Dead Halt

Chapter One

“For God’s sake, we can’t last out here much longer. It’s getting worse by the minute. We’ve got to make port while we still can. It’s our only chance now.”

Rory Milne knew Earl Reid was right and that Reid was an experienced seaman who knew the area like his own backyard. Although Reid owned the Ventura, the 190-foot topsail schooner, Milne still had the final say on whether they tried to ride out the storm or whether they headed for the shelter of the nearest port. Reid always had reservations about the arrangement but the money he was being paid had helped to ease his conscience. Now he knew his fears had been well-founded. But there wasn’t anything he could do about it without Milne’s authorization. He waited anxiously for Milne to come to a decision …

The Coast Guard had issued a storm warning for the Cape Cod area earlier that afternoon. Ten on the Beaufort Scale. Winds of up to fifty-five knots. It was due to hit Cape Cod around ten o’clock that evening. Reid had been confident they could ride it out. The Ventura had done it before. But when it struck, Reid immediately knew it was no ordinary storm. The winds were gusting at up to eighty knots and the waves were already reaching heights of twenty feet. They were in a hurricane. And all the time the winds were increasing. The Ventura was reeling under the onslaught and Reid knew it would only be a matter of minutes before she foundered. They had to make for the Nantucket coast. And time was running out. Fast …

Reid couldn’t wait any longer for Milne to come to a decision. He swung the wheel hard to starboard, a plan already taking shape in his head. He knew there was little chance of the Ventura reaching the sanctuary of Madaket Harbor in these conditions unless he used the huge seas to help him maneuver the schooner into the harbor. It was something he had never tried before. But he could still vividly remember the day when, as an eight-year-old, he had watched from his bedroom window as his father had used a storm off Martha’s Vineyard to help him steer his crippled fishing trawler back to port. His father had turned the trawler into the path of a towering wave and used it to propel the trawler into the mouth of Edgartown Harbor. Admittedly, the trawler had been a lot closer to the harbor at the time and the storm wasn’t nearly as severe as the one they were in, but Reid knew it was now their one chance of survival. The risks were enormous but he had to chance it.

He was still turning down sea when a towering wave seemed to lift the Ventura momentarily out of the water before crashing her down into the path of another wave which broke across the bow, smashing the wheelhouse window, and drenching the two men. A sliver of glass sliced across Milne’s cheek as he was thrown back heavily against the bulkhead. Reid clung to the wheel as he fought desperately to turn the schooner toward the Nantucket coastline. Milne struggled to his feet and wiped the back of his hand across his bloodied cheek. His eyes were wide with fear. Reid glanced at him but said nothing. He wondered if he also looked that frightened. These were certainly the worst conditions he’d ever encountered in his fourteen years at sea.

“Look,” Milne shouted above the howling wind.

Reid followed Milne’s pointing finger. At first he couldn’t see anything. Then he saw it. A flashing light in the distance. The lighthouse off Madaket Harbor. Reid checked its bearing. The lighthouse was now forty-five degrees on the starboard bow. Reid had thought he had been heading toward the light. Perhaps initially he had, but then the waves had battered the schooner back off course again.

“Make for the lighthouse,” Milne yelled.

“Are you crazy?” Reid screamed back. “It’s there to warn us off the rocks. I’m making for the harbor. It’s our only chance now.”

“Where is it–”

Milne’s words were cut off as another wave smashed over the decks, sending a cascade of water into the wheelhouse. Milne was knocked back against the door with such force that it burst open and the scream was torn from his lips as he tumbled out onto the deck. A wave swept across the deck and Milne clawed desperately for the guardrail as he felt himself being washed toward the ship’s side. Reid grabbed the radio handset and brusquely ordered the other three crewmen up on deck. For a moment he was caught in a dilemma. If he left the wheel to help Milne the schooner would be blown even further off course and possibly broach in the enormous seas. But what if the crew didn’t reach Milne in time? Milne was essential to the whole operation. Even if they did reach port, the operation would have to be aborted without him. And that meant Reid wouldn’t be paid the remainder of his money. A considerable amount of money …

Reid secured the wheel and as he struggled toward the door another wave buffeted the side of the schooner, throwing him to the floor. He looked around frantically for Milne, and for a moment he couldn’t see anything. Then he noticed a pair of hands gripping the base of the guard rail. The rest of Milne was dangling precariously over the ship’s side. Reid knew that Milne couldn’t hold on for more than a few seconds. He shouted to him but the wind tore the words from his lips the moment he opened his mouth. Then he noticed the Jacob’s ladder spread across the deck a few feet away from him. He made his way onto the deck to where the ladder lay. He looped his arm around the rope then, dropping onto his stomach, squirmed his way toward the guard rail. He closed his hand around the cuff of Milne’s windcheater but his fingers were numb and he couldn’t get a proper grip on the material. He pulled himself forward, reaching down over the side to get a hold of Milne’s windcheater. He felt his fingers slipping again. At last one of the crewmen appeared behind Reid and, inch by inch, they hauled Milne up toward the deck. Then a second crewman joined him and helped to haul Milne up toward the deck. Milne’s black hair was plastered against his pale face and the blood was streaming down his cheek from the gash inches below his left eye. As he reached up to grip the guard rail his rescuers saw his eyes widen in horror.

