Coincidence - Alan May [82]
Idiota!
What did he think he was doing, spilling everything to the girl in return for laying her? Now the hostages would have to be kept under guard, locked in the forward cabin, and one man assigned to keeping an eye on them at all times. What a waste. What a loser.
And what would Juan do when he found out?
36
Air Force pilot Nick Anastapolou had just taken his final photo of the Coincidence, now some eighty miles from its last sighting. He was heading back to base when he heard the emergency distress beacon. Abruptly altering course, he homed in on the source of the signal. There it was. Yep, that had to be the Inspiration, all right, he was sure of it. He circled overhead and radioed headquarters.
“I’m reducing altitude now in preparation for a close flyby,” he said. “I’ll keep you posted.”
“Heads up, mates!” Mac called.
Pierre and Ryan, rust-busting on the deck, looked up to where the bosun was pointing. They saw nothing. Then their ears picked up a faint whine, which grew gradually louder; they squinted in the direction of the noise, and a spot appeared, grew larger, and finally materialized into an airplane.
An airplane!
Pierre took off at lightning speed to find Melissa, knocking on the classroom doors and alerting everyone he saw along the way to her cabin. Soon the deck was swarming with Floaties and staff, all of them shouting and cheering and waving their arms off.
“I didn’t see any obvious signs of distress onboard,” Nick reported. “Just a slew of people waving at me.”
He reported on photos he had taken.
“They’ve got five sails flying. Must not have any engine power. On course for Easter Island, but going real slow.
“They’re not responding to radio calls. What say we try dropping off a VHF radio on a life raft on the morning run tomorrow? I think they’ll be okay till then.”
Melissa gripped Pierre’s arm as she watched the plane bank, turn, and disappear into the horizon.
Captain Marzynski deactivated the beacon. No point in using it now. The plane must have come in response to the signal; the pilot was very likely alerting the authorities right now. And even if not, the signal would have been picked up on shore via satellite. And of course they could always reactivate it if necessary.
Mac propelled the newly repaired Zodiac as fast as he could out to the bobbing life raft, some three hundred feet away. To the crowd assembled on deck, it seemed to take him an inordinately long time to reach the small bundle; in fact it was a matter of minutes. He leaned over and fished it out of the water, set it in the dinghy beside him, and turned back toward the Inspiration to the crowd’s cheers. The plane that had dropped it circled overhead—the same plane that had appeared yesterday in response to the emergency signal.
Classes had been stopped to allow everyone to see what was going on. The air was still, the deck unnaturally quiet, as all hands gathered around, watching as Mac made his way back. Pulling up beside the boat, he heaved the yellow parcel up into Charlie’s waiting hands. Charlie put it down amid the throng of silent spectators. Waiting for Mac to climb back onboard, no one hazarded a guess as to what might be inside—not aloud, at any rate.
Captain Marzynski did the honors, deftly loosening the knots that bound the life raft around its contents. The raft flopped open, revealing another layer of packaging—black plastic crisscrossed with duct tape.
Melissa thought immediately of Christmas, of the intricately wrapped presents her Uncle Jack infuriated and delighted her with every year. The image brought a fleeting smile to her face; Pierre caught the change in her expression and shot her an inquiring glance. But almost at once the smile vanished, and Melissa had to bite her bottom lip to keep from breaking into sobs at the very real possibility that there would be no more