The Santini Vendetta

by Christopher Fox

“That would be fun.”

  The server came back with their beers and asked if they were ready to order. They realized they hadn’t even looked at the menus.

  “Can you give us a few more minutes?” Alberto asked.

  “Sure,” she said as she ambled off to attend to another customer. They each perused the menu.

  “Anything you recommend?” asked Kyle.

  “If you like sea food, they have a great range of sea bass dishes.”

  “Love sea bass,” Kyle said as he navigated to the sea food section. Kyle ordered the traditional Costa Rican black soup, sopa negro, and decided on sea bass with a shrimp sauce for the main course. Alberto started with an ensalada césar followed by the buttered sea bass. The server returned and they placed their order.

  “How’s your mother?” Kyle asked.

  “She’s fine—none the worse for her ordeal. Had an issue at the airport because she didn’t have her passport. But when she produced a driver’s licence and other identification documents, they let her on the plane.”

  They chatted a while longer until their meals came and ordered a second beer.

  “Do you have assignments with Frederico yet?”

  “Not at the moment,” said Alberto. “There will be an orientation period and he is setting me up with another one of his agents…a Jimmy someone…for a few weeks until I learn the ropes. He does mostly simple investigation; finding people and surveillance on cheating spouses, but he says he does get interesting projects on occasion.”

  “Did you hear again from the Santinis?”

  “Not a word.”

  “I guess that’s good,” said Kyle. “However, Peppe has cancelled his long-standing order for rooms at the hotel. That will be quite a loss, money-wise.”

  “Sorry about that,” Alberto said.

  “Fortunately, the financials are based on the last three year’s results, so it won’t affect the selling price of the hotel … and the two hundred grand I got from you will more than offset any losses.”

  “So, no one else you’re romantically involved with?”

  Kyle chuckled. “No. I guess I had all my eggs in one basket with Anna, and that was going nowhere. I did meet an interesting lady staying at the hotel over Christmas. Jenny was her name. We had lots in common and she was very excited about the potential charter business. She’s really into SCUBA diving. Pretty little thing. Divorced; thirty something; blonde; petite.”

  “Sounds like she caught your attention.”

  “I guess she did, but she also caught Anna’s attention and I would get dirty looks and the cold shoulder from her.”

  This brought a chuckle from Alberto. “Hell hath no fury like a woman scorned,” he said.

  “I think this was another reason Anna quit—it hurt her to see me pay attention to another woman, yet she was sleeping with another man. It was a very awkward relationship and I should have ended it sooner, but I enjoyed her too much.”

  He almost mentioned the lovemaking incident on the beach, but decided not to as it would be tantamount to bragging. Kyle didn’t want to diminish the act in any way. Also, one never knows how word might get back to Anna’s husband. Loose lips sink ships, the wartime posters used to say in England.

  * * * *

  Nine months had gone by since the Santini incident and Anna’s leaving. Kyle noticed that Jenny had booked again for Christmas and he looked forward to seeing her again. Staff were busy putting up Christmas lights and Kyle loved to get involved with that. He wrapped thousands of lights around the palm trees and even rented a cherry picker to do so. When complete, he stood back to admire his work. Jenny arrived on Friday the 23rd and planned to stay two weeks until January 6th. They spent much of the time together and went on several dive excursions, but kept it on a platonic level. There didn’t appear to be any romance brewing, which seemed to satisfy them both. They talked about Kyle’s plan to eventually set up a charter business and sell the hotel.

  * * * *

  In June the following year, Kyle sold the hotel and went on a serious hunt for a charter boat. He noted a 2-year-old 18-metre Hatteras convertible sport fisherman on the block while perusing the auction DEA list. According to his requirements, this will be perfect for his charter operation. The boat came equipped with twin 1,500 h.p. Caterpillar diesels that will ensure excellent cruising speeds. It could accommodate four passengers, plus crew, in three cabins and had a large cockpit suitable for fishing or diving. Kyle left for Miami to inspect the boat, apparently seized in a drug raid, and attended the auction. Little interest was shown in the boat and, except for several dealers, he was the only bidder. He snapped it up for a fraction of its retail value and then did a surprising thing. He called Jenny.

