Isle Royale (20 page)

On the
Chippewa
, a roar went up among the sailors. A direct hit! They watched gleefully as the gangster boat began billowing black smoke. Ian jumped up jubilantly. “Yes!” he exclaimed.

Suddenly, Captain Ben was there towering over him, eyes blazing. A hush went over the crew. The old sailor grabbed Ian by the front of his shirt, then picked the boy bodily up off the deck. Ian kicked his feet uselessly as he dangled in midair. He couldn’t believe the strength in the old man. Ben, trembling with rage, narrowed his eyes to slits.

“There’s no disobeying orders on my ship!” Ben growled.

Ian let himself go limp; struggling now was pointless. The two stared at each other a few moments, and Ian wondered if Ben would strike him or simply drop him over the side of the ship. Then Ian saw something soften in Ben’s eyes. The snarl on the old sailor’s lips slowly disappeared, and his face became kindly once again.

“You’ve gone and done it now, lad,” he said softly, gently lowering Ian to the deck.

Just then, a cry went up from a sailor perched in a crow’s nest on top of one of the masts. Ben looked out over the cove and saw the gangster boat moving away, not as fast as before, but still at a fair clip.

Ben saw MacGlynn snarl and pick up a Tommy gun from the bottom of the boat. The ganster yelled and let loose a long burst into the woods in the direction of the cannon fire. A stream of hot lead raked the
Chippewa
.

“Everybody down!” shouted Ben, grabbing Ian and Sally and yanking them to the deck as bullets ripped into the antiquated ship. Ian cringed at the metallic
rat-tat-tat
of the machine gun. He shut his eyes tight as a blizzard of sharp splinters flew through the air like a swarm of angry hornets. Then, silence. Ian slowly opened his eyes and looked around. Miraculously, nobody on deck appeared hurt.

Ben rose quickly to his feet, his jaw set with anger and determination. Ian and Sally stayed prone on the deck. They looked up, wide-eyed, as Ben, a sudden air of authority wrapped around him like a shroud, barked orders to his crew of ancient mariners.

“Right then! If it’s a fight they want, a fight they’ll have! To battle stations!”

Ian watched, his jaw dropping open, as the old sailors scrambled over the deck and up the rigging like a pack of wild monkeys. A low rumbling bellowed up from somewhere deep inside the
Chippewa
. Like an iron volcano, black soot shot out of the single massive smokestack in the middle of the ship. Ian turned his head and watched as the sidewheel paddles began moving. The old wood groaned once, then sprang to life, churning the water with ferocious power.

An old sailor hobbled over to Ian and Sally, who were still huddled down below the rail, safely out of harm’s way. He bent down, gave a wide, toothless grin, and gripped Ian on the shoulder.

“Good shot, laddie,” the man said, cackling with laughter. “Now you’ll see what this old crew can do.”

Inside the crippled motorboat, MacGlynn and his henchman tried desperately to coax the damaged engine into giving them more speed, but without much success. MacGlynn finally kicked it in frustration. “Come on, you vicious bastard!”

The motor sputtered and died.

MacGlynn and the thug did a double take, looking at each other in horror. MacGlynn kicked the motor again, harder this time. As if playing a cruel trick on the gangsters, the contraption suddenly roared back to life. Their relief was short-lived, however.

“Look!” cried the thug. MacGlynn followed the man’s stare, glancing toward the end of the cove where the cannon fire had come from. A loud roar came over the water, as if someone had opened the gates of hell itself. Black smoke poured up over the trees, visible even in the pitch darkness of the stormy night.

Suddenly, what previously had appeared to be a mass of foliage and trees parted like a curtain on a stage. The two bootleggers sat there, blood drained from their faces, jaws dropping to the deck.

The
Chippewa
came steaming rapidly towards them, lit up like a Christmas tree and casting insane shadows across the water.

“Holy crap!” exclaimed MacGlynn, too stupefied to move. He saw a crew of old geezers scrambling around on deck like a well-oiled machine. The two brats he had been looking for were there too; MacGlynn could see them peering over the deck rail, watching as the monstrous ship quickly overtook the motorboat. Then, MacGlynn saw what looked like the captain, standing on deck, a sword gripped in his gnarled hand, exhorting his crew. MacGlynn had a terrible feeling he’d seen the old man before. Then it came to him—the fisherman at the lighthouse dock! He heard Ben yell, “We’ve got ‘em on the run now, lads! Ready with the cannon!”

