Die a Stranger: An Alex McKnight Novel Page 22

  I spotted my cell phone on the table. I picked it up and opened it. The signal was weak.

  “Alex, they’re right out there. Right there. Right now. We have to go get them.”

  “We don’t have a boat, Lou.”

  Then I stopped. One more detail, coming back to me. Harry stripping off his wet suit, then tossing the plastic lanyard from his wrist. The wet clothing was still there, piled in a heap. I went over and picked up the lanyard. I was expecting a key, but instead it was a little black U-shaped tab.

  “No boat, but we do have this,” I said. “Let’s go.”

  I found a half-full gas can near the foot of the stairs. When we reached the edge of the water, I looked up and down the shoreline. I couldn’t see one dock. Either there was some kind of rule on the island, or else it really was impossible to bring in a boat on this side.

  I didn’t know how much gas the jet ski had in it. Even if I had known, I wouldn’t have been able to translate that into miles. My feelings on jet skis are about the same as my feelings on snowmobiles, so I wouldn’t own one even if you gave it to me. I had never ridden on one, that much I knew for sure. But that was about to change.

  I waded out to the jet ski, stumbling on the rocky bottom. When I got to it, I opened up the gas cap and poured what was left in the can into the tank. Then I screwed the cap back on. I put one wet shoe on the deck and swung my other leg over. The jet ski dipped under my weight and then quickly reestablished its buoyancy. It was a big Yamaha WaveRunner, with plenty of room for both of us. And plenty of horsepower, I was sure. Which made sense. A little underpowered toy jet ski might be fine on an inland lake, but you’d be a fool to ride one on Lake Michigan.

  “Do you know how to drive one of these?” Lou said. “I’ve been living in the desert for the past thirty years. I hardly ever see a lake.”

  “It can’t be too hard. Get on.”

  He waded out and climbed onto the back, fighting for balance and finally grabbing hold of the rear handles. I pulled up the anchor and stored it in the forward compartment. Then I took a few seconds to look the machine over, finally figured out that I had to use that little black tab on the lanyard to pinch the kill switch. I put the lanyard itself around my wrist, thinking, okay, if you fall off, you take the tab with you and the kill switch shuts off the engine. Not that I had any plans to fall off.

  I pushed the Start button and the engine came to life. Then I squeezed the throttle and just about put us both in the water. I’d had no idea this thing would have such power.

  “Take it easy,” Lou said from behind me. “Don’t get us killed yet, okay?”

  I eased into it this time and we were on our way. As I got the hang of it, I started pushing it and soon we were slicing through the water at forty miles per hour. Then we hit a few rougher waves and the spray came right over the top of the craft, drenching my face. I didn’t care how warm the water was supposed to be that summer, you take it in the face like that at full speed and it’s like somebody turning an ice-cold hose on you.

  But then of course that wasn’t even full speed at all. I squeezed the throttle all the way and watched the speedometer keep climbing until it topped out around sixty-five. The surface of the water was racing past us and I started to understand how somebody might consider this fun. A different kind of somebody, who doesn’t mind making a lot of noise. On a different kind of day.

  The water started getting rougher as we got farther from the shore. I felt the machine starting to fight against the current. I knew we’d be getting out into some dangerous waters soon. There was a good reason why more people died on Lake Michigan every year than all of the other Great Lakes put together.

  I kept pushing it through the rough water, taking the full spray in the face every minute or so. My clothes were soaked against my body. I was starting to feel numb.

  High Island was ahead of us, getting bigger with every passing minute. I gritted my teeth against the wind and the spray and tried to keep my eyes open. I pictured Vinnie and Buck in a boat, just on the other side of the island. I pictured another boat on its way, getting closer by the second. I squeezed the throttle all the way down again and punished myself even more.

  It was a blur of noise and vibration and cold water. I started to veer south as the island came even closer. I saw a sandy beach on the eastern side of the island and a green hill rising in the center.

  As I finally started to come around to the western side, I felt the current grow even stronger. Lou was searching the shoreline. There was nothing to see but rocks and sand and trees.

