Off Course (22 page)

“If it’s Collin and he’s alive—”

“We mustn’t breathe a word of it to anyone,” interrupted the Captain. “It would be best for him if his enemies think he’s dead.”

Western Caribbean, 2 miles north-northwest of Providencia Island

June 15, 8:28 p.m. Caribbean Time

Collin’s moment of contemplation was long enough for him to catch his breath and hatch a plan for his escape. Action would be the ultimate antidote for the overwhelming angst that threatened to paralyze him. Standing tall against the breeze was a good start. The need to create an action list had been instilled in him by his father and was a natural part of his being. It kept his mind from getting stuck in neutral in difficult situations. “Find your starting point. Figure out what needs to be done first. Get it done and move on to the next.” How many times had his father said that to him growing up? How many times had it helped him solve problems? Too many to count.

Even after racking his brain, Collin’s list consisted of only one high-priority item: to call Lukas and ask him to find and rescue his mom and Emily. That was all he needed. With a starting place in mind, he pulled out the waterproof pouch and dug out his phone. He unlocked it and tried to call Lukas, but was not surprised to find that there was no signal.

Now he switched his thinking to focus on finding a place with cell signal. He returned to the pouch for the yellow handheld GPS Captain Sewell had given him when he fled in the dinghy during Hurricane Abigail less than two weeks earlier. Stinky’s surprise attack had left many things undone and unsaid between Collin and Captain Sewell, including returning the GPS and the dinghy. It was a good thing, though. He needed that GPS now to guide him.

The fierce winds had calmed to blustery gusts. Light rain, soft as cotton pellets, glided down, barely noticeable. The swells looked no larger than four feet, their white tips curling and splitting innocuously in the breeze. Moonlight shone through billowy, silver-streaked clouds above. It appeared the storm had delivered its punch and exited the arena, perhaps seeking other victims. Dripping wet and wearing only the shorts and T-shirt he had changed into before the Asian men showed up, Collin began to shiver in the wind.

He picked up the GPS unit and switched on the power. Once it locked into the satellite signal, a map appeared with a blinking red dot in the middle of the vast sea of pale blue. Collin adjusted his eyes and oriented himself quickly. East by southeast of his position was a cluster of long, thin islands stretching southward. Surely there would be inhabitants and, being the Caribbean, surely there would be tourists. If there was civilization, there would be cell reception. With cell reception, he could call Lukas. Lukas could find his mom and Emily. Priority number one could be checked off. Then, he’d have to sort out the next priority.

Collin set the destination on the handheld GPS, then went straight to work assembling the scuba gear, piece by piece. This he had done a hundred times. His moves were fast and fluid, but thorough. Each piece of equipment was familiar to him in its shape and function. He wasted no time, but double checked everything he did to make sure it was done properly.

First, he removed the buoyancy compensator vest, positioned the Velcro strap-and-cinch system on its back, and clamped it around the tank. Then he connected the regulator and checked the air flow. With the connection made between the regulator and the tank, he checked the air pressure in the tank with the gauge on the regulator. It was gratefully full, showing over 3500 psi of air pressure. In his experience, he could make that much air last ninety minutes in shallow water.

Collin attached the dive computer that included a compass, timer, and depth gauge. He marked his bearing at 150 degrees on the compass, a south by southeast direction, matching what the handheld GPS told him. After attaching the buoyancy compensator to a hose from the tank, he pushed the button that allowed air to flow into the vest, partially inflating it with three short bursts of air. He placed two of the large lead weights and two of the small ones into their pouches attached to the vest with Velcro. The others he left on the rock.

Collin located the fins, mask, and snorkel next and put them on. The Captain had larger feet than Collin, so he adjusted the straps on the fins, then removed them again. That’s when he remembered the dive boots. He fished them out of the red mesh bag and tried them on. They were too large, but he wore them anyway knowing they would prevent blisters and chafing on his feet and ankles. After adjusting the mask and snorkel, he reattached the strap for the dive light around his wrist and tested its beam. He sat on the rock in front of the outfitted tank and donned the vest, tightening the straps and adjusting the weights. With the buckles snapped, everything felt as it should: snug but not restrictive. Feeling as prepared as he could under the circumstances, he stood and braced himself on the rocks before moving carefully toward the water’s edge beyond the stern of the
Admiral
, where he had emerged.

