Off Track: An Off Series Novella

by Glen Robins

  “Our host reappeared without my having noticed him approach. He came up behind me, giving me a start that I tried to conceal.

  “‘Yes, it looks like your men are ready. However, we will have one more session tomorrow morning before you depart. We will meet at the docks at 6:00 a.m. sharp. You will follow us to a wreck approximately thirty miles offshore. Mr. Watlers will do a follow-up session there to ensure that your men can perform the necessary work at depth. We cannot have any mishaps.’ He surveyed the group of eager students. ‘Well done, men. You seem up to the challenge. One last test run in the morning before you set sail. Until then . . .’

  “I made a show of looking at my watch.

  “‘Yes, Captain Sewell. That is four and a half hours from now. You’d better hurry along so you can get some rest.’ He gave a slight bow and swept his hand toward the house.

  “That was our cue. It was time for us to make our departure. The men gathered their belongings, and we were escorted through a gate at the side of the property since my men were still dripping wet. The unnamed man ended our meeting in the driveway, where a taxi sat waiting.

  “It was surreal how quickly and efficiently this little operation had taken place. The gnawing in my stomach had subsided. I didn’t feel the dread I had previously, but I didn’t feel any kind of elation, either. I felt neutral. That feeling lasted until we were underway at noon of the following day at the conclusion of our wreck-diving session.”

  Chapter Eight

  Three and a Half Years Before Meeting Collin Cook

  Near Grand Cayman Island

  “My crew and I departed George Town marina at 6:15 a.m. the next morning, after a brief meeting with the unnamed man and the three trainers. The man gave me the coordinates for the wreck where the training dive would take place. Our dive spot was just over thirty nautical miles due south from Grand Cayman.

  “We had slept only four hours but were keyed up for what lay ahead.

  “By nine o’clock we had arrived at the spot and set anchor. Without delay, my men began preparing to dive. The trainers and our employer arrived in a sleek luxury yacht not long after our arrival. Everyone suited up except for myself, the unnamed man, and the skipper of the yacht. Our boats were anchored a hundred meters away from each other. I was glad of that. I could stay on my boat and not deal with the unnamed man any more than was necessary.

  “Welding torches and gas tanks were tethered to a harness and pulley system on the yacht. The big instructor tossed four sets of the harnessed equipment over the side of the yacht and tested the pulleys. The female trainer hoisted seven sea scooters one at a time over the gunwale of the yacht and tethered them to a line dangling over the edge.

  “Soon, all seven divers were ready to go. They entered the water one by one and huddled in a circle. They talked among themselves for a minute. The third instructor showed my men how to operate the sea scooters, which looked like encased fans with handlebars. There was pointing and hand gestures that I could see, but I was unable to hear the discussion. A few minutes after my crew and the instructors had descended, the rope holding the welding equipment began to move and those items got pulled down under the surface.

  “With all the dangers of a protracted dive and using equipment for the first time, especially welding torches, my mind raced through the web of complications. The knot in my gut reformed.

  “I needed more coffee, so I went belowdecks to get some. I poured myself a cup, took a sip, and thought through the plan. I checked my watch, already antsy about the timing, hoping we could pull this off. Just as I took my second sip, I heard the booming baritone of our benefactor. ‘Ahoy, Captain,’ he said. He was much closer than he should have been, prompting a fear that either my anchor or his had given way and a collision was imminent.

  “I scurried up to the cockpit, not sure what to expect. The man and the skipper were plying across the short channel between our boats in a small dinghy, which appeared to be loaded down with something heavy. ‘Aye, how can I help you?’ I replied.

  “‘I have equipment that you will need,’ he said as they sidled up next to the Admiral Risty and threw me their bow rope to tie up. ‘Let me hand this up to you.’ He pulled a waterproof sea bag filled with bundles of electrical cord from the stack in their dinghy. He followed it with another waterproof bag that contained a small air compressor that weighed probably twenty-five pounds. Lined up on the floor of the dinghy were eight air tanks. ‘These are filled up, ready to go,’ said the unnamed man. ‘Two tanks for each of them, and a compressor for you to refill the empty tanks, just in case.’

