Chapter 55

WHAT WAS THAT AD SLOGAN you saw all over? Ellen Pierce wondered.What happens in Vegas stays in Vegas? Ha! Not if you're an agent with the DEA.What happens in Vegas becomes a nightmare of paperwork back in Manhattan.For the third straight day since returning home from Vegas, Ellen was stuck behind the desk of her small office at the DEA's New York Division on the Lower West Side.This part of the job never made an iota of sense to her. Screw up and lose your bad guy, and you only had to file one report. Actually bring him down and you had to file three. It was almost as bad as being a doctor and dealing with insurance companies. The thought had probably come into her head because Ellen had once considered pre-med rather than pre-law at Wake Forest.No wonder she was procrastinating so much today. Her latest diversion was theNew York Times crossword puzzle, and she was stuck on seven across, a six-letter word fornonringer."Single!" she finally shouted out, a quick smile pushing up her cheeks. She was surprised she hadn't figured out the answer sooner. After all, that was all her mother talked about. "Why on G.o.d's green earth is my beautiful daughter still single?"Because she's married to her job, Mom, that's why. And maybe she's not all that beautiful anymore.Getting back to her busywork, Ellen began organizing the receipts for yet another report. Expenses. In the middle of checking her math, she stopped cold at the sound of a familiar voice in the room, one that turned her stomach.Ellen looked up at the small television she always kept on in the office. It generally served as background noise, and she'd barely paid any attention to it all day. A couple of minutes ofThe View. An occasional look in atSportsCenter.Until now.On the screen was none other than the defense lawyer Peter Carlyle.Ugh! Double ugh!Ellen gnashed her teeth. How could she forget that arrogant p.r.i.c.k of a lawyer's voice? To this day it was like nails on a blackboard to her. She had spent two long years of her life gathering cold, hard evidence against a known Mob boss for bribery and racketeering charges, only to have Carlyle prevail in the trial, thanks to his relentless grandstanding and, worse, outright lies on behalf of his sc.u.mbag client.Turn the channel,she told herself.Get rid of this piece of c.r.a.p.She couldn't, though. It was like watching a car wreck, and she had to know what had happened.Ellen reached for the remote control on her desk and turned up the TV's volume. Carlyle was being interviewed by Judith Fox. Didn't they once date or something?Ellen listened. What was he promoting now? she wondered. A racy new book? A recent verdict? It didn't matter. What Peter Carlyle promoted above all else was himself.But that thought quickly gave way to a twinge of guilt. The interview was about his missing family. h.e.l.l, even a jerk like him didn't deserve to lose his wife and stepchildren out at sea.He was pretty shaken up, too. His signature voice was actually trembling a bit as he recounted the way in which he had heard the news. "I have every faith that the Coast Guard will find them," he said with a stiff upper lip. "I've got to stay positive, and I certainly will.""I think that's the only thing you can do," said Fox, turning to her live studio audience with a slow nod. "The Coast Guard is renowned for its search-and-rescue missions, and I'm sure its teams are doing everything in their power to find your family safe and alive, Peter."Without even knowing it, Ellen was nodding along with Judith Fox, completely wrapped up in the story already. It certainly made for compelling television. There was drama, suspense, and just enough hope in the face of severe sorrow. Suddenly Ellen couldn't wait to find out how it would end.That's when she got a strange feeling.She didn't know why she had it, only that she felt it strongly in her gut. The more she listened, the more she felt it. She stood up and got even closer to the TV.There was something in the way Peter Carlyle was telling his story. Past tense, almost.As if he already knew how it ended.

Chapter 56

WITH A QUICK PULL on a black strap, the life raft from the Hail Mary box inflates before our weary eyes.Thank G.o.d we're getting out of this water, at least. No more dog-paddling. No more sharks.Mark and Carrie climb aboard first and then help Ernie on. I'm next. When they see my leg-or should I say, the white of my shinbone jutting out from my leg-the kids all fall deathly silent. It just about takes something like this to shut them all up, especially Ernie."Is there a doctor on the boat?" I joke, trying to lighten the mood.The bad joke doesn't work very well. In fact, the raft only becomes more silent-if there is such a thing-after they struggle to pull Jake aboard.He's in even worse shape than I thought. Almost his entire body is covered with second and even some third-degree burns. His skin is like Bubble Wrap with every bubble popped.Carrie can't bear to look, and obviously she's feeling extra guilt because of what happened earlier, when she tried to drown herself and possibly Jake.Back on land, in the burn unit of Lexington Hospital, there would be a host of available treatments. Out here in the middle of nowhere is a different story. There's virtually nothing I can do for him."Hand me that first-aid kit," I say to Mark, gritting my teeth over the effort to speak.The rest of what was packed in the Hail Mary box is scattered about the raft. In addition to the first-aid kit, there is a surprisingly large amount of bottled water and food, though the food is mostly dried fruit, crackers, and nuts, all vacuum-packed in plastic.In total, it's not a lot, but it's certainly better than nothing. And nothing is something we've got covered in spades.We have no motor, no shade, no sunblock, no radio, and no satellite phone.No fair!We also no longer have a flare gun, but no one's about to get on Carrie's case for that after she saved our b.u.t.ts, and every other edible part of us, with one very timely shark-skedaddling shot."Here," says Mark.He hands me the first-aid kit. I find some antibiotic ointment and gently dab it over the areas on Jake that run the highest risk of infection. Then I slowly pour as much water as I can into his mouth, until he can't swallow any more. With his head resting on the side of the raft, he doesn't move or say anything. I think he's drifted back to being unconscious, or just doesn't have the strength to talk."There," I say after applying a thin layer of gauze around his arms and legs, which will still allow his skin to breathe. "That will have to do until help arrives.""What about you?" asks Ernie. "Your leg.""For now it's okay. It needs to be set, but there's about a twenty-four-hour window before there might be any permanent damage," I explain. "By then I'll be safely in a hospital bed having you all sign my cast.""You really think they're still coming for us?" asks Carrie."Of course I do. Why wouldn't they be?"

