Tahoe Ghost Boat (An Owen McKenna Mystery Thriller) (43 page)

He set down the can and kicked it over. A gush of gasoline flowed out across the floor, toward Ian and toward me. I wanted to charge him, but I could barely stand. Mikhailo raised the maul, both his good hand and his broken hand on the maul’s handle.

I’d left him for dead, but he was like a mythical bear that couldn’t be killed. I’d never seen a man who could continue his carnage with a spear through his body.

I could turn and fall back down the stairs to the cellar, but that would leave Ian helpless. Maybe I could dodge the maul. I advanced on Mikhailo. He brought the splitting maul into his back swing and then hurled it around in a sideways loop. But instead of releasing it toward me, he flung it at Lassitor. The maul flipped over in flight one complete rotation, and then struck Lassitor in the neck, cleaving deep into his flesh. Blood spurted with each heartbeat, arcing up and out.

Lassitor collapsed to the floor. It was obvious that there was no hope of saving him.

But maybe I could make certain that Mikhailo also had no chance of survival. I advanced on him, my rage overwhelming.

Mikhailo pulled out a lighter, flicked it, and dropped it.

The gas fumes were so thick from the flowing gas that the room exploded into flame before the lighter hit the floor.

I staggered back through the doorway. The last thing I saw as I shut the door was Mikhailo standing there, his feet spread wide for balance, as flames roared about and up his body. The broomstick protruding from his body was already aflame. As I shut the door, flowing, burning gas ran underneath it, nearly touching my gas-soaked boots. I jumped back and fell, rolling down the stairs. I got up and did my best trot to the tunnel door. The man lying on the stone didn’t seem to be breathing. I bent down, put my fingers on his neck, and felt for his carotid artery. There was a weak pulse.

I stepped into the tunnel, dragging the broken man. My head screamed pain as I pulled him thirty feet into the tunnel, then stumbled back and shut the door to the cellar. I wasn’t saving him for benevolent reasons. I wanted him to live, crippled and broken, to face his punishment. As I dropped him to the stones, he made a sound.

I bent down and spoke in his ear.

“If you bother me or anyone I know ever again, I will find you, and I’ll finish the job in a way that makes you think your current injuries are mosquito bites.”

I was halfway down the tunnel toward the boathouse when I heard an explosion. I kept trotting, ready to dive to the floor if a flash of fireball light came from behind. But it didn’t happen.

SIXTY-FOUR

Street and Gertie were in the boathouse.

“You’re safe!” Street said as I opened the secret door. “But you are soaked in gas!” She was standing on one foot, holding her bare foot in the air. In the dim light coming from the tunnel lights, I could see that both of them were shivering.

With pounding head and screaming muscles, I took off my gas-soaked sweatshirt and undershirt and pulled on one of the boathouse windbreakers. The sleeves were six inches short, but it helped. My pants were still wet with gasoline, but I’d be a little less explosive. As I put on the jacket, Street grabbed two other windbreakers and handed one to Gertie.

We went outside. Street and Gertie ran, Street doing a kind of hop and skip to minimize how much her bare foot was down on the frozen, snowy pathway. I stumbled, my brain foggy from pain and gas fumes.

Street turned and called back to me. “Do you have your Jeep? Where should we go?”

“It’s parked a good distance away. I don’t know if I can make it that far. Your bare foot will freeze...” I stopped and bent over as I began to faint. Street grabbed me, trying to keep me from collapsing.

After a moment, I said, “I assume the men took your phone?”

“I never had it. It was plugged into my charger when they kicked in the door of my condo.”

“We’ll go to the neighbor’s house. Craig Gower. It’s early morning. He might be awake. If not, we’ll wake him up. If he’s gone, we’ll break in. We can use his phone and call for help.”

“How far is it?”

“Not far. There’s a path through the snow.”

Street kept her arm around Gertie’s shoulder. I kept my hand on Spot’s collar. We hurried down the path to the drive, then took the other path over to Gower’s drive.

There was a flash of light followed by the deep kaboom of another explosion. We all turned to look. The distant trees were backlit by flames that were coming out of the small windows of Lassitor’s castle.

At Gower’s house, I knocked on the door continuously.

“Thank you for finding us,” Street said while we waited.