  “Underneath the tanks was an old-fashioned anchor. Rusted and in the classic shape and design, it must have weighed sixty pounds or more. ‘Careful with this,’ the man cautioned. He must have read my face because he continued, ‘I’ll explain.’

  “Once we stowed everything, the man explained to me that the electrical cords and battery pack were to recharge the sea scooters that the men were currently riding and would use on this mission. He showed me how to plug them in. ‘You will need to use your boat’s generator to recharge the batteries while you sail. The air compressor is too small and slow to give the tanks a full refill, but it can add five hundred to a thousand psi in a few minutes. I suggest you use your time wisely during their second dive.’

  “When the work of loading and stowing was done, he spent the rest of our time together unfolding more nuances of the plan, like using the GPS tracker to follow my men and how they would use the sea scooters to carry the goods as far from the drop zone as the batteries would carry them. When the batteries died, they would surface, and I would whisk them away as quickly and covertly as possible.

  ‘‘When the mission is complete, dump all of this equipment overboard,’ he told me. ‘You won’t need it anymore and you don’t want to be caught with it. You will tie all of the equipment to this anchor,’ he said pointing at the rusty old relic, ‘and drop it in deep water.’

  “He then asked permission to tour belowdecks. After perusing the space, he said, ‘You will need to stow a thousand kilos of cocaine in here. Where do you plan to keep it?’

  “I showed him the storage compartments under the bed in the captain’s stateroom in the bow and the food pantry under the floor in the galley. Then I took him up top to show him the fish hold on the stern.

  “He pulled his mouth into a tight crease while nodding. ‘That should do. I hope for your sake you do not catch the attention of the US Navy or Coast Guard. You do not want them to board your boat.’”

  “I’m sure that was reassuring,” says Rob. “He obviously knew the risks and was glad you were the ones to deal with them, not him.”

  Rob understands the risk/reward conundrum as well as anyone from what I can tell and cannot let it go. It seems that he is weighing it out in his mind, calculating whether it is something he would have done if our roles had been reversed.

  “Yes,” I say, “but I had already factored in all of these potential occurrences. Remember, there was the threat of harm to our loved ones. I could not back away, no matter how much I wanted to.”

  Lukas has been listening intently. The interruption throws him off, so he casts an irritated glower towards Rob, who shrugs it off. “Please, continue,” says Lukas.

  I sip my Coke and smile at the two friends. Obviously, they are comfortable with one another. I clear my throat. “Where was I?”

  “Your men were about to start their training dive,” says Lukas.

  “Ah, yes,” I say. “I was tense the whole time they were down there, pacing and checking my watch frequently. An hour after they disappeared, seven heads popped above the surface of the water one at a time. They each removed their masks, grinning and chattering excitedly, especially my four crew members. After breaching the surface, the three instructors praised their work and their abilities. Mr. Watlers looked at me and said, ‘Your men are very quick learners. They did exceptionally well today. I have plenty of confidence in them.’ />
  “The knot in my gut loosened.

  “The seven of them huddled around the swim step of the yacht, reviewing what they had done and what they had learned from the experience. The instructors called across to me, letting me know once again that they felt my team was ready to go. The three of them climbed aboard the yacht and began removing their dive gear. At their bidding, my crew swam the additional hundred meters to where I stood aboard the Admiral, which was bobbing in the light swell. As each man boarded, I had a few moments to check in with them individually about their comfort level and thoughts regarding this mission. Each expressed confidence and excitement. Each assured me that they wanted to do this, and they willingly accepted the risk involved in order to gain the reward promised.

  “Tino, my youngest and most energetic crew member, put his hand on my shoulder and laughingly said, ‘Don’t worry, Boss. We got this.’

