know

to the door,

to the door, and looked out through the bars. Joel lay in the corridor, asleep on a mat. I called his name.
He sat up, rubbed his eyes, smiled.
"Hey, Jones!" He got to his feet, touched his swollen nose. "Boy, Jones, you sure pack a wallop. You feeling better now?"
"Lots better. How long was I out?"
He looked down at me vaguely.
"How long before we reach Jacksonville?"
"Gosh, Jones, I dunno. Pretty soon, maybe."
I tensed the muscles behind my ears, tuned through the sounds of the ship, picked up the mutter of voices; but they were indistinct, unreadable.
"Listen, Joel. You heard what Carboni said. There'll be police waiting for me when we dock. I have to get off the ship before then. How long before we surface?"
"Huh? Hey, how come the cops is after you, Jones?"
"Never mind that. Try to think, now: do we surface out at sea, before we get into the harbor?"
Joel frowned. "Gosh, I don't know about that, Jones."
I gripped the bars. "I've got to know what time it is—where we