Ellery Queen’s Mystery Magazine. Vol. 137, Nos. 3 & 4. Whole Nos. 835 & 836, March/April 2011

A Penny for the Boatman by Doug Allyn

Multiple EQMM Readers Award winner Doug Allyn has displayed an amazing array of talents in his work for us in recent months. When we asked him to read a story by Clark Howard for our podcast series, we never expected the tale to be rendered with a theatricality worthy of a professional actor, nor did we realize that he would not only perform the music for the podcast but create his own arrangement. Now he’s completed an original musical composition for a podcast of one of his own stories. Don’t miss it; it’s coming up soon!

Raising her grizzled head, the black Labrador growled a warning, low in her throat. Luke Falk paused a moment, listening, then went back to his work, sanding the rounded keel of the pontoon in the open double doorway of his boat shop. His grandfather, fishing from his lawn chair on the lakeside deck of Falk Boatworks, paid no mind to the dog, either. Echoes roll for miles along the lakeshore and the Lab could hear visitors long before she saw them. On the isolated cove north of Point Amalie, the only sounds the men could hear were the waves gently lapping and the lonely cries of the gulls.

Annoyed, the Lab rose stiffly to her feet, stalked to the edge of the deck, and barked, a single whuff. This time her warning was answered by the roar of two vehicles speeding along the Point’s narrow access road.

Luke kept on working, shaving a twenty-foot pontoon down a final sixteenth of an inch. He barely glanced up as the two vehicles pulled out of the forest into his yard. Twin black Lincoln Navigators. Identical. The four men who piled out of the first car were also nearly identical. Hard black men in matching dark suits and sunglasses, they quickly established a defensive perimeter around the second Navigator, scanning every inch of the boatyard.

Their leader was nearly seven feet tall, with a shaved head, black suit, snow-white shirt with a red bow tie. His thin, hawkish face was highlighted by tribal tattoos on both cheeks. The oval lenses of his custom-framed sunglasses gave him an alien, praying-mantis look. He took a moment to look over the clearing, then stalked to the open shop door.

“Excuse me, I’m looking for the owner, Mr. Lucas Falk?” the African said politely. His accent was crisp and British.

“That would be me,” Luke said, straightening. He was dressed for work, sleeveless T-shirt, jeans, and cork boots, dark, shaggy hair hanging in his eyes.

“My name’s Deacon, Mr. Falk. I’m chief of security for Miss Aliana Markovic. Do you mind if my people take a quick look around the grounds?”

“Help yourself.” The question was academic anyway. The four dark-suited security types were already prowling through the yard. The search didn’t take long. The only buildings in the clearing were two open drying sheds with their tall stacks of curing lumber, a cabin, and the boat works itself, which extended out over the water on pilings. The buildings were rustic, but carefully crafted, hand built, using timbers taken from the surrounding forest.

As his men scouted the grounds, Deacon walked around the deck that circled the workshop. At the rear of the boathouse, at lakeside, an elderly man was sitting in a lawn chair, fishing off the dock. He was dressed in faded denims, with a seamed face the color of golden oak, his thick, silvered mane hanging loosely to his shoulders. The grizzled Labrador Retriever resting beside his chair growled a warning, her dark eyes locked on Deacon.

“Easy, Razz. Howdy. I’m Gus, Luke’s grandfather,” the old-timer said cheerfully, as though seven-foot Africans stepping onto his deck were an everyday occurrence. “I got cold Coors in the cooler if you’d care for one, Mr...?”

“Deacon,” the African said. “Thank you, but no. I’m working.”

“Relax, son, you’re safe as houses out here. Nobody lives on the Point but us, and this old dog can hear folks coming five miles away. She heard you twenty minutes ago.”

“We weren’t trying to be quiet, Mr. Gus.”

“She hears the quiet ones even quicker,” Gus said. “Are you sure you don’t want—?” But the tall man had already moved on.

Two bodyguards took posts outside as Deacon ducked through the boat-shed doorway. Luke kept working as the tall African moved warily through the building, occasionally picking up a hand tool for a closer look, a chisel here, a hatchet there.

The air in the workshop was rich with the sweet scent of wood shavings and spar varnish. A half-dozen cigar-shaped wooden hulls were laid out on trestles in various states of completion, their seams invisibly joined with pegs and wood glue. But for the bare light bulbs dangling from the ceiling beams, the workshop could have time-traveled from the last century. Or even the one before that.

Deacon made no comment until he opened a cabinet, revealing a couple of Winchester ’94 lever-action carbines plus an ’03 military Springfield bolt-action with a telescopic sight.

“What are these?”

“Hunting guns,” Luke replied without looking up.

“The Springfield was a sophisticated weapon for its time. What do you hunt with such a rifle, Mr. Falk?”

“I don’t hunt, my grandfather does. Me, I build boats. Would you like to see a boat, Mr. Deacon? If not, collect your little army, get back in your cars, and hit the road.”

For a moment, Luke thought the African might do just that.

Instead, he took out a cell phone, flipped it open, and pressed a tab. “All clear here,” he said.

The sparrow of a woman who stepped out of the second Navigator seemed much too small to merit all the drama. She was dressed in a simple black skirt and blouse. Her dark hair was covered with a black silk scarf, her eyes hidden by sunglasses.

If she was dismayed by the rough conditions in the shop, she gave no sign of it. Instead, she eyed the pontoon Falk was working on curiously, running her fingers over the wood. She gave Deacon a curt nod, and he stepped outside onto the deck.

“Are you famous, miss?” Luke asked, continuing to plane the long plank, filling the air with the sharp tang of raw pine.

“I beg your pardon?”

“You travel with quite an entourage. Are you a celebrity?”

“No, just a potential customer. I read about your boats in the Hammacher-Schlemmer catalog. They looked unique and quite lovely. Though at the prices they listed, I was expecting your establishment to be...”

“A bit less rustic?” Luke offered. “It’s a wood shop, miss. I build handcrafted boats. A shiny new factory would be a contradiction in terms.”

“Perhaps,” she said, sizing him up. Luke was slender as a railroad tie and looked just as hard, with a strong jaw, thick, dark hair, and a Semper Fidelis tattoo on his bicep.

“Do you know anything about boats, miss?”

“I grew up in Dubrovnik, Mr. Falk. I was sailing solo on the Adriatic at ten. Later, we lived in Venice, where even the taxis are watercraft.”

“Excellent,” Luke said, laying the hand plane aside. “Then suppose we skip the sales pitch. I’m lousy at it anyway. C’mon out back, let me show you a boat.”

From the back deck, a pier extended forty feet out into the bay. The sailboat moored at the end was unlike anything Aliana had ever seen. The wooden vessel was poised so lightly atop the water she scarcely seemed to be floating at all. Arched wings connected the central hull to the twin outriggers, giving her the look of a prehistoric bird. She looked more like a mobile sculpture than a sailboat.

“She’s a very... striking craft,” Aliana said quietly.

“She’s a trimaran,” Luke explained. “Two foam-filled outriggers mounted on either side of the central hull, hand carved from Sitka spruce, round bottomed for minimum drag. Her main mast is anodized aluminum, eighteen foot, forward mounted. She’s thirty-two feet long and nearly as wide, with a shipping weight of just under six hundred pounds. The cockpit seats four, but she’s much faster with only one or two. Multihulls slow down in a hurry if you overload ‘em.”

“Her deck isn’t spruce,” Aliana observed.

“You’re right, it’s not,” Luke acknowledged, surprised. “Because of the arch, most boatwrights use marine plywood but the Anishnabeg prefer—”

“I’m sorry, the what?”

“Native Americans, my grandfather’s people. Around here, folks call them Ojibwa or Chippewa, but Anishnabeg is their term for themselves. We were too busy grabbing their land to bother getting their names right. The lake tribes often framed their war canoes with red or white cedar. It’s resilient, its natural oils make it water resistant, and it’s soft enough to allow for intricate carving. For them, every boat was a work of art.”

“No more than this one,” Aliana said quietly. “The pictures in the catalog don’t do her justice, Mr. Falk. She’s magnificent. Is your hull design based on the Shearwater series?”

“You really do know boats,” Luke nodded in approval. “Actually, this design predates the Prouts Shearwaters by a thousand years. Ancient Polynesians built multihulled proas with rounded bottoms.”