  “Anthony, the eldest and most thoughtful, added, ‘You have done so much for us, Captain. We are honored to do this to repay you for your many kindnesses.’

  “My heart swelled with pride and gratitude. And the knot in my belly shrank.

  “I mused silently about our situation and how I had never imagined myself in such a circumstance, endangering the lives of those I cared about to help with the illegal flow of drugs through my beloved Caribbean. It was galling on the one hand and serendipitous on the other, just the financial boon we needed when we most needed it.

  “None of us particularly wanted to get involved in the illicit drug trade. That was not the nature of the excitement. The excitement came from knowing that there was a light at the end of the long, dismal economic tunnel we had been in. Our reward was to be in a position to do more than just survive. There was hope for a better day and just some puzzling moral dilemmas to get through before that.

  I check my audience to make sure they are still with me. They are, much more than I could have expected. I nod and continue.

  “No sooner had we completed our training and secured the equipment than we departed the waters off Grand Cayman, sailing south toward Colombia. We went full sail until it was dark, then trimmed the sails back fifty percent, trying to balance safety with speed. We sailed through the night, taking shifts. At first light, we opened them all up again and caught the morning breeze so that we were moving along at a respectable eighteen knots. We were on pace to arrive at the designated area twenty miles northeast of the Cartagena harbor just after dark on the second day.

  “When we arrived, we anchored in a cove, as the unnamed man had instructed, and set about preparing for what was to come. The men inflated two four-man rubber rafts. They were all black to maximize their stealth. We loaded all of their scuba gear, the sea scooters, lighting equipment, welding torches, and extra air tanks into one of the tiny boats, then attached a ten-horsepower electric outboard motor to the back of the other one and connected the two with a twenty-meter cord. The motor was absolutely silent but had a limited range and limited speed. No matter. They only needed it to carry them and tow the raft full of gear to the spot where they would dive, less than two kilometers from where we were anchored.

  “We affixed a 50-meter length of cord to the bow clip of the lead raft so they could tether it to one of them as they dove, thus keeping the extra tanks just above them at the surface. Everything had been planned in advance by the unnamed man and his superiors to maximize efficiency.

  “As soon as the gear was loaded, the men climbed aboard the lead raft and set off in the general direction of the shipping lane. Anthony, my first mate, tested the walkie-talkie radios we had been given, smiled at me, and said, ‘We shall see you in a couple hours.’ He and the others were practically giddy over the reward that lay ahead.

  “Fortunately, the weather conditions cooperated. It was a calm evening. Very little wind and, therefore, very little chop. My men made good time out to the spot where they would stay until I signaled them on the radio.

  “I kept my eye on the radar, waiting for signs of a large container ship. Each time I saw one approaching, I turned on the tablet to check for pings on our transponder. The third ship to approach us was the right one. It was nearly 11:00 p.m.

  “I radioed Anthony to apprise him.

  “‘Got it, Boss,’ he said. ‘We see it coming. We will move in closer. Have you got a visual on us? Out.’

  “‘Roger that,’ I replied. ‘I see you and I see the ship. Be careful. Play it safe and be sure to stop to decompress. Out.’

  “‘Roger that, Captain,’ Anthony said. ‘Over and out.’

  “Manny, a quiet and dutiful young man, drove the little boat and its trailer another two hundred meters closer to ship’s bearing following Anthony’s directions. My men awkwardly maneuvered into their dive gear one at a time and waited.

  “On my radar, I could see a small blip speeding toward the cargo ship. That’s when the first container was hurled into the ocean with enough force that it not only cleared the side but landed in a nearly horizontal position, creating a gigantic splash. It didn’t sink immediately. Instead, it bobbed on the surface tipping side to side until finally one end began to submerge. The rest of the container soon followed suit.

  “I watched it all with the night vision binoculars the unnamed man had provided, fascinated as a little boy.

