On Hurricane Island Page 17

  Still, she can’t help wondering how the two female prisoners connected and what else might be going on right under her nose. Could this be some sort of test Tobias set up? Or are the two women playing her for a fool? They’re older, smarter. It’s possible they planned the escape, bringing her along for her knowledge of the area.

  No, hitting Tobias was her idea and escaping is the logical and only possible consequence of that action. And if she’s honest with herself, it wasn’t totally spontaneous, not really. The whole time she watched Tobias interrogate—torment—torture—Gandalf in that freezing-cold room, the seed of the action was forming in her mind. The whole time she stared at that cowlick on the back of his head, her eyes were boring into bone and willing his skull to split open. She imagined his brains exploding, oozing their wicked contents onto the cold cement floor.

  “Do we have a plan?” Gandalf asks.

  Austin swallows hard and thinks about the cave and the hidden cove, about how Margaret’s letters might help save three lives. “I know a place we can hide for a while until the storm lets up.”

  “Is it very far?”

  Austin shakes her head. This woman might be a professor, but she doesn’t have a clue about Maine weather or surviving outdoors. About how narrow and slippery the ledge will be in the storm. She’ll learn soon enough.

  “How do we get off the island without a boat?” Gandalf asks.

  Even with a boat. Austin grew up with Pop’s stories about hurricane storm surges and riptides, how a watery vortex can appear without warning. But, one thing at a time. “My Pops will get us out of here. Now stop asking questions and pack.”

  Gandalf nods, and her elongated shadow on the far wall bobbles like a dashboard doll. Austin wants to laugh because the woman looks so absurd in her oversized yellow slicker, so totally un-professorial. Or maybe she wants to cry, because someone has to be in charge of keeping the three of them alive, and given the available choices, that someone seems to be her.

  36. RAY, 1:48 P.M.

  He isn’t sure why his landline is working or how long service will last. Better take advantage of it and make the last call. He stirs the spaghetti sauce simmering on the stove and sniffs. Too bad he won’t be home for dinner. Maybe Nettie will call her sister to come over.

  Checking the phone list thumb-tacked to the bulletin board, he dials Evelina’s office on Capitol Hill. He wraps the phone cord around his body and turns his back to the staircase. Nettie’s hearing isn’t so hot, except when he doesn’t want her to hear something. He expects Evelina to be at work on a Saturday afternoon, but is surprised when a girl sounding about fifteen answers the phone. He wastes precious minutes convincing the receptionist that he is Evelina’s kin, that his business involves the Congresswoman’s father Bert, and she will want to speak with him. Finally the girl agrees to put him through and the canned music clicks on to make him suffer while he waits.

  Before Evelina, no one from these islands ever served in Congress. Course she doesn’t live on Storm Harbor any more, but her father worked at the lobster coop until Henry offered him the job ferrying employees back and forth to Hurricane. When Evelina comes home during their recess, she talks with people and she listens. Most folks think she’s a pretty good advocate for the fishermen, even though they’re split on her vote against sending good money after bad in Iraq and Afghanistan. And Bert is so proud of her you’d think she was elected President.

  After a bit, Evelina’s familiar voice comes on. “Is my Dad okay?”

  “He’s fine.”

  “How’s the storm up there?”

  “Eye’s still a couple of hours away. Pretty wild up here and getting worse.” He pauses. “How’re you doing, cousin?”

  She laughs. “What do you want? You only admit to our family ties when you need a favor.”

  He tries to figure how to put it. His fear for Austin is getting in the way of his thinking. How much does Evelina know about the Hurricane Island facility? Did she support it or fight its placement in her backyard? Since it’s all supposed to be secret, the newspapers haven’t reported anything.

  “Well?”

  Might as well just jump in. “There’s a problem at the detention center on Hurricane.”

  It’s Evelina’s turn to hesitate. She’s probably trying to guess how much he knows. “What kind of problem?”

  “You know that our granddaughter Austin works out there, right? As a guard?” That’s good, he tells himself. Remind her that it’s her cousin’s kid involved here.

  “I didn’t know that.”