  “Hi,” Kyle said as he heard her voice on the phone.

  “Kyle, what a wonderful surprise. I was just thinking about you.”

  “In good terms, I hope.”

  “Very good terms,” she said. “I was perusing a few dive magazines and thought about our conversations. Did you decide on whether to sell the hotel and buy a charter boat?”

  “Sold the hotel and just bought a boat.”

  Kyle pictured the look of amazement on her face. “That’s awesome,” she said. “When…what…?”

  “Whoa there,” Kyle said chuckling. “The hotel’s closing is in six weeks, but I have turned it over to a management company in the meantime. I just bought an 18 metre—that’s 60 feet—Hatteras convertible. Beautiful boat, only two years old and seized in a drug raid.”

  “Sounds great,” Jenny said. “I’m so excited for you.”

  “That’s the purpose of my call. I don’t want to sound presumptuous, but I will need someone to help me bring the boat from Miami to the west coast of Costa Rica.”

  “Are you asking me to go with you?”

  “Well … I … eh ... yes … I guess.”

  She had a gleeful tone in her voice and said, “I’d love to go with you.”

  “It will be a long trip—maybe two weeks.”

  “That’s no problem. When did you plan to leave?”

  “As soon as possible. I will be moving the boat to a local marina here in Miami. How soon can you get away?”

  “I need to round things up at the university—get a fill-in. I am planning to quit after this semester anyway and go do something else. How about the end of next week?”

  “That’s fine. I have lots of preparation to do for a marina in Costa Rica. Have to set up the business, start advertising, etcetera.”

  “That’s so wonderful Kyle. I’m so glad you thought of me. Thank you. It’s going to be quite the adventure.”

  “Of that I am sure,” Kyle said. “OK then, see you in two weeks ... and we need a name for the boat.”

  “I’m so much looking forward to it, and I'll try to come up with a name,” she said.

  “OK, bye.”

  Kyle felt a sense of elation when he ended the call. He didn’t have any romantic feelings for Jenny, but liked her a lot—they seemed to have plenty in common and he doubted that any long-term relationship would develop.

  He was wrong.

  * * * *

  A week later, Jenny met Kyle in Miami and they prepared for the long journey to Costa Rica. She had a list of potential names and they selected Pegasus as the one they both liked. They provisioned the boat and left the marina on a hot and humid day in July. Their journey took them along the coast of the Florida Keys to Key West, their first stop. They stopped at Playa Del Carmen, a small resort town on the Mexican coast, just south of Cancun, after heading across to the Yucatan Peninsula. The weather for the next few days not being promising for cruising, they took advantage of the clear days and explored the corals around Cozumel, one of the finest diving areas in the World.

  When the weather improved, they headed south along the Mexican coast to Panama, through the canal, and north to Puntarenas, on the west Coast of Costa Rica. The entire journey took the
m 12 days. Kyle had previously surveyed the local marinas for an appropriate base of operations for his dive charter business and settled on a small establishment near Puntarenas, easily accessible and close to services he would need. Over the years, on many days, Kyle and Jenny took off for a diving excursion in the crystal blue waters of the Pacific. It was on one of those dive trips to Cocos Island that changed both of their lives forever.

  The End

  Thank you for reading my book, I hope you enjoyed reading it as much as I enjoyed writing it. If you would like to keep informed of any of my new releases, as well as get cool stuff and new author recommendations, join my VIP list here:

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  ACKNOWLEDGEMENTS

  Most of the writing for this novel was done personally with no real input from others. However, there are a few people who I would like to acknowledge that did have a bearing on the finished product.

