Part 13 (1/2)
Sally said anxiously, ”But we need to get to Rock Harbor. Tonight. Will you take us?”
”We don't have much time,” Ian added. ”You and your crew have been sitting around doing nothing all these years. Maybe now's the time to help.”
Ben bit his lower lip, then turned to stare out the porthole once again. The Chippewa groaned underneath as it s.h.i.+fted on the water. After a few moments, Ben said, ”The crew's getting the s.h.i.+p ready now. We should set sail any minute.”
”Super!” Sally said. Broad smiles broke out on the teenagers' faces. Sally leaned over, threw her arms around Ian, and gave him a bear hug. To her surprise, Ian responded with a kiss full on the lips. She was so startled she didn't know what to say. She sat back, fl.u.s.tered, feeling her cheeks burning. ”Ian! What...”
”You know,” interrupted Ben as he gazed out the porthole into the bl.u.s.tery night, ”it was a storm just like this when we wrecked all those years ago.”
Suddenly, a voice cried out from above decks. ”s.h.i.+p ahoy!”
All three jerked their heads up in surprise. ”What in blazes?” cursed Ben, striding toward the door. ”You kids stay here.” He rushed through the door and disappeared down the narrow hallway.
Ian glanced at Sally with a conspiratorial look on his face. ”Come on, Sal,” he said. ”Let's go see.” He got up and ran to the door.
”Ian, wait,” she said, rising and following quickly behind, wondering just how much more trouble they could pack into one night.
When Ian and Sally emerged from the lower decks, they spotted the rest of the aging crew on the side rail, looking out over the cove. Ben heard them coming up the steps and turned, scowling when he saw them.
”I told you to stay below,” he grumbled, not used to having his orders disobeyed.
”Who's out there?” Ian asked, moving to the rail with Sally. He squinted, trying to peer out over the water. The huge camouflage netting, which hung by wires connected to opposing pine trees on sh.o.r.e, obscured his view. Overlaid with branches and twigs, the netting was a perfect cover, allowing the men on deck a partial view out, yet keeping the Chippewa invisible to those on the cove.
”Ready on your order, sir,” snapped a sailor. Ian looked over to his left and saw the man near the bow. He was holding a smoldering wick next to a cannon, a small carronade.
”Steady, lads,” Ben intoned. ”They haven't spotted us yet.”
”Who are they?” Ian asked, still trying to see.
”Here,” said Ben, handing the boy a small telescope. Ian held it up to his eye and scanned the water.
At first, he couldn't make out anything other than the black water of the cove. But then he saw movement and locked the gla.s.s on an area about one hundred yards from the s.h.i.+p. A small motorboat came into view. Two men sat huddled inside, s.h.i.+vering from the cold. Ian instantly recognized them. ”LeBeck's men,” he said.
Ben s.n.a.t.c.hed back the telescope and peered out, a grim look on his face. He watched the gangsters for a few moments, then grimaced. ”Sorry-looking bunch,” he muttered.
Out in the motorboat, a twenty-footer with a beefy outboard engine, MacGlynn sat s.h.i.+vering, his arms wrapped around his body, huddled against the cold. He stamped his feet against the wooden hull in a futile attempt to keep warm, then looked back at the thug manning the motor in the stern. He doesn't seem cold, MacGlynn thought. b.l.o.o.d.y weather.
As they slowly idled through the water, the s.h.i.+p's motor made a low growling noise that echoed up and down the steep hills of McCargoe Cove. It was as if they were in some ghostly world separated from reality. MacGlynn glanced nervously at the empty seat near the bow; they'd lost a man overboard pa.s.sing through the maelstrom at the cove entrance. MacGlynn wasn't sure how he and the other man had managed to escape death. All he knew was that, when this night was over, he never again wanted anything to do with Lake Superior.
As they pa.s.sed the deserted fis.h.i.+ng village, MacGlynn cupped his hands together and yelled at the moss-covered buildings on sh.o.r.e. ”h.e.l.lo there!” he bellowed, his voice echoing over the silent cove.
The thug at the stern cupped his ear, listening, but no answer call was returned. ”Place is deserted,” he grumbled, then shrugged and gave the engine a little more gas. Blue smoke poured from the rear, and a slick of oil trailed behind them like a ma.s.s of black rats following their master.
