“But of course,” she repeated and heaved her black-clad bulk off the high stool to waddle toward the ladies’ room. A moment later she returned, shrugging. “No one there,” she declared.
“Where the hell...?”
“Rear door, perhaps.” She glanced toward the table where the Frenchman was looking suspiciously smug, like a man who has everything sorted out and is in no hurry to put. the pieces together.
Except that I didn’t believe it for a minute. No one had left that table, and it seemed damned unlikely that Christina would have ditched me for an evening with a casual pickup. Not now, anyway. I ignored him.
“Thank you,” I said to the woman and hurried out of the taverna. When I came to the spot where we’d left the dinghy, I wasn’t surprised to find it there; she certainly wouldn’t have gone back to the boat alone. But as I looked out over the darkened harbor, I could make out a dark shape drifting close to Scylla. It was a small outboard boat, its prow nudging the hull of the sloop, and from the way it bobbed and dipped, I got the impression it had been left there only moments ago. As I watched, a light gleamed through the ports of the main cabin, and there were no doubts left.
I got into the dinghy, cast off, and rowed as quickly as possible across the crowded harbor. The thumping of the oars in the oarlocks seemed like thunder in my ears, but just as I paused to figure a way to muffle the sound, a motorboat roared by. Its wake nearly swamped me, but I kept control and used the noise to stroke the rest of the distance to Scylla.
I tied up at the bow, then eased up onto the forward deck. The surface was damp with dew, and as I lay there, I could feel the moisture soaking through my shirt. It didn’t bother me; I was more concerned with the fact that no light came through the plexiglas hatch cover right in front of my nose. That meant the doorway between the cabins was closed.
I eased the hatch open, thankful I hadn’t dogged it down from the inside earlier. It swung up silently, and I let myself down between the two narrow bunks below. The hatch swung closed again, slowed by my hand until it snugged shut. I moved toward the doorway, checking Hugo in its forearm sheath as I put my ear to the thin wooden panel.
If my Greek had been better, I might have been able to tell what they were saying, but the man’s words spewed out too rapidly for me to take in more than a few fragments of the conversation. But his voice made it clear that he was threatening someone, and when I heard Christina reply, there was no question who. I heard the sound of a hard slap and a muffled cry. I started to slip my knife into my hand when a ton of bricks dropped on me from above.
He had come through the hatch I’d just closed and again hadn’t dogged. In the darkness I couldn’t see a thing except a bulky shadow pressing down on me; in the cramped space between the bunks I couldn’t even roll over to get at the man. A blast of garlic-laden breath almost suffocated me, and that gave me the strength of desperation. I heaved up, like a mustang with a burr under its saddle, trying to shake the foul-smelling man loose from my back. His head thumped against the low ceiling; he grunted heavily while his hands still sought a grip around my throat. I bucked him again, started to slam him over onto one of the bunks when the door swung open.
The light in the main cabin was dim, but after the total darkness, I was blinded for a moment. All I saw was a silhouette and the gleam of metal in his hand. I lashed out with my feet but couldn’t quite reach him. There was the chilling click of a hammer being drawn back; I wrenched my body around, trying to get the man on my back between me and the gun, but I knew it was too late.
The shot was like a thunder clap in the cramped little space. For a moment I froze, waiting to feel where I had been hit. But there was no pain, not even the early numbness that precedes the agony of a serious hit. As I looked again at the silhouette in the doorway, I saw him stagger back. The man who had jumped me relaxed his grip, and I tore free, intent on the gunman.
I kicked the pistol from his hand and shoved him backward. In the dim light beyond I saw Christina, her hand twined in his hair, tugging at it with all her might. But in the struggle her free arm flailed out behind her and hit the kerosene light, knocking it loose from its gimbals.
Flaming liquid spilled over the table, then to the deck, licking along the planking toward us in the sudden darkness. I pushed the man aside, heedless now even of Christina. Fire aboard a boat is maybe the most terrifying thing there is, especially when you’re trapped below and the fire is headed straight for the gas tanks.
I grabbed blankets from the bunks and threw them over the biggest burning areas; as they smoldered, I turned on the water in the galley sink, then dove into the big hanging locker and hauled out the foul-weather gear to toss over other burning spots. The whole business couldn’t have taken more than a minute and a half — otherwise we’d have lost the boat and probably our lives — but when I finally had the fire out, our visitors were gone. I heard the outboard start, tried to get up to the cockpit, but crashed into Christina.
“McKee!” she shrieked, throwing her arms around my neck. “Oh God! McKee!”
“Yeah, yeah.” I patted her absently, listening to the fading sound of the motor. “What happened here?”
“I... they took me away from the taverna. The man had a gun and...”
“Okay.” I pushed her away, just a little, so I could bend down and check the deck underfoot. “Get me a flashlight, huh?”
For all the fire and confusion, there wasn’t much damage to speak of. Luckily the table that had taken the first wave of burning kerosene was formica-topped; a few swipes with a rag would clear away the smudges. The planking in the deck that ran through the middle of the cabin was always damp from bilgewater sloshing just below, and only the paint was scorched. When I was satisfied there was nothing left smoldering anywhere on board I turned the light on Christina.
“Sorry,” I said curtly. “Since the bully boys have gone, I figured it would be better to make sure we don’t explode before getting around to questions.”
The girl nodded heavily, head slumped between her shoulders as she sat on the portside bunk. “I understand.”
“Want to help me now?”
“Help you?”
“We’re not going to stay here tonight, sweetheart. Let’s go pick up some other mooring — unless you want to sail all night again.”
“Oh, God no, McKeel.” She buried her face in her hands. “So much...”
“Well don’t cave in now. Come on. Bring the dinghy around from the bow and tie it at the stern while I get the engine started.”
In a way, it would have made better sense to take off that night, but I was beginning to get some more crazy feelings about this operation. If they wanted us, they could get us. Especially out on the open sea. So maybe a different location for the rest of the night would be just as safe. Anyway, I was tired, too.
We found a mooring at the outer fringe of the harbor, tied on to it and finished cleaning up. We put another lantern in the bracket, and while Christina scrubbed the table top, I made a thorough check of the rest of the cabin, clearing away the last of the broken glass and other debris. I found the gun I’d kicked from the man’s hand, an old .32 revolver with only one other cartridge in the cylinder. Not much use, but I stuck it on a shelf in the galley, just in case.
“You don’t ask any questions,” Christina said quietly.
“I was waiting for you.”
“What do you want me to say?”
“Maybe what the hell happened.”
“It seems so... silly.”
“Silly?”
“Yes. You see, the man, the one with the gun, grabbed me back at the taverna. A coarse man, no better than a hoodlum, do you know? He and his companion forced me to come back to the boat...”