Coincidence Part 15

"I'm reducing alt.i.tude now in preparation for a close flyby," he said. "I'll keep you posted."

"Heads up, mates!" Mac called.

Pierre and Ryan, rust-busting on the deck, looked up to where the bosun was pointing. They saw nothing. Then their ears picked up a faint whine, which grew gradually louder; they squinted in the direction of the noise, and a spot appeared, grew larger, and finally materialized into an airplane.

An airplane!

Pierre took off at lightning speed to find Melissa, knocking on the cla.s.sroom doors and alerting everyone he saw along the way to her cabin. Soon the deck was swarming with Floaties and staff, all of them shouting and cheering and waving their arms off.

"I didn't see any obvious signs of distress...o...b..ard," Nick reported. "Just a slew of people waving at me."

He reported on photos he had taken.

"They've got five sails flying. Must not have any engine power. On course for Easter Island, but going real slow.

"They're not responding to radio calls. What say we try dropping off a VHF radio on a life raft on the morning run tomorrow? I think they'll be okay till then."

Melissa gripped Pierre's arm as she watched the plane bank, turn, and disappear into the horizon.

Captain Marzynski deactivated the beacon. No point in using it now. The plane must have come in response to the signal; the pilot was very likely alerting the authorities right now. And even if not, the signal would have been picked up on sh.o.r.e via satellite. And of course they could always reactivate it if necessary.

Mac propelled the newly repaired Zodiac as fast as he could out to the bobbing life raft, some three hundred feet away. To the crowd a.s.sembled on deck, it seemed to take him an inordinately long time to reach the small bundle; in fact it was a matter of minutes. He leaned over and fished it out of the water, set it in the dinghy beside him, and turned back toward the Inspiration Inspiration to the crowd's cheers. The plane that had dropped it circled overhead-the same plane that had appeared yesterday in response to the emergency signal. to the crowd's cheers. The plane that had dropped it circled overhead-the same plane that had appeared yesterday in response to the emergency signal.

Cla.s.ses had been stopped to allow everyone to see what was going on. The air was still, the deck unnaturally quiet, as all hands gathered around, watching as Mac made his way back. Pulling up beside the boat, he heaved the yellow parcel up into Charlie's waiting hands. Charlie put it down amid the throng of silent spectators. Waiting for Mac to climb back onboard, no one hazarded a guess as to what might be inside-not aloud, at any rate.

Captain Marzynski did the honors, deftly loosening the knots that bound the life raft around its contents. The raft flopped open, revealing another layer of packaging-black plastic crisscrossed with duct tape.

Melissa thought immediately of Christmas, of the intricately wrapped presents her Uncle Jack infuriated and delighted her with every year. The image brought a fleeting smile to her face; Pierre caught the change in her expression and shot her an inquiring glance. But almost at once the smile vanished, and Melissa had to bite her bottom lip to keep from breaking into sobs at the very real possibility that there would be no more Christmases at home-no more Christmases, period.

Now she could only hope that whatever was inside this mysterious package would turn out to be as wonderful and useful a gift as those Uncle Jack had bestowed upon her. He had an uncanny knack for coming up with exactly the right thing at the right time, whether she knew she needed it or not.

The captain knelt and slit the tape open with a slim pocket-knife. The black plastic fell away. It took just a moment for the crowd to register what the object was. Then an excited murmur began, intensifying by the second until Melissa could barely hear the crackling static over the jubilation.

It seemed the gift giver in the airplane above was every bit as clever as Uncle Jack.

37.

Phillip stood on deck, glowering at the ocean. His nose was swollen and throbbing, its initial redness turning blotchy purple. There wasn't a part of his body, stem to stern, that didn't hurt like h.e.l.l.

In even worse shape than his body, though, were his spirits. Stefano was p.i.s.sed as h.e.l.l at him, and Juan-well, Juan would have finished off the pummeling Anika had started if Stefano hadn't stopped him.

Anika! What was wrong with her anyway? She'd rather be thrown to the sharks than give up her precious frigging maiden-hood? C'mon. What did she think this was, a Victorian novel? Not that he believed for a minute that her maidenhood was intact. A girl like that? In this day and age? h.e.l.l, no.

So that meant she'd rather be thrown to the sharks than go to bed with him.

The only reason Juan and Stefano hadn't thrown him to the sharks yesterday was that they needed him on the boat. He could tell by the brothers' whispered conference outside Anika's cabin, where he lay having his nose wrapped up, that it had taken a good deal of persuading for Juan to allow even that much.

