Finder's Fee (34 page)

Judith could see beads of sweat on the back of Luke's neck. She didn't know if it was from the work or from fear or pain. In the end, it didn't matter. She stepped close to him as he peeked into the corridor that ran by the door. The passageway ran two-thirds of the length of the cabin deck. When they had descended from the salon above, they first entered a smaller salon similar to the one above but more intimate. The rest of the deck had staterooms on either side of the corridor.

“No guard,” Luke said. “Of course, where can we run? I don't think they consider us a problem any longer.”

“Let's prove them wrong.”

Luke stepped from the room and Judith followed. She looked up and down the passageway and wondered which room or rooms the children were in. It was a question she'd have to answer later — if there were a later.

Judith followed Luke who came to an abrupt stop at the foot of the stairs that led to the salon above. He tilted his head as if straining his ears to hear a distant sound. Then he looked up the circular stairway. He motioned for her to go around him and the steps, to the other side of the stairs, which led to the lower deck.

The time had come to part company. She took his hand and gave it a squeeze, inhaled a bushel of air, and moved.

Luke tiptoed up the steps, fearing several of the crew might be waiting for him in the salon. If such was the case, then his plan was dead before it had a chance to live. Slowly
he slipped up the steps. He heard no voices; heard no movement. Fighting fear that made his hands shake and acid boil in his stomach, he emerged, his eyes looking for any movement. He saw none.

Where is everyone?

He looked through the open doors of the salon and at the stern deck. Lounge chairs sat empty waiting for passengers who would never come. This wasn't a pleasure cruise. He doubted there would be much sunbathing going on.

A voice trickled into his ears. He tensed. It came from above. While studying the yacht from the pier he had seen a superstructure he took for the bridge. He listened carefully. There wasn't much conversation but enough for Luke to guess that at least two people were manning the controls. Most likely one was Pennington and the other one of the two who had captured him and Judith.

Returning his gaze to the deck again, he easily identified the dinghy, a rigid hull inflatable. He doubted that had what he needed. He had to find where the life raft would be stowed. The superyacht looked like it could hold twenty plus people. Did they make rafts that large? Would there be more than one emergency raft?

Something caught his attention. To either side of the deck were white, rounded fiberglass containers that reminded Luke of fuel tanks. But they couldn't be fuel tanks — not on the main deck. He moved closer and his mind raced with hope. Each had writing on it and a nylon strap encircled the capsule -shaped containers. EMERGENCY FLOTATION. The words looked painted in gold to Luke. All he had to do was open the large canister and find the emergency beacon. That required stepping into view.

There was no other way.

He slipped through the doors and looked up at the bridge. He saw no one but knew at least two men were there. He couldn't turn back. The odds of his success were miniscule but they were the only odds he had.

The strap, a two-inch wide nylon belt with a metal clasp like those used on seat belts decades ago, came off easily. He set it down at his feet. The container had two handles locking the top half to the bottom. Releasing them he pried open the top and peered inside. He couldn't make sense of what he saw. Maybe if he had thrown back the lid he could better see the folded mess of what looked like canvas, rubber, and other materials. He did find something else: a rectangular nylon bag with strap handles. Printed on the side were the words “Abandon Ship Bag.”

He removed it, lowered the lid, picked up the strap, and eased his way back into the salon. He had an idea and glanced around the room. On the inboard side was a bulkhead with a narrow door. A man/woman symbol told him it was the room he was hoping to find. A few moments later, Luke had locked himself in the head.

Setting the bag on the small sink he pulled open the zipper that kept the contents inside. The bag opened into two parts with pockets. Some things he recognized easily: flashlight, signal mirror, can opener, whistle, extra batteries, something that looked like a collapsible drinking cup, patches he assumed could be used to repair the inflatable part of the raft, and a few items that were foreign to him. He also found a yellow electronic device with an antenna. Printed on the front was a brand name and EPIRB in large letters.

EPIRB?

He turned it over and read. “Emergency Position Indicating Radio Beacon.”

