Page 88 of Untamed Coast

Marco plugged a power cord into the iPad to preserve its batteries, and then he took out his iPhone and brought up the same app on that. He propped the two devices on the helm right over the built-in chartplotter, pushed the throttle forward again, and was on his way.

He cranked the volume on the stereo.

Mick Jagger was singing “Gimme Shelter.”

Marco felt a new determination. Whoever was doing this was costing him a lot of stress and money. He didn’t care if it was about the girl or the gold, he wasn’t going to just disappear and let them get away with it. Not after all this.

Bill had read the entire coded journal to him. Joe Baxter had been part of a scheme stealing and selling gold from the mine. He had two partners, one stealing the gold and one selling it. Joe appeared to have been the leader and the transport, but he was also ripping off his own partners. All this could have something to do with one of those three guys.

But that was eighty years ago. They all had to be long since dead. Crystal was probably dead, so what about this Pyke family? What would they want with him?

Marco had no leads to go on. Well, almost none. Whoever was doing this really didn’t want him poking around Radioville, so that was exactly where he’d go.

Chapter 69

..- -. . .- .-. - .... . -..

Off the Coast of Chichagof Island, AK

1983—Anya Baron

Anya knew it was too late. She shouted toward the back of the boat, “Hang on, guys! This is a big one!”

She gripped the wheel with both hands, spread her feet apart, and leaned her butt against the helm chair as the massive wave crashed across Lady Melinda’s bow, sending green water over the anchor winch and drenching the windscreen. The trolling gear groaned, and things were crashing and breaking down below in the crew quarters.

A loud snap—something in the rigging.

Anya couldn’t see a thing. She flipped the switch for the windscreen wipers. Dead.

She felt the boat breaking to starboard and blindly spun the helm to port, gunning the throttle. The diesel responded with a sharp burp and the stern kicked to the right.

The boat stabilized as it came down the back of the wave.

Anya could see she had a few seconds of reprieve. She turned frantically to look toward the fishing cockpit. “Guys? You okay? Guys?”

There was no response.

Anya spun the boat around to be stern to the seas; it immediately calmed.

She turned again to the fishing cockpit. “Amos? Doug? You guys okay?”

A tall, slender figure appeared at the rear door.

It could not be.

Thomas.

“What are you doing here? Where is my crew?” Anya tried to sound threatening.

Thomas walked calmly toward her, seemingly unaffected by the violent pitching of the fishing boat. Silent.

She went for the Smith & Wesson in the locker below the helm. Her arms jerked back as she reached.

Her hands were cuffed to the wheel.

Anya gasped and sat up in bed. The moonlight streamed through the window of the fishing cabin.

The nightmares just wouldn’t stop.