CHAPTER 18
Observe. Think. Plan
Caroline stared at the porthole. A boat was better than a car trunk. Boats she knew, from her childhood.
At first the cabin seemed dark as night, but with the eye mask off, shapes slowly came into view: the low ceiling, varnished wood, built-ins. Then she saw the head and realized how badly she had to go.
But the sound of gulls and waves slapping against the hull distracted her. These were sounds she loved.
Memories flooded back from when she was a teenager, sailing with her parents in Sheet Harbour. How she loved to leap from the deck into the water. The cold never bothered her. Her mother would laugh and call her their harbor dolphin.
Hot tears brimmed at the memory.
The cabin door opened.
Caroline flinched.
Ramon entered, carrying a tray. He pulled down the table next to her and set the tray on it.
“Eat!” he ordered.
Caroline gathered herself. “Head!” she replied.
“Then go!”
“It would be helpful if you released my hands and feet.”
He stared at her. He reached into his pocket and pulled out a knife. He waved it in front of her face.
Caroline sat steadfast, refusing to show the fear she tucked away deep inside her gut.
Without a word, he swiftly freed her hands and feet.
She wanted to rise confidently, but the hours in the car trunk, combined with the drugs, betrayed her. She stumbled, nearly falling as she made it to the head.
She took her time. She splashed cold water on her face and gargled some to quench the dryness in her mouth. She felt refreshed, less groggy. She washed her hands.
“It took you long enough. Eat now. Boss wants to see you when you finish, so be quick about it.”
When he left the room, she heard the door lock.
A roll of thunder and a bolt of lightning made her jump as the boat heeled hard to starboard.
She grabbed the tray, saving everything except the orange. She watched it roll off the edge and disappear across the floor.
Another bolt of lightning flashed. The boat rolled to port. Waves lashed hard against the sides.
I hope this guy knows how to handle this thing. I sure hope this isn’t a spring nor’easter!
She picked up the baloney sandwich, tentatively at first. Then, with startling awareness, she recognized the rumble in her stomach as hunger, not seasickness. She gobbled down the rest of the sandwich and drank the bottle of Gatorade.
She found the orange in the corner and retrieved it. Despite the raging storm, she began peeling it. Its fragrance was wonderful after the musty smell of the car trunk.
The cabin door unlocked and a tall figure entered. He had to bend slightly. Ramon followed a step behind.
Caroline did not move, the orange still in her hand.
The man was imposing, with his neat grooming and clothing. Some might describe him as tall, dark, and handsome.
In another place and time.
Except for the eyes.
The cabin rolled. Ramon grabbed the bulkhead.
The man did not.
His voice was deep, almost louder than the thunder. “I trust Ramon has made you comfortable.” It was a statement, not a question. “I apologize for the rough manner in which Ramon brought you to me. I know it must have been quite uncomfortable.”
He bent low, his face invading her space. Caroline resisted the urge to back away.
He laughed softly. “But I knew you would not come by invitation.”
The boat rolled again. Ramon lurched and caught himself against the bulkhead.
Without turning toward him, the man commanded, “Get back to the wheel, you fool!”
Caroline’s temples throbbed as she struggled to understand what was happening to her. She had thought all along that she must have been kidnapped for ransom.
But the man made it seem as though she were here for a job interview.
Seconds later, the man sat next to her, pressing against her leg, his arm across her shoulders.
Oh, God, he’s brought me here to rape me!
She controlled her breathing and swallowed her panic. “What do you want from me?” Her voice was calm.
“Look at you—all calm and poised. Well, don’t you worry, my little lapochka. I suspect your façade will fade fast,” he whispered seductively in her ear.
Caroline suddenly felt very cold.
“You have information I must have.” He leaned closer, his voice like silk.
Now Caroline turned to face him. His grip tightened, but she inched away.
“Now,” she replied, “that’s just not possible. I don’t even know who you are. Well, that’s not exactly true.” She smiled. “You are Russian. Lapochka, my ass. I’m not your sweetie pie!”
“You can call me Colonel, lapochka,” he said, ignoring her admonition. “You are here because I want to know about Jonathan.”
Caroline reacted strongly. She was so startled that she couldn’t think.
“You are surprised, lapochka? But why? Why did you think I brought you here?”
She didn’t know how to reply. “I thought … well, I guessed ransom,” she stuttered.