It was clear to Phillip that by the time they reached Easter Island, he would no longer be needed for anything. He wouldn't be going ash.o.r.e any more than the hostages would. And all because that ungrateful little- His watchman's eye picked up a faint glint on the water far in the distance off the starboard bow. He shaded his eyes and kept the glint in view; little by little it came closer, eventually a.s.suming the outline of a s.h.i.+p.

He shouted out to Esteban, on deck behind him.

"Come here! Now, d.a.m.n it! Move it!"

Esteban put down the bucket he was holding and ambled over to where Phillip stood watch.

"Take over!" Phillip hissed as he ran to the bridge.

Severo sat at the controls, chewing a wad of gum.

"Hola, Felipe, how's the nose?" he snickered as Phillip banged the door open. Phillip shoved him from his chair.

"Get Stefano!" he barked and sat down at the VHF radio.

Within three minutes, Stefano came storming through the door, with Severo trailing behind.

"What you think you're-" Stefano began.

Phillip silenced him with a furious shaking of his head and hands, and pointed to the radio.

The three waited with their ears c.o.c.ked as the VHF crackled.

After a moment, Stefano began again.

"Madre de Cristo! What the h.e.l.l you-" What the h.e.l.l you-"

Suddenly the signal on the VHF changed. The static intensified, then was replaced by a screech. The screeching faded away and Stefano fell silent as a clear voice emanated from the box on the console.

"This is Captain Ritchie on the Coast Guard cutter Serendipity. Serendipity. We are now three miles off your starboard bow. Heave to and prepare to be boarded." We are now three miles off your starboard bow. Heave to and prepare to be boarded."

Severo reeled backward against the wall.

"It's all over!" he wailed. "I knew it would end like this! It's no use. We can't run-"

"Chucha!" Stefano bellowed at him. "Shut up! We don't know what they want. Maybe it's nothing, maybe just routine, they searching all s.h.i.+ps going through here. We don't know."

He nodded at Phillip.

"Tell them to come. Severo, you and Polo go and tie up the girl and the doctor. Make sure they can't make no noise-lots of duct tape over their mouths. Stay with them. Find my brother first. Send him in here. Vaya Vaya!"

"Captain, we are stopping our engines now," Phillip said as soon as Severo had gone. "Continue your approach."

He turned to Stefano. For a moment the two men simply stared at each other, each trying desperately to hold onto hope, to quell their rising panic.

"Might be they're only looking for the Two Wise Two Wise," Phillip said slowly. "That wouldn't tie us in with the drugs necessarily. They'll know the boat's stolen, though; the camouflage is only good from the air."

"A random drug check maybe? It's possible?"

"Possible, I guess. Not probable. This isn't exactly a high drug area. But we've got to decide now what to do with the c.o.ke. Once they've boarded, for whatever reason, it'll be too late. And there's no way we can outrun them. That cutter can go four times our best speed."

A shadow loomed across the open doorway. Juan. Stefano exchanged glances with his brother. Phillip had never seen Juan look quite so venomous, and all of his anger seemed to be directed at him-though how the h.e.l.l Juan could pin the blame for this this on him he couldn't see. But Juan had no head for logic; he'd lash out first and ask questions later. Which method of his imminent death would be the worst: gun-wielding authorities, ravenous sharks, or Juan? on him he couldn't see. But Juan had no head for logic; he'd lash out first and ask questions later. Which method of his imminent death would be the worst: gun-wielding authorities, ravenous sharks, or Juan?

Stalling for time, Phillip said, "Look, why don't I just ask them what's up, why they want to board, anyway? At least that way we'll know what it is we're dealing with."

Stefano grunted his consent, and Juan did nothing to stop him, so Phillip went ahead.

"Serendipity? Could you tell us the-uh, the nature of your inquiry? We're in international waters here. Why do you want to come aboard?"

The radio crackled again before the captain's voice came through, calm and brisk.

"Coincidence, this is a routine check only. We monitor all s.h.i.+p traffic in this area. We are now launching a boarding party; it will arrive in a few minutes."

Captain's Ritchie's tone was noncommittal; it almost sounded bored. But something about his explanation did not ring true. Why would the U.S. Coast Guard monitor all s.h.i.+ps in this part of the world? Did they even have the authority to do so?

The men kept their eyes on the launch as it plowed the water toward them. Phillip's eyes began to ache with the strain.

There were five of them on the launch. Five men in flak jackets. Five men with rifles trained on the Coincidence. Coincidence.

