On Hurricane Island Page 16

  Has Tobias always been this sadistic? Over the years Henry has known a handful of agents who lost it, in one way or another. There was that Polish guy from Chicopee, Massachusetts, whose textbook psychotic break came complete with little green men who pointed their unicorn antenna at his living room sofa and spoke in a frequency only he could hear. There’ve been others too, but no one talks about them once their desks are cleared and the bronze nameplates unscrewed from the office door.

  On the screen Tobias jabs his finger at her face and yells, but Henry can’t hear the words. He turns up the volume, but only the racket gets louder. Static snow on the storm-crackled monitor intermittently obscures the interrogation room but Tobias’s smirk is visible as he leans back in his chair. The screen flickers off, and when the picture returns Tobias holds a phone in his hand. It looks like Dr. Cohen’s phone, but how can that be? Henry pats his pocket. Did he leave it in his fleece, or maybe his raincoat?

  Tobias must have searched all his things.

  Tobias yells at Austin and points to his side. The girl walks towards him, looking reluctant. What’s he doing with her shirt? Her breasts, her pants? The guy is psychotic. How can he have missed the signs? He has to stop this now.

  He checks his watch. It’s almost 12:30, and the time stamp on the screen reads 11:45. Damn. The events on the tape are over. Whatever Tobias did to the girl, it’s done. He can’t stop anything. He might as well finish watching the show, a rerun of MI-5 on steroids. He puts two more antacid tablets in his mouth and chews.

  A flash of lightning ignites the semi-darkness outside the window. At the same moment, the room shakes with thunder. The lights flicker twice, then dim. The background crackle on the monitor grows more intense. Henry can barely follow the action on the screen, but he can’t stop watching either, especially when Austin swings something at Tobias’s head, and the man collapses. The monitor explodes with static for thirty seconds and when the screen finally clears, only one person remains in the interrogation room. Tobias, strapped to the metal chair, handcuffed and gagged.

  Henry stares at the screen, his brain a scramble of relief and glee and worry. He can’t think clearly. The wind screams, and his ears hurt, and his chest aches, and his thoughts are gerbils racing in circles, repeating and spiraling and he can’t follow his own mental sequences. Does he want the prisoners to escape, after more than three decades of fighting on the side of the guys with the white hats? Does that make him some kind of traitor?

  At least, he better try to minimize the damage. He ejects the mini-disk, shuts down and locks the system, then calls the guard station at the dock. It takes seven rings before Bert finally answers.

  “How’s it going down there?” Henry yells over the static on the line.

  “Pretty wild. Big spruce down across the road. No major structural damage. Yet.”

  “Listen. We may have a situation here.” Henry chooses his words carefully. How loyal is Bert, and is he loyal to the job or to Henry? “Two people are, well, unaccounted for. Don’t mention this to anybody, but if you see them, let me know. And don’t take them off-island, okay?”

  Bert laughs. “Ain’t nobody going off-island for a while, boss. Who’s gone missing?”

  “A female detainee named Cohen. And the new guard.”

  “Austin?”

  Too late, Henry remembers that Bert waited the boat for her that morning. He must know her. Not just know her; they are probably related like the whole screwy island.

  “Yes,” he says. “Remember, not a word about this to anyone, Bert. Just let me know if you see them, okay?”

  “You bet.”

  Still holding the phone, Henry stands at the window. How long can the bedlam continue? The eye of the hurricane can’t be too far away, and then things should calm down. He better go outside and check with his staff. Former staff.

  But first, one more call. He touches Catherine’s photo on his phone screen. He listens to the rings, then to her voice message. Which is probably good, because what can he possibly say to her after last night? He can’t apologize for who he is, and he isn’t sorry about that, not really.

  “It’s me, Cat. I need to talk with you. Please call me.” He hesitates. Should he say more? No, no use worrying her about the job stuff. She’ll learn about that soon enough.

