Sailors and Sirens

by Charles Dougherty

  Taking my infrared detector/cellphone from the pouch, I made sure there were no IR beams that might trigger a perimeter alarm. There could be more sophisticated alarm systems, but it wasn't likely. Pressure sensors would be hard to install, given that the ground was mostly coral rock, and motion sensors would be prone to false alarms with all the windblown spray in the air. The villa was only a few feet above sea level, and the waves broke on the ocean beach just yards away.

  I found a spot in the rocky area just inside the wall to stash my snorkeling gear, and then began to move toward the back side of the villa in a low crawl. The surface of the ground was peppered with razor sharp pieces of broken coral; I was glad for my wetsuit, booties, and diving gloves.

  The surveillance photos Phorcys provided during my briefing showed that the living spaces of the villa all had floor-to-ceiling sliding glass doors opening onto a large patio that faced the beach. The back wall, the one facing me, had a few windows up high for light and ventilation. There were roll-down, steel hurricane shutters to protect the glass doors in the front wall. That also provided protection from unauthorized entry when the villa was unoccupied.

  Once I was close to the back wall, I stood, stretching my cramped muscles for a moment. Taking the folding knife from my belt pouch, I crept along the back wall of the villa. At the northwest corner, I turned and followed the north wall. The master bedroom suite was at the northern end of the villa; as soon as I turned the next corner, I would be in plain sight from Hawkins's bed, based on the photo reconnaissance.

  My last intelligence from Phorcys indicated that I could expect to find Hawkins alone with his mistress. There were servants, but they didn't live in. There might or might not be two bodyguards. If they were there, they stayed in a small room in the back part of the house, near the kitchen and storage areas. Access to their quarters would be through the living room, which was next door to Hawkins's bedroom.

  I reached the front corner and leaned my head around, checking the patio. It was clear of people, and there were no lights showing from inside. Leaning farther around, I could see into the master bedroom suite. The glass doors were wide open. There was little furniture, aside from a king-size bed, low to the ground. A waist-high partition in the back corner of the room separated a bathroom area from the rest of the space, but there were no interior doors.

  If there were security guards, and if something alerted them, they would have to enter through the glass doors. With luck, I could take out Hawkins without disturbing them. The woman sleeping next to Hawkins was a different problem. For her sake, I hoped she was a heavy sleeper.

  Dropping to my hands and knees, I crawled around the corner and into the bedroom. Feeling my way, I found an empty liquor bottle on the floor. That was a positive sign. Maybe they were both smashed. As I moved into the room, the woman rolled onto her back and began to snore, the heavy, gurgling snore of a drunk.

  Hawkins stirred. I froze, watching as he rolled onto his side, facing toward the woman. He reached for her, shoving her roughly. She lay like a rag doll as he turned her onto her side. She never woke up, but she did stop snoring.

  Hawkins rolled onto his back and lay still. I watched, waiting to see if he dropped back off to sleep. After about a minute, he pivoted to a sitting position, putting his feet on the floor. He stood and shuffled into the bathroom area, where he began to relieve himself.

  Gathering my feet under me, I moved toward him as fast and silently as I could. I wrapped my left arm around his neck from behind, driving my knife into his right kidney as he stiffened and started to struggle. Before he actually moved, he gasped and collapsed against me as my knife found its mark.

  Bracing myself to take his weight, I held him erect, my left arm still locked around his throat. I waited a couple of minutes, frozen, counting off the seconds, until I was sure he was gone. Then I lowered him to the floor and left as quietly as I had come.

  11

  Leaving Eleuthera at 3 a.m., I made good time on my way back to Florida. Once I was on the Bahama Bank, I took advantage of the southeast wind to head for South Riding Rock. Leaving the shallows of the Bank and entering the Gulf Stream there gave me a much more favorable course to Miami than leaving from Bimini. Since no outbound customs clearance was required, I was able to just keep sailing.

