Long Way Down (28 page)

The air gauge indicated Sam had little left when J.T. pointed to the plane and swam into the hatch. Sam followed and they scanned the deck and seats again. The dead man still sat there, awaiting his final destination. They found nothing else. Sam motioned to J.T.’s air supply and pointed to the surface. They went back to the rope and swam to the top.

“That was worth the trip,” J.T. said, taking off his fins. He sounded disappointed.

“Yeah, that bird is probably worth a hundred thousand.”

J.T. nodded. “You never asked what I got for the other pieces. You want to know?”

“Sure, but let’s get started, we have a lot of hard riding ahead of us.”

“The mask brought the most,” J.T. said, as he started the engine. “I got two-fifty for it. But I got only a hundred out of the rest. Still, that’s a lot of money.”

“Sure is. Get this deathtrap going.”

“I’m still puzzled why you didn’t want any of the money.”

Sam knew what J.T. had on his mind. “Yeah, well, you earned it.”

J.T. paused, then said, “You sure there isn’t something you want to say about that statue?”

Sam shook his head. “Nothing I can think of.”

J.T. sighed and started the engine. The boat rumbled for several seconds before he put it into gear and rammed the throttle forward.

The sun lay on the horizon by the time they threw the lines to the man on the dock. He looked relieved that they had made it back with his boat and gear. J.T. tipped him a large bill and then remained quiet as they ambled to the rented car and rode back to the hotel.

“How about breakfast?” Sam asked when they entered the lobby.

“Nah. I’m going to catch the first plane out. I’ll settle up with you later on these things we found.” He had an edge in his voice.

The elevator door opened and J.T. stepped inside. Sam shrugged, went into the restaurant and ordered eggs and bacon. J.T. had obviously followed Sam when he got the real statue from Lenny, and thought he deserved part of it. Sam hadn’t asked him to come along on this project to begin with; J.T. had invited himself. He’d helped, no doubt about that, but Sam had compensated him well, including the extra gold pieces they’d just found. He had made no promises concerning the statue.

The waiter poured coffee and the satellite phone chirped. Sam took it out of his pocket and answered.

“That creep blindsided me,” J.T. said, his voice labored.

“What creep?”

“Grimes. He hit me with something and knocked me out when I opened the door to the room. I just came around and he’s taken Amy and those gold pieces we found.”

Sam got up, hurried from the restaurant to the lobby, and looked outside at the parking area. He caught a glimpse of Grimes driving a white Taurus out of the lot in the opposite direction from the airport. Amy sat in the passenger seat.

J.T. had the keys to the rental car, so Sam caught the elevator and headed for J.T.’s room.

“Are you okay?” Sam said into the phone.

“Yeah, I think so. I have a cut on the side of my head, but the bleeding is almost stopped.”

“Grimes just drove out of the parking lot. I’ll be at the door in a few seconds for the car keys.”

The elevator opened and J.T. stepped inside, his hair matted in a bloody spot on the side of his head. He pressed a damp washcloth to the spot and looked at the blood.

“I’m going with you,” J.T. said. His pupils had dilated, and Sam wondered if he had a concussion.

They reached the car and Sam drove. Grimes couldn’t be too far ahead, but he could have gone anywhere. Since he hadn’t turned toward the airport, that might mean he arrived by boat or seaplane.

“Don’t you have a brochure with a map of the island? We need to know where the marinas are located.”

J.T. opened the glove box and found a map.

“There’s a big marina a few miles up ahead.”

Sam drove as fast as he could without running them off the road, and they reached the place in about five minutes. A couple of white vehicles sat in the parking lot, neither one a Taurus. They parked at the marina office and went inside. A slim man with skin that looked like old leather sat behind a desk. Sam asked about Grimes and Amy. The man spoke with an English accent and said about a dozen cars had come through that morning, but neither fit Sam’s description. They started to walk out when Sam thought about something else and turned around.

“Have you seen an old seaplane in the last day or so?”

The man with leather skin said, “Yes, a seaplane did come here last night, but we had no space, so I just sold them some fuel.”

“Do you know where they went?”

The man shook his head. “I called the marina up the road, and they didn’t have a spot either, so the pilot taxied the plane down the coast.”

“What’s down there?” J.T. said.

The man shrugged. “Just vacation homes.”

