Just as the man gets to point halfway between me and the door, we hear a soft voice outside. “3.141592653589793…”
“What?” The man steps back, eyes moving between me and the door. He looks momentarily confused. “Who’s counting? Is that your lunatic girlfriend?” He smiles. “I hope I have enough rope.”
He moves toward the door. A handful of sand flies at him, catching him full in the face. The man curses and stumbles back a step, raising his hands to his eyes. I lunge at him. We crash into the doorframe. My injured hand is caught underneath us, and I cry out in agony. Then Annabel is through the doorway, hauling the man’s jacket over his head. The pistol flies out of his pocket and clatters against the wall.
Annabel stops. “I didn’t know he had a gun.”
“It’s okay,” I say. “It was in his pocket.”
“That’s all right then,” Annabel says, kicking the man’s legs so that he falls to the floor. He’s shouting something through his jacket, but I can’t make out what it is.
“You’ll have to tie him up,” I say, waving my bandaged hand, which has dark patches of new blood on it.
Together we manage to get the man’s arms behind him. I sit on his shoulders while Annabel expertly ties his wrists together, runs the cord down and ties equally elaborate knots around his ankles. She fastens the end of the cord around the door handle. “He’s not going anywhere,” she says proudly as the man struggles to roll onto his side. She picks up his gun and examines it with interest.
“Well,” the man says. “You’ve done a good job with the knots. I guess I’m going to find out if my high-priced lawyers are worth it.”
“Nothing seems to bother this guy,” I comment.
“You don’t need to worry when you have more money than some European countries,” Annabel says.
“Did you get service on your cell phone?” I ask.
“Yeah, just up the path. Only one bar, but I texted Bill.”
“Texted?”
“I didn’t want to risk losing service in the middle of a call. Besides, I don’t have much battery left. Don’t worry— Bill and I text all the time. He’ll get it.”
“I hope so. It’s going to be a long night if he doesn’t.” Percy’s excited barking on the beach reminds us of the other two men. “How long will it take them to get out to the yacht and back?” I ask.
“Quite awhile. I saw the yacht’s lights from the dune. It’s a long way out. Let’s go and see how they’re doing.”
I glance down at the tied man. He seems remarkably calm.
“He’s not going anywhere,” Annabel says.
The scene we see from the top of the dune could be something from a comedy sketch, and we’d laugh if the Loch Ard peacock weren’t at risk. The two men are struggling to launch their Zodiac in the surf. Their task is made almost impossible by Percy, who is leaping around them, thinking it’s all a wonderful game.
The men are cursing and waving wildly, which only excites Percy more. After one particularly wild swing, one of the men falls on the edge of the Zodiac just as a wave breaks. The Zodiac tips, and the bundle rolls out into the surf.
“The peacock!” Annabel shouts. We rush down the beach as fast as our injuries permit. I reach the peacock first. I grab one end of the bundle and hold on.
By this time the men have righted the Zodiac, and Percy is standing in the surf, trying to decide whether to continue his old game or come and see what I’m doing.
“Drop that and back away,” one of the men shouts as they advance on me.
I’m about to obey when three shots ring out, almost deafening me. I spin around and see Annabel. In the last glimmer of twilight, she looks like some mythological goddess. Waves crash around her feet, her hair flies wildly, and her is arm raised to the heavens. She fires another shot into the sky.
The men hesitate for a moment, then turn and pile into the Zodiac. We watch as they force the boat through the surf and head out to sea.
“I’ve always wanted to do that,” Annabel says.
“Okay, Annie Oakley,” I say. “But now do you want to help me get the peacock out of the surf?”
Together we drag the treasure up above the tide line and then flop down on the sand. Annabel leans against me, and I wrap my arm around her shoulder. I’m soaked, hurting and still trying to wrap my head around everything that’s happened in the last two days, but I’m happy.
“Do you think it’s okay?” Annabel asks.
“I think so. It’s wrapped in a heavy blanket, and it’s survived worse.”
“I suppose. Now Bill can advertise it as the museum piece that’s survived two shipwrecks.”
“What made you recite Pi outside the shack?” I ask.
“I needed to get him to turn around but not be on his guard, so I could throw the sand in his eyes. I find that reciting Pi tends to confuse people.”
“No kidding,” I say with a laugh. We look up as the sound of a helicopter rises above the crash of the surf. Its powerful light is sweeping the beach.
“I guess Bill got your text,” I say.
“Told you he would,” Annabel says and then leans over and kisses me.