“Bingo,” he whispered. He found the switch and turned it on. A light on the case began to strobe. Luke set the device down. Something else had captured his attention: three orange-topped cylinders marked “Smoke Signals — 1 Minute.” He slipped them in his pocket. He allowed himself a moment's hope, a hope that melted when Luke heard the rumble of the engine increase and felt the yacht gain speed.

They were headed for open water.

J
udith moved down the stairs, forcing herself to take careful steps. In an ironic emotional turn, she felt the urge to throw caution out and simply run to the engine room for all she was worth. Instead, she ignored her emotion and fear-fueled desire and moved as smoothly and quietly as possible.

She had no idea where she was going. She followed instinct and some bit of logic that said the engine room would be in the back of the boat. After all, wouldn't a designer want to put the engines near the propellers? It made sense to her. To her surprise, she found it faster than expected. Someone had even provided a nice sign that read ENGINE ROOM; probably to keep passengers from entering.

Luke filled her mind. In one sense, he was close, just two decks above; in another sense, he was miles away. Everything he said made sense. Splitting up was the right thing to do but
she didn't like it. If she was going to die today, she'd rather not do it alone and down here.

“Please, God. Let the room be empty.” She turned the doorknob and it twisted easily. She stepped in. Alone. Two large engines filled the small space, one on either side of a metal grate walkway that ran between the noisy behemoths. Closing the door behind her, Judith moved along the metal walk uncertain what to do next. She could feel the steady vibration of the engines through her feet. An aluminum safety rail separated her from the mechanics. She could easily reach over it and assumed they were there to keep a workman from falling from the deck into the rolling seas.

“Now what?” she said, but the noise made it impossible to hear herself. What had Luke said? A person could stop an engine by depriving it of fuel, electricity, or air. She assumed by electricity he meant something like spark plugs. No, diesels didn't have spark plugs. She heard that somewhere. Nonetheless, they had to have some kind of circuit to run. For the first time in her life, she wished she was a mechanic rather than an interior designer.

She continued to study the stupefying mess of hoses, metal lines, and wires having no idea what any of them did. “This is hopeless.”

Something moved.

The engines rumbled louder and Judith felt herself leaning against the acceleration. They were speeding up and she knew that couldn't be good. They must have left the bay.

What had moved? A wire. A thick wire — cable might be a better word. It moved and the speed changed. A throttle cable? She studied the cable and the L-shaped metal bracket it was attached to. The cable emerged from a protective sheath and attached to one end of the L-bracket, the other end was
attached to a thick spring.
They push a lever upstairs
,
a cable gets pulled down here
,
and more fuel is sent to the engine. Cut the cable and the spring pulls the L-thingy shut. Maybe. It's a place to start.

Easy in concept but how could she cut the cable? And if she couldn't do that, how could she disconnect it? Cutting was preferable; it would take longer to fix. “There's got to be a toolbox. No one spends millions on a boat like this and not put a few tools on it.”

She found a large red metal tool chest at the back of the room. It was bolted to the deck and bulkhead. It had a dozen drawers. She pulled on one but it didn't open. Locked. No. She fingered the drawer pull again and jiggled it. Nothing. She pushed it in and then pulled and the drawer slid open easily.
I guess it's not good to have drawers of tools opening by themselves in rough seas.

She found a pair of wire cutters and for a moment thought she could cut the cable but the pliers-like tool seemed too small. She doubted she had the hand strength to pull it off. She needed something bigger. The search continued until she reached the bottom drawer and found a small pair of bolt cutters. They were twelve inches long and had padded handles. They were smaller than she expected but much larger than the wire cutters. They would do.

Judith closed the drawer and returned to the diesels.

“Time to ruin someone's day.”

Luke would have been happy to hide in the salon head until help arrived, but he had Judith and the kids to think about. Hiding the satchel next to the toilet, Luke slipped from the bathroom, the emergency smoke markers in his pocket.
The salon remained empty and he relaxed for a moment. Now to find Judith.

