sending the boat skimming across the water toward the open lake.
Chapter Nine
A metal hook slammed into the rail of the big black yacht, gouging out a deep scratch in the finely finished wood. Two sets of hands gripped the arm attached to the hook and hauled up the owner.
Jean LeBeck stood on deck and adjusted his coat. He scowled in the dim light. He didn’t like the way the men had roughly handled him. No, he didn’t like it one bit.
LeBeck suddenly shoved one of the thugs overboard. He watched with a satisfied smile as the man hit the water with a thunderous splash, then bobbed to the surface, arms flailing, begging for help. LeBeck ignored him and wheeled on the other thug.
“Where’s MacGlynn?”
Down in the yacht’s ornately decorated stateroom, LeBeck’s chief assistant sat back in his chair, absentmindedly carving up a photograph of a policeman in a true-crime magazine. Frank MacGlynn’s weapon of choice was an ivory-handled stiletto, which gleamed in the pale light of the cabin. He drew the knife across the throat of the policeman. The heavyset thug grinned, displaying a mouthful of corn-kernelled teeth that betrayed a lifetime of neglect, causing even the most jaded dentist to run screaming. MacGlynn chuckled, then stuck the point of his beloved knife into the eyes of the paper copper.
Suddenly, the door to the stateroom burst open. MacGlynn fell back in his chair and tumbled to the floor. He looked up and saw his boss glowering in the doorway.
Jean LeBeck strode into the room, his fist clenched, eyes blazing. “What’s the word from Duluth?”
“They’ll be here ‘bout midnight,” responded MacGlynn. He replaced the stiletto in his coat pocket. “That is, if they find their way in the storm.”
“What storm?” LeBeck crossed to a porthole and gazed out at the darkening sky.
MacGlynn got to his feet and righted the overturned chair. “Skipper says a big one’s brew’n.”
LeBeck scowled and crossed to a cabinet. He opened the heavy oak door, revealing a rack with several firearms stowed away. LeBeck grabbed a Thompson submachine gun, then quickly jerked back the cocking bolt.
“Only rain coming down tonight’s gonna be lead.”
Chapter Ten
“T hat’s the last of it, Dad.” Ian lifted a heavy box of supplies and dropped it on the flatbed tramway car. The car, which could handle a three-ton load of supplies, sat on rails next to two wooden sheds near the pier. The first shed held supplies, while inside the second puffed a large steam engine, which powered the system of cables that hoisted the tramcar.
When the lighthouse at Wolf Point was first constructed, the only practical way to haul up building materials was by way of a stiff-legged derrick perched at the lip of the cliff. The derrick itself took a full month to assemble, each piece slowly dragged up the pathway that extended from the shoreline up behind the cliff to its summit. The huge hoisting engine and boiler, landed from a barge at the cove, was put on skids and pulled itself up with lines and tackle attached to trees on the hill above. When the derrick was finished, it was used to hoist materials and supplies from barges on the lake one hundred fifty feet below.
When construction was finished, the builders found themselves in the enviable position of having excess funds left over. Since the original derrick was deemed too hazardous to operate on a day-to-day basis for the keepers manning the light, they decided to improve Wolf Point Light’s access to the water by building a tram that led up and down from the cove. The next summer, work began on a twin-railed elevated tram system, with tall concrete pillars spaced every twenty feet leading down the hill. When it was finished, boats could moor safely at the cove dock, rather than brave anchor at the base of the cliff, with rough water sometimes swirling and smashing against the granite. After unloading, supplies were lifted with ease up the steep ascent to the
Chapter Nine
A metal hook slammed into the rail of the big black yacht, gouging out a deep scratch in the finely finished wood. Two sets of hands gripped the arm attached to the hook and hauled up the owner.
Jean LeBeck stood on deck and adjusted his coat. He scowled in the dim light. He didn’t like the way the men had roughly handled him. No, he didn’t like it one bit.
LeBeck suddenly shoved one of the thugs overboard. He watched with a satisfied smile as the man hit the water with a thunderous splash, then bobbed to the surface, arms flailing, begging for help. LeBeck ignored him and wheeled on the other thug.
“Where’s MacGlynn?”
Down in the yacht’s ornately decorated stateroom, LeBeck’s chief assistant sat back in his chair, absentmindedly carving up a photograph of a policeman in a true-crime magazine. Frank MacGlynn’s weapon of choice was an ivory-handled stiletto, which gleamed in the pale light of the cabin. He drew the knife across the throat of the policeman. The heavyset thug grinned, displaying a mouthful of corn-kernelled teeth that betrayed a lifetime of neglect, causing even the most jaded dentist to run screaming. MacGlynn chuckled, then stuck the point of his beloved knife into the eyes of the paper copper.
Suddenly, the door to the stateroom burst open. MacGlynn fell back in his chair and tumbled to the floor. He looked up and saw his boss glowering in the doorway.
Jean LeBeck strode into the room, his fist clenched, eyes blazing. “What’s the word from Duluth?”
“They’ll be here ‘bout midnight,” responded MacGlynn. He replaced the stiletto in his coat pocket. “That is, if they find their way in the storm.”
“What storm?” LeBeck crossed to a porthole and gazed out at the darkening sky.
MacGlynn got to his feet and righted the overturned chair. “Skipper says a big one’s brew’n.”
LeBeck scowled and crossed to a cabinet. He opened the heavy oak door, revealing a rack with several firearms stowed away. LeBeck grabbed a Thompson submachine gun, then quickly jerked back the cocking bolt.
“Only rain coming down tonight’s gonna be lead.”
Chapter Ten
“T hat’s the last of it, Dad.” Ian lifted a heavy box of supplies and dropped it on the flatbed tramway car. The car, which could handle a three-ton load of supplies, sat on rails next to two wooden sheds near the pier. The first shed held supplies, while inside the second puffed a large steam engine, which powered the system of cables that hoisted the tramcar.
When the lighthouse at Wolf Point was first constructed, the only practical way to haul up building materials was by way of a stiff-legged derrick perched at the lip of the cliff. The derrick itself took a full month to assemble, each piece slowly dragged up the pathway that extended from the shoreline up behind the cliff to its summit. The huge hoisting engine and boiler, landed from a barge at the cove, was put on skids and pulled itself up with lines and tackle attached to trees on the hill above. When the derrick was finished, it was used to hoist materials and supplies from barges on the lake one hundred fifty feet below.
When construction was finished, the builders found themselves in the enviable position of having excess funds left over. Since the original derrick was deemed too hazardous to operate on a day-to-day basis for the keepers manning the light, they decided to improve Wolf Point Light’s access to the water by building a tram that led up and down from the cove. The next summer, work began on a twin-railed elevated tram system, with tall concrete pillars spaced every twenty feet leading down the hill. When it was finished, boats could moor safely at the cove dock, rather than brave anchor at the base of the cliff, with rough water sometimes swirling and smashing against the granite. After unloading, supplies were lifted with ease up the steep ascent to the
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