Noble Chase

by Michael Rudolph

  Red Sky continued under both sail and power, heading for Aruba. Max watched the knot meter and throttled the diesel up to 3,100 rpm, intent on maintaining maximum hull speed, slightly better than 9 knots. The speedboat kept circling them from a safe distance as if undecided, ignoring the sailboat’s relatively slow forward progress.

  Beth walked over to her mother at the navigation table and put a hand on her shoulder. “How far are we from Aruba now?”

  “At our present speed and course, still two hours and twenty-five minutes.”

  “It’ll be dark by then. Can we approach at night?”

  “I have the GPS programmed for a lighthouse on the northwest point of the island. After we round the lighthouse, it should be a short sail west to Oranjestad. I don’t see any reefs or wrecks on the charts, and the entrance looks pretty straightforward and well marked. There’s going to be plenty of moonlight. The answer to your question is yes.”

  “Good. Now would you please come up topside with Dad and me? I don’t like leaving you down here with Leonard, no matter how beat he is. The action is going to be topside anyhow, and we may need an extra set of hands. We’ll leave the hatch open so we can hear the radio.”

  “Okay, I’m right behind you.”

  They joined Max, who was sitting behind the wheel, shotgun by his side, his attention on the circling speedboat. Andi sat down on the port side of the cockpit, putting the flare pistol, barrel first, into the drink holder on the pedestal.

  “What should I load the flare pistol with?” she asked him. “I have red meteors, white meteors, and three of the red parachutes.”

  “Use a red meteor. Put one in their dinghy and it’ll burn a big hole.”

  Andi took one of the big 25 mm shells from the bag, inserted it in the barrel of the flare pistol, and snapped it shut. “We don’t have any white parachutes left.”

  “Hey, look at the speedboat,” Max said. The Cigarette suddenly increased its speed and began to head away from Red Sky at a right angle to her beam.

  “Do you think they’re leaving?” Andi asked hopefully.

  “Not a chance,” Beth replied.

  Max stood up from behind the wheel and moved over toward Andi. “Take the wheel for a while, will you, Beth.”

  “Sure, Dad.” She moved behind the wheel and stood there comfortably, one leg up on the seat for balance, binoculars dangling from her neck. The speedboat continued to head away from Red Sky until it was about three-quarters of a mile off her starboard side. It then slowly turned 180 degrees around until its bow was facing Red Sky broadside and stopped dead in the water, rolling from side to side in the trough of a wave.

  On board Red Sky, they suddenly heard the staccato sound of an automatic weapon firing. Before the three of them had a chance to duck, bullets began dropping into the water a hundred yards short of Red Sky.

  Beth watched the developing war through the binoculars. “They look like they’re going to try to ram us.”

  “I think you’re right,” Max agreed.

  “Pull in the mainsheet as tight as you can, Dad. We may have to jibe suddenly and I don’t want the boom flying around.”

  “They’re just trying to give us a scare. Want me to take the wheel back?”

  “No!” she replied confidently, angling Red Sky over toward the speedboat.

  With that, as if on cue, the Cigarette roared to life, reared back on its haunches with both massive engines at full throttle, and headed straight for Red Sky like a dragster, its speed quickly accelerating to 60 mph.

  Beth reacted instantly. “Prepare to jibe,” she ordered.

  Max and Andi were at their positions in a second, ready to jibe, Andi handling the genoa sheets and Max the main.

  “Jibe ho!” Beth ordered, quickly turning Red Sky onto the reciprocal of the incoming speedboat’s course. At the same time, she shoved the throttle as far forward as it would go, bouncing the tachometer needle into the red, the tiny 42 hp Volvo diesel groaning at maximum output. The two boats were now on a collision course, head-on to each other.

  “Now at least we’re facing them bow to bow,” Beth said as the distance between the two boats rapidly decreased. “And we can maneuver better close up at nine knots than they can at fifty knots. Leung made a mistake with this move.”

  Beth kept Red Sky on a collision course, headed straight for the oncoming speedboat. When it veered off slightly to starboard, she refused to accept the concession and instead steered closer toward it.

  “Way to go, Beth!” Max screamed. He pounded the cockpit seat repeatedly with his fist, caught up in the challenge of the moment. Andi just sat there next to him, rigid with fear, knuckles white from the death grip she had on his knee.