“They never built anything like this,” Aliana said. “Can we take her out?”

“Sure, if you don’t mind shucking your high heels. I have extra deck shoes if you—”

“I’ve never worn shoes on a boat in my life,” she said, slipping off her pumps, leaving them on the pier as she stepped gracefully into the craft. “I’m not a civilian, Mr. Falk.”

And she wasn’t. After cranking up just enough sail to maintain headway, Aliana took the helm and guided the trimaran skillfully through the breakers near the shore and out into the bay. Seated in the stern, Luke coached her briefly on the boat’s behavior, but mostly he just watched. She was clearly at home at the tiller, absorbing his instructions and every quirk of the craft like a skilled rider learning the gait of a new horse. And she was a very quick study.

Before long, she relaxed, enjoying the ride. As they neared the open water of the bay, she took off her scarf, letting the lake wind riffle her dark hair, cropped short as a boy’s.

But as Luke started to winch up the mainsail, she shook her head. “No. Keep her short-sailed, please. Within sight of the shore.”

Luke glanced shoreward. The tall African was standing beside Gus’s chair, arms folded, watching them intently.

“You can’t demonstrate her properly this close to land, miss.”

“Deacon worries if I’m out of his sight. I’d prefer not to upset him.”

“You’re perfectly safe out here.”

“You create beautiful boats, Mr. Falk. Deacon’s vocation is keeping me safe. He takes his work very seriously.”

“So I gathered. Why all the bodyguards? Northern Michigan isn’t the Wild West.”

“America has the highest murder rate in the industrialized world. Michigan is its most violent state.”

“That’s in the big cities down below, miss, Flint and Detroit. Up here, you’re on the tip of the mitten. The nearest town is Valhalla and a Saturday night bar brawl is as rough as it gets.”

“Perhaps we live in different countries called America, Mr. Falk. Thank you for the demonstration, we should go back now. You’d better take the helm.”

“Whatever you say.” Luke shrugged, trying to hide his annoyance as they traded seats. But as he brought the craft about and headed back to the landing, he couldn’t help staring at the woman. She wasn’t conventionally pretty, but she was a striking figure. Drab as a sparrow and as alone as anyone he’d ever met. He wondered what her eyes looked like behind the shades... She caught his glance, and he quickly looked away.

At the dock, she stepped briskly ashore, slipped on her shoes, and retied the black scarf. Murmuring something to Deacon, she followed Luke into the boathouse, eyeing him curiously as he picked up the wood rasp and returned to his work.

“You weren’t joking when you said you weren’t much of a salesman, Mr. Falk. Fortunately, your handiwork speaks for itself. She’s a lovely craft. I’ll take her.”

“What?” Luke was so startled, he ran the rasp across his knuckles. “Damn!”

“Are you all right?”

“I’ll live,” Luke said, grimacing. “Did you say you want to buy the boat?”

“Yes, why?”

“You didn’t give her much of a test run, miss. And you haven’t even asked the price.”

“Very well, how much?”

“Sixty thousand dollars.”

“That seems little enough for such a beauty — you’re bleeding, Mr. Falk. Do you have a first-aid kit?”

“At the end of the counter, miss, but you needn’t—”

“Let me see to it. You’re bleeding all over that hull.”

Popping open the metal box, she quickly found disinfectant and gauze. “Give me your hand, please.” Reluctantly, Luke offered his wounded paw. She frowned, eyeing the new gash and a dozen more scars surrounding it.

“Sorry,” he said, “it’s been awhile since my last manicure.”

“You’ve never had a manicure in your life,” she said briskly, swabbing down the cut with disinfectant. “You needn’t apologize for using your hands to create beauty. I do business with manicured men every day. The planet would be a better place if most of them were stood against the nearest wall and shot. Hold still, please.”

Taking off her sunglasses, she expertly constructed a butterfly bandage from surgical tape and a bit of gauze and applied it to the gash. Luke scarcely noticed. Minus the glasses, her eyes were utterly magnetic, dark as deep water. And just as unreadable. Sensing his eyes on her, Aliana glanced up, meeting Luke’s gaze, and holding it. Taking his measure. Then she returned to her work. But she didn’t replace her sunglasses.

“That should do it,” she said briskly, pressing the bandage in place. “As for the boat, I’ll take her, but not at sixty. She’s worth seventy to me, so let’s make that the price.”

“A penny for the boatman?” Luke asked coldly.

“I beg your pardon?”

“It’s a poem, miss. Every kid in the north country knows it.

“It’s not a very... cheerful verse, is it?” She smiled.

“The point is, boating on the Great Lakes is serious business. Life and death, sometimes. Ask the crew of the Edmund Fitzgerald. But I’m not a ferryman, Miss Markovic, or a bellhop. You don’t have to tip me.”

“I wasn’t trying to insult you, Mr. Falk, I’m only saying sixty thousand for that craft isn’t nearly enough. How many hours did you work on her?”

“I’m — not exactly sure.”

“Why am I not surprised? Look at this place! You’re a marvelous artist, Mr. Falk, but no serious businessman could work here. It’s a freaking shambles.”

“I know exactly where everything is.”

“I don’t doubt that, but—”

Deacon poked his head in. “Is there a problem?”

“We’re haggling!” Aliana snapped. “Get out!”

Deacon got.

“I’m not talented, Mr. Falk, I can’t create beauty, but in my business I appraise merchandise and price it fairly every day. I won’t cheapen your work by paying you less than I know its true value to be. Trust me, I can afford it.”

“That’s not the point. I’m not a charity case.”

“I didn’t say you were,” Aliana said, exasperated. “Look, do you want to sell the damned boat or not?”

“Of course, but—”

“Fine! We’ll split the difference. The price is sixty-five thousand, or you can burn her at the dock for all I care!”

Luke almost told her where to stick her sixty-five. He took a deep breath instead. “You drive a hard bargain, miss,” he said. And they both burst out laughing.

“Done deal.” Aliana nodded. “I’d like her delivered to New York at—”

“Whoa, slow down, miss,” Luke interrupted. “Your boat isn’t ready for delivery. She has to be properly fitted to you. I’ll need to make some adjustments, then you’ll have to come back to be sure they’re right.”

“That’s simply not possible. My schedule—”

“I create custom crafts for a select clientele, Miss Markovic. They’re not toys or decorations, they’re meant to be used. If you haven’t time for a proper fitting, you’ll never be one with your boat, and I won’t sell her to you.”

“Dear God! Please don’t take offense, Mr. Falk, but I deal with a great many merchants. You are the rock-bottom worst salesman I have ever met.”

“I’m not a salesman at all, miss, I’m a boatman. And what is it you do?”

“I... deal in surplus commodities.”

“That’s awfully vague.”

Her taut smile was equally vague. “My business is my business, Mr. Falk. But I do want the craft, so I suppose I’ll just have to free up some time. What adjustments have to be made?”

“The bench will be custom carved to your size and the winches moved within easy reach. And she’ll need to be named, of course. What will you call her?”

“I... hadn’t given that much thought.”

“Why not the Aliana? It means morning star, doesn’t it?”

He could almost hear her defensive shields clicking into place. “How would you know that?” she asked suspiciously

“I read a lot, miss. Call her whatever you like. I’m just saying Aliana’s a pretty name.”

“It’s tempting,” she said wryly. “I doubt anyone else will name a boat after me. But no. She should have a name of her own. What was that poem you recited?”

” ‘A Penny for the Boatman’?”

“Right. Since we had so much trouble over her price, we’ll call her the Penny.”

It was a day for visitors. Barely half an hour after Deacon and Aliana roared off in the twin Navigators, an unmarked blue Chevy Blazer rumbled into the boatyard. Two men in summer-weight suits climbed out, looking around warily. The older man was balding, fortyish, and pudgy, with dark rings under his eyes. He looked like he hadn’t slept in a decade. The younger was bullet-headed, wide as a linebacker, with fiery red hair and an attitude to match.

“Federal agents, ATF,” he announced, flashing a badge in Luke’s general direction. “I’m Agent Gordon Larkin, he’s Ridley. Are you Lucas Falk?”

“Guilty,” Luke said. “But I’m a bit behind on my federal alphabet. What’s ATF?”

