How Many Miracles . . .

"C’mon, Starsk," Hutch put his hand on the shorter man's shoulder. "Let's see if we can find that flashlight and the air pipe. Maybe we can shout up through it for help."

They fell to their knees and crawled around the floor of what Hutch figured had to be a twenty-five-foot, all metal container. Finally, they found the flashlight against one of the walls and Hutch turned it on. It wasn't the brightest light, but in the total darkness of their prison, it was almost incandescent, and almost lit up the entire thing, up to and including the tape recorder, and Starsky took his frustration out on it, and kicked it against a far wall.

"So, Hutch . . . " Starsky cleared his throat as they looked up, at the door of the tanker, which revealed the fact that it had been welded shut. "Which . . . which one of us got the poison, you think?"

"I don't know, Starsk," Hutch shook his head and continued to shine the light along the ceiling of the tanker until he finally found a small hole about three inches in diameter. "The recording said we had an hour -- maybe an hour and a half. I'm sure we'll know then. But . . .but until we find out, I really don’t want to think about that. In fact, we should probably think about how we’re going to escape. Why don't you climb onto my shoulders and try shouting through the hole?"

"Okay. At least I can feel like we’re doing something other than just waiting to die," Starsky climbed onto Hutch's shoulders, and put his mouth to the hole. "Hey! Hey! Can anyone hear me?! Help! We need some help down here!" They waited and heard nothing but the echo of Starsky's shout in the tank. Starsky dropped back down and Hutch swallowed.

"We'll try every fifteen minutes," Hutch decided.

"That's only four or five more times before one of us dies," Starsky swallowed. "And, don’t take this the wrong way, but I don't know who I want to die first." He looked into Hutch's face, then down at the floor. "I . . . I'd hate to put you through that, you know, the starvation part, but, well, I don’t think I want to go through that either."

"I understand completely," Hutch reached down and touched Starsky's face with his fingertips, then sighed. "Starsky, things're looking pretty hopeless now, aren't they?" Hutch asked quietly as he swallowed, and they both looked around the tanker as a small 'ping' rang out from the small hole they‘d identified as their air source. Hutch shined the light back at the hole and they watched as a small droplet of dirty water fell to the floor of the tanker, followed by another, and then another.

"It was supposed to thunderstorm tonight. A fact which our psycho kidnapper was obviously bettin’ on," Starsky answered and then looked back at Hutch. "And yeah, things are pretty dark right now, no pun intended, and unless some real big miracle occurs, we're pretty much worm food. I mean, that nutcase went to an awful lot of trouble to set this up for us and I doubt after all that, he'd just let it slip he’s locked a couple of cops in an abandoned oil tanker he’s buried somewhere. So yeah, I'd say it's pretty hopeless." They watched the dirty drips as they turned into a small rivulet of dirty water, and the two men backed away to drier territory. Hutch slid down the wall to the floor and Starsky followed.

"Starsky . . . " Hutch cleared his throat. "There's something I want to tell you . . . something I promised I'd tell you only on my deathbed."