Her face colored briefly and she looked away. “Flynn has many of your traits, Thorn. He’s a warrior. Not of your caliber perhaps, but he’s learning fast.”
“Listen to me, Leslie. I’m putting my boat back together. If I can’t fix that engine, by God I’ll dog-paddle back to the mainland. But I’m going home one way or the other. When I get back, you have my word I won’t call the cops or the press or anybody. You do what you have to do. Pull your prank, cripple the plant, make your big statement. Good luck with that. But I’m going back, and if Flynn wants to leave, too, he’s coming with me.”
Weariness was in her half smile. “I’m sorry but that’s not going to happen. You’re not going anywhere till this is done. We can’t take that risk. And Flynn isn’t going anywhere either.”
“So now we’re prisoners?”
“I didn’t invite you here, Thorn. You found your way on your own. But now that you’re here, we can’t let you leave.
“In a very short while we pull the plug. Everything’s going dark. It’ll stay dark for as long as we can manage to keep it that way. On the day we go in, Flynn will be with us a hundred percent, as he has been from the start. I’m confident of him. And maybe you’ll come on board, too. Give me a few days, I’ll change your mind.”
“I’m too old to be reeducated.”
“If you want to resume your way of life, if you want Flynn to have a future, you’ll come around. You have to. There’s no choice anymore.”
“You’re threatening me?”
“You have to understand something, Thorn. I don’t have the final say.”
“And who does?”
“We’re a democracy. The group will decide what to do with you.”
FOURTEEN
LEAVING THE BEACH, THORN LAGGED a step behind Leslie, taking a glance at her flats boat, seeing no keys in the ignition. Maybe with a screwdriver and ten free minutes he could hot-wire it. More than once he’d lost his ignition key overboard and he knew the start-up drill on his own skiff, but wasn’t sure about the more advanced ignition system on the Whipray.
And he got a better look at the wooden rack where the kayaks were stored. Constructed with pressure-treated two-by-fours, the cage was bolted together and its lid was held shut by two impressive steel hinges mounted on each side. From each hinge dangled an equally impressive padlock.
Even the pry bar would be no match for that steel, but maybe he could break the hinges loose. Gouge that pine, splinter it enough to pry one free, jimmy the lid open a few inches to unload a couple of kayaks. Though now that he thought about it, he’d seen no paddles anywhere.
Another problem.
Inside the barracks tent Flynn was standing stiffly beside Cameron, Wally, and another guy, the four of them forming a ragged line, waiting for Leslie’s arrival. Behind them were six cots neatly made with sheets and pillows. Two weight benches stood nearby, along with a collection of barbells and dumbbells and stacks of heavy plates. Some backpacks lay in the corners, and by one of the bunks, oddly out of place, sat two aluminum attaché cases.
At the back of the tent a flimsy metal bookshelf was loaded with jugs of water. An ice chest with roller wheels was tucked in beside the bookshelf. A small sheet of plywood had been laid across some wooden crates to create a makeshift desk. On it sat a laptop computer attached to a mobile phone. A bright orange extension cord ran underneath the plywood desk and disappeared beneath the edge of the tent. No doubt the computer and the window fan that was agitating the air were powered by the solar assembly outside. All in all, a Spartan bivouac.
Inside the tent the air was maybe a degree or two cooler than out in the sun, but it was so saturated with sweat and body odor it was stifling.
“This is Thorn,” Leslie announced to the group. “He’s an old friend of mine and he’s Flynn’s father. He stumbled across our camp today, and he’s discovered the nature of our mission, so we can’t release him. I suggest we try to bring him on board. He’s a resourceful man. A fighter. We could use him.
“He’s not yet convinced of the worthiness of our cause, but I think we can persuade him in short order. I truly believe we can.”
She introduced the one man Thorn hadn’t met. Pauly Chee, Wally’s brother.
Pauly was shorter than Thorn by a couple of inches, shirtless, his exposed chest and stomach as slick and solidly molded as a slab of polished marble. His glossy black hair was pulled back into a long ponytail. He had a cinnamon complexion and a bold, hawkish nose, and his face was full of angles as if it had been whittled by the wind.