  “The second and third containers also launched quite easily, about thirty seconds apart. The fourth one had more trouble. Initially, it lurched forward like the others, then something caught or snagged, and its forward progress slowed before it cleared the side of the ship. It pitched over at an awkward angle, dropping only after it broke loose from its tether. It hit the water on its front top corner, narrowly avoiding gouging the side of the ship as it plummeted downward. To tell you the truth, I stopped breathing as I watched it, wondering if it would damage the ship and perhaps jeopardize our mission.

  “The fifth container launched just as the fourth was hitting the water. Too soon, if you ask me. The sixth went more smoothly than the fourth, but still did not have the beautiful landings of the first three. It also came nearly ninety seconds after the fifth. That would likely spread the containers out over a larger field than my men had anticipated. I hoped that this wrinkle would not cause a problem.

  “The knot inside me reformed as I watched the six containers float, rock, and finally sink with a huge release of bubbles from each. I worried that their movements would be seen by the other boat in the area, the little blip I had seen, which I assumed was the Coast Guard. The last one was barely below the surface as the cargo ship passed it, thus removing the shield that had kept the containers from view of the approaching boat.

  “I scanned the surface for my men. They were unloading the second raft, checking the flotation devices attached to each piece of equipment. Buoyancy would make it easier to navigate those items to the desired location. Their movements were surprisingly coordinated, as if they had done this before, though I knew they had not.

  “Within three minutes of the first container hitting the water, my men, who were less than half a kilometer from the ship as it approached, were submerged and on task. It was a good start.

  “I kept an eye on the clock. At the depths where they would be working, they had enough air in their tanks to last forty-five minutes, maybe a little more, with time allotted for a decompression stop. They had to work fast, but they also had to control their breathing.

  “It was torture for me to sit up top in the darkness of night with no ability to communicate with my crew. I had to trust them, but that was difficult given the circumstances.

  “Positioned so far away, my tracking device stopped showing my men’s position. I decided to move closer, away from the safety of the cove where I was anchored, out into the open of the shipping lane.

  “Watching the screen on the tracking device and looking for the two black rafts, I was able to find where they were. I pulled the boat ahead of where the crew were diving, dropped the anchor, tested it, then went back to moni
toring their whereabouts and movements.

  “So engrossed was I in keeping track of time and peering over the stern to try to see any signs of life, that I got caught off guard when a brilliant beam of light hit my face. Looking up in a panic, I realized a Coast Guard cutter had me in its sights. The light and the blaring announcement from their speaker, paralyzed me. It was in Spanish, but I understood it. ‘This is the Coast Guard of the Republic of Colombia. Put your hands in the air.’

  “I stiffened, dropped the device, and instinctively showed my hands in the universal sign of surrender.

  “Now I had the problem of hiding the tracking device that showed me where my crew was. All of the other equipment, including the extra tanks, was with them except the air compressor, which would be easy to explain.

  “As I stood to make myself more visible, I used my feet to maneuver the tablet, flipping it over so I could depress the power button with my toe, then push it into a cubbyhole under the navigation console. I also stepped to the gunwale, away from the evidence.

  “The Coast Guard boat pulled up next to mine. It had been thirty-seven minutes since my men submerged. I hoped they would be aware enough to check the surface before coming up. I also hoped they had enough air to stay under and out of sight until it was safe.

  “The presence of the Colombian Coast Guard surprised me. The unnamed man said that the Colombian authorities would be otherwise occupied, and we shouldn’t have any interference. My innards turned cold. Whatever confidence I had in the mission began to evaporate. The officers started speaking Spanish to me, but I shrugged. I knew some, but I was not fluent. One of them stepped forward and said in accented English, ‘What are you doing here? Don’t you know it’s not safe to be here at night? You are in the middle of a busy shipping lane.’

  “Again, I shrugged. I had practiced in my head what I would say in such a situation, but I had no idea how it would sound to these men, so I quickly improvised. ‘Which would be more dangerous: waiting here until dawn? Or going into Cartagena at night?’