Durant continued down the net. He was too fair a man to base his decision on the color of the men’s skin. He’d made a difficult, strong decision based on the safety of the entire crew. Any men who formed a rescue party could also be lost.
“Mr. Avery?” Mack called down, his voice pleading.
Jim glanced away, to the dark water below, to the men filling the life rafts, paddling toward the rescue ship, bobbing in the water, climbing nets and lines on the other side, the sailors from the other ship dangling from the side to help them aboard.
He’d been ordered to abandon ship, to abandon Udell and Hank and the others to certain death. He could be bold and strong and ignore the tugging at his heart and follow Durant.
Or would the bold decision be to disobey the captain in the slim chance he could save a few lives? Or would that be merely suicidal?
“Mr. Avery!” Durant shouted. “Don’t even think about going back. You’ve been given a direct order too. Abandon ship!”
Jim squeezed his eyes shut.Lord, help medecide. Which is the bold action? Which is floating?
Maybe that was the wrong question to ask. Maybe it didn’t matter whether he charged into action or floated into it. Maybe what mattered most was to do the right thing.
What was the right thing? Durant’s list of questions ran through his mind. Yes, he could die if he went back. Yes, he might save a few men if he went back. But whichever way he went, the fate of theAtwoodwas sealed. And the war effort? It hardly depended on the life of one ensign.
Mary’s sweet face flashed in his mind. If he went back, he might never see her again. But if he didn’t go back, how could he face her again?
Mack leaned over the lifeline. “Please, Mr. Avery. Please.”
“Mr. Avery!” Durant’s voice sounded sharper than gunfire. “Get down here this instant.”
Jim drew a deep icy breath and gazed down at the captain he respected. “I’m sorry, sir, but I have to go back. I have to try.”
40
Boston
In the backseat of the taxi, Mary scribbled in her notepad, trying to piece together the puzzle. At 5:45, Mr. Winslow left home for the shipyard, and at 6:15, he called Mr. Bauer. Now at almost seven o’clock, Mr. Bauer would be at Dry Dock 2 as instructed.
Assuming Mr. Fiske was behind it all, what had he done? He’d told Mrs. Winslow to bring her husband’s codeine to the shipyard, knowing his addiction would force the man to return for it. Mr. Winslow had sounded scared when he called Mr. Bauer—was he being forced to call at gunpoint?
Mary rubbed her temples. She couldn’t let Nancy Drew plots invade her analysis. Only the cold hard facts, as Agent Sheffield would say. Plus an ample dose of intuition.
Why Dry Dock 2? What was the plan? Two destroyers were under construction, laid down side by side. Was he going to damage the ships?
His motive was clear—he wanted to keep the United States out of the war. The way events were going, he’d need something big and showy. Mr. Winslow wanted the United States to join the war effort, so he was a natural target for Fiske. And Mr. Bauer? A German for Winslow to supposedly frame?
Complicated and messy. Just like everything else Mr. Fiske had done.
The taxi turned onto Chelsea Street.
Mary tapped the driver on the shoulder. “At the gate, please.”
“Are you sure, miss? It’s dark, looks deserted.”
“A guard’s at the gate. Thank you.” Why try to explain herself? She paid him and stepped out. A chilly breeze wrapped around her legs, and she tugged her coat tighter. The temperature was supposed to fall below freezing tonight.
Now to call in the Marines. She drew in a breath, approached the guard, and showed her photographic identification pass.
“Another one coming back after hours?” The young man shook his head. “You’re the third in the last hour.”
“The others? A small dark-haired man in a nice coat? And a tall blond man with a German accent?”
“Yeah.” He narrowed his eyes at her. “How’d you know?”
Here was the opening she needed. Her sails puffed out. “Those two men are the reason I’m here. They’re in danger.”
