Off Track: An Off Series Novella

by Glen Robins

“‘Well, I need to take my crew here. I can’t go that far without a good crew.’

  “‘Fine. How much?’ he asked again.

  “I threw out a ridiculous number to see if he would scare away. ‘That’s going to cost you $20,000.’

  “But he was good. Much better than I expected. Quick as lightning he fired back. ‘Are you kidding? $20,000? Jamaica isn’t that far away. $10,000 and you got a deal.’

  “This surprised me to the core. Not only did he not run away, nor did he flinch; he just fired back a number that was several week’s income for us. But I was no pushover. I held my ground as if I did this sort of thing every day. Truth was, I was working hard to suppress a grin. ‘No way,’ I said as convincingly as I could. ‘It’s going to take me and my crew more than two days to make that round trip. We need to get paid for such service.’

  “Sirens could be heard. They were getting closer and Collin, with the two bags on his shoulders, looked more nervous than I had seen a white man look in a very long time. He was in some sort of trouble and I knew it without a doubt when he said, ‘I’ll give you $12,000 if we leave right now and none of you breathes a word of this to anyone. You never saw me, understand?’

  “The sirens grew closer. He became more agitated. I understood my position and leveraged it. ‘Make it $15,000 and you got a deal,’ I said.

  “Tires screeched and sirens wailed from the streets above us. They were very close now, which made me $3,000 richer. ‘Fine,’ he said in a huff. ‘But can we go now?’

  “I kept an eye on him as he squirmed and shifted. ‘I need time,’ I said, ‘to reschedule tonight’s passengers. We can’t just take off like that.’

  “The urgency was written all over the boy’s face. He reached into his backpack and pulled out something that looked like a grey brick. He tossed it to me and said, ‘That’s $10,000. I’ll pay you the rest when we get there.’

  “I tore at the duct tape and found a stack of $100 bills, all crisp and unused. I had dealt with large sums of cash before, but never from a man who seemed so innocent and pure. He was no criminal. I had seen criminals. I had worked with and for criminals. He was not one of them. But criminals were the only ones I knew who carried cash in such neat bundles and such large amounts. I didn’t want to work for another criminal, but I was intrigued by Collin Cook. I smiled at him. ‘Yeah, man, get on the boat.’ I pointed proudly at my majestic sailing ship, the finest in the whole of Grand Cayman. I felt like kissing the stack of cash, but I refrained.

  “Past experience was telling me to avoid any further trouble or heartache. But the stronger urge was to take the money and help this guy. If I had thought him a criminal, I would have allowed the past to guide me away from him. But I could not override the visceral reaction taking place deep inside me. A guy mired in internal strife, aching over something—perhaps a loss similar to my own—was in a predicament and needed to get off the island. I was the most logical and most available solution to him. It just clicked. Maybe it was something in him. Maybe it was something in me. I can’t be sure. But it clicked and I accepted his offer and told my crew that we needed leave right away.”

  Rob stops and looks at me, squinting into the sun. “Collin said he felt that God made it happen. That God led him to you. What do you think?”

  I nod my head thoughtfully. “I suppose that’s possible. The way it all happened so quickly and worked out so well, I guess you could say God had His hand in it.”

  “Mrs. Cook feels the same way,” says Lukas. “She says you were an answer to her prayers.”

  I have never been called an answer to someone’s prayers. It feels like a nice compliment, so I accept it and move forward.

  “Thank you for telling me that. Now, as I was saying,” I pause to remember where I was in the story. “Oh, yes. The sirens were coming, I had the money, and Collin was very eager to get going. So, my man Rojas jumped to his feet with the key card in hand and opened the gate. Our new client practically sprinted to the boat and jumped onboard and into the salon belowdecks before I was halfway down the ramp to the dock. I ordered my men to work double-time and they did.

  “Behind us, the sirens came close, and brakes and tires screeched as two police cars slid to a stop. Doors flew open and footsteps hurried toward the locked gate, but we were already untying and pushing the Admiral out of the slip. I pretended not to see or hear the commotion as one of the officers yelled for us to stop. My engine was going, and we were calling commands and responses back and forth. He couldn’t expect me to hear him, could he?

