Isle Royale Part 17

Sally pushed hard on the rudder, sending their boat out into deeper water.

"The fools actually came in this weather," Clarence exclaimed, sitting back hard in his seat. "It's the Duluth gang, here to pick up their liquor. My G.o.d, I wonder how many sank crossing over?"

The families watched as the flotilla pa.s.sed between themselves and sh.o.r.e, heading straight for Stone Harbor. Several men on the decks of the boats stared back silently, then returned to their business. Soon, the first of the s.h.i.+ps disappeared as they rounded the point and entered the protection of the bay.

Ian felt his skin crawl, and not from the wind blowing on his soaked body. "We'd better get this boat moving. I don't like the looks of this. If we..."

Ian stopped in mid-sentence as he noticed the expression on his father's face. Clarence sat there looking up, his skin a ghostly white, his hands trembling. "The light," he croaked.

Ian jerked his head up and saw the lighthouse perched high on the cliff towering above them. His mouth dropped open as he saw the lamp come to a grinding halt. "The clock's wound down," he said.

As the families stared upward at the motionless light, it suddenly blinked out altogether, plunging the lake into pitch-blackness. "The b.a.s.t.a.r.d!" thundered Clarence.

"Why would LeBeck put the lamp out?" Sally shouted from the stern.

"His customers are here now," Ian answered. "He doesn't need the lamp to guide them any more."

Clarence, his eyes burning with hate, protested. "But there's cargo s.h.i.+ps on the lake, even tonight!" He stood up in the boat, shaking his fist up at the lighthouse and causing the boat to rock precariously. "LeBeck, you devil!"

"Dad!" Ian blurted out. "You'll get us all killed!"

Clarence sat back down, then spoke directly to Ian, his voice urgent and quavering. "I've got to go back, laddie. Drop me off on sh.o.r.e, then ye take the families overland for Rock Harbor. We can't stay on this lake anyway. She's too rough." To add emphasis to his speech, a wave crashed over the side, drenching everyone again.

"But you can't go back!" said Ian, horrified his father would even suggest such a thing.

"Don't worry about me," said Clarence, impatient that he even had to debate this. "I'll hide in the woods until LeBeck clears out. They're done now. They won't stay long."

"Dad! No!"

"Ian, I told you..."

"Stop it, you two!" cried Sally. "Behind us!"

Ian glanced over his father's shoulder and gasped. A dark object, a s.h.i.+p, emerged from the mouth of the harbor, then veered directly toward the launch, hurtling across the waves and closing the gap between the two vessels with frightening speed. It was the angel of death, come to hunt them down.

Chapter Thirty-Six.

Two men crouched on the bow of the smuggler boat, Tommy guns at the ready. Ian saw a wave smash into the boat, and for a brief moment prayed for them to be washed overboard, but it was not to be. The thugs recovered their balance, aimed their guns and started shooting. Sharp tongues of flame spewed from the muzzles.

Water snapped up behind the launch, as if someone were throwing handfuls of stones at them. "They're out of range!" cried Ian.

"Not for long!" said Sally, fighting the helm. "We're at full throttle already. I can't make her go any faster!"

The wind gusted again. Whitecaps crashed against both s.h.i.+ps. The gunmen held their fire, concentrating instead on keeping their balance to avoid being tossed into the open lake. When the wind settled to a roar, the chase resumed. The gunmen crouched low on the bow deck, waiting for the gap to narrow.

The smuggler s.h.i.+p pulled within twenty yards. The two men stood and raised their Tommy guns. Ian recoiled in horror, realizing that at any second hot lead would be pa.s.sing through his body. Everyone in the launch screamed at the same time.

The gangster boat suddenly erupted in a ball of flame and smoke, slapped out of existence by an unseen force. Shards of wood rained down onto the launch.

"What just happened?" said Sally.

"Ahead!" shouted Ian.

They all saw it then, like some great beast emerging from behind the curtain of night, a ghost shot straight out of h.e.l.l. The Chippewa cruised rapidly toward them, her paddle wheels churning the water, black soot billowing from her stack. She let loose a booming toot from her horn, drowning out the noise of the gale.

"Ben!" cried Ian, standing up despite the danger and waving his arm, a grin plastered on his face. Sally, too, cried out for joy. She cut the engine to quarter speed, then sat back and watched as the enormous s.h.i.+p drew closer.

Every face in the launch craned upward to watch as the Chippewa completed her run. It was like a dark mountain of wood and iron sliding past in the night, lit by green lanterns bobbing to and fro upon the deck high above. Ian caught a glimpse of Captain Ben in his blue uniform, gold braid dangling from his shoulders, standing proudly at the bow. Next to him stood the chief gunner, his hot cannon still smoking from the fateful shot. The gleeful old sailor gave Ian a toothless grin, then clasped a hand on Captain Ben's shoulder. Ben removed his hat and waved it down at them, his face beaming.

