Night Over Water - Ken Follett [164]
“Hi, Eddie.”
“How in the hell ... ?” It was Steve Appleby, whom Eddie had tried to call from England—his oldest and best friend, the one man above all others he wanted by his side in a tight spot. He could hardly take it in.
Steve came over and they embraced, hitting each other on the back. Eddie said: “You’re supposed to be in New Hampshire—what the hell are you doing here?”
“Nella said you sounded frantic when you called,” Steve said, looking solemn. “Hell, Eddie, I’ve never known you to seem even a little shook. You’re always such a rock. I knew you had to be in bad trouble.”
“I am. I’m ...” Suddenly Eddie was overcome with emotion. For twenty hours he had kept his feelings bottled up and tightly corked, and he was ready to explode. The fact that his best friend had moved heaven and earth to come and help him out touched him deeply. “I’m in bad trouble,” he confessed; then tears came to his eyes and his throat seized up so he could not speak. He turned away and went outside.
Steve followed. Eddie led him around the comer of the building and through the big open doorway into the empty boat room, where the launch was normally kept. They would not be seen in here.
Steve spoke to cover his embarrassment. “I can’t count how many favors I’ve called in to get here. I’ve been in the navy eight years, and a lot of people owe me, but today they all paid me back double, and now I owe them. It’s going to take me another eight years just to get back to even!”
Eddie nodded. Steve had a natural aptitude for wheeling and dealing, and he was one of the navy’s great fixers. Eddie wanted to say thank you, but he could not stop the tears.
Steve’s tone changed and he said: “Eddie, what the hell is going on?”
“They’ve got Carol-Ann,” Eddie managed.
“Who has, for Christ’s sake?”
“The Patriarca gang.”
Steve was incredulous. “Ray Patriarca? The racketeer?”
“They kidnapped her.”
“God almighty, why?”
“They want me to bring down the Clipper.”
“What for?”
Eddie wiped his face with his sleeve and brought himself under control. “There’s an F.B.I. agent on board with a prisoner, a hoodlum called Frankie Gordino. I figure Patriarca wants to rescue him. Anyway, a passenger calling himself Tom Luther told me to bring the plane down off the Maine coast. They’ll have a fast boat waiting, and Carol-Ann will be on it. We swap Carol-Ann for Gordino—then Gordino disappears.”
Steve nodded. “And Luther was smart enough to realize that the only possible way to get Eddie Deakin to cooperate was to kidnap his wife.”
“Yeah.”
“The bastards.”
“I want to get these people, Steve. I want to fucking crucify them. I want to nail the bastards up, I swear.”
Steve shook his head. “But what can you do?”
“I don’t know. That’s why I called you.”
Steve frowned. “The danger period for them is from when they come aboard the plane until they get back to their car. Maybe the police could find the car and ambush them.”
Eddie was dubious. “How would the police recognize it? It will just be a car parked near a beach.”
“It might be worth a try.”
“It’s not tight enough, Steve. There’s too much to go wrong. And I don’t want to call in the police—there’s no knowing what they might do to endanger Carol-Ann.”
Steve nodded agreement. “And the car could be on either side of the border, so we’d have to call in the Canadian police as well. Hell, it wouldn’t stay secret for five minutes. No, the police are no good. That leaves the navy or the Coast Guard.”
Eddie felt better just being able to discuss his dilemma with someone. “Let’s talk navy.”
“All right. Suppose I could get a patrol boat like this one to intercept the launch after the trade, before Gordino and Luther reach land?”
“That might work,” Eddie said, and he began to feel hopeful. “But could you do it?” It was next to impossible to get naval vessels to move outside