“Bureau of Alcohol, Tobacco, and Firearms, Mr. Falk. Why was the Markovic woman here?”

“She was shopping for a boat, why?”

“Just answer the questions. How many men in her crew?”

“I didn’t count.”

“A woman shows up in the middle of nowhere with a small army and you didn’t notice?” Larkin snorted.

“She had an entourage, sport, so does Madonna. What is all this?”

“I talked to the tall one,” Gus offered, coming around from the deck carrying his fishing pole. “Said his name was Deacon. Seemed like a nice fella.”

“Butt out of this, pops, I’m talking to Mr. Falk.”

“We’re both Mr. Falks,” Gus said mildly, “I’m Luke’s grandfather. Taught the boy everything he knows. Most folks call me Gus, not Mr. Falk. But nobody calls me pops, sonny. It’s disrespectful.”

“No offense intended, Mr. Falk,” the older agent put in. “But we’re dealing with a matter of national security here, so—”

“Which nation?” Gus interrupted. “We got a slew of ‘em up here. The U.S. of A., Canada across the lake, France, England, the Cree Nation, Ojibwa and Odawa tribes have all claimed this ground, one time or another. Fought for it, too. Which nation do you boys work for?”

“The United States of America, grandpa,” Larkin said, flushing dangerously, “and you’d best show a little respect—”

“Lighten up, mister,” Luke said, cutting him off. “He’s jerking your chain. Grandfather, give me some space with these guys, okay? The sooner I figure out what they want, the sooner they’ll be gone.”

“Not soon enough,” Gus grumbled. “That redhead’s got no manners — yeah, yeah, I’m going,” he added, before Larkin could react. “Me and Razzy will be out back fishin’. If you need help bouncin’ these two, you just whistle, Grandson. I’ll be happy to oblige. C’mon, girl.” Gus and the old dog disappeared around the back of the shed, with Gus muttering to himself all the way.

“That old man—” Larkin began.

“Is a full-blooded Cree chief,” Luke finished. “He won the Silver Star in Korea before you were born, and he’s right, you’ve got lousy manners. Now tell me what you want, or take a hike.”

“You don’t talk to a federal agent like that,” Larkin blustered.

“Will everybody just calm down,” Ridley said, waving off his partner. “We’re all Americans here, Mr. Falk. The Markovic woman is a witness of interest in an ATF investigation. Would you be kind enough to tell us why she was here? Please.”

“She bought a boat,” Luke said reluctantly.

“What kind of a boat?”

“A custom sailboat, the only kind I build.”

“When will she take delivery?”

“Not for a few weeks. I have to make some modifications, then she’ll test sail it again.”

“Perfect,” Larkin said, nodding at his partner. “While you’re at it, you can install a device for us.”

“What kind of a device?” Luke asked. “You mean a bug?”

“That’s classified—”

“It’s also stupid,” Luke snapped, exchanging his rasp for a narrow-bladed hand chisel. “Your gimmick would have to be mounted in the cockpit and the woman knows boats. She’d spot anything out of place in a heartbeat. And don’t you guys need a warrant or something?”

“Leave that to us,” Ridley said. “We’ll install the device ourselves. Just let us know when she’s taking delivery.”

“I don’t think so.”

“This isn’t a casual request,” Ridley said. “You were a soldier once, Mr. Falk. Your country needs your help again.”

“Stow the flag, sport, you’re waving it at the wrong guy.”

“You don’t care about your country?” Larkin asked dangerously. “What kind of American are you?”

“The kind who served two tours in Iraq,” Luke said. “How about you, Larkin? Ever wear the uniform?”

“I’m serving my country now,” Larkin said.

“Wise move,” Luke nodded, carefully shaving down a seam with the chisel. “My time in Iraq didn’t go too well.”

“Why not?”

“I was stationed in the boondocks near the Iranian border. Because of suicide bombers, anyone approaching our position out of the desert got a warning shot at fifteen hundred yards. If they didn’t turn back, the next one was in the head. In fifteen months, I dropped eight intruders. One was a boy. Thirteen or fourteen, tops, wheeling a bicycle loaded with enough Semtex to erase half our base. They gave me a medal for capping him.”

“Then what’s the problem?” Larkin asked. “If he was armed—”

“Oh, I can live with popping that kid. Bad as it was, he was damn sure trying to kill us. It’s the others that bother me, the poor bastards who were probably lost, looking for water. Nobody gave a damn about them, not their government, certainly not ours. But I remember them. Can’t sleep sometimes, remembering them. So I took a Section Eight discharge and came home to the lake country. There’s plenty of water here. If you’re thirsty, you can drink all you want. But I don’t do government work anymore, guys. I never will again. Have a nice day now, hear?”

Luke turned to go back to his work, but Larkin grabbed his arm, jerking him around.

“We asked you politely, mister, but you’d better wise up. Nobody gets a pass from the War on Terror. One word from us and the IRS can shut down your little jerkwater shop and tie you up in court for the next ten years.”

“That’s a lot of trouble for a bug that won’t hear anything.”

“Just do as you’re told,” Larkin said, pulling Luke closer, face-to-face, “or you’ll have more trouble than you ever dreamed of.”

“You don’t know what trouble is, sport,” Luke said softly, flipping the chisel into the air, snatching it by the haft, and pressing the blade lightly against Larkin’s necktie. “Not even when you’re in it.”

On reflex, Larkin started to reach for his gun.

“I wouldn’t do that, young fella,” Gus said with a chuckle, stepping around the corner of the building, an old Winchester carbine cradled casually in his arms. “Don’t lose your head.”

“Everybody stand down!” Agent Ridley snapped, raising his hands. “We came here looking for cooperation, Falk, not trouble. If you won’t serve your country—”

“I’ve paid my dues, mister. In blood. This is my country now, forty acres and a workshop. And the only orders I take are for boats. Go away. Leave us alone.”

Ridley read Falk’s eyes, ice blue and just as cold. “Sorry you feel that way, Mr. Falk. If you change your mind, you can reach us at this number.” He laid a business card on the workbench. “Let’s go, Gordie.”

“You should have backed my play,” Larkin complained. They were in the Blazer, on the road back to Valhalla. “We could have busted them both for assault.”

“They aren’t suspects, Gordie, they’re citizens. We had no grounds for an arrest.”

“Lying to a federal agent’s a crime. Falk’s military records didn’t mention anything about sniper school.”

“The rest of it fits,” Ridley said. “Falk was assigned to an intercept unit near the border, and a Section Eight discharge for mental instability isn’t something a guy would brag about. I’m ninety percent certain everything Mr. Falk told us back there was the flat-ass truth.”

“That doesn’t mean we can’t lean on him,” Larkin argued. “We can order an IRS audit, have the bank cut off his credit—”

“There’s no time for that! HQ says the Markovic woman is a ‘significant witness.’ They need dirt on her in a hurry. Falk made head shots on a half-dozen people he wasn’t even mad at. He’s not somebody we can push.”

“Then we go at him another way.”

“How?”

“He said the Markovic woman would test the boat. If she’s on the water alone, and we find drugs on board, it’s open and shut. If Falk’s with her, all the better. We collar him, too.”

“You mean plant dope on board?” Ridley said, staring at this partner. “Our instructions are to plant a bug.”

“You’re the one who says HQ wants her in a hurry.”

“Jesus, you’re crazier than I thought. Didn’t you learn anything from that cocked-up shooting in Detroit? You wounded two civilians trying to bust a trucker smuggling cigarettes, Gordie. You’d be in jail yourself if your uncle wasn’t a deputy commander at Quantico.”

“But he is,” Larkin said flatly. “And if the bureau dumped a screw-up like me up here, what does that make you, Ridley? What’s your great sin?”

“I... have a... bit of a drinking problem,” Ridley admitted.

“So now we’re both stuck here in Siberia. Look, all the bureau cares about is results. My uncle still jokes about framing mob guys back in the day, and the War on Terror’s a bigger threat than the Mafia ever was. This Markovic broad is our ticket back to the world.”

“I’m only saying we have to be careful,” Ridley cautioned. “Another foul-up and we’ll both be unemployed, no matter who your uncle is.”

“Then help me do it right! Cover for me on our other cases, I’ll stake out Falk’s place. The first time he leaves, I’ll plant... whatever needs planting. When Markovic tests the boat, we’ll take her down, and be on the first plane out of here. Just leave it to me.”

