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"Do as I say and we may not sink you." Felix spoke with sadistic glee. The man to his right held a Tommy gun.
"Okay!" Joe shouted. "We'll cooperate!"
Kate couldn't see Clovis, but she saw Billy. His young face was white in the searchlight, his hands already up. A yard from her Joe balanced on the balls of his feet. Surely he and Clovis, with only two rifles, wouldn't have a chance if they fought!
"I figure you owe me a load of booze and then some, laying me up for a week and making me look stupid." Felix hefted a large shape over the rail and let it hang. Kate heard a whimper. He turned his head in her direction. "Tell your sister this could just as easily be your gimp brother."
Squinting into the harsh light she saw his hand flash down. Entrails spilled from the shape which she realized now was King Tut. The dog's dying yelp merged with her cry. In the midst of it a shot from the Folly shattered the other boat's light. Gunfire sprayed the place where Joe had stood seconds earlier. She was knocked to the deck, a hand clamped over her mouth.
"Don't say a word. Don't move. And for Christ's sake don't reach for the wheel!" Joe whispered.
She was too paralyzed by horror. The big black dog whose presence had encouraged her that her family was safe had been snatched from the yard of her home and killed in front of her. If Felix could capture a snarling dog, what could he do to defenseless Woody?
Another burst from the Tommy guns raked the length of the schooner. She heard a whine as rigging snapped. Joe had melted into the darkness and on the other boat men were cursing. Clovis had shot out their light. They fired randomly. Kate flinched at the smack of bullets into wood not far from her head. A rifle cracked behind her. Clovis was firing from the companionway.
The submachine guns gave another burst. In their flash she caught a glimpse of Joe sprawled face down at the front of the boat and she bit back a cry. She was bracing for the rattle of bullets which ended each brief respite when she heard a single shot. A deafening explosion rent the boat attacking them.
In the sudden illumination she saw chunks of wood flying skyward. Someone screamed in agony. The Folly bounced on the shock wave hurled up by the water.
"Kate! Stay down!" Joe shouted.
The attacking boat was a ball of flames. Another shriek pierced the air, raising the hair on her neck. Someone — Clovis — was behind her grabbing the throttle and shoving it wide. The water ran red with the blaze of the inferno. Its heat parched her cheek. She tried to get to her knees, but shaking prevented it. Strong arms lifted her as Joe knelt beside her. He was checking her, sheltering her. His cheek pressed her hair.
"Kate... are you okay?"
"Yes. You?"
"Yes."
"Holy smokes, Joe! Did you throw a grenade?"
She heard more than saw Billy squeezed close to them. His voice quavered.
"I was a sniper some of the time in the army, Billy. I hit their gas tank."
Behind them, chunks of the burning boat broke free and fell into the water. Kate didn't need to be told there were no survivors. The primal satisfaction that came with the knowledge appalled her. She was horrified by what had befallen the men on the boat, but she didn't regret it. The glint of that slashing knife and the yelp of the dying dog would be with her forever.
Joe eased her to her feet and smoothed her hair. "Sit down for a minute," he said steering her to a hammock of coiled rope. "Billy — run get that bottle of whiskey that's in the galley."
They all took several pulls, pouring Billy's into a mug so his cold wasn't spread. Concerned that their course might need correcting, Joe returned to the wheel. Kate went with him. His arm settled lightly over her shoulders. Clovis and Billy stole curious looks. The burning boat had dwindled to a small spark on the horizon when Clovis, keeping watch at the bow, gave a whistle. Kate looked and saw a flickering pinprick of light.
"Jesus, Mary and Joseph," Joe said under his breath. "An S-O-S. What else could go wrong?"
He barked orders to Billy and Clovis. As they all strained to see, they made out the shape of a vessel considerably smaller than theirs. It angled sharply in the water, swaying unsteadily.
"It's taking on water," Joe said. "Put on the bow light." His shoulders tensed. He looked at Kate. "We've got to help."
"Of course!"
"Kate... what you don't know is...." He took a deep breath. "It's a Coast Guard boat."
***
Within two minutes they were close enough for Joe to make out figures on what he recognized was a thirty-six-foot ticket boat. Within five they were close enough to ahoy.
