Part 15 (1/2)

Clarence watched for a brief moment as fire licked at the image of LeBeck, Collene, and himself. Soon, the photo was consumed to ashes, a memory scorched from his mind.

Clarence opened the access door to the balcony. He donned a heavy work glove, then gripped the handle of the bucket. With a deep breath, Clarence swung it with all his might, and then whipped it into the air.

The bucket, its cargo still aflame, made a blazing arc through the darkness. It tumbled through s.p.a.ce until, finally, it shattered on the great granite rocks far below. A wave reached in, snuffing out the fire as it dragged the bucket under, leaving no evidence that it had ever existed.

Clarence watched from on high, a grim smile planted on his lips. He'd freed himself. Live or die, the rest would be easy. Clarence slammed the door shut.

On the deck of the Chippewa, a crewman tried wrapping a wool blanket around Ben Sellers' shoulders. The captain angrily brushed it aside. He rose to his feet, a scowl planted firmly on his face.

”You should all be ashamed of yourselves!” Ben shouted.

The sailors on deck looked confused and hurt. After all, hadn't they acted to protect their captain? One man stepped forward, his gaze questioning. ”But, Cap'n...”

”There's people out there need our help!” Ben snapped. ”This is our chance to redeem ourselves! Can't you see that, lads?”

”But your heart...”

”d.a.m.n my old heart! You've all seen me have spells before. I'm not dead yet, after all these years.” Ben leapt onto a deck rail, gripping a line for support as his wide-eyed crew gathered around him. ”Smitty was right! Better dead than living in the shadows!” Fire seemed to spring from his eyes.

Another old sailor hobbled to the front of the crowd. ”But we're old men, Cap'n. What can we do?”

”What can we do?” Ben repeated incredulously. ”I'll tell you what we can do...”

Just then, a commotion erupted from belowdecks. All the gray heads on deck turned toward the hatch and saw the gangster MacGlynn emerge, his face bloodied, teeth displayed in a feral snarl, a wooden baton gripped tightly in his hand.

”He's loose!” shouted a crewman. ”Get him!”

”Wait!” Ben leapt down, holding his men back and rus.h.i.+ng forward himself. ”Watch what 'old men' can do, lads.” Ben advanced toward MacGlynn.

The gangster crouched low, gesturing for Ben to come forward. ”That's right, old geezer,” MacGlynn sneered. ”Come here! I'm gonna rip your head off and p.i.s.s down your throat!”

With a scream, MacGlynn raised his club and rushed forward. Ben easily stepped aside, knocking the club out of MacGlynn's hand with a well-aimed kick.

The two stood facing each other, exchanging punches and feints, sizing up their opponent. Then, quick as a cat, Ben darted in, brus.h.i.+ng against MacGlynn's side. He gripped the gangster's neck from behind, then started whamming on his face with the other hand. After a brief battering, MacGlynn recovered, elbowed Ben, then turned and landed a vicious blow to the old sailor's throat.

The pair grappled once more, this time struggling to throw each other to the deck. Instead, they found themselves moving toward the side rail, each trying to kick the legs out from under the other. Finally, Ben gave a powerful shove. MacGlynn gripped Ben's coat, and with a cry both men both fell overboard, landing in the icy water far below.

The crew rushed excitedly to the rail, peering down, searching; they saw nothing except the rippling water where the pair had gone under.

Suddenly, Ben and MacGlynn exploded to the surface. They were close to the beach now, still locked in mortal combat. They exchanged blow after blow. By now, MacGlynn's face was a b.l.o.o.d.y mess.

”G.o.d d.a.m.n you old fart!” the gangster sputtered, spitting out a tooth at Ben. ”I'm gonna kill you!”

”Not tonight,” Ben said evenly. The old sailor wound up and smashed MacGlynn in the face, sending him to his knees. Ben hit the gangster again. And again.

Finally, MacGlynn teetered and fell to the rocky sh.o.r.e, where he remained motionless. Ben stood over him, his chest heaving. He looked up toward the Chippewa, a triumphant smile on his face. The crew lining the deck looked down on their captain, silent. Ben straightened up and planted his feet firmly in the sand. Remembering his Shakespeare, he exhorted his men to action, shouting up to them, ”The blast of battle calls us out of our deep slumber, my friends. Innocent people await our help!”

The men roared their approval.

”Cast your doubts aside! Show me the fire in your eyes, lads, for tonight we sail victorious, or line the sea with our n.o.ble dead!”

The crew went berserk, shouting for Ben and banging on the rail. They scrambled on deck, readying the s.h.i.+p to set sail.

Chapter Thirty-Two.

A shadow flitted over the lighthouse compound. It moved noiselessly from tree to tree, from bush to bush, each dash for cover timed with the pa.s.sing of the lighthouse beam, which arched across the storm-laden sky.

One of LeBeck's hired goons stood guard at the front entrance of the MacDougal house. Leaning with half-closed eyes against the wood frame of the pillar at the top of the steps, he stared out at the darkness spread in front of him, never noticing the inky shape moving inexorably closer.