  My course to Miami from South Riding Rock was west-northwest, so the Gulf Stream gave me a boost instead of slowing me down. Forty hours after I left Eleuthera, I was about ten miles from the main ship channel into Miami. I held my course for Miami for another hour and then started my preparations to abandon ship.

  Not wanting to deal with bringing Narnia back to the U.S., I planned to scuttle her about five miles offshore. The depth was close to 1,000 feet; she wouldn't pose any risk to other vessels. I would cover the last few miles in the dinghy and then puncture it and set it adrift.

  I hove to and launched the inflatable. The seas were relatively calm, but it was still a challenge to get the outboard clamped on the dinghy's stern. Once I had the dinghy ready, I went below and got the waterproof duffle bag I planned to take with me. The other bag had a few groceries left in it; it would go down with the ship. I took the duffle bag up on deck and dropped it into the dinghy.

  Opening the cockpit locker, I crawled down into the space below the cockpit and closed the seacocks for the engine seawater intake and the cockpit drains. Using the serrated back edge of my combat knife, I sawed through the hoses that were connected to the seacocks.

  I climbed back up on deck and went forward. I cut the lashing that held the anchor in place on the bow roller. Folding the knife, I put it in my pocket, retrieving my multi-tool. Using the pliers from the multi-tool, I unscrewed the pin from the shackle that held the anchor to its 30 feet of chain.

  I pulled the rest of the chain out of the hawse pipe, piling it on deck. Swapping the multi-tool for my knife, I cut the rope anchor rode free from the chain. I dragged the chain back to the side deck and fed it over the toe rail into the dinghy. Its weight would help sink the dinghy when the time came.

  Taking the anchor with me, I went below deck and slashed the drain hoses under the head sink. Seawater gushed in through the two open seacocks. Going aft to the galley, I opened the cabinet under the sink and cut the big hose leading from the sink drain to another seacock. More seawater poured in. I heard the automatic bilge pump start running as the seawater flooded the bilge sump.

  In the main cabin, I opened the storage bins under the settees, exposing the inner surface of the fiberglass hull. Swinging the twenty-five pound anchor like a sledgehammer, I smashed several fist-sized holes in the hull on each side. The seawater rushed in, flooding the storage compartments.

  I scurried back up on deck and dropped the anchor into the inflatable dinghy — more ballast to make sure that it would sink when I wanted it to. Ducking into the still-open cockpit locker, I opened the three seacocks I closed a few minutes earlier. I was soaked by the rush of water before I could climb out.

  Back in the cockpit, I leaned down to the instrument panel and switched off the bilge pump. Satisfied that Narnia would soon be gone, I climbed down into the dinghy and cast off, starting the outboard and heading for the lighted entrance to the ship channel.

  I glanced over my shoulder periodically, checking on Narnia. She was settling quickly; she would be gone before I got ashore.

  An hour later, I maneuvered the dinghy into the corner between the riprap on the north side of Government Cut and the southernmost part of Miami Beach. When I was as close to the beach as I dared go with the outboard still running, I put the nose of the dinghy up against the rip-rap. The thrust of the engine would hold the dinghy there for a moment.

  I set my duffle bag on the broken rock of the riprap and took out my trusty knife. I punctured both air chambers of the dinghy and scrambled up onto the rocks, the dinghy's painter in my hand.

  Grabbing the bow of the dinghy, I pushed and shoved until I turned it around. Then I tossed the painter into
it. I watched for a few seconds as it motored out to sea at about a 45-degree angle to the beach. With any luck, it would make it into deeper water before it lost its buoyancy and sank.

  Slinging the duffle bag's strap over my shoulder, I climbed over the rocks and made my way into South Pointe Park. It was almost midnight, but I soon found an idle taxi to take me to the airport where I left my rental car.

  I considered checking in with Phorcys to report that my mission was a success, but decided that could wait until I had a good night's sleep. Besides, they probably already knew; Hawkins would have been found two days ago. Sailing played tricks on my sense of time.