Three minutes had elapsed since he started assembling the scuba gear. Quick but confident. Cautious but experienced.

Without ceremony, Collin climbed into the water, bracing himself against the tidal surge. He pulled the mask over his eyes and adjusted the rubber gasket before sucking in slightly to seal it against his skin. He moved the snorkel into place, put the mouthpiece between his front teeth, and took two quick test breaths. When he was waist deep, he slipped on the fins.

Before launching himself into the surf, Collin took one last look at the GPS. It showed 2.1 miles to the tip of the closest island. Not knowing the strength of the current, he wondered how long it would take him to traverse that distance. He pushed off the rocks in the direction of the island, having one finger on the button of his vest, which he pressed to add air to the buoyancy compensator until he could feel himself floating near the surface. With the snorkel in place, he pumped his legs in the water, feeling the fins propel him forward, breathing through the snorkel to save air in the tank as long as possible. Collin fine-tuned the angle of his legs and feet and positioned his body to maximize the thrust of the fins. Before long, he felt himself skimming along the surface.

*              *              *              *

Scripps Cancer Research Patient Clinic, La Jolla, California

June 15, 7:52 p.m. Pacific Time

The humming and beeping of the medical equipment was interrupted by a soft feminine voice. Emily bolted up, still jittery. The voice came from three feet to her right. A nurse was standing next to Sarah’s bed.

“Mrs. Cook, someone is here to see you. Someone you asked me about earlier. Mrs. Cook, please wake up and say hello to your very special visitors,” the short dark-haired nurse said as she leaned in close and gently shook Sarah’s shoulders.

Emily looked on in silent anticipation. Sarah’s eyes were slow to open. It was as if she needed a crow bar to pry her eyelids apart. Her focus adjusted and she let out a joyful squeal as her tall white-haired knight stood at her bedside smiling down at her. His big hands scooped up hers and held them tight.

“I’m so happy to see you, dear,” Henry said. “And so sorry I couldn’t fight those animals off. They caught me completely by surprise—jumped out from behind the trash bins as I came around to your door. I’m so sorry I let them take you.” His eyes were moist and his voice choked. One of those eyes was circled in a bright purple ring and one of his cheeks bore a bruise and a scrape as proof of his scuffle.

Sarah took in the battered face of her husband with doleful eyes and swallowed hard before she attempted to speak. When she did, it was just above a whisper. “No, no, Henry. Don’t you blame yourself. Those monsters ambushed you―us―without warning. It wasn’t a fair fight to start with. I’m just glad you’re all in one piece.”

“I’m so sorry, dear,” Henry repeated.

The two kissed and held onto each other’s hands like they were hanging from a building. Twenty-four hours’ worth of stress and anxiety pooled up like rainwater in a storm, then seeped below the surface.

Emily looked at her hands instead of watching Henry and Sarah. She felt like an intruder. Her own loneliness, like a whirlpool, threatened to pull her down into its inescapable depths.

Richard, the oldest Cook child, moved to his father’s side and caught his mother’s eye. Her surprise turned to elation. Henry stepped back as she reached for their son. When their embrace ended, Sarah looked to her left where another concerned figure stood in anticipation. Megan, her only daughter, burst into tears and practically launched herself into her mother’s arms, holding on until they both stopped sobbing.

While the Cook family huddled and hugged, Emily caught sight of another figure moving through the dimly lit space at the foot of Sarah’s bed. A man stepped over to the side of Emily’s bed as she looked down at her hands. His sudden presence surprised her. “Emily Burns? You look marvelous,” he said in his best imitation of the Billy Crystal character who made the phrase popular back in the day.

“Rob Howell? What are you doing here?” she said.