Chapter 57

LIEUTENANT ANDREW TATEM slammed down the phone in his small office at the Coast Guard base in Miami. His lieutenant had just given him the latest update onThe Family Dunne. The news wasn't good. In fact, it made no sense at all.Bolting out into the hallway, Tatem made a beeline for the Sit, short for Situation Room. Millcrest had just called him from there."What the h.e.l.l's going on?" Tatem demanded, pushing through the Sit's double doors. "This isn't tracking for me. Not one bit."No one in the room said a word. Not the land-based mission supervisor. Not the radio specialist. Not the petty officer whose sole responsibility was charting the location of the SAR helicopter searching for the boat.Instead they all turned to Millcrest.It was one of those rare moments when the lieutenant wished he didn't have such a good relationship with his commanding officer. It was just a.s.sumed he'd do the talking to Tatem."Well, it's like I said," began Millcrest slowly. "The chopper reached the coordinates of theDunne 's EPIRB, only there was nothing there. Not even the EPIRB itself."Tatem immediately wanted a cigarette.Badly."Give me the SAR team," he ordered. "I want to hear exactly what theydidn't find."Millcrest turned to the radio technician, who nodded with a crisp snap of the head and quickly announced the helicopter's call signs into a microphone. The entire wall where he sat was lined with monitors and maps.Within seconds the head pilot responded over an annoying burst of static."This is Rescue WOLF, one-niner-one, we copy," he said, his voice filling the room. The technician had put him on the loudspeaker.Tatem walked over and grabbed the microphone. His voice was booming. He didn't ask, he demanded: "What's the story out there, John? This isn't making a whole lot of sense yet."The pilot explained that he'd done three fly-bys over the given coordinates and there was absolutely no boat, no crew, no sign of anything in the water. They were beginning to search the immediate area, but their fuel level would limit how much surface they could cover before they had to head back to base."Any chance your coordinate readings are off?" Tatem asked."No, sir," came back the pilot. "We double and triple-checked already."Millcrest shrugged again. "Perhaps it was the EPIRB, Andy. Maybe it malfunctioned before it went dead, broadcast the wrong coordinates.""Maybe," said Tatem. "If that's the case, we'd better hope the numbers are off by only a little. Otherwise, our search area is as big as that storm and then some.""Even with multiple SARs, that could take us over a week," said Millcrest."Exactly. Which means we'd better get started." Tatem folded his arms, half talking to himself as he turned to walk out. "Let's hope this Dunne family has some fight in them."

Chapter 58

IT'S A BEAUTIFUL SUNSET. How ironic is that?If only we could enjoy this incredible orange glow dipping toward the horizon, the blue of the ocean seemingly melting into the purple clouds fanning across the sky. Instead, rocking endlessly back and forth on this raft, all we can see is the darkness that awaits us. Nightfall. And the numbing chill that's coming with it.Never will a couple of blankets have to work so hard."I think Carrie was right," says Mark, his voice sullen. "They're not coming for us. No one is.""We can't think like that," I say. "We have to stay positive, and that's not a cliche, guys."It's as if Mark doesn't hear me. "If the Coast Guard has our coordinates, don't you think they would've been here by now?""Yeah, something's wrong," says Carrie.Ernie nods in agreement, sage little Buddha that he is."Listen, all we can do right now is stay here and wait for them to come," I say.It's not exactly the most persuasive argument I've ever made, but it succeeds for a reason I didn't intend. All because I said the wordwait.It makes Mark stare down at my leg. As he looks back at me, his eyes do all the talking. There's one thing thatcan't wait. At least, not much longer.Nothing like an open grade-IIIB tibia fracture to change the subject."It's time to do something about that, isn't it?" he finally asks me.He glances at my leg again, and I do the same."Yeah," I say, nodding. "I'm going to need some help with it, though.""Count me out," says Carrie immediately. "I'm sorry, Mom. I told you I couldn't do pre-med."Mark shoots her a look. "C'mon. After all you've been through today, you're telling me you're afraid of a little broken bone?""When it's a bone I cansee? Yeah, that's what I'm telling you."Alas, my superhero daughter has met her kryptonite. Squeamishness."It's okay, Mom, I'll help," offers Ernie.Wow. He says it in a way so incredibly sweet I want to cry. Still, cramming a bone back into my exposed flesh and setting it isn't something for a ten-year-old to experience, no matter how mature he is.h.e.l.l, it's not something for this forty-five-year-old either, but I don't have much of a choice now, do I?"Thanks, sweetheart, but I only need your brother for this," I explain.Your brother and a whole bunch of morphine,I should add.That's when I watch Mark dig into his shorts. Our clothes have been dry for hours, although I'm thinking that whatever he's got in his pocket must still be a wet mess.That is, until I see the plastic bag and the Bic lighter.He dangles the bag from his fingertips, giving it a shake before smiling. "Hey, what do you know, dry as a bone."I suddenly don't know whether to hug him or hit him. Either way, "You were supposed to giveall of it to Jake.""I know. What can I tell you? I always carry a spare doobie," he says. He removes the already rolled joint and hands it to me. "Think of it as medical marijuana. Perfectly legal, right?"A few seconds pa.s.s as all I can do is stare at the joint.Am I really about to smoke my son's pot?That's when I gaze down at my leg again and consider the G.o.dawful pain that awaits me. It's amazing how much your world can change in one day."Hand me the lighter," I tell Mark.

