Chapter Sixteen

At five o’clock, the sky changed to a dark, threatening color that promised hail and lashing rains. The boat swung off the tributary onto the main river . Storm clouds hung at the outer edges of the sky, and bolts of lightning flashed far off in the distance.

The wind blew. Waves splashed against the boat, and it bobbed up and down in the water. A few minutes later, the guide cut the engine to a low throttle and eased the boat forward with a watchful eye. A hundred yards up ahead, the ancient Dayak village of Long Begun spread out along the shore under overcast skies.

“Thank God we’re almost there.” Lois sighed. She shook her head, edgy and annoyed. “I can’t wait to get out of this boat…and away from the police. Hopefully, they’re nowhere around. My whole body’s stiff and sore.”

A moment later, her fears were realized. Looking back, she motioned to Seabury. “There it is again,” she shrieked. The chopper flew higher now. Seabury calculated the distance at no more than fifty yards behind them.

“I’m scared, Sam. This isn’t good,” Lois said. Ignoring her, Seabury stood up. “What’s going on.” Lois laid a suspicious eye on him.

Noticing Seabury, Gretchen chuckled. “What are you going to do, jump in?” She laughed louder, and the guide in back told Seabury to sit down.

On shore, the steeple roofs of corrugated tin shacks strung out in a row of dominoes along the river. Power boats were farther out. A tugboat pulled a coal barge nearby. Moving quickly, Seabury reached down and unclipped his money belt. His wallet and passport were inside.

“Here, take care of this.” He handed the belt to Lois.

The coal barge got closer. It resembled a monstrous black beetle floating in the water. Ideal as camouflage, Seabury thought. In the on-rushing moments, his mind raced back and forth. He had no idea if he could escape, but he had to take that risk. They’d eluded the police long enough because of the vastness of the country, but that wasn’t going to happen now. If he timed the dive right, he could be in and out of the water and on shore in no time. Maybe, he could still do it—escape the police. He had no other choice but to go. Now!

Seabury stared over the side. Then back at Lois. “I’m out of here.” He baled over before anyone on board could stop him.

He hit the water and went under. Immediately, he felt the pressure of the deep dive ringing in his ears. His eyes stung. His lungs burned hot as fire. He stayed under for what seemed like a long time. Pounded by the current. Battered by the wake from the tugboat. A few minutes later, he shot up to the surface, gasping hard for air. He shook his head. Water rolled off his forehead and into his eyes. He wiped the water back with the tips of his fingers and shook his head again. Droplets of water sprayed in all directions. He saw clearly now what he had to do.

The current rolled out in a strong, steady surge of force around him. It swept him along like driftwood in the water. With a few powerful strokes, he came up a few feet from the back of the barge. He spotted the O-ring fused to the hull of the barge and held on tight. A mountain of coal towered over him. In the late afternoon, dark, ominous shadows crept over the river.

By now, the barge drifted slowly in the current, closer to shore. In a narrow channel, waves whipped up and lashed at him. A few yards further down the river, the current grew fierce. It ripped at his arms and legs, tore at his shoulders. Lunging back, he kicked free of the barge and rolled over into a powerful Australian crawl. He swam as fast as he could. Arms and shoulders churning, legs kicking flat out on the surface, he propelled himself across.

No more than thirty yards in front of him, he spotted the floating ramp. He looked closer. A wooden shack was built in the middle of it. Like a Labrador bounding from a duck pond, Seabury sprang up on the ramp. A startled, half naked, old man bathed from a bucket of water. When he saw Seabury, his eyes widened, and he dropped the bucket. It clanged off the deck and splattered across the damp, wooden surface. Seabury held up a hand, pressed a finger to his lips. The old man watched him go inside the shack and followed him inside.

Seabury shook and shivered near the front door, trying to stay warm. He took out the coins from his pants pocket, slapped them into the old man’s hand, and watched his face brighten.

“Shh.” The sound rushed out of Seabury’s lungs. By a window, he pointed up river into town. Lights came on over the pier. The river looked darker now as the sun began to set. At last, the old man nodded his head as if he understood. Seabury turned back toward the window and looked outside.

Lois, Gretchen, and Hornsby got out of the boat and stepped onto the pier. Lois saw the chopper land in a nearby field. The doors banged open, and Rio Reinhart, Naomi, and two other cops rushed across.

