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The pictures showed that this guy was pretty good at his work. Had spent a lot of time getting it right. Even thought about it in his off time. He’d go far. Maybe I could help send him there.
I dropped the pictures and wiped my hands on my pants. I felt unclean. I wished I’d hit him harder.
I stood and looked out over the wheel. The squall I had come through was gone without a trace, like it never had been at all. There was a moon now and the reflected light rippled on the water of the Gulf Stream.
According to the compass we were headed south-southeast, str
aight down the corridor to Haiti. I put the wheel over, just a few points. I wanted the ship to swing back towards Miami—but so slowly that no one on board would feel it swing.
If I managed to get Anna and get away, I would still call the Coast Guard as soon as I was clear of the freighter. The closer the ship was to US coastal waters, the better.
And if things went bad and I didn’t make it, it wouldn’t hurt to have the sweat start when they found themselves off Miami again, instead of Port-au-Prince. I would check through the ship quickly and then come back and re-set the course.
I stood and counted to thirty as the ship turned maybe two degrees east. Good. It would take at least five minutes to turn 180 degrees. That was too slow for anybody to feel it turning. I locked on the auto-steering and moved out the door and onto the stairs.
The deck was quiet in the moonlight. Nothing moved across it and there was no sound except for the slap of the water against the hull, and the hum of the wind in the ropes holding the deck cargo in place. I watched for a moment to be sure, then went down the stairs and to the door leading down into the ship.
I searched the top level quickly and found nothing. The crew areas were deserted. I guessed they must all be down below, leaving only the two men of the watch up in the wheelhouse. Still, it was spooky to find everything deserted.
The last door was locked. It might have been a storeroom—but it also might be where they were keeping Anna. I put an ear to the door. I didn’t hear anything, but that didn’t mean much.
I leaned my weight against the door. There was no give to it. Maybe I could bust it open—and maybe I would just break an arm trying. And in any case just trying would make enough noise to bring the entire crew on a dead run.
I stood there for a minute trying to think. I wasn’t doing very well at this. I realized my heart was pounding and my stomach still felt full of sand. I’d had this feeling of hopeless dread since I’d started out and it wasn’t going away. And if I kept making simple, stupid mistakes—
I remembered the big key ring on the man in the wheelhouse and called myself a handful of bad names. I should have brought it. Of course they would have Anna locked up.
I took a deep breath and turned around. I went carefully back outside and up the stairs. I opened the wheelhouse door and stopped in the doorway with no breath.
I had left the two sailors unconscious and securely taped only five minutes ago.
Now they were gone.
The wheelhouse was empty.
Chapter Twenty-Six
A lot of things went through my mind in the half second before reflexes took over. Then I was inside the door, crouching out of sight with the greasy little gun in my hand.
I followed the gun all around the room with my eyes. Nothing moved. Nothing was out of place. There was no way anybody else could be hidden anywhere in the room.
I spun around to cover the door. I counted to one hundred and nothing happened. I duck-walked quietly to the doorway and looked out.
There was still no sign of life anywhere on deck. Nothing moved, nothing had changed.
Somewhere below I heard a muffled thump. I held my breath. And then, as if to make sure I didn’t miss it, the sound came again, THUMP.
Then quiet.
The seconds stretched into minutes and nothing else happened. My knees were aching from staying in a crouch for so long. My tongue was stuck to the roof of my mouth and I was panting in breath through clenched teeth, but nothing happened.
I don’t know how long I stayed like that. It must have been several minutes. All my muscles had knotted, my shirt was soaked with sweat and my throat was almost closed from the dryness in my mouth. My heart had settled into a steady pulse of 175. I was close to the point where I would scream just from waiting for something to happen. And then it happened.
The drums started.
At first it was no more than a faint vibration in the deck. I thought it might even be soft footsteps and I flexed my fingers on the pistol, getting ready.
But the volume grew slowly, steadily, and soon it was a soft throbbing; urgent but patient, so overwhelming that I felt my heartbeat start to keep time with the drums.
