Superior Storm (Lake Superior Mysteries) (20 page)

Before, we had been sliding sedately through the water. Now we began to move much faster. The wake boiled behind us, and we swooped gently from one wave to the next. It felt almost like flying. One of the stays began to vibrate, making a low humming sound. As our speed picked up
,
the bow began to kick up spray as it plowed into the waves ahead. Jasmine had already returned to her place there, and she who
o
ped a
s
the icy water caught her. She stood at the very front, one hand on the front stay
and
the other flung out wide. Her dark hair streamed unfettered in the wind.

Leyla and I glanced at each other. We both knew, without saying it, what Jasmine felt. The fresh wildness of Superior at her best is almost like a drug. I glanced at Tony to see what he thought. I almost did a double take as I saw him grinning and wiping spray from his face.

Phil was nodding to himself like he was pleased. But it was more like he was pleased that we
we
re making progress, rather than that he was enjoying the ride. Angela still seemed a little tense.

“Is that Madeline Island?” asked Phil, pointing to our starboard.

“That's right,” said Leyla.
“
We're almost clear of it. The first one we passed to our port was Basswood, and we are almost clear of Hermit over there.”

“And that one is Stockton?” asked Phil, pointing to a low line of trees rising some distance almost straight ahead.

“That's right,” said Leyla. “I was thinking we might anchor in Julian Bay on Stockton. With this northwest wind, that should be a perfect spot.”

“I was hoping to see the lighthouse on Outer Island,” said Angela.

“You guys have done your homework,” said Leyla. “We'll have to see how the wind holds up. It's a good fifteen miles
more
– maybe
two or three
hours at this speed. If it stays like this, we won't have to tack, and we'll probably have enough time
before sunset. But no promises
out here.”

“I'd really love to try,” said Angela.

“Okay,
then,” said Leyla. She reached for a rope and used it to pull the mainsail boom closer to the center of the boat. We heeled over even further to starboard and the increase in speed was perceptible. She had me crank the jib sheet also, and again we could feel the change in the boat.

Like true Minnesotans, we all stayed out, enjoying the sunshine and what passed for balmy warmth on Superior. No one in the North wastes a nice day, any time of year. From time to time
,
Leyla made little adjustments in our direction, and with the tightness of the sails. After a while, Jasmine had to use the bathroom
, which, on board the boat, was called the “head.”
Angela abruptly got up and went with her.
I have often observed that females feel the need to go to the bathroom in groups of two or three, but there was simply no way they would both fit into the tiny facility together. I guess some habits die hard.
They
both returned a few minutes later. As they stepped up into the cockpit, Stone raised an eyebrow at his w
ife. She just shrugged slightly
and gave a barely perceptible shake of her head.

At last
,
I reluctantly concluded that we should probably
eat
soon.

“I'm going to go get a snack together, and then make lunch,” I said.

“Need any help?” asked Jasmine.

I shook my head. “Stay out here and enjoy it.”

I went below into the tiny, neatly kept galley area. I took two avocados out of the cupboard
where I had stored them earlier
and glanced around for a small knife. Not finding one, I began to open the drawers in the galley. The first one held a big r
oll of gray duct-tape, two pens
and some other odds and ends. The second one
held
eating utensils.
I
found a knife and
peeled the avocados
,
slicing
them into medallions. I sprinkled them with lemon juice and garlic salt, and arranged them on a plate with crackers and slices of cheese.

“What
is
this?” asked Stone suspiciously when I ascended to the cockpit and offered him the plate.

“Why does everyone say that?” I asked. “Haven't you ever had an avocado?”

“I've had guacamole.”

“Think of this like sophisticated guacamole.” I handed him the plate to pass around.

He reluctantly took a piece of avocado, put it on a cracker with cheese, and took a bite. He chewed, and then nodded. “That's actually OK.” From Stone, that amounted to a rave review. I went back down into the cabin to get drinks and napkins.

As I reached the bottom of the companionway, the boat lurched violently to starboard. I caught myself on the galley counter. She straightened fairly quickly, and I heard whoops and laughter from the cockpit. I assume
d
some kind of rogue wave had hit us. As I
regained my footing,
I noticed that one of the port forward cupboards was open, and my duffel bag was hanging partway out. I went over to it, and put my hand under it to shove it back in. I felt something solid and almost metallic through the fabric. Puzzled, I lifted the bag down to the floor. I couldn’t think what I had packed that might feel that way. I opened the zipper. Some of my things were missing and at one
end
of the bag was a heavy metal box that I had not placed there. My heart began to pound. I carefully lifted the cover an inch or so and peered inside. When I did, I went cold
all
over.

I was looking at a bomb.

It’s true, I had never seen a bomb in real life before. But I have seen enough movies to know that either this was a real bomb, or someone had gone to impressive lengths to scare me. Either way, the implications were staggering.

I carefully replaced it
and secured my bag gently on the lowest shelf of the cupboard. I took a few deep breaths, shook my head and went up the companionway.

The others looked at me curiously.