“Thank God you’re alive. They were going to kill Gertie when they had her in the van. I thought they’d kill you before I got there.”

“It was Gertie’s quick thinking that saved us from being killed at my condo. She told them that she took their pictures with the phone that you took from the guy in the van. She said she hid it in your cabin. One of the men was going to beat her until she told them where it’s hidden. But the other man said they didn’t have time and they would take us with them and force her to tell them later.”

I reached over and squeezed Gertie’s shoulder as I kept knocking.

“I’m coming!” a distant voice shouted.

The door opened a minute later. Gower rolled forward in his chair. He looked nearly the same as the last time I saw him. Jeans, a lap blanket, heavy sweater, a watchman’s cap.

“Sorry to intrude like this,” I said. “But we’re in a jam.”

“Good Christ! What is happening?! A few minutes ago, I saw the flames over at the Lassitor place, so I called nine-one-one and reported the fire. But it never occurred to me that you were over there. Is everyone okay? You don’t look okay.”

“We’re alive,” I said. I didn’t feel like mentioning the men who were probably now dead in the fire. “This is my girlfriend Street Casey. Street, this is Craig Gower. And this is Gertie O’Leary.”

“Pleased to meet you, Gertie,” Gower said. He reached out his hand to shake.

Gertie slowly raised her arm.

Gower grabbed her hand, spun her around, and jerked her down onto his lap. His other hand came out from under the lap blanket. He held a gun. He wrapped the hand with the gun around Gertie’s waist and angled it up toward her chest.

“No, not again,” Gertie pleaded, her voice high and tiny.

“Do exactly as I say,” Gower said. “Any sudden moves, she’s dead. Both of you turn around and go down the ramp. Slowly. I’m following. McKenna, you keep your hand on your dog’s collar.”

I took Street’s hand, and we slowly turned and walked down the ramp. Street limped and skipped, trying to hold her bare foot up off the ice and snow. She gripped my hand as if to cut my skin with her fingernails. I heard the motor of Gower’s wheelchair.

“Stay calm, Gertie,” I said over my shoulder as we walked. “I’m sure we can convince Mr. Gower to let you go.”

“That’s rich,” Gower said. “Have you considered the investment I’ve got into this little operation? No, McKenna, you won’t talk me out of this. Either I succeed or it’s a suicide mission.”

Street and I got to the bottom of the wheelchair ramp, Street still skipping.

“Turn down the path to my dock,” Gower said.

Street and I turned. Like all the other paths, the snow had been cleared with a big blower. The sound of Gower’s chair followed us. We came around a curve and had a straight shot to the dock. The lower part of Gower’s boat was visible under the canopy.

I studied the boat hull as we approached. It looked to be a custom-built yacht, about 50 feet long with a large aft deck, a gunnel-to-gunnel cabin with saloon on the main level and forward cockpit, which was part of the saloon. The galley and staterooms and head would be down below. How Gower would get to them in his wheelchair, I didn’t know.

There was a gangplank entrance wide enough for Gower’s wheelchair. There was no walkaround deck, upper level bridge, or any other rigging that would require a non-disabled skipper.

Gower rolled up next to the gangplank and pointed.

“Street, you go on board first, Gertie will follow, and then I will board. Don’t get any ideas about what you might find on the boat. There’s nothing more dangerous than a towel. And I’m not afraid to use this gun.”

He lifted it up and gestured with it. In the darkness of night, all I could tell was that it looked like a small, semi-auto pistol.

Gower pointed to the bow line. “McKenna, you man the bow lines. I’ll let you know when we’re ready to cast off. And don’t take your hand off your dog.”

We all did as told.

Gower kept his eyes on me as he drove across the gangplank.

The boat had large windows. I could see Gower usher Street and Gertie through the rear door into the saloon. He motioned for them to sit on the rear settee. Then he rolled over to the front of the saloon, rising as he went, moving up an unseen ramp to the cockpit. He flipped some switches. I heard a bilge exhaust fan turn on. After a minute, he hit the starter, and the big diesel below the aft deck rumbled to life. More lights came on in the saloon.

Gower opened a window. “You can cast off. Spring line first, then stern, then bow. Swing the fenders onboard.”

I did what he said.

He called out, “Now bring your hound aboard.”