Chapter 59

THE POT WORKS. Kind of, sort of.It does reduce the pain a little. Instead of sheer agony, it's more like a mild form of torture.All I know is that when I get off this raft and back to the hospital, I'm going to hug all the anesthesiologists. It's not that I ever took them for granted. I just never gave them enough credit for what they do.Anyway, as far as I can tell, the "operation" was a success. Mark was a real trouper, never once flinching as we reconstructed my snapped shinbone.You see a lot worse in those stupid chainsaw movies, he told me.Now I have to keep my fingers crossed that the wound doesn't become infected.In the meantime, I'm dealing with a side effect that I never antic.i.p.ated. The munchies.Here I am, four hours post-op, with the kids all huddled together asleep, and I'm wide awake, doing everything in my power not to eat every last calorie of our rations.Oh, and did I mention how d.a.m.n cold it is? And windy?I can't help wondering what's taking the Coast Guard so long. Is it the storm? Has it reached land, wreaking havoc with their rescue missions?Or what about the EPIRB? It was working, wasn't it?Yes, it was. I'm sure of it.I'm also sure we haven't drifted that far from the wreckage of the boat. All afternoon we've been paddling back against the current, trying to hold our coordinates. Even if we're off by a mile or two, we're still well within sight of any plane or helicopter.At least, that's what I keep telling myself.I lean back against the edge of the raft, looking up at the stars. Millions of them, it seems. I think of my father again and his telescope in the backyard. I even hear his voice, so calming.We're all Big Dippers, part of something much bigger than ourselves.Suddenly there's another voice I'm hearing. It's faint, barely audible, and I think it's one of the kids talking in his sleep.Then I realize-it's Jake.I quickly scoot over to his side. I see his eyelids flutter-he's barely conscious."Jake, can you hear me?" I whisper in his ear.He lets out a slight moan."Jake," I try again. "It's me, Katherine. Jake?"He turns his head now and sees me. The words form slowly. "What happened?" he finally asks."There was an explosion on the boat, a big one. Do you remember anything?"He doesn't. I can tell by the look on his face, the confusion in his eyes-and the fear."You were chasing us around the deck, throwing us in the water," I continue. As I say the words, it dawns on me. "That's why we're still alive . . .because of you. ""I was -"Jake stops, wincing in pain. It hurts for him to talk, so I tell him not to. But he keeps talking anyway. Jake is always Jake, no matter what's going on around him. Even this."I was . . . at . . . the bow . . . with you," he manages. "Now I remember.""That's right, that's when the explosion happened. You were the only one still on the boat. That's why you were burned."d.a.m.n. Where's my bedside manner? He didn't need to know that, not now.Jake struggles to look down at himself. That hurts him even more than trying to talk, and his face contorts in agony. "How bad?"I take his hand in mine. "It's going to be okay.You're going to be okay. The EPIRB-you set it off, remember? They're going to come and rescue us."I watch him trying to remember. He's breathing harder. I tell him he needs to rest."I can . . . still hear him," he says."Who?""My . . . brother."It takes me a second before it clicks. He'd told me about hearing Stuart on the boat-seeing him, even-although he said he knew it hadn't really happened.I squeeze Jake's hand. "I'm sure he's not laughing anymore," I say.Jake's tan face is now white as a ghost's. His breathing grows more labored, and it scares me."You've got to conserve your strength," I tell him."Please."There's something else he wants to say. Despite the pain, he needs to tell me something. "I was never sorry," he says, his voice faint.I don't want him to talk anymore, but I also don't know what he means. Maybe he sees it in my eyes, because of all things, he smiles. He pulls me inches closer and whispers in my ear."I was never sorry I loved you," Jake says.I turn away as my tears begin to fall. They spill from my eyes, streaking down my face. It was complicated back then, when Jake and I had our forbidden summer. Stuart was away all the time, constantly, and I almost felt that he knew and didn't care about Jake and me. Maybe Stuart was moving on and wanted me to do the same.I look out at the ocean, the lovely reflection of the moon. I look back up at the sky and all its teeming stars.And I look at my kids, who are all still asleep. It's strange, but I don't think I've ever loved them any more than I do right now.I squeeze Jake's hand again because there's somethingI need to tellhim."Jake," I say, finally turning back to him. "Jake?"My mouth stops.Everything stops in my universe.Jake's no longer breathing.He's gone.

Part Four

All Together Now

Chapter 60

"MOM, are we going to die too?"Ernie's question shoots me in the heart, and for a few moments I'm speechless. I thought the hardest thing I'd ever have to do in my life was telling my children that their father had died. Turns out I was wrong. Breaking the news about Jake, that he didn't make it through that first night, was even harder.When Stuart died, we allfelt alone.With Jake gone, we truly are.For two days now, no less.We've been burned beet red by the sun, and our food and water are beginning to run low, almost as low as our spirits. The sadness of losing Jake has taken the kids from overwhelming despair to something even worse. Fear.That we all might be next.We've been staying as close as possible to whereThe Family Dunne went down, but there's been no rescue boat, no helicopter. The only planes overhead are like ants in the sky, mere specks that we probably wouldn't see at all if not for their vapor trails. For sure they can't see us.In short, we're lost somewhere in tropical waters, but we don't know exactly where. Apparently neither does anyone else.So why do I keep telling the kids that we need to stay put? Why do we keep fighting the current?For two days I've been a stubborn mule, saying that we need to give the Coast Guard more time. By now I know the kids suspect the real reason.I'mthe one who needs more time. Jake's at rest at the bottom of the ocean and I still can't let go. I can't move on. Physically. Truth is, if I were the only person on this lousy raft, I wouldn't leave. I'd stay here near Jake until I was either rescued or not.But that's not the way it is. I now realize that. My children are on this raft with me, and I'm their mother. We may be alone out here on the ocean, but we're alone together.And we need to be saved.I stare through narrowed eyes at their sunburned bodies, their cuts and bruises, the sea salt clinging to their scabs. Looking between their chapped white lips and disheveled heads of hair, I stare deep into their eyes."No, Ernie," I answer. "We're not going to die too."It's time to let go, to stop fighting the current.And see where it takes us.

Chapter 61

OPERATION CHANCE ENCOUNTER has begun.That's what Ellen Pierce called it as she walked into the small, albeit well-equipped gym that the DEA offered its agents in the bas.e.m.e.nt of the New York Division building.The time was 5:20A.M. Early with a capitalE!Not surprisingly, Ellen had the gym to herself. Good thing, too. This way she could pour some Poland Spring water into a towel and strategically dab her face and wet down her T-shirt without having to explain herself to anyone. Including the man she was waiting for: her boss.She knew that Ian McIntyre worked out every weekday morning, starting at five-thirty. He was a fitness freak, having competed in iron-man triathlons up until his late forties. Now that he was a card-carrying member of the AARP, he had scaled back a little. He only did marathons. Three a year, to be exact. Boston, New York, and Philly, his old hometown.Needless to say, the man was hard-core-all the more reason why Ellen had to go through this little charade just to have a private chat with him.During the day, on Uncle Sam's time and dime, Ian McIntyre did everything pretty much by the book. The subject matter of work conversations he had with agents was logged in what was famously known as "the Tomb." In the era of knee-jerk congressional hearings, it was a pretty smart thing to do, actually.There was also another benefit. The Tomb kept agents from wasting McIntyre's time. Because when it came to far-flung hunches, no one liked to go on record. It certainly didn't bode well for your annual performance review.Sure enough, at five-thirty sharp, Ian McIntyre came bouncing into the gym via the men's locker room. Immediately he did a double take as he spotted Ellen Pierce stepping off a treadmill. He wasn't used to having company at this early hour."Good morning, Ian," said Ellen, wiping the Poland Spring "sweat" from her brow."Morning, Ellen. What a surprise. I didn't know you even worked out here.""I don't. A pipe burst last night at the gym in my apartment building. So here I am, bright and early."McIntyre nodded as he dropped down to the floor mat to stretch. Ellen wanted the segue to seem natural, so she waited a few moments, toweling off the handrails on her treadmill.Then, as nonchalantly as possible, she asked, "Hey, have you been following that whole thing with Peter Carlyle's family?""You mean their sailboat disappearing? Yeah, a little bit. Horrible, huh?""Really horrible. Those kids, his wife. I never thought I'd feel sorry for the guy."McIntyre gave her a quick, knowing smile. "You and me both. At least for his family."She opened her mouth as if to speak but stopped. This was the moment of truth."What were you about to say?" asked McIntyre."Oh, it's nothing," said Ellen with a shrug. "It's just that I got this feeling when I was watching Carlyle onThe Judith Fox Show. ""What kind of feeling?" he asked."Something kind of strange. It was as if he -"McIntyre cut her off like an ax. "Stop right there," he said. "I don't want to hear it.""Hear what?""Whatever you're about to tell me.""You don't even know what it is, Ian.""I don't have to, Ellen. This isn't the time or the place.""Just hear me out, will you?" she asked. "It's the way Carlyle was acting. Something's not right. I'm a hundred percent on this. Carlyleknows something."McIntyre stood up from the mat. In less than two seconds he was directly in Ellen's face. "Listen to me," he began. "The guy's a first-cla.s.s A-hole and he made us look bad in court and blew up your case. I know you're still mad, and I can understand that. But what I won't understand-what I won'ttolerate -is one of my agents letting her anger affect her better judgment. You keep that imagination of yours in check, you got that? That goes for your female intuition, too."Ellen stared blankly at him.Imagination? Female intuition? How about street smarts and common sense?"I said, have . . . you . . . got . . . that?"She finally nodded.McIntyre turned and walked over to the nearest treadmill. Before stepping on, he turned back. "Oh, and the next time you want to fake a workout so you can have my ear, try not to make the sweatstain so perfect on your little T-shirt, okay?"Ellen grimaced.Ouch. Busted.So much for Operation Chance Encounter.It was time for Plan B.