  By the time I retrieved my rental car from the airport parking lot and got back to my hotel room, it was almost one o'clock. A quick look around satisfied me that the room wasn't disturbed while I was in the Bahamas, except for maid service. The bed was made the morning after I left, and there were fresh towels in the bathroom. My soft-sided suitcase was as I left it, not that there was anything of value in it.

  Dropping my duffle bag, I went in the bathroom and turned on the shower to let the water get hot. I stripped off my salt-crusted clothes and tossed them in the tub so they would get rinsed while I cleaned myself up.

  I stepped into the shower, enjoying the cascades of hot, fresh water. Once my hair and skin no longer felt salty, I lathered my face and shaved while letting the water hammer my shoulders and neck. Clean at last, I shut off the water and grabbed a towel. Living on a small sailboat, I was used to being salty most of the time. Being used to it doesn't mean I like it; it just heightens my appreciation for a hot, freshwater shower.

  Dry and clean for the first time in days, I slipped between the crisp, fresh sheets and closed my eyes. I don't know how long I slept before I found myself awake and alert. I lay still, keeping my eyes closed and my breathing even while I assessed my surroundings.

  The room was still dark, and the air conditioner's fan was blowing steadily, masking the occasional sound of passing cars outside. The refrigerator in the minibar was humming, then it stopped. Nothing seemed amiss. I opened my eyes to slits, looking around the darkened room as best I could without moving my head. There was a pool of deeper shadows in the corner between the entry door and the door to the connecting room. That dark area was new; it wasn't there when I fell asleep.

  I sensed movement in that corner. Tensing my muscles without moving more than necessary, I made sure my limbs were ready for use. In one violent movement, I lurched from the bed. I swept my folding combat knife from the nightstand and popped the blade open with my thumb as I rushed the shape in the corner.

  My right leg gave way as I put my weight on it. I felt a bare foot hook the back of my calf as my leg folded at the knee, and I crashed to the floor. I twisted as I fell, swinging the knife in a wide arc without making contact. As I recoiled and gathered myself for another lunge, the intruder spoke.

  "Take it easy, sailor. It's just me."

  "Mary?" I asked, as she flipped the light switch by the entry door.

  "I've missed you," she said. "Sorry I woke you; I was planning a different kind of arousal."

  My eyes adjusting to the light, I saw that she was as naked as I was. "I see," I said.

  I unlocked the blade and folded the knife, putting it on the nightstand behind me as she put her arms around my neck. I reached around her and turned the light off.

  Later, as we lay side by side catching our breath, I asked, "How did you get in here? The chain's on the door."

  "I booked the adjoining room. I came through the connecting door."

  "Oh," I said, thinking. "But it's locked from this side."

  She giggled. "Normally, yes. But you left a key to this room at the desk for me, remember?"

  "So you got the key and opened the connecting door."

  "Yes."

  "Why did you do that? You could have just waited in here for me. Why did you book the adjoining room?"

  "I wanted to be sure it was you. Somebody could have taken the key away from you and come to search the room."

  I nodded. "Okay. You're a little late for our rendezvous."

  "You weren't sitting here waiting for me, Finn. I've been here for two days."

  "I was expecting you over a week ago. There were jobs to do; I couldn't put things on hold indefinitely."

  "Sorry," she said. "My personal business took a little longer than I expected. I left you a message in the email drop."

  "I know. I got it. The voice mail, too."

  "You didn't answer the email; that worried me."

  "I didn't know what to tell you, especially after that voice mail. Besides, you were busy with your friend Louie and his pals."

  "That wasn't what it looked like, Finn."

  "No?"

  "No. I was setting something up."

  "That is what it looked like, Mary. Like you were setting something up with Kyle Brandon, from what I heard."

  "How did you… You didn't follow us into the Pink Parrot. I was watching for that."

  "I didn't need to. That place is well-known for shady business. It wasn't hard to find out who your pimp friend hooked you up with."

  "Finn?"

  "Yes?"

  "What do you think you know about what I was doing?"