  “Mr. Cook hid belowdecks, sitting on the edge of a bunk and rocking back and forth, jittery as a heroin addict coming down. But that didn’t jibe with my impression of him. He was no druggie.

  “My curiosity about his man was piquing.

  “The Admiral spun around, and I put a little more gas to the little motor while my crew prepared to set sail.

  “Soon enough we were out on the open sea and I made it known to our client that he was safe. He came above board and within a few minutes seemed to thrill at the sun and the wind and the spray in his face. A typical reaction from those used to being on land or in offices. To your friend, however, there was another layer, something deeper and more meaningful going on.

  “There were two things that stuck out to me about this young white man. The first struck me during our financial negotiation. He had money to throw around, but no ego accompanying it. He was respectful and polite and not the least bit condescending during our discourse. That was different than most clients who have that much money.

  “The second thing that I found fascinating was what he did while he sat near the cockpit. It was impressive and intriguing. Again, there was no ego involved, but as he and I spoke, he fashioned some very complex knots out of a length of rope. His hands worked fast, making sheep bends, figure eight knots, gnat hitches, halyard hitches, and bowline knots. These he constructed and deconstructed without thought or fanfare. He simply tied a knot, inspected it, untied it, and did another one. I had never seen that before, not from my clientele. Finally, I marveled out loud. Mr. Cook looked at me in surprise and said, ‘What?’

  “‘Where did you learn to tie knots like that?’ I asked.

  “‘Boy Scouts,’ he said.

  “I told him he was unlike any client I had ever had.

  “‘Oh, really? What are most of your clients like?’ he asked.

  “‘Rich, spoiled, and rude,’ I said. ‘But not you. You’re just rich.’

  “‘What makes you think I’m not spoiled and rude?’

  “His response made me laugh. I just pointed at the rope in his hands and said, ‘Not many of them can do that.’

  “He shrugged and explained that he was an Eagle Scout. My knowledge of that was minimal, so he expounded in detail what it meant and what he had done to earn this coveted award. His explanation told me he had character, motivation, and good training as a youth. I knew then that he came from a good home.

  “I reiterated that he was unlike any of my other passengers. He had a good heart; I could tell from our first encounter. Watching him that day only reinforced that notion.

  “I wanted to know about him, but I didn’t want to be nosy or intrusive. Our exchange had opened the window, I felt, so I just asked him point blank, ‘Why are you running, Mr. Cook? What kind of trouble follows such a decent man?’

  “He stammered at first. It seemed difficult for him to speak. There was a certain awkwardness and tension in his cadence and in his voice. As his story emerged and took shape, I began to understand the reason for his paranoia and morose. He was on the run from multiple pursuers whose full intentions he knew not. Guilt and shame over an incident that had happened—one that some people would consider minor—shortly before his wife’s tragic death held him in a tight grip. Having never confessed his so-called sin to anyone, he had carried that weight for many months. I prodded him enough to get him to talk. He seemed to trust me. I don’t know why. I’m just a normal guy
. But maybe because I was a stranger who had done him a favor, he felt he could unburden himself to me. Or, more likely, it was the effect of the sea and the freedom and tranquility that comes from sailing.

  “Your friend spoke nonstop for thirty minutes, recounting his near miss with infidelity and what he heard on the phone as a large truck loaded with rocks crushed the car his wife and children were in. He was a mess, an emotional wreck.”

  Rob and Lukas both show signs of holding back their emotions. They know Collin’s story, too, and the thought of what happened affects them, so I skip forward.

  “He finished by explaining that he had won a large insurance settlement, enough money to live like a king for the rest of his life. But he had two problems: no one to share it with and multiple groups pursuing him, including the US government and a criminal syndicate that wanted his money.