Meantime, the Sicilian’s boat pulled up and moored alongside the pier. He grabbed his bags . He stepped out onto the pier and stared across to the other side. The cops raced across the pier toward him. The sound of chests heaving and feet clapping down hard on the wooden surface filled the air. Lois noticed the Sicilian standing there looking at her. A thin, swarthy face, no smile, no friendly greeting—just a face turned to stone. As he moved past her, he eyed Gretchen and then Hornsby. Lois noticed the start of a wry smile. The Sicilian walked up to the end of the pier as the cops flew down past him. A car waited. He got inside, and the car drove away.

“Let me do the talking.” Lois said to Gretchen and Hornsby.

Hornsby nodded. His eyes flashed a look of agreement. Gretchen stood close by, her mouth flung open, a look of fear in her eyes. Rio Reinhart–with Interpol jurisdiction to pursue the fugitive–sprinted the last few yards down the pier and stopped in front of them.

Looking around, Rio grumbled. He said to Lois, “Where is he?” Lois said nothing. “You’re in very serious trouble.” He looked at Lois then glanced at Gretchen and Hornsby. “In my mind, you’re all criminals.” He turned his eyes back on Lois.

She brushed a strand of hair from her eyes. “What’s this about?” she asked finally, as if annoyed by the intrusion.

“The big guy. Where is he?”

“I haven’t the slightest idea what you’re talking about.”

“Where is he?”

“Who?” Lois snapped at him, and she looked angry.

“Are you blind? You know who I’m talking about.”

She shrugged her shoulders and looked confused.

“Don’t play games.” Rio said.

Lois took out her cell phone. She punched in some numbers and switched on her speaker phone. Wes Lockett’s voice came over the other end. “We’re here in Long Begun, Daddy. Yes, yes, we’re fine, all of us. This cop is giving us a hard time. I don’t know what to do?”

“Tell me,” Lockett’s voice sprang over the phone, “is he the cop who held a briefing on the five o’clock news here in Jakarta?”

“Yes.”

“A real Glory Hound. Let me talk to him.”

Lois held the phone to Rio’s ear, so they could all hear the conversation.

“Hello, Wes Lockett here. I don’t know what’s going on. My daughter Lois is upset. When she’s upset, that also upsets me. Do you hear what I’m saying?”

Surprised by the abrupt tone, Rio jerked his ear back from the receiver. His jaw clamped shut. He bristled and said, “I’m conducting a murder—”

“I don’t care what you’re conducting,” Lockett seethed over the phone, cutting him off. “My daughters had nothing to do with it. You need to back off now. I know who you are. I know your supervisor, Police Chief Daniel Sarwano. We golf together on weekends at the Blue Diamond Country Club. If you don’t back off now, I swear I’ll call him, and you’ll have a new job directing traffic here in Jakarta. Do I make myself clear?”

“You’re interfering in a police investigation.”

“Not when it concerns my daughters, I’m not.” Lockett’s authoritative tone shot back at the cop.

Rio listened for a few minutes. His eyes enraged, his face shriveled in anger. Then, he turned on his heel and stormed off in a huff down the pier. Naomi Ellen and the two other cops followed him.

At the window, Seabury watched the cop and his team tramp down the pier back toward the chopper. A minute later, they were airborne. The Sicilian was gone, too. Seabury had seen his car drive off toward town. Ten minutes later, a woman entered the shack followed by two children. She had rice and fish in a small wooden bowl–enough for the old man. Seeing Seabury there, she offered him some of the old man’s food, but Seabury declined, thanking her.

The old man and the woman spoke a few words of Dayak—the rural people’s language—and the old man showed her the money Seabury had given him. She nodded her head with stoic reserve and said nothing.

A while later, the river turned dark. Lights shone brightly over the pier. Night crept in on tiny cat’s paws, and the sky took on the ebony glow of black marble. Seabury thanked the woman and the old man, and he left the shack.

Moving quickly up a steep incline off the river, he kept hidden among a stand of coconut trees and palm fronds. He walked a half mile into town and located the guest house where Lois and the others were booked for the night. He could see lights glittering among the trees as he made his way up the road. Children saw him, an old man with a cane eyed him suspiciously, but he kept going. Dry now, his skin was raw and chafing from his swim in the river. He needed to change clothes and hide out. He had to figure out some way to get back on the boat tomorrow without the cops or the Sicilian spotting him.