Stefano froze for an instant at the sight. Then he whirred into action, reaching into a locker behind him as he shouted out orders in staccato bursts.

"Juanito!"

He withdrew a rifle from the locker and tossed it to Juan.

"Get ready to fire!" he said, grabbing a second weapon for himself.

"You!" he yelled to Phillip. "Put the boat in gear! Go!"

As the boat began to move, Stefano and Juan took aim at the launch, which abruptly changed direction and headed back toward the Serendipity. Serendipity. Stefano wheeled around. Stefano wheeled around.

"Esteban! The hostages! Bring them here!"

Esteban looked up.

"Now, muchachote muchachote, now!"

The Serendipity Serendipity was closing in on them, cutting them off. Two crew members stood on the bow, their weapons c.o.c.ked. As Anika and the doctor reached the bridge, hands bound with rope, mouths taped shut, a shot cracked through the air. Two hundred feet in front of the was closing in on them, cutting them off. Two crew members stood on the bow, their weapons c.o.c.ked. As Anika and the doctor reached the bridge, hands bound with rope, mouths taped shut, a shot cracked through the air. Two hundred feet in front of the Coincidence Coincidence, a sh.e.l.l smacked down, sending a spray of water over its hull.

Stefano pushed Elliott and Anika onto the bridge in full view of the cutter.

"You tell them leave us alone or we will shoot them and throw them overboard," he told Philip. "They can't touch us once we get near the island."

"It doesn't matter," Phillip said, shaking his head. "It doesn't matter."

He looked at Stefano, who was wild-eyed, still believing there was a way out.

"The police will be waiting for us on Easter Island," he said in a low voice.

"So? We throw the c.o.ke overboard now! No evidence!"

"It's pointless."

The radio crackled to life again.

"This is Captain Ritchie on the Serendipity. Serendipity. Don't do anything foolish. It will do you no good, anyway. We know the names of your crew and your hostages. We know your boat is the Don't do anything foolish. It will do you no good, anyway. We know the names of your crew and your hostages. We know your boat is the Two Wise Two Wise, stolen in Costa Rica. We know you killed the six guards in Colombia. We know you have the c.o.ke onboard.

"We are prepared to make you one offer, and one offer only: Stop your vessel now, surrender with no harm to the hostages, and we will take you back to the States to stand trial.

"If you reject this offer, we will board by force and turn you over to the Colombian authorities, who will administer their own brand of justice."

The captain paused.

"Consider where you'd prefer to be jailed, and whether you prefer to stop on your own or have your vessel rammed."

Another pause.

"What's your decision?"

Stefano stood motionless. His face was drained of color, and his eyes were blank.

In Phillip's mind, jail in Colombia ranked just below death by sharks. He stopped the engines and picked up the microphone.

38.

Dabbing at his chin with olive oil, Dr. Elliott Williams was ruing the day he'd decided to grow a beard. Then again, he could hardly have imagined, as a young resident, that his casual decision to give up shaving in exchange for a few extra minutes of precious sleep every morning would lead to so much misery fourteen years later. He'd surely never dreamed that his practice of medicine was going to involve such tribulations as removing duct-tape residue from his facial hair.

The task had been far simpler for Anika; she'd smeared cleansing lotion over her face, rinsed it off, repeated, and, except for a little redness, was practically as good as new.

He used up the rest of her bottle of lotion but sat there with stubborn bits of glue still clinging tenaciously to his whiskers, while she went off to call Kathleen Tutty in Montreal on the satellite phone. He just hoped olive oil would do the trick before they were to meet Captain Ritchie for lunch.

Anika came back into his cabin, looking more cheerful than she had in a week. She picked up the olive oil tin, shook it, and grinned.

"I hope the cook has another tin of this...o...b..ard," she said. "Otherwise you'll have to resort to engine oil."

Elliott rolled his eyes as she sat down beside him. She poured some of the olive oil on a washcloth and rubbed it into his beard.

"Kathleen says everyone on the Inspiration Inspiration is okay. She's already ordered the new hydraulic parts for the steering system and the injectors for the motor. They'll be air freighted to Easter Island within three days. Edward's flying to the island tomorrow to meet us when we get there and to coordinate the repairs. Some of the other damaged equipment may not be so easy to replace." is okay. She's already ordered the new hydraulic parts for the steering system and the injectors for the motor. They'll be air freighted to Easter Island within three days. Edward's flying to the island tomorrow to meet us when we get there and to coordinate the repairs. Some of the other damaged equipment may not be so easy to replace."