Chapter 23

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.