The two crewmen were still turning to look behind them when the towering wave smashed down on to the Ventura, hurling them overboard. Reid screamed out in pain as he was slammed face first against the hull, his arm still secured around the Jacob’s ladder. The reflection of the deck lights illuminated Milne struggling in the water a few feet away from the hull. Almost within arm’s length. Reid stretched out a hand toward Milne. Another wave struck the side of the boat and when Reid resurfaced Milne had disappeared.

The third crewman had secured himself to the stanchion with a rope and had managed to clamber back aboard the pitching vessel. Now he appeared above Reid and began slowly to haul in the Jacob’s ladder, dragging Reid from the grip of the churning seas. Once on deck Reid slumped back against the deckhouse and wiped the hair out of his eyes. Blood poured down his face from the gash on his forehead but he was numbed by the cold and felt no pain. He scrambled to his feet and staggered back into the wheelhouse, grabbing the helm again and looking around desperately for the lighthouse beacon. It was nowhere in sight. He checked the ship’s head again. The schooner was heading in a southeasterly direction. He was totally disoriented and didn’t know where he was anymore so how the hell could he hope to work out a course to steer? He wiped the blood from his eyes and looked around as the crewman entered the wheelhouse. The crewman shook his head as if in answer to the question Reid was about to ask him. Now there were only the two of them. The lighthouse beacon suddenly washed across the Ventura’s bow again, this time no more than a few hundred feet away from them. Reid swung the wheel violently as he tried to bring the schooner around in a desperate attempt to avoid the rocks. But he knew he was now at the mercy of the seas.

Seconds later the Ventura shuddered as the hull was sheared open on the rocks. Reid yelled abandon ship but another enormous wave dashed the schooner once more against the rocks. The crewman screamed as he lost his balance and disappeared over the side. Reid watched helplessly as another wave crashed over the man and he was gone. The Ventura was already listing badly and Reid knew it would only be a matter of minutes before she broke up and sank. Gripping the guard rail tightly in both hands, he made his way toward the lifeboat. Again the lighthouse beacon lit up the schooner. Reid estimated that it was now only a hundred yards away. He had to try and reach it in the lifeboat. His feet were suddenly knocked from under him as the Ventura’s bow slipped beneath the waves. As he struggled to regain his footing another wave smashed down onto the doomed schooner, tearing the hull in two beneath the waterline and catapulting him into the water. He fought his way to the surface but barely had time to draw breath before the next wave tossed him angrily against the hull, knocking the wind out of him.

The lighthouse beacon scythed across the water, momentarily illuminating one of the Ventura’s life buoys which was floating within a few feet of him. He made a desperate grab for it.

The beacon’s next rotation picked up the empty life buoy as it was swept out to sea …

The hurricane had caught the residents of Nantucket Island completely by surprise. Fortunately there had been only minimal damage to buildings as it skimmed the edge of the island before finally blowing itself out somewhere over the Atlantic Ocean. But had the hurricane changed course the damage could have been far worse. And now the islanders were demanding an explanation from the meteorologists on the mainland as to why they had only forecast a storm warning.

But while their parents harangued the authorities that morning, the children were more interested in combing the beaches and coves in search of anything that might have been washed ashore. Ten-year-old Richard Stegmeyer had called his two best friends, Andrew Mulgrew and Tony Styles, the moment he woke up, and told them to come over to his house straight away so that they could get to Surfside Beach ahead of their schoolmates. After a hurried breakfast his mother had told him that he was to take his seven-year-old sister, Sally, with him. He had been horrified at the idea but no amount of persuasion would change her mind. If he wanted to go to Surfside Beach then he would have to take Sally with him. So when Andrew and Tony arrived the four of them set out on their bicycles for the beach. Sally had lagged behind from the start but Richard knew better than to ride off without her. He had been grounded in the past for not looking after her properly.

They didn’t make for the main beach. That would already have been scoured by others. No, like most kids of their age, they had their own area where they could go when the main beach was packed with noisy tourists. They left their bicycles in a clump of trees and hurried down excitedly onto the sand. Andrew immediately made for an outcrop of rocks a hundred yards away and Richard had to stop himself from chasing after him. His mother had given him strict instructions not to go on the rocks. Normally he’d have disobeyed her but Sally would be sure to tell. Tony gave him a quizzical look then shrugged and ran after Andrew. Richard was staring disconsolately after his friends when a small hand suddenly tugged at his T-shirt.