"We're the schooner Pa's Folly out of Salem," Joe called. "When we're abeam we'll launch our stern boat."
You didn't leave men to go down at sea, even if rescuing them meant you'd get run in for illicit cargo. The aft deck of the Coast Guard vessel was nearing the water on its port side. Two men stood at the bow beside a blanket-wrapped shape. Joe and Clovis winched the rowboat down while Kate held the wheel.
"Petrashek, you get in and hold steady," one of the Coast Guardsmen ordered as he and another sailor caught the rowboat with grappling hooks. "I'll lower Sullivan as best I can."
"Daryl?" Joe called dubiously.
The Coast Guardsman flung up a hand in an effort to see past the light. "Joe Santayna? Is that you?"
"Yeah. What the hell happened?"
"Bunch of thugs that work for a rum boss spotted us and opened fire with a Thompson. Shot the hull up deliberately so we'd go down, and the life boat so we couldn't use it."
He wrapped rope around the form in the blanket as he spoke and lowered it as carefully as one man could. That done, he began to move crablike up the slanting deck toward the cabin.
"Daryl! She's starting to heel!" Joe warned.
"Gone to get the log, sir," the sailor in the rowboat called in a tight voice.
An instant later Daryl reappeared with a leather ledger. He slid down a rope into the waiting boat. They were barely clear when the Coast Guard vessel rolled onto its side. Eager hands on the Folly lowered a canvas sling to bring up the man in the blanket. The other two Guardsmen climbed a rope ladder. They stood getting their bearings while Joe made certain Clovis and Billy had recaptured the stern boat and could get it on board.
Daryl and the seaman with him were damp from the splash when their ticket boat rolled. One arm of Daryl's uniform was torn, with blood around it.
"That bad?" Joe asked.
Daryl shook his head. "Mary's going to pin my ears back for ruining another uniform, though." He attempted a smile, but he was white around the lips.
"The man in the blanket...?" Kate's voice wavered.
Joe knew she was nervous. They all were, wondering if they'd land in jail now.
"Our chief petty officer, Miss. He, uh, he lost an ear. He passed out."
"Put him in one of the bunks in — in the crew cabin," Kate faltered.
Normally she kept her traveling kit stowed neatly. Joe hoped to God she hadn't left anything in view to give away the fact all four of them were sharing a single cabin.
Daryl was just managing not to stare at Kate with her spun gold hair and innate air of refinement.
"Miss Hinshaw, this is Petty Officer Second Class Daryl Connelly," Joe said. "Miss Hinshaw owns this boat. We've been up to Bar Harbor."
Daryl saluted. "You saved our lives. No telling when another vessel might have passed."
"We must've tangled with the same bunch," Joe said. "Big speedboat came at us a little ways back. Shot us up pretty bad." He indicated splintered wood.
"Jesus. I guess so!"
With luck Daryl would conclude that was why they'd been running dark, but as soon as he'd gathered his wits some, he'd start to ask questions.
"Miss Hinshaw, I can't believe we'll have any more mishaps tonight," Joe said formally. "Why don't you get some rest?"
She caught his cue and gave a polite smile. "It's too musty below from the rain. I believe I'll just sit on the deck. Do ask Mr. Santayna if you need anything, Officer Connelly."
Daryl shook his head in awe as she moved fore. "I heard you worked for a rich girl sometimes, but I never pictured a setup like this." He had assumed a stiff 'at ease' position, hands clasped behind him. His face showed strain.
"We're outside the three-mile limit," Joe ventured. "And I don't mind telling you we all just had a drink of whiskey. You look like you could use some. Take the wheel a minute."
Daryl didn't object. He sipped gratefully at the liquor, standing silently next to Joe at the wheel and watching ahead with alertness bred by years on the water.
"Jesus, Joe," he said at last. "You saw this kind of thing in the war, I guess. I hadn't. The chief dropping like a sack of flour. Blood all over him—"
"Ears bleed worse than other parts."
"Oh." Daryl drained the last of the whiskey. "Standing out there, going down, all I could think was how hard it was going to be on Mary, bringing up a baby on her own. It nearly killed me."
It was tension washing out that made him speak so freely. That and the fact they'd known each other a long time; been friends even if they weren't particularly close ones.