Chapter 62

IT WAS BARELY 9A.M. in Miami and the temperature outside the Coast Guard base was already pushing up into the high eighties, and it was humid.As for the temperature inside, it wasn't much lower. The central AC was seemingly waving the white flag again, and the vents in Andrew Tatem's office were trickling the lukewarmest of lukewarm air.Great, just great. Splendid . . . and now things get really hot, right?Tatem picked up the phone and dialed. As much as he hated to take s.h.i.t from anyone, that's exactly what he was about to do in a big, unpleasant way."May I speak with Peter Carlyle, please? This is Lieutenant Tatem of the Coast Guard."Another night had come and gone without findingThe Family Dunne and its crew. After ordering the search effort to continue around the clock and adding a slew of helicopters and man-hours, Tatem and his Coast Guard unit had turned up absolutely nothing.Now, in what had become a twice-daily routine, Tatem had to call New York and share the news. Or rather, his no-news."I don't get it!" barked Carlyle over the phone, his patience clearly waning, if he ever had any. "You said you had their coordinates, am I right? Didn't you tell me that, Lieutenant Tatem? I made a note of it.""We thought we did."The b.a.s.t.a.r.d is making notes. For the lawsuit, right?"What about your maps? Are you sure you're reading them right?"Tatem closed his eyes, blinking long and hard in an effort to maintain his usual even keel.Reading our maps right? What does he think we're using, an old foldout Rand McNally from the glove compartment?"Mr. Carlyle, this is one of the largest search efforts we've ever made. I a.s.sure you that we're doing our very best," said Tatem."Then your best needs to get a whole lot better," he heard back. That was followed by a loudclick!Carlyle had hung up on him, and he wanted Tatem to know he'd been cut off.Oh, well.Such abuse was nothing new to Tatem. He was used to family members expressing their frustrations. More important, he understood it. It was only natural. Very human. And thus forgivable.What struck Tatem as being a little odd, though-or at least different-was that he wasn't getting the abuse face-to-face.He'd been involved in over a hundred search-and-rescue efforts for people missing at sea. Most of the time, "loved ones" felt compelled to travel to the base, especially if they could afford it. They wanted to be closer to the action, feel more part of the effort. "It's the least we can do," he often heard.Not Carlyle, though. He wanted to know everything that was happening, only he wanted to know it while he was back home in Manhattan.Granted, his rushing down to Miami wouldn't make any difference in the search effort itself. In fact, as the search dragged on, it could only complicate things, especially since the media had really latched on to the story.Carlyle's appearance onThe Judith Fox Show had all but set the table.Now, nearly three days later, with the Dunne family still missing, the feeding frenzy would only get worse.So why was Carlyle still up in New York?

Chapter 63

I WANT TO SCREAM! I want to let go with a Grand Canyondeep, ear-piercing primal scream that rattles the heavens and whoever may or may not be up there holding on to the deed for this planet.We're all part of something much bigger than ourselves?I'm losing faith, Dad. I'm feeling so small and insignificant you wouldn't believe it.We've been drifting for two days, and the view hasn't changed. Everywhere we look it's just ocean and more ocean. Nothing else exists in our universe.This raft may still be inflated, but the blistering sun combined with our dwindling food and water has let the air out of all of us. We're exhausted, zapped. Numb.The kids at least have been able to sleep. Not me. Here it is, the sun about to rise on another day, and I feel like I'm back pulling thirty-six-hour shifts as an intern. Only this is so much worse. Back then I always knew that things would get better, that the shift would end.Which brings me to my leg.The bone may be mending, but the skin around the wound has turned a very unfortunate shade of green. Even if my medical background consisted merely of watchingGrey's Anatomy orHouse, I'd know that the one thing I feared has happened. It's infected. I'm infected. A raging fever can't be too far behind.I haven't said boo to the kids about any of this, nor do I plan to. At least not yet. They've got enough on their minds. So I'm keeping my leg covered and hoping against hope that the scenery changes for us soon. Really soon!Actually, I'd laugh out loud if I had the strength.For the longest time, years and years, I've wanted to buy a great beach house on Martha's Vineyard, or maybe Nantucket. It would be my escape from Manhattan-something with a private deck, a couple of chaise longues, and, most important, an amazing ocean view.Ha!To h.e.l.l with wishing for that anymore. All I want to see now, and forever, is land.I want to be rescued! I want my kids to be safe!Then maybe I'll finally be able to sleep.I'm about to close my eyes and try yet again to sleep when both my lids suddenly pop open like jack-in-the-boxes.Oh!My!G.o.d!Is that a mirage? Am I so ridiculously sleep-deprived that I'm seeing things?No! It's for real, all right. I think it's real, anyway.Way off in the distance, amid the first hint of sunrise, is the most beautiful sight in the world."Kids!" I yell. "Wake up! Wake up!"They slowly begin to stir-tooslowly, I decide-so I supply them with a little added incentive at the top of my lungs. It's a Grand Canyondeep, ear-piercing primal scream that rattles the heavens and whoever may or may not be up there holding the deed to this planet."LAND HO!" I announce.