We walked up the gangplank. I flipped the electric winch button to draw in the telescoping gangplank.

Gower motioned for me to come inside. I opened the saloon door.

“Leave your dog on the aft deck.”

“Spot, stay.” I gave him a pet, went inside, and shut the door behind me. Spot could see all of us through the windows.

The boat rumbled and started to move as Gower shifted into Forward.

“You stink of gas, so you stand there, behind the port-side captain’s chair,” he said, pointing. It was the easiest place for him to keep an eye on me. “I don’t want you touching anything. You can hold onto the back of the chair. And crack that window.”

I squeezed Gertie’s shoulder as I walked by her and Street. I was dizzy. I held onto the back of the left captain’s chair, facing a bit sideways toward Gower.

Gower’s gun was on his lap, close for quick grasping. No matter how fast I moved, he would have enough time to shoot me. In the light, it looked to be an older Walther PPK. Probably only seven rounds in the magazine, but that was enough to kill three people and one dog and still have three shots left over. With all of us sunk in the lake, Gower could drop his gun overboard. It would be hard for the police to bring a case against him.

I looked around the boat’s interior. It was tidy and clean with not even a loose map on the chart table. The only visual warmth and comfort came from a big bowl that seemed attached to the center of the dining table. Just like the bowls in Gower’s house, this one was filled with oranges.

When we were a hundred yards out from shore, Gower eased the throttle forward, and we sped up a bit. The bounce of the boat as it cut through the swell set the hammer in my head pounding at double time.

“I’m surprised you figured out that the Lassitor castle was where the women were held,” Gower said.

“Your elderly neighbor lady gave me the information about how you can come and go through the ground and that the castle was like the Thunderbird Castle. Finding the tunnels was easy enough. And Mikhailo wasn’t the tough guy you thought. You should have been more careful choosing your men.”

Gower looked at me. “You know about Mikhailo?”

I wanted to unnerve Gower, get him tense. I didn’t think he would shoot us until we were well out into the lake. But maybe I could anger him enough to get him to make a mistake.

“Yeah. Mikailo and I have met a couple of times.”

“I figured he’d do something foolish,” Gower said. “So you followed him to Lassitor’s.”

“Yeah. He even tried to fool me for a minute with a lot of talk about being a martial arts wizard. He put on a little dance trying to make it believable. Of course, I didn’t buy it. But these talkers, they can fool an old guy like you. What is it about age that makes you oldsters so gullible?”

Gower tensed his hands. I’d found a sensitive point.

I said, “Too bad he poured gasoline on everything and then set it afire, himself included.”

Gower’s jaw clenched.

In my peripheral vision I saw the flames from the Lassitor castle shooting into the sky. There were still no flashing lights from fire trucks. Gower hadn’t called 911 as he’d said.

I was thinking about what Diamond said about the ghost boats. A device that works as a negative feedback loop, always correcting when the inputs went one way or another.

“Your thermostat company makes a nice little cover for you. But you should have known that being in the business of manufacturing what is essentially a negative feedback loop device made you our prime suspect for the ghost boat assault. I called Sergeant Santiago a bit ago and told him that he could probably come and pick you up at your house. I also said that if your boat was gone when he got there, that you would have us out on the lake trying to put us on the bottom. He said he has access to a speedboat and will be out on the water in a bit.”

Gower made an angry little motion of his head. His teeth were clenched. His lower lip was pushed up making both lips bulge.

“The ghost boat concept was brilliant,” I said. “You must have provided the tracking mechanisms to Lassitor before you took over his operation.”

“Ghost boat,” he said, his tone derisive.

“That’s your neighbor lady’s name for what you do. She’s been keeping track of you. She knew you were evil. She told me how your ghost boats run all night, slow and relatively quiet. No lights, so no one can find them. Most people don’t know that they’re out there. And the ones who do never know that there’s no skipper, just a bit of electronics and a motorized steering mechanism. It was a good idea for how to gradually map the entire lake bottom near the West Shore in your search for the Lucky Baldwin gold.”

Gower held his head at an angle as if trying to keep a hard wind from blowing in his ear.

“So you had Mikhailo and his men put the boats out every night and bring them in before dawn, downloading the scans onto flash drives to bring to Lassitor.”