Plum Island

She asked me, "Do you think he's still going to Plum Island?"

"That's where the gold is."

"But he knows we're on to him."

"Which is why he's going to keep on trying to kill us." I added, "Or at least witness that we capsized and drowned."

She didn't reply for a while, then asked me, "How did we get ahead of him?"

"I guess we were going faster than him. Law of physics."

"Do you have a plan?"

"Nope. Do you?"

"Is it time to head for a safe harbor?"

"Maybe. But we can't go back. I don't want to run into Freddie's rifle again."

Beth found the plastic-coated chart on the deck and unfolded it on the dashboard. She pointed and said, "That must be Long Beach Bar Lighthouse over there."

I looked off to our right front and saw a faint blinking light.

She continued, "If we head to the left of the lighthouse, we may be able to see some channel markers that will lead us to East Marion or Orient. We can dock someplace, and call the Coast Guard or the security people on Plum Island and alert them to the situation."

I glanced at the chart, which was lit by the faint glow of a reading light on the dashboard. I said, "There's no way I can navigate this boat in this storm through these narrow channels. The only place I can get into is Greenport or maybe Dering, and Freddie's between us and those harbors."

She thought a moment, then said, "In other words, we're not chasing him anymore. He's chasing us — out into the open water."

"Well… you could say we're leading him into a trap."

"What trap?"

"I knew you'd ask that. Trust me."

"Why?"

"Why not?" I cut back on the throttles and the Formula settled down a little. I said to Beth, "Actually, I like it this way. Now I know for sure where he is and where he's going." I added, "I'd rather deal with him on land. We'll meet him on Plum Island."

Beth folded her chart. "Right." She glanced back over her shoulder and said, "He's got us outgunned and outboated."

"Correct." I set a course that would take us to the right of the lighthouse out into Gardiners Bay, which in turn would put us on a course to Plum Island. I asked her, "How many rounds do you have left?"

She replied, "I have nine left in this magazine and a full magazine of fifteen in my pocket."

"Good enough." I glanced at her and said, "Nice shooting back there."

"Not really."

"You upset his aim. You may also have hit him."

She didn't reply.

I said to her, "I heard that last round go past my ear before it went through the windshield. Jeez! Just like old times back in the city." I asked her, as an afterthought, "You okay?"

"Well…"

I looked quickly toward her. "What's the matter?"

"Not sure…"

"Beth? What's the matter?" I could see her left hand moving over her rain slicker and she winced. She brought her hand out and it was covered in blood. She said, "Damn…"

I was literally speechless.

She said, "Funny… I didn't realize I was hit… then I felt this warm… It's okay though… just a graze."

"Are you… are you sure…?"

"Yeah… I can feel where it passed through…"

"Let's see. Come here."

She moved closer to where I stood at the wheel, turned toward the stern and loosened her life vest, then raised her slicker and shirt. Her rib cage, between her breast and her hip, was covered with blood. I reached out and said, "Steady." I felt for the wound and was relieved to discover that it was indeed a graze running along the lower rib. The gash was deep, but had not exposed the bone.

Beth let out a gasp as my fingers probed into the wound. I took my hand away and said, "It's okay."

"That's what I told you."

"I just get a kick out of sticking my fingers into gunshot wounds. Hurt yet?"

"It didn't. Now it does."

"Go below and find the first-aid kit."

She went below.

I scanned the horizon. Even in the darkness, I could see the two points of land on either side that marked the end of the relatively calm strait.

Within a minute, we were out into Gardiners Bay. Within two minutes, the sea looked like someone switched the dial to spin and rinse. The wind howled, the waves crashed, the boat was nearly out of control, and I was weighing my options.

Beth scrambled up from the cabin and held on to the handgrip on the dashboard.

I called out over the sound of the wind and the waves, "Are you okay?"

She nodded, then yelled, "John! We have to turn back!"

I knew she was right. The Formula was not made for this and neither was I. Then I recalled Tom Gordon's words to me on my porch that night which seemed so long ago. A boat in the harbor is a safe boat. But that's not what boats are for.

In truth, I was no longer frightened by the sea or by the possibility of my death, for that matter. I was running on pure adrenaline and hate. I glanced at Beth and our eyes met. She seemed to understand, but she didn't want to share my psychotic episode. She said, "John… if we die, he gets away with it. We have to get into some harbor or inlet somewhere."

"I can't… I mean, we'd run aground and sink. We have to ride it out."

She didn't reply.

I said, "We can put in at Plum Island. I can get into that cove. It's well marked and lit. They have their own generator."

She opened the chart again and stared at it as if trying to find an answer to our dilemma. In fact, as I'd already concluded, the only possible harbors, Greenport and Dering, lay behind us, and between us and those harbors was Tobin.

She said, "Now that we're out in the open sea, we should be able to circle around and get past him and back to Greenport."

I shook my head. "Beth, we have to stay in the marked channel. If we lost sight of these channel markers, we're finished. We're on a narrow highway and there's a guy with a rifle behind us and the only way to go is straight."

She looked at me and I could tell she didn't completely believe me, which was understandable because I wasn't completely telling the truth. The truth was, I wanted to kill Fredric Tobin. When I thought he'd killed Tom and Judy, I would have been satisfied seeing the great State of New York kill him. Now, after he murdered Emma, I had to kill him myself. Calling the Coast Guard or Plum Island security was not going to even the score. In fact, regarding score, I wondered where Paul Stevens was this night.

Beth broke into my thoughts and said, "Five innocent people are dead, John, and that's five too many. I won't let you throw away my life or yours. We're heading back. Now."

I looked at her and said, "Are you going to pull your gun on me?"

"If you make me."

I kept staring at her and said, "Beth, I can handle this weather. I know I can handle it. We're going to be okay. Trust me."

She stared back at me a long time, then said, "Tobin murdered Emma Whitestone right under your nose and that was an attack on your manhood, an insult to your macho image and your ego. That's what's driving you on. Right?"

No use lying, so I said, "That's part of it."

"What's the other part?"

"Well… I was falling in love with her."

Beth nodded. She seemed contemplative, then said, "Okay… if you're going to get us killed anyway, then you may as well know the whole truth."

"What whole truth?"

She replied, "Whoever killed Emma Whitestone… and I guess it was Tobin… also first raped her."

I didn't reply. I should say I wasn't completely shocked either.

There is a primitive side to all men, including fops like Fredric Tobin, and this dark side, when it takes over, plays itself out in a predictable and very scary way. I could say I've seen it all — rape, torture, kidnapping, maiming, murder, and everything else in the penal code. But this was the first time that a bad guy was sending a personal message to me. And I wasn't handling it with my usual cool. He raped her. And while he was doing it to her, he was — or thought he was — doing it to me.