Northwest Angle (27 page)

“Who’s that?” Bascombe asked.

“The sheriff of Tamarack County,” Jenny’s father answered. “And also a good friend.”

“Easier to get rid of the baby that way,” Bascombe pointed out. “Off your hands quicker, Cork.”

Her father appeared uncomfortable, as if he didn’t particularly appreciate the light in which Bascombe’s words cast him.

The comment made Jenny furious. “I’m taking him to Meloux’s.” She leveled an icy look at her father. “He’ll understand.”

“Jenny, I’m just trying to think what’s safest for us all.”

“No, it’s like Seth said. You’re just looking for the quickest way to get my baby out of your hair.”

“He’s not your baby,” Cork said.

“And he’s no one else’s either. Just look at him. Who’d take a child with a face like that?” Now she shot an accusing glare at Aaron.

Silence settled in the room, an uncomfortable waiting. For her part, Jenny felt like a cannon, primed and ready to fire. She watched her father closely.

Finally he shrugged and said, as if in defeat, “Meloux it is, for better or worse.” He scanned the room, his gaze settling one after the other on them all. “Are we agreed?”

They all said, “Yes,” except for Aaron. He sat back, darkly mum, and although Jenny could see clearly that he disapproved of the idea, he gave, at last, a reluctant nod of assent.

Kretsch offered, “If you really believe the safest place for the child is with this Meloux, you go ahead and take him there. If it causes any legal problems, I’ll take the heat.”

“How do we get the baby away without anybody seeing?” Bascombe asked. “Powassin was right. A lot of eyes are watching you folks, and we don’t know who among them might be in cahoots with Smalldog.”

“What makes you think he’s not acting alone?” Cork asked.

“He’s a smuggler, and in my experience in ATF, smugglers
don’t operate alone. He’s probably got other Ojibwe helping him. And, hell, maybe even a white man or two. Around here, it’s tough to make a living, and throwing in with Smalldog could be a tempting proposition. Besides, there was someone with him when he came for the baby last night.”

“We could sneak him out tonight,” Anne suggested.

“I don’t know that night is the best time,” Bascombe replied. “The lake’s tricky enough during the day. And if Smalldog’s thinking we might do something with the baby, he’ll figure night’s the best time. It’s what I’d figure.”

“What if we all go together,” Rose said. “Just head over to the Angle and load up in Aaron’s truck and drive out. Wouldn’t there be safety in numbers?”

Bascombe’s face showed that he clearly didn’t like the idea.

Apparently, neither did Cork, who said, “I don’t know Smalldog. It might be he’s crazy enough to do something desperate, and one of us—or several of us—could get hurt.”

“The road out from the Angle cuts through a lot of empty, isolated woods,” Kretsch added. “If Smalldog knew we were running, there’d be a number of old logging roads he could take to cut us off.”

“You think he’d really do that?” Rose asked.

“A man who’d do what he did to his sister, no telling what he’s capable of,” Bascombe answered.

“So let’s take the baby out by water,” Stephen said. “Across Lake of the Woods.”

“Across the big water?” Kretsch said. “In broad daylight? We’d be sitting ducks for Smalldog and that cigarette boat of his. He’d run us down like a wolf would a rabbit.”

“Cunning,” Cork said. “That’s what Powassin suggested. Somehow we have to take the boy right out from under Smalldog’s nose without Smalldog knowing.”

“How do you propose we do that?” Kretsch asked.

Jenny saw that her father didn’t have an answer. They sat,
staring at one another or out the window, and for a while the only sound came from the rush of the wind in the trees.

Finally Mal said, “Ah,” as if he’d just eaten something delicious that Rose had baked, and he grinned broadly.

“What?” Rose said to her husband.

They all fixed their eyes on him.

Mal said slyly, “Have you ever played three-card monte?”

A
s soon as they all understood and had agreed to Mal’s plan, Bascombe left with Kretsch, Stephen, and Aaron and headed toward the Angle. The others began their preparations. Anne and Rose helped Jenny get the baby’s things ready, while Cork and Mal walked to the end of the dock with rifles in hand to stand sentry. After a long while, Jenny came out with the baby in the basket. She’d put on a red ball cap that her father had given her, and a purple Vikings jersey, and green capris. She stood out like a clown at a wedding. She walked to the bench at the end of the dock, put the basket down, and took the baby out.

Mal said to Cork, “You got this covered?”

