A Matter of Time (28 page)

“Soon as the sketch is ready, it’ll go on the front page of all the papers, and in all the TV news coverage. I wonder how
Monsieur Devereux’s going to like being Bermuda’s Most Wanted! There won’t be a hole big enough to hide him!”

34
  
  
fathers and sons, iii

On the highest hill on St. George’s Island was a square steel building, painted white. Unimposing from the outside, its interior
was another matter. For this was Harbour Radio, the eyes, ears, and nerve center of Bermuda. Equipped with the latest radar
and state-of-the-art computers and monitors, it resembled the Combat Information Center of a nuclear aircraft carrier.

Every ship approaching or leaving Bermuda, no matter what size, was monitored here, and decisions were made as to which cruise
ship would berth where. Their berths had been scheduled months in advance, but circumstances often changed, and it was Harbour
Radio’s responsibility to park them and keep track of them. There were five cruise ship berths on the island—two in Hamilton,
two at St. George’s, and one at the Dockyard. If a sixth ship came calling, as sometimes happened, Harbour Radio would assign
her an anchorage in Great Sound, where she would be serviced by a special ferry, that would bring her passengers ashore.

This afternoon the first watch was quiet and uneventful,
the way every watch officer preferred it. It remained that way until 1325, when it got unquiet in a hurry.

“Mr. Shackelton, you’d better see this.” The first petty officer called from the fax machine.

“What is it, Moberley?”

“Weather advisory. Bermuda Weather Service. Basically what they’re saying is, their millibars have just fallen off a cliff!”

“What are you talking about?”

“Have a look, sir! There’s a severe tropical depression building.”

“How far from us?”

“That’s just it! It’s
here!
We’ve got convection stacking vertically, a warm core developing, and get this: It’s starting to spin!”

The watch officer stared at the fax. “We’re talking hurricane,” he murmured.

“I know!” exclaimed Moberley. “And the whole thing is building up right on top of us!”

Shackleton muttered an unprofessional oath and soon had the weather monitor showing them the same thing Bermuda Weather was
seeing. It was eerie. It looked like an ancient Chinese wash of a tsunami. The afternoon had just turned into every watch
officer’s worst nightmare.

He got on the phone to his counterpart over at Bermuda Weather. “Where’d this thing come from, Terry?”

“Beats the hell out of me! Looks like we’re just lucky enough to be on the trailing edge of one front, about to be overrun
by another, with a third coming down fast from the northwest. I’ve been in this business a long time, Shack; I’ve never seen
anything like this!”

Shackleton glanced over at the chart to see where the
cruise ships were. There were only two still at the island—the
Scandinavian Sovereign
over at Ordnance Island, and the
Royal Dane
over in Hamilton. “So what are we looking at?”

“Worst case or best case?”

“Give me the worst, and we’ll hope for the best.”

“The worst is that in a couple of hours we’re going to have thirty to forty knots from the north, but that’s just for openers.
By nightfall it could be double that. Or more.”

Shackleton’s eyes widened. “
Or more?
You’re talking hurricane, Terry!”

“Tell me about it! This thing’s going to
be
a hurricane by the time it gets the hell out of here! We’re telling everybody, and asking them to tell everybody else. You,
too, will you?”

“Count on it. We’ll close the airport, call the radio stations. What does Miami say about it?”

“The hurricane center? Oh, they’re watching it. They’re a little embarrassed, judging from the careful but rapid upgrading
of their cautions.” He gave a wry chuckle. “But they’re only embarrassed. You know who’s going to get it in the neck, don’t
you. I can already see the letter to the editor: ‘Once again our vaunted meteorologists at the Bermuda Weather Service have
let us down,’ et cetera, et cetera.”

Shackleton smiled. “Head them off at the pass, Terry. Get up a press release, explaining the most extraordinary weather event
Bermuda has experienced in the past thirty-three years.”

“You know, I like that. Thanks, Shack.”

“Catch you later, man. I’ve got a couple of big ones to get out of here.”

He turned to the first petty officer. “Moberley, get ahold of the
Dane
and see how fast she can clear Hamilton. Then call the
Sovereign
. The wind’s stiffening in the channel. She may not be able to get out. It’ll be her captain’s call. Tell him, if he decides
to ride it out where he is, we’ll put a couple of tugs on her, to hold her.” He looked at the chart. “And then get on to the
Pacific Princess
and tell her she’d better stay down in Barbados and not even think about coming in here tomorrow.”

He picked up the phone and called the Yacht Club. “Hilary? It’s Shack, over at Harbour Radio. I’ve got some bad news, I’m
afraid….”

When he finished, he just shook his head. This was going to be a long afternoon. And a longer night.

The ironic thing about a tropical depression was that if you didn’t happen to notice how fast the barometer was falling, you’d
have no reason to suspect big trouble was coming. The wind might be picking up, but the sun was still out. Of course, if you
looked up, you might notice the high stratus clouds moving a whole lot faster than usual, almost as if someone was projecting
them in time-lapse photography.