  “I didn’t envy him his plight, but I understood what he had been through. I knew guilt and shame. I knew loneliness and depression. I knew loss and heartache. We had things in common and I liked this stranger. ‘Listen,’ I said. ‘As you wander, you’re always welcome on my boat. You know how to help, and I know how to hide.’

  “He looked at me as if I had a life preserver in my hand and he was drowning. A sense of relief seemed to wash over him, and he relaxed as he uttered a soft but sincere, ‘Thank you.’”

  Chapter Sixteen

  One Year After I Met Collin Cook

  George Town, Grand Cayman Island

  Rob hooks a fish. He reels and fights with it until he brings him on board. It’s another Wahoo, a purple and black one this time. It’s a beauty that takes him a good twenty minutes to haul in.

  Once we put him on ice, we decide it’s time to head back to shore. Rob helps me with the sails and rigging and soon we’re cruising back toward Little Cayman.

  Lukas uses our time under sail to round out the story. “After you got to Jamaica, Collin texted me. Did you know this?”

  “No,” I say.

  “I was monitoring his situation and I didn’t like the sound of the activity that had scared him at Owen Roberts Airport and I didn’t like what I was hearing about in Kingston, so I told him to head back to Grand Cayman and get his money out of the bank there, which he did.”

  “I suppose so. That return trip in the dark was worth another $10,000 to me and my crew,” I say.

  “Always a businessman,” says Rob with a smirk.

  “Yes, yes. After what I had endured, I was not going to go through another dry spell again. I had proven to myself that I could live on very little. I had used my skills and my means to create income, but I wanted to prepare against the next downturn. You know, make hay while the sun shines, right?” I laugh and the other two join in.

  “We had other adventures together in the span of several months, as you probably know.” Both men nod knowingly. I don’t need to rehearse those tales, so I sum up with my conclusions about our mutual friend. “Collin Cook was like a windstorm in many ways. Wild, unpredictable, yet he brought a freshness with him. Sometimes destruction followed in that windstorm, but more often refreshment, vitality, and goodness.”

  We recap the highlights and lowlights of the adventures that Collin and I shared in the intervening months. I learn more about Rob’s and Lukas’s roles in Collin’s epic run and ultimate conquest of his foe. I’m as fascinated by their stories as they have been by mine. Our conversation lasts well into the night, long past the time we arrived at the dock and tied up. I invite them to stay and have dinner together. “We have plenty of fish, after all,” I say.

  “Yeah, but do you know how to cook it?” asks Rob, throwing down the gauntlet.

  I smile, nod my head, and wag my finger at him. “You just wait and see,” I say with a fiendish grin.

  The fish, of course, is wonderful. We barbeque it on the back deck as we tell story after story. I am sorry when the evening finally ends around midnight. My time with Collin’s two best friends has come to an end. We did manage, however, to tie up the details of what will take place in just a few short weeks.

  We bid each other farewell and promise to do it again sometime in the future. I feel that theirs are not idle promises.

  Chapter Seventeen

  One Year After I Met Collin Cook

  George Town, Grand Cayman Island

  Now, three weeks later, a tall black American man wearing dress pants and a tie approaches my boat. I hear the clacking of his hard-soled dress shoes on the wooden dock marking his determined stride. He introduces himself as Special Agent Reggie Crabtree with the Federal Bureau of Investigation and asks me if I know Collin Cook.

  I can’t help but smile. Do I know Collin Cook? The man is an enigma. Even after spending most of six weeks with him, he never fails to surprise me. Although he appears to be just an average Joe, he is distinct, unique, and unlike anyone I have ever known. Despite not having any specialized training, Collin Cook managed to outwit his pursuers, the FBI included, and stay one step ahead of them for nearly a full year. He has an uncanny ability to evade and a level of determination that surpasses anyone else I have ever met. The man escaped capture more times than I can count during those six weeks. And when he was captured, he took a hell of a beating and never gave in. He has risen to every challenge, dodged every proverbial bullet, and finally vanquished his foe.

  On top of that, when it was all said and done, even his most ardent opponent on the law enforcement side became his savior and supporter. This British man, who I later learned is with Interpol, had hounded Cook like a hungry predator, vowing to capture him and lock him away forever. In the end, it was he that stepped in and saved Collin’s life.

