They could just make out the source of the noise. A flat-bottomed boat was roaring away, its white wake visible against the blackness of the river. The fog was too thick to make out who was aboard, though Ryan thought that he spotted a splash of brilliant red that had to be a woman’s hair.
Then the boat was gone.
Wolfram’s voice insinuated into the mist from behind them. “Do come in out of the cold, Ryan, my old friend. We have a great deal to talk about.”
KRYSTY WATCHED the bright lights of the boat disappear into the clinging mist. It had been so easy, the snatch done with admirable efficiency by the half-dozen sec men.
They’d been waiting patiently in the shadows of the deck as she had led the others toward their cabins, all holding cocked automatics.
There was a shout above the noise of the thundering steam organ. “Got you cold!”
Jak stepped back and drew his Magnum, and was immediately clubbed to the deck from behind, falling unconscious at the feet of his attacker. “Don’t nobody else try to get fucking triple-stupe, and you all stay living and unhurt.”
“Pick up the kid,” he said to one of his colleagues.
“He’s not a kid,” Krysty told him, aware of what a feeble response that was.
“Don’t give a fuck, Krysty,” said the apparent leader of the ambush. “Keep your hands high while we take away the blasters. Then move on around the back of the boat to the left side.”
“Port,” Doc said mockingly.
The man laughed, the sound devoid of any humor. “That so? Best keep your flap shut, Doc, or you’ll be on the deck with the kid.”
The guns were removed with professional ease, though Krysty noticed that they had missed some of Jak’s knives. And they ignored Doc’s swordstick.
“Move it.”
“Could dive for it,” Mildred whispered. “Never hit us in this fog.”
“Shut the fuck up, you black bitch!”
Mildred turned instantly on the man, and he backed away from the flaming anger in her face, even though he was the one holding the gun.
Krysty thought about Mildred’s suggestion, and blanked it. Jak wasn’t a strong swimmer, nor was Doc. And they could easily get lost in the mist, in a river that was at least a half-mile wide. It wasn’t a gamble worth the taking.
She laid a hand on Mildred’s arm, calming her rage. “Later,” she breathed.
They moved around the stern of the vessel, along the port side, where Krysty saw a boat waiting, with a double outboard engine, tied to the lowered gangway. It began to look as if they were victims of a complex conspiracy that probably involved Captain Huston and some of his crew, including the invisible musician pumping away at the calliope, covering the noise of the boat’s engine as it had arrived alongside the Golden Eagle .
Three more armed men were already in the boat, one holding the tiller. The leader of the sec group gestured to Krysty, Mildred and Doc. “Down the ladder and into the boat. Quick and easy. Any of you make a break, the others die that moment.”
It was done smoothly. Jak was dumped, moaning feebly, in the bottom of the boat, while the engine revved up. Krysty stood in the stern, peering up toward the dim spot of golden light that was the bridge of the stern-wheeler, wondering if Ryan was there. If Ryan was still living.
At that moment the calliope stopped playing, and the boat moved away into the center of the Sippi. Krysty watched the Golden Eagle vanish behind her.
FOR A MOMENT Ryan considered plunging off the bridge into the river, but there were too many reasons not to risk it. The powerful motorboat was gone, and he could easily lose his way in the fog in the enormously wide Sippi. Also, the bridge was around sixty feet from the water.
“Please don’t make me have you both shot, my dear Ryan,” Wolfram urged.
Slowly he turned and followed J.B. into the brightly lit bridge, pulling the door shut behind them.
Chapter Twenty-Two
“Looks like we owe you a vote of thanks for looking after us so well, Captain,” Ryan said bitterly. “Carrying on the great naval tradition, huh?”