Ever since she had seen the lights flash on around the island, Lori had fretted over what to do. Burke and Walt had long since moved inland from the beach. What did it mean? When the lights were extinguished, and a plane took off, she became even more uneasy. Then she saw the plane circling toward her and ducked into the cabin. It continued around in a climb and headed off toward the mainland. She was tempted to call the Coast Guard right then, but they had agreed on the procedures to follow and she would stick by them. She would wait until six.
It was around five-forty when she spotted the small beam of light through the rain. She trained the binoculars on it. She counted the flashes. One… two… three, pause, one. That was the signal. But it was much farther east than the course they had taken to the island. She checked again to be sure, then started the inboard and switched on Elvira's lights. She steered in the direction of the flashing beam and soon saw the raft bobbing along on the waves.
Burke pushed Brackin up the swim ladder, then climbed after him, favoring his left shoulder. Both slumped on the cockpit bench, exhausted.
Lori frowned at the blood on Burke's shirt and asked with alarm, "Are you all right? What happened?"
"It's a long story," he said. "Let's get the hell out of here before that plane comes back."
Chapter 39
The weather turned progressively worse. Burke and Walt Brackin were forced to suffer through the painful exercise of pulling on their foul weather gear over soaked fatigues. A drenching torrent poured from the dark gray skies, as though punishment from some malevolent sea god for invasion of his watery domain. The wind-driven droplets struck their faces like stinging pellets. To get the boat moving, they had no choice but to use the inboard engine. The sails would have capsized them in the explosive gusts. It wasn't exactly what Burke had anticipated for his first sailing expedition.
"If there's any consolation in this," he shouted above the din of wind and waves, "it's that nobody's going to be out here in an airplane looking for us."
"That's good news?" Lori said. "If we end up in the drink, you'll be wishing you could find a plane up there."
Burke forced a grin. "I guess it's all a matter of perspective." Then his face sobered. Had they managed to escape from the claws of the Jabberwock only to end up as breakfast for a pack of hungry sharks? It wasn't a fate he cared to dwell upon.
"Can I help with that wheel?" Brackin offered as he watched Lori struggle to hold the course.
"I'm not sure you could handle it, Walt. Better take it easy and rest that shoulder."
"You're probably right. When… if we get back, I need to check in at an emergency room and get this x-rayed. I may have a fracture."
Lori fought the seas gamely. She worked to maintain a course toward the mainland by steering slightly to the west, hoping to counteract the drifting effect of the wind. A loran set would have come in handy to guide them in, but, of course, the boat had not been intended for use in this kind of weather. Waves poured over the bulwark with every dip of the hull. It served to wash the deck clean, which appeared fortunate. Sailing in choppy waters was a new experience for Burke, and it wasn't long before he began heaving up what remained of his dinner. He was quickly reduced to clutching the nearest hand-hold, his head hung to one side, eyes closed, praying he'd find a way to get his stomach off that roller-coaster it seemed to be riding.
The small boat pitched and rolled, managing to struggle shoreward at no more than four or five knots. Lori knew she had done some crazy things in her life, but this one came close to topping the list. She had to admire Burke for the dogged way he had pursued this investigation. It would have been much easier to have dropped it and returned to his uncomplicated life in the Smokies. But he seemed to have a talent for getting the nasties of the world on his case, and she seemed to have a talent for getting caught up in the aftermath. Just when things were looking their bleakest, he managed to straighten up long enough to put an arm around her and say with complete confidence, "If anybody can get us back, you can." She knew there was no use in trying to get angry at him. He had the guileless charm of a natural-born snake oil salesman. For some reason, she found herself unable to resist his pitch.
When they finally spotted land near midday, they discovered they were several miles east of their intended landfall at Cape St. George.
Burke had managed somehow to revive himself enough to study the navigation chart. "Might as well head back west and hit the channel between St. George Island and Little St. George," he said. "That'll get us into the bay and away from these damnable waves."
St. George was a barrier island that acted as a seawall for Apalachicola Bay. A narrow, twenty-five-mile-long strip of sand that had been developed with a string of homes and beachfront cabins, it also housed a popular tourist inn.
Brackin had been enduring his misery in silence for most of the past hour. "I recommend we follow the old seaman's adage, any port in a storm. Let's beach this old girl and hit dry land."
"That might attract a lot of attention," Burke said, a note of caution in his voice. "That's something we certainly don't need."
Wearily, Lori agreed.
Just as the storm had arrived early, it began its departure sooner than expected. As they negotiated the channel into the protected waters of the bay, the winds lost some of their ferocity and the rain tapered off to a modest shower. To the north, they saw streaks of lightning etch jagged white daggers across the sky, but the thunderstorms remained well beyond the shoreline. Even so, another hour had elapsed before they reached the marina at Apalachicola. The gas tank registered empty when they tied up.
"You folks are either damned fine sailors or lucky as hell to be alive," the scraggly-faced proprietor said as they stumbled off the boat.
Angler's Inn was only a short distance from the marina. Lori was given first shot at the hot shower and confided that she had never appreciated one more. After they had all dressed in clean, dry clothes, Burke and Lori collapsed onto the chairs, while Brackin stretched his long frame across the bed.
Lori had snacked on candy bars for energy during the height of the ordeal, but now her preferences moved in a different direction. "Why don't we find a nice restaurant and discuss where to go from here?" she asked, mustering a cheerful smile.
The way Burke's stomach felt, he wasn't sure he could do justice to a bowl of Jello. He was completely drained. He would have liked nothing better than to join Walt Brackin on that bed and just sleep for hours. But his instincts told him that was pure wishful thinking. The "old man," as Ted had called his superior, evidently the Jabberwock leader, now knew that Burke Hill, the photographer in Tel Aviv, and private eye Douglas Bell were one and the same. As soon as their break-out from Oyster Island was discovered, someone would be scouring the coastline for traces of either name. It would not take long to pinpoint them if they stayed put.
"Sorry to be a party wrecker," he said, "but we don't have the luxury of time to sit around and plan. We'd best do it on the run. I doubt Jeffries would have tried to get back in that weather. But as soon as he does, we can expect somebody to be backtracking on us."
Since conditions for conversation had been somewhat less than ideal during the harrowing journey aboard Elvira, Lori had managed to learn only the bare outlines of what had happened. It was enough to confirm what he was saying. "Then I suggest we pack up and get Walt to a hospital. On the way, you can fill me in on all the details. We can decide where to go from there."