“Ridiculous! Ransom!” he shouted. “What need have I of ransom?”
He leaned closer. “Tell me, lapochka. Where did Jonathan hide it?”
She stared in disbelief, unable to reply. How could she answer if she didn’t understand the question?
“Look, we’ve gone through your home and the cottage. We can’t find it! It had everything we need. Everything he promised!”
His eyes were black as coal.
He grabbed her hair and pulled hard.
Caroline felt the pain. “Let go of me!” she shouted. “I don’t even understand your questions. Sorry, Colonel. I guess you are out of luck.”
Her head was swimming in confusion, but she still refused to be bullied.
“No, lapochka. I once warned Jonathan that he was running out of luck, and indeed he was.” He paused to watch as Caroline’s eyes widened. “And now, my dear lapochka, you are out of luck as well.”
He rose to face her and lifted his arm as if to strike her.
She didn’t shrink.
“Goodbye,” he said, his lips curled.
He turned his back to her and used his walkie-talkie to summon Ramon.
He stepped out but left the door ajar.
Caroline sat bewildered. She was desperate for answers. She heard their voices in the gangway. The Colonel’s voice stood out.
“She doesn’t know a thing. So, I’m done with her, Ramon.”
Her heart stopped. She sat dazed. She expected Ramon to enter with a fishing knife.
To gut her.
But he didn’t.
She waited.
Then waited some more.
Now the boat was rocking gently, port to starboard, back and forth. Port to starboard, the metronome of the sea.
Sometime later, Caroline awoke with a start, as if from a nightmare.
She was not mortally wounded. She checked for blood. Thankfully, there was none.
Observe.
Think.
Plan.
How do I get out of here alive?
She removed her heavy shoes. It was still night. Softly, she returned to the head and splashed water on her face. It revived her. She didn’t flush.
Don’t make a sound!
She sat on the bench and observed her surroundings in a way she hadn’t before. She regulated her breathing.
The space she was in was about eight by eight. That suggested the boat might be as much as forty feet long.
She knew she was in the forward section from the movement of the boat and the smell of diesel. The only light came through the porthole. It was too small to offer any means of escape.
She could feel the choppy rise and fall now, not the long rolls of the open ocean. She also heard the clang of channel markers.
They were not far from land.
She went to the porthole. Though it sat close to the waterline, she scanned the horizon, searching for dark shapes against the sky.
There. That’s a point of land. And I can see a dock light. Perhaps a hundred yards or so.
Hallelujah! Get moving, Caroline!
Now she needed a weapon.
Her eyes pierced the darkness, searching. The tools, gaffs, ropes—anything that might serve as a weapon—had been removed.
There, by the door.
They had left something behind.
A flare gun and a fire extinguisher.
Hallelujah again. The flare gun.
The plan grew quickly. It was still dark enough to chance it.
I can do this. Mom always said I could swim the English Channel if I put my mind to it.
Caroline guessed they were about a hundred yards from the dock. But could she make it through water below forty degrees before hypothermia claimed her?
I can survive this. Daddy, I really can!
Then another thought came.
Oh, but I’m not a teenager anymore.
Caroline removed her jacket but kept everything else on. Clothing, even wet, might hold some warmth. She was grateful for her close-fitting jeggings. At least they wouldn’t billow around her legs in the water and pull her down .
Oh, no. I forgot about the door. I’m sure it’s locked.
Timing was everything.
She padded softly to the door and listened carefully for voices.
Nothing.
But as she suspected, the door was locked.
She gave it a firm nudge, twice.
The latch gave way.
It was an old fishing boat at heart. The ocean rusts everything.
Caroline climbed halfway up the companionway, the flare gun at the ready.
The first thing she saw was the vodka bottle by Ramon’s feet.
He was slumped over the wheel.
Drunk.
She pocketed the flare gun, climbed into the wheelhouse, and slid against the back wall.
The Colonel was nowhere in sight.
Ramon stirred.
Caroline froze.
Then she realized he was just snoring.
She slipped out the back of the wheelhouse and crossed the deck in two steps. She looked for the dock.
It was right where she thought it would be.
But now she began to shiver, and she wasn’t even in the frigid water.
Was it the cold?
Or fear?
Caroline hesitated. Her nerves were raw. She had hatched a plan, and now she had to follow through.
I’m on my way, Daddy!
She dropped silently over the stern.