Chapter 23 - Twenty-Three Minutes
“Don’t touch anything,” Derek whispered.
“I noticed the bomb.”
He gave a broken laugh.
Victor had captured him outside a federal interview location using a compromised transportation contractor.
That told us something else.
Victor still had help.
“How long have you been here?”
“Since morning.”
“Can you move?”
“My ankle’s tied.”
I crawled toward him.
Above us, Victor shouted into a radio.
The boat turned sharply.
I found a kitchen knife inside a drawer and began sawing through Derek’s restraints.
The timer showed nineteen minutes.
My hands remained strangely steady.
Trauma does that sometimes.
The first catastrophe teaches your body what panic costs.
“You shouldn’t be here,” Derek said.
“That seems to be a recurring theme in my life.”
The rope snapped.
Derek rubbed his wrists.
“What now?”
“Can you swim?”
“Yes.”
“Good.”
The hatch opened.
Victor stood above us with the gun.
“Sit down.”
Neither of us moved.
“I said sit.”
“You’re going to kill us anyway,” I said.
Victor’s eyes narrowed.
“What makes you think that?”
“The timer.”
His expression flickered.
Derek looked at him.
“You’re insane.”
“No. I’m practical.”
Victor stepped down.
“The authorities will recover wreckage. Claire Cross dies heroically. You die as the disgraced nephew who helped abduct her.”
“And you?” I asked.
“Already gone.”
He had a smaller motorboat attached to the stern.
Of course.
“Your entire life is running away from evidence.”
“My entire life is understanding timing.”
Derek suddenly lunged.
Victor fired.
The shot deafened me.
Derek collapsed.
I screamed.
The bullet had struck his shoulder.
Not his chest.
I grabbed the metal coffee pot from the counter and swung it into Victor’s wrist.
The gun fell.
He hit me across the face.
Pain exploded behind my eye.
I fell against the cabinet.
Derek kicked the gun away.
Victor grabbed him by the injured shoulder.
Derek screamed.
I reached for the knife.
Victor saw it.
He released Derek and backed toward the stairs.
“You think this saves you?”
“No.”
I held the knife between us.
“It delays you.”
The timer showed twelve minutes.
Victor smiled.
“You cannot disarm it.”
“Can you?”
He said nothing.
Good.
He needed time too.
Above us, helicopters grew louder.
Victor ran.
I followed.
He reached the stern and began lowering the motorboat.
Derek stumbled behind me, holding his bleeding shoulder.
A helicopter appeared over the water.
Federal agents shouted through a loudspeaker.
Victor fired toward it.
They pulled away.
He jumped into the motorboat.
I saw the release rope.
And acted.
Before he could cut free, I wrapped the line around a metal cleat and locked it.
Victor started the motor.
The smaller boat surged forward.
The rope snapped tight.
Victor was thrown backward.
The boat spun violently.
Derek laughed despite the blood soaking his shirt.
“Nice.”
“Get a life jacket.”
Timer.
Eight minutes.
We needed off the sailboat.
Federal rescue vessels approached but could not come too close while Victor fired.
Derek and I pulled life jackets from a storage locker.
Victor climbed back onto the sailboat from the stern.
His face was bleeding.
His calm was gone.
“You stupid old woman!”
There it was.
The rage beneath sophistication.
He raised the pistol.
Derek stepped in front of me.
“No!”
Victor fired.
The shot missed as the boat rolled.
I grabbed a flare gun mounted beside the emergency cabinet.
I had no intention of shooting him.
I fired into the sail above his head.
The flare struck fabric.
Fire erupted.
Victor ducked.
Smoke filled the deck.
The helicopter moved closer.
Five minutes.
“Jump!” I shouted.
Derek hesitated.
“Now!”
We climbed the railing.
Victor grabbed my ankle.
I kicked.
He held tighter.
“You don’t get to win!”
I looked down at him.
“This was never about winning.”
I kicked again.
His grip broke.
Derek and I jumped.
Cold water swallowed us.
My body remembered the mountain creek.
For one terrible second, I was back beneath Colorado trees.
Then my life jacket pulled me upward.
I surfaced.
Derek emerged nearby.
Federal boats raced toward us.
Behind us, Victor climbed onto the motorboat.
He finally cut the rope.
He sped away.
The timer reached two minutes.
Agents pulled Derek aboard first.
Then me.
“Get down!”
We hit the deck.
The sailboat exploded.
The blast punched across the water.
Flames rose into the gray sky.
Victor’s smaller boat disappeared behind smoke.
When the air cleared, he was gone.
Agent Ross grabbed my shoulders.
“Are you hurt?”
“My pride.”
“Claire.”
“I’m fine.”
Mostly.
Derek was transported to a hospital.
The Coast Guard launched a massive search.
Victor’s motorboat was found two miles away.
Empty.
Blood on the seat.
No body.
He had reached the marsh.
Again.
Always disappearing into land other people considered empty.
That evening, wrapped in a Coast Guard blanket, I called Aiden.
He answered immediately.
“Nana?”
“I’m okay.”
“You promised.”
His voice broke.
“I know.”
“You promised you wouldn’t disappear.”
“I didn’t.”
“You almost did!”
I closed my eyes.
He was right.
“I’m sorry.”
Silence.
Then he whispered, “Come home.”
“I will.”
“When?”
“Tonight.”
“No more traps?”
I looked at Agent Ross.
She looked guilty.
“No more traps.”
“Promise?”
This time I understood what the promise meant.
Not that danger would vanish.
That I would stop believing I had to face it personally.
“I promise.”
After I hung up, Ross sat beside me.
“We’ll find him.”
“I know.”
But the marsh stretched for miles.
Victor was wounded.
Desperate.
Cornered.
And men like him were most dangerous when the world they controlled disappeared.
Somewhere beyond the reeds, a siren wailed.
Then Ross’s radio crackled.
A patrol officer had found blood near an abandoned road.
And footprints.
May you like
Heading toward St. Simons.
Toward home.
