Coincidence - Alan May [53]
“I think even the hijackers would have to see that it’s in their interests as well if the kids maintain their routine,” Anika was saying as Captain Marzynski joined them.
She was right, of course, they all agreed. And she, as shipboard director and lead teacher, volunteered to be the one to broach the subject with Phillip. And if he didn’t go for the idea—well, she didn’t care to think about what he’d do in that case. None of them did.
The teachers had been too distracted to notice that Mac was missing. Their eyes lit up when the captain told them; with Mac at large, unknown to the hijackers, they had a chance. And Mac, whatever you might say about him, was canny. There was practically nothing he couldn’t do, if he put his mind to it.
But it was essential to keep Mac’s existence a secret. Just one casual remark from just one student—one “Say, where’s Mac, anyway?” —within the hearing of the hijackers and the jig would be up. It was all the teachers could do to disband with no apparent haste, no apparent direction, when all they wanted to do was run to tell the kids before it was too late.
19
Mac heard nothing the first time Dave came to his locker to look for him. He hadn’t heard the captain’s announcement. He was sound asleep behind a screen of old sails, on a small shelf he’d rigged up for just this purpose. He was a hard worker and more than willing to do his share—hell, more than his share. He felt it was not in the least out of line for him to retreat, during the lull of the afternoons, to his locker for a wee tipple—the academy folk were great to work with, but this no-alcohol-for-anybody-onboard was just going too far—and a lie down.
The locker was the first place Dave thought to look. He strolled to the bow, his hands in his pockets, and looked out at the small rippling waves, forcing himself to stand and wait until he was sure he was not being observed. Where, he wondered, were those sickening rolls and lurches when you needed them? If only another nauseating round of turbulence would come along, sending the hijackers running for the rail, losing their guns along with their lunches over the side …
Once he was sure no one was in sight, Dave opened the hatch of the steel box that projected from the deck. He crawled in, closed the hatch behind him as quietly as he could, and began scuttling down the first of the steel rungs that led to the bosun’s locker.
“Mac?” he whispered. “Mac, you down here?”
No answer.
He peered down into the locker, some ten feet below him. The room was empty.
“Mac?” he called again, just in case.
No answer.
He heard footsteps above and froze for a moment, listening. He could hear muffled sobs, along with a soft murmur of voices making comforting sounds. He clambered back up and popped his head out the hatch, taking a small cluster of Floaties by surprise. He hastened to warn them not to breathe a word about Mac.
The news that Mac might be able to help cheered the group considerably, and they set off in better spirits to start alerting the other kids to keep mum about the bosun’s existence. Dave refrained from mentioning that no one had any idea of the whereabouts of their hero-to-be.
He went below now, walking slowly along the corridors. Mac and Charlie, the bosun’s mate, shared a cabin, but neither was in it when Dave looked. He debated with himself about leaving a note somewhere inside—where? The head?—telling Mac to go under cover to his locker, and Charlie to act as bosun, but decided it would be too risky. He continued knocking on cabin doors, keeping a sharp eye out for any of the hijackers, searching for Mac in every niche remotely big enough for a human being to fit into. Had the man disappeared entirely?
Oh, dear God. What if he had run into one of the hijackers and told him, in his inimitable way, to bugger off, and had been pumped full of bullets and tossed