Coincidence - Alan May [65]
Now, however, he hoped only that they would be returning to those communities at all.
He looked up as he turned another page. Was he imagining it, or had he glimpsed a rapid motion of the miniblinds out of the corner of his eye? He couldn’t be sure; probably wishful thinking. Still, he kept his head raised and a distracted expression on his face as he tapped his pen against his book, jotting an occasional incomprehensible squiggle on the page as if for his lecture notes.
There it was again; he was positive this time. A minuscule adjustment to the blinds, a fraction of an inch more open, then quick shut again. And again.
Dave glanced around. He yawned and stretched, and then, seeing no one else nearby, gave a quick thumbs up to Mac.
At least he hoped it was Mac.
Relief surged through his body when he saw a forward hatch open slightly a moment later and a familiar gray-bearded face appear, flashing him a broad grin. Mac returned the thumbs-up gesture. Using hand signals, the two were able to reassure each other that all was under control for the moment, and agreed to try to “talk” again in about three hours.
It took Anika only a moment to understand that Dave’s sudden desire to play pinochle with her and the captain meant he had news to impart.
They sat at a table in the mess, dealing cards and having as much of a conversation as they could with Floaties wandering in and out. They had decided that, despite the interruptions, the mess would be a better venue for their conference than retreating to a cabin and looking as if they had something to hide.
“If only there were some way of getting somebody else onto the Coincidence,” Anika said. “We’ve got to coordinate with Mac, find out if he’s been able to reach anyone who can help us.”
Captain Marzynski set down his meld—a solid two hundred points—and murmured, “I can think of a way it might be done, but it’s risky.”
He scooped his meld cards back into his hand and led with the nine of diamonds as he outlined his idea. The towline was good and taut, he explained; if they could somehow rig someone up with a harness and carabiner, the towline could act as a zip line, allowing the person to slide down to the other boat.
“And if we tie a second line onto him,” the captain went on, “we can reel him back again after he’s talked with Mac.”
It was a brilliant scheme. Dave and Anika were bursting with questions. They were forced to put them on hold, however, and spend the next hour and a half teaching the rudiments of the game of pinochle to a group of Floaties badly in need of a distraction. Then it was time for lunch.
When they had finished eating, Dave and Anika went out to stroll the deck.
Phillip was on deck, too, smoking a cigarette. Dave detected an change in the man’s expression as they walked past him. Had he overheard something they had said? Dave didn’t see how that was possible. He couldn’t remember seeing Phillip at all that morning. More likely the guy was just wary; two or three people together might be plotting something.
Dave put his arm around Anika’s shoulder and pulled her close to him, nuzzling the top of her head with his chin. There, he thought. That will give us a plausible reason to be together all the time without arousing suspicion.
Phillip flung his cigarette, half smoked, into the ocean and looked away from the couple.
The captain fell into step with them as they made their third lap around the deck. Dave steered them toward the starboard railing, away from Phillip. It was now nearly three hours since he had seen Mac.
How, he asked, could they get someone across the towline without the hijackers knowing? And who would that person be?
Anika had the answer to his second question immediately.
“Pierre Rouleau,” she said, surprising Dave, who had rather assumed that he himself would be the one.