“What’s that?” Sally asked, pointing to something which lay on the sand beyond the rocks.

Richard started toward the object and as he got closer realized that it was a life buoy. He dropped to his knees in the wet sand and turned it over. The words “Ventura–Milford” were written around it in black letters. He knew Milford was a small fishing port on the Connecticut coastline about a hundred miles south of Nantucket Island. He shouted to Andrew and Tony and when their heads appeared above a rock he brandished the life buoy triumphantly above his head. They scrambled over the rocks, jumped onto the sand, and ran over to where he stood.

“Where did you find it?” Tony asked breathlessly.

“Right here,” Richard replied, grinning.

“I saw it first,” Sally added defiantly but the boys ignored her.

“Do you think it was caught in the storm last night?” Tony asked, looking out to sea.

Richard shrugged. “We could phone the Milford harbor master later this morning when my parents are at work. He could tell us about the Ventura.”

“Yeah, neat idea,” Tony said, nodding his head.

Sally suddenly tugged again at the back of Richard’s T-shirt. He brushed her hand away but she continued to pull at him insistently.

“What?” he asked sharply.

“What’s that over there?” she asked.

Something was bobbing in the shallows close to the rocks. Tony glanced excitedly at Andrew then, kicking off his sandals, he ran toward the water. Andrew also kicked off his shoes and sprinted after him.

“You stay here,” Richard said to Sally as he slipped off his plimsolls.

“Why?”

“Because it’s dangerous down there,” Richard replied, tossing the plimsolls onto the sand.

“But you’re going down there.”

“I’m older than you,” Richard retorted. “Now stay here. I’ll tell you when it’s safe to come down.”

“Promise?”

“Yes, just stay there,” he shouted over his shoulder as he ran down to the water. “What is it?” he asked excitedly.

“A crate,” Tony replied through gritted teeth as he and Andrew struggled to pull it toward the beach. “Jesus, it’s heavy.”

“Well, don’t just stand there!” Andrew chided, flashing Richard an angry look.

The three boys managed to get a grip on the wooden crate and after some difficulty finally dragged it up onto the beach.

“Now what?” Tony asked, slumping exhaustedly onto the sand.

“We open it of course,” Andrew retorted.

“Yeah,” Richard agreed.

“How?” Tony asked.

“There must be something we can use,” Andrew replied, scanning the beach around them.

“Use your penknife,” Tony said.

“It wouldn’t be strong enough,” Richard retorted. “The blade would snap. You two go and look amongst the rocks. There’s sure to be something there. I’ll wait here.”

“Can I come down now?” Sally called out after the other two had headed off toward the rocks.

Richard beckoned her toward him as he took a closer look at the crate. It was roughly four feet long and two feet wide but bore no markings of origin on any of the sides.

“Maybe it’s treasure,” Sally said behind him.

“Yeah, sure,” he muttered.

Andrew and Tony returned a minute later with a piece of driftwood they had found in a pool by the rocks. Andrew managed to wedge it under the lid and gritted his teeth as he slowly forced the lid up enough for Richard and Tony to get their fingers underneath it. He continued to lever the lid with the piece of driftwood while Richard and Andrew pulled at it with their hands. Richard gave a whoop of delight when it finally came loose under their sustained pressure. A sheet of black tarpaulin had been secured around the contents of the crate. Andrew took out his penknife and sank the blade into the tarpaulin. He sliced it open then pulled it apart. Inside was a row of wooden boxes, each roughly forty inches in length, packed between layers of polystyrene. He removed one of the boxes, noticing that there was another one underneath it. He placed the box on the sand and, using his penknife, carefully loosened the nails at one end of the box. Then, hooking his fingers under the lid, he pulled it open.

“What is it?” Sally asked, struggling to see over their shoulders.

“It’s a rifle,” Richard said, looking up slowly at Andrew. “Do you think all the boxes contain rifles?”

“Dunno,” Andrew replied, then removed another box and used his penknife to open it. It, too, contained a rifle which, like the first, was wrapped in a transparent sheet of plastic.

“What are we going to do?” Tony asked, glancing nervously at the rifles.

“We’ve got to call the cops,” Richard said. “You three wait here. I’ll ride to the nearest pay phone and call them. OK?”

Andrew nodded.

“Put the boxes back inside the crate,” Richard told the others. “And guard it with your lives.”

“You can count on it,” Andrew replied.

Richard swallowed nervously then turned and ran back up the beach to where he had left his bicycle.