"Okay…" But before I began my turn into the beach, the wind suddenly dropped and I could see this incredible wall of towering clouds rising above us. More incredibly, I saw the night sky overhead, circled by these swirling walls of clouds, as if we were at the bottom of a well. Then I saw stars, which I never thought I'd see again.
Beth said, "The eye is passing over us."
The wind was much calmer though the waves weren't. The starlight filtered into this sort of round hole, and we could see the beach and the sea.
Beth said, "Go for it, John. You won't get another chance like this."
And she was right. I could see the breaking waves so I could time them, and I could also see any rocks protruding out of the water as well as shoaling waves, which indicated shoals and sandbars.
"Go!"
"One minute. I really want to see where that bastard made land. I don't want to lose him on the island."
"John, you're out of gas!"
"Plenty of gas. Look for the Chris-Craft."
Beth seemed resigned to my idiocy, and she raised the binoculars and scanned the horizon. After what seemed like a half hour, but was probably a minute or two, she pointed and called out, "There!" She handed me the binoculars.
I looked into the rainy darkness and sure enough, silhouetted against the dark horizon, was a shape that could have been the fly bridge of the Chris-Craft-or could have been a pile of rocks.
As we got a little closer, I saw that it was definitely the Chris-Craft, and it was relatively motionless, indicating that Tobin had at least two anchors out, bow and stern. I handed Beth the binoculars. "Okay. We're going in. Hold on. Look for rocks and stuff."
Beth knelt on her seat and leaned forward, her hands gripped on the top of the glassless windshield frame. Whenever she moved, I could tell by the expression on her face that she was in some pain from her wound.
I turned the Formula 90 degrees to starboard and pointed the bow at the distant beach. Waves began breaking over the stern, and I gave the engines more gas. I needed about one more minute of fuel.
The beach got closer and more distinct. The waves smashing onto the sand were monstrous and getting louder as we got closer. Beth called out, "Sandbar right ahead!"
I knew I couldn't turn in time so I gave it full throttle, and we ripped across the sandbar.
The beach was less than fifty yards away now, and I thought we actually had a chance. Then the Formula hit something a lot harder than a sandbar, and I heard the unmistakable sound of splitting fiberglass and a half second later, the boat lifted out of the water, then came down with a thud.
I glanced at Beth and saw she was still hanging on.
The boat was very sluggish now, and I could picture water pouring in through the smashed hull. The engines seemed to be laboring even at full throttle. The incoming waves were pushing us toward the beach, but now the undertow was pulling us back between waves. If we were making any forward headway at all, it was very slow. Meanwhile, the boat was filling with water, and in fact I could see the water sloshing on the bottom step of the companionway.
Beth called out, "We're not moving! Let's swim for it!"
"No! Stay with the boat. Wait for the perfect wave."
And we waited, watching the shoreline get closer, then receding for about six wave cycles. I looked behind me and watched the swells forming. Finally, I saw a huge wave forming behind us, and I threw the nearly swamped Formula into neutral. The boat pitched backwards a little and caught the wave just below its mounting crest. I called out, "Get down and hold on!"
Beth dropped down and clung to the base of her chair.
The wave propelled us like a surfboard on its hanging crest with such force that the eight-thousand-pound Formula, filled with thousands more pounds of water, acted like a reed basket caught in a raging river. I had anticipated an amphibian-type landing, but this was going to be an airborne drop.
As we hurtled toward the beach, I had the presence of mind to switch off the engines so that if we actually survived the landing, the Formula wouldn't explode, assuming there was any fuel left. I was also concerned about the twin props chopping our heads off. "Hold on!" I yelled.
"No shit!" she replied.
We came down bow first onto the wave-washed beach. The Formula rolled to the side, and we both jumped clear of the boat, just as another wave came crashing in. I found a rock outcropping and wrapped my arm around it as my free hand found Beth's wrist. The wave broke and receded, and we stood and ran like hell for the higher ground, Beth holding her side where she'd been hit.
We came to the face of an eroded bluff and began scrambling up it, the wet sand, clay, and iron oxide falling away in great chunks. Beth said, "Welcome to Plum Island."
"Thank you." Somehow, we got to the top of the bluff and collapsed on the high ground. We lay in the grass for a full minute. Then I sat up and looked down at the beach. The Formula was capsized, and I could see that its white hull was split open. The boat rolled again as the backwash took it out to sea, and then it righted itself for a minute, then capsized again and another wave took it toward the beach. I said to Beth, "I wouldn't want to be in that boat."
She replied, "No, and I also don't want to be on this island."
"Out of the fire," I said, "and into the frying pan."
"You bug me," she replied.
"There's an idea for a T-shirt," I suggested. "I got bugged on Plum Island. Get it?"
"Would you mind shutting up for about five minutes?"
"Not at all."
In fact, I welcomed the relative silence after hours of wind, rain, and ship's engines. I could actually hear my heart thumping, the blood pounding in my ears, and my lung wheezing. I could also hear a little voice in my head saying, "Beware of little men with big rifles."
CHAPTER 35
We sat in the grass, sort of collecting ourselves and catching our breaths. I was wet, tired, cold, and banged up, plus my punctured lung ached. I'd lost my boating shoes, and I noticed that Beth, too, was barefoot. On the positive side, we were alive, and I still had my.38 in my shoulder holster. I drew the revolver and made sure the one remaining round was next in line to fire. Beth was patting her pockets and she announced, "Okay… got mine."
We still had on our slickers and life vests, but I noticed that Beth had lost the binoculars around her neck.
We watched the sea and the eerie swirling of the towering clouds around the eye of the storm. It was still raining, but it wasn't a hard, driving rain. When you're drenched to the bones, a little rain is no big deal. My concern was hypothermia if we sat still too long.
I looked at Beth and asked, "How's that cut on your forehead?"
"It's okay." She added, "I soaked it in saltwater."
"Good. How about your bullet wound?"
"It's just terrific, John."
"And all your other cuts and bruises?"
"Every one of them is feeling great."
I thought I detected a touch of sarcasm in her voice. I stood and felt very wobbly.
Beth asked me, "Are you okay?"
"I'm fine." I reached down, and she took my hand and pulled herself to her feet. "Well," I said, mixing cliches, "we're out of the frying pan, but not out of the woods."
She said to me in a serious tone, "I think Tom and Judy Gordon would be proud of your seamanship."
I didn't reply. There was another unspoken sentence hanging there, and it was something like, "Emma would be pleased and flattered to see what you've done for her."
Beth said, "I think we should head back in the direction of the Gut and find the main lab."
I didn't reply.
She continued, "We can't miss the lights. We'll get the Plum Island security force to help us. I'll put in a telephone call or radio call to my office."
Again, I didn't reply.
She looked at me. "John?"