  He ends the call. What should he do now? Dr. Cohen and Austin are out there somewhere. Officially they are no longer his responsibility, but can he just let them escape? Maybe he can persuade them not to run. Honestly, he’d like to join them, get off this damned island and never return, but that’s not a viable option. Is it? The only thing he knows for certain is that he can’t just sit here and wait for whatever is coming at him next.

  He grabs his rain jacket from the hook and snaps the flashlight from its wall charger. Patting his gun for courage, he slips into the dark hallway.

  34. RAY, 1:06 P.M.

  Without taking his eyes off the Weather Channel, Ray mutes the volume and reaches for the ringing phone. Rain drips off the reporter’s dimpled chin, on location somewhere on Long Island. Severe storms fascinate Ray as much as—okay, more than—the next guy, but he can’t be the only person disturbed by the way these Weather Channel fellows get so excited by natural disaster, so thrilled by catastrophe.

  “Yeah?” He watches as the footage switches to the flooding in Portland’s harbor.

  “Pops? It’s me.”

  Austin’s voice sounds thin, even a little teary. Not likely. That girl never cries, not even the time she dislocated her elbow playing Red Rover in fourth grade, not even when she came limping home from college with a broken face.

  “What’s wrong?”

  “I need your help.”

  “You got it. What’s going on?”

  “I’m not sure. Seems like Henry Ames has been—I don’t know what—like there’s a mutiny or something. I think he made a mistake with some evidence, and now Tobias Sampson claims that he’s in charge. And the guy is nuts. Like totally out of control. Like torturing people.”

  Ray glances towards the stairs. Should he fetch Nettie from her sewing room upstairs? If something bad happens to their girl, she’ll never forgive him. “You sure you’re okay?”

  “Yeah, but I’ve done something bad, Pops. I had to. This place is some sort of FBI prison, and Tobias was hitting this woman I’m assigned to guard. And then he was, trying to attack me. Like, you know …”

  He does know. Austin never talks about what happened at college, with her so-called boyfriend. But he saw how she looked when she came home, and later the local sheriff got him a copy of the report from the Emergency Room.

  “Did he do anything to you?”

  “I told you, I’m fine. But I hit him, and I’m in big trouble. Can you get us out of here? Off the island?”

  “Of course.” His eyes swim. Assaulting a federal agent sounds like very big trouble. “Where are you now?”

  “Still in the building, but I’m heading for the secret cave at the quarry. The one where you hid during that other hurricane, with the initials.”

  Ray walks to the window and gazes out towards the Hurricane Sound. The wind is churning the waves in a fury. The currents will be treacherous. “Okay. I’ll talk to Bert and we’ll meet you at the cave.”

  “They’ll be monitoring the dock. And the storm is horrible. How will you get to us, get us off the island?”

  “We’ll figure that out. Bert knows every inlet, every cove. You get yourself safely to the cave and wait for us, okay?”

  “Cove,” Austin says. “That reminds me. Don’t be mad, Pops, but I found the letters you told me about, from Margaret to Angelina. I took them and I’ve been reading them. Don’t say anything yet. Just listen. The letters are from Margaret and she had a lover, an Italian stone carver. They used to meet in the cave—in your cave, with the initials. I can’t wait to tell you all about it. And Margaret mentions a hidden cove, not far from the cave.”

  He thinks about the rocky island co
ast and the treacherous tides. About the endless persistence of torrents and currents and undertows, both natural and human. “We’ll find it,” he tells Austin. “Like I said, Bert knows every inch of that coastline. We’ll get to you.”

  “There are three of us, Pops. Write this name down: Gandalf Cohen, she’s a professor from New York. There’s a lawyer too. Norah Levinsky. She works for the Human Rights Litigation Center, also in New York. These women were, like, kidnapped. Their families don’t know they’re here.”

  He writes it all down, the names and phone number for the professor, on the inside cover of Nettie’s Readers’ Digest.

  “Will you call Gandalf’s girlfriend, Jess? Let her know Gandalf is alive. Ask Jess to contact Norah’s people.”

  “Yup. Anything else?”

