Rocky Island (13 page)

“Yep. Pretty close anyway.”

Manfred reset his watch to the local time. “Five o’clock. Too early for me to go to the airport. There ought to be a motel somewhere around here where I can check in until this afternoon.”

“Couple of miles ahead. Get a double and I’ll stay there for a few hours and then drive the car to the airport and lose it.”

When Manfred woke up, the time was two-thirty in the afternoon. Francisco was gone. He had left a note saying simply, “
So long my friend. See you somewhere in the world. Nice doing business with you.
”

Manfred showered, had a late breakfast and lunch combination and went back to the room to look through the yellow pages for an aircraft charter. He found two. He struck gold on the first one he called.

“What’s chances of a charter to Yarmouth tomorrow morning?” he asked the man who answered.

“Well, sir,” came the answer. “I can give you this kind of a deal. I have a student going for his commercial licence and he needs a long cross-country trip. We’ll be leaving about nine o’clock and I can make the route so that we stop at Yarmouth first, drop you off, then continue on to Halifax and Charlottetown before returning here. He’ll be doing the flying with me in the right hand seat. He’s a competent pilot, no cause for worry about that. I can give you half price because it’s a student ride. That any good to you?”

“Sounds fine to me. What kind of plane?”

“Cessna 310. How many in your party?”

“Just me. Is that a twin engine plane?”

“Yup. Carries five, plus luggage, so you ought to be okay. What’s the name and how will you be paying?”

“Hartley. By credit card. You want the number now?”

“Please. That will make things faster in the morning.”

Manfred figured he could get a little more mileage out of the Hartley account. There were more than enough funds to cover the cost. He read off the card number, confirmed the departure time, and decided to stay one more night at the motel and plan his next moves carefully.

CHAPTER ELEVEN

When the Cessna landed in Yarmouth late the next morning after a very comfortable ride, Manfred got out, picked up his suitcase and briefcase, and went into the terminal where he called a taxi to take him to a motel. He asked about a downtown location and the driver recommended the Best Western. Manfred checked in and before eating lunch, arranged a rental car for the next morning. That afternoon he went shopping for clothes and bought a fleece-lined leather jacket, fleece lined outdoor-wear pants, warm socks and a pair of cold-weather boots. Once again he used the Hartley credit card.

Next morning, using a map provided by the motel, he headed out in his rental, going down Highway 103 to Clark’s Harbor on Cape Sable Island. He was wearing his new clothes. After a drive of about an hour, he found a wharf at West Head, just outside the town where there were a large number of Cape Island fishing boats either already tied up, or coming in from a day’s fishing. After parking, he wandered down the wharf and finally approached a man standing on a boat tied up at the wharf. The youngish man was smoking a cigarette and staring at the water.

“Morning,” Manfred called down to him.

The man looked up and returned the greeting.

“I’m looking for someone who might take a charter out to Rocky Island where that vessel went aground.”

“Well, I dare say I could do it. When do you want to go and what do you want to do there?”

“I want to go as soon as possible and get on board the vessel if I can. I’m representing the law firm in New York that has a client who had cargo on that ship and I want to check on the state of things before we file insurance claims. Maybe the cargo can be all or partly salvaged.”

The fisherman was silent for a few moments. “Doubt it. You checked with the RCMP about going on board?”

Manfred hadn’t thought of that but he didn’t miss a beat. “All okayed. But I don’t know how I get aboard. Got any ideas?”

The fisherman looked him up and down for a couple of minutes. “Guess you look fit enough. They tell me the rope ladder the police used is still hanging over the side. Haven’t been out there myself.”

“Good. What time can we leave?”

“Well, high tide in the morning will be about eight o’clock. You up to leaving as early as five-thirty?”

“I can do that. Know where I can stay the night?”

The man recommended a bed and breakfast in town. “They’re used to tourists getting up early to go fishing, but not this time of year. Tell ’em Nick Atwood sent you. That’s me. Who are you?”

“Name’s Hartley—Donald Hartley. Can I pay you cash?”

“Cash is the best kind of money I know. No taxes on it if I put it in my pocket. Got three hundred on you?”

“Sure thing. When do you want it?”

“When we get back. Rather you lost it overboard than me.” Atwood gave a short laugh and turned away toward the cuddy at the front of the boat. “See you here long about five-thirty.” And without further ado, he disappeared into the small cabin.