“Couldn’t find the napkins?” asked Jasmine.

My heart dropped in sudden fear, but I replied smoothly, “Just wanted to check on everyone after that lurch.”

“Rogue wave,” said Leyla.

“We’re all fine,” said Jasmine.

I went over to Leyla where she stood at the wheel. I put my arms around her from the side and whispered in her ear.

“Don’t act surprised, just be normal. I want you to keep everyone on deck for a while. Get them involved in a sailing lesson, or tell them it’s a nautical tradition to stay above board or something.”

She looked quickly at me, and then back straight ahead. She smiled and nodded. I paused. “I love you
,
Leyla,” I whispered.

She turned back and looked at me longer. Her eyes were soft and troubled. She touched my face and said softly. “And I love you, Jonah.”

I went below, promising drinks and napkins soon.
I turned to the radio
.
There were two of them. One was clearly a normal
stereo
of the type you might find in a car.
It was mounted
flush in the wall
underneath one of the storage cupboards, above the desk.
Above
the stereo
was the marine radio.
It was maybe ten inches long, and about four inches high. In the middle there was a small dark LCD screen, with some buttons underneath it
,
apparently for navigating through an electronic menu. On the left was a clearly marked power button, underneath a small speaker. The hand-held microphone plugged in next to the powe
r button
and hung on a hook on the wall next to the unit. To the top right of the LCD was a volume knob. Underneath that, in the middle
,
was a red button behind a switch guard marked “DSTRS”, and below that was a channel selector knob.

I found the volume
and turned it all the way down. Next
,
I
pushed the power button.
The LCD turned green and
the
number
three
showed on the screen
. I assumed that this was the channel
number
, like a CB radio.
Slowly
,
I turned the volume knob until I could just hear the weather report that was apparently broadcast continually.

I knew there was a channel that was used to broadcast emergencies, but I didn’t know which number i
t
was
. I turned the channel selector
and felt a series of subtle clicks. The number on the screen didn’t change. The weather report continued quietly. I turned the channel knob again. The LCD still read “
three
,” and the same report droned on.

I took the microphone and held down the talk button. “SOS, SOS, SOS” I said clearly
,
but quietly. “Vessel in trouble near
O
uter Island.”
Maybe I was supposed to say “mayday.” I had the idea that was for airplanes, but just in case, I repeated that three times also.
When I held the talk button down, the weather report continued uninterrupted. I had a vague idea that this was wrong, that my talking was supposed to silence the other broadcast, at least on my end.

I tried switching channels again, but nothing
changed.
T
he number steadfastly remained o
n
three
, and the mechanical weather
man droned relentlessly on.
Time was passing. I didn’t know how long it might be before someone wanted to come below. I didn’t know how long Leyla could keep them distracted.

I flipped up the switch guard, and pressed
the DSTRS button, which Leyla had told us was for emergencies.
As far as I could tell, nothing happened. I tried talking into the microphone again, but the weatherman still didn’t stop.
I paused. Something about the weather broadcast wasn’t right. I knew that they used recordings until something changed, but this sounded like exactly the same report I had heard in the marina when we first came on board
, several hours ago
. I noticed that nothing identified the date, and it cut off and repeated before it gave any information for tomorrow.
That didn’t seem right somehow.

Madly, I began pushing buttons, trying to call up the radio menu, anything except the weather report. Nothi
ng worked. I shut off the power
and put it on again. Still just the same old generic weather. I pushed the distress button again, and then turned down the volume.
In desperation, I turned on the stereo below it. It was tuned to an AM station in Ashland, still receiving, though with a lot of static. In vain
,
I tried the microphone, but I knew it wasn’t hooked up to the AM/FM radio.

I began to feel desperate. Someone had planted the bomb, or the fake bomb, and I had to find out who and why before they got suspicious and came below.
I went to
the
cupboard, and found my cell phone. I turned it on, but it couldn’t find a signal.
It showed I had a text message. Reflexively, I checked it. It was from Dan Jensen. It read, “
Finally got a
lead on Charles Holland. Has a sister, Angela, and one other brother, unidentified still, suspected of being part of the gang.
Gang struck again this AM in Ashland WI.
We’ll get them soon.
”

I went cold.
Angela
. Surely it wasn’t
this
Angela. But if it wasn’t, who had brought the bomb on board?
Ashland was not far from Bayfield.
They could have robbed the bank there and easily made
it
up to the Marina to take off with us.

I tried again to use the phone, but
it
was out of range.
I had brought Leyla into the middle of Lake Superior with a gang of murderous criminals.
It was time for plan B.

I went back to t
he cupboard that held my duffel
and removed the bag.
The AM radio began relaying the news.
The bank robbery was the top headline, of course.
I paused
for a moment. The bow-cabin was closest. I went forward and pulled one of the Kruger’s bags out from under the v-shaped bunk. It held Angela’s clothes, including undergarments, and I was embarrassed, but not enough
to stop. I grabbed a second bag
and unzipped it. I stopped and sat back on my haunches.

Several hundred thousand dollars in cash will do that to you.