“Yeah.”

“All right. I’m inside if you need me.”

Mal left the dock to Cork and his daughter.

Cork stood looking out at the lake. It was early afternoon, hot and windy. Gulls rose and spun and dove above the channel, as if dodging the silver bullets of sunlight that shot from the waves. Everything appeared normal. The destruction that had been visited on so much of the lake had missed the islands nearest the Angle. Although he knew it wasn’t so, Cork felt as if a great deal of time had passed between the storm and this current moment. Changes unforeseen and momentous had occurred. And, once again, he was reminded that life was no more predictable than the flight of a dragonfly.

“Do you think they’re watching?” Jenny asked.

“I hope so,” Cork said.

She was quiet. Then she turned her face up to him. “Do you think it’ll work?”

“It’ll work,” he said, although the truth was that nothing was certain. “Are you scared?”

“No. Well, yes, but not for me.”

He understood what she meant, even though he wasn’t comfortable with it. He was a father, and his fear—he could feel the worm of it in his stomach—was for Jenny, not for himself. In her own mind, Jenny was a mother, and her concern was for her child, a concern that put her in terrible danger. And placed the rest of his children in jeopardy as well, though Cork wouldn’t say that to her. Decisions had been made, and they’d all agreed, and now they needed to be together in their intent and their actions.

He went back to watching the lake, to looking at the wall of vegetation across the channel on Birch Island for any sign that someone there was keeping them under surveillance. It was probably too much to hope for the flash of sunlight off the lenses of field glasses, but if it was there, he didn’t want to miss it.

“Dad?”

“Yeah?”

“I know you think this is crazy.”

He glanced down at her as she cradled the baby, and he didn’t have to ask what she meant. “Children are important,” he said. “That’s one of the reasons I took you out to see the pictographs. I sensed that it was an issue between you and Aaron. I haven’t had a chance to get to know him. I imagine he’s a fine man in a lot of ways, but I get the feeling that being a father isn’t big on his agenda. I wanted to let you know that I was on your side. I want you to have children. I just didn’t figure it would be this way.” He looked at the unsettled surface of the lake and heard himself sigh. “We’ve all suffered a lot of loss. You especially. It makes a certain sense to me, how you feel about this baby. And who knows? Maybe it would be good to have a strong breath of life come back into our family.”

“He’s not really family,” she said. “I’ll have to give him up eventually.”

And that, too, had been a part of his objection all along. Even if they all got out of this okay, Jenny, in the end, would be hurt. And her hurt would be his, because that’s what it was to be a parent. Still, he had to admit that it felt strangely right, the child there in Jenny’s arms. And from the way the baby’s dark eyes so often held on her face and his little mouth formed the odd-shaped smile when she spoke to him, it was clear to anyone with half a brain that something powerful bound these two.

She touched his nose with the tip of her finger, and he responded with a sound that seemed to Cork damn near a giggle. “I’ve been imagining what it would be like if somehow I was able to keep him,” she went on.

Cork shifted the rifle, cradling it in his arms in much the way Jenny held the baby in hers. “And how would that work?”

“Aaron wouldn’t want to be a part of it,” she said.

“Maybe we both underestimate him.”

“I don’t think so.” She glanced up at the sky, where clouds hurried across the immense blue in a race without apparent purpose, then she looked at Cork. “I remember a long time ago, when you and Mom were having that really bad patch in your marriage.”

“I wish you didn’t remember that,” he said.

“No, it’s a good thing. What I remember is how, through all that hard time, I never felt that you’d leave us. I knew that, no matter what, you’d always be there. I don’t feel that way about Aaron. I don’t trust him.”

“Okay, if Aaron is out of the picture, what do you imagine with the little guy?”

Her eyes skated away from Cork’s face, as if she was a little embarrassed by what she was about to say. “When I imagine raising him, I imagine it in the house in Aurora. I see him growing up on Gooseberry Lane, just like I did.”

“It was a good place to grow up. I ought to know. I grew up there, too.”

“It’s silly,” she said. “It’s crazy. Impossible.”

Cork said, “In my fifty-two years on this earth, the one thing I’ve learned absolutely is that nothing is impossible, Jenny. Especially where love is involved.”

“Maybe so,” she said. “But my life has taught me that you should always be prepared to have your heart broken.”

Probably wise, Cork thought, though he didn’t say so.

