“Lift!” cried Falkoner, grabbing her by the shoulder. “Now!”
She struggled with sudden, frantic, shocking strength.
“Over!” called Falkoner.
In one galvanic movement they heaved her over the rail into the ocean. She landed with a splash and after a moment resurfaced, flailing, her cries rising for a brief time over the rumble of wind and water, then fading away rapidly as she disappeared into the darkness.
CHAPTER 74
PENDERGAST BEGAN RUNNING TOWARD THE BOW as soon as he heard her cries. As he sprinted along the walkway, he glimpsed a flash of white plummeting into the water and saw Constance sweep past, then disappear in the darkness behind the wake.
For a moment he was paralyzed with shock. Then he understood.
He heard a voice coming from the forward deck: Esterhazy. “Aloysius!” it called out. “You hear me? Come out with your hands up. Surrender. You do that and we’ll turn the boat around. Otherwise we keep going. Hurry!”
Pendergast, his.45 drawn, didn’t move.
“If you want us to turn around, come into the open with your hands up. It’s November — you know better than anyone how cold the water is. I give her fifteen minutes, twenty at most.”
Again, Pendergast did not move. Could not move.
“We’ve got a waypoint of her location on the GPS,” Esterhazy called out. “We can find her in minutes.”
Pendergast hesitated for a final, excruciating moment. He could almost admire Esterhazy’s brilliant ploy. Then he raised his hands over his head and walked slowly forward. He came around the forecabin to see Esterhazy and two other men standing on the forecastle, weapons drawn.
“Walk toward us, slowly, hands over your head.”
Pendergast obeyed.
Esterhazy came forward, took the.45 out of his hands, and stuck it in his own waistband. Then he searched him. The search was thorough and professional. Esterhazy removed his blades, a.32 Walther, packets of chemicals, wire, and various tools. He groped through the jacket lining and found other tools and items loosely sewed up inside.
“Take your jacket off.”
Pendergast removed his jacket and dropped it on the deck.
Esterhazy turned to one of the others. “Cuff, secure, and tape him. Completely. I want him immobile as a mummy.”
One of the men came forward. Pendergast’s hands were cuffed behind his back with plastic straps. His mouth was sealed with duct tape.
“Lie down,” said the third man, speaking with a German accent.
Pendergast complied. They cuffed his ankles, then taped his wrists, arms, and legs, leaving him prone on the deck and unable to move.
“All right,” Esterhazy said to the German. “Now tell the captain to turn the boat around and pick up the girl.”
“Why?” said the man. “We achieved our objective — who cares?”
“You wanted him to talk, right? Isn’t that why he’s still alive?”
After a brief hesitation, the German spoke to the captain through his headset. A moment later, the boat slowed and began to turn.
Esterhazy checked his watch. Then he turned to Pendergast. “It’s been twelve minutes,” he said. “I hope you didn’t hesitate too long.”
CHAPTER 75
ESTERHAZY TOOK UP A DOCK LINE. “Help me tie him to these cleats,” he told Schultz.
His mind was working a mile a minute. He’d been faking bravura and an aura of command, but right below the surface he was almost beside himself with fear. He had to figure out a way to save his own skin now. But nothing came to mind. What’s the matter, Judson?Falkoner had said. You suddenly don’t trust us? I’m surprised — and hurt.
Esterhazy realized that the chances were good he was as dead as Pendergast.
The boat had come around and was now slowing as they neared the waypoint. Esterhazy moved to the bow, searching for the young woman while two spotlights from the bridge scanned the heaving sea.
“There!” said Esterhazy as one spotlight picked up a flash of reflecting tape from the life preserver.
In a moment the yacht had reached her, slowing still further and turning. Esterhazy jogged aft and snagged the life preserver with a mooring hook, hauling Constance around to the stern. Falkoner came aft and together they pulled her onto the platform, then carried her through the transom and into the main saloon, where they laid her on the carpeted floor.
She was semi-conscious but still breathing. Esterhazy quickly felt her pulse: slow and thready.
“Hypothermia,” he said to Falkoner. “We’ve got to bring her core temperature up. Where’s the woman?”
“Gerta? She locked herself in the crew quarters.”
“Have her run a lukewarm bath.”
Falkoner disappeared while Esterhazy removed the life preserver, unbuttoned and slipped off her soggy dress and underclothing, then wrapped her in a dry afghan that was folded on a nearby chair. He put plastic cuffs on her wrists and a much looser set around her ankles, leaving just enough slack for her to walk.
A moment later, the woman arrived with Falkoner. Her face was pale but she was composed. “The bath is running.”
They carried Constance through the saloon to the forward stateroom master bath, where they lowered her into the lukewarm water. She was already reviving, murmuring something as she went in.
“I’m going forward to watch Pendergast,” Esterhazy said.
Falkoner looked at him for a moment — a searching, calculating look. Then he smiled crookedly. “When she’s revived, I’ll bring her — and we’ll use her to make Pendergast talk.”
Esterhazy felt himself shudder.
He found Pendergast where he had left him, Schultz watching over him. He pulled up a deck chair and sat down, cradling the gun and looking carefully at Pendergast. This was the first time they had been face-to-face since he’d left the agent, critically wounded and sinking, in the quicksand of the Foulmire. The man’s silvery eyes, barely visible in the dim light, were, as usual, unreadable.
Ten minutes passed as Esterhazy went through every scenario, every possible plan to get himself off the Vergeltung—to no avail. They were going to kill him — he’d seen it in the look Falkoner had given him. Thanks to Pendergast, he’d caused the Covenant too much trouble, too many men, to remain alive himself.
He heard raised voices and saw Constance being pushed along the port-side walkway by Gerta, the redheaded woman, the threatening murmurs of Falkoner following. In a moment they emerged on deck. Zimmermann had joined them. Constance was wearing a long white terry-cloth bathrobe, with a man’s jacket over it. Falkoner gave her one last shove and she fell to the deck in front of Pendergast.
“Feisty bitch,” said Falkoner, dabbing at a bloody nose. “No problem reviving her. Tie her to that post.”
Schultz and the redheaded woman pushed her toward a lifeline stanchion, then tied her to it. She did not struggle, instead remaining strangely silent. When they had secured her, Falkoner straightened up, dabbed his brow, and cast a cool, triumphant expression at Esterhazy. “I’ll handle this,” he said in a clipped tone. “This is, after all, my area of expertise.”
He ripped the tape from Pendergast’s mouth. “We wouldn’t want to miss a word the man says — would we?”
Esterhazy casually glanced up at the bridge, a row of faintly glowing windows on the upper deck above and aft of the forecastle. He could see the captain behind the wheel, Gruber the mate to one side. Both were absorbed in their work, paying no attention to the drama playing out on the foredeck below. The vessel was now heading northeast, paralleling Long Island’s South Shore. Esterhazy wondered where they were going — Falkoner had been more than a little vague on that point.
“All right,” said Falkoner, taking a swaggering turn in front of Pendergast. He holstered his weapon and slid the combat knife out of its scabbard. Standing in front of the agent, he fondled it in the dim light, tested the edges, knelt, then pierced Pendergast’s flesh with the tip and drew a thin line down the cheek. Blood welled up.