“Where is it?” A horribly familiar voice.

Luke turned to see Pennington, gun in hand.

“Lose something?”

“You're about to lose your life.” Pennington took a step closer.

“You keep saying stuff like that. No wonder you don't have friends.”

Pennington chuckled. “I've killed quite a few people, and every once in awhile I get someone like you who thinks he's funny. Now where is it?”

Luke shrugged. “You'll have to be more specific.”

“The Coast Guard just put out a bulletin for all craft to look for a vessel in distress. It seems they've received a signal from an emergency beacon and the GPS signature puts it in our area. I had to tell them that it was a faulty unit.”

“And you feel bad for lying.”

“Not at all, but if I don't silence the thing, we'll be paid a visit from some folks I don't want to see.” Pennington looked at the door to the head. “You stow it in there?”

Luke said nothing.

“Go get it.”

“No, thanks. Do your own retrieving.”

The yacht slowed and the subtle rumble of the engines quieted. Pennington looked puzzled.

“It's hard to get a good superyacht these days.” Luke started across the salon.

“Don't move.”

“Shoot me, pal. I'm beyond caring.” Luke strode to the open doors that led to the open deck. He put his hands in his pocket.

A bullet whizzed by his ear followed by the loud report of the gun.

Luke sprinted forward. Another shot.

Judith had made only three steps away from the engine room when the sound of a gunshot pressed its way down to the lower deck. She ran to the stairs, sick with apprehension. As she pushed through the next deck she passed a man in the same white uniform worn by the two who had held them at gunpoint. He ran toward the stairs.

She didn't hesitate. To do so would put her within reach. No longer concerned about the noise she moved as quickly as she could, feet pounding the stairs.

“Come here!”

Judith ignored him but she did come to a stop the moment she cleared the steps and entered the salon.

Fire?

How the second shot had missed, Luke couldn't be sure and he felt no compunction to give it much thought. He had other things on his mind. The first smoke signal device ignited on the first try and Luke threw it into the salon. Designed to produce thick, billowy orange smoke the device filled the space, engulfing Pennington. Luke drew another from his pocket, set it off, and tossed it into the dinghy. An orange plume crawled through the air. A quick look told Luke that several ships and sports craft were in sight and if he could see them, they could see smoke.

“Hey!”

Luke spun and saw a uniformed man on the deck of the bridge. He was running to a chrome ladder that spanned the main deck from the upper deck and bridge. Luke removed the third smoke signal stick, struck it, and tossed it at the man, not to hit him, but to give him another problem to deal with.

Coughing to his left made Luke snap around. Pennington ran through the opening and into the clean air. He still held the gun but had yet to spy Luke.

Luke charged.

The man behind Judith emerged, seized her arm, then froze as he saw the orange smoke. “What?”

Judith pulled free, turned, and shoved as hard as she could. The sailor backpeddled two steps and fell back down the circular stairs. She ran through the smoke toward the sunlight and arrived in time to see Luke run by, shoulders lowered. She heard the impact before her mind could process what she saw.

There was a thud, an “oof,” and another thud.

The smoke stung Judith's eyes and she wiped at them, trying to clear her vision. Eyes still blurry, she could see Luke drive Pennington into the side rail. The man doubled over but for less than a second. He straightened and in the same motion brought a hard backhand across the side of Luke's head. Luke's legs looked like rubber but he remained on his feet.

Pennington's gun came up and leveled at Luke's head.

“No!”

A thunderous thumping pounded from overhead. Pennington looked up. Judith started to follow his gaze but instead kept it on Luke, who delivered one punch, a punch with every
ounce of his weight in it, a punch that struck Pennington on the chin.

Something snapped in Luke's hand, a knuckle, a finger, something impossible to identify because of the fire that raged up his wrist and arm. Even his shoulder hurt. The pain vanished for a moment as he saw Pennington's eyes glaze and his knees buckle. He folded to the deck.