waters!”

“Maybe Bermuda’s ‘rules of engagement’ make an exception for hot pursuit,” Colin replied, and then smiled wryly. “Make that
lukewarm pursuit.”

There was another light on them now, from a handheld flashlight. The Frenchman, skilled as he was, could have shot whoever
was holding it, but he had something else in mind. Something for which that light would be necessary.

“Time to play my last card,” he informed Colin. “Fortunately, it’s an ace.”

A small, round hole appeared in the mainsail, less than a foot from the Frenchman. Someone else was using the rifle, sans
scope. But he remained unperturbed. “You have life vests aboard,” he asked Colin. “Where?”

“You’re sitting on them.”

Dupré glanced at his seat, saw that it was a bench, opened it, and took out two yellow vests, which he chucked into the dark
waters. Then, using the pole, he drew Eric to his feet and—pushed him over the side.

“You—” cried Colin, diving after his nephew. He had to keep Eric afloat, since his arms were taped behind him, and his mouth
was taped. If he could somehow locate one of those vests….

As Dupré had anticipated, with two people they cared about now in the water, his pursuers gave up the chase and started searching
for the men overboard. But just to make it a little harder for them…. He took careful aim at the figure holding the flashlight.

Another hit. The flashlight dropped—presumably over the side, since it did not reappear. Dupré took the tiller and sailed
off into the darkness, leaving the powerboat frantically circling in the distance.

There was no question of his being in international waters now. The pursuit had been broken off. He had won.

41
  
  
frog-gone conclusion

Aboard
Goodness
there was darkness and consternation. At the wheel, Ian was able to use only his left arm, his right hanging useless at his
side. Beside him Cochrane searched the waters ahead for any sign of life, but he was looking at black on black. The same was
true of Dan and Bartholomew in the back.

Then Dan remembered his “piece”—the ancient flare pistol that had belonged to Ian’s father. He fired it straight up, and in
the burst of light, they saw movement in the water off their port bow.

“There they are!” Ian cried, overjoyed. “Both of them!” And sure enough, in the water on the side of the huge wave opposite
them, were two tiny figures, clutching a yellow life vest between them. He swung
Goodness
over and gunned her down the wave, heading for them.

Only one person was less than overjoyed. As they roller-coastered down the wave towards its trough, Bartholomew realized that
this—right here, right now—was the worst part of the worst nightmare of his life. The wave opposite was looming higher and
higher. The front
windshield already had a hole in it. If they took dark water over the bow now….

He gripped the side of the boat in frozen panic. Down and down and down the boat plunged. And then the illumination from the
flare died away, leaving them in darkness. Again, just as he had in the nightmare, he felt the icy fingers of terror reach
up into his entrails and slowly close into a fist.

But there was a difference between that dream and this reality, he reminded himself. In the nightmare, he had not prayed.
Now, he did. Eternal Father, strong to save….

I will never leave, nor forsake you
, came the thought, and the fist of fear in his gut began to release its grip.

Dan fired another flare. As light returned, they pulled alongside the struggling figures, and Dan and Cochrane hauled them
aboard, unassisted by Bartholomew, who could not let go of the rail.

Cochrane started to assess Eric and Colin’s physical condition, as they lay on the deck alongside the lifeless form of Sergeant
Tuttle. Dan tapped him on the shoulder. “Let Brother Bartholomew do that. He used to be a corpsman.” Then glancing over at
his friend, he caught the look on his face.

“Bart, you’re needed over here!” It was a command, not a request, and it had the effect of snapping Bartholomew out of his
trance. The ex-Marine came over and knelt between the wounded men. With his hands he gently but swiftly surveyed the nature
and severity of their wounds. “No broken bones,” he announced. “But we’ve got to staunch the blood flow.” He called to Ian.
“You got a first-aid kit?”

“In the cabin. On the wall to the left.” Dan went and got it. Fortunately, it was a large one, complete with
gauze rolls, tape, scissors, and antiseptic. He soon had his patients’ wounds dressed. He pointed to Colin’s leg. “As this
one has no exit wound, we’ll have to get you to hospital, so a doctor can dig the bullet out.”

He looked down at Eric. To Ian he said, “Your son’s lost a fair amount of blood, but other than that, he should be okay.”

“Thank God!” exclaimed Ian, as it grew dark again.

“Hey,” called Colin, from where he lay on the deck, “aren’t we forgetting something?” They looked at him. “He’s getting away!
With my boat!”

Cochrane frowned. “If we call Harbour Radio for a fix on him, they’ll tell us to give it up. Which I’m not inclined to do.”

“None of us are,” agreed Dan.

“Well, use your own radar!” shouted Colin, still supine. “C’mon, Ian, didn’t they teach you anything in those fancy schools?”

His brother laughed and turned to his radar, forgotten in the chase. “There he is! A thousand yards off our starboard bow!”

Swerving to the right, he jammed the throttle full forward. Her engine groaning,
Goodness
lunged through the sea.

The darkness was so complete and the seas so high, that even with the radar,
Care Away
was invisible until they were almost on top of her.

Cochrane braced himself against the side of the cabin, the rifle ready, determined to avenge the death of his fallen comrade.
“Don’t worry,” he said, seeing Dan’s expression. “I’m not going to kill him. He knows too much that I want to know.”

“Well, keep in mind he’s awfully good with that side arm.”

“There he is!” cried Colin, who had pulled himself upright. And there he was—less than fifty yards ahead of them.

“Look out!” cried Dan, as the Frenchman raised his pistol and took aim.

They ducked, and Dupré’s shot went wild.

All at once, Colin’s jury-rig on the mainsail gave way, as he had planned it to.
Care Away
rocked to port, her main boom swinging wide. Had Dupré done exactly what Colin had under similar circumstances,
Care Away’s
nose would have come into the wind, and he could have retrieved her sail.