Finally, the man snapped out of his glazed-eyed stupor. He'd heard something close by, near the bushes just off the porch. At first, he thought it was the wind. But then he heard the noise again. It was definitely the sound of something rustling in those bushes. He squinted, trying to peer into the dark thicket to see if he could discern the source of the mystery. Probably another fox, he thought. A sour look washed over his face. A fox had stolen the man's ham sandwich earlier that evening. Brazenly waltzing in from the nearby woods, the animal had waited until the thug's back was turned, then darted in to take its pick of the gourmet food (for a fox) so deliciously laid out on the table, which LeBeck's men were using as a sort of lunch counter on the yard. The thug had nearly caused a riot when he emptied his pistol at the retreating animal. His guard duty that night was punishment for the transgression.

Now, in the dead of night, the thug carefully unholstered his gun, the chamber freshly reloaded with six bullets, and tip-toed down the stairs and onto the lawn, intent on exacting revenge upon the fox. He carefully, slowly, crept forward, alert for any sudden movement that might signal his quarry fleeing back to the safety of the woods. His trigger finger twitched as he drew near the dark ma.s.s of foliage. This time, he thought, the little b.a.s.t.a.r.d won't be so lucky.

Suddenly, a pair of strong hands thrust themselves out from the bushes, grabbing the thug by the throat. The surprised man dropped his gun, then gurgled as his windpipe collapsed. He felt himself being tugged into the bushes, where he struggled briefly against the iron grip crus.h.i.+ng his larynx. Just before he pa.s.sed out, the thug looked up and saw, through a hazy curtain of black, the devil himself, flaming red hair waving past eyes that burned with hate and revenge.

Collene sat on the living room couch alongside Edward Young and his mother. The a.s.sistant lightkeeper was having a hard time of it; the flu virus simply refused to let go. With each cough his whole body went into spasm. His dark, sunken eyes registered misery, not only from his illness but also with the knowledge that his only daughter was somewhere out in the storm, and there wasn't a d.a.m.n thing he could do about it. His mother patted him gently on the back as another coughing fit seized him.

Collene turned away, trying to clear her mind, to think of a way out of their situation. She'd driven herself nearly mad trying to come up with a plan that might work. Yet each time she reasoned out a course of action, it kept boiling down to one thing: she had to wait, at least until dawn, when the storm would hopefully blow over. Upstairs, her suitcase was packed, much to LeBeck's delight. She'd done it as a subterfuge; there was no way on G.o.d's green Earth she was going away with LeBeck now. She'd have to find a way to escape. And if escape proved impossible, Collene vowed she'd leap off the cliffs, if it came to that.

Outside, the wind howled, rattling the house. An occasional lightning strike cast harsh yellow bursts of light into the living room. The sharp smell of ozone hung heavily in the air. Though the storm seemed to be winding down, it still packed enough wallop, in steady gusts of fury, to send s.h.i.+vers down Collene's spine. She noticed LeBeck peering out the front window, the curtain drawn away by his metallic hook. With each blast of house-rattling wind, a look of fear came over the smuggler's face. Coward. Collene sneered and looked away.

Suddenly, the front door burst open, letting in an explosion of noise. All heads turned toward the entrance. At first, Collene thought the wind had knocked the door loose from its hinges, but then she saw a shadow fill the hallway as something moved rapidly toward the living room. She heard shouting and heavy footsteps. Then, the shape emerged into the light. Collene gasped.

It was Clarence, wild-eyed, his chest heaving. He held a large pistol in one hand, which was pointed directly at LeBeck. The smuggler stood frozen near the window, not saying a word.

”Come on, Collene,” Clarence gasped in between breaths. ”Let's go. Edward, you and your mother come over here too.”

The three captives rose from the couch and moved cautiously toward Clarence. As Collene stepped toward her husband, she stole a glance back. An amused expression slowly spread across LeBeck's face. When he finally spoke, his voice was laced with sweet venom.

”You're a clever man, Clarence,” he said. He took a few tentative steps toward the lightkeeper.

”Stop right there,” Clarence warned, stiffening his gun arm.

LeBeck halted his advance, but the smile remained. ”You don't really think you're getting off this rock, do you? Let's talk this over.”

Clarence spoke sharply, his Scottish accent laid on thick. ”One more word and I swear I'll shoot!” Then, a look of revulsion swept across his face. ”You make me sick.” His trigger finger twitched.

Edward Young, silent until now, stepped quickly past Collene toward the lightkeeper. ”For G.o.d's sake, Clarence!”

Clarence held up a hand, motioning Young to stop. The gun still leveled, he lashed out at LeBeck, the pitch of his voice rising as he spoke. ”I was your friend, Jean. Now you come and terrorize me family. My boy's out there, in the storm!”

Collene saw fear in LeBeck's eyes just then, and for a moment she thought Clarence really would shoot the smuggler. But then she saw a flash of confidence return to LeBeck's face, and she couldn't understand why. She looked back at her husband and saw beads of sweat dripping off his brow. His gun hand trembled.

Clarence made up his mind then. He shouted at LeBeck, ”And you tried to steal Collene!” He stiffened his gun arm to shoot.