OP-DEC: Operation Deceit

Chapter 11

The limousine pulled out of the drive. There was no indication of all that went on inside the Healey home on Warren Street. Claire sat between her aunt and her father, watching his henchman. Carsten closely observed her in return, sitting on the drop-down seat across from them with the strange machine from the office nook. He probably recalled how antsy she'd been in the car on their way back from the theater. She glowered at him, boldly meeting his inspection. He smiled. Claire's eyes narrowed and she crossed her arms, placing her attention on the street flashing by.

No one spoke the entire way to the yacht club. Father's demeanor became more anxious the closer they drew. The car passed through the gate and up to the docks. The occupants got out, still holding their silence.

"Mr. Reiniger," Father said, breaking the silence first. "Please escort the ladies to the boat. Tell the Captain of our change in plans and send someone to fetch the bags."

Carsten did as he was bid like a good hound. He hinted at the gun aimed at them through his pocket. Aunt took hold of Claire's arm and led her down the docks toward the waiting yacht. She and Claire walked slowly, afraid he would dare to shoot them in the back right there.

Claire was surprised to see the yacht lit up and the crew working. She knew her father retained crewmen at all times, but it usually took a few days to get enough arranged for a long trip. He must have been planning this for some time.

Nearing the vessel, Claire noticed a strange man stood on deck waiting for them at the top of the gang plank. He wore the captain's hat, but it wasn't the captain Claire knew. This man resembled an old pirate, filthy and menacing. She hesitated, making her aunt pause as well.

"Keep moving," Carsten barked.

He held the gun in his hand, waving them onto the plank. The man on board smiled at the bold display. Claire quickly surmised these men were in on the plan, probably also German spies.

Claire climbed up the rocking plank. The rough-looking sailor grasped her arm and helped her onto the deck. He smelled like he hadn't bathed in months. His grimy beard and disheveled hair poking from beneath the stolen cap confirmed it. Claire stepped away as quickly as she was able.

"Where's the captain?" Aunt asked, having guessed the same as Claire.

The man murmured in German to Carsten. Carsten replied, stepping onto the deck. He handed the man the odd little machine. They laughed and then Carsten pushed Aunt away from the plank.

Falling naturally into his native tongue, Carsten spoke to his compatriot as they waited. Seeing him distracted, Claire inched closer to the gunwale, hoping to find an escape. The water would be freezing this time of year in the bay. She listened to it slosh against the boat. If they got over the side, they might be able to reach safety before they froze, but it wasn't likely. Claire noted the other boats bobbing in the bay. A buoy clanged in the distance. No one was around. The nearest lights came from almost a mile away.

"Come away from there." Carsten's voice startled her.

Carsten stood behind her, the gun pointed.

"You really didn't like me at all, did you, Mr. Reiniger?"

"Does it matter?" Carsten said.

"No," Claire said flatly, causing the ice to glint in his eyes. She frowned at the gun. "Is that any way to treat a lady?"

"Your father doesn't trust you," he said. "I don't trust you."

"I think you have the wrong idea of who you should trust here," Claire said. She sauntered to her aunt's side, leaving him incensed.

Father appeared on the plank and boarded his yacht. He bore an energized air, as if they were taking a holiday and leaving on a beautiful, calm morning. He drew in a deep breath of fresh sea air.

"It's turned out to be a perfect evening." Father smiled.

Several of the crew dashed out of the cabins and across the deck. They disappeared down the plank and along the docks. Then the cluster of shadows hurried to the waiting limo and gathered up the baggage.

"Shall we find our state rooms?" Father asked.

Carsten escorted them inside the living quarters, followed by the captain and Father. At the back snaked a railed ladder that descended below. Father took the lead at this point, walking them along the passage lined with polished wood doors. He stopped at one halfway to the end.

"The ladies will stay in here," Father directed. "Be sure to lock the door. I wouldn't want any accidents."

Carsten pointed his gun again. Claire and her aunt shuffled into the dark room and the cabin door closed and locked. Claire felt along the wall for a light switch. Finding it, she flicked it on. Aunt stood before the door with a glare that could fell a deer.

"What are we going to do?" Claire asked, leaning against the door.

"Pray and hope for a way outta this," Aunt replied.

"How could he do this?" Claire wondered aloud.

The tears finally came. Claire cried, folding and sliding down the door. Her aunt went to her, picking her up and guiding her to the bunk.

"You just hang in there," Aunt said, holding her close. She patted her arm and tsked. "Listen, if I know anything, I know O'Sheas are survivors. We're gonna get through this. You just hang in there."

Claire quieted her tears, listening to the hustle above decks. The crew prepared the boat to leave. When the engines roared to life and the horn blew, the women stayed huddled together on the bunk, quietly despairing of any escape from the clutches of their captors.