  Austin is silent for a moment. “I think Henry Ames is in trouble. He looks awful. Maybe you’d better let his wife know.”

  The storm obscures Hurricane Island from his view, but Ray stares in that direction. “Is that a good idea? You sure Henry isn’t part of the problem out there?”

  “I’m not sure of anything, except that Tobias is going to come after us. I’ve got to get moving.”

  He places the receiver in the cradle and stares at his scribbled notes. He better do this before he thinks about it too much. He dials the New York area code and a woman answers the phone. Jess.

  “My name is Coombs. Ray Coombs.” He speaks slowly, not sure what to say. “I’m calling from Maine. I have some information about your friend. Gandalf?”

  “Omigod! Is she okay? I’ve been frantic.”

  “She seems to have gotten herself into some trouble with the feds up here.” He pauses. “Homeland Security and the FBI and what-all.”

  “What kind of trouble? No, that doesn’t matter. Is she all right? Can I talk to her?”

  Who does this woman think he is, anyway? “Far as I know, she’s fine. As to coming home, well, that’s a bit complicated, ma’am. She’s no longer in the detention center, but she is still out on the small island.”

  “Detention center? I don’t understand.”

  “Me neither, to be honest with you. But my girl Austin, my granddaughter who works over there, says your friend was being treated badly. Austin helped her escape. They’re hiding now. There’s another prisoner, too. Some New York lawyer. I need you to call her people.”

  “Treated badly how? Is she hurt? And where exactly are you? What small island? My son and I will come immediately.”

  A son. So she must’ve been normal, straight, whatever, at some point. “We’re in Maine. Your friend is on Hurricane Island, in a place like a prison. It’s hard to get here right now, probably impossible. The storm’s still blowing hard, and there’s flooding to come.”

  “That doesn’t matter, Mr. Coombs. Tell me where it is, and how we can meet up with you.”

  He hesitates again, wondering why this woman would trust him. He could be part of the group who took her girlfriend. He’s not sure he’d have such faith in a stranger. Not that she has a whole lot of options. “From Rockland you take the state ferry to Storm Harbor. When the ferries are running again, that is. Let me know which boat, and I’ll meet you.”

  “I’ll be there. What about the other woman?” Jess asks.

  Ray reads off the names and numbers, everything Austin told him, while the woman writes it down. “You’ll try to reach her people?”

  “Yes, yes of course. But if Gandalf is in prison, how’re we going to get her out?”

  “You let me handle that part. I have some folks who can help.”

  “I’ll call you back when I’ve made travel plans.” She pauses. “One more thing. Are you the man who called me last night?”

  Last night? Must’ve been someone from Hurricane. “No ma’am. Not me.”

  After they say goodbye, Ray pushes the disconnect button and holds it down. He can admit it to himself; he was a bit bothered about calling her. There aren’t any lesbians living on the islands, leastways not that he knows of. But Jess sounded worried and relieved, just like any girlfriend would, if that was the right word.

  Catherine is next. “You’d better come over here,” he says. “It’s about Henry.”

  There’s a long silence on the other end. As if she already knows something is wrong.

  “Tell me,” she says.

  “Not on the phone. Just come. Bring rain gear. We’ve got to get over to Hurricane.”

  After they hang up, he walks upstairs to Nettie’s sewing room and peeks in. Nettie is asleep in the soft upholstered rocker. No reason to disturb her, not until he has a plan. While he waits for Catherine, he’ll figure out what to do. Bert will help, but how can two ordinary guys fight the feds?

  He looks again at his sleeping wife. Nettie would suggest calling Evelina. She’s their link to the government, their voice in Washington. That’s why they elected her, isn’t it?

  “Thanks,” he whispers and tiptoes back down to the kitchen. He watches the wind hurl broken branches of rain-soaked leaves against the kitchen window.

  35. AUSTIN, 1:15 P.M.

  Austin peers up and down the first floor corridor, then slips back into the supply storeroom. Gandalf has dressed in fleece pants and jacket. She stands in front of the tall metal shelves, arms loaded with extra shirts and wool socks, boots and rain gear.

