Isle Royale (11 page)

Lightning began crackling overhead, adding to the feeling of impending doom. Ben redoubled his efforts, forcing the oars to dig hard into the foaming water. His muscles, which despite his age were wrapped around his arms and shoulders like bands of steel, trembled now in protest.

The waters rose up, as if sensing prey. Ben miscalculated his timing and nearly swamped when a whitecap broke over the side. Just when it looked like the Lady would swallow Ben’s boat for sure, the vessel rounded a hidden point and disappeared from view, leaving the great inland sea to thrash and boil in frustration.

Chapter Eleven

T
wo shadowy figures crossed the windswept compound. Above them on the cliff, the lighthouse, its Cyclops eye shining bright, stood vigil in the face of the approaching storm.

Ian and Sally, huddled under heavy raincoats, walked quickly toward the woods at the edge of the clearing.

“This is crazy,” said Sally, teeth chattering, her body shivering at the cold wind blowing through the loosely fitting mackintosh.

“Come on,” said Ian, leading the way. “It’ll be fun.”

“Right. Fun. Spying on bootleggers in the middle of the night, in a storm. Yeah, fun.” As if in response, a clap of thunder echoed against the cliffs.

At the edge of the dark woods, where the path leading down to the shore began, Ian lit a small kerosene lamp. The ever-increasing wind blew his matches out several times, but once the lamp was lit he moved on, down the trail. Sally hurried to catch up. “This is crazy,” she muttered.

The pair disappeared into the thick woods, swallowed by the blackness.

The fishing boat that had earlier shuttled LeBeck and his men from the black yacht now bumped up against the dock once again. Two men jumped out and secured the boat with heavy lines, though it continued knocking against the pier from the force of the churning lake, even in the protected waters of the cove.

A gang of men poured from the boat and headed for the group of thugs camped out on the beach. When all was secure, another figure stepped onto the dock, then moved swiftly over the dark ground toward the stack of cargo on shore. A Tommy gun dangled down, held by a silver hook.

At the edge of the clearing that comprised the beach area, a bush rustled. Two hands reached out and parted the foliage, revealing Ian and Sally, peering out at the shoreline. The barrels of liquor, which were stacked high just off the dock, partially obscured their view, but they could see some kind of gathering taking place.

“Better snuff the light,” said Ian.

Sally, who now held the lamp, quickly extinguished it. She’d insisted on carrying the light, if only to keep Ian from rushing on too far ahead of her. “What are they doing?” she whispered, leaning forward and squinting in a vain attempt to see through the murky night. All she could make out was the figure of Jean LeBeck gesturing wildly at his men. One of the thugs stood off a bit from the rest. He looked frightened, edging toward the shoreline, his back toward the water.

“What’s that in LeBeck’s hand?” Sally asked.

Suddenly, LeBeck opened up with his Tommy gun, its staccato beat exploding over the sand. LeBeck’s target, the man edging away from the group, screamed and did a macabre dance of death before finally sinking to the sand. LeBeck strode toward the corpse and aimed downward. Fire spewed from the muzzle of the gun as he shot off another burst at point-blank range.

“Oh, crap!” said Ian.

Sally, wide eyed, her hands covering her mouth, got up to flee, but Ian grabbed her arm and pulled her back down.

On the beach, LeBeck looked up at the rest of his men, who stood there silently. “So,” he said. “Who’s my next bodyguard?” The men looked nervously at each other. There were no volunteers.

“You there,” LeBeck barked, gesturing toward a large fellow standing close by. The unfortunate hood gestured as if to say, “Who, me?” LeBeck tossed him the Tommy gun.

“Don’t worry,” LeBeck said. “Just make damn sure that old geezer doesn’t sneak up behind me again.”

“Yeah, boss,” the thug stuttered. “Sure thing.”

LeBeck strode off, heading directly toward the barrels.

Ian and Sally tensed up as LeBeck came closer, then stopped a mere ten feet from their position behind the bush. Ian felt Sally’s fingers digging into his shoulder. She panted, trying hard not to hyperventilate. Ian also felt terror gripping him. Surely the gangster had seen the two teenagers spying on them. What was LeBeck waiting for?

Ian tensed his muscles, ready to bolt. Sally grabbed his arm, forcing him to stay crouched. “Wait,” she whispered in his ear.