Chapter 64

AS FAST AS YOU CAN SAY . . . well, "Land ho!" we turn into the Dunne family Olympic paddling team.This is incredible. It's so fantastic. Unbelievable.As we scoop frantically with paddles and hands, our pain and exhaustion take a distant backseat in the raft. I even forget about my leg.We're gunning for a mere speck of green on a blue horizon, but the kids are just as sure as I am. It's an island. And we can't wait to get there!Especially our empty stomachs."I hope they have a McDonald's!" chirps Ernie. "You think?"We all burst into laughter, and it feels great. Humor, much like our rations, has been in very short supply the past couple of days."Screw that burger nonsense," says Mark, showing no letup on his paddling. "I want the whole cow, a big-a.s.s porterhouse steak! Maybe there'll be a Morton's on the island! Ruth Chris. Flames!""Or maybe a really great pizza place," says Carrie, getting in on the act. "I could eat an entire large pepperoni pie all by myself! I'd do it, too!"Talk about a couple of sentences I never thought I'd hear from her . . ."What about you, Mom?" asks Ernie. "What kind of restaurant do you want?"I need to think about it for only a split second. "Room service!" I belt out. "I want the entire menu delivered to me as I lounge on my comfy pillow-top bed at the St. Regis.""Works for me!" says Carrie. "Order up!""That would be so cool, if there's a hotel," adds Ernie."Hey, I don't care if all this island has is a Motel 6," says Mark. "Just as long as it's a bed and not this lousy raft with its Hail Mary box buffet."Our shoulders and arms ache as we continue paddling, but it's the best pain in the world. In the back of my mind, I can't help thinking about Jake and wishing he were here to see this.I feel tears welling up in my eyes. I can't hold them back; I don't even try. Sadness? Joy? Both, I realize.I also realize how proud Jake would've been of all of us. We've hung in there, toughed this out together.Like a real family,the family Dunne, the one that really matters.

Chapter 65

WE'RE ABOUT four hundred yards from the island. Then three hundred. And suddenly Ernie stops paddling."Hey," he says, raising a hand to shield his eyes from the sun. "Where is everybody?"We all stop and squint. We're finally close enough to sh.o.r.e for a good look-see at the beach dead ahead. But no matter where we look, we don't see a single person.We don't see much of anything, actually. No houses, no huts, no construction of any kind.No sign of life."Big deal. So it's a secluded beach," says Carrie with a shrug. "Keep paddling, my hearties. Look how beautiful it is!"She's certainly right about that. The sand, a gorgeous pastel pink, is practically sparkling under the morning sun, while in the background huge sweeping palms gently lean forward as if each tree is listening to the surf. It's the very definition of unspoiled."I bet you ten bucks only the locals know about this beach," says Mark. "They probably keep it a secret from the tourists.""Yeah, it would get way too crowded," adds Carrie warily. "It's not very big."No, actually it's very small. In fact, the whole island looks small, at least from this angle. For all I know-and hope-my pillow-top bed at the St. Regis is waiting for me on the other side."Let's keep paddling," I say.We're churning on nothing but a mix of adrenaline and curiosity now, our mild joking giving way to a hushed silence. We're staring straight ahead at the best news we've had in four days, if not our entire lives-land!-and yet there's no escaping this weird feeling among us. It's as if Ernie's question is echoing in all our heads.Where is everybody? Or anybody, for that matter?We keep paddling, we keep looking at the perfect beach.With n.o.body on it.

Chapter 66

FROM LAND HO to land here.The kids hop out into waist-high water and pull the raft up onto sh.o.r.e with me still in it. I'm nowhere near able to put any pressure on my broken leg, so Mark carries me over to a spot on the sand and sets me down with great care. I have never seen him acting like this, and it's impressive.Mark is impressive.No one says anything as we all look around, our necks craning left and right.Finally Ernie sums it all up. "I get the feeling we're a long, long way from any McDonald's, or even a Taco Bell."I'm afraid that's right. If first impressions count for anything, it's hard to imagine there being Happy Meals, or for that matter a steakhouse, on this island. As for a five-star hotel, that's not looking too promising either. Or a telephone.Especially when the only footprints on this beach are ours."There's no way this is a deserted island," says Carrie, as if trying to convince herself. "I mean, there's no way . . . Right?""It's highly unlikely," I a.s.sure her while trying to convince myself."Yes, but it is definitely possible," says Ernie matter-of-factly. "I saw this movie in my science cla.s.s that said there are a lot more deserted islands than people think."Mark rolls his eyes. "That movie was probably made fifty years ago. At worst, this place might be uninhabited at the moment, but it's notdeserted. ""What's the difference if there's no one here to help us?" asks Carrie."A big difference," says Mark. "It means that somewhere on this island there's probably a house, or a couple of houses, with a satellite link.E.T., phone home -you follow?"Carrie nods, cowering slightly at the thought that her younger, pot-smoking Deerfield brother has shown up his older, wiser, better-SAT-scoring Yalie sister. Sibling rivalry knows no bounds, even on an island."So what are we waiting for?" asks Ernie. "Let's go find a phone."Of course, I'm not about to go anywhere. Not unless a pair of crutches were suddenly to fall from the sky. Even if they did, I'd be having second thoughts about this proposed trek. Something doesn't feel right to me."Whoa," I say, raising my palm like a traffic cop. "Maybe that's not such a good idea right now.""Maybe what's not such a good idea right now?" asks Mark. "Calling the Coast Guard?""Going off exploring the island right away. The sun's not even all the way up yet.""It doesn't matter. All we've done so far is trade in a raft for a beach. We still need to find help. And help'sthat way."He points beyond the beach as Carrie and Ernie nod in agreement."He's right, Mom," says Carrie. "We have to find out what's here."I know they're both right. That's the problem."Okay, here's the deal," I say, sounding exactly the way I feel-like a nervous mother. "The three of you absolutely have to stay together and look out for one another. Whatever you do,don't get separated. And there can be no fights."Mark salutes. "Gotcha, Doc.""I'm serious, you guys. Don't take too long, either.""Don't worry, we'll be quick," says Carrie. "We won't leave you here long. And we'll be on our best behavior."As the three of them walk off, Mark shouts over his shoulder, "If we're not back in a couple of hours, call the Coast Guard!"