When the Chippewa pulled alongside the launch and grappled the little boat, a rope ladder was lowered and the families began climbing aboard. Ian was the first to s.h.i.+mmy up the ladder. "So you see, Ian," said Ben after the boy scrambled onto the deck, "my gunner's as good a shot as you, even if he is an old codger."

Ian grinned sheepishly. "I knew I'd see you again, Ben," he said. "I knew you'd come through."

The old sailor just stood there for several moments, a slight smile curling on his lips. Finally, he gripped Ian by the shoulder. "Thank you, lad."

The pair turned as Ian's mother and father were hauled on deck. Clarence clambered to his feet, then looked around in wonder. "Who are these people?" he said quietly. The lightkeeper spotted Ian and Ben, then slowly walked toward them, with Collene following close behind. The old crew stared as they made their way across the deck. Clarence in turn marveled at the old s.h.i.+p and its crew of ancient mariners.

"Ben?" Clarence said, recognizing the old fisherman from the day before. "What are you doing here?"

Ben answered with a salute. "Captain Ben Sellers, U.S. Revenue Service. At your service." Ben turned his head and gave a knowing smile to Ian.

Sally and her family were next to come aboard. Ben strode over to a.s.sist Sally's grandmother. When she was safely on deck, he took her hand and bowed deeply. "Good evening to you, lovely lady." The old woman blushed, then smiled back, her wintry eyes twinkling.

Sally, meanwhile, was busy helping her father up the last few steps of the rope ladder. When he finally stepped safely on deck, he paused to catch his breath. He bent over, coughing and wheezing. "Easy, Dad," said Sally, patting him on the back.

Ben gestured to several of his men. "Let's get them below. And arrange for some dry clothes before they catch their death."

An old seaman approached, prim and proper, saluting as he addressed his captain. "Everyone's aboard, sir. The launch has been cut free."

"Right," said Ben crisply. "Full steam for Rock Harbor, before this storm gets ugly again. Good work, lads."

A cheer went up among the white-haired sailors. Ben saluted his men, then put an arm around Ian's shoulder, leading him to a hatch that led belowdecks. He gestured to the others to follow. But as they started to walk off, Ian tugged at Ben's sleeve.

"The light, Ben," said Ian. "They put out the light."

"I know, lad," Ben replied. "Had to hug the sh.o.r.eline just to keep it in sight. Mighty dangerous in this weather."

"But we have to go back..."

"Ian, relax," Ben said, chuckling. "We stopped at the fis.h.i.+ng village in Hopkins Bay. They've sent someone on ahead to Rock Harbor." Ian looked puzzled, not comprehending Ben's words. Ben laughed again. "To get the Coast Guard, lad. They'll take care of LeBeck and his crew. And they'll get the lighthouse relit in no time, don't you worry."

Ian stood there, open mouthed, not sure what to say. "But I thought..."

"You thought we were going to take on the whole mob, did you?" Ben roared with laughter. "Me and my old crew?"

"Well, yeah," said Ian. "If you had to."

Ben sobered up, looking serious again. "And I guess we would have, too. But now that's not necessary, is it? We did our duty. Time to head for port."

A blast of wind rocked the boat just then, followed by the return of the rains, which splattered on deck like icy bomblets. "Below, people," ordered Ben, gesturing toward the hatchway. The group headed for the warmth belowdecks, Ben leading the way. Ian followed close behind the old sea captain, but then stopped, waiting to allow his mother and father down the hatch first, then Sally and her family.

Ian was set to follow the group down when suddenly he saw movement out on the lake. Ian froze. He s.h.i.+elded his eyes from the rain and squinted, trying to peer into the inky night. He took two steps toward the deck rail, refusing to believe his eyes. "Ben!" he shouted.

Captain Ben popped his head back up on deck. "What is it, lad?"

"Your spygla.s.s!" Ian gestured with an open palm, not taking his eyes off the water.

Ben unhooked the telescope from his belt and handed it over to the excited teenager. Ian quickly expanded the instrument and brought it up to his eye, gazing out to the horizon. Ben stood patiently behind him, his eyes haunted by some inner anxiety. "What is it, Ian? What do you see?"

Clarence joined them back on deck, curious to discover the source of their delay. He walked up behind Ben and Ian just in time to hear his son cry out, "Not again!"