“I came home when I heard about Sarah’s health issues. Figured I should add whatever support I can in Collin’s absence,” he said smiling. Then he looked at Emily’s bandaged cheek and spoke in an almost reverent tone. “I’m sorry about what happened to you two. I feel awful knowing that if I had gotten to your office just a little sooner, you and I would have been at lunch somewhere instead—”

Rob’s cell phone started playing Linkin Park. He fumbled it out of his pocket with agitated haste. Glancing at the screen, Rob apologized to Emily for the interruption, explaining that he had to take the call and excused himself from the room.

Emily shook her head softly and tried not to look as awkward and alone as she felt.

The Cook family continued to talk and Megan continued to cry, not noticing Rob’s exit.

When Rob returned to the room moments later, the Cook family circle had widened to include Emily. Henry stood between the two beds, holding a hand from each of the ladies. He smiled at both of them. Without Henry speaking a word, Emily knew he cared, like a father, and that simple gesture pulled her back from the edge of the whirlpool.

Rob moved to the far side of Emily’s hospital bed and attempted to contain a smile. Emily tried to read the eager yet subdued expression on his face. “What is it, Rob? You look like you have some good news.”

He grinned at her and said, “Later. For now, I want to make sure you’re OK.”

*              *              *              *

Western Caribbean Sea, 2 miles north-northwest of Providencia Island

June 15, 9:03 p.m. Caribbean Time

When he felt he had been swimming for a respectable amount of time, Collin stopped to survey his surroundings and his watch. In the darkness, he could just make out the white hump of the
Admiral
’s hull sticking up out of the water behind him. Ahead, tiny yellow specks of light twinkled just above the horizon. The GPS indicated he had traveled four-tenths of a mile. His watch indicated twenty-five minutes had elapsed since he reentered the water. Fighting the current and the swells was hard enough. Dragging all that weight was slowing him down, making him work harder than he should have to. Survival was paramount, which is why he loaded up on provisions before exiting the
Admiral
, but time was of the essence. A quick mental tally of the items dangling from the mesh bags told him he would need to dump the canned food and anything that was not essential. He could survive without food. Sparing only two water bottles and the GPS, Collin emptied everything out of the yellow mesh bag clipped to his buoyancy compensator and let them sink to the bottom of the ocean. It was now slim enough to wedge into his vest to make him more streamlined. Less weight and less resistance should speed things up.

Despite his frustration at making such slow progress toward the Island of Providencia, Collin put his face back in the water and continued to battle the current. Recalling his scuba training from years before, however, he chose to turn himself forty-five degrees to the pull of the current and swim for ten minutes. After the ten minutes was up, he turned ninety degrees and paddled and kicked for another ten minutes, again at a forty-five degree angle to the current. After half an hour, he noticed he had covered significant distance. He was now halfway there.

After another ten minutes, something changed in his watery world. In the distance, a muffled hum grew steadily louder and stronger. Collin stopped to survey the horizon, rotating in a circle. That’s when he saw it approaching from the three o’clock position. Two spot lights scanned in all directions from either side of the bow of a swift-moving boat. The beams of light stretched and retracted as they swept across the water’s surface. Although the oncoming vessel was still an estimated quarter of a mile away, Collin’s heart jumped to his throat. It was probably a Coast Guard boat from who knows where. If they saw him, he could say good-bye to his family and his freedom. Upon learning the fate of his men, Pho Nam Penh would surely show no mercy on Collin’s mother and Emily. Would Penh stop there or hunt down the rest of his family? The thought made him shudder and produced a surge of adrenaline to power him forward. He had to alert Lukas and soon.

Collin had less than a mile to go before he reached the island. As near as he could tell, he had been swimming hard for about an hour and five minutes. At this rate, he had another hour to go. He was exhausted and breathing hard, so he knew that even if his considerable stamina held up, the air in the tank would not last him the whole way. But he had no choice; the boat approached unexpectedly fast. Diving below the surface and hiding underwater to avoid being picked up and interrogated was his only option.