An hour later Toby French got a phone call. “Toby, Nick Atwood here. How’re you doing?”

“Well, hi Nick. Long time no see. You haven’t been around much for a long time.”

“Busy. Maybe you forgot it’s lobster season.”

“Well if you’re busy, you must be making money, and that’s a good thing. What can I do for you?”

“Toby, I had a strange thing happen about an hour ago and I been puzzling over it. You been involved with this drug vessel goin’ aground out there. Maybe you can help me.”

“I can try, Nick. What’s up?”

“Well, this guy came along looking for a charter out to the vessel. Says he’s representing a law outfit in New York that is looking after business for a comp’ny that has cargo on board the vessel and he wants to check on its condition to see whether any of it can be salvaged before they go for insurance. I asked him if he had checked with the RCMP to see if he could go aboard, and he was kinda startled for a second as though he hadn’t figured on that, but he answered quick enough and said it was all arranged.”

“Huh,” said Toby. “Sounds fishy to me.”

“If you ask me, he’s phoney as a three dollar bill. He asked if cash would be okay. I told him it would be three hundred and he didn’t bat an eye. We made a time to leave here at five-thirty in the morning. What I need is some help in deciding who to tell about this—or whether to tell anybody. ’Cept you.”

“Nick, if I were you, I would call the RCMP and tell them what you just told me, and go along with whatever they say. I agree with you that it’s strange, but I suppose it could be legitimate. You can tell them to contact Corporal Brock of the Drug Squad in Halifax if they want confirmation. He’ll know. Ask them to call me and let me know what’s going on. Good luck.”

“Thanks Toby. That’s the kind of thing I wanted to know.”

“You’re welcome. Thank
you
for calling me. Give my best to Marianne.”

“Will do. G’bye.”

A couple of hours later, the phone on the island rang again. Toby and Allison had been discussing Nick Atwood’s call over supper, and they were preparing for an early bed time for their usual reason for going to bed early.

“That’ll be Jason Brock”, said Toby when the phone rang. “He picks the darndest times to call.”

Allison, sitting naked on the bed, brushing her hair, just smiled at him. “Go answer it. I’ll wait.”

“You better.”

Toby was right. Jason Brock was on the line. “Toby, you’re going to have a couple of visitors with a problem.”

“Yeah. Nick Atwood and a phoney investigator from New York.”

“Them too, but before them, Staff Sergeant Kellerman and I will be arriving by chopper in about an hour and a half. Can you get us out to the wreck in the dark? We want to be on board before Atwood and his passenger arrive.”

“In the dark—at tide just off low? Man, you don’t want much, and you like to live dangerously, too.”

“We take our chances. What I want to know is will you?”

“Yeah, sure. All I got to lose is Allie’s husband. Come on down. You want coffee and food to take with you, I imagine.”

“It’ll be easier to beg it from you than to wait for it to be prepared here before we take off. Just a minute.” Toby could hear a conversation in the background. Then Brock returned to the phone.

“The pilot wants to know about the wind and weather on Rocky Island right now. The forecast is pretty good.”

“Tell him the wind is light from the west and there’s a few scattered clouds. Nothing to get excited about except getting on the ground. I have no way of lighting up the landing pad.”

“Don’t worry about it. These guys land in the dark. The chopper has a big searchlight it can aim down. That’s no problem. See you later.” And he hung up.

“One of these times,” Toby said going back to the bedroom, “I’m going to get even with that guy.”

Allison laughed. “Get your clothes off, lover boy and calm down. We have time.”

They did. They had time twice. Then Allison got up and started making lunches. There wasn’t much Toby could do until the two policemen arrived, but dress warmly and pull the Zodiac down to the water’s edge.

When the helicopter arrived overhead about eleven o’clock, the pilot circled a couple of times, then turned on his searchlight and slowly made a soft landing directly on the pad. Brock and Kellerman got out of the aircraft, carrying a bag each, obviously equipment bags to take with them to the
Helen of Troy
.

Toby greeted them and the three went to the house as the chopper took off and headed toward Yarmouth. “He’ll wait there ’til we call for him,” Jason Brock explained.

“What’s the condition of the wreck now?” asked Kellerman.