"I sank the bastards," Joe said staring ahead. "They had us pinned down. No telling what they'd do. I hit their gas tank."
"Bother you?"
"Yeah. Some. Had to be done."
"If it's the same boat attacked us, you ought to get some kind of medal. Fellow in charge was a hooligan named Garvey. Works for a local outfit. They've made a few million running rum and now they're selling protection too, roughing up rum boats unless they pay two dollars a case. A couple of New York gangsters have set up shop too, so they're starting to shoot at each other. And at us. Like I say, you did a public service."
Clovis reported the wound to the Coast Guard chief didn't look life threatening. Based on his assessment, Daryl declined Joe's offer to put in at Gloucester. Making the report he'd have to make would be less complicated at Salem where he was known, he said. As he relaxed, his attention shifted from the ocean ahead to the deck of the Folly and settled on Kate.
"Mighty odd, a girl like her setting off alone with three men."
Joe wondered if he heard suspicion.
"She's independent," he answered easily. "Likes to get away from her family. Go up the coast, look at birds and such."
Daryl slid him a sideways glance.
"You're riding pretty low in the water, Joe."
Joe had guessed this moment might come. "Lots of books."
"Books." Daryl sounded less than convinced.
"Miss Hinshaw's well educated. Father was a lawyer. A friend up near Bar Harbor died and left her his library. Collector's stuff. Take the wheel a minute. I'll show you something."
He was gone before Daryl could protest. He wasn't sure whether Daryl would feel compelled to arrest them if he knew what their real cargo was. No need making him wrestle his conscience, though. Or spending the night in jail, if Joe could avoid it. Opening the saloon door just enough to admit his arm, he reached for the book he'd spotted their second voyage out and moved to the end of a shelf for such an occasion. With the door barely open and no light, even someone a few feet away wasn't likely to see the crates of booze stacked where the Hinshaw family had once sat playing cards or reading, crates kin to those which filled every room below deck except the head and the galley and the cabin where the wounded Coast Guardsman lay.
"Take a look," he said thrusting the book at Daryl.
"Great Expectations. We read it our junior year, didn't we?" Daryl wasn't enthusiastic.
"Yeah, but look." Joe flipped to the page opposite the title page and pointed. "A first edition. Means it's worth a bundle. So are some French ones she's found, and those are just the first boxes."
Daryl shook his head, chuckling now. "Some people have more money than sense, I guess."
Joe grinned. In school Daryl had always lagged at Roman numerals. Neither he nor anyone else who stopped them at sea was likely to know what year Dickens' story had first appeared anyway. He returned the book and he and Daryl talked lazily the rest of the way into Salem. Daryl might suspect their cargo contained more than books, but given a plausible story and the fact he owed them his life, he wasn't likely to press the issue.
A frenzy engulfed them the instant they docked. Word of the attack spread quickly even though it was one in the morning. The wounded chief petty officer was lifted ashore. Daryl shouted to the harbor-master to summon the Coast Guard watch officer. Steady and level-headed, he took charge of a situation which Joe knew must be totally foreign to him.
"Will you need us?" Joe asked, fighting tension with so many eyes on the Folly. Two policemen were clearing the way for an ambulance, and here sat a vessel with a thousand cases of Corby's in her hold.
"Not tonight. They might want a statement tomorrow, but I know how to reach you." As they shook hands, his eyes met Joe's and held for an instant. "Joe... be careful."
Joe nodded. He wondered if it was a warning. With relief he saw a decrepit car with a crooked headlight turn in at the head of the wharf. It was the same car he'd used to take Kate to his aunties the night she was shot. He stepped from the dock to the deck of the Folly and went toward her quickly.
"Kate, see that car? There's a friend of mine driving. I had Billy find him and tell him you needed a lift because you'd twisted your ankle. Get going now, so I can cast off before someone takes too close a look at us."
"But—"
"We'll argue later. Humor me on this. I'd rather be hanged than to see you arrested."
Billy arrived, out of breath, and gave an excited nod.
"Go on now." Joe caught her hands and gave them a quick squeeze. "We'll land where we ought to tomorrow night and I'll be to see you the next day."