Chapter 67

I KNOW I TOLD THEM to be quick. But I didn't meanthis quick. This is either very good or very bad.In less than twenty minutes the kids are back. As they emerge from the palm trees and trudge across the beach, I notice something dangling from Mark's fingertips."What is that?" I call out. "What did you find?""The only sign of civilization here," he answers.He holds it up for me to see. It's caked with sand, and the label has completely worn off. But the shape is unmistakable. Cla.s.sic.It's a c.o.ke bottle."Yeah, we found it right beyond the beach," says Ernie."That's it? No house with a satellite link?" I ask."Noanything ," says Mark. "No roads, no signs, and definitely no people." He glances at the old c.o.ke bottle. "At least, not recently.""Are you sure? You guys weren't gone for too long.""We didn't need to be," he says. "It's literally a jungle out there,thick, and nothing more. This island is deserted with a capitalD. ""So now what do we do?" asks Carrie.It's a good question, and one I don't immediately have an answer for. I'm too busy thinking about all the awful signals I'm beginning to get from my body.What began as a low-grade fever is starting to climb. I don't need a thermometer, I can feel it-much like the chills I'm also having. The result is a cold sweat from head to toe. The only reason the kids don't notice is that we're all sweating in this heat, too.Meanwhile, Mark seems to have more energy and ideas than I've seen from him in a year. "I think we need to do a few things," he says. "First we have to be able to signal boats and planes, right? We should spell outSOS with rocks and prepare a big fire we can light. We also should figure out where we'll sleep tonight.""I vote for somewhere with a roof," says Ernie, pointing out over the water.We all turn to look at some very ominously dark clouds on the horizon."s.h.i.t, I thought we were done with storms for a while," says Carrie with a groan."Yeah, just like we all thought we were saved," says Mark, kicking at nothing in the sand. He's p.i.s.sed. Suddenly he rears back and heaves the c.o.ke bottle into the surf."Hey, don't!"objects Ernie.Mark bristles. "Why not? What, do you want to keep it for the deposit?"Ernie ignores his big brother and wades into the water. He s.n.a.t.c.hes up the c.o.ke bottle floating amid the waves. "Don't you get it, Mark? This could save us!""Oh, yeah?" says Mark incredulously. "How would it do that?""It's simple, you dope. We put a message in it."We all laugh, and I immediately feel awful. Perhaps Mark and Carrie ought to know better, but I definitely should. This is no time to be teasing poor Ernie."I'm sorry, honey, I know you're only trying to help," I say. "We shouldn't be laughing. We're all dopes.""Go ahead and laugh. You'll be thanking me later.""Oh, I'm sure," says Mark. "Tell me, Baby Einstein, what are you going to write your message on?"Ernie appears momentarily stumped by that one. So am I, actually. Then his face lights up with an idea. "I'll write it on a piece of my T-shirt," he says. He grabs his T-shirt from the bottom, pulling it tight. "I'll tear off a section and write on that."Mark nods, if only to play along. "Okay, and what are you going to write with? I mean, I'd love to help you out, but I'm fresh out of pens."But Ernie's ahead of the curve now."I saw some red berries on a bush when we were walking before. I'll crush them and make ink." He mugs at his brother, and it's kind of cute."Let me guess-you saw that in another movie from science cla.s.s.""Go ahead, keep laughing. I'll have the last one, guys."Mark walks over to Ernie and throws an arm around his shoulder. "Dude, in case you've forgotten, we've been drifting for days without coming anywhere near a boat. It would take months, if not years, before that c.o.ke bottle could wash ash.o.r.e somewhere else, so who do you think is going to find it in the meantime, Aquaman?"Carrie laughs again, but I don't."Okay, that's enough," I say. "If Ernie wants to do it, let him. In the meantime, we need to get busy making some kind of camp.""Yeah," says Carrie. "Camp Shipwreck!"

Chapter 68

LOOKING CRISP AND CLEAN in his neatly pressed white Coast Guard uniform, Andrew Tatem stepped up to the depressing bouquet of microphones in the parking lot outside his base. Beyond the mikes was the press. Their cameras liked him already. He was thirty-eight years old, just over six-one, with a Florida tan and shiny white teeth, which he was planning to keep all to himself today.The media frenzy that he knew was coming had come all right, and the street directly outside the front gates to the base looked like an overbooked satellite-dish convention. One after another, reporters lined up before the cameras, their caked-on makeup barely withstanding the sweltering summer heat of Miami as they doled out the latest on the mysterious case of the missingFamily Dunne.But the pack was growing restless.For an entire news cycle, a veritable lifetime for these media types, they hadn't been fed any new information. Tatem knew why, of course.Because there wasn't any.Nonetheless, Tatem also knew he had to let them do their jobs. Reporters were a fickle bunch, and the last thing he needed right now was to have them turn on him.Hence the press conference.Slowly, calmly, methodically, Tatem delivered his prepared statement.The search continues . . . no effort being spared . . . It's a big ocean out there . . . The Coast Guard remains extremely hopeful . . . I remain extremely hopeful.It was all true. It just wasn't new.Which was why Tatem braced himself as he stopped, drew a deep breath, and made a simple offer."I'll answer your questions now."All at once the air exploded with shouting as the reporters verbally elbowed one another in order to be heard."At what point will you call off the search effort?""Can you confirm thatThe Family Dunne issued a Mayday call before it disappeared?""Why hasn't the Navy been brought in?"Tatem had given his fair share of press conferences, but they had never been like this. Not even close to this magnitude and intensity.One man off to the side, a scraggly-haired beat reporter from theDaily Miami, was particularly relentless. Florida was this guy's turf, and he clearly didn't want anybody to forget it."What's your reaction to the rumor that you're about to be replaced as the officer in charge of this search effort?" he asked.Tatem blinked.Replaced?"I'm certainly not aware of any such rumor," he answered.The reporter turned to the brunette next to him, muttering loudly enough to be heard."They never are."Tatem ignored the unpleasant remark, not to mention the overwhelming urge to leap from behind the microphones and lock this a.s.shole in a half nelson before dropping him down to the pavement.What's your reaction to that, punk?It was time to wrap things up."I'll answer one more question," he announced.Immediately the shouting escalated, the gaggle of reporters pushing up closer to the microphones. As nonchalantly as he could, Tatem raised his hand to wipe away a bead of sweat from his forehead, only to hear the air explode again with the sound of clicking cameras.d.a.m.n. They didn't miss a gnat fart, did they?He could see it now, his photo splashed across every major newspaper in the country.Coast Guard Lieutenant Andrew Tatem on the hot seat, the caption would read.Or, worse,Andrew Tatem only hours before being replaced in Miami.He suddenly wished he'd never heard of the Dunne family and their d.a.m.n sailboat. He had felt sorry for them, but in the media's intense glare-this ridiculous 24/7 circus-the feeling had shifted to intense frustration. Even some anger.What the h.e.l.l happened to that family?It didn't make any sense so far.Tatem suddenly saw something out of the corner of his eye. It was Millcrest. His lieutenant was walking straight toward him with that familiar look on his face.There was something Tatem needed to know.And it couldn't wait.

