Long Voyage Back (43 page)

When she emerged into the firelight an old black man who'd been sitting beside the fire leapt up.

`Git away!' he shouted. 'Go!'

Lisa stood frozen, trembling, almost unable to speak. Ì . . . I need help,' she finally blurted. 'Some men . .

`Go way!' the old man shouted, then turned to look at the shack ten feet away. A young white man and woman were crawling out of the entrance, their eyes red and watery.

`Water,' the man called feebly. 'Please help us. Water . .

`Get back in there!' the old black man shouted and brandished a heavy stick at the two feeble crawlers. 'Back! - back . .

Lisa gasped as she suddenly realized that the two were sick, feverish. Glancing in terror back for any sight of her pursuers she ran on. She hadn't gone more than forty feet when she came upon the burnt-out remains of another shack, the white bones of three skeletons gleaming in the dim light of dusk. Whimpering, she ran on, no longer aware of exactly what she was fleeing, only needing to run, to escape the horrors that seemed to explode into her life in an unending series. She had to get back to Jim, to Scorpio.

At dawn the next morning Jim reported to Neil that Katya and Lisa were missing. Earlier, after he and Oscar had finished re-anchoring Scorpio they had begun looking for the three women, but found only Janice. They traced Katya and Lisa to where the barter yacht had been moored and then . . . nothing. A sullen black girl told Jim that the men on the Mollycoddle had motored off with 'de sexy white girl' but that she thought the younger white girl must have escaped. Although Janice and Oscar had abandoned the search when it got dark and returned to Scorpio, Jim had kept looking another four hours, finally stealing a bicycle to ride the ten miles back to Charlotte-Amalie, and then having to swim out to Vagabond.

For Neil and Frank and Jeanne it was clear that now they had to raid the Mollycoddle and probably the estate too. Katya - if she were still alive - was either on the boat or out at the pirates' estate. Lisa had either shared Katya's fate or had escaped and was already back on Scorpio or making her way to Vagabond. Through binoculars they soon determined that Mollycoddle was moored at her berth at the docks, but that Scorpio hadn'

t yet returned.

Neil and Jim guessed that Oscar was too timid and inexperienced a sailor to try to sail the ten miles back to Charlotte-Amalie Harbour in the dark. Neil suspected that Lisa, fleeing, would try to find Jim and thus have first gone back to try to get out to Scorpio. He ordered Jim and Tony to go back to Salt Point, hopefully there to find Lisa. In any case they were to help sail Scorpio back to join Vagabond in Charlotte-Amalie. After Katya and Lisa were both safe - God willing - and

additional food and weapons had been garnered from the raid, the two ships would set sail together to head for the southern hemisphere.

With Jeanne's upset at the disappearance of Lisa mostly assuaged by Jim and Tony's leaving to search for her, Neil next signalled the Wellingtons with the airhorn to begin final plans for trying to save Katya and Lisa and, yet again, themselves. Eight hours later Jeanne walked slowly along the dock, having to hold a wide-brimmed straw hat on her head with one hand to prevent its being blown off by the wind. Ahead of her and to the left was the Mollycoddle, rocking in the rough seas being rolled in by the storm, its stern to her, the wind blowing it a few feet off the dock, its mooring lines taut. She was' wearing a black bikini top and a blue denim skirt, the skirt necessary to hide the small automatic strapped to the inside of her right thigh; the brief bikini top was to increase the friendliness of Mollycoddle's guardians. Neil's last stern-faced words to her after he'd helped her strap the gun to her thigh were: 'Don't let anyone feel you up.'

At this moment he was, Jeanne hoped, in Vagabond's dinghy hidden six boats back. Philip was casually fishing from the dock a dozen yards behind her. Oily and Conrad Macklin, with binoculars, were seated in the park area 'admiring the boats' and 'watching the big waves'. Neil had asked Frank to remain aboard Vagabond, telling him that if Neil himself were killed, Frank had to be safe to take over leadership. He was to come in only after they'd succeeded.

As she neared the stern of the pirate yacht she saw no sign of life. Neil said they were certain there was at least one man aboard and Philip thought there were two, but whoever was aboard was below. Perhaps the hot wind from the distant hurricane had discouraged them. Or worse, perhaps Katya was there with them . . . and Lisa . . Timing things carefully she waited until she was exactly

opposite the open cockpit of the. Mollycoddle and then released her hold on her hat. It went flying off towards the yacht, Jeanne uttering a little scream. The hat sailed into the cockpit as planned, but then bounced on a seat cushion and flew out the other side, no, hit a metal strut and dropped back into the cockpit. She stared at it wide-eyed. In theory a guard was supposed to come out, rescue the hat, enter into conversation and ask her aboard. Nothing happened.