Ridley eyed his young partner doubtfully, chewing his lip. Larkin had powerful family connections in the Justice Department. He was also a hothead.

But he was dead right about one thing. The Bureau didn’t transfer agents up to the big lake country to further their careers. Professionally speaking, they were both marooned. And Ridley had already been stuck up here for two years.

“All right,” Ridley nodded, swallowing his misgivings. “I’ll fake the paperwork on our other cases to cover you. The hills across from Falk’s cove are all state forest. Set up your observation post there. Do your binoculars have a built-in range finder?”

“Sure, why?” Larkin asked.

“Because if I were you, partner, I’d make damn sure I didn’t get any closer than fifteen hundred yards.”

For the next five days, Luke worked on the Penny, full-time, personalizing the rigging to match Aliana’s slight stature, artfully painting the name and a gleaming coin logo on her stern and both outriggers. Ordinarily, he found his work totally satisfying. After Iraq, he’d been so glad to get home to the lake country, he was sure he’d never leave.

But now, standing on the back deck with his morning coffee as the sun rose over the bay, he felt uneasy. Haunted. And not by the kills he’d made in a faraway desert.

He kept seeing flashes of the sloe-eyed woman, her raven hair riffling in the lake breeze, the concern in her eyes as she bandaged his hand. He felt oddly diminished by her absence, as though greeting a sunrise without her was unnatural now.

Maybe he’d been living alone in the boondocks with Gus for too long. Or maybe the army was right to give him that nut-job Section 8 discharge.

Or maybe it was the golden weather. In the lake country, July is more the end of spring than the onset of summer. In the shadowed forests, lingering traces of snow were still melting, trickling off to join the freshet streams wending their way home to the rocky shores of the Great Lakes. A final act of renewal in a season of change.

Aliana Markovic returned with her entourage a week later, rolling into the boatyard in the twin Navigators. Her bodyguards were every bit as thorough on their second visit, prowling the grounds like bloodhounds sniffing for prey.

Only Deacon seemed more courteous. Instead of rummaging through the shop, he simply escorted Aliana in. She was wearing a simple capri sunsuit, with an aqua headscarf, and Luke felt his breathing go shallow at the sight of her. He looked away, and realized Deacon was eyeing him curiously.

“Is anything wrong, mister?” the African asked.

“You tell me,” Luke said. Then told them about the two ATF agents.

“What did they want?” Deacon asked.

“Information about Miss Markovic.”

“And what did you tell them?” Aliana asked.

“The truth.” Luke shrugged. “You’re a customer, buying a boat. You don’t seem surprised they were here.”

“Nor do you,” Deacon noted.

“I was a soldier once, I’m used to unpleasant surprises.”

“Unfortunately, so am I,” Aliana sighed. “I’ll take the craft as is, Mr. Falk. Under the circumstances, testing her is out of the question—”

“Actually, it’s not,” Luke said quickly. “I have a motor launch moored beside the Penny. You can still put your boat through her paces, and your guys can tag along to keep an eye on things.”

“I don’t like boats,” Deacon frowned.

“Well, I do,” Aliana said firmly, “and I’ve come a long way to try this one. Have Ibrahim and Rakki follow us in the launch. I’m going sailing.”

Scampering happily into the Penny, Aliana took the helm, while two of Deacon’s men fired up the outboard in the powerboat, rumbling along in the Penny’s wake.

Still scowling, Deacon stood beside Gus’s lawn chair, arms folded, watching the two boats out on the bay.

“Beautiful day for a sail,” Gus observed. “Warm, though. Especially in that monkey suit. Can I offer you a beer, Mr. Deacon?”

“Thank you, no.”

“Still working, huh? How about your guys? Hey, fellas?” he called to the guards at the corner of the boathouse. “Anybody feel like a beer?”

“My men are from the Sudan,” Deacon said. “They don’t speak English.”

“No kidding? How do they manage in this country?”

“They don’t manage. I manage.”

“Ah, I see.” Gus nodded. “So? How do you say ‘anybody want a cold beer’ in Sudanese?”

“It’s better you don’t know that, Mr. Gus,” Deacon said, shaking his head. “I think you enjoy making mischief.”

“I’m surprised you noticed me at all.”

“Why?” Deacon asked.

“In this country, when your hair goes gray and you walk a little slower, you start to disappear, a little bit more each day. People talk past you at first, then after a while they look right through you. Like you’re already halfway to being your own ghost. Is it like that where you’re from?”

“Where I come from, it is well known that old lions are the most dangerous. As they near the end of their time, they lose the fear of dying. That is when they become man-killers.”

“I’m no man-eater, son, and everything scares me. Especially you.”

Deacon smiled broadly, showing canines that came to a point. “That’s not fear, Mr. Gus. That’s wisdom.”

“Sure you won’t take that beer?” Gus prompted.

Deacon eyed the old man curiously, his dark glasses and narrow jaw reinforcing his alien, predatory look. Gus met his gaze with utter innocence.

“An old lion who loves mischief,” Deacon mused. “Be careful, Mr. Gus. That’s a very dangerous combination.”

“I can’t believe how vast these waters are,” Aliana said, once she had the Penny past the breakers into the open. “It’s one thing to see the Great Lakes on a map, but out here? They’re not lakes at all, are they? They’re inland seas.”

Luke nodded, watching her. “The largest bodies of fresh water in the world.”

“But it’s all so... immense. Don’t you find it lonely here?”

“More peaceful than lonely. And it’s not always empty. Next week is the Mackinac Regatta. Two hundred and fifty craft will pass the Point, sailboats scattered from here to the horizon, as far as you can see. Heading for the Straits and then on to Chicago.”

“How far is that?”

“The race is over six hundred miles, but for boatmen, there’s really no end to these waters. My grandfather says that up in Cree country, around Nipigon or Lac Seul, his people can travel upriver a thousand miles, to Hudson Bay or the Great Slave Lake, and never set foot on shore. Free of the land and all its troubles.”

“Maybe that was true once, but nowadays, no one can hide. There are satellites above us that can count the freckles on the back of your hand.”

“But why should they want to? Who are you, Aliana? Why are those feds dogging you?”

“I’m truly not an important person, Mr. Falk, but...” She took a deep breath. “My father is an international arms merchant who deals in surplus munitions. He lives like a prince in Damascus, in a villa that once belonged to the Sultan of Oman. But the Arab world is stifling for a modern woman. I prefer to live in the West.”

“Why all the bodyguards?”

“I’m not a dilettante, Mr. Falk. We were not always rich. I have worked in my father’s business since I was a child. And please spare me the ‘merchants of death’ speech. Americans are our best customers.”

“Lady, I’m the last guy on the planet who can criticize your trade. I’ve worked at it myself. But why are the feds so interested in you?”

“Your government wants to make my father a double agent. But their track record in such matters is terrible. They would only get him killed. So he stays in Syria, a prisoner of his own success. And because I could be a valuable hostage to his enemies, I am always guarded.”

“Seems to me you’re practically a prisoner yourself.”

“Sometimes, it seems so to me, too,” she said with a wan smile. “But not today, out here on the water. I feel free here. Or I would if I didn’t have my two shadows along. It was very... considerate of you to provide my security people with a motor launch.”

“I’m sure Deacon thinks so, too. But then, he doesn’t know much about boats, does he? For instance, in a light chop like this with a quartering breeze, the Penny’s one helluva lot faster than that dory. With a bit more sail she’ll rise on her outriggers and dance across the waves like a gull. If a person wanted to feel really free for a while, she could zip in amongst those offshore islands and disappear.”

“You think?” Aliana asked, grinning as she cranked the mainmast winch, raising the sail another eighteen inches. The Penny responded like a quarter horse coming out of the gate, rising on her pontoons, scampering over the wave crests.

“Oooh, look at her go,” Aliana cooed, enraptured by the speed. “She can almost fly.”

Laughing like a schoolgirl, Aliana quickly left the powerboat far astern. The two bodyguards cranked the outboard motor wide open, but they only pounded the dory into the surf harder, soaking themselves with spray as the heavy craft plunged and bucked in the rough water.

Nearing the south end of the cove, Aliana artfully guided the Penny in among a cluster of wooded islets. Green alder and cedar, cloaked with wild grapevines, quickly closed in on both sides of them like a forest curtain.

