“Vinnie!” Lou yelled. “Are you onboard?”
He reached for the gunwale and fell into the water. It wasn’t deep, and we were already soaked anyway. I helped pull him up onto the back deck of the jet ski, and from there he was able to climb over the gunwale and into the boat. I pulled the anchor out of the compartment and tossed it into the water. Then I followed him into the boat.
He was already on his knees, looking into the cabin. As I bent down next to him, I saw big Buck Carrick, sitting on the floor of the cabin. His hands were zip-tied together and tied to the table post. His legs were zip-tied, too. He was crying without making a sound, his mouth open. He was looking up at us like he couldn’t believe what he was seeing.
Vinnie was lying next to him, his eyes closed.
“Vinnie,” Lou said, putting his hand on the man’s shoulder. “Are you alive? Please tell me you’re alive, God damn it. Open your eyes.”
“Help him,” Buck said, the sound finally coming back to him. His voice was hoarse. “You have to help him, please.”
“What happened?” I said. “Is he breathing? Can you feel his pulse?”
Lou was hunched over him now. It was hard to do in such close quarters.
“He’s alive,” Lou said. “He’s unconscious.”
“They hit him in the head,” Buck said. He was shaking. He took a long breath and tried to keep talking, but he could barely form a sentence. “He got knocked out… They hit him… He came to, but then… he was out again. He has a… He’s… a concussion. He needs to… we need to… get him…”
“Okay, take it easy,” Lou said. “We’re here now. We’re gonna take you both back. Everything’s gonna be all right now.”
“Who are you?” Buck said to him. “How did you…”
Lou took out his folding knife and cut the zip ties from Buck’s hands and ankles. Then he got to work on the rope, which would obviously take a lot longer. He kept looking down at Vinnie’s face as he sawed at the rope. Vinnie was still unconscious.
“While you’re doing that,” I said, “I’m gonna see if we can get this boat started.”
I started to stand up, that was the exact moment when I heard the last thing in the world I wanted to hear.
The sound of a motor.
It was the high-pitched whine of something built for speed. It didn’t sound close yet, but I knew we’d probably see him before the next minute ended.
Corvo had arrived.
CHAPTER EIGHTEEN
“What’s that sound?” Lou said, still sawing at the rope.
I didn’t answer him. The key had been dangling from the ignition, and I was too busy trying to start the engine. When it finally caught, I revved it and heard the pistons knocking and felt the whole motor shaking like it would fall right off into the water.
“We’ve got to get out of here,” Lou said. “We’re sitting ducks.”
“We’ve got no chance,” I said. “I don’t care how big a head start we have. That boat will run us down.”
“I can’t hear it,” he said, as he stood and cocked his head toward the sound of the approaching boat. “How close are they?”
An idea came to me. Desperate and probably doomed to failure, but it was probably our only shot left.
“Where’s the money?” I said.
There was a duffel bag sitting just below the other captain’s chair. I hadn’t even noticed it until that very second. I picked up the bag and opened it. I saw the bundles of hundred-dollar bills inside.
“What are we gonna do with that?” Lou said. “Come on, we’ve got to make a run for it. We’ve gotta try, at least.”
“It’s ten miles back to Beaver Island, Lou. You take the boat and go around to the other side of this island. I’ll stay here and see if I can talk to this guy.”
“What, are you crazy? He’ll kill you in a second.”
“Maybe, maybe not. I know he’s expecting a bag full of money plus two Indians. We’ll have to see what happens if he only gets the money.”
“I’m not leaving you here, Alex. No way.”
“We’re wasting time,” I said as I pulled up the anchor. Then I reached over the gunwale and pulled the jet ski close. “They won’t hear you as long as they’ve got their own engine running. So get over to the other side and then cut your engine. Have that gun ready, just in case. If they come around, try to surprise him with it. You’ll probably only get one shot.”
Assuming the gun’s even dry enough to fire, I thought. Yet one more thing stacked against us.
“You take the boat,” he said. “I’ll stay here.”
“Bad idea. They’re looking for Indians, remember?”
“This is madness,” he said, but he didn’t stop me as I took the bag and climbed off the boat and onto the jet ski.
“Get going! Now!”
He pushed the throttle forward and cranked the steering wheel. The boat made a tight circle around me, churning up sand in the shallow water. He left the inlet and went around the northern end of the island. I could hear the other boat’s engine now. It was much closer.
This island’s about a mile long, I thought. We’re on the northwest corner. If this Corvo guy is coming from Chicago, he’ll approach from the southwest. If our boat’s on the eastern side, he shouldn’t see it. Unless he circles around, just to make sure the coast is clear. Which is exactly what I would do if I were in his place. Making this now officially the dumbest idea I’ve ever had.
The motor was getting louder. I knew it was just a matter of seconds now. I looked back and saw that Lou was almost out of sight. I willed that old fishing boat to go faster, to get around that bend before it was too late.
That’s when Corvo’s boat came into view. He’d come up from the south and hugged the shoreline, so when he cleared the bend in the island he was suddenly right there, right on top of me. I didn’t dare look back to make sure Lou was clear now. I just stood up on the jet ski, straddling the seat. I held the bag of money in the air and put my other hand in the air, as well. I said a silent prayer and tried to stop my knees from shaking.
It was one of those cigarette boats, long and sleek and ridiculous. Twin engines churning up the water. I’m sure the thing could hit one hundred miles per hour without breaking a sweat. There were two men in the boat, one behind the wheel, one standing and holding a rifle. There was a scope on the rifle. Both men were wearing sunglasses. The driver throttled down and sent his wake ahead of him. It rocked the jet ski and I had to reach down to grab one handle. That caused the standing man to aim the rifle right at me. I’m sure my face was clear in his crosshairs.
I fought to keep my balance as I raised both hands again. I held that bag as high as I could. The boat swung away and made a loop in the open water. Then it came back into the inlet dead slow, its engines purring.
The man kept the rifle trained on my face. Yet one more gun pointed at me in these last few days when it had seemed almost constant. If you think you ever get used to it, you don’t. That’s what I was learning.
The man at the wheel stood up and looked around. He was especially interested in the island itself. He was scanning the shoreline like he expected something or someone to surprise him, but there was nothing there but sand and trees and what looked like a healthy crop of poison ivy.
The man with the rifle was wearing a bright Hawaiian shirt. I finally noticed that detail. The man at the wheel was wearing a nice light panel shirt, perfect for a day out in the summer sun. Not quite as casual as a Hawaiian shirt. It seemed odd to me that they’d be dressed that way. But then maybe they were trying to blend in with the other boaters on the lake. Of course, if they put the rifle away, they’d have a better shot at it.
Neither of them seemed in any hurry to talk to me. I was holding up that bag and my arm was starting to shake. I didn’t want to move.
“What’s the gag?” the man behind the wheel said. The boat was ten feet away now and drifting closer.