Harry Crater sat in the easy chair in his stateroom, his nerves jangling. The bruises on his neck had turned dark purple, and spread to the tissue around them like wine stains. The nightmare that had turned into reality kept playing on his mind. I’ll stay in my cabin and have my meals sent in, he told himself. I only have until daybreak. Nobody can come in here while I have the door double-locked.
He had devoured most of the breakfast he had ordered. The sight of the empty plate, which had contained scrambled eggs and bacon, was another reminder that he was lucky to be alive to have eaten breakfast this morning. He was worried about Bull’s-Eye, and in his gut he was sure that the big boss had placed someone else on the ship. Who was it? And what would he or she do after the helicopter landed?
He reached for the coffee pot, hoping there were a few sips remaining. A staccato banging at the door startled him, so much that his hand jerked and the last of the coffee ended up on the tray.
“Uncle Harry!”
“I’m in bed, go away.”
“We have an invitation for you!”
“For what?” he called.
“We’re going to sing at the ceremony when the Commodore throws his mother’s ashes into the sea.”
Harry paled. He got up and hurried to open the door.
Gwendolyn and Fredericka beamed at him. “We just visited the Commodore,” they said, interrupting each other to convey the important news. “You have to come tonight. You have to. We’re going to sing. We’ll come and get you. We’ll have a chair for you.”
“He’s throwing his mother’s ashes into the sea tonight? I think you mean sunrise. Tomorrow morning.”
“Tonight!” said Fredericka firmly. “It’s tonight.”
“I’ll be there.” He spat out the words, shut the door, and raced to get his cell phone. When the call went through he snapped, “We’ve got to move up the plan. You’ve been keeping up with us, I trust. How far away are you now?”
“We’re on Shark Island,” was the reply. “It’s two hours flight time. We have an extra tank of fuel to get us back here, if we need to leave now.”
“Get moving! The Commodore has moved up the ceremony. It’s taking place at sunset. I knew we shouldn’t have counted on him to wait for his mother’s birthday. We can’t take a chance that he’ll change the time again. Once you’re here, I’ll say that I don’t want to leave until after the service.”
He added sarcastically, “The Commodore will be so touched. You three ‘medics’ can be the honor guard surrounding my wheelchair.” He listened. “Don’t tell me to take it easy. Someone tried to kill me last night. And I’m pretty sure I know who it was.”
He slammed down the phone.