Annette's keen mind, once given the opportunity to function, surprised both Shannon and Madeleine. It was her plan of advising her father, Gaston Larreau, where and how to deliver the money that was the most acceptable, the less dangerous, and certainly quite ingenious. Shannon liked it from the beginning, for it was in the actual "pickup" of the ransom that he'd had qualms all along. This particular phase of the operation had always proven to be the most hazardous, according to statistics, in any kidnapping plot.
As Annette pointed out, her father was not apt to call in the authorities; such a move would be entirely contrary to Syndicate philosophy… besides, he had a tremendously efficient network all his own. But she did expect him to try something when the 'pickup' was made; it wasn't in his nature to take such a slap-in-the-face without contemplating vicious retaliation. Thus, she had come up with the buoy-boat idea.
A hiking tour of the island had produced an old thirty-six foot tub with a cabin, anchored in a cove, ancient and in need of paint, but hardy enough upon examination to perform the task they had in mind. Shannon guessed that the senator probably used her as a work craft, hauling rocks and lumber, from the appearance of dirt and scraps of wood littering her deck. Her engines seemed adequate and in fair shape, the point being proved when he added gasoline. There was nothing wrong with her that fuel didn't cure.
The plan, in essence, was for Shannon to take Annette to Summerton on the mainland where he would make his final call to her father, let Annette speak and plead with him not to try anything, only pay the ransom, or else they would kill her. He would then instruct Larreau to place the money in a waterproof sack and tie it below the waterline to a specifically numbered buoy in the lake. They had chosen number nineteen because of its location, with no islands for approximately ten miles in any direction. It was fifteen miles from their own island and about fifteen from the mainland… a perfect plan.
"You must be careful, cheri," Annette warned cautiously. "I have a feeling that mon pere will try something when you make the pickup… I don't know what, but we must plan for all eventualities. That's why I suggest the daylight… at least, you'll be able to see."
"Oui," agreed Madeleine nervously. "Daylight is best, cheri. Mon Dieu, I wish… I wish you'd give up this whole idea, mon cher. We both love you so much. Is it worth it…?"
"Don't be a fool," snapped Shannon from across the kitchen table where they all sat over coffee and his unfolded navigation map of the vast lake. "You think I've gone this far for nothing? No, baby… not on your life. I intend to get that loot from the little fat czar, every dollar of it… and with Annette's help, it can't miss. Look, sweetheart, don't go chicken on me now."
"I-I'm not thinking of myself, Shannon don't you see?" Madeleine said. "It's you… and both Annette and I feel the same… We love you, cheri…"
"And what about Igat?" he interrupted. "You stop loving her?"
"You know better than that," Madeleine responded immediately. "She's my baby and I want her more than anything, but…"
"But, hell," he said. "There's no buts. To get her back we need money to make a deal with Girarde, then disappear with, and that's just what we're going to have. Now… let's forget all of this quit talk and get down to business."
He turned to Annette: "What do you think he might try? And how?"
Annette shrugged. "Pere is a scheming man. He'll probably try to have his men watching from some vantage point or other… either in a boat far enough off, or a plane… something, I'm sure. But he's less apt to suspect the buoy-tender if we make it look authentic enough and you perform a routine of it, stopping at all of them."
Shannon nodded slowly. "I like it," he said. "Yeah… I like it."
It was still early in the morning and Shannon took the next hour checking the old craft's engines to be on the safe side, then took her on a trial run. Later, the girls came down and helped carry some cans, lanterns and other gear from the senator's boathouse, piling them into the boat to give her some sort of look of authenticity. When they were finished they stood back to survey their work.
"Well? What do you think?" Shannon addressed Annette, who seemed to be the foremost authority amongst them on buoy-tenders.
She nodded. "Pretty good, cheri… if no one gets too close."
"She's no speed demon, but with luck it won't make any difference," he said, mostly to himself, a touch of nerves knifing at him once more.
"What do we do now, lover?" Madeleine asked, taking his hand.
Shannon fingered his beard. "Well… I think it's time we made a trip to the mainland. We'll take some of those large cans for gasoline. Then, we'll pick up some groceries, and finally… we'll make the big phone call to papa. I've been figuring it out in my head. We'll allow four hours for them to drive down from Montreal and another hour to place the money on the buoy. That's five altogether… What time is it now?"
"Eight ten," replied Annette, checking the watch on her wrist.
"All right… by two-thirty this afternoon I should be able to start my run. That's giving them plenty of time. Any comments?" he asked, looking from one to another of his lovely cohorts. "Good… let's head for the mainland."
At two-forty-five that afternoon beneath a scorching sun, the lake calm with a heavy cloudbank of thunderheads to the southwest, Shannon brought the boat alongside a buoy. He caught a rope around the gently bobbing marker and secured her loosely. He felt a bit silly with his routine since there was nothing visible in any direction except miles of water, but he followed through with it anyway. As Annette had said, it was possible that her papa could have men lying off far enough to be out of vision of the naked eye, yet, able to see him with powerful glasses. He would play it all the way; take no chances with this creeping tub beneath him.
Satisfied, he pulled loose his rope and opened the throttle. He lighted a cigarette and studied his map. Their buoy, number nineteen, lay about five miles west. Several more were spread between, and he would stop and pretend the same routine at all of them.
The tub cut the water rather gracefully, he thought, giving off a fair wake. He took a revolver he'd kept secret from his hip-pocket, opened the cylinder and assured himself that it was ready. He hoped to hell he wouldn't have any use for it, and shoved it into his belt beneath his shirt. The old nervousness and tension were there inside him again, and he sucked at the cigarette until its fire stuck out a half-inch.