”Well,” said MacGlynn, spitting into the water, ”no way in h.e.l.l we're going back on that lake tonight. Don't care what LeBeck says. Let's see if we can find a place to camp on sh.o.r.e. Head in.”
Having come within fifty yards of the hidden Chippewa, the boat turned ninety degrees and made a beeline for the abandoned fis.h.i.+ng village.
Captain Ben lowered the telescope from his eye and frowned. ”Looks like they're spending the night at the village. Gonna be tricky sneaking out of here.”
Ben gestured to the man standing ready at the cannon. At Ben's command, the sailor put down the wick in a ceramic bowl, then turned away to a.s.sist another man stowing away barrels of some sort.
Ian couldn't believe their rescue effort was about to be derailed by a couple of cheap thugs in a boat. He tugged at Ben's uniform sleeve. ”Why not just take them hostage?” he pleaded.
”Can't risk it,” Ben snapped. ”They'd find out our secret.”
”But we can't just hide here!”
Sally grabbed Ian by the arm, trying to calm him down. ”Ian, they're old men. What can they do anyway?”
The sailors on deck, Ben included, glared at Sally. Ian stepped in front of her, his hands bunched into tight fists.
”Is that it?” he demanded. He bl.u.s.tered, trying to goad them into action. ”You're all too old and afraid?”
Ben bristled, but held his ire. ”Sorry, Ian. We'll wait till they go to sleep, then I'll send a couple men over to conk 'em on the head, blindfold 'em. They'll think they were robbed by bandits.”
”But we can't wait!” Ian pleaded, embarra.s.sed to be whining like a child, but not knowing what else to do.
”Sorry, lad,” Ben said curtly. His mind made up, he turned away to watch the gangster boat, which was moving quickly away toward the fis.h.i.+ng village. He handed the telescope to Sally so she could get a good look at the thugs.
Ian bit his lower lip and looked around. His eyes went wide when he spotted the cannon, which had been left unattended. He sauntered over, unnoticed by any of the crew; their attention for the moment was riveted on the gangster boat. Ian casually nudged the small carronade, trying to line up the sights without being too obvious. ”Time somebody does something around here,” he muttered.
The cannon, though small, was made of solid iron and weighed far too much to be nudged with just one foot. Ian finally had to resort to bending down and giving the weapon a good shove. At the noise of the cannon swiveling, Captain Ben spun around and froze. He saw Ian pick up the still-smoldering wick.
”Ian!” shouted Ben, taking a step forward.
Without hesitating another moment, Ian touched the wick to the fuse, which instantly began hissing and crackling with a red-orange glow. In another second, the cannon went off. With a roar, it slammed backward and knocked Ian to the deck.
In the gangster boat, MacGlynn heard the report and looked up. He saw fire burst forth from the far sh.o.r.e, then heard a terrible shrill whistle ripping through the air. ”What the...”
A section of the boat's stern suddenly erupted in a hail of splintered wood and flame, nearly knocking MacGlynn and the thug into the water. Both men screamed, then rushed to put out the fire.
On the Chippewa, a roar went up among the sailors. A direct hit! They watched gleefully as the gangster boat began billowing black smoke. Ian jumped up jubilantly. ”Yes!” he exclaimed.
Suddenly, Captain Ben was there towering over him, eyes blazing. A hush went over the crew. The old sailor grabbed Ian by the front of his s.h.i.+rt, then picked the boy bodily up off the deck. Ian kicked his feet uselessly as he dangled in midair. He couldn't believe the strength in the old man. Ben, trembling with rage, narrowed his eyes to slits.
”There's no disobeying orders on my s.h.i.+p!” Ben growled.
Ian let himself go limp; struggling now was pointless. The two stared at each other a few moments, and Ian wondered if Ben would strike him or simply drop him over the side of the s.h.i.+p. Then Ian saw something soften in Ben's eyes. The snarl on the old sailor's lips slowly disappeared, and his face became kindly once again.
”You've gone and done it now, lad,” he said softly, gently lowering Ian to the deck.
Just then, a cry went up from a sailor perched in a crow's nest on top of one of the masts. Ben looked out over the cove and saw the gangster boat moving away, not as fast as before, but still at a fair clip.
Ben saw MacGlynn snarl and pick up a Tommy gun from the bottom of the boat. The ganster yelled and let loose a long burst into the woods in the direction of the cannon fire. A stream of hot lead raked the Chippewa.