  When I asked how it was possible for all of these miraculous things to happen, Collin said to me, “Captain, it must be my parents’ faith. I’m pretty sure they pray for me and my safety every single day. That’s the only explanation I can think of.”

  Special Agent Crabtree is still waiting for my answer as I reflect on my encounters with Collin Cook. I don’t know how to answer Crabtree’s question, knowing that he had been involved in the pursuit of Mr. Cook, so I ask one of my own. “Does anybody really know Collin Cook?”

  Agent Crabtree cocks his head and smiles. “Good question. But you have spent a significant amount of time with him recently.”

  “Yes, I suppose I have. But ours is strictly a business relationship.”

  “Strictly business? Is that why you’re dressed this way? Is that why he asked you to officiate in his wedding later today?”

  I look down at myself, admiring my own ensemble. Indeed, I am wearing my finest and looking the part of a wedding officiator. “It’s a business arrangement.” My pride cannot be hidden.

  “Look, Captain Sewell, there is nothing to worry about here. I’m simply filling in some details for my report.” With a wink and a smile, Agent Crabtree adds, “Just between you and me, I held off filing this report until today so that I could justify being here for the blessed occasion. You see, I’ve gotten to know Emily Burns over these past several months and I—”

  Our attention is stolen away as we hear a clamor arising in the distance. I turn my head to the source and see a tall blonde man with a cowboy hat and boots wearing a striped button-up shirt under a camel-colored blazer. As he draws closer, I realize his shirt was the kind that has arrow-shaped breast pockets and oyster shell buttons. His blue jeans are the darkest I have ever seen. A recent purchase, I surmise. “Hey, Reg. Don’t go starting without me. I’m part of this thing, too,” he says with a snide grin.

  Agent Crabtree gives a long blink and a slight nod of the head as he steps to the gunwale. “I couldn’t wait any longer. You take too damn long fixing your hair. You’re worse than my wife,” he yells back.

  “And you’re worse than mine when it comes to patience.” The cowboy has broad shoulders and thick arms and a thicker Texas twang. “Ya’ll are acting like—”

  “Come now, Spinner. Look around you. You’re in paradise. No
need to get upset.”

  The two seem to have worked together for a long time. Agent Crabtree introduces the big cowboy as Special Agent Spinner McCoy and continues his half-hearted interrogation. “What can you tell me about the last time you saw Mr. Cook.”

  I don’t have to stop to think. The image is burned in my mind. Collin Cook sat on the edge of the lower bunk belowdecks last time I saw him. He looked miserable. His hands were bound behind his back, face swollen and purple, dried blood under his nose and running down from the corners of his mouth. He had taken a serious beating. His enemies had caught up to him and punished us all, even one of my crew members—Tog, the most intrepid and fiercely loyal of them all.

  “Last I saw Mr. Cook,” I say, looking Agent Crabtree in the eye, “he was half dead. I didn’t think he would survive. Not when the boat went over. I thought he went to the bottom of the sea with her. I never expected to see him alive again.”

  “He had no communication with you from that time until . . . when?”

  “Well, it wasn’t direct communication, mind you.”

  “Then what was it?”

  “This boat.”

  “This boat?”

  “This boat and a note.”

  “Please explain.”

  “I didn’t know for sure it was from Mr. Cook, but I had to assume it was based on the note. It said simply: ‘Sorry about the Admiral. I’ll make it up to you. I’ve sent a payment for your services to your account. Hope it’s enough.’ The Admiral was my previous sailboat, the one he hired to transport him through these waters.”

  “That’s all it said? No signature?”

  “No signature.”

  “When was this?”

  “About two weeks after my boat sank.”

  Agent McCoy enters the interrogation. “Any other communication from him since then?”

  “Well, the note came first. As I said, two weeks after the first Admiral Risty sank. The second note came two months later.”

  Again, the cowboy asks the question. “What did it say?”