  “Only been there a few weeks. She hasn’t said much, but Nettie and I can tell she’s been bothered. Torn up.”

  “Has she told you why?”

  Austin hasn’t said anything, not really. He respects that in the girl. She’s loyal, even if the loyalty is misplaced when the people in charge are rotten.

  “Not until today,” Ray says. “She called me from work a little while ago, all upset. Mutiny is the word she used, but I think she means a takeover. She said something about torture and uh, sexual assault, and an out-of-control FBI agent.”

  “That’s just what we need. Abu Ghraib on home soil.”

  Is public relations her only concern? “There’s more, Evelina. Apparently my girl defended herself and two female prisoners against an attack by this rogue agent. She helped the two women escape.”

  “And you’re sure my dad is okay?”

  “No one’s hurt that I know of. Not yet.”

  “Well, that’s something.” She pauses. “Are you sure about your facts? A rogue agent sounds like a TV show.”

  Sounds pretty much like Washington politics to him, but insulting the woman won’t get Austin any help. “I’ve just got my girl’s word.”

  “Of course,” Evelina says. “Have you checked in with Henry Ames?”

  Shoot. He was hoping not to bring Henry into the conversation. He isn’t supposed to know Henry even works over there, though of course everyone does. Course, he’s also heard that Henry’s daughter Melissa now works in Evelina’s office. Too many cousins, just like Austin says.

  “No.” He draws the long vowel out for three beats to cover his hesitation. “Not directly. But sounds like Henry might be in some sort of trouble too, so I called his wife. And another thing, one of the detained women is a lawyer. With some outfit called the Human Rights Litigation Center.”

  “That certainly complicates things.”

  There is silence on the line. Ray waits. Where does the Congresswoman stand on locking up U.S. citizens? She might be deeply implicated in the bad stuff. That doesn’t sound like Evelina, but power can change people. And maybe kinship only gets you so far if reelection is coming up in just over a year.

  “The anti-terrorism services think they can get away with anything,” she finally says. “I have a friend, a mentor really, on the House subcommittee on Homeland Security. He’s been looking into human rights violations during interrogation. Frankly, I didn’t believe the things he told me. Maybe I should have.” Anger percolates in her voice. “What can I do to help?”

  That’s a relief, though he wishes he knew what to tell her. “I’m not exactly sure. Talk to your friend about it, I guess, and see what he thinks. I’m heading over to Hurricane soon. Your dad will help me get these ladies off the island. But we’ll need your help with the feds.”

  “What about Reuben?”

  Ray hasn’t thought to contact the sheriff, but Evelina is probably right about that. If things go well, they’ll need his help to secure the place. And, if things go bad, well, Reuben will know what to do.

  There’s a soft knock on the kitchen door. Ray stretches the phone cord across the room and opens it, waving Catherine in.

  “Would you call Reuben?” Ray asks. “Catherine’s here and we’d better get to Hurricane before it’s too late.”

  “Sure. And I’ll nose around and talk with my friend from the New York delegation.” Evelina pauses. “But I can tell you one thi
ng, there’s no keeping something like this quiet. News will get out; it always does. I’ll also call the Human Rights Center. That’s better than waiting for them to contact us. We’re talking press conferences, congressional inquiries, the whole shebang.”

  “I just want to get my girl out of there.”

  “It doesn’t work like that, not in government.”

  Ray hesitates. “Well then. One more thing you should know.”

  “What’s that?”

  “I gave your name and phone number to the family of the other woman, the one who was … mistreated over there.”

  “Do you mean tortured?”

  “Something like that.”

  Evelina doesn’t answer. Maybe this mess was too politically loaded for a sophomore Congresswoman from Maine.

  “Cohen is her name,” he continues. “Her friend, her girl friend, Jess Somebody, might get in touch with you.”

  “This gets better and better, cousin. I’ll get back to you.”

  “Thanks,” he says. “Try me at your dad’s work phone. I’m heading over there.”