Chapter 69

TATEM STEPPED BACK from the microphones as Millcrest whispered up against his ear."We found something, sir."That was it. Four words he'd been waiting to hear. That's all it took.Quickly copping his best poker face, Tatem turned to the crowd of reporters and announced that there was another matter he had to attend to. No one bought it, but he didn't care. As they all began shouting "What other matter?" he was hightailing it back inside the base.Directly to the Sit Room."It's a life jacket from the boat," Millcrest told him along the way. "There must have been a fire onboard, because part of it was badly burned.""You said it was from the boat. How do you know?" asked Tatem."Because it said so," answered Millcrest with a slight smirk. "They actually had monogrammed life jackets, if you can believe that. 'The Family Dunne' was sewn along the back of the collar.""Only one life jacket was found?""So far.""Nothing else-no other debris from the boat, the fire, whatever happened?""Not yet. We're circling the area again, widening the perimeter. With the jacket being scorched, though -""I know," said Tatem.That's probably all they'll find.Millcrest grabbed the door of the Sit Room and held it open for Tatem, who immediately locked eyes with the junior officer on the radio."Which team was it?" Tatem asked. "Powell?""No, it was Hawkins," answered the officer."They on a secure channel?""Yes, and waiting for you, sir."The officer radioed the SAR team and they answered within seconds."Nice catch, boys," said Tatem, which he truly meant. A life jacket floating in the ocean was the proverbial needle in a haystack.Now came the key question he had to ask them. This was the gutwhacker."How far from the original EPIRB coordinates are you?""That's the thing," answered Hawkins, the SAR pilot, his voice echoing through the radio. "We're a whole lot farther away than any current or drift pattern could've taken them. Lieutenant, you know what that means."Tatem fell silent. On the one hand, this explained why the search teams hadn't found anything sooner.The Family Dunne had never been at those original coordinates.On the other hand, it made the situation clear to him-from a Coast Guard perspective, anyway.It was hopeless out there."Sir?" asked Millcrest.Tatem's mind returned to the room. "I'm sorry, what?""Would you like Hawkins to fan the area one more time?"Tatem took a moment, squeezing his temples as if to force out the answer he didn't want to give. But had to."No," he finally said. "Bring 'em home . . . bring 'emall home. The search is over. The area's too large.The Family Dunne went down."

Chapter 70

PETER WAS ALONE and enjoying his morning cup of coffee in Katherine's five-bedroom, six-thousand-square-foot apartment on Park Avenue, but not for long. With the buzz of the building's intercom he was told that Mona Elien had just arrived.f.u.c.kin' great. Wonderful.Peter's first condolence call was from probably the last person he wanted to see right now. Especially one-on-one in Katherine's apartment.Despite their socializing together on numerous occasions, Peter didn't truly know Katherine's best friend all that well, nor did he want to. It was nothing personal. Rather, it was professional.Mona was a New York shrink. Peterhated shrinks, from any city. He had ever since he was a kid.When Peter was twelve and growing up in Larchmont, his parents had caught him stealing from their wallets. His excuse was that his allowance wasn't big enough. They grounded him. At the same time they doubled his allowance, their loopy thought being that he would no longer be tempted to steal. A few months later, though, they caught Peter at their wallets again. That's when they realized it didn't matter how much money they gave him. Enough would never be enough for their troubled son.He had to have more.So they took Peter to see a psychiatrist. When that shrink couldn't get through to him, they dragged him to another. And another.By then Peter loathed psychiatrists. He thought they were nothing more than smooth-talking, note-taking phonies asking bulls.h.i.t questions like "How does that make you feel?"He couldn't stand being in the same room with them anymore. There was only one way out, he decided.Lie to them.Peter told his next shrink exactly what he figured she wanted to hear. He said he had stolen the money to get attention from his parents, but now he was sorry he had caused them so much pain and worry.It worked. What's more, it changed his life. Peter realized for the first time that he could lie with the best of them, and that he was born to be a lawyer.A d.a.m.n successful one, too. In fact, before meeting Katherine Dunne, he had been taking down over $2 million a year. That was enough for anyone to live on comfortably.Unfortunately for Katherine and her kids, it wasn't enough for Peter.He had to have more.He was well on his way to getting it, too. All he had to do was stick to his game plan. Next up? Conning Katherine's friends and relatives as he had that psychiatrist when he was just a kid.How fitting that Mona Elien would be first.A shrink.Let the session begin.

Chapter 71

THE APARTMENT'S DOORBELL sounded with an elegant chime, which he despised and would change within the week. He'd do the same to the chimes at Katherine's country house up in Chappaqua.As Peter went to greet Mona, he stopped first in front of a gold-leaf mirror in the marble foyer. He wanted to make sure he looked sufficiently bereaved.Not quite convinced by what he saw in the mirror, Peter furiously rubbed his eyes for a few seconds to make them good and red, as if he'd been crying half the night.There. Much better."Thank you for coming, Mona," he said, opening the door.She didn't respond. All she did was stare at him for what seemed like an eternity. There were no tears from her, no consoling hugs. Finally she spoke."I know what you've done," she said."Excuse me?" asked Peter.It was pure reflex. He had heard her perfectly. He just couldn't believe she'd actually said it.Relax, there's no way she could know . . . Right?Mona held his gaze as she entered the apartment. She put her handbag down on the silk-tufted bench below the mirror in the foyer. "I can see it in your eyes," she said. "The guilt.""Guilt?""Yes. You've been blaming yourself ever since Katherine and the kids disappeared. As if somehow things would've been different if you had gone with them.""Oh," said Peter, barely able to contain his relief.Silly rabbit. The shrink is just being a shrink."It's a very common reaction, Peter," Mona continued. "But you have to know that you're not to blame for this tragedy. It's not your fault, not at all."Peter didn't skip a beat. If he had, he might have actually laughed out loud. "I know, I know," he said with a slow, gloomy nod. "But it's been so d.a.m.n hard."With that, he shot Mona a helpless look, and she promptly responded by giving him a hug. It was like Pavlov's dog. Or was thatPeter's dog?For good measure, he was about to turn on the waterworks when he realized that she'd beat him to it. Her crying just happened to be genuine.She pulled back finally. "Oh, G.o.d, look at me, I'm a sobbing mess," she said, wiping away a tear. What little mascara she was wearing had smudged beneath her eyes. She could feel it. "Let me go check on the damage."Mona knew every room of Katherine's apartment, including the half-bath off the foyer. She closed the door behind her.For a second Peter simply stood there, twiddling his thumbs. The next second he was eyeing her handbag on the table. Insane, but he couldn't help himself.Quickly he approached the bag, intent on finding her wallet. Whatever cash she had, he'd take only what she wouldn't miss.What a rush! She could come out at any second! She could catch him in the act!Suddenly his hand froze. He saw something next to her wallet.It was turned on.

