Stuart Woods - Dark Harbor

In Camden he tied up at the local marina and walked a couple of blocks into the business district. He went into a Radio Shack and bought a throwaway cell phone and a kit for hooking the phone to a computer, asking the sales clerk for instructions on how to use it to connect to the Internet.

He then returned to the marina and headed back to Islesboro. He made it before sunset, having been gone less than two hours. Then, instead of returning to his own dock, he motored past it for another half a mile and, with the engine at idle, turned into an overgrown creek, dodging low branches as he went. Within half a minute his boat was invisible to any passing boat. He continued slowly up the creek until he came to the boathouse.

The boathouse had originally been an adjunct to a large, shingled summer “cottage” that had been destroyed by fire many years before. The owners still had the land but had not rebuilt and had not put the property up for sale.

He cut the engine and let the boat coast into the boathouse, tied it up, gathered his purchases and the other items he had brought from his house and walked quietly up the stairs, so as not to wake the woman, who was tied to the bed, until he was ready. He checked to be sure she was still asleep, then he took a small table and chair from one side of the upstairs room and set it into a corner, facing the wall.

He opened his computer case and set up his laptop, which was fully charged, and a small printer. He connected the cell phone to the laptop and installed the Internet software as the salesclerk had instructed. Everything worked perfectly, and he was soon on the Internet.

He donned the electronic device that changed his voice, something his sons had bought when they were in high school, then he went to the bed, gently untied the woman’s feet and duct-taped them firmly together. He bent over her and slapped her sharply across the face. “Time to wake up,” he said, his voice sounding mechanical and expressionless.

She came to, and he spoke loudly, to get past her earplugs. “Listen to me carefully,” he said. “For the next few minutes, your life is going to be in great danger if you do not do exactly as I say. Do you understand?”

She nodded.

“Your feet are bound together. I am going to untie your hands, and if you make any attempt to fight me or remove any tape, I will hurt you badly. Do you understand?”

She nodded again.

“And don’t try to use the gun on your belt; I unloaded it and your two spare magazines a long time ago.”

She nodded.

He untied her left hand first, then her right. “Sit up on the edge of the bed,” he said. When she did, he took her by the right wrist and elbow, holding her at a distance, and said, “Now hop straight ahead; I’m going to put you in a chair.” She did so, and he taped her torso to the chair to restrict her movement but left her hands free.

“Now, close your eyes and keep them closed until I tell you to open them. If you attempt to look at me at any time, I will end your life immediately. Look only straight ahead. Do you understand?”

She nodded.

He pulled off the tape, then took the glasses from his computer case and put them on her. “There is a gun pointed at the back of your neck. Now open your eyes.”

Holly opened her eyes and blinked rapidly. Tears streamed down her cheeks. It was the first time since she had been taken that she had been able to see, but she could only see straight ahead and down. She recognized the glasses immediately: They were “goggles,” which are used by student pilots in instrument training. They allow the student to see only the instruments in front of him and not out the windshield or to either side.

“The computer in front of you is already connected to the Internet,” the mechanical voice said. “I’m going to remove the tape from your mouth, and you will speak only to answer my questions. Clear?”

Holly nodded.

He ripped off the tape, and Holly worked her jaw and her lips for a moment.

“Now, we will open a bank account for me,” he said.

“What bank?” she asked.

“How do I choose?”

Holly went to Google and did a search for offshore banks. “Here’s a list,” she said. “You can open an account with any of them online.”

“The Malay Bank of Singapore,” he said, after a moment.

Holly went to the Malay Bank’s Web site and pulled up a form for opening a numbered account. “Who do you want to have access?” She pointed at a list of options.

“Choose ”anyone with the account number and password.“”

Holly clicked on the correct option. “You need to specify a password of six to ten letters or numbers.”

He was silent for a moment. “PE65000,” he said.

She typed in the password, which appeared onscreen as only a series of asterisks, then typed it again for confirmation. The words Please Wait appeared on the screen and after half a minute, the message “Your account is provisionally open. A wire-transferred deposit of at least $10,000 must be received within twenty-four hours for the account to be permanently opened. You may change your password at any time by clicking on the ”password change‘ button and first entering your old password.“ The new account number followed.

“Print that page,” the man said.

She printed the page.

“Now go to your bank account and make the wire transfer,” he said.

Holly went to her offshore bank’s Web site and began the process. She entered the wire-transfer instructions in the amount of $1,200,000 and the number of the destination account. She had more than five million in the account, the contents of a suitcase full of cash she had taken from an enormous stash of money held by a drug cartel she had broken up during her police days in Florida. She paused when her password was required. A message appeared, saying “After you have entered your password twice, your instructions will be irreversible.” She tapped the screen. “You see this?”

“Yes.”

“Now, before I type in my password, convince me that you’re going to set me free safely.” Immediately, she felt cold steel pressing against the nape of her neck.

“You have my word that one of two things is going to happen: Either you will enter your password and I will set you free, or you will refuse to do so, and I will kill you now. Are you convinced?”

Holly typed in the password, then confirmed it. A message appeared, confirming the amount and the destination account.

“Print that page,” the man said.

Holly printed it. Immediately, her head seemed to explode. She slumped against the restraining tape as she lost consciousness.

HOLLY SLOWLY CAME TO, her face pressed against a cool, rough surface that vibrated. Her feet were still taped together, her hands taped behind her and her eyes taped shut. Only her mouth was untaped. Since her ears were still plugged it took her a moment to realize that she was on a boat, and the vibration she felt was from an engine. There was a slight bumping as the boat skimmed over small waves, and it seemed to be traveling fast. She had no idea whether it was day or night, and she had a terrible headache.

Holly thought about her circumstances and concluded that it was not in her interest to move. She thought it likely that she was being driven into deep water, where she would be weighted and thrown into the water. If this were the case she would have to make a move before the weights were attached. If she could somehow throw herself into the water, then she might be able to swim, even bound as she was. Maybe the water would soak the tape and cause it to expand enough for her to get a hand free. She was going to have to work very hard not to panic when the time came.