Bascombe returned first. Kretsch wasn’t far behind him in his own boat, and then Stephen and Aaron, in a rented launch. One after the other, they eased up to the dock and Cork helped them tie up. When they’d all disembarked, they headed with Jenny and the baby to Bascombe’s lodge, where Mal and Rose and Anne were waiting.

“Any trouble?” Mal asked.

“Nope,” Bascombe said. “And plenty of folks know about the extra boats, so word’ll spread quick.”

Cork shot a glance at the clock on the wall. It was set into a polished piece of driftwood.

“How long should we wait?” he asked.

Bascombe said, “Give it another hour. If they’re watching and keeping their ears to the ground, they’ll know by then.”

“I wish to God I knew who ‘they’ was,” Kretsch said.

Cork lifted a hand, as if volunteering. “That’s something I intend to find out when Jenny and the baby are safe.”

“You’re not a cop anymore, Dad,” Anne reminded him.

Cork replied coldly, “This is personal.”

“I’m with you on that,” Kretsch said.

“Me, too,” Bascombe threw in with a thumbs-up. “I haven’t had this much excitement since I left ATF.”

Rose looked unhappy at that. “Seth, this isn’t a game or some kind of military exercise.”

“Sorry,” he said, clearly chagrined. “Didn’t mean it that way.”

“We ought to eat,” Rose suggested. “For some of you, it’ll be quite a while before your next meal.”

“I’ll help,” Anne volunteered.

“And the rest of us still have things to do,” Cork said.

They all stood up, separated, and headed to their duties.

At four o’clock, Mal’s plan was set in motion.

They gathered around the table of the lodge. From a back room, Bascombe brought a large, red plastic ice chest. He’d softened the bottom with a pillow and folded blankets. He held it out toward Jenny.

“Think this’ll do?” he asked.

Jenny pressed the blankets, felt the softness of the pillow beneath, and smiled. “It’s fine, Seth. Thank you.”

She’d changed her clothes. She wore jeans and a dark blue T-shirt. Anne was now the one dressed in the purple Vikings jersey and green capris and crowned with the bright red ball cap. She did a little turn for everyone. “How do I look?”

Jenny saw her father nod seriously. “If you keep your back to the lake and the brim of that cap pulled down low over your face, even if they have binoculars, you ought to fool them, kiddo. Good job.”

Bascombe said, “I still think we ought to use my boat.”

“If they’re watching for us to cross the big water,” Kretsch said, “they’ll be figuring for you to do it, Seth.”

“If the wind gets bad out there, that little toothpick you call a boat could be in for a rough ride.”

“We’ll be fine,” Kretsch said.

Jenny was very glad that he sounded absolutely certain.

“Aaron, Stephen, you guys all set?”

“I’d still rather stay here,” Stephen said. “I want to help you track down Smalldog.”

“I understand,” Cork said, and he did. “But, Stephen, I need
you at Henry Meloux’s to make sure Jenny and the baby are safe there. And you and Henry, well, everybody knows how special you are to him. He won’t say no if you’re there.”

“He wouldn’t say no anyway,” Stephen countered. “If he did, he wouldn’t be Henry.”

“I’ll feel better about sending the baby if I know you’re helping at the other end, okay?” Cork said.

Which was the truth, but not the whole truth. If things got bad on the Angle, Cork wanted as many of his children as possible out of harm’s way. For Mal’s plan to work, Anne had to stay on Oak Island. Stephen didn’t.

“Don’t forget,” Aaron threw in helpfully. “I’ve never piloted a boat, Stephen. I need you to get us safely back to the mainland.”

Stephen seemed to see the wisdom of that and, although not necessarily happy with it, nodded his agreement.

They shook hands around and the family hugged and bid one another Godspeed and then it was time. Bascombe headed out first, Kretsch next, and finally Aaron and Stephen. Mal and Anne brought up the rear. Mal carried a rifle. Anne carried the basket, inside of which was a rolled-up bath towel swaddled in a blanket. While Mal helped the others cast off, Anne sat down on the bench with her back to the water, lifted the rolled-up towel in its blanket, and held it to her chest in what, from a distance, would certainly appear to be a loving embrace. Aaron and Stephen pulled away in the rental, motored out a short distance, and waited. Kretsch joined them, easing his little Lund Tyee alongside. Bascombe swung away last. As he came abreast of the other two crafts, they all throttled forward, headed into the channel, and curled north.