  “Keep going!” he said to me over the din of the motor. “They have to be here!”

  There was another long beach on the western side of the island, and here the sand rose high onto the hillsides. It was like something off a postcard, and yet there was not one person in sight. Not one boat. If Harry wanted to leave them in an abandoned spot, this would have been perfect. How could he possibly take them anywhere else?

  I throttled down for a moment as a terrible thought hit me. Maybe he did leave them here. Maybe Corvo came and found them, and then he took the boat with him. Maybe both boats are on their way south now. It was three hundred miles from here to Chicago.

  “They’re not here,” Lou said. “We have to try that other island.”

  I nodded. I knew he was right. Or at least I knew it was our only shot left. To our west was the farthest island in the chain. Gull Island. The map showed a national wildlife preserve on the land itself, meaning it was a federal crime to set foot on it. Meaning it was as deserted an island as you could possibly find in the Great Lakes.

  Meaning it was the perfect drop-off spot.

  So Harry wasn’t exaggerating, I thought. It was a true ten-mile trip, and it was hard as hell, even wearing a wet suit.

  I checked the gas level. We had about half a tank left. The engine had been working hard, fighting against the waves and the current. We’d have enough to get out to Gull Island, but a return trip? That I wasn’t so sure about.

  Of course, Harry didn’t have to make a round trip. He probably towed the jet ski behind the boat and rode it back. He didn’t have to make the commitment to a blind one-way trip out into the lake, with no way to get back.

  “Come on,” Lou said. “Let’s get going.”

  I couldn’t feel my hands anymore. I couldn’t feel my face. I turned the jet ski due west and opened up the throttle.

  *

  It was another five miles across open water. We were heading into the teeth of the current now. We were heading into those infamous straits that bend around the islands as the unimaginable weight of that water makes the turn toward Mackinac.

  Gull Island is a lot smaller than High Island, so it looked like nothing but a smudge on the horizon. We rode and the engine fought and yard by yard we kept going until we started to make out the trees on the island. The current was pushing us north so I went with it, figuring I’d circle in that direction. The gas gauge showed just under a quarter tank now.

  I felt Lou practically leaning off the jet ski as I started the big turn around the island. On the shore I saw a sign warning away trespassers. That was the only indication that a human being had ever been anywhere near this place. I kept going around the arc, fighting harder now as we hit the current on the far side of the island. There was a natural inlet there, a long strip of sand curling out into the water.

  “There!” Lou said. “I see a boat!”

  I kept going around the inlet. The boat was anchored in the protected backwater. It was a fishing boat, like any of a thousand you’d see on this lake every day, with a white canopy protecting the two captain’s chairs from the sun. A small cabin with maybe a table and a marine toilet and not much else. The kind of boat you’d expect to see with a half-dozen fishing rods sticking out in every direction, but there were none. I also didn’t see any sign of a living person onboard.

  I brought the jet ski into the backwater and we pulled up alongside the boat. I st
ill couldn’t see anybody.

  “Vinnie!” Lou yelled. “Are you onboard?”

  He reached for the gunwale and fell into the water. It wasn’t deep, and we were already soaked anyway. I helped pull him up onto the back deck of the jet ski, and from there he was able to climb over the gunwale and into the boat. I pulled the anchor out of the compartment and tossed it into the water. Then I followed him into the boat.

  He was already on his knees, looking into the cabin. As I bent down next to him, I saw big Buck Carrick, sitting on the floor of the cabin. His hands were zip-tied together and tied to the table post. His legs were zip-tied, too. He was crying without making a sound, his mouth open. He was looking up at us like he couldn’t believe what he was seeing.

  Vinnie was lying next to him, his eyes closed.

  “Vinnie,” Lou said, putting his hand on the man’s shoulder. “Are you alive? Please tell me you’re alive, God damn it. Open your eyes.”

  “Help him,” Buck said, the sound finally coming back to him. His voice was hoarse. “You have to help him, please.”

