Reverend Mosby asked, “Another hostage?”
Ben nodded, “Somebody we haven’t seen in a while. Wade, cut on over into Little Pungers Creek when you can, please. Only three now? There were six before.”
Ellis watched the Palestrina like a hawk. “Probably below.”
Ben was puzzled. “Maybe. That cuddy cabin’s not so big.”
Mosby’s face turned gray. “Ben, you’re not thinking Ida-Beth’s over there on that boat, are you? Your mother. After so long?”
“Just keep an eye out.”
The Reverend whispered, “Good Lord,” like he meant it.
Everyone stared at Ben. Wade Joyce throttled up. After a short reach to the north he swung the wheel to starboard. They passed by Johnson Cove. Now they rounded southeast down past Gun Barrel Point to the inlet.
Ellis noticed Sonny Wright and Sam Nuttle conferring with their heads close together. They glanced his way every now and then, and they were not smiling.
Ellis nudged Ben. “Think they’re after my eighty-million-and-a-mule?”
“We’ll soon see.” Ben studied Sonny and Sam. Let them know he was paying attention to them. They immediately broke up their huddle.
Ellis said, “Want a word with you.”
Ben nodded and led the way among the Islanders on deck, and forward into the cuddy cabin. He and Ellis sat opposite one another around the chart table. Ben waited.
Ellis said, “I knew Chalk.”
Ben drew and released a slow breath the same way he did before he pulled the trigger on a mission.
Ellis went on. “In Vietnam, like you thought. I didn’t just happen to make my way back here after your Pappy reported me K.I.A., Body Not Recovered. Yes, the route was the same, the steamers, the safe houses, all like I said, but I wasn’t the first to come back that way. Chalk sent things home. Dope. People. He was kind of a travel agent for guys like me.”
Ben said, “For deserters.”
Ellis’s eyes narrowed. “Watch it, Ben. Remember there was a price on my head, from my own side, because of those ex parte gigs your Pappy and I took on for God and country. My own people, your people, they put me in this position, and you’d best understand that.”
Ellis waited until Ben nodded slightly and said, “I get it. You were in a position.”
Mollified only slightly, Ellis went on. “Chalk had an underground railroad-type deal going. Burma to Burbank. It was my only way home. The only way for me to come back here without a trace.”
Ben asked, “What did that cost?”
Ellis didn’t answer right away. “My soul. My good name. A wheelbarrow full of money your dad gave me. Chalk’s guys said I could go for free if I muled some dope back stateside, but I said no. Your Pap backed me on that the whole way, no questions. Told me I could make a life here on the bay, and welcome. I was in a position, Ben. I could not say no.”
Ben said, “You’re not from around here.”
Ellis sat up straighter and said, “I am now.”
Ben said, “What’s your real name?”
Ellis shook his head. “Next time you’re in D.C., you go to The Wall. My name’s up there someplace. I won’t ever say which name it is. To this day, I’m ashamed it’s there alongside the real heroes. That’s something I’ll always have to live with. You run and tell that. I’m done talking.”
His shoulders bowed, Ellis rose and went back on deck. Ben followed. Ellis had devils, but Ben had a few of his own. He doubted that his status as a Smith Island native was meaningful enough keep him alive and in charge of this crew over the next few hours. Would vouching for Ellis protect his friend, or draw fire on himself? Ben was sick of fighting, and figuring angles and personalities, but he was in too deep. He could not give up now. That moment for backing out had passed the instant he found his father’s corpse on the bottom of the Chesapeake.
He muttered to himself, “Whisky-Whisky-Delta-Delta.”
Ellis caught the reference, and smiled thin. “What Would Dick Do?”
Ben nodded.
Ellis said, “All due respect, he’s not here now. You are.”
Ben said nothing.
Keeping an eye on the other boat, Tom Fox said, “I still got ’em. But I don’t think the fonny fools got us.”
Ben said, “Throttle back, Wade. Let them toll in closer. A lot closer.”
Tension aboard the boat coiled tight. The Palestrina and Chalk’s crew slowly closed with the Varina Davis.
Ben waited until the Palestrina’s cuddy cabin was almost always visible over the wave crests. “Here we go now. Before we lose them. Open up!”
Everyone had been waiting for the order. Though the enormous market guns had been left ashore, no one had boarded unarmed. They all snatched up their pump-guns. The men of the Council aimed above the horizon toward the Palestrina, and started shooting and shucking their weapons, loosing a terrible din of rolling thunder. They hooted and yelled all the while. Hot smoking spent shells flew and spun and bounced all over the deck. Some shells hissed when they landed in the water.
Sonny Wright piped up with demonic glee. “God a-Mercy, don’t mar Palestrina’s paint! Hiram’ll haunt us ’til Kingdom Come!”
Sonny knew they were too far off for the shotfall to do any harm to Hiram’s beloved boat. His quip was more a reminder to everybody that dear friends had already shed blood for this fortune. That blood would be repaid drop for drop, times ten.
Ben raised a hand after a half a minute of Remington’s Symphony Number 0–0, in the key of Mud Flat Major. “Ho’ up!”
Everybody ceased fire. They waited to see if their ruckus achieved what they needed.
Fox confirmed, “Yep, they hauled their wind. Watching us.”
Now Chalk had to know the Smith Islanders were returning to Deep Banks Island. He also knew there was a formidable company aboard, all armed to the teeth. Ben hoped his friends had sounded like a bunch of crazy rednecks. He wanted the interlopers to stick with them all night, but not venture too close. Over the Varina Davis’s idling engines, all Ben could hear were the snicks, clicks, and snaps as everyone on board quietly reloaded.
“Okay. Throttle up, Wade,” said Ben. “It’s time we give them an eyeful of what they came for.”
CHAPTER 48
Chalk’s eyes blazed as he stared at the distant boat. “What in the hell was that?”
It sounded like the Tet Offensive over on the deadrise from Smith Island. The wind and rain had slackened. A thick cloud cover still oppressed the daylight into funereal gloom. Chalk’s crew had not yet put on their NVGs. ’Til that moment he believed he had whittled the competition down to a few moronic weaklings. Now, even more of the enemy had herded together on a boat. For a party. With guns! Blasting indiscriminately all over the place. Shot dribbling into the water around them like rain; pattering down on the Palestrina’s deck like black sleet.
Drunken Hooples! And now they were all bearing down on Deep Banks Island for his gold! Chalk had counted on natural greed to keep Ben Blackshaw from spreading the word, and the wealth. This evidence of collaboration and teamwork was a marked disappointment.
Slagget said, “Boy Blackshaw came back with pals.”
Chalk rolled his eyes. “Thanks for the news flash. And thanks loads for snuffing half our gun hands right when we need them. We could be in there and on them like Hell’s Angels if it weren’t for you.”
As far as Chalk could see, the deceased Simon Clynch was right. This entire gig was cursed from the jump. Snakebit. So be it. There was no way he was going to cave or quit. Not this close to success.