Without thinking, Luke reached across and tugged her scarf loose. She shook her hair free, then glanced at him curiously.

“Why did you do that? Was this a trick to get me alone?”

“We’re not really alone. One of those ATF goons is parked in the state forest across the cove. He can probably see us from there.”

“Then let’s give them something to look at,” she said, leaning across the helm, kissing Luke hard on the mouth. Leaving him staring as she resumed her seat.

“What was that for?”

“Curiosity,” she admitted. “I’ve wondered what that would be like since the first day. Now I’m sorry I waited.”

“How did you know I wouldn’t be grievously offended?”

“I negotiate million-dollar deals for a living, Mr. Falk. I’m quite good at reading people. Were you offended?”

“I’m not sure,” he said, kissing her back, and holding it a bit longer.

“Nope,” he said, softly as he drew away. “Definitely not.”

She cocked her head, reading his eyes. And listening to the motor launch drawing closer.

“I suppose we’d better go back,” she said wistfully, wheeling the craft about. “Pity.”

She waved gaily at her bodyguards as the Penny flew past them, heading back to the dock. And Luke couldn’t keep his eyes off her.

“You have to come back,” he said suddenly.

“Why? The Penny performed perfectly.”

“She still needs a few adjustments.”

“What adjustments?”

“I’m a creative guy. I’ll think of some.”

“That would be a mistake for both of us,” she said, her mood darkening. “I know I’m no great beauty, Mr. Falk, but I’m not someone to be trifled with either. I’m a wealthy woman and you’re an attractive man who is, how should I put it? A bit casual when it comes to money?”

“Thank you,” he said.

“For what?”

“For the ‘attractive man’ part. As for the rest of it, you’ve got to be kidding. The Cree say that a man who has enough is rich enough. I have more than enough. I live the way I want, put a little aside for a rainy day, and donate a major chunk of my earnings to tribal charities. About half, I think.”

“You give away half your income?” she echoed, incredulous.

“I have sins to atone for. And I don’t need it. Every morning, the dawn turns this bay to gold. And in winter, the waters freeze the lakes into a diamond wonderland far as you can see. I don’t give a damn about your money, Aliana. I just want to see you again. To listen to you. And look at you.”

“Come live with me and be my love?” she said ironically. “In my cabin in the forest?”

“You’re way ahead of yourself. I was thinking more along the lines of ‘come let me buy you a cheeseburger.’”

She laughed in spite of herself. “I like cheeseburgers,” she admitted. “And where would we dine? At the local McDonald’s? You, me, and my entourage?”

“I didn’t say it would be easy.”

“It’s not possible. Life isn’t poetry, Mr. Falk, especially mine, I — why are you smiling?”

“Because I don’t believe you, lady. I’ve always understood boats and rifles better than women. But somehow... I can read you. The way I can read winds or currents or tracks in the forest. And I think you really want to come back, don’t you?”

“What do you mean?”

“It’s not a trick question. Are you happy with your life? Traveling with armed guards, living like a prisoner? Is that what you want?”

“Americans.” She shook her head. “You think everyone gets to live happily ever after.”

“It beats the alternative.”

“I didn’t choose my life,” she said evenly, “it chose me. But I have to live it. I have responsibilities.”

“To your family, sure. But not necessarily to your father’s business. Trust me, the arms trade won’t grind to a halt if you choose to do something else.”

“You don’t understand.”

“I understand better than you think. I had a choice like yours once. I chose to do my duty, for my country and my government. And I killed people in a faraway place and nearly destroyed myself. Take a lesson from my mistakes, Aliana. You can make a different choice.”

“What choice do I have?”

“A simple one, I think. You can keep moving, selling more weapons. Or you can step away, and spend time here, with me. And see what happens.”

“This is crazy,” she said, looking away. “You’re crazy.”

“Certifiable,” he agreed. “I’ve got papers to prove it. But that wasn’t the question. Do you want to come back, Aliana? Or not?”

“We have to go, right now,” Deacon said angrily as Luke eased the Penny to the dock. “There’s a watcher in the hills. One of those federal men, probably. This place isn’t safe.”

“Compared to what?” Aliana snapped, stepping gracefully ashore, slipping on her shoes. “Damascus? Kosovo? Will anyplace ever be safe enough for you, Deacon?”

“I don’t know, miss, but this place definitely is not. Is something wrong?”

“This damned boat won’t do at all! Mr. Falk needs to make further adjustments.”

“I’ll get right on it, miss, “ Luke agreed. “She’ll be ready to try again in a few days.”

“Out of the question!” Deacon said. “We’re too isolated here, too vulnerable. We can’t come back.”

“Damn it, Deacon, you’re my guardian, not my jailer!” Aliana flared, turning on him furiously. “I ordered a boat from these bumpkins and I want it properly fitted. If one agent hiding in the woods frightens you, maybe I should ask my father for a new security chief.”

“Perhaps you should, miss. We can both fly home tomorrow to discuss the question in person. And see which of us your father believes.”

Aliana went pale, reading the tall African’s face. But she didn’t back off an inch.

“Deacon, I love you like an uncle, you know that. But if you drag me back to Damascus, I swear you’ll die in the desert with your mouth full of salt!”

It should have been no contest, the seven-foot warrior glaring down at the tiny slip of a woman. But size and force of will have little to do with each other.

“If you insist, miss,” Deacon conceded grudgingly. “One more visit.”

“Thank you, sweetness,” Aliana said, reaching up to cup the giant’s cheek with her palm. “You’re my oldest and dearest. Shall we go?”

But as the security team headed for the Navigators, Deacon glanced back at Luke. He didn’t say a word. Didn’t have to. The fury in his eyes would have spooked a lion off a fresh kill.

“Maybe you should stay in town with Aunt Min for a while,” Luke said, standing with Gus, watching the Navigators roar round the cove into the forest.

“Aw hell,” the old man groaned. “You’re not getting involved with that woman, are you?”

Luke didn’t answer, which was answer enough.

“She’s a pretty thing, I’ll grant you that,” Gus conceded, “but you can buy pretty in a bottle at Walgreens. Didn’t you hear that ‘die with your mouth full of salt’ business? There’s a difference between a woman with spirit and one with an evil temper.”

“Which did my grandmother have?”

“Both,” the old man admitted. “But those were simpler times.”

“Better times,” Luke said. “That’s my point. We may have serious trouble coming, Gus. I can smell it on the wind, like a storm just over the horizon.”

“I feel it, too,” Gus agreed. “Don’t worry about me, Grandson, I won’t get in your way. Nowadays, I’m almost invisible anyway. “

“So they kissed, so what?” Ridley said at the stakeout later that afternoon. “Why should we care about her love life?”

“Because they went to some trouble to conceal it from her bodyguards,” Larkin said. “We could e-mail a warning to her father, stir things up.”

“How does getting Falk stomped by Markovic’s goons help us? I know the boat builder ticked you off, but stay on point, Gordie. We only want the woman. Did you plant a stash on her boat?”

“Haven’t had the chance,” Larkin admitted. “Falk’s up at first light, works in his shop until dark. He never leaves, and except for occasional customers, nobody visits. And that damned dog is around, twenty-four/seven.”

“You’d better figure something out quick. I can’t cover your ass much longer.”

“You won’t have to. I’ve got an idea.”

“What idea?” Ridley asked. But when Larkin ignored the question, Ridley didn’t press it. He really didn’t want to know.

The yuppie couple seemed a bit off to Luke, though he wasn’t sure why. They looked wealthy enough to be shopping for expensive toys. She was tall, slim, and blond, he was shorter and chunkier, but both dressed well and they were driving a vintage Mercedes 450SL convertible. They asked the right questions, or at least he did. She seemed a bit uneasy. Maybe they weren’t quite as rich as they looked.

They walked through the workshop and oohed and aahed over the Penny, but didn’t ask to take her out, so Luke wasn’t surprised when they drove off without placing an order.

“Who were those two?” Gus asked, wandering into the shop from the deck with Razzy at his heels. In the distance, the Mercedes was vanishing around the final curve into the forest.

“Potential customers,” Luke grunted, sighting down a spar, checking the curve.