  He hangs up and turns to greet Catherine. She’s Nettie’s cousin too, by marriage. A second cousin or maybe twice-removed but still, she’s family. Course that doesn’t mean they have to like each other. Ever since she married Henry Ames, Catherine became part of the better-than-the-rest-of-you branch of the family tree. He looks at her red-rimmed eyes and again considers waking Nettie. She’s so much better at comforting folks. No, smarter to let her sleep. That way, she can’t try to stop him.

  “You okay?” he asks.

  “What’s going on?”

  Ray takes his slicker from the hook by the door and grabs the box of Fig Newtons on the counter. “Austin called me just now. Said Henry’s second in command—”

  “Tobias.”

  “Yup, Tobias staged some kind of coup. He attacked my girl. She fought back and escaped with two female prisoners.”

  “I never liked that man.” Catherine shivers and pulls her raincoat tighter about her chest. “What did Austin say about Henry?”

  “Just that he’s in trouble. And that he’s sick.”

  Her face crumples.

  “Does he have some kind of medical problem?”

  “His doctor suspects a heart condition. Something that can mimic a heart attack. Henry refuses to have the tests, insists it’s just heartburn.”

  “Bert and I are going to get Austin off the island, along with the two women they’ve been holding. We’ll get Henry too.” What else can he do? The guy is family.

  “I’m coming with you.”

  Ray nods. That’s what he expected.

  Tiptoeing to the bottom of the stairs, he listens for Nettie. Better not to wake her. She’ll argue that taking the boat out in the storm is too risky, but of course she would want him to help their girl. He blows her a kiss, real soft, and leaves a note on the kitchen table. He turns off the flame under the spaghetti sauce and closes the kitchen door softly behind them.

  37. GANDALF, 2:01 P.M.

  Curled up on her cot in the storm-darkened room, Norah looks nothing at all like Gandalf imagines. For one thing, she is much smaller; suddenly the child-sized finger squeezed through the hole in the baseboard makes sense. In the circle of Austin’s flashlight, Norah’s face is dark against the white wall, but also pale, as if the skin is coated with a fine dust of despair. How long has Norah been in this place? Two weeks, maybe three, she said. Anyone would lose hope.

  Norah’s expression is perplexed, suspicious. “What’s going on?” she asks Austin, then points at Gandalf. “Who’s she?”

  “That’s Gandalf.” Austin tosses a pile of clothes onto the cot. “I thought you two knew each other.”

  “We have never actually met,” Gandalf says.

  “We’ve spoken through a hole in the wall.” Norah interrupts and turns to Austin, anger twisting her face. “A hole you guys cut in the wall to spy on us.”

  “Austin is helping us escape,” Gandalf says. “Put on some extra layers so we can get out of here.”

  “But …” Norah begins. She hesitates, then pulls a pair of fleece pants from the pile. She holds them against her body. The bottom six inches spill onto the floor.

  Gandalf leans against the outside wall, which groans with the unrelenting battering of the wind. She cannot wait to escape the building, even though it means exposure to the storm. She grabs another fleece hoodie and a pair of thermal long johns from the pile of clothing and shoves them into the duffle.

  Austin shakes her head. “Too much.”

  “I am already cold to my bones, and we’re still inside.”

  Norah looks up from stuffing socks into the toes of a large boot. “It takes weeks to get warm after that room.”

  “Why didn’t you warn me,” Gandalf asks, “about Ferret’s violence?”

  “Ferret?”

  “The guard. I don’t know his name, but he looks like a ferret.”

  Norah snorts. “He does.”

  “His name is Tobias.” Austin stands by the door and adjusts her backpack. “And speaking of the bastard, let’s get out of here before someone finds him.”

  “Finds him?” Norah asks.

  “We’ll explain later.” Austin braces her thumbs against her temples and digs eight fingers into her forehead.

  Gandalf’s brain races. Austin looks distraught; what if she is having second thoughts about helping them? She is taking an enormous risk for two women she barely knows. What will her supervisors do if they catch her? Charge her with treason? Court-martial? Is she military? She does not act like a soldier.

  “Are you in the Army?” Gandalf asks.

