Ittzy and Francis were fumbling with knots in the ropes that held the two ships together. Captain Flagway was making his way to the controls on the bridge.
The ships began to draw apart. Gabe said, "Hey Crung."
"Yeah?"
"Keep him tied up, he won't do any damage."
"You don't know him."
"Well, he's your problem now, I guess. But you've got some help. You'll find Roscoe and his gang down below in the hold. And listen-one more thing. The Olivers are looking for that ship you're on. You better move on out of here fast. I'd head north along the coast if I were you."
Vangie saw the look of satisfaction on Gabe's face as he turned away. She felt proud and sad, both at once: all that brilliance in a doomed enterprise.
He said, "Well, what do you think now? Are we going to get away with it?"
"Not in a million years." She smiled sadly, fondly. "But nobody else could have come as close."
CHAPTER THIRTY
Out in another part of the ocean the two police launches closed in on Daniel Webster. It took several minutes-and one shot across the steamer's bow-to convince the captain to slow down and listen, and then he did nothing for a while but bellow unintelligibly through a megaphone. Eventually he became calm enough to hear the questions they were asking; then he gestured violently northward, losing his megaphone over the side in the process.
The two launches veered around and went charging away to the north. The captain of Daniel Webster flung his hat after his megaphone, screamed at heaven, and went raging back to the bridge to kick his helmsman.
Farther north, the Sea Wolf was traveling south. Below, in the heat and noise and semidarkness of the bowels of the ship, Gabe was working as coal handler. Stripped to the waist, he was shoveling coal from the bin into the wheelbarrow, pushing it laboriously through the narrow corridor to the engine room-risking his knuckles along the metal walls every time-and dumping it on the small sooty pile behind Ittzy.
Ittzy was the stoker, shoveling coal into the furnace. Sweaty, dirty, also stripped to the waist, gasping for breath, Itzzy turned a broadly smiling face toward Gabe and yelled over the roar of the engine, "This is fun!"
Gabe looked at him. He panted, but had nothing to say.
"Well," Ittzy yelled, a bit less exuberantly, "it's anyway better than being locked in that back room."
Gabe turned and plodded away with his wheelbarrow.
Up on the bridge Captain Flagway was steering. The coast was to his left, San Francisco was just beyond the horizon to the south, and Baltimore was not very far beyond that. Baltimore; Daddy; the apothecary shop. After all these years.
Sea Wolf was a lean, fast, hungry ship-a pleasure to operate. Captain Flagway, for the first time he could remember, smiled.
On deck, Vangie frowned, and paused in her labors. She and Francis were packing gold ingots into small wooden boxes marked TEAK. Once all the gold was packed away, the wagon would be broken up and dumped over the side.
Still frowning, pensively gazing toward the horizon, Vangie said, "Francis?"
"Mm?"
"I want you to know," she said, "that I like you very much."
"Well, thank you," he said, surprised.
She looked at him, a sad smile touching her lips. "Very soon now," she said, "we're all going to be arrested and put away forever in separate prisons, but I do want you to know I've grown very fond of you."
Touched, Francis said, "You've been a sister to me, Vangie."
"And you to me."
"But maybe we won't be caught," he said. "We've gotten away with it so far."
Vangie sighed. "Maybe you're right," she said, without conviction.
Farther north, aboard the San Andreas, First Mate Crung was untying Roscoe in the knee-deep water in the hold, while other crewmen were doing the same for Roscoe's companions. From above, a steady malevolent ROAR could be heard.
Roscoe, free of his gag, looked up and said, "Percy's all right, eh?"
"He's a little annoyed. I figured I'd better keep him tied up a while."
"Not a bad idea," Roscoe said. Rubbing his wrists where the rope had chafed them, he looked around at the water lapping everywhere. "This damn tub's sinking," he said. "We better get to the lifeboats."
Gabe was taking a breather on deck, his place below being temporarily taken by Francis, who had insisted on finding out how, real sailors live.
Gabe and Vangie leaned against the rail, their arms around one another. Neither had much to say; Gabe out of weariness, Vangie out of pessimism.
Captain Flagway called from the bridge, "Ships ahead. Coming this way."
Gabe watched them, idly interested. "In a hurry," he said.
Vangie suddenly clutched his arm. "Police."
"Take it easy," he told her. "They're not looking for this ship. It's the San Andreas they want. That was the whole idea of the switch."
Nevertheless, he could feel how tense she was as the two police launches arrived and shot past to starboard, thundering northward. Standing up in the bow of the lead launch was a red-haired figure, straining forward. McCorkle.
Gabe frowned, watching that shock of red hair go by. "Is that bluebottle everywhere?"
"That's what I've been trying to tell you," Vangie said. "Some bluebottle is everywhere. You just can't get away, Gabe."
He looked at her, trying to keep his confidence. Rational problems he could work out, but superstitions were harder to deal with. Could she be right after all?
Then, from the bridge, Captain Flagway sang out, "There it is! San Francisco, dead ahead!"
Gabe laughed, in sudden relief. "They're not everywhere," he said, and looked out toward the distant hills of the city.
***
The police launches very nearly missed the San Andreas entirely. All that was left of her when they arrived was the gently descending top six feet of her foremast, with the Paraguayan flag fluttering in the breeze, as though somewhere beneath the surface of the water someone was holding a garden party.
Officer McCorkle, in the prow of the lead launch, removed his hat and held it over his heart. His red hair flew and flickered in the breeze, like an answer to the Paraguayan flag.
The two launches circled the sinking ship. The mast settled slowly, as bubbles popped to the surface here and there. The flag dipped, wetted itself, wrapped itself dankly around the mast, and disappeared at last into the sea.
Officer McCorkle replaced his hat. Then he took out his notebook, flipped through it, studied an entry here and there, shook his head, and tossed the notebook into the ocean.