“You sure?” Gus said. “While the husband was looking over the Penny, the woman ducked back into the shop. I thought she was looking for the john but she was only gone a moment. She gave her husband a look when she came out. Right after that, he checked his watch and said they had to leave—” He broke off as Razzy began growling low in her throat, her hackles rising as she stared down the cove road.

“Apparently Razz didn’t like them either,” Luke said.

“She never growls when people leave,” Gus said, frowning. “Only at strangers coming in.” Then they both heard it, the sound of engines roaring in the distance, drawing closer by the second as Razzy snarled louder in defiance.

Gus and Luke exchanged a split-second glance of understanding. “The woman,” Luke snapped as he ducked into the shop. “Where did she go in here?”

“I didn’t see,” Gus said, “but she was only in here a few seconds. It’ll be near the door.”

“Got it,” Luke said, snatching up a small paper bag stuffed behind a bench grinder and upending it. A small automatic pistol fell out, along with two glassine bags of white powder.

“What the hell is that?” Gus asked.

“About ten years in prison,” Luke said, removing the magazine from the gun butt, tossing it aside. Grabbing an acetylene torch, he opened the valves and lit it up.

“What are you doing?” Gus asked.

“Cooking.” Dropping the pistol and the packets onto a ceramic retort, he seared them with the torch, spraying the room with sparks as the pistol and powder disintegrated. “Who is it?”

“Them two feds from last week,” Gus said, “and they got a posse with ‘em.” The blue Blazer skidded to a halt, with a Valhalla county prowl car and a black police van close behind, flak-jacketed cops piling out while the vehicles were still rocking. A burly deputy carrying a riot gun came charging up the steps.

“Search warrant! Put your hands on the wall!”

“Screw yourself, fat boy,” Gus flared, folding his arms, blocking the doorway.

“I said move it!” Shouldering Gus aside, the deputy bulled into the shop, covering Luke, who carefully switched off his torch and set it aside. “Up against the wall, mister! Move! Get the dope dog in here!”

“Wait a minute!” Luke said. “You can’t bring a dog—”

But he was too late. A female officer leading a dope-sniffing Alsatian Shepherd had trailed the deputy up the steps—

Razzy exploded past Gus like an ebony rocket, barreling into the Alsatian, both dogs snarling and snapping at each other, whirling like demons. Taken by surprise, the lady cop tried to pull her dog off, but the Alsatian was too strong and his blood was up.

Leaping into the fray, Gus grabbed Razzy’s collar, and got his wrist torn open for his trouble. The raid was in total confusion now, cops yelling, dogs slashing at each other. Gus was still in the scrum, still trying to pull Razzy free when Larkin charged up the steps, weapon at the ready.

“Restrain your animal!” he yelled at Gus. Then he shot Razzy, the gun exploding like a thunderclap. The slug caught the old Lab high in the shoulder, tumbling her onto her back, yelping in pain, with the Alsatian in snarling pursuit.

With a roar, Luke came flying through the shop doorway, tackling Larkin chest-high, both men crashing through the deck rail, slamming to the ground, hard, with Luke on top. Slapping Larkin’s gun hand aside, Luke drove a fist into the agent’s face, flattening his nose. Before he could swing again, two deputies pinned Luke’s arms, dragging him off.

Scrambling to his feet, blood streaming from his mouth, Larkin drove a knee into Luke’s groin, doubling him over, then jammed the gun muzzle against his forehead, his eyes wild with killing fury—

“Hold it right there!” the sheriff yelled. “What the hell are you doing?” Sheriff Jerry Garrison was a big-bellied man, in a tan summer uniform. Pushing fifty, he was a bit slower than the others. He’d been last out of the car, but he was in charge now.

“Officer Kincaid, get your damn Alsatian into that building and get on with the search! Agent Larkin, if you strike that prisoner again you’ll be in the cell next to his!”

“Falk attacked me!” Larkin protested. “You all saw it!”

“Put a cork in it!” Garrison barked. “This is my crime scene and so far we’ve got no crime. Gus, are you okay?”

“Hell no!” Gus was sitting on the deck, cradling Razzy in his arms. “Your police dog tore my arm open, or maybe Razzy did, I ain’t sure. What the hell is this about, Jerry?”

“We’re executing a search warrant, Gus. This agent had a tip about drugs and illegal weapons on the premises,” Garrison growled, jerking a thumb at Larkin. “How about it, Kincaid? Find anything?”

“The dog got a little antsy by the rear door,” the lady cop said, emerging with the Alsatian firmly in tow. “There’s definitely no dope on the premises, and as for firearms, all we found was a rack of hunting rifles—”

“Those are mine!” Gus said.

“And we found this.” The lady cop held up the slim black magazine from the automatic. “Looks like it’s from a thirty-two auto.”

“What about it, Falk?” Garrison asked. “Where’s the gun it belongs to?”

“Ask Larkin,” Luke growled. “His stooge planted it.”

“Search again!” Larkin ordered. “The gun must be there!”

“I doubt that,” the lady cop said. “There was a puddle of slag metal near the clip, still hot. Looks like somebody melted something with an acetylene torch.”

“Is that true, Falk?” Garrison demanded.

“I use torches every day, Sheriff. I was using one when you guys drove up.”

“He must have destroyed the weapon,” Larkin snapped. “That proves it was illegal!”

“What was illegal about it?” Luke asked. “Stolen? Serial number filed off? How would you know that, Larkin? Unless you planted it?”

“The gun doesn’t matter anymore, Falk. You’re under arrest. Assault on a federal officer!”

“I wouldn’t push that, Agent Larkin,” Sheriff Garrison said sourly.

“The sonofabitch broke my nose!”

“And you shot his dog! Any north-country judge would cut Falk loose and hang your ass, if we had a death penalty. This is my jurisdiction, my call, and I’m making it. You got a bad tip, Larkin. We didn’t find any dope and there’s no law against owning a puddle of molten steel. Pack it up, people! We’re done! Gus, do you want us to run your dog in to the vet?”

“I’ll see to my dog, Jerry. The bullet’s through and through. That stupid bastard is a worse shot than he is a cop.”

“You’d better watch your mouth, grandpa,” Larkin said.

“And you’d better pay up your life insurance, mister,” Gus retorted. “You ain’t long for this world.”

“That’s it!” Larkin snapped. “Sheriff, arrest this man for threatening a federal officer.”

“That wasn’t a threat, sonny,” Gus said, “it was a fact. Mastodons used to live around here, saber-tooths too. People find their bones in these hills. Big critters, bigger than you, even. But too stupid to live. The way a man who’d shoot an old dog is too stupid to live.”

“Sheriff?” Larkin demanded.

Garrison sighed. “I don’t hear a threat. Only an old-timer talkin’ about dinosaurs. We’ve got no cause to arrest anybody except maybe each other for disturbing the peace. Let’s go, people! We’re out of here! You too, Agent Larkin. Move it.”

Luke was still clearing up the damage from the search, when Razzy growled from her bed, struggling to rise as Gus held her collar, trying to keep her from loosening her bandages.

Picking up his grandfather’s Winchester, Luke stood in the shadow of the doorway as the two black Navigators rolled into the yard. The three guards spread out, taking up positions around the yard. But instead of coming in, Deacon held the door open for Aliana, then folded his arms, waiting beside the vehicle as she stalked up the shop ramp alone.

Stepping inside, her smile faded as she read their faces. Kneeling beside Razzy, she patted her grizzled head. “What happened here?” she asked quietly.

“Your two feds raided us, with county law for backup. Looking for drugs, they said.”

“I’m terribly sorry,” Aliana said. “I should never have come here.”

“It’s a bit late for that,” Luke said. “What’s the rest of it? Why did you come? I didn’t call you about the boat.”

“No. My situation has changed as well. My father received an e-mail warning from federal authorities, probably the same agents who were here. They sent documents that show you were discharged from the army as unstable. They say you’re a danger to me, and offered me federal protection.”

“I was a little nuts after Iraq,” he admitted. “I must be over it, though. That piece of crap who shot my dog is still breathing.”

“A holy warrior,” she smiled wanly.

“I had my war, Aliana, now I just want a life. I can’t promise things will work out for us, but—”

“Our time together was a nice dream, Luke, but it’s morning now. Your government has voided my passport. My father fears I’ll be arrested soon, to be used as a bargaining chip against him. He’s shutting down our operations in America. I’ve been ordered back to Damascus.”