“Any of them have docks?”

“Certainly, some of them do.”

They got back in the car and rode further down the road. J.T. mopped his temple with the cloth and tossed it on the floor mat.

“How’s your head?” Sam said.

“I think I’ll live.” J.T. turned in the seat and looked at Sam. “You think he’s going to hurt her?”

“No. You said he brought her to the airstrip with him that day, so I’d say he just wants her back.”

“Yeah, but I don’t think she would have gone with him willingly. She screamed something when I entered the door, I guess trying to warn me.”

They drove for several minutes before spotting the Taurus. It sat behind a coral-colored house with only the rear of the car sticking out. The lawn, going to seed, had a For Rent sign stuck in the ground close to the street. Sam kept driving past and turned into a driveway a few doors down.

They didn’t have any weapons because they’d flown to the island on a commercial airline. Besides, Sam hadn’t expected to run into any trouble on Grand Cayman. They got out of the car and Sam retrieved the lug wrench from the trunk. Walking back along the street, they entered the yard with the sign and eased around the house to the Taurus, which sat empty. Sam looked through the driver side window and saw the key in the ignition. He heard the rumble of the seaplane and they eased through a thicket of palmetto and pines toward the noise, staying behind the cover of the trees where possible. The landscape cleared when they got close to the water and the seaplane came into view, tied at a dock about thirty feet away, engines idling, ready for takeoff.

“It took you long enough.”

Sam and J.T. turned around. Grimes stood next to a tree with a crutch under one arm and holding an Uzi pointed at Sam, looking better than the last time Sam had seen him. He still had some scars, but the dog bites on his face had healed, and he looked as if he might have had a recent bath.

“I don’t think you’ll be using that lug wrench. Drop it.”

Sam tossed the wrench in the grass, cursing himself for thinking Grimes would just slink away.

“Where’s Amy?” J.T. said.

Grimes waved the gun. “Forget about Amy. She’s going with me. Get on the plane. We’re going for a ride.”

“Where to?” Sam said.

“You caused me a lot of trouble, Mackenzie. Not to mention this.” He glanced down at the missing leg. “You two thought you’d seen the last of me when you left me to die down there in the Keys.”

“This is about revenge?”

“That’s right, I always pay my debts. Now, get on the plane like I said or I’ll shoot you right here.”

Sam and J.T. took their time getting to the dock and boarded, Sam wondering what Grimes had done with Amy. Randy stepped out of the cockpit and nodded to Sam. Smelling of rum and looking as if he might still be drunk from the night before, he helped Grimes through the hatch.

“Where is Amy?” J.T. said.

Randy shrugged. “Who’s Amy?”

“Shut up, Randy,” Grimes said, “and check them for guns.”

Randy started to say something, but looked as if he changed his mind when Grimes narrowed his eyes. He asked Sam and J.T. to empty their pockets. Sam had only the GPS unit and the satellite phone, both of which Randy let him keep.

Grimes closed the hatch, and Randy taxied the plane out of the harbor and took off. They seemed to be heading west toward Jamaica and flew for about an hour before Grimes spoke.

“Okay, this is where you two get off.”

Sam looked out the porthole and saw nothing but water down below. His heart raced and a bead of perspiration rolled down his cheek. He knew Grimes would stand them in front of the hatch and shoot them. They would fall out of the plane to the water below, and if they didn’t die from the bullets, the impact with the surface would kill them. He had to do something! How could he disable Grimes?

Grimes stood up next to his seat with the crutch under one arm and waved the Uzi toward the hatch. “Open the door,” he said to Sam.

He had to shoot them in the doorway so he wouldn’t damage the plane with stray bullets. Sam thought he would take a chance, maybe upset Grimes and buy some extra time. “Shoot us right here,” he said, keeping his voice steady and defiant.

J.T. had a worried look on his face.

Grimes thumped the deck with the crutch and moved closer to Sam’s seat. He stuck the tip of the Uzi to the side of Sam’s head.

“You think I won’t do it?” His eyes narrowed and his face reddened, as if he might pop a gasket. Then he sighed and turned his head toward the cockpit.

“Randy, put it on auto, and get back here and open the door.”

Randy turned around and grimaced. He unbuckled his seat belt and stood up, grabbing a bottle of rum as he did. He opened it, took a long drink and staggered down the passageway.