Partially obscured from his gang by the barrels of bootlegged liquor, LeBeck dug in his pocket for a cigarette. He lit up, put the cigarette to his lips and took a deep drag, drawing the nicotine into his bloodstream. He closed his eyes a moment, then exhaled a stream of blue smoke, which blew away with the wind. A sort of calm seemed to wash over him. After a minute, he whistled sharply and gestured with his arm. The thug MacGlynn came running to LeBeck’s side.

“Yeah,” MacGlynn said, practically panting and drooling in front of his master.

“Is the yacht all set?” asked LeBeck, disdainful of his assistant’s eagerness to please.

“Cabin’s redecorated just the way you wanted. Is she coming aboard now?”

LeBeck took another deep puff of his cigarette. He looked up toward the lighthouse. “Maybe,” he said. “The night’s still young.”

Behind the bush, Ian shifted nervously. Sally put her lips near his ears again. “Who’s he talking about?”

“My mom,” Ian hissed. “I’ll kill him if he touches her.” He reached into his front pants pocket and extracted a little pocketknife. He nervously unsheathed the blade.

“With that?” Sally said, trying hard not to laugh.

Ian put a finger to his lips and pointed back at LeBeck. Sally saw the gangster stamping out his cigarette in the sand.

“Get a group of the boys together to secure the lighthouse grounds,” LeBeck ordered. “Midnight’s not far off.”

“Right,” MacGlynn said. He paused, then added, “What about the lightkeeper?”

LeBeck took a gold locket from his coat pocket and opened it. Inside was a faded picture of Collene MacDougal. LeBeck stared at the photo a moment. The cold wind tugged at him, almost as if it was trying to tear the locket from his grasp. Finally, LeBeck snapped the locket shut and slipped it back in his pocket.

“He stays alive until I say,” LeBeck declared. “I need to talk to her first.” A pout worked its way onto MacGlynn’s mug. “Don’t worry,” LeBeck said soothingly. “You’ll have your fun. Let’s go.” They strode away, back toward the group of thugs milling about on the beach.

Behind the bush, Ian gripped his little pocketknife, his jaw set, eyes blazing with hate. Sally touched him lightly on the arm.

“Come on, Ian,” she said. “We can’t beat them all now. We need to warn our folks.”

Ian hesitated a moment, then reluctantly folded the knife and put it back in his pocket. “I hate him,” he announced, as if it weren’t apparent enough already.

“I know,” Sally said, tugging at his arm. “Come on.”

As they rose up from their hiding place, Sally swung around and accidentally bumped the kerosene lamp into a tree, shattering the glass. The pair looked at each other in horror.

“Run!” cried Ian.

On the beach, LeBeck whirled around at the sound. “What was that?” he asked sharply. He and MacGlynn raced back toward the liquor barrels just in time to see Ian and Sally disappear into the woods.

“Get back here!” LeBeck cried out after them. He ran toward them, whipping out his Colt .45 and firing blindly into the brush, but he was too late to get a good shot at the fleeing teenagers. He stopped at the edge of the clearing, swore, then gestured for a very large thug to come near.

“Tiny!” LeBeck beckoned. A hulking mountain of flesh, with hands bigger than LeBeck’s head, came trotting toward his boss. He stopped obediently next to LeBeck, never saying a word, just waiting expectantly.

“Get ‘em,” ordered LeBeck.

The man called Tiny just stood there, an uncomprehending look on his face. LeBeck made a slashing gesture across his throat, then pointed into the woods. The big man flashed a stupid-looking grin, grunted, then stepped toward the woods.

LeBeck gripped Tiny’s arm, tugging him back. He looked up into the thug’s eyes and said, snarling, “Accident. Understand?”

Tiny grunted and smiled again, patted LeBeck on the shoulder, then crashed into the woods.

Chapter Twelve

I
an and Sally fled through the pitch-black forest, branches and brambles tearing at their clothes. Overhead, the wind whistled through the trees as the storm continued to build.

“Did you see the guy following us?” shouted Ian over the wind as he stumbled through the pathless woods.

“He’s as big as a house!” said Sally, overtaking Ian and running headlong through the timber.

The foliage was thick and difficult to move through, especially when running at night with no light to guide the way. The teenagers frequently tripped on exposed tree roots that cropped up almost everywhere. After several spills on the rocky soil, the knees on their pants were shredded, their skin gashed and bleeding. Still they ran.