  Firstly, I would like to thank my Beta team for their help in formulating the story. Their insight into some of the details with respect to flow and readability was invaluable. Secondly, I would like to thank my ARC (Advanced Reader Copy) team for taking the time to read the story and provide reviews.

  Last but not least, I want to thank the tireless efforts of my wife, not only for reviewing the manuscript and providing valuable input, but for her continuous encouragement and support in many of my endeavours.

  Excerpt from Lost Loot of Lima

  One

  Cocos Island – 1821

  Boom!

  A finger of flame stabbed the evening air amidst clouds of grey smoke. The iron ball hurtled towards its target and buried itself into one of the swells 50 metres behind the American schooner. The cannon came to rest in its recoil position. The gun crew of the Spanish frigate immediately inserted another fuse, loaded a charge of gunpowder, a 9-kilogramme cannon ball and then rammed it home with a wad of sacking. The barrel of the cannon was lifted and slid back so that the two spigots on each side rested on the next step of the yokes, raising the trajectory. They then heaved the cannon back to its firing position and lit the fuse.

  Boom!

  Another fountain of water erupted immediately to port of the fleeing ship as it started on a starboard tack.

  “Keep her close hauled,” Captain Henry Schmid of the small American-built schooner Black Witch shouted to his first mate, “We’ll clear the island without another tack.” The frigate carried more sail than the schooner, but she couldn’t pinch the wind like the American ship could.

  Typically, square-rigged ships of the era had difficulty sailing into the wind because most of the sails were arranged perpendicular to the ship’s hull, and were limited in how much they could be turned on their axis to catch the wind. The ships usually carried an aft sail on the mizzen (rearmost) mast that was arranged along the axis of the ship’s hull, typically the way modern sailing ships are arranged. It was this sail that allowed them to sail close hauled— into the wind. The Baltimore Clipper ships (of which the Black Witch was), carried a very large sail on the mizzen in proportion to the total sail area. It was this arrangement that allowed the ships to out-manoeuvre the larger galleons.

  The ship was riding low in the water due to the massive cache of gold and silver on board and the fresh supplies of food and water carried in her hull reduced speed significantly.

  Schmid knew the area around Cocos Island very well and realized that the course they had chosen would take the ship through a shallow coral reef outcrop extending west of Cocos.

  A look of concern appeared on the first mate's face. “Captain, the reef.”

  Schmid knew that the ship should clear the reef at high tide—and that was four hours away. He paced the deck nervously, considering their options.

  “They’ve no chance of following us through the reef.” He said. “They’d be forced to navigate around it. We’d gain at least six hours on them and by that time the sun will have set.”

  The first mate nodded in reluctant approval. The thought of plying through shallow reefs with the ship so low in the water was not an appealing option, but he realized it was the only viable one.

  “At the moment they can only use the two forward-facing guns,” Schmid said. “Probably 18 pounders. They can’t afford to go broadside on to bring more guns to bear. They’re still about a mile away and unlikely to hit us at this range.”

  Geysers of white foam shot skyward around them as the Spaniards attempted to find their range and distance. Strategically, one would alter course regularly to prevent the enemy from finding the range. Schmid, however, realized that this would allow the galleon to gain on them. They were almost out of range and their only defence was to outrun their pursuers.

  Earlier, the American ship’s crew had spent several days of shore leave on the island. The crew was getting restless. They were now considered pirates after plundering a cache of treasure from Lima, Peru, and the Spaniards would be sure to track them down, even though they stole the treasure from the Peruvians. They used the time to re-supply the ship with fresh fruit and water. No one knew where they were headed. The captain was not about to disclose their final destination to anyone. The cry from the lookout atop the hill overlooking Chatham Bay sent the shore party scurrying to the longboats. Bare backs glistened with sweat as everyone frantically pulled at the oars to return to the ship anchored in the bay. Even before the last of them reached the Black Witch, the anchor was weighed and the sails were being set. The last boat barely made it as the strong breeze filled the sheets and the ship got under way. They emerged from the bay and saw the galleon approaching from the west on a broad reach. Their only avenue of escape was to the east around the island.