“He’s got a right to be worried,” Luke conceded. “Those two ATF clowns are off the leash. What will you do?”

“I’ll be safe at the Syrian embassy in Detroit. They can arrange a flight to Damascus for me. We have a magnificent home there. As a child I loved it, but now...” She took a deep breath. “I was wondering... if you’d consider coming with me?”

He stared at her.

“Come live with me and be my love,” he quoted dryly. “And do what, exactly? Build boats in the desert?”

“Do whatever you wish.”

“I’ve done my time in the desert, Aliana. Things went terribly wrong for me there. I can’t go back. I’m sorry.”

“I’m sorry too,” she said briskly. “I told you it was impossible, remember? Sell the Penny for me, Mr. Falk, donate the proceeds to your tribal charities if you like—”

“Luke’s grandmother was teaching second grade when we met,” Gus interrupted, stroking Razzy’s massive head. “I came down from Canada with a Cree logging crew. We were rough boys in those days, wore our hair long, sported buckskin shirts and skinning knives. Back then, folks didn’t call us Native Americans, we were just Indians. Wild ones at that. Most townies crossed the street to avoid us. Or spat in the gutter as we passed. Kathleen was no different. It took weeks to talk her into going out with me. An Irish girl, fair skin and freckles, fiery red hair, fiery red temper. But she was the perfect woman. For me, anyway.”

“I really must go,” Aliana said.

“Wait,” Luke said, waving off her objections, eyeing his grandfather curiously. “Go on, Gus.”

“Kathleen’s family cut her off when we got hitched,” the old man continued. “Mixed-race marriages were frowned on in those days. No one would rent us a room, let alone a house. So I bought this land, built a cabin for us here. Added the boathouse later, started crafting canoes for the tourist trade. Cree war canoes,” he added, smiling. “Tourists didn’t know the difference.”

“Where are you going with this?” Luke asked.

“North,” Gus said simply. “I didn’t take your grandmother back to Cree country because there was no work up there. No life for her. Even now, there’s not much. But as my grandson, you’re a Cree by blood. Entitled to full citizenship. And you have a two-year backlog of orders for boats.”

“You’re saying we could build them in Canada, in Cree country?” Luke asked.

“I don’t understand,” Aliana said.

“Across the great lake in Ontario, the Cree are a nation within a nation,” Gus explained. “American law has no authority there and even Canadian lawmen walk soft on tribal land. It’s magnificent wild country, even more beautiful than here.”

“You were right about the shop, Aliana,” Luke added, glancing around. “It’s too small. I need a new plant and new equipment, but I’m a terrible businessman. I could use a partner with international marketing experience, who loves boats. Do you know anyone like that?”

“Even if I did, they’ve voided my passport. I can’t leave the country.”

“Up here, the border is only a line on a map drawn across the middle of a lake.”

“But the satellites—”

“The Mackinac Regatta begins tomorrow, a three-day sailing race from Port Huron to Chicago. Hundreds of craft will take part and still more will carry judges and spectators. From fifty miles high in the sky, I expect sailboats all look pretty much alike.”

“It’s a very... intriguing idea. But I’ve brought too much trouble on you already. I’m sorry,” she said, rising, taking a last look around. “It’s simply not...” She broke off, eyeing Gus curiously.

“Not what?” the old man prompted.

“I was going to say it’s not possible,” she said. “But things were even more impossible for you and your Kathleen, weren’t they? So. Just for the sake of argument, maybe you should tell me a little more about this... boat race.”

Ridley was sitting at the bar, hunched over his third boilermaker when Larkin stalked into the Northview Lounge in Valhalla. The agent looked sour and surly, both eyes blackening above the bandage across his broken nose. Ridley looked even worse, green around the gills, like he’d been kicked in the belly.

Slumping onto the barstool beside Ridley, Larkin ordered a double scotch, neat, knocked half of it back with one swallow.

“What happened with Sheriff Garrison?” Larkin asked. “Did he give you any static?”

“He did a lot more than that. He’s filed a formal complaint with bureau HQ,” Ridley said. “We’re to report to Detroit first thing Monday morning to explain that cocked-up raid yesterday. You’re facing charges of fabricating evidence and reckless discharge of a firearm. We’re in a world of trouble, Gordie.”

“Balls! It’ll be our word against some hick-town sheriff and we’re federal agents—”

“That’s not the problem! Garrison staged that raid because you claimed you had a tip from a reliable informant.”

“Damn it, the dope was there!” Larkin snapped. “That freakin’ boatman must’ve found it—”

“The dope’s the least of our troubles. On Monday, the Detroit AIC will demand the name of your informant.”

“That’s confidential,” Larkin said automatically. “National security.”

“It’s not confidential from the Agent in Command, you idiot! You’ll have to give up their names, and I doubt very much that your college buddy and his girlfriend will hold up under questioning. Forget about saving your job, Gordie, we’ll be lucky to stay out of jail.”

“Never happen,” Larkin said slowly. “My uncle—”

“Can’t do a damned thing about this!” Ridley finished. “We’re looking at multiple felonies!”

“Sweet Jesus,” Larkin said, as the full weight of the disaster sank in.

“What are we going to do?”

“I don’t know. Bartender!” He held up his empty glass. “Again!”

“It’s all because of Falk,” Larkin muttered. “If he’d stood up for his country, none of this would have happened.”

“You can try that line on the AIC, but I doubt it’ll fly,” Ridley said.

“It’s not a line,” Larkin said grimly, taking a hit of his drink. “It’s the flat-ass truth. And maybe it’s not too late.”

“What are you talking about?”

“If we can deliver the Markovic woman, HQ will forget all about the botched raid. We can still pull this off.”

“How?” Ridley demanded. “We don’t even know where she is.”

“No, but I’m betting Falk knows,” Larkin said, slamming his fist into his palm. “If I ask him hard enough, he’ll damn sure tell us.”

“Jesus, Larkin, have you flipped? We can’t roust the guy. We’ve got no warrant, no probable cause for anything.”

“You’re right, we haven’t,” Larkin said, tossing back his boilermaker with a single swallow. “We’ve also got nothing to lose. Drink up, buddy, let’s move.”

“Where’s Falk?” Larkin demanded, as the two agents shouldered past Gus into the shop.

“He’s not here,” Gus said.

“We can see that,” Ridley said. “Where the hell is he?”

“I don’t know.”

From her bed, Razzy growled at the two federal men prowling the room. “That dog’s a slow learner, isn’t she, pops?” Larkin grinned, pulling his automatic. “She’s threatening me again. Now either tell us where Falk and the woman are or I’m gonna finish off your dumb-ass dog. And since I’m a lousy shot, it might take me four or five rounds.”

“You lowlife son of a bitch,” Gus said evenly.

Smiling thinly, Larkin eared back the hammer on his automatic.

“Luke’s in Canada,” Gus said, looking away, his eyes welling up. “The woman’s with him.”

“Where in Canada?”

“Safe. In the Cree nation in Ontario.”

“I expect the federal government can handle a few Indians.”

“Custer thought the same thing,” Gus said, sliding a cell phone out of his shirt pocket, flipping it open.

“What are you doing?” Ridley demanded.

“Calling nine-one-one, to tell the sheriff two burglars are waving guns around.”

“The hell you are!” Slapping the phone out of Gus’s hand, Larkin ground it under his heel.

“We’ll be going now,” Ridley said abruptly. “We’re sorry about the disturbance.”

“What the hell are you doing?” Larkin demanded.

“We’re too late, Larkin, they’ve gone!” Ridley snapped, holstering his weapon. “Let’s go. That’s an order!”

“Hey, Larkin?” Gus called after them. “I almost forgot. Luke left something for you.” Fishing an envelope out of his shirt pocket, Gus passed it to the fed.

Ripping it open, Larkin shook the contents into his palm. A single copper penny. “What’s this?”

“I don’t know, maybe a bribe. The price seems about right.”

“Just keep pushing me, old man,” Larkin snarled. “Your time’s coming.”

“No, my time’s almost over, sonny,” Gus said softly. “So is yours.”