Already, his eyes had commenced to burn from lack of sleep and the brilliance of the sunlight reflecting off the water. For some dumb reason, he hadn't thought of dark glasses, but he had remembered a hat – an old straw panama he had found in a closet of one of the senator's bedrooms. It helped.
He half-sat on the pilot seat, one hand manipulating the wheel, and thought about how Annette had played her part well on the telephone. She had told her father she was okay, but that if he didn't pay off it would surely be the end for her.
She had gone on to feign semi-hysterics and when he, Shannon, had cut in, Larreau had threatened to chase him to the ends of the Godamned earth if any harm came to her. She had performed to perfection.
All was well. On schedule and functioning smoothly. So, what the hell was wrong with him, he thought?
Why the qualmy guts and shaky hand? Too smooth. Maybe, that was it. Like swiping the bottle from the baby's mouth? Yeah, that's it all right. No competition. Unnatural. Too easy. Not in keeping. As if he was standing on third and he could steal home any damn time he felt like it. When's the lid going to blow off? Jesus! Right now…!
A plane! He touched the hard handle of the gun and thought how Godamned useless that would be if Larreau's hoods were up there looking down on him. It was a single motored private job and it was coming from the north… the Canadian shore… right toward him! He watched it without looking up and made for the next buoy off to the starboard.
You think the worst and you get it everytime! It was almost above him now as he came alongside the buoy and caught his rope fast. He didn't look up, but got the feeling the plane was circling. Sweat oozed out on his forehead and ran down the bridge of his nose. Nonchalantly, he proceeded with his act, but there was a hollowness in his belly.
He wished to hell if they were going to do anything they'd do it! But that was crazy, wasn't it? Why should they? Hell, no! Not until he reached 19. He raised his eyes and the plane was a half mile or so south and flying a course state-side. He sighed long and loud, freed and poured the gas to her. Dropping onto the pilot seat, he headed for the next buoy.
Three markers in a row were play-acting, with nothing alive or man-made as far as the eye could see. He began to feel silly again, but caught himself with the realization that the next one was 19.
With an effort, he worked at holding down his anxiety and cut back his speed, settling down to pull it off professionally. No blunders… nothing that would arouse suspicion. He was servicing the buoys. That's all. And you had to service them all, didn't you? Make it look good. Just in case…
Wait! What the hell was that? A lake freighter! Just visible on the horizon ahead and to the north! So? Nothing wrong with that… he hoped. The perfect Godamned setup through for some of Larreau's men! With glasses they could make him out fine. And if they had a fast boat tied along side…
Shannon swallowed a ball of cotton. It might be coincidence. There were plenty of freighters on this lake… but… Jesus! He'd have to chance it! After all, he was only servicing the buoys.
He brought her in close and caught his rope. Mechanically, he went through his role, at the same time looking for the tell-tale line that would be tied just below the waterline of the marker holding the bag in the water below. There it was! Excitement prickled his flesh. A half-million dollars! He tried not to move too fast, and bending down, he loosened the line, straightened, and secured it to the ring he had installed in the gunwale for that purpose.
He remained fast until he was satisfied he'd used enough time to make it look good, pulled loose his rope and made off, still following the course of the buoys ahead. He would stop at a couple more before circling and heading back to Hyde Island.
Then, he spotted the boat! A speed-craft she was, and bearing down on him from the direction of the freighter! He'd damned sure called that one all right! Something bitter spurted up into his mouth and he swallowed it back. He dug the revolver from against his belly and ran for the wheel. Damnit! He'd make a fight of it anyway!
Coming around, he opened her up, for all the damn good it did. She felt like a scow beneath him and when he looked back he could see the bag, a black shiny object, hitting the surface and skipping, submerging again, then breaking water to repeat the cycle. Beyond, and still a little north, came the speed-boat, her bow raised high out of the water and cutting a hell of a wake behind her. She was coming straight at him and he thought he could make out two… maybe three people in her.
For a moment he panicked… decided to cut the bag loose, then caught himself. To hell with it! He'd gone this far. He'd go all the bloody way! He gripped the gun tight and felt the sweat slime between the handle and his palm. Godamn them! He'd take a couple of them with him anyway! Jesus! Almost, but not quite! A half million dollars…! Beautiful! Come on you bastards! Take it away from me!
"Well, Charlie, a cool head can't win 'em all, can it?" he said aloud, then laughed bitterly. A maze of things were running through his mind. He remembered as a kid how he had always abhorred the thought of being aboard a sinking ship and how God-horrible a watery grave would be… and how his own little son had drowned… and how he would never see Annette or Madeleine again, or any other Godamned thing… He swore aloud and watched the boat coming down on him. Behind, the bag broke water and went out of sight once more. He shifted the revolver from one hand to the other and back again. Wait until they were close enough. No use wasting the bullets. He had only six, and they had to count. He could see them now… make them out. A man at the wheel and another in the seat behind him… wearing white shirts and yachting caps… yachting caps?
Shannon straightened slowly. The third passenger was a woman… in a bathing suit. They were beside him now and maybe fifty yards off the starboard. The woman waved!
His arm felt as if it were made of lead. Both the pilot and the man in back waved. He could see the smile on the woman's face! He forced the hand that didn't have the gun up into the air. They all waved once more and he waved back.
Suddenly, he was limp. He wasn't certain whether he was going to laugh or cry. He plodded back to the pilot seat and flopped onto it. Then, he laughed until he choked, and when that was passed the speed-boat was two miles beyond and going away.