Colin had no reason to look up that afternoon. He had, in fact, never felt less like looking up. Today was a lay-day for the
Marblehead crew, while they waited to see whom they would face in the Quarterfinals tomorrow. But he was at the club anyway;
he had to see Anson.

He found him eating some late scrambled eggs and chatting with Kerry. “Anson, can I talk to you?”

“Sit down, man, you want some breakfast?”

“I’m not very hungry.”

Anson, chewing, looked up at him.

“It’s, urn, private,” Colin said.

“Hey, man, no prob,” said Kerry jauntily, “I’m done anyway,” and he left the two of them alone.

Colin told him about the FedEx from Georgia.

“Bummer!” murmured Anson through a mouthful. “Your soon to be ex-father-in-law sounds like a real piece of work!”

“He’s that all right,” Colin muttered, and sighed. “I’ve got to come up with the settlement money or lose my boat.” He paused.
“I was wondering if you might be able to spare some cash.”

“Sure,” said Anson, swallowing, “how much you need?” He took another bite.

“Fifty thousand.”

Eggs nearly spewed. “Man, I don’t have it! Everything I’ve got is tied up in the syndicate. House is mortgaged—the works.”

“It’s okay,” said Colin. “Just thought I’d ask. As you can imagine, I’m a little desperate.”

“Yeah, man! Your boat! That’s terrible!” He thought for a moment. “Look, I can give you two. Hey, man, you won that for me
yesterday—as soon as Sørenski comes up with it. And look, I’ll add the thousand I bet him yesterday, but that taps me out.
It’s a good thing we won!”

“Thanks, Anson,” Colin said, getting to his feet. “You’re a stand-up guy.”

“Hey, man, me and the Beater are going to be doing a lot of sailing together.”

That reminded Colin of the other Rolex, still in its presentation case. It should fetch around $3000. Great, only $44,000
to go!

At the bank he was informed that they did not consider a Venus 34 suitable collateral for a loan. “Sorry, Mr. Bennett, but
we’re just not set up to be a used-boat brokerage.”

After that, he went to Sandy Harrison’s boatyard, to see if he was still interested in having him as a partner. Sandy definitely
was. Enough to advance him say, $20,000? Sandy considered that, and then agreed—under terms that would make Colin more of
an indentured servant than a partner. He told Sandy he’d have to think about it.

He had one last hope. Ian.

As he turned the old Hillman in the direction of Somerset, the car seemed to run a little easier, as if it knew it was heading
home. The one-car-per-household rule for the island might have persuaded him to get something newer, but the Hillman had been
his father’s. For that reason he held on to it, coaxing season after season out of it.

Entering Middle Road, he realized he hated asking his brother for money. He hated asking Ian for anything. Ian had always
been the responsible one, the one his parents had been proud of. And Ian had lived up to their expectations. He had worked
hard, put enough money aside for Eric to go to Harvard, Oxford, anywhere.

But Eric had insisted that all he wanted was to be a captain like his father. So Ian had planned eventually to use the tuition
money as a down payment on a second boat,
Mercy
—bigger and faster, with a spotting tower. He would give
Goodness
to Eric as a graduation present, once he finished Hamilton Academy.

Colin, on the other hand—no, let’s not go into Colin, he thought, that subject was a little too painful.

He was surprised to see a police car in the driveway of
the modest family domicile. He was stunned to see the expression on his brother’s face, as he came out to greet him.

“Colin, thank God you’re here! I’ve been trying to get you! Oh, God, Colin! Eric’s been—kidnapped!”

Colin was shocked speechless.

“He was into drugs,” his brother stammered. “We didn’t know. And now some dealer has got him!” Ian broke down, and Colin,
staggered, reached out and held him.

“Oh, my God! I can’t believe this!” his brother said over and over.

Colin took him inside. A woman officer was trying to comfort Nan in the living room. They went into Ian’s study. And for a
long time, neither of them spoke.

Then Colin asked when it happened, and his brother told him all they knew, which wasn’t much. “And each hour we don’t hear
something, like a demand for ransom, it’s less likely he’s—alive.” His brother just shook his head, unable to say more.

For a long time they sat in silence. Then Colin said, “I wish there were something I could say. I keep thinking: What if it
were Jamie?”

“You don’t have to say anything,” his older brother replied. “You’re here. That’s all that matters.”

He lowered his head and shut his eyes. “Oh, God, I had such plans for him, such hopes.”

“Ian, don’t do that,” his brother said, trying to muster courage he didn’t feel. “You don’t know that he’s not all right.”

Colin stayed with him, until Inspector Cochrane arrived—with no new news. Then he want back to the club. He had nowhere else
to go.

He’d not mentioned his own predicament; it had never occurred to him.

35
  
  
thieves’ honor

Outside, the wind began to lash the palm trees. In the blue-tiled solarium, the owner paced, hands clasped behind him. His
guest merely watched.

“I want you off this island in twenty-four hours!” exclaimed the owner.