Free Rocky Island by Jim Newell

you find another to replace it?”
    “No problem. I’ll take care of it.”
    “A drink to the success of the last trip of the Helen of Troy .” The big man reached into the liquor cabinet within arm’s length of the left side of his desk. Producing bottle and glasses, he poured expensive bourbon for both. Manfred Koch was not particularly a bourbon drinker, nor a drinker of anything alcoholic at that hour of the day, but he was not about to refuse Nicolai Antonelli. The two drank their toast and Manfred rose to leave. The two did not shake hands. That was not part of their ritual. In fact, after a brief nod and a light wave, Manfred was gone and Antonelli returned to thoughts of his various business ventures.

CHAPTER SEVEN
    As the winter wore on, life assumed its winter routine on Rocky Island. The nights had reached their longest point weeks earlier, before Christmas, and Toby was noticing that he was turning on the big beacon light a few minutes later in the afternoon and off earlier in the morning as well. The seasons’ ebb and flow of darkness and light was very noticeable to somebody who had to keep track of the beginning of daylight and darkness. The rule was that the light went on half an hour before dark and stayed on until half an hour after sunrise.
    Allison kept up with her painting, finding delight in winter scenes from the island, as well as helping her husband with his bookwork, and sometimes accompanying him on his early morning walks. She also kept a diary of the day to day events, both the trivial and the important. She had vague ideas of turning her diary into a book someday, so ever since her arrival she had written down everything, even much that was personal. They enjoyed the fireplace on the winter evenings, sometimes making love in front of the dancing flames. They were a sensual couple, a man and woman who loved each other deeply and expressed their love physically as well as in many other ways, large and small.
    The winter storms that blew up during the cold months didn’t bother either of them very much, except for Toby’s fall on the icy pathway. The bruises on his leg healed quickly. He rigged a hand line from the back door of the house to the lighthouse so that he would have something to hang on to as he made the daily trips to and fro. That was something he had thought of during previous winters, but had never got around to doing. As so often happens, he discovered that procrastination frequently causes accidents.
    He no longer carried the loaded shotgun with him wherever he went, but he kept it handy in the house where he could get to it in a hurry. His fears, which had arisen from the triple murder of Allison’s father and his fishermen crew, had not totally faded.
    On the February trip of the regular helicopter run, a passenger jumped off the craft after it landed. Corporal Brock had dropped by to bring Toby up to date. They went into Toby’s first floor workshop in the lighthouse to talk while Ed unloaded the cargo for the month. He didn’t need Toby’s help with this load. He only needed Allison to tell him where to store the things he had brought for her.
    “Toby,” began Brock, “we have word that the Helen of Troy is on its way north again. This time we have a different plan of surveillance. The navy has agreed to use one of its new submarines as part of a work-up exercise. When the ship hits Canadian waters, or at least the two hundred mile limit, whether it enters Canadian waters or not, the sub is going to shadow the vessel and see just what its movements are.”
    “That’s a good plan, but why are you telling me?”
    “We have a theory that the ship was very close to Rocky Island last time and off-loaded containers of cocaine onto fishing boats from the local area. We think that Captain Smith happened to come upon the operation and that’s when the trouble started. Whether his boat was towed out to sea and then let loose and rammed is something we don’t know, but