Glancing up and down the dock and trying to look upset and pathetic, Jeanne next moved to the edge of the dock and contemplated either hailing the crew of the Mollycoddle or going aboard after her hat.

Àhoy in there!' she said in as helplessly feminine a voice as she could muster, the rushing of the wind in the rigging of nearby sailboats effectively drowning her voice. No one responded There was four feet of open water between the dock and the coaming of the Mollycoddle, an easy jump for Jeanne, if only the gun didn't bounce loose. Steadying herself on the dock, gauging her jump carefully, she leapt into the yacht's cockpit, letting herself fall forward with a crash on to her left side, screaming a good loud scream and lying there askew, moaning.

In a few seconds the cabin door opened and a large bare-chested man holding a pistol appeared, staring at her fiercely, then up at the dock and along it.

`What the hell are you doing here?' he asked with a distinctly American accent.

`My hat,' said Jeanne, grimacing in pretended pain but pulling down her skirt and adjusting her legs so that her gun wouldn't show. Then, sitting up, she gestured at the straw hat lying on the other side of the cockpit.

Ànd you jumped after it, huh?' the big man said, now grinning, his handlebar moustache flicking up at the ends.

Jeanne nodded, rubbing her left foot which she decided she had twisted. But not badly. She didn't want to be carried.

`Need some help?' he asked, stuffing his pistol in between

his belly and his shorts.

No, no, I'm fine,' she said, holding up a hand to halt him. Ì'm just a little in shock, I guess.' She looked up at him and smiled wanly. He stared at her breasts.

`You want a drink or something?' he asked.

Òh, no, I don't want to bother you,' Jeanne said, standing awkwardly. 'Although come to think of it a drink would be nice.'

`Hey, Mike, can the lady have a drink?' the big man asked, and Jeanne saw a tall, slender man with a neat beige sportshirt and shorts standing in the cabin door. He was eyeing her coldly. She smiled at him. He smiled back.

`Certainly, Bart,' he said. 'We wouldn't want her to leave in pain. She might sue us.'

Jeanne laughed prettily.

`Come in, darling.'

`Said the spider to the fly,' said Jeanne as she limped past Bart and Michael and into the luxurious main salon of the Hatteras. There was no one else there; no sign of either Katya's or Lisa's things.

`Wow, this is something,' Jeanne said as she stopped in the middle of the plush carpet and looked around, still half-hoping, half-fearing signs of Lisa's presence.

`What would you like to drink?' asked Michael. 'Please sit down.'

`Thank you,' said Jeanne, sitting in a leather chair and quickly crossing her legs. 'Gin and tonic?' she asked. He laughed. 'How about some rum?' he asked.

`That's fine too.'

`Bart?'

`Sure, Mike,' said Bart and disappeared forward into the far part of the galley. Ì'm Michael Forester,' said Michael.

The last name so surprised Jeanne she couldn't decide who she was. 'I'm Jeannie Wilkins,

' she said after an awkward hesitation.

Ànd what brings you tumbling into the Mollycoddle?'

`Stupidity, I guess. My hat blew on to your boat.'

À likely story,' said Michael. 'Are you sure it wasn't because you noticed my handsome face in the street and followed me here out of uncontrollable lust?'

Jeanne smiled, again awkwardly. 'If I'd seen you before, I might have!' she managed, smiling more broadly.

Àre you often overcome with uncontrollable lust?'

Jeanne felt a bit overwhelmed. At the rate this conversation was going, Michael would have her in the sack before Neil had paddled halfway here.

Ònly on hot, stifling days when there's no wind,' she answered. Àhh,' said Michael. 'What disappointing weather then, no?'

Bart entered with the drinks and handed one each to Michael and Jeanne and kept a bottle of beer for himself. He sat down on a second easy chair in the salon".

`Cheers,' said Michael.

ÀNYONE ABOARD?' a loud voice came from the dock outside.

`See who it is, Bart?' said Michael, frowning.

Jeanne tensed. This was the proverbial it. She uncrossed her legs and straightened in her chair. She wished she'd practised drawing the gun. Bart arose, put his beer down, adjusted the gun in his belt, and walked up the two stairs into the cockpit and looked to his left.

`What is it?' she heard him say to Philip.

