David Dun - At The Edge

Quite predictably, he grabbed for the gun. Maria actually saw Corey's finger pull. Nothing. Horror crossed Corey's face in the split second she realized there would be no bullet.

Jerking on the gun with the brute strength of utter desperation, Groiter sent Corey hurtling toward the rear corner of the fishing platform. Instinctively, she saved herself from going overboard, grabbing the only thing in sight-an upright piece of pipe bolted to the deck, known as a downrigger. Swinging around the heavy metal, she jumped back into the boat and hit Groiter's hands with a well-aimed kick. The gun stayed in his grip, but the blow from her foot knocked him off balance. For a moment he windmilled his arms to stay upright. Finally, he squatted, flicked off the safety, and fired-but it was too late. Corey had darted around the deckhouse.

The rapid turn of events gave Maria cause for slightly more hope. Neither of her enemies was clearly in charge. She struggled with her bonds, knowing that if she could get to the wheel she might also have currency for negotiation. If she could turn the boat around in the face of a standoff, she might not even be required to negotiate. Groiter for the moment ignored her, concentrating instead on Corey.

Quickly Maria looked around and spied a sharp gaff hanging by its handle on the back of the deckhouse. The curved point was six inches off the deck. It would serve to jam into the knots that bound her wrists. With great effort she began to inch her body to the instrument.

Corey clenched the anchor chain and ground her jaw in rage. Hunkering down behind the large anchor windlass near the bow, she tried to seize upon the obvious solution. There wasn't one. They were passing through the coastal shipping area to San Francisco without a radar reflector in the fog.

The pair of Perkins 4-108 diesels droned quiet and smooth. The front hatch was battened down. Food and fresh water were below but inaccessible to all of them. Groiter had his concrete boots on, and if she moved, he would kill her. That left only the hog-tied Fischer bitch.

Perhaps she could get him when he dozed off. But most likely that would take a while. Throwing things might work, but he had seven shots remaining and could shoot when she rose to throw. If she were able to physically outlast him, she could take the gun when he fell unconscious.

As if reading her mind, Groiter spoke. "Hey, I'll shoot holes in the bottom if I have to."

"Let's talk, Groiter." Corey closed her eyes and tried to relax. She sighed and took deep breaths. Fear of something she could only barely define seized her. Maybe she was wrong.

It was nearing sunrise; they were miles out at sea now. Maria watched Groiter squatting in obvious pain, fighting to stay conscious.

For Maria there was only one means of deliverance. She had to free herself or she would die. Although the gaff was potentially helpful, she couldn't get the critical knots over the point. Attempting to loosen her wrists in order to complete the maneuver entailed pulling taut the loop around her throat. Now she felt the circulation being restricted in nauseating light-headedness with every effort. She didn't know how many times she had tried to lift the knots over the point of the gaff and failed.

By now she was desperate and prepared to risk strangling herself. Mustering her energy, she lifted both her wrists and her head, trying to get the knots positioned over the gaff. The rope bit into her neck and she wanted to gag, but she persisted. At last she got the point wedged into the knot. But now there was constant tension on her neck. Feverishly she worked at the knots, pulling the outer knot down over the point. She fought the urge to gag and panic.

Corey called out to Groiter from her place of safety. "If you drop the gun, I'll get you out of the concrete. I swear."

"You come out in the open and drive the boat back to the dock. As long as we're headed in the right direction, I won't shoot."

Corey's silence must mean that she was considering the proposition. Maria was certain she had slightly loosened the rope at her wrist and struggled harder. She figured Groiter could last two more days without water, maximum. Corey had been in the shade and had had fluids more recently than he. If she stepped out where he could shoot, he would have control. For Corey it was safer to stay put. That was Maria's only ace in the hole.

The ropes that bound her had stretched sufficiently so that she no longer felt strangulation was imminent.

Groiter's gaze fell upon her. He could surely see enough to figure what she was doing with her hands. As sure as she could feel the hardness of the deck under her shoulder, she could feel his desire to kill her. But she was his only potential salvation, and even if she weren't, it would waste a precious bullet. His hand played with the gun. A feeling of the chill air came over her and it began to look as though he might kill her anyway. It would mean punishing somebody rather than nobody.

"If I get free, I'm going to take the boat back to the harbor," Maria said.

Looking morose, Groiter said nothing. Maria could see him looking around, desperate, but obviously thinking something. There were large lead weights at the stern. Three were within reach. He picked one up. Maria cringed. Then she got it. By lobbing them over the pilothouse, using a sort of two-handed shot-putter's technique, he might seriously wound Corey. On the third deep breath, he heaved the heavy lead ball.

Wham! Corey jumped at the loud thud-the sound of something gouging the planking on the cabin top. Instantly she knew what Groiter was doing. And knew she had to do something. A direct hit would maim, perhaps even kill her. But she could think of no way to protect herself except to move between the huge anchor-chain roller and the cabin. There she would be under the lip of the cabin roof-but vulnerable to a gunshot through the pilothouse wall.

Wham! The second toss smashed into the deck a foot from her hand, missing her shoulder by inches.

Move under the cabin roof, she urged herself. Groiter would not know she had moved or where to shoot.

And then she saw it in her peripheral vision-one small green light and numerous white lights burning through the fog-laden morning and into her mind, filling her with a tooth-rattling panic-the shadow of a supertanker bearing down on them.

Maria was ready for a vigorous pull. After a deep breath in anticipation of great pain, she shrank her hand by folding her thumb and yanked. Her arm shook; then her hand popped free. In seconds she had the second hand loose and crawled quickly for the deckhouse, with one eye on a nodding Groiter. As she opened the cabin door, Groiter jerked up, pointing the gun. Quickly she pulled herself inside, rolled, and once out of sight went to work on her feet.

"Hey, Maria Fischer," he called out.

"What do you want?"

"You and me, we can make a deal."

"Groiter, look, a ship," Corey said.

"I see it." His voice had the tones of a man resigned to his fate.

Maria jumped up. Her breath seized at the awesome sight of the multistory supertanker. Leaping from the galley into the pilothouse, she grabbed the wheel and spun it. Autopilot! She fumbled madly with a black box overhead.

"Off," she screamed, flipping the switch. Grabbing the wheel, she threw the spokes. This time she felt resistance as the rudder dug in. A wall of black steel. A huge bow wave. She was turning, but so was the tanker.

"Oh God, oh God!" Then she saw a small boat racing. "Dan," she said.

Having checked all three outbound boats-and finding nothing-Dan was beyond desperate. Then for three minutes he had watched the scene on the radar. A mere speck, perhaps a boat with no radar reflector, a tiny target, going headlong into a supertanker's path. The freighter appeared as a moving island on the screen. The smaller something was almost invisible. Turning up the gain on the radar did little good, the second vessel barely visible, explaining why he hadn't seen it as he crossed the bar. Either the skipper was asleep at the boat's helm or the boat was out of control. The tanker hadn't picked up the tiny wisp of a target, either.