  “No, I’m a civilian, not that it matters. I’m royally screwed when they catch us. Let’s get out of here. Now.”

  Gandalf snaps her slicker closed. Austin said when, not if.

  Norah finishes rolling up the cuffs of her rain pants and grabs the duffle strap. “I’m ready.” She stops. “What about the male prisoners? Shouldn’t we get them out too?”

  Gandalf shakes her head; that is really not a good idea. “They might really be terrorists from Pakistan or Afghanistan or someplace.”

  “Relax,” Austin says. “This place is only for U.S. citizens.”

  “Besides, what makes you think they’re any more dangerous than we are?” Norah turns to Austin. “How many men are here?”

  Austin flashes her a suspicious glance, then shrugs. “I don’t know. Maybe twenty or so.”

  Norah stands up straight, hands on hips. “Are any of them actually guilty of something? Or were they picked up for no good reason, like us?”

  “How would I know?” Austin pushes past Norah and grasps the door handle. “You two can debate all night, or we can try to get out of here.”

  “Tell us the plan,” Norah says. “In case we get separated or something.”

  “I’ll show you.” Austin hands Gandalf the flashlight and digs into her pocket. She pulls out a folded package of blue papers, a crumpled duty roster, and a pencil stub. As she shoves the blue papers back into her pocket, something small bounces onto the bed. Austin snatches it up quickly, but in the flashlight beam Gandalf catches a glimpse of a ragged chunk of rock.

  Austin pushes the rock back in her pocket and slaps the roster face down on the bed. She aims the light at the blank page and draws a square in the upper left corner. “We’re here.” She makes an X on the right hand wall. “We’ll leave by this door, at the end of the corridor.” She draws a vertical line south that intersects a thicker horizontal line and then bumps into a large circle filling the bottom third of the paper. “Once we cross the road, we’ll be in woods until we reach the quarry.”

  “But that door faces east,” Gandalf says. “That’s where the worst wind will be coming from, because of the counter-clockwise hurricane pattern.”

  “No time for a science lesson,” Norah interrupts. “What’s at the quarry?”

  “I didn’t know that, about the
wind direction.” Austin looks at Gandalf. “You have a better plan?”

  “It depends on the exact path of the eye, and how big it is. People think that everything is easier once the eye passes, but it is rarely that simple. I wish I had my computer. Even my phone weather app could help us.”

  Austin reaches into her pocket for Gandalf’s phone, then pulls the universal charger from the backpack and plugs in the phone. When she turns it on, there’s a weak signal. “Quickly,” she says. “I can’t believe we still have cell service and it won’t last long.”

  The three women stare at the small flickering screen. Gandalf studies the sweep of red and orange splotches across the map. Finally she turns off the phone and looks up.

  Austin switches on the flashlight. “Tell us.”

  “I think the eye will be here in a couple of hours, though it is tracking to our west, over the mainland. That will slow the storm down some and reduce the wind speeds, but also makes it harder to predict.”

  “So we should wait for the eye,” Norah says. “When it’s easier walking, right?”

  “No.” Gandalf shakes her head. “The opposite. Once the eye passes, the eye wall that follows can be extremely powerful. We should leave immediately and try to get to your hiding place quickly. Hopefully our pursuers will wait for the eye and be stopped by the wall. Also, leaving by a south-facing door would be best.”

  “Great. So then the storm surge and riptides can get us,” Austin mutters. “Still, I like the idea of leaving right away. I want to get away from here now, before Tobias finds us. We can pick up the ropes at the mess hall door.”

  “What ropes?” Gandalf asks.

  “Blizzard ropes. They’re strung from building to building, so people don’t get lost in a bad storm. I can’t remember how far the network goes, but I think it takes us to the road.” She points at the thick horizontal line on the map. “The road connects the dock down here with the airfield at the top of the hill.”

  “Then what?” Norah’s voice is thin.

  “Across the road we follow the path through the woods to the old quarry.” She points at the lopsided circle. “We hide here. And wait.” She takes the phone from Gandalf and stuffs it into her pocket with the map. “Let’s get going.”