Silhouette in Scarlet - Elizabeth Peters [45]
Method number one depended on my assumption that Gus was somewhere on the island. If he had been transported to the mainland, the whole deal was off. But it would have been risky to move him in broad daylight, after he had announced to his staff that he was entertaining guests. Also, a smart crook like Max would want his hostage accessible, in case I demanded to see him or speak with him.
Assuming Gus was on the island, assuming I could find him and set him free – what next?
We could make a run for it, or we could call for help and hold the gang at bay until said help arrived. Holding the gang at bay meant hiding; I wasn’t about to consider anything more adventurous. Gus must know some good hiding places. The burning question was: Could I contact the mainland?
Just for the hell of it, I tried the telephone. As I had expected, it was dead. Gus probably had an emergency means of communication laid on – a shortwave or CB radio or something of that sort – and if I ever found Gus I would ask him. I decided not to waste time searching, though. Unless it was well concealed, Max had probably dealt with it already.
Smoke signals, setting the barn on fire, flashing SOS’s with my pocket mirror . . . Too chancy. So much for the idea of communicating with the mainland. The alternative, running for our lives, presented one minor difficulty. We couldn’t run. We were surrounded by water.
So far my reasoning hadn’t been distinguished for brilliance or originality. If I couldn’t do better than that, I might as well forget the whole thing.
The silence of the house was getting to me. I headed for the door. It was a relief to be in the sunlight and fresh air. The rain had left everything looking fresh and clean. The wind stung my face. I assumed the thugs were all in the pasture, digging for treasure, but I kept a wary eye peeled as I descended the stairs to the dock. When the boathouse door opened, I got ready to duck. But it was only Leif.
‘I have looked,’ he said. ‘Nothing we can use.’
I was prepared for that discouraging statement; the fact that Max hadn’t bothered to set a guard on the boats was proof positive that they had been put out of commission. Hope dies hard, though. When I advanced, Leif grinned and stood aside to let me see for myself.
The more I looked, the madder I got. Max hadn’t just destroyed the boats, he had smashed the dreams and memories they symbolized. In his younger days Gus must have been a first-class mariner. Now the canoe and the kayak and the neat little sailboat lay deep underwater, held only by their mooring ropes. The rowboat was a utility craft, big enough to hold several people and a tidy amount of cargo. At least it could have held them if someone hadn’t chopped a hole in the bottom. The cruiser appeared to be undamaged, except for the shortwave, which had been demolished.
I sat in the cockpit and swore.
Leif peered in at me. ‘The key is missing.’
‘I know.’
‘Perhaps there is another key.’
‘If we ever find Gus, we can ask him.’ I took Leif’s proffered hand and climbed out. ‘Isn’t there some way of starting her up without a key? I’ve done it with cars, but I’m not familiar with this type of engine.’
Leif shrugged, looking almost as bland and stupid as Hans, and I snapped, ‘I thought you were an engineer.’
‘I am not a mechanic,’ Leif said in an offended voice. ‘But I do know there are many things one can do to an engine to make sure it will not start.’
‘They can’t have done anything drastic,’ I argued. ‘This must be the craft they plan to use when they leave.’
‘Unless they have arranged for a boat or helicopter to pick them up,’ Leif said.
I hadn’t thought of that. It didn’t make me feel very good.
‘In any case, it would take hours to check the cruiser,’ Leif said. ‘The ignition system, the fuel lines, and so on. Do you suppose Max will stand back and allow us to do that?’
‘How did you get here?’ I asked. Leif blinked. ‘I swam.’ Through the open doors I could see the distant shore and the waves that rose and fell in brisk cadence. The water was a deep, rich blue; it looked as cold as a