He ejected the empty magazine from his piece and reloaded it with loose rounds he carried in his pocket, smacking it back into place. He had very little time. But all was not lost. He still had the other dinghy and a more seaworthy boat--along with an ace in the hole: the father.
Ignoring the pounding in his head, Burr jogged down the strand and into the woods. He pulled the dinghy out of the bushes, retrieved the hidden oars, tossed them in, and dragged the skiff down the beach. Shoving off, he rowed toward where he'd anchored the Halcyon. The Halcyon was not a fast boat but he guessed it would be faster than the Marea II, which was, after all, just a fishing boat, not a yacht.
He pulled with the current, and as he did so, he noticed how dark it had become and how much the wind had risen. Even in the protected waters of the islands, whitecaps were forming, the sound of the wind moaning in the spruce trees. He could hear the distant thunder of surf on the windward islands, a mile off.
He crossed the channel and came around the edge of the adjacent island, the Halcyon coming into view. He could see the dark form of the fisherman, both hands shackled tightly to the stern rail.
He bumped up against the gunwale and climbed aboard, cleating off the dinghy. "Look sharp, Straw, we got business to take care of."
"You touch my daughter and I'll kill you," he said in a low voice. "I'll search you out--"
"Yeah, yeah." He went straight to the VHF radio, turned it on to channel 16. If there was one thing he had to do, it was stop the girl from calling the Coast Guard.
76
When Abbey finished making the identification call and released the transmit button, instantly a hoarse voice came on. "Abbey? There you are!"
It was the killer's voice. He must have gotten back to his boat and had been monitoring the emergency channel.
"You bastard, you're toast," she began.
"Ah, ah! Don't use bad language on an official government frequency, where your father can hear it."
"My--what?"
"Your father. He's here on the boat and we're having such a good time together."
Abbey was struck speechless for a moment. The wind shook the pilothouse and a sudden hard rain slapped the windows. A flash of lightning split the air above, followed by the crackle of thunder.
"I repeat: your father, Mr. George Straw, is here on the boat with me," he said smoothly. "Switch to channel seventy-two and we'll chat." Channel 72, Abbey knew, was an obscure noncommercial frequency that nobody used.
Before she could respond, the radio hissed. "This is Coast Guard Station Rockland responding--"
Abbey cut off the dispatcher, and dialed in 72.
"Much better," came the voice. "Want to say hi to Dad?"
Abbey felt physically sick. It had to be a lie. She heard a muffled sound, a curse, the sound of a blow. "Talk to her." Another thud.
"Stop it!" Abbey screamed.
"Abbey," came her father's distorted voice. "Stay away. Just get the hell into port and go straight to the police--"
Another heavy blow, a grunt.
"Stop it, you bastard!"
The killer's voice came back on. "Get back on sixteen and call off the Coast Guard. Now. Or he's fish food."
With a sob, Abbey dialed back to channel 16 and told the Coast Guard that it was a false alarm. The dispatcher began to advise her to head to port immediately because of the storm. She signed off and dialed back to channel 72. She glanced over at Jackie but she was staring back in shock. The boat shuddered through a comber and the wheel jerked around, the boat yawing.
Jackie suddenly gripped the wheel, giving the throttle some fuel, and the boat yawed back around and just barely met the next wave on the starboard quarter. "I'll take the helm. You deal with him."
Abbey nodded dumbly. The wind was picking up by the second, lashing the ocean's heaving surface into honeycombs of foam.
Back on channel 72 the killer gave a low laugh and then said, "Hello? Anybody home?"
"Please don't hurt--"
Another smack, a groan. "What's your position?"
"Penobscot Bay."
"Listen carefully, here's the plan. Give me your GPS coordinates. I'm coming to you and I'll give you your father back."
"What do you want?"
"Just a promise that you'll forget all about this. Okay?"
"Abbey!" came a faint cry, "don't listen--"
Another thud.
"No, please! Don't hurt him!"
"Abbey," came the calm voice of the killer. "Keep in mind we're on an open channel. Understand? I'm coming to you. There won't be any problems if you follow my instructions."
Abbey tried to breathe through an involuntary spasm in her throat. After a moment she said, "I understand."
"Good. Now your GPS coordinates?"
Jackie reached over and grabbed the mike, turning off the transmit button so they couldn't be heard. "Abbey, you know he's lying. He's going to kill us."
"I know that," Abbey said ferociously. "Just let me think."
Even as they had been speaking, the swell was rising fast. The Marea II, engine grinding away, was being shoved sideways by each wave.
"Abbey? Are you there?"
Abbey took the mike back. "I'm figuring it out!" She turned to Jackie. "What do we do?"
"I . . . I don't know."
"Hello? Maybe Dad needs another beating to help you figure?"
"I'm just southwest of Devil's Limb," Abbey said.
"Devil's Limb? What the hell are you doing way out there?"
"We were heading for Rockland," she said, madly thinking.
"Bullshit! If you're out there, gimme the coordinates!"
Abbey punched the keys of the chartplotter, fixed a waypoint next to Devil's Limb, and read him back the false coordinates.
"Jesus Christ," said the killer after a moment. "I'm not going out there. You come back here."
Abbey sobbed. "We can't! We're almost out of fuel!"
"Lying bitch! Get back here now or Dad goes chumming!"
"No, please," Abbey sobbed. "All your shooting cut a fuel line. We're almost out of fuel!"
"I don't believe it!"
"We just now clamped it. It's the truth!"
Smack. "You hear that? That's for lying again!"
Abbey swallowed. She had to take the risk. "Please believe me!" she said, controlling her voice. "Why do you think I was calling the Coast Guard?"
"Fuck that, I'm not crossing open water in this sea."
A gust carrying a wallop of rain lashed the boat, water spraying in the broken windows. Another swell shoved the boat sideways and Abbey had to seize the ceiling grips to keep from falling.
"He's going to kill us!" Jackie hissed. "What the hell are you doing?"
"I'm . . . pretending to surrender."
"And then what?"
"I don't know."
"You hear me?" came the voice. "Get your ass back here or he's chum."
She pressed transmit. "Look, please, I don't know how to make you believe me, but I swear I'm telling the truth. You blew the shit out of this boat and a bullet nicked a fuel line. I barely got enough left to maneuver. Just bring me my father and I'll do whatever you want. You win. We surrender. Please believe me."
"I'm not going out there!" the man screamed.
"You have to come this way to get to Rockland Harbor."
"Why the fuck would I want to go to Rockland?"
"You'll never make it anywhere else in this storm! Don't be an idiot, I know this ocean! If you think you're going to Owls Head, you'll be wrecked on the Nubble."