Double Jeopardy

39

Ed swam, his lungs bursting, until he bumped his head hard on the hull of his boat. Breathing hard, he pulled himself along the deck to the stern, where there was a boarding ladder. Arriving there, he realized that he had left the dock lights on and one of them hung directly over the boat, illuminating every square foot of it.

Ed breathed hard for another half a minute, to get enough air into his lungs to shout, then he hollered,

“Sally!” No response. Once more. “Sally!”

She opened the door wide and stood there, sheltered from the view from the house next door. “Ed?”

“Turn off the dock lights, then the inside lights, and stay low and well away from the windows.”

“Done!” she shouted back and closed the door. A moment later the dock lights went off, then the interior lights. Ed, who was freezing now, pulled out the boarding ladder built into the stern, climbed up and over, and lay in the darkened cockpit, heaving in air and trying to gain strength. Finally, he was able to crawl forward through the saloon and down the companionway ladder to the head below, where he showered off the salt water and rubbed himself down with a thick, dry towel. Then he shucked off his wet clothes and wrapped the towel around himself, waiting for what remained of his body heat to warm him.

That done, he found a change of clothes and got into some khakis and a polo shirt, dry underwear and socks, and a spare pair of Top-Siders. He found a bucket and stuffed his wet clothes into it, and tossed it into the cockpit. He crawled back up the stairs and into the saloon, where he found a bottle of whiskey, poured himself one, and sat on the floor, drinking it and pondering his circumstances. He had one more lap to run in this race: from the boat, up the boardwalk, across the front porch, and into the house, where the thought of a warm woman waiting helped him recover his strength.

He transferred his pocket things from wet to dry pockets, then he realized that somewhere, on the run or the swim over, he had lost his 9mm auto from its holster. He made his way back below, and using his flashlight, lifted the mattress on the double bunk, tapped in the combination of the safe there, and retrieved a.380 pistol and another belt and holster. He strapped it on, secured the safe, and crawled back above.

He resisted the temptation of another drink, since he had to be able to run another twenty yards pretty quickly. Finally, he peeped over the instrument panel and at the twins’ house. Nobody on the wraparound porch, nobody visible inside.

“What the hell,” he said aloud to himself. He stood up, grabbed the bucket and carryall, then placed his other hand on the gunwale and vaulted onto the dock. He ran and simultaneously yanked the small pistol from its holster. He made the porch and stood with his back flat against the front door, panting. The door was locked. He knocked sharply on it. “Sally? Open up!”

He heard the latch work, then the door opened, and she yanked him inside by his belt. They wrapped around each other. “Don’t ever scare me like that again,” she said.

“I’ll work on that,” he replied.

“You need a drink.”

“You’re right.”

Still keeping low, they both had a drink.

“The lights are off over there,” Sally said, getting to her knees and looking toward the twins’ house. “I expect they’ve gone to bed.”

Ed got up, closed the blinds, and turned on one small lamp. Then it came to him: the twins’ bed. He emptied his carryall, fished around, and came up with the little radio controller for the detonators. He took a breath and pushed the button. Nothing. The little red light had not illuminated. Well, the thing had just taken a swim in salt water, hadn’t it?

He found some batteries, tossed the old ones, then went into the bathroom and rinsed the radio thoroughly, then pointed the hair dryer at the radio until it was dry and warm to the touch, then he inserted the fresh batteries. Waited a minute. He wanted to see this happen. He went back into the living room, switched off the lamp, then pulled back the curtains. “Watch this,” he said to Sally. “I hope they’re in bed.” He pressed the button on the radio. The red light came on and stayed on. Nothing else happened. “Shit!” he screamed.

“What’s wrong?” Sally asked.

“The house was supposed to explode.”

“Well, that was uncooperative of it, then.”

“The duct tape,” he said.

“What duct tape?”

“I dropped it in the hurry to get out. They found it and figured out what it was for.”

“What was it for?”

“To hold a block of plastique in place under their bed.” The phone rang and Ed grabbed it, half expecting it to be the twins. “Yeah?”

“It’s Stone. Is something supposed to happen?”

“Yeah,” Ed replied, “only I fucked up, and in a big way.”

“Explain, please.”

Ed explained.

“I thought the pros knew to clean up after themselves when they’ve left a bomb under somebody’s bed.”

“I believe they covered that in explosives class, but in my haste not to get shot, I neglected to check off that box.”

“I take it you didn’t get shot?”

“No, but I had to slide down a drainpipe, run thirty yards, dive into sixty-degree water, then swim in the dark over to my dock, none of which I’m in shape for. I’ll spare you the rest of the details.”

“Did your controller get wet?”

“Yes, but I dried it.”

“Well, at least you’re okay.”

“Sure, but now the twins have four ounces of C-4 in their possession, and I have a feeling they’re going to figure out how to use it.”

“Well, they’re not going to figure out how to use it tonight, so you might as well get some well-earned rest. That’s what I’m going to do.”

“What a good idea,” Ed said, then hung up.

“I suppose that was Stone,” Sally said.

“Yes, and he didn’t berate me.”

“You took care of that yourself.”

“Do you think you could get my clothes off and get me into bed?” Ed asked. “Because I think I’m going to collapse.”

“One of my favorite things to do,” she said, and began to work at it.

Three minutes later Ed was snoring.