Wesley said gloatingly, “So you yourself are going to take a hostage. You’re getting in deeper, Carver.”
Carver said nothing. He made Wesley lead the way so the rest would follow. Which they did, wordlessly.
When they were all on the other side of the door he closed it and jammed the table up against it. Wedged two chairs between the table and the opposite wall. They’d be able to force the door open eventually. But when they did they couldn’t be sure Carver wasn’t still out there with the gun.
He looked at Courtney and said, “They know about you.” Which wasn’t true but would gain her cooperation. Carver didn’t want to take the time to explain about the explosives Jefferson had sent on board with her.
She stared back at him, then nodded. Had no choice but to believe him.
Carver said, “Let’s get off this thing.”
She stood and led him up the companionway and onto the deck. Though there was a breeze, the air was warm and thick. The motion of the boat seemed more violent up here, the night sea angrier. Whitecaps shimmered in the vast darkness.
Courtney opened a square hatch and dragged out a folded rubber raft, some collapsible oars.
She’d calculated this before. Within a few seconds she’d yanked on a cord and a CO2 cartridge inflated the raft. It was good size, about ten by six, probably built to accommodate four to six people.
The Bold Entrepreneur was making only ten or fifteen knots. Carver and Courtney slid the surprisingly heavy raft overboard. Courtney immediately dropped down into the waves less than six feet from it and scrambled into the raft. Carver jumped into the water after her, making sure not to loosen his grasp on his cane. Sank for what seemed forever and then came up about twenty feet from the raft. He roller-coastered on a wave, stroked toward the raft, and found that the ocean was moving it away from him.
Courtney stared at him, as if making up her mind. Then she shifted position and raised one end of the raft to change its angle into the waves. Somehow steadied it in place.
After a struggle, Carver got close to it. Hooked it with the cane and dragged himself aboard, sprawling on his chest and stomach. Coughed up sea water. Courtney helped him get turned around. He was surprised by her strength.
Slumped on the undulating rubber bottom, he felt his waistband and discovered he’d lost one of the guns. Jefferson’s pistol.
For a few moments he and Courtney sat watching the receding lights of the Bold Entrepreneur.
Then Courtney said, “They’ll be out of where you put them pretty soon.”
“We’re not far from shore,” Carver told her. “They won’t find us in the dark.”
She said, “Don’t be so sure,” and with a strong and skillful wrist motion extended the telescoped oars.
The wind seemed brisker now, and the sound of the unseen ocean was an endless and imponderable murmur of surrounding power. Now and then a wave would slap the raft hard, sloshing water on board and sending the oblong rubber craft spinning.
Carver and Courtney fitted the oars into the hard rubber oarlocks, then began rowing toward the low galaxy of lights that was the shoreline of Del Moray.
Chapter 37
When they got close to shore they saw the red and blue flashing lights, the commotion on the dock. Scurrying figures, arriving vehicles. Carver was pretty sure it was near where the Bold Entrepreneur had been docked and he’d thrown the injured drug runner overboard. He looked at Courtney, her compact body straining forward and back rhythmically, her features set in determination as she leaned into the oars. She couldn’t know that in a little while the Bold Entrepreneur would be blown apart and everyone on board would die, as Bert Renway had died in Wesley’s car outside Carver’s office.
Carver’s back and arms ached from rowing. His stiff leg, extended straight out so his foot was between Courtney’s feet in the water sloshing in the bottom of the raft, was beginning to cramp. There was still a controlled desperation in their rowing, though he was sure that by now the Bold Entrepreneur was no longer searching for them-if it had ever searched. The sea at night was an arena that had concealed battleships.
He let up a little on the left oar as he rowed, altering the raft’s course so it would land away from the red and blue lights and the people milling around on the distant dock.
Courtney glanced darkly at him. Realized what he was doing and didn’t object. In fact, she changed the rhythm of her own strokes to help him angle the raft in toward shore. Above the rush and crashing of the sea, the plaintive wail of a police siren drifted out to them on the night. A lonesome call from another world.
When the raft was about three hundred yards from the dock, a spotlight picked it up. Carver was momentarily blinded as it pinned the raft in a wavering circle of white light. He saw Courtney wince and duck her head, averting her eyes.
Another spotlight found them. Another. With their heads lowered, they kept rowing. Carver was getting a cramp in his left arm.
Courtney said, “You fucked things up, Carver. How you gonna explain? Huh?”
“You’ll find out around ten o’clock.”
“Which means?”
“Just what I said.” He decided he wouldn’t tell her about the explosives. Jefferson had used her to plant them, but now she was safe. And Edwina was safe. Now Jefferson’s plan didn’t sound so unreasonable. Carver decided to let fate and Jefferson, and maybe justice, have their way with the Bold Entrepreneur.
The Del Moray police were all over the dock. As soon as rubber bumped wood, grasping hands were reaching down to pull Carver and Courtney up out of the raft. Carver dropped his cane, told the two cops yanking on his arms to ease up. Recovered the cane. Felt whole again.
Found himself standing on the dock beside Courtney, surrounded by uniforms. People were yammering at him but he wasn’t listening; it took a few minutes for him to stop feeling the motion of the sea. For the earth to level.
The tall figure of McGregor shoved its way through the uniforms. He looked confused and mad. Said, “Carver, we’re gonna talk. You’re gonna tell me what the shit’s goin’ on here, and you’re gonna tell it straight.”
Carver hadn’t seen Ralph Palma, but the DEA agent was there beside Courtney. His suitcoat was slung over his shoulder and he was wearing a white shirt and dark suspenders. He gazed dispassionately at McGregor and said, “Sorry, but I gotta talk to both of them first.” He flashed his credentials at McGregor, who didn’t even glance at them. He knew who Palma was.
“You feds can’t just charge the fuck in here and push the local law aside,” McGregor said. “Ain’t Constitutional.” But there was no conviction in his voice.
“Watch me do it,” Palma said softly.
McGregor started to say something else, then he clamped his mouth shut. He knew where power lay, and when not to draw a line. And he knew Palma was serious.
Carver felt Palma grip his upper arm. Holding Courtney’s elbow with his other hand, the DEA agent led the two of them away from the knot of police and toward the gray Dodge parked near the edge of the dock.
“We’re gonna get together later, Carver,” McGregor called behind them. “Bet your sweet ass on that!”
Palma said, “He’s a charmer, no?”
“No,” Courtney said.
When they reached the Dodge they didn’t get in. Stood beside it and stared out at the ocean. Listened to the waves lap against the pilings. Palma carefully folded his suitcoat, lining side out, and laid it on the car’s hood. Other than that, the three of them hardly moved. Carver’s arms felt heavy. Now and then he felt a twinge in his back.
After a while, Courtney said, “I need a smoke.”
Palma said, “I got a pack in the car.” He opened the door and leaned down to fish around in the glove compartment, supporting himself with one hand on the seat.