At the sound of the word “cannon,” MacGlynn came out of his stupor. He picked up the Tommy gun, then tossed another to the thug. They rose and stood shoulder to shoulder, bracing themselves. When the
Chippewa
was within twenty yards, looming over them like some giant sea monster, they opened fire, pouring hot lead into the ship.

Kicking like a mule, the Tommy gun felt good against MacGlynn’s shoulder. He grinned as he watched the muzzle hurl fire at his enemy, and felt a warm sensation inside when he heard the tinkling of the spent shells collecting around his feet. He saw splinters flying off the old hull of the ship. This must be what it’s like, he thought, to bring down one of them big African elephants. In his frenzy, MacGlynn actually thought that if he held his ground, he just might sink the ship.

As the
Chippewa
overtook MacGlynn’s small boat and pulled alongside, he finally stopped shooting and looked up. He saw an old, toothless sailor on deck, grinning like a demon and pointing a cannon directly down at them.

MacGlynn dropped the Tommy gun. He flashed a smile and raised his hands. “Sorry!” he called up. The old man just cackled down at the gangster, then touched the fuse with the glowing wick.

Sheer panic gripped MacGlynn. “Jump!” He hopped onto the rail and then hurled himself into the water. The other thug made it overboard just as the cannon went off, scoring a direct hit. The boat exploded in a firestorm of splintered wood and twisted metal.

MacGlynn and his companion bobbed helplessly in the water, coughing and sputtering. They watched the
Chippewa
churn past. MacGlynn heard a cry go up over the water as the aged crew let out a victory yell.

MacGlynn kicked and splashed, trying to keep afloat in the near-freezing water. He gasped for breath and coughed up what seemed like a lakefull of water from his lungs. He watched as the
Chippewa
made a slow turn and then began heading back in their direction. Damn those old codgers, he thought. Damn lake. And a curse on those damn kids.

Chapter Twenty-Nine

C
ollene MacDougal sat on the edge of her bed, nervously tapping her front teeth with half-chewed fingernails. Outside in the hallway, LeBeck talked in hushed tones with one of his henchmen. The bedroom door was nearly closed, and through the narrow opening she could see her former lover raise his good hand, making some sort of urgent gesture to his underling, who stood unseen just behind the doorway. They hissed and growled quietly, obviously trying to spare Collene’s ears from whatever business demanded their attention.

Collene turned away, trying to keep the whispered secrets from her mind. Shortly after Clarence was whisked back to the lighthouse, LeBeck had taken her by the arm and led her upstairs to her bedroom, to pack he’d said, but she knew it was also another excuse to be alone with her.

Collene sighed as she stared at the barren wood floor, a faraway gaze in her eyes. How, she wondered, could she make Jean see that she didn’t love him anymore, that both their lives were so different now? They’d traveled paths down which they could never return. He’d gone to Europe, fought in the Great War, seen the world.

As for herself… Collene pondered the question. What had she accomplished as the years had drifted by? She’d married a lightkeeper and started a family, of course. And she was happy with her life. Yes, she decided, she was happy. Happy as a lark. Collene bit her lower lip hard, nearly making herself bleed. Stop it, she scolded herself. Clarence is a good man. You love him.

LeBeck had promised her a new life, full of excitement and adventure. Come to Europe with me, he’d said seductively. We’ll dine on caviar and sweet wine. Then, on to Greece, he’d whispered in her ear, arms wrapped around each other at sunset with a warm Mediterranean breeze blowing lightly against their skin.

Collene scoffed, remembering how the war had changed LeBeck so. Jean, the man she’d loved so many years ago, was dead, replaced by some sort of monster who beat innocent people and held them at gunpoint. No longer the kind, gentle man she once fell in love with, he was now a man transformed, a killer with base instincts that served his own selfish gain. He couldn’t possibly love her the way he once did, with an open heart and caring hand. Collene closed her eyes, her mind drifting against her will, remembering the way he used to caress her cheeks, then lightly run the backs of his hands across her neck, pressing ever-so-gently, causing shivers to run up and down her spine.

