Evil's Root

Chapter 19

Barry sat in the deck chair, one hand holding the broad-brimmed hat on his head and the other gripping a tall gin Collins as he watched Heidi in a skimpy bikini handle the helm with practised ease. The balance of his embezzled stash had been transferred with surprising ease, right from the boat, into the joint account and the briefcase was secured in Heidi's personal safe below decks.

He had no doubt that her threats would be fulfilled if he presented any problems; the demonstration wiped that right out of his head. The sun felt warm on his bare legs and arms, giving him a sensation of worry free relaxation, and he almost lost track of the fact that he was effectively a prisoner on the boat.

His captor was every man's dream, no doubt, but Barry felt a definite loss of control over his life. He wondered if Doris had missed him or if she was still making lists, or taking brownies to the ladies guild and clucking on about her lot in life.

"Would you like to steer for a while, Barry?" Her voice came musically on the breeze.

He looked around, still seeing nothing but water and shrugged.

"Where to?"

"Just keep it on the same course."

"Course to where, Heidi? Dammnit all, if we're going to be partners in this getaway, I should at least know where we're going."

"Santa Catalina, Barry. And if we like, any of the other Channel Islands."

"Why there?"

"Because we can for one. And it's small, mostly tourist and far enough away from the mainland to give us a breather. The boat doesn't have unlimited range."

"You have this all worked out, don't you?" He joined her by the helm, setting his drink in the holder on the console.

"I told you, Barry, I like to be in control."

"So why suddenly are you giving me control of the boat?"

She put his hand on the wheel and stepped behind him. "I'm not, Barry, I'll still be in control."

He felt her hands slide around his waist, and he gripped the wheel with all his strength, praying that with his eyes jammed shut, he could stay the course.

ööööö

Benlow banged down the phone in disgust. Planes had to file flight plans. Trains had schedules to follow - hell, even cars were partially controlled by traffic constraints. Boats? Shit, boats could just pick up and leave and go wherever the hell they liked. He knew that wasn't entirely true, they had to register at each port they entered, but the fact that Heidi van Rugel just sailed off into the sunset left him with an entire Pacific Ocean to search.

He called his contact at the Coast Guard and pleaded for a workup of possible destinations for the Iron Tulip based on its size, engines and fuel capacity. Two hours later his return call netted him the only obvious places and although it narrowed Benlow's search, it still covered a hell of a territory.

Through a process of logic and guesswork, he settled on the obvious—Avalon on Santa Catalina. A call to the law enforcement agency on the island gave him a less than thrilling contact in Detective Morris Uplander, newly promoted and sounding more than eager for some action.

Benlow did his begging act with his Captain, and after listening to a string of abusive threats about wasting department budgets and time, he received his permission and made arrangements to fly by helicopter to the island and meet with Uplander. He would defer as much as necessary, if only to keep things calm and professional.

The man striding across the small landing site looked like a squarer version of a young Mickey Rooney. Benlow crouched and clutched his travel bag as he scurried from beneath the helicopter blades and met his host hand-to-hand with a vigorous, pumping handshake.