"It's not possible," Barbara breathed incredulously. "It is simply not possible!"
A look of utter stupefaction had spread over Whit's face. Motionless as a pair of statues, neither he nor Barbara seemed able to move toward the object which held their rapt attention.
A long sixty seconds crawled by, the silence broken only by the steady drip, drip, drip of water, which snaked along the brine-encrusted chain and anchor and thick, oily surface of the pouch to dimple the cove in a widening series of circles.
It was the Albatross that prodded them into action. With nothing to link her to shore, she slid out on the rushing current of the tide. The sudden lurch dispelled their inertia. Whit jumped to throw the engine into reverse, while Barbara, her fingers tingling with excitement, bent and twisted at the strong wire which bound the pouch to the anchor.
"Hurry!" Whit called as her hand skidded on the slimy, seaweed-coated oilskin.
Barbara cast a look of terror at the reef which loomed between them and the open sea, and plucked frantically at the wire. The engine hadn't caught. Without the dragging anchor to hold them back, the tide would propel them directly onto the boulders!
Miraculously, the final twist had freed it. The pouch spurted to the deck at the same instant that Whit dived toward the winch. The anchor and its clanking chain plunged viciously downward, barbing into the ocean floor and halting their forward progress with a snap that set Barbara reeling to the rail. Floundering after the pouch, Whit captured it in a flying tackle, scraping elbows and knees as the Albatross shuddered to a standstill.
"Close," he puffed. "Awfully close. This thing is as slippery as a slab of raw liver!"
Barbara peered down at the frothing surf and then hastily looked away. Mere yards separated them from the first gigantic rock!
They regained their balance and hobbled together into the cabin where they would be safe from prying eyes.
"If this is what I think it is," Whit said, "we could be in trouble."
Barbara laughed shakily. "What's trouble? I'm slated to die of old age pretty soon, anyway. Another day like today might just do it."
Eyeing the faded yellow oilskin, patched with brownish flakes of seaweed, Whit gingerly undid the flap. He drew out a long, cylindrical roll of papers. Barbara caught a glimpse of blue background, of sleek lines and precise figures, before his brown fists snapped tight on the roll and secured it with a rubber band.
"Yup, we're in trouble," he confirmed. "Now what?"
There must, Barbara knew, be no postponement of the decision. Not so much as a minute could be wasted. The Albatross was not equipped with radio. One of them would have to chance swimming to shore.
Whit had come to the same conclusion. He bent to untie his shoes. "I'm going to leave you here for a few minutes," he began, but Barbara interrupted.
"No, I'll go. Be practical, Whit," she insisted. "I could never pilot the Albatross around those boulders, and that's exactly what you'll have to do unless I make it back here within half an hour. Take her out into deep water and head for the nearest Coast Guard station."
The stubborn line of his jaw relaxed slowly as he realized that her plan was the best means of safeguarding the precious blueprints. Thrusting the paper roll back into its pouch, he left the cabin and stood for a long moment reconnoitering the coastline. Ashore there was no sign of life except a faint stirring of leaves and shrubbery as the breeze rustled through the thicket.
Even then, he might not have agreed to her going had Barbara not taken the initiative. She removed her shoes before tiptoeing across the deck. While Whit's eyes still probed for menacing shapes beyond, she clambered onto the rail.
"Back soon!" she called.
Barbara cut the water in a clean, smooth dive. Bobbing to the surface, she struck out for shore a hundred yards away. Her sleeveless blouse and cotton slacks clung to her skin and she was grateful now that she had not succumbed to the temptation of wearing her new sundress. Its flaring skirt and binding straps would have been dangerous impediments for a swimmer.
The shallows were soon reached, and with water gushing from her hair and clothing, Barbara waded onto the sand. As she turned to wave, she saw that the Albatross lay almost directly in the center of the channel. If an attack should come, Whit would have ample warning.
Barbara made her way down the beach, setting down plans in her mind. First she was going to call the Coast Guard and then she was going to call Thomas J. Quinn.
But Barbara's good intentions were dashed to pieces by the unexpected arrival of Buck Younger.
"Going somewhere, lady?" he asked, smiling evilly.
Barbara panicked. She knew Whit was probably watching, and knowing that he was helpless to do anything to save her made Barbara feel worse.
"Get away from me," she said sternly as the man approached.
"Now, don't worry," Younger said. "I ain't gonna hurt you."
But Barbara knew better. Just before Younger reached out to grab her, she pushed him aside and ran off as fast as she could. Younger picked himself up and took off after her. And he would have caught her if it hadn't been for the police car that drove up moments later.
"All right, Younger," an officer yelled through a loudspeaker. "Give yourself up. You can't get away this time."
Younger stopped running and then turned toward some nearby rocks. He took cover and then began firing a pistol at the police car. Luckily, Barbara made it to cover behind the rear fender just as the shots began ringing out.
The officer radioed for help and then concentrated on keeping Younger pinned down. Barbara crouched down low, her heart racing. Looking seaward, she saw that the Albatross was still there, with Whit on deck looking toward the gun battle. She only hoped he would just stay put.
When three more police units arrived, Younger was surrounded. After running out of ammunition, he gave up quietly.
Down at the police station, Younger eventually cracked and spilled out his story to Quinn and some other interrogators. He claimed to be working for someone known only c ode name: Lone Star. He had been employee to help steal the blueprints, which were now.n the custody of the FBI. And he also confessed to having beat up Don George, the photographer, in addition to kidnapping Greg Maiden.
