Free Aground by Charles Williams; Franklin W. Dixon

“Well, if we must—”
    “What are you jabbering about?” Ingram demanded.
    “Which one to break first, Herman,” Morrison replied in English. “It’s not a very pretty sound when it goes, but maybe she’ll yell loud enough to cover it. Let’s get on with it, Dreamboat.” He stepped across, caught her wrist, and began to bring it up behind her back.
    “All right,” Ingram said bleakly. “I’ll call him.”
    Morrison smiled, and let go the wrist. “Now you’re with it. Just pick up the mike.”
    He lifted the handset from its cradle on the front of the instrument. This actuated the switch starting the transmitter; the converter whirred. Morrison had already set the band switch to 2638 Kc. He pressed the button. “This is the Dragoon, calling McAllister plane.” He didn’t know the plane’s call letters. “Dragoon to Avery, come in, please.”
    There was a moment’s tense silence. Then Avery’s voice boomed in the loudspeaker. “Avery back to Captain Ingram. How does it look on there? Everything all right? Over.”
    Morrison nodded. Ingram spoke into the handset. “Everything seems to be in good shape. I think we’ll be able to kedge her off. We’ve decided to stay aboard and see if we can get her back to Key West. Over.”
    “You mean both of you?”
    “Yes. Over.”
    Avery’s voice came in. “I see. Well, if you run into any trouble and want us to come back or send a boat, call us through the Miami Marine Operator. Can you get her with your set?”
    “Yes. We’ve got that channel.”
    “Good. Any sign of what happened to the thieves?”
    Morrison shook his head, and made a rowing motion with his left arm. Ingram looked bitterly around the cabin. “No. Apparently they just abandoned her.”
    “Right. Well, if that’s all, I’ll take off. Good luck to you.”
    “Thanks. This is the Dragoon, off and clear.”
    He replaced the handset; the sound of the converter stopped. What now? Apparently Avery had accepted Mrs. Osborne’s sudden change of mind without question. There’d been no mention of the money she still owed McAllister for the charter, but they would merely take it for granted she intended to pay as soon as they reached Key West. It could be as long as a week before anybody even began to wonder about it.
    “What are you going to do with us?” he asked.
    “Nothing,” Morrison replied. “You’ll get your boat back when we’re through with it.”
    “And when will that be?”
    “As soon as we deliver the cargo.”
    “This is kidnap. You can get life for it. I don’t think you’re that dumb—”
    “Shut up,” Morrison ordered. “Go on top. I want you up there when he takes off.”
    They went up the ladder and stood on the after deck beside the cockpit with just the muzzle of the gun showing in the hatch behind them. “Don’t look around this way,” Morrison warned. They stared out at the plane. One of the propellers turned, shattering the sunlight, and then the cough and roar of the engine came to them across the mile of water. The other engine caught. The plane began to taxi toward the south. Ruiz is afraid of it, he thought. But that was no help; Morrison was in command, and he was the dangerous one. Well, he still had one small edge; they didn’t know he spoke Spanish.
    The plane had stopped now; it swung about, facing north. The engines roared and it began to gather speed. It went past them over a mile to the westward, lifted from the water, and began to dwindle away in the void. He felt sick. Morrison came up the ladder behind them, followed by Ruiz.
    Morrison sat down on the corner of the deckhouse with the BAR across his legs, and said, “All right, let’s get this scow off the mud. What do we do first?”
    “Jettison those guns,” Ingram said coldly.
    “Come again with the jettison?”
    “Throw ‘em over the side.”
    “Don’t bug me, Herman. The guns go on that island—”
    Ruiz broke in suddenly, in Spanish. “Look! The plane