No, she thought, snapping her eyes open, trying to come to her senses. That man is gone, never to return. Besides, she reminded herself, I’ve got a husband and child now.

And yet, Paris…

Collene’s eyes traveled to the chest at the foot of the bed. She froze when she saw the edge of an envelope sticking up from under the heavy oak lid. In her haste, she’d neglected to put LeBeck’s letters away in their proper place at the bottom of the chest. Instead, she’d simply set them on top of the pile of clothes and shut the lid, intending to finish later. But with all the commotion she’d forgotten to go back and hide them properly. She’d kept them secret from Clarence all these years; it would be a disaster if he discovered them now.

Collene stood and moved to the foot of the bed. She bent down and opened the oak chest, shocked to find her hands trembling. Stupid, she thought, keeping those letters. When their ordeal was over, she made up her mind to burn the whole lot of them. She collected the envelopes in a tight bundle, wrapping them up with a piece of red ribbon. As her trembling fingers struggled to tie the knot, Collene knew at that moment what was truly important to her, and it most certainly wasn’t Paris. It was her family. A wave of nausea washed over her. What had become of Ian? And what if Clarence had accidentally stumbled upon her secret…

“What’s that you’ve got there?”

Collene froze, her heart leaping into her throat. Clutching the bundle to her chest, she whirled to find LeBeck, alone now and standing in the doorway, staring at her with dark, probing eyes. She stared back, answering him with silence.

LeBeck stepped into the room, then closed the door quietly behind him. “Did you save them all?”

Collene glanced down at the letters in her hand. Her fingers tightened involuntarily, squeezing the envelopes until they groaned under the pressure. She looked up again as LeBeck took a few tentative steps toward her.

“You do still love me,” he whispered, reached out his arms, expecting her to fall into his grasp. Instead, Collene recoiled, her lip curled in a feral snarl.

Collene waved the stack of envelopes in front of him. “This is the man I loved,” she said, her words laced with venom, making no effort to keep her voice quiet. “He’s dead now.”

“That’s not true,” LeBeck implored, stepping closer, hands reaching for her. “You know it’s not, Collene.”

He took another step, towering over her now. With a short yell, Collene suddenly flung the stack of envelopes at him. They exploded off his chest in a blizzard of parchment, stopping him in his tracks. Collene, pointing out the window behind her, shouted at him, her voice raised to a fever pitch. “If what you say is true, if you really are the Jean I used to love, then get out there and find my son!”

LeBeck stood there, silent, watching the letters settle to the wood floor. He waited a moment longer, then slowly lifted his head and gazed into her eyes. Collene gasped. For one, brief moment, she saw the old Jean peering out from behind the facade. LeBeck’s eyes became a looking glass to his soul, and for an instant she saw an innocent child trapped behind an iron curtain of hate.

Then, just as suddenly, the porthole slammed shut, replaced by inky black globes absent all light and love. Collene felt her skin crawl. His eyes were almost reptilian now, devoid of humanity. She wondered if he would kill her then.

LeBeck finally spoke, shattering the silence with such force that Collene was very nearly knocked backward. “You loved me once,” he snapped. “You wouldn’t have saved those letters otherwise.” He walked away and jerked open the door. He turned back to her, his eyes narrowed. “Pack your bags. We leave at first light.”

Chapter Thirty

C
aptain Ben Sellers stood on the deck of the
Chippewa.
He faced Ian and Sally, his arms crossed and looking smug, a faint smile creeping onto his lips. “Not bad for ‘old men,’ eh?”

The two teenagers looked at each other, then laughed with relief. For a brief moment, a thought had passed through Ian’s head that, for disobeying orders and firing the cannon, he might have been made to walk the plank. Or perhaps even been keelhauled. But to his relief, Ben and his crew seemed more proud of themselves than angry at him.

The
Chippewa
sat at anchor at the end of the cove once again. The sailors scrambled to raise the camouflage net to conceal the ship, and then set to work repairing the damage to the hull wrought by MacGlynn’s machine gun.

Behind Ben and the two teenagers, MacGlynn and his thug companion hung together upside down from a rope tied to one of the masts. About six feet off the deck, the gangsters were lashed back-to-back, their arms left to dangle and wave freely. The hapless duo cursed obscenities as the white-haired crew jeered and poked at them, then set them swinging back and forth.