“Don’t look at me like that, Razz,” Gus said, kneeling to check the dog’s bandages after the feds had gone. The Lab stared up at him, her liquid eyes dark with reproach. “I had to tell them. He would have shot you. Maybe both of us. They’re half crazy, those two, and about half drunk. Bad combination. I have to drive to town and tell the sheriff...”

The dog just stared up at him.

“You’re right,” Gus said, rising stiffly. “There’s no time for that. And we’ve had too much law around here already. You rest easy, Razz, I’ll handle this.”

“Why the hell did you back off without searching the place?” Larkin demanded. They were speeding along the coast road to Valhalla in the Blazer, Larkin at the wheel. “Falk could have been hiding on the grounds. Hell, he never leaves.”

“Falk’s not the hiding type,” Ridley said. “The old man said they’re gone and I believe him.”

“They may be gone,” Larkin snarled, “but they haven’t had time to cross into Canada, yet. We can notify the RCMP to grab the Markovic woman at the border, then take her into custody and work a deal with the agency.”

“We’ve got no authorization for that, Gordie, and we’re in too deep already.”

“We wouldn’t be if that freakin’ boat builder cared about this country — what the hell is all that?” Larkin asked, glancing out the side window at the lake. “What’s going on?”

Nearly fifty sailing vessels were already well above the horizon, tacking toward the shore, bucking the crosswind.

“The Mackinac Regatta,” Ridley said. “Biggest sailing race of the season.”

“Jesus H!” Larkin snarled, slamming on the brakes, skidding the Blazer broadside onto the shoulder, staring at the growing fleet of sails. “The woman’s got no passport. She can’t risk a border crossing, they’re going right now. They’ll slip through that mob out there to the Canadian side. We can still grab them.”

“Are you nuts? We’ve got no authority out there.”

“We’re packing all the authority we need,” Larkin said, slapping the butt of his Glock automatic. “There was a motor launch back at the boatworks. We’ll commandeer it, run them down, and bust them both.”

“For what?”

“Assaulting a federal officer,” Larkin said grimly, backing the SUV around, making a U-turn. “Falk already attacked me in front of witnesses. If I rough up the Markovic woman, he’ll try it again, guarantee it. And it’ll be the last mistake that half-breed ever makes!”

Matting the gas pedal, Larkin roared back toward the boathouse. Clutching the armrest, Ridley stared at his partner. Larkin’s eyes were wide and wild, so consumed with rage he could barely keep the speeding SUV on the road.

Ridley knew he should tell him to slow down, knew he should get the hell out of the car and run like a scalded dog. But he didn’t.

Because back at the bar, Larkin said one true thing. Grabbing the woman was their only chance now. They had nothing left to lose.

From the surveillance satellites wheeling high overhead, the Great Lakes looked like the Spanish Armada had risen from the deeps to take a hard run at Chicago. Over two hundred sailing vessels were strung out in a twenty-mile skein for the annual Mackinac Regatta. Battling the stiff onshore winds, the boats were veering and bucking like a herd of wild mustangs thundering over the plains.

As the leaders began rounding the tip of the Michigan mitten, a small trimaran began threading its way through the fleet, skillfully avoiding any interference with the racing craft.

Focused on maintaining headway against the wind, the racers paid no attention to the Penny. She was clearly not competing, since her course was more easterly, bearing toward the Ontario shore. And the couple nestled in the stern were obviously in no hurry at all.

Roaring into the boatyard, the two feds piled out of the SUV while it was still rocking, pistols drawn. Larkin was hoping for some static from the old man, but he was nowhere in sight. The wounded dog growled at them from the doorway, but made no move to rise as the agents sprinted past her to the powerboat moored at the end of the dock.

Leaping into the launch, Larkin fired up the motor as Ridley freed the mooring lines and scrambled aboard. Gunning the powerboat out of the cove, Larkin tossed his binoculars to Ridley.

“Find ‘em!” he shouted over the howl of the engine. “They’re out here somewhere!”

But all the damned sails looked alike to Ridley, as Larkin roared out into the bay, plowing through the outer ring of racers, leaving sailboats rocking in the launch’s wake, earning curses and shaken fists.

And then he spotted them! The bat-like craft was already a third of the way through the northbound fleet, bearing northeast.

“There!” Ridley yelled, lowering the glasses, pointing out the Penny. Falk spied the powerboat at the same time, and stood up to shield the woman.

“Federal officers!” Larkin yelled, pulling his automatic, firing a round in the air. “Halt where you are!”

Luke started to winch down the Penny’s sails, but didn’t move quickly enough for Larkin. The fed opened fire again, and these weren’t warning shots. He was aiming at Luke, shooting to kill. Wild slugs kicked up tall splashes on both sides of the Penny as Larkin struggled to steady his aim in the bucking motor launch. Other racers were shouting now, veering their crafts away from the gunfire.

Letting go of the wheel, Larkin stood up, grasping his weapon in a two-hand hold. Leveling his sights on Falk, he began squeezing the trigger — and a halo of red mist suddenly sprayed from his right ear. Stumbling sideways on rubber legs, Larkin toppled out of the launch, plunging into the waves with his pistol still clutched in his fist.

Ridley stared at Luke and Aliana, who were clearly unarmed. Then he wheeled around, scanning the other boats around him, filled with stunned, staring witnesses.

There wasn’t a weapon in sight. Yet his partner was sinking slowly into the deep green waters, dead as a stone, a look of utter surprise frozen on his face.

Ridley hadn’t drawn his own weapon and made no move to now. Instead he raised his hands in the air, circling slowly to show he meant no harm. Taking the wheel of the launch, he brought the boat about, heading back to the spot where Larkin had gone under.

The dozen yachtsmen who saw Larkin fall assumed he was just a drunk, that the whole scene was some kind of crazy charade. They looked on, waiting for him to flounder to the surface, sobered by the icy lake.

When he didn’t, several men leapt overboard, trying to find him. But they were too late. Larkin was already far below and still sinking. A yachtsman dialed 911, but it would take nearly an hour for a police boat with divers aboard to motor out to the fleet.

In the furor, nobody noticed the trimaran moving off, working its way through the racing boats on an easterly course.

“I don’t understand,” Aliana said, manning the helm while Luke reset the sails. “What happened back there?”

“Somebody saved our lives,” Luke said, measuring the distance with a practiced glance. “Damn. That was one helluva shot. Eighteen hundred yards at least.”

“But it couldn’t have been Deacon. I sent him back to Detroit.”

“Then maybe it was someone else. My grandfather taught me everything I know, including how to shoot. He was a sniper in Korea, won the Silver Star.”

“We must go back. They’ll arrest him.”

“I don’t think so. At this distance there’s no way to tell who did what. Whoever fired that shot took Larkin out in front of a hundred witnesses to make sure we couldn’t be blamed. He opened the door for us, Aliana. We have to go through it.”

Back at the boathouse, Gus settled into his deck chair with Razz at his feet, sipping a beer, watching the last sails vanish over the horizon. He’d already used Luke’s acetylene torch to reduce his ancient ‘03 Springfield to slag and ashes. It was a pity to destroy such a fine old weapon, but he’d watched C.S.I. on the TV. The police could do wondrous things with evidence nowadays. Like tracing a gun to the man who fired it. Destroying the weapon was a prudent move. Gus might be getting on, but he still had his wits about him.

And he still had a few skills. He hadn’t killed men at a distance in many years, but the terrible arts a man learns in his youth are embedded in his bones, impossible to forget, even when he wishes he could. As Luke found out after Iraq.

His grandson and Aliana would do well in Cree country. She was a pretty little thing and very intelligent, a trait far more useful than beauty.

He even admired her evil temper, so much like Kathleen’s. Living with such a woman might be difficult at times, but it would never be dull.

If the law did come for him, it wouldn’t matter much. Any trouble would be only temporary. His true love and most of his friends were already in the next world. He knew more people there than here.

When he was a boy with the Cree, the old ones said a man nearing the end of his time would hear an owl call his name. A foolish superstition.

Here on the Point, Gus often heard owls, horned owls and great grays hooting deep in the forest. They never spoke to him. Only to each other, in their own tongue.

But in the gathering dusk, as the shadows settled gently over the lakeshore, he found himself listening to the wind whispering through the tall pines.

Waiting for the cry of an owl to pierce the soft silence.

Hoping to hear his name.

Copyright © 2011 Doug Allyn