  At the very last moment, Beth ended the confrontation by steering Red Sky to starboard, permitting the two vessels to finally clear, port side to port side. As the Cigarette sped by, no more than twenty yards away, she couldn’t miss the smile on the scarred face of Eddie Huang sitting next to C. K. Leung.

  Before she had a chance to congratulate herself, the first of the huge waves generated by the Cigarette’s wake hit Red Sky broadside. Beth had her hands full trying to prevent a broach. The boats had passed so close to each other that there was no time for Red Sky to recover between waves or steer into the wake. She fought desperately to round up into the wind, her sails flapping helplessly, her small engine insufficient to give Beth control.

  As the wake diminished, Beth regained full control. She looked behind herself to locate the speedboat and saw it circling around, getting ready for another pass. This time, Andi was watching them through the binoculars.

  “Those two clowns in the black suits have got AK-47s in their hands,” she reported.

  “Quick, Dad,” Beth said. “See if you can furl up the genoa. It’ll be one less thing to worry about.”

  Max put the 12-gauge shotgun on safety and laid it down on the seat next to the 20-gauge. He uncleated the furling line, locked a winch handle into the winch, and furiously cranked in the sail with both his hands. The genoa got smaller and smaller as it turned around the forestay until it was completely rolled up. He then stood opposite Andi and waited for the Cigarette to commit itself.

  “We’re going to come about again so we can show them our bow,” Beth said, “but I can tack her this time, so the boom won’t be a problem.”

  They heard the engines on the Cigarette roar into life again and saw her bow leap forward toward them. “Prepare to come about,” Beth ordered. “Let her rip.” She spun the wheel around, while Andi released one sheet and Max cranked in the other. Red Sky answered the helm responsively and did a 180-degree turn. She was once again facing the Cigarette head-on.

  As before, the two vessels headed for each other on a collision course, except this time it was the captain of the Cigarette who kept bearing over toward Red Sky. “They’re better at it this time,” Beth observed, intent on handling the maneuver. “If there’s any room after they pass, I’m going to turn into their wake and meet it bow first.”

  Just before the two vessels were about to occupy the same space at the same time, the Cigarette veered sharply and cut directly across the bow of Red Sky. To avoid the collision, Beth reflexively jammed the wheel over to the left, throwing Red Sky into a hard turn away from the speedboat. Unprepared for the maneuver, Andi was thrown violently off the seat onto the deck. Max reacted quickly, grabbing her protectively around the shoulders before her head could slam into the deck. The boat rolled, nearly broaching. Water poured in over her gunnels as the wake again hit them broadside. The laughter coming from the two armed goons on board the speedboat was unmistakable and unrestrained as they gleefully pointed their AK-47s toward Red Sky and enjoyed watching Beth struggle to regain control.

  “You okay, Mom?” Beth asked, her attention still concentrated on handling the boat.

  “I’m fine,” Andi replied, rubbing her elbow as she sat on the bench again. “I wasn’t holding on. Don’t worry. I’m just pissed at m
yself for being careless….Where are they?”

  “Over to the left, behind you,” Max answered, tracking the other boat’s progress through the binoculars. The Cigarette was once again crawling slowly ahead, this time idling about five hundred yards off their port side.

  —

  Through the binoculars, Max saw C. K. Leung staring back at them, his face frozen into an expressionless mask. He also saw the AK-47 being aimed at him, but before he had a chance to duck, he heard the gunshot and felt a massive hammer blow on the right side of his head. His head slammed back against a winch.

  He sensed the sticky dampness of warm blood running down his neck and calmly laid the binoculars back down on the seat. Though he felt no pain, he knew he had been shot. Maybe being shot didn’t hurt so much, he figured, or maybe he was in shock. He made a mental note to tell Andi where his last will and testament was, except he couldn’t seem to remember its location. His eyesight became blurred and he felt very dizzy.

  Andi was on him before he had a chance to pass out. She saw her life shatter before her eyes while she struggled to apply her emergency training. Despite her tears, ingrained reflexes took over and she continued to function.

  She made Max lie down on the cockpit seat, grabbed a nearby towel, and immediately applied pressure to the right side of his head. Blood was pouring out of a deep scalp wound and a badly lacerated right ear. The profuse bleeding had to be stopped.