  I shook my head. "I don't want to play that game with you again. I thought we were past that, after all the lies you told me to begin with. I'm not going back there."

  "You're angry," she said.

  "I could get there, for sure. But I'm not angry yet. Let's just say I'm cautious about trusting you, again."

  She nodded her head. "Not without reason. I wish I could start over with you, knowing what I know now."

  "Yeah, well, that's not the way life works. If you want to start over, you have to start from where we are now."

  "I'll try, Finn. Where should I start? From when you saw me with Louie Rayburn?"

  "How about from when you got off the plane here a couple of weeks ago and missed your check in with Phorcys?"

  "Okay. I can do that. Before I do, though, I want you to know that I didn't just blow off Phorcys. I squared this with them."

  "Isn't that part of what you need to tell me about your activities since you stepped off the plane?"

  "Yes, I suppose it is. This will be embarrassing for me, Finn, what I have to tell you. I've never told anybody most of what I'm going to tell you. I don't even admit a lot of it to myself. You understand?"

  "I think so. You don't have to tell me, if it's too painful."

  "Where would that leave us? You and me, I mean?"

  "Where we are, I guess."

  "I don't like where we are," Mary said.

  "No. I don't either."

  "Then I guess I have to tell you everything. I feel like I'm taking a huge risk, doing that."

  "I don't understand."

  "You'll hear some ugly stuff about me. What if you're so repulsed that you want nothing further to do with me, Finn? Then what? I don't…"

  "Mary, I can't give you an honest answer to that without knowing what you're going to tell me. I understand the risk you'd be taking. I can't give you the reassurance you're looking for. You must see that. You've got a pretty good handle on me and how I look at things. Make a judgment about how I'll react and take your chances. Or don't. That's your choice. If I told you anything else, it wouldn't be fair to either of us."

  "Okay. Thanks for being straight with me. You're the best thing that's ever happened to me, Finn. I love you. However this comes out, that won't change."

  "I love you too, Mary. That's the best I can do, right now. I hope it's enough to get us through this; I sure as hell want it to be."

  "There's one other thing, Finn. Before I start, can we get dressed? I know it sounds stupid, but…"

  "I don't think it's stupid at all. There's naked, and then there's naked. I get that."

  12

  By the time we were both dressed, it was getting light outside. The gray light was leaking a
round the edges of the drapes when Mary asked, "Should I make a pot of coffee?"

  "Sure," I said, "unless you want to go get breakfast."

  A sad smile on her face, she said, "No, thanks. Later, maybe, but I need to get this over with."

  She flipped the switch on the coffeemaker at the minibar and sat down in a chair at the small, round table. I took the other chair and caught Mary's eye. She held my gaze for a couple of beats and pulled her lips into a grimace. Then she spoke.

  "This has to begin a little earlier than my arrival in Miami, if you want the full picture."

  I nodded. "It's your story. Start wherever you want."

  "I told you my mother was a single mom, and a drug addict, but I didn't tell you she was a prostitute."

  "Those things sometimes go together."

  "Yeah. Well, we lived in this slummy trailer park, the kind where nobody owns their own trailer. It was in a rough section on the outskirts of Miami. The whole area was overrun by gangs and ne'er-do-wells. I don't know who my father was. My mother probably didn't, either. A lot of my early childhood is lost to me. I just plain can't remember it.

  "There were men coming and going at all hours of the night and day. Sometimes, they would wait their turn in the little den in the trailer. I guess it was meant to be a living room, but… That was my room, where I played and slept, so I was there while they waited. There were just the two rooms, and a bathroom. Plus a little galley-like kitchen. Most of the men ignored me. Some of them were nice to me. A few of them made me…do things. My mom knew about that; she knew which ones abused me. She made them pay extra."

  Mary took a deep breath and let it out in a long sigh, shifting her gaze to the table top. The coffee was ready. She got up and poured a cup for each of us, bringing the cups back to the table. She sat down and took a sip of coffee. Glancing up at me for a moment, she dropped her eyes and spoke.