Greg was freed that evening, and his reunion with his fiancйe was a joyous one indeed. He sat up half the night telling the Prescott's, Whit, Regina, Barbara and others about his ordeal and eventual rescue.
"But one thing still bothers me," Barbara told everyone who was gathered in the Prescott living room drinking coffee. "Just who is this Lone Star character? Do you have any clues, Greg? Did you hear anything while you were held captive?"
Barbara felt silly, treating Greg as if she were interviewing him for a newspaper article. Then her mind began whirring. Newspaper. Reporter. Lone Star. Lance Shelby. No! It couldn't be true. Lance as a spy? The idea was too farfetched.
Nonetheless, Barbara checked out her hunch the next day while at work. She went through some of Lance's things and did turn up some notes which were signed "Lone Star."
Reporting to Quinn immediately, Barbara revealed everything she had discovered. Quinn and the FBI went into action, following Lance around town, staking out his penthouse and making notes of all his contacts.
Sure enough, Lance slipped up and was hauled downtown by the FBI. After three days of interrogation, Lance finally told all, revealing that for years he had been working as a spy for the Russians. He explained in detail how he had stolen the submarine blueprints, hoping that if he complied with the authorities that they might be lenient with him when it came time for sentencing.
After the shocking news about Lance appeared in the papers, Barbara was upset yet relieved. She had liked Lance, in a certain way, and she had mixed emotions about his complicity with the Russians. But she was glad it was all over.
Late one evening, Barbara sat up with Whit on the Albatross enjoying a glass of after-dinner sherry. "Who would have ever thought that after buying this boat you'd be part of such an adventure," she told him.
"Well, one good thing. We'll get some great publicity for the restaurant. You know, I'll be set up for the grand opening pretty soon, and I was thinking about asking Regina and Greg if they'd like to hold their reception here, to sort of kick off their marriage and help me get my business rolling."
"Oh, Whit, that would be wonderful," Barbara gushed. "I don't know why we didn't think of that before."
Whit put his arm around Barbara and pulled her in close, leaning over to kiss her on the ear. "There's one thing I have been thinking about, though," he said. "I've been thinking about this a lot."
Barbara detected a note of sincerity in Whit's voice, so she gave him her full attention.
He said: "How'd you like to make it a double wedding?"
Barbara almost dropped her glass of wine, she was so excited and delighted.
"Oh, Whit!" she cried out, flinging her arms around his shoulders. "That would be wonderful!"
While they kissed, she pressed her tits hard against his chest. She drove her tongue into his mouth fiercely. Barbara wanted to leave no doubt in Whit's mind-she loved him and she wanted to marry him, and to symbolize her deep feelings, she was prepared to give him the fuck of his life right there on the Albatross.
Whit was overwhelmed by Barbara's passion. He knew she was hot and ready, so he wasted no time peeling off her clothes. Barbara accommodated him, smiling all the while, until he was down to Her bra and panties. Then she decided to tease him a bit, and she backed away.
"Now it's your turn," she said. "Get those clothes off. I want to watch and beat off."
While Whit shed his shirt and trousers, Barbara stood a few feet away, watching him intently. As he stripped, she slipped one hand below the waistband of her panties and began fingering her pussy.
"Damn, that feels good," she sighed as she eased her middle finger up into her wet cunt. "I bet you wish that was your cock up there, don't you, Whit?"
" Honey," Whit replied, as he slithered out of his jockey shorts, "I bet you wish that was my cock up there, too."
Barbara giggled, but she stood her ground. With her free hand, she began massaging one of her bra-covered tits.
"I bet you'd like to suck on this, too, wouldn't you?" she said. "It's so big and juicy."
Whit stood before the sexy young woman and watched her play with herself. He had his hands on his hips, his feet spread wide for support. His cock was still semi-erect, but the more he studied Barbara as she fingered her cunt and stroked her tit, the harder his prick became. Soon, it was sticking up straight, twitching with every beat of his heart.
"Hmmmm," Barbara said. "It looks like you're ready. Just give me a few more seconds and I'll be right with you."
Closing her eyes, the sensuous woman continued to rub her tits and her pussy. She gyrated her hips slightly to allow her finger to go in deeper, sighing delightedly all the while.
"Sorry, honey," Whit said, stepping toward her. "I can't wait any longer. We're going to fuck right now, whether you want to or not."
Barbara put up a playful protest, hammering her fists against Whit's muscular back and shoulders as he lifted her up. But she didn't want to get away. She wanted to fuck just as much as he did.
After tossing her onto the bunk, Whit proceeded to tear off her bra and panties. Then he mounted her, plowing his cock deep into her slick cunt on the first stroke. Whit fucked her so hard that Barbara felt as if he was rocking the boat with his intense thrusts. She could have sworn the old Albatross was listing back and forth as he furiously pummeled her pussy.
As Barbara hung on for dear life, feeling Whit's thick cock slide up deep inside her, she thought about how wonderful he was making her feel. If the intensity of his lovemaking was any indication, they were destined to have a long and happy marriage.
When she finally came, as Whit flooded her pussy with hot sperm, she didn't think they could ever be happier. As long as they could fuck whenever they wanted to-as long and as hard as they wanted to-she didn't think they would ever have any problems.