`You have a gaff I can borrow?'

`You seem nervous, Jeannie,' she heard Michael say and saw him staring at her with a suspicious frown. 'What's the matter?'

`That man's voice . . .' she said uncertainly.

`Yes? ... What about it?'

The yacht lurched as if a sudden new weight had been added. Michael and Jeanne both saw Bart still standing in the

centre of the cockpit but now facing away from the door with his arms raised.

`Don't shoot, Buddy,' Bart said loudly.

Michael leapt up, rushed at Jeanne and past her to a drawer from which he drew out a pistol. He then crouched behind her chair facing the cabin entrance. Jeanne, frozen, was stunned by such a piece of bad luck: Michael had chosen the one place she couldn't draw her gun without his seeing her.

Neil and Philip appeared in the cockpit, Neil nudging Bart who, with arms raised and weaponless, was coming down into the cabin.

`He's got a gun on me, Mike,' Bart said when he saw Michael's pistol aimed at them from behind Jeanne.

Àll right, lady,' said Neil. 'Go into the galley with-your hands behind your head.'

`You move, lady,' hissed Michael, 'and I'll kill you.'

`Go ahead and kill her,' Neil said evenly. 'She's none of our business. MOVE, LADY!'

Slowly, Jeanne stood up and, appalled, terrified, walked slowly towards the galley area.

`What do you want?' Michael asked tensely.

Àll we want . . .' began Neil.

`Don't turn around,' interrupted a voice from behind Neil and Philip. 'Throw your guns on the rug.'

Someone Jeanne couldn't see had come into the cockpit behind Philip and Neil and had a gun on them. Neil, after a brief hesitation, threw his gun on to the rug between Bart and Michael. Then, as Philip threw Bart's gun and his automatic into the same place, Jeanne reached down, lifted her skirt, and, hand trembling, pulled out the loaded .38 automatic. She remembered to press the safety as Neil had instructed and held the weapon in front of her, her lower body hidden by the galley bar that separated the main part of the galley from the salon. •

Bart picked up the two guns and Michael stood up behind

the leather chair. A third man, black, pistol in hand, appeared in the cabin entrance behind Philip and Neil.

`Who in bloody hell are you two?' Michael hissed angrily, relieved at last from his fear. He thrust his gun violently into his belt and crossed to the couch to retrieve his barely touched glass of rum. He glared at Jeanne, not really seeing her. Neil didn't reply. The black man, behind Neil and Jim, spoke: 'Okay, mahn, you get over against the wall opposite the galley,' he said. `Bart, you search them.'

Neil and Philip walked slowly to the wall on the other side of the main salon. Michael, his back to Jeanne, watched. Bart dropped two guns on to the couch behind Michael and ambled over to Neil and Philip. The black man turned slightly away from her too to watch.

Jeanne froze. As soon as she spoke and showed her gun they'd turn and shoot her. Three to one. And later Neil. She was unable to raise her gun.

`They're clean,' Bart announced after his search. Michael turned to Jeanne. 'Perhaps you had better check the lady, too,' he said.

Jeanne stared at him wide-eyed with fear. As Bart came towards her she reacted instinctively: she crouched and raised her gun to her eye level, aiming it directly at the new man whose pistol was still pointed at Neil.

`Drop it!' she snapped, so sharply it astonished her. Her eyes were wide, hysterical, only her head and the gun visible above the galley shelf to the three antagonists in the salon. Bart stopped and all of them watched her, each motionless and uncertain. Then the black man swung his pistol at her and fired, and Jeanne pulled the trigger, the gun jumping in her hand, the two shots following one after another in less than half a second. Neil leapt on the man who had shot at her, ripping the gun from his hand, and Jeanne shifted her aim to Michael who still stood only eight feet away, his hand frozen on the

butt of his gun still in his belt. 'Don't shoot!' he screamed. Neil next took Bart's weapon and stood behind him with two guns, one in each hand. The man who had shot at her had been hit and had fallen to a sitting position; he was clutching his shoulder and looking at Jeanne with both surprise and pain: as if she had committed a social faux-pas by shooting him. Philip began retrieving the weapons-on the couch and rug.

Michael slowly turned to look at the wounded black man now slumping back against a chair, at the bewildered look of Bart, at pleased-looking Philip now holding a .45 aimed at Michael, and finally at Neil, who was smiling at him tensely. Finally, slowly, Michael looked back at Jeanne. He stared at her with frank hatred. 'You bloody bitch,' he said quietly. Àre the boobs fake too?'