Ian turned and handed his father the spygla.s.s. The lightkeeper put the telescope to his eye and peered out in the direction Ian was pointing. He squinted for a few seconds, then saw a large shape swim into view. Clarence gasped. Barely visible in the storm was an ore freighter, churning through the water, buffeted by the increasingly vicious waves.

"Mary Mother of G.o.d," Clarence whispered hoa.r.s.ely. "They're headed straight for the cliffs."

With a trembling hand, Clarence handed over the spygla.s.s to its owner. Ben put it to his eye and quickly a.s.sessed the situation. "They picked a p.i.s.s poor time to drop in the neighborhood," he muttered.

"Shoot off a flare!" Ian said excitedly. "They're bound to see the cliffs then."

"No flares left, lad," Ben said, grimacing. "Used 'em up back in '83, during... that awful night."

Ben lowered the spygla.s.s and looked to Ian, then over at Clarence. They stared back, silent for a few moments. Then, finally, Ian spoke up. Fire seemed to spring from his eyes.

"Ben, we're not going to Rock Harbor."

Chapter Thirty-Seven.

For a solid minute, LeBeck stared at the briefcase stuffed full of cash. Bundles of hundred-dollar bills stared back. For a brief moment, LeBeck thought he heard laughter, as if the money was mocking him. But then he realized it was only the wind, still blowing outside the lightkeeper's house and whistling through the trees.

The lightkeeper. LeBeck felt bile rising in his throat. He grimaced and pursed his lips tightly. So much trouble for a case full of paper. LeBeck slammed the lid on the overstuffed case and held it shut with his one good hand. He slowly raised his smoldering eyes and glared at the two men standing nervously in front of him in the living room, representatives of the gang from Duluth. "Tell your boss," the smuggler growled, "if he ever makes me wait like this again, I'll come south and cut out his liver, storm or no storm." The men gulped, then nodded obediently.

LeBeck latched the case shut and hoisted it under his arm. He snapped directions to his men, who stood guard in the shadows. Several of the thugs filed out of the house, Tommy guns at the ready. LeBeck addressed the two representatives again. "My boys will help you load the s.h.i.+pment onto your boats, then we get off this G.o.dd.a.m.n rock. I've got a locket to hunt down."

Suddenly, all heads snapped up as a loud boom, louder than thunder, echoed from outside. LeBeck felt the floorboards under his feet vibrate from the explosion. "Now what?" he exclaimed. Everybody rushed for the front door. LeBeck drew his pistol, the case full of money dangling from his hook hand. He stopped, checking to make sure the magazine was fully loaded. Satisfied, LeBeck grinned wolfishly and thrust himself out the door and into the storm.

As the Chippewa tried to enter Stone Harbor, it encountered fierce resistance from several gangster boats. The enemy s.h.i.+ps buzzed around the giant paddle-wheel steamer like angry bees. Grim-faced thugs stung her hull with submachine gun fire. Adding to the terror, the storm had resumed its fury, churning the waves into whitecaps.

High above the waterline, Captain Ben strode on deck, directing his valiant crew into battle. "Fire!" he shouted to his chief gunner. The bow cannon blasted a fireball into the night. One of the fis.h.i.+ng boats exploded, reduced to fiery driftwood. The Chippewa plowed through the debris, entering the harbor and heading for the dock.

Another boat rammed the cutter amids.h.i.+ps. A thug perched on the bow scrambled across the deck and managed to grab hold of a slat on the sidewheel paddle. With a cry, the man jetted upward, then was flung into the air. Miraculously, the thug landed on his feet square on the deck of the Chippewa. He shook his head, woozy from the ride. When his vision cleared, he saw a group of white-haired sailors, cutla.s.ses and pistols waving in their bony hands, screaming and running directly for him. Without thinking, the thug turned tail and ran for dear life. He shouted and leapt overboard, preferring to take his chances down below.

Ian peered out from a window on the bridge, where Ben had shepherded the families after making their decision to rescue the lighthouse. Sally and the others knelt down below the gla.s.s, out of the line of fire.

A stray bullet punctured the window, inches from Ian's face. Clarence grabbed his son and tugged him down. "Ian, get yourself down and stay there!"

A sailor manning the helm turned briefly. "Do as your father says, boy," he said sternly. "Don't be foolish."

"But we won't get past these boats in time!" protested Ian. He wriggled out of his father's grasp and moved to the port window. Reaching over and s.n.a.t.c.hing up a spygla.s.s sitting on a chart table, he peered out toward open water. Ian could see the freighter through the sheets of rain, closer now than before. The s.h.i.+p was heading straight for the cliffs, and showed no sign of changing course.