  “What happened?” I said. “Is he breathing? Can you feel his pulse?”

  Lou was hunched over him now. It was hard to do in such close quarters.

  “He’s alive,” Lou said. “He’s unconscious.”

  “They hit him in the head,” Buck said. He was shaking. He took a long breath and tried to keep talking, but he could barely form a sentence. “He got knocked out … They hit him … He came to, but then … he was out again. He has a … He’s … a concussion. He needs to … we need to … get him…”

  “Okay, take it easy,” Lou said. “We’re here now. We’re gonna take you both back. Everything’s gonna be all right now.”

  “Who are you?” Buck said to him. “How did you…”

  Lou took out his folding knife and cut the zip ties from Buck’s hands and ankles. Then he got to work on the rope, which would obviously take a lot longer. He kept looking down at Vinnie’s face as he sawed at the rope. Vinnie was still unconscious.

  “While you’re doing that,” I said, “I’m gonna see if we can get this boat started.”

  I started to stand up, that was the exact moment when I heard the last thing in the world I wanted to hear.

  The sound of a motor.

  It was the high-pitched whine of something built for speed. It didn’t sound close yet, but I knew we’d probably see him before the next minute ended.

  Corvo had arrived.

  CHAPTER EIGHTEEN

  “What’s that sound?” Lou said, still sawing at the rope.

  I didn’t answer him. The key had been dangling from the ignition, and I was too busy trying to start the engine. When it finally caught, I revved it and heard the pistons knocking and felt the whole motor shaking like it would fall right off into the water.

  “We’ve got to get out of here,” Lou said. “We’re sitting ducks.”

  “We’ve got no chance,” I said. “I don’t care how big a head start we have. That boat will run us down.”

  “I can’t hear it,” he said, as he stood and cocked his head toward the sound of the approaching boat. “How close are they?”

  An idea came to me. Desperate and probably doomed to failure, but it was probably our only shot left.

  “Where’s the money?” I said.

  There was a duffel bag sitting just below the other captain’s chair. I hadn’t even noticed it until that very second. I picked up the bag and opened it. I saw the bundles of hundred-dollar bills inside.

  “What are we gonna do with that?” Lou said. “Come on, we’ve got to make a run for it. We’ve gotta try, at least.”

  “It’s ten miles back to Beaver Island, Lou. You take the boat and go around to the other side of this island. I’ll stay here and see if I can talk to this guy.”

  “What, are you crazy? He’ll kill you in a second.”

  “Maybe, maybe not. I know he’s expecting a bag full of money plus two Indians. We’ll have to see what happens if he only gets the money.”

  “I’m not leaving you here, Alex. No way.”

  “We’re wasting time,” I said as I pulled up the anchor. Then I reached over the gunwale and pulled the jet ski close. “They won’t hear you as long as they’ve got their own engine running. So get over to the other side and then cut your engine. Have that gun ready, just in case. If they come around, try to surprise him with it. You’ll probably only get one shot.”

  Assuming the gun’s even dry enough to fire, I thought. Yet one more thing stacked against us.

  “You take the boat,” he said. “I’ll stay here.”

  “Bad idea. They’re looking for Indians, remember?”

  “This is madness,” he said, but he didn’t stop me as I took the bag and climbed off the boat and onto the jet ski.

  “Get going! Now!”

  He pushed the throttle forward and cranked the steering wheel. The boat made a tight circle around me, churning up sand in the shallow water. He left the inlet and went around the northern end of the island. I could hear the other boat’s engine now. It was much closer.

  This island’s about a mile long, I thought. We’re on the northwest corner. If this Corvo guy is coming from Chicago, he’ll approach from the southwest. If our boat’s on the eastern side, he shouldn’t see it. Unless he circles around, just to make sure the coast is clear. Which is exactly what I would do if I were in his place. Making this now officially the dumbest idea I’ve ever had.

  The motor was getting louder. I knew it was just a matter of seconds now. I looked back and saw that Lou was almost out of sight. I willed that old fishing boat to go faster, to get around that bend before it was too late.