  “Pack light,” Austin says. “It’s a long walk.”

  “Where did you go?” Gandalf asks.

  “To make a phone call.” Austin unzips a small duffle bag and hands it to Gandalf.

  Gandalf stares at her for a moment—like maybe she doesn’t believe her—before dumping her selections into the duffle. She pulls a yellow slicker, crackled with wear, from the top shelf. “This fabric is ancient. I thought the Army developed new high-tech lightweight materials for combat use.”

  “Maybe so. But this is what they sent us.”

  “Perhaps this prison is not high priority?”

  “It’s new, not yet fully operational,” Austin says. “And these are oilcloth, like the lobstermen wear. They last forever and keep the rain out.” She reaches for an orange box on the top shelf. “Here’s a first aid kit. You might want to clean that cut on your face.”

  “What about your mouth?” Gandalf asks. “Where he hit you?”

  Austin tongues the cut place. “It’s not bad.”

  As Gandalf takes the orange box, the building shakes with an explosion of light and noise. Sparks burst from the overhead fixture. They fan out in rainbow arcs and dance against the floor. The thunderclap is simultaneous—the boom bounces against the walls and reverberates inside her skull. When the embers fade away, the darkness is complete and shocking.

  Austin blinks several times, as if the problem might be in her eyes. The darkness feels like deep underwater, thick and heavy. It’s hard to catch her breath. She stretches both arms out to find something solid. Her left hand feels a fleece shoulder, grabs it.

  “I guess that’s it for electricity,” Gandalf says.

  “I’m surprised it lasted this long.” Austin slows her respirations. She holds onto Gandalf’s shoulder and the panic recedes a little. She remembers Tobias’s gun in her pocket.

  “Is there no back-up generator?”

  “There is, but I don’t know if it’s automatic or needs to be turned on. And our priority is to get out of here.”

  Still gripping Gandalf’s sleeve, Austin turns in the remembered direction of the door. According to the orientation materials, every room has an emergency flashlight in a wall charger. She shuffles along the wire shelving until her outstretched hand finds the wall, the door, and then the flashlight. Smart planning on someone’s part. She switches on the light and props it on a stack of sweatpants, pointing the beam at the ceiling.

  “Just take the basics—warm stuff and waterproof.” She adds a universal phone charger and set of cables to her backpack. “We have to get away from this place right away and we can’t carry much in this wind.”


  “I need supplies for Norah too.” Gandalf crams her foot into a second pair of socks, then pulls on a rubber boot.

  “Norah?” Austin stops packing water bottles and energy bars into a small back pack. The creepy flashlight beam shadows on the wall stop too. How does Gandalf know Norah? Isolation of the detainees is a strict rule, crucial to the mission. Tobias is a stickler about that.

  Tobias! The memory is a kick to her chest. She has never reacted like that before, like a fighter and a schemer—putting her arms around Tobias and kissing his neck and then slipping the gun from his holster and hitting him. She wishes her college boyfriend had been there, so she could have clobbered his head with the gun butt too, while her anger was raw and adrenalin surging.

  Gandalf is staring at her. “You know Norah. The prisoner in the room next to mine?”

  “Yeah, but how do you know her?” Austin zips the duffle bag, hefts it to feel the weight. She wills herself not to look at their deformed silhouettes against the storeroom wall. Even with the storm raging, she’ll feel safer when they’re outside these walls.

  “Is that really important now?” Gandalf asks.

  It isn’t.

  “No. Let’s get out of this place before someone organizes a search.” Austin’s mind races ahead, planning how they will turn off the flashlight, hug the wall and creep down the murky corridor of the administration wing, every step taking them farther away from Tobias. Hopefully he’s still bound and gagged in the basement interrogation room, but he’ll soon figure out a way to get free. They will make their way around the corner to the locked doors of the women’s section. Hopefully the locks will respond to her thumbprint, or be entirely nonfunctional with no electricity. Somehow, they’ll get in, rescue Norah, and get out.