Chapter 72

AN HOUR LATER Peter was walking south along Park Avenue. His mind was elsewhere, though.A tape recorder? Why would Mona Elien be taping our conversation? What is the b.i.t.c.h up to?He didn't know anything beyond the obvious-that she indeed must suspect him of something. Or, at the very least, she didn't trust him.All the more reason to be doing what he was about to do next, just to be safe.Peter cut over to Fifth Avenue and continued south for ten blocks, until straight ahead was the fountain outside the famous Plaza Hotel. Hordes of tourists and other people on their lunch breaks were using the perimeter of the fountain as a giant circular bench. Today was no different from any other.Good. Perfect for his purposes. Lots and lots of witnesses!Peter was wearing a red jacket and a baseball cap featuring the near ubiquitous half Lab, half boxer logo of the Black Dog Tavern on Martha's Vineyard. He and Katherine had visited the pub-but h.e.l.l, so had he and Bailey.A mere block away from the fountain now, he gave a quick tug on the cap, pulling it down tight above his eyes-so tight, in fact, that he almost didn't see the two cops standing on the far corner chatting to a hot dog vendor.But he was glad he did spot them. Very glad. He wrote them right into the script.How lucky can one guy get? I guess the good Lord must be looking down fondly on me.With a few quick glances, Peter scanned the sidewalk in front of the fountain, checking to see who was walking toward him. His eyes breezed over the women and children, as well as anyone who looked older than him. It had to be a guy, and a younger male at that.Bingo! There you are.Peter spotted him about thirty yards away. Baggy jeans, T-shirt, Timberland boots, scowl.Mr. Timberland was maybe in his late twenties-lean and fit, but definitely not a gym rat by any means. More important, he had that look on his face-the expressionless, dead stare that suggested he was a little annoyed with the world, if not outright p.i.s.sed at it.In short, Mr. Timberland wasn't about to take any s.h.i.t from anybody on the street. Peter included.Reaching into the pocket of his jacket, Peter removed a small sterling silver flask filled with Jack Daniel's. Without breaking stride, he gave the cap a twist and promptly swigged about four or five ounces of pure liquid courage.It was showtime!

Chapter 73

PETER IMMEDIATELY CUT a hard angle across the sidewalk, lining himself up directly in Mr. Timberland's path. The distance between them quickly diminished until they were just steps apart. At the last second Peter steeled himself, and then he walked right into the guy.Smack!The two men collided hard, shoulder to shoulder. Before the guy even knew what-or who-hit him, Peter added insult to injury."Watch where you're going, a.s.shole!" he barked."Excuse me?" the guy called out. The words were polite, but not the tone. Far from it. Mr. Timberland was ticked off good already.Peter stopped and turned around to face him. "You heard me!" he shot back."That's right, I did. What the h.e.l.l's your problem?"Peter jabbed his finger close to the man's face. "Right now it'syou! "Peter could feel the eyes of several people around the fountain staring out over their stale tuna-fish sandwiches. They were beginning to take notice of this little altercation.Peter didn't look at any of them. He kept his eyes squarely on Timberland, who was beginning to edge toward him. Within seconds they were toe to toe."Why don't you chill out, man?" said the guy.Fat chance.The only thing Peter had to make sure of now was whether he'd truly picked the right mark. It wasn't just whether the guy could take a punch, but whether he could throw one in return. Hopefully, a lot more than one.It was time to press some b.u.t.tons with this guy.More important, it was time to press some b.u.t.tons with the press."What are you, some kind of tough guy?" said Peter. " 'Cause you look more like a p.u.s.s.y to me.""What the h.e.l.l did you call me?""You deaf or something? I called you a p.u.s.s.y,you p.u.s.s.y. "Peter watched as the guy's face flushed bright red. His nostrils flared; the veins in his neck were bulging against his skin.Yeah, he'd picked the right guy, all right. Just as with jury selection, his instincts were golden.Peter, a southpaw, reared back, his left hand balled into a tight fist. As he let it fly, he could hear the collective gasps of all the witnesses gathered around the fountain. When the cops asked who threw the first punch, there would be no doubt. A unanimous verdict for sure.Crack!Peter's knuckles connected with Timberland's jaw, sending him staggering back in his boots across the sidewalk. The guy was dazed and wobbly, but he didn't go down.Not yet.Peter lunged forward and followed up his first punch with a couple more. "Stop!" a few good citizens pleaded. "For G.o.d's sake, stop!"Peter ignored the looky-loos. If anything, the voices just egged him on. He did love an audience.As blood leaked from Timberland's nose, Peter kept pummeling away until finally the guy went down.Peter yelled at him. "C'MON, YOU a.s.sHOLE, GET THE f.u.c.k UP! FIGHT, YOU b.a.s.t.a.r.d!"That's exactly what the guy did.He pushed up and charged Peter like a bull, wrapping both arms around his red jacket and taking him down in a flash. Faster still were the guy's fists as they connected one after the other with Peter's head as he lay flat on his back.Peter could easily have lifted his arms to cover himself, but he didn't. At least not immediately. Not until he swirled his tongue and tasted the blood oozing from the side of his mouth.That's when he knew.He'd gotten what he had come here for.The two cops by the hot dog vendor were coming over to break things up."Did anyone see what happened?" one of them asked the crowd.The jury.Two minutes later Peter Carlyle was in handcuffs.