Grimes moved back, so Randy could get to the hatch. Randy passed between Sam and Grimes, and Sam sprang out of his seat. He grabbed the open rum bottle from Randy’s fingers, threw the contents at Grimes face and at the same time pushed Randy into him. Grimes screamed when the rum hit his eyes and he and Randy, already unsteady on his feet, toppled to the deck.

Sam grabbed for the Uzi, but Grimes, his eyes streaming tears, raised up and fired a burst of rounds. One of the slugs hit Sam in the upper arm and his arm felt as if it might drop off. Sam wrested the weapon away and hit Grimes in the face with the stock. Grimes fell back to the deck, unconscious.

The bullet had gone straight through Sam’s arm. Blood ran down and dripped from his fingers. Randy staggered to his feet. Sam pointed the Uzi at him and told him to get in the cockpit and take them back to Grand Cayman.

Sam turned to say something to J.T. and saw him looking down at a red spot blossoming on the front of his shirt. A bullet had gone through the back of the seat and exited through his chest.

“Hang in there, you’ll be okay,” Sam said and gingerly touched his shoulder.

“He shot me in the chest,” J.T. mumbled. Raising his head, he stared at Sam and said, “Am I going to die?”

“No, you’re not. I’m going to get you back.”

It would take an hour to return to Grand Cayman, and that might be too long for J.T. He turned toward the cockpit to ask Randy if they could get to Jamaica any quicker. Randy yelled something Sam couldn’t understand and came racing from the cockpit.

“The starboard engine’s on fire! We’re all going to die if we don’t jump!” Although he’d had several drinks too many, he stumbled to the rear of the cabin, snatched open a storage compartment on the bulkhead, and pulled parachutes out.

Sam glanced out the porthole. Sure enough, the engine was ablaze, and flames ran down the wing toward the fuselage.

Sam opened an overhead compartment with a red cross on it and found a first-aid kit with tape, gauze and a small knife. He put gauze compresses over J.T.’s wounds and piled on extra tape since they would be in the water. The color had drained from J.T.’s face, and his eyelids looked heavy as Sam put the shirt on him over the bandages. J.T. winced from the effort and said, “I’m not going to make it, Sam, I just know it. Tell Amy goodbye for me. Okay?”

“You can tell her yourself. But right now we have to get out of this plane.”

Blood streamed down Sam’s arm, and he cut a piece of the tape and wrapped it around his own wound. He dropped the knife into his pocket in case he needed it later.

Randy came back with two parachutes and life vests and handed them to Sam.

“What about him?” Randy nodded toward Grimes.

Sam glanced at the unconscious man on the deck. “Yeah, might as well take him, too.”

Sam helped J.T. with his vest and parachute and then strapped on his own. He opened the hatch and Randy asked for help with Grimes. Sam sighed and helped Randy put the parachute on him. They lifted him and dropped him next to the hatch.

“You’ll need to open his ‘chute for him,” Sam said.

Randy nodded and put his arms through the straps of his own parachute. “I’ve done this before. I am a pilot, you know.”

Sam turned to J.T. His eyes had glazed over and his face was pale.

“Can you stand up?”

“I think so,” he mumbled.

Sam glanced at the starboard porthole and saw only flames. It would be too late when the tanks caught fire. He popped the canisters that filled their life vests with air, helped J.T. to the hatch, and shoved him out the opening. Jumping out behind him, Sam saw J.T. tumbling in the air. Probably unconscious. Sam dived and tried to grab him, but J.T. careened away, still tumbling.
Got to get his parachute open. I can’t let him die.
Sam dived again and caught onto a strap. He held on for a few seconds, until they both stabilized, and pulled J.T.’s rip cord. The air caught the parachute and yanked J.T. away.

Sam saw the water coming up fast. He pulled his own cord and the straps jerked against him. Then his descent seemed to stop as he hung in a lazy panorama of sky and water, nearly impossible to discern where one stopped and the other began. His head felt light as a balloon, as if it might go into a spin. He looked up and saw only one parachute other than J.T.’s, and wondered if Grimes had made it. The seaplane, now more than a mile away, resembled a fiery kite with a black tail on the otherwise flawless sky. Then it exploded and became an expanding blob of smoke.