Lightning crackled overhead. Ian froze suddenly and gestured for Sally to do the same. They stood there, trying to quiet their ragged breathing, and listened. At first they heard only the wind, which lashed the treetops with increasing fury. An owl hooted from somewhere in the darkness. But then, behind them in the distance, they heard branches snapping and heavy footfalls as something lumbered through the forest. Something big.

“Think he’ll find us?” Sally whispered.

“Not in the dark,” Ian tried to say with confidence, except he couldn’t stop his hands from shaking. “If we stay here we can double back and make it back home.”

They stood there, motionless, waiting and listening. The crashing noise got closer. And closer. Then, suddenly, they saw a huge black form take shape not more than twenty yards from where they stood. The shape paused, then rushed toward them.

“Out of here!” Ian shouted. Without looking back, they took off like frightened jackrabbits, running for their lives.

Clarence strode quickly across the compound, fussing and fretting at LeBeck’s men, who suddenly seemed to have made themselves quite at home. Behind him, at the cliff’s edge, the unmanned lighthouse shone in the face of the approaching storm. Clarence fretted and muttered to himself. How do I deal with this? Why can’t LeBeck just go away? I have a lighthouse to run, for God’s sake. And Young still down with the flu. Where’s that boy, anyway?

Clarence noticed a man near the oil house and quickly ran toward him. The thug was leaning up against the small, round building, about to light a cigarette. He struck a match, then looked up in surprise as Clarence, red in the face, waved his arms at him.

“Put that out, ya damn fool!” Clarence shouted. “You’ll blow us all up!”

The thug turned and saw a red warning plaque nailed to the door that read, “Danger: Kerosene Storage.” As he stood there, stupidly trying to comprehend the implications of the sign, his match burned down, making him drop it to the ground in pain.

Clarence turned his back and threw his hands up in exasperation. Then he spied LeBeck striding up the lawn toward Clarence’s house. The lightkeeper took a deep breath, then hurried to intercept him. As his feet carried him swiftly across the lawn, lightning flashed overhead. Clarence paid no attention. A thunderous boom echoed off the cliffs, but Clarence’s ears were deaf to the sound. He had only one thing on his mind.

“LeBeck!” Clarence shouted over the wind. “What are all these men doing here?”

LeBeck stopped, rolled his eyes upward, then turned and watched as Clarence quickly closed the gap between them. He wondered if it wouldn’t be easier after all to just shoot the lightkeeper and get it over with.

“You’ve heard of safety in numbers, Clarence? I’m going to be very safe tonight.” LeBeck’s new bodyguard, with Tommy gun in hand, hustled up next to his boss and scowled at Clarence. LeBeck leaned forward and talked in a low tone, trying not to be overheard by the thug. “We were mates once, Clarence. Can’t you be civil to your old friend? At least in front of my boys?”

“You chose your own path, LeBeck,” said Clarence, spitting out the words. “I make no bones about it. I don’t like you, and I don’t like what you do.”

LeBeck’s eyes narrowed. “Don’t forget, you’re my partner now. This lighthouse will be the best drop-off spot on all the Great Lakes.”

“No,” snapped Clarence. “Just this once. Just once so you’ll go and never come back. That’s the end of it.”

“But once is all it takes, Clarence laddie,” LeBeck said, mocking the lightkeeper’s Scottish accent. “You’re committed now. You’re mine. Lie down with dogs, you get up with fleas.”

“The hell with that!”

With clenched fists, Clarence took a step forward. In a flash, the bodyguard lowered the muzzle of his machine gun, causing Clarence to freeze in his tracks.

“Of course,” said LeBeck calmly, never moving a muscle, “if I
were
to leave you alone after tonight, I’d need something in return.”

Clarence narrowed his eyes suspiciously, then asked, “Like what?”

LeBeck silently nodded toward the house.

Clarence stood there a moment, his mind not quite comprehending the gangster’s gesture. Then he went red with rage. “God damn you, LeBeck.”

At that moment the front door of the house opened, and they heard a quiet voice calling out.

“Hello, Jean.”

All heads turned to see Collene standing there, looking down from the front porch. Dressed in a flowing white dress, she was a radiant angel lit against the stormy background.

LeBeck took a step forward, staring open-mouthed at her. For the first time that evening, his calm seemed to melt away. He was dumbstruck, struggling for words. “Collene,” he finally blurted out.

Smiling down on him, she said sweetly, “It’s been a long, long time.” The compound was awash in silence. Even the storm seemed to lull as the electricity flowed between LeBeck and Collene.