  That’s when Corvo’s boat came into view. He’d come up from the south and hugged the shoreline, so when he cleared the bend in the island he was suddenly right there, right on top of me. I didn’t dare look back to make sure Lou was clear now. I just stood up on the jet ski, straddling the seat. I held the bag of money in the air and put my other hand in the air, as well. I said a silent prayer and tried to stop my knees from shaking.

  It was one of those cigarette boats, long and sleek and ridiculous. Twin engines churning up the water. I’m sure the thing could hit one hundred miles per hour without breaking a sweat. There were two men in the boat, one behind the wheel, one standing and holding a rifle. There was a scope on the rifle. Both men were wearing sunglasses. The driver throttled down and sent his wake ahead of him. It rocked the jet ski and I had to reach down to grab one handle. That caused the standing man to aim the rifle right at me. I’m sure my face was clear in his crosshairs.

  I fought to keep my balance as I raised both hands again. I held that bag as high as I could. The boat swung away and made a loop in the open water. Then it came back into the inlet dead slow, its engines purring.

  The man kept the rifle trained on my face. Yet one more gun pointed at me in these last few days when it had seemed almost constant. If you think you ever get used to it, you don’t. That’s what I was learning.

  The man at the wheel stood up and looked around. He was especially interested in the island itself. He was scanning the shoreline like he expected something or someone to surprise him, but there was nothing there but sand and trees and what looked like a healthy crop of poison ivy.

  The man with the rifle was wearing a bright Hawaiian shirt. I finally noticed that detail. The man at the wheel was wearing a nice light panel shirt, perfect for a day out in the summer sun. Not quite as casual as a Hawaiian shirt. It seemed odd to me that they’d be dressed that way. But then maybe they were trying to blend in with the other boaters on the lake. Of course, if they put the rifle away, they’d have a better shot at it.

  Neither of them seemed in any hurry to talk to me. I was holding up that bag and my arm was starting to shake. I didn’t want to move.

  “What’s the gag?” the man behind the wheel said. The boat was ten feet away now and drifting closer.

 
“No gag,” I said. “I have your money.”

  He narrowed his eyes for a moment. Then he took another look around, like he was trying to spot the hidden camera.

  “You’ll excuse my political incorrectness,” he finally said, “but you’re not an Indian. And there’s only one of you.”

  “Right on both counts. There’s been a change in plans.”

  “A change in what?” There was a look of pure amazement on his face. “Did you actually just say that?”

  “I did.”

  I kept breathing. I kept my legs locked straight.

  “Throw me the bag,” he said. “Understand that if you do anything else, Mr. White here will shoot your head clean off your body.”

  I tossed the bag to him. I kept my hands up afterward. I waited and watched while he opened the bag and took a quick scan through the stacks of hundreds.

  “Okay,” he said, “so explain to me why I’m finding you here on a jet ski instead of two Indians on a boat, like I was expecting.”

  “I told you, there’s been a change in plans. I came out here to personally deliver the money to you, and to explain the situation.”

  He looked amazed again. I figured I should probably change my approach a bit.

  “I’m not trying to dictate anything,” I said. “I just ask that you listen to me. I assume you’re Corvo, by the way.”

  “Wow,” he said. “Okay, then. This should be interesting. Get in the boat.”

  I hesitated.

  “If you want to talk, talk,” he said. “But you’ll do it here in my boat.”

  Mr. White lowered his rifle. He handed it to Corvo, who simply held it by the barrel as Mr. White extended one hand to me. Either it was a gesture of extreme trust or they knew that nobody would be so stupid as to try something.

  “I’m not that old,” I said, brushing aside the man’s hand and climbing over the rail of their boat. I lost my balance for one instant and the man grabbed me. There was a pure animal strength in his grip as he straightened me up and gave me a quick once-over. My wallet came out of my back pocket. My cell phone out of my front pocket. These items were placed on one of the seat cushions. He patted down the rest of me, from shoulders to ankles.