  “The winds are southerly. We’re in the lee of the island”, said the first mate. This robbed the ship of much of the available wind.

  “We’ll have to keep this northerly tack until we clear Manuelita Island,” said Schmid. “Then we can take an easterly heading.” As the schooner emerged from Chatham Bay, they felt the full effect of the southerly winds at their back, giving the ship more headway. The wind caused wisps of foam to fly from the wave tops. The Spanish ship, however, was bearing down on them from the west, closing the distance between them. Schmid had ordered all sails to be set and the sheets strained under the force of the strong breeze. The masts creaked under the pressure, but the order to reduce sail would not come. Their pursuers would soon be in the lee of the island, robbing their sails of precious wind. The frigate was closing on them all the time they maintained this course, but they could not turn to the east until they could clear Manuelita Island without having to tack.

  Everyone was on edge as the plumes of water erupted around them. Sooner or later one could find its mark. Slowly, the cliffs of Manuelita Island eased by them to starboard, but they could not turn yet. The wind was off their port tack and they would have to turn to starboard, meaning a jibe would be necessary. The crew knew what the pending manoeuvre would be and stood ready, sheets and tackle in hand. An improperly performed jibe could snap the mast with the strength of wind that was blowing, with disastrous results. Schmid nervously calculated the correct moment to order them to come about, then gave the nod to the first mate.

  “Ready about!” the first mate shouted. There was a scurry of activity on the deck as some sheets were pulled taught while others were slackened. Anxious crew waited for the order.

  “Jibe Ho!” he shouted as he spun the wheel to starboard. Each man had his job and the sails were realigned for the new heading. The mizzen sail was hauled in tight and the main sails set to keep them full as they turned. The ship heeled from a port tack to a starboard tack as the wind spilled from one side of the mizzen sail and directly to the other. The wind was now directly abeam of their starboard. Timbers creaked as the sheets strained under the pressure and the ship picked up speed.

  Boom!

  This time the projectile found its mark
and slammed into the rear deckhouse. The 9-kilo iron ball crashed through the transom, splintering the bulkhead and deck of the Captain’s quarters. It careened through several more bulkheads; finally smashing into a water barrel on the lower deck that exploded in a spray of splintered wood and water. Captain Schmid rushed below decks to his cabin to survey the damage. The internal bulkhead was smashed and the two crew left to guard the treasure lay motionless amongst the splintered remains. He stepped through the opening. Most of the contents of the cabin, including furniture, poured out of the gaping hole in the transom. More to his dismay, all of the treasure kept in his quarters for safe-keeping had also disappeared through the opening.

  Schmid reappeared on deck after surveying the damage and peered back at the warship. Several more shots fell short and he knew they were now out of range. Their only hope was that they could find a route through the coral reef and into clear water beyond.

  Nervously, the crew stood on deck as the colour of the water changed from turquoise to light blue-green, signifying shallower water. Dark patches began to appear as the coral reef came up to meet the fragile wooden hull of the fleeing ship. They had now emerged from the calm waters in the lee of the island and the swells of the Pacific were menacing to the small ship.

  Everyone was on edge each time the ship plunged into a trough. “It might be deep enough in calm seas,” the first mate said, “but we lose a fathom in the troughs.”

  Captain Schmid shared his first mate’s concerns. He casually stroked at his goatee and paced apprehensively on the poop deck. The lookout in the crow’s nest shouted alternately, ‘hard-a-port’ or ‘hard-a-starboard,’ as he tried to steer a course through the reefs. Suddenly, the ship lurched to starboard as it plunged into a trough and impacted an outcrop of coral. Anxiety overcame the crew as they listened to the wrenching sound of the timbers scraping the sharp surface as the ship glanced off the spiked coral.