The Chippewa lurched suddenly from a gust of wind. Ian stumbled, nearly dropping the spygla.s.s. "We're wasting too much time."

Back on deck, Captain Ben exhorted his old crew to fight. They took their positions faithfully, shooting at the fis.h.i.+ng boats and ducking return fire.

The bow cannon blasted again, sinking a gangster boat with another direct hit. A cry went up among the crew.

"That's it, lads!" Ben cried. "Give 'em what for!"

With the Chippewa now well within the relative safety of the harbor, the bow gun began firing at will. Another gangster boat took a hit, blowing in two and sinking instantly.

When Jean LeBeck appeared on the narrow strip of beach, briefcase dangling from his hook and pistol gripped in his good hand, his eyes darted maniacally, picking details out of the gloom. Several of his men ran past, some shooting wildly into the harbor, others taking shelter behind the barrels of whiskey stacked up on the beach near the dock. LeBeck peered into the dark bay, his eyes narrowing, trying to focus on the object of his men's terror. But all he could detect were cannon flashes and automatic gunfire, plus the roar of explosions and screaming of men, carried across the bay by the howling wind.

Suddenly, LeBeck saw it-a ghostly shape emerged from the blackness of the storm, heading straight for the dock. It was a s.h.i.+p of some kind, impossibly huge, with gigantic sidewheel paddles churning the water and propelling her forward. He saw several of the Duluth gang's s.h.i.+ps circling the mysterious vessel, men on deck raking her hull with blistering machine gun fire. A ball of orange flame erupted from the bow of the big s.h.i.+p, transforming one of the fis.h.i.+ng boats to ashes and driftwood. LeBeck felt an icy fist closing on his heart. It was the Coast Guard. It had to be. But it wasn't supposed to happen this way.

LeBeck ran to the dock. He found two thugs kneeling down, strafing the intruder with their Tommy guns. He grabbed one of the men by the shoulder, lifting him up and whirling him around. "Who are they?" he demanded.

"Don't know, boss," the thug said, wide-eyed.

LeBeck stammered with rage. "Well, to h.e.l.l with them!" He released the man, then opened fire at the s.h.i.+p with his pistol, screaming with each pull of the trigger. He took fiendish delight at the roar and muzzle flash of his weapon. This s.h.i.+p would be no problem. He would simply kill everyone on board, then be on his way.

By now, the Chippewa had veered away from the dock and was running in circles within the harbor, with several gangster boats still swarming around her, pumping lead into her hull. As the great s.h.i.+p came about, heading for the dock once again, she pa.s.sed by LeBeck's yacht, which was still at anchor in the middle of the harbor. Through the rains, LeBeck could see a man at the bow of the Chippewa, a bow-spined sailor hunched over the single cannon mounted on deck. Even at that distance LeBeck swore he saw the man give a skullish grin directly toward him. As the Chippewa slid past the yacht at starboard, near enough to touch, the man fired.

The cannon blast rocked the night, fire billowing off the s.h.i.+p's bow like flames shooting from a giant dragon. The explosion completely sheered off the top deck of the yacht, the remaining hulk set aflame amid oil and splinters.

LeBeck's voice rose to a murderous falsetto. "My boat!" Eyes blazing, he emptied his last round at the Chippewa, then dropped the suitcase as he fumbled in his pocket for more ammunition.

Unseen by LeBeck or the anyone on the deck of the Chippewa, a gangster boat made its way to the huge s.h.i.+p's port side. The boat cruised close to the bow, its engine gunned at full speed to keep from being drawn back into the sidewheel paddle, which beat the water furiously just behind them. Braced near the stern, a gangster with claw-like hands held a burning stick of dynamite. The fuse danced and hissed like a rattlesnake. The pilot of the fis.h.i.+ng boat gave a signal, and as the vessel veered off, the thug grunted and tossed the explosive upwards.

A thunderous explosion ripped apart a section of the Chippewa's deck, sending men flying. When the smoke cleared, old bones lay crumpled amid burning wood and twisted metal, and the smell of cordite and blood hung heavy in the air before being whisked away by the roaring wind.

At the bridge, Ian thumped his hands against the gla.s.s. He watched in numbed horror as Captain Ben fell limp to the deck, his head struck by a hunk of flying debris.

Ian let out a strangled cry. "Ben!" He stood frozen a moment, his pulse roaring in his ears, then rushed for the door.

"Ian!" his father commanded. "Stay put!" But Ian was already gone.

The teenager scrambled across the deck, his feet slipping in rain and blood. Chaos swirled around him; sailors with gritted teeth and wild hair ran back and forth, war cries torn from their old throats. Hot lead danced through the air like angry hornets.