“Well, I haven’t been out to it, but from shore I’d say that it’s finally begun to leak, likely from all the scraping around on the rocks. I’d say it has settled about as far as it can and it’s listing a bit to starboard. That’s good for you guys, ’cause that’s the side the rope ladder is on, but not so good for me, because that’s also the shallow water side. You guys swim okay in those heavy clothes?”

“I guess we can swim as good as you can,” grinned Kellerman.

“You two be careful of my husband,” commanded Allison.

“We’ll take as good care of him as he takes of us,” smiled Brock. Turning to Toby, he asked, “What time can we leave?”

“Well high tide is about eight o’clock, and that’s when Nick Atwood says he’s planning to arrive. His boat doesn’t draw much water, but considerable more than the Zodiac. How be we leave here at six-thirty? That give you enough time to get set for the American guy?”

“Should,” replied Kellerman. It only takes—what, less than half an hour?—to get out there, and the same time for you to get back here.”

“How’ll I know when to come get you?”

“You won’t have to. At least I’m presuming Atwood will wait for his passenger, and if things go as we plan, we’ll be leaving with him, so he can drop all three of us, Jason, the American and me, off here. If you see him leave and we’re not on board and he doesn’t stop here, then come on out and see what kind of trouble we got into.”

“You planning on having trouble?”

“Nope, but we have an idea what this guy is after. We aim to surprise him when he finds it, but you never know. I believe in Murphy’s Law and Robert Burns’ Law too, for that matter.”

“Murphy’s Law I know, but Burns’ Law? What’s that?

“‘The best laid plans of mice and men….’” chimed in Allison.

“Right,” said Kellerman with another grin.

“But we’re prepared, so I for one am not worrying, except about the time,” said Brock. “If the tide is high at eight, that means you could have some slow going manoeuvring around those bloody rocks and the half hour could stretch, both for your coming and going. Maybe we should leave at six and give you a bit more time to get us out there and yourself back.”

“Okay by me. It’s getting close to one now, so we got a few hours. I for one am going to have a nap. I’ll set the alarm clock for five-thirty. You guys are welcome to the couch and the La-Z-Boy chair.”

By six o’clock they set off in the Zodiac. The sun had not risen, but the night’s darkness was beginning to fade into a gray pre-dawn. Allison had made a large thermos of coffee and a packet of sandwiches that Jason Brock had tucked into his bag, and she stood on the shore waving good-bye. Then she walked across the island to the spot where Toby had once hidden behind the huge boulder to watch the
Helen of Troy
when it went aground. Soon she saw the Zodiac come into view and slowly and carefully approach the grounded vessel.

As they drew near, Toby shut off the outboard motor and tipped it up out of the water. “From here we row,” he announced. “Jason, you keep watch over the bow and holler if you see me heading for rocks.”

Toby put the oars in place and began to row toward the vessel. He nearly hit a reef a couple of times but Brock warned him off in time. Eventually, they reached the rope ladder and the two Mounties scrambled up to the deck. When he saw them safe on board, Toby turned to his rowing, but this time, with the boat lighter by more than four hundred pounds, he pushed instead of pulled on the oars and could see where he was going. When he reached deeper water, he tipped the motor back into place and zipped back around the island to the landing cove and beached the Zodiac, loaded in onto the cart and hauled it to the storage shed.

*

At five-thirty, Manfred Koch arrived at the wharf in West Head. He sought out Nick Atwood’s boat, the
Marianne,
found it and climbed down the steel ladder to jump aboard. Atwood came out of the cuddy when he heard his passenger arrive, the two exchanged brief “good-mornings” and the fisherman cast off. The sea was fairly calm but the morning’s chill air forced Koch into the cuddy for warmth. From time to time, he emerged to take in the sight of the ocean, but there wasn’t much to see and he didn’t stay outside very long on these forays into the morning. He missed a beautiful sunrise, but that was not part of his agenda. He chain-smoked a number of cigarettes and was obviously impatient to reach his destination. At last, about seven forty-five, he could feel the engine slow down, so he emerged for the last time. The old vessel was directly ahead of them and Nick Atwood slowed the fishing boat to a crawl and slowly pulled alongside. He shut off the engine and the
Marianne
drifted up to the rope ladder hanging over the side. Nick caught it and tied a rope from the bow to the side of the ladder, letting the craft slowly swing around with the bow up close to the
Helen of Troy.