  “I’m fine,” Max kept protesting. “It doesn’t hurt.”

  “Hold this towel tight against your scalp and let me look at you.”

  Beth was distraught, aimlessly steering Red Sky in a huge circle while she stared at the only father she had known and the growing circle of his blood on the deck. Like her mother, she ignored her tears while remaining in control of Red Sky, one hand on the wheel, one hand on the shotgun. “Mom, what can I do to help?” she asked.

  “Pass me the medical kit from under your seat,” Andi replied.

  “And just keep steering south, sweetheart,” Max added in a weak voice, fighting to control his reaction to the increasing pain. “I’ll be up to help you as soon as your mother’s done with me.”

  “Quiet! Lie still!” Andi ordered while she poked and probed his body, looking for other injuries, holding her breath for fear of finding one. “Do you want a shot of morphine for the pain?”

  “No. I need to stay alert.”

  “I can’t find any other injury. See if you can sit up so I can bandage you.”

  He tried, and then nausea overwhelmed him. He lay back down, eyes closed. Behind the wheel, Beth paled at the sight of her prostrate idol.

  “Open your eyes, Max,” Andi commanded. After a few seconds that lasted forever, Max obeyed. “Follow my finger,” she continued, moving her index finger across his line of sight and then back again. “Still dizzy?”

  “Yes,” he said.

  “Probably a concussion.”

  Max sat up with an assist from Andi’s arm. When she finished bandaging his head, he resumed watching the Cigarette through his binoculars. She was still idling off to port. Then suddenly, reacting to some sixth sense or maybe because of his peripheral vision, he dropped the glasses and spun toward the hatch opening.

  When Max saw Sloane coming out of the hatch wearing a life preserver, with a Glock pistol clutched in his good hand and the yellow bag hanging over his neck, his first impulse was to grab the shotgun. Beth’s reflexes were faster, however. She already had it pointed directly at Sloane’s chest, finger on the trigger. Sloane looked straight at her, but his pistol was pointed at Andi. Mentally blaming himself for the tragedy about to take place, Max yanked the winch handle out from the winch next to him and with one motion threw it at Sloane. At the same time, he jumped up to interpose himself as a shield between Andi and Sloane’s gun.

  Seeing their frantic reactions, Sloane quickly dropped the gun into the bag now serving as the sling for his broken arm and raised his good hand into the air. “Jesus Christ, don’t shoot!” he shouted. “Calm down, you two. I was only checking to make sure it was loaded before I leave.”

  “What are you talking about?” Max asked, breathing heavily, trying to regain a semblance of self-control despite his painful head wound.

  “I called C.K. on the radio.”

  “You what?” Beth was astonished and at the same time even angrier at herself for not checking the contents of the yellow bag when Sloane first brought it on board, kicking herself for not keeping a better eye on him.

  “I told him to send the dinghy over for me.”

  “You think you two are just going to kiss and make up?”

  “You still don’t get it. Leung needs me and the access codes on this CD. That’s why I can deal with him.”

  “But I’m the one shot,” Max interjected.

  “Listen to me, Counselor. Leung is toying with you because that’s how he amuses himself. As soon as he gets tired of this cat-and-mouse game, he’ll come at you for real with the dinghy on one side and that speedboat of his on the other. He’s got you way outgunned.”

  “Oh, Max…” On hearing Sloane’s pronouncement, Andi gasped.

  Sloane continued, holding on now to the teak handrail for support. “One way or the other, he won’t stop until he’s got me. Your only chance is to let me go over to him now.”

  “Let him go, Max,” Andi said. “He’s not worth it.”

  “She’s right, Dad. We caught him. We saved him. I don’t want you and Mom to die for him.”

  “Forget it!” Max said, his voice filled with rage. “This is my family and my home. That son of a bitch is not going to harm them or it!”

  Smirking at the outburst, Sloane reached over to the seat as if to sit down. Instead, he suddenly took one of the buoyant seat cushions and threw it overboard. Clutching his yellow bag, he stepped over the lifeline and jumped into the water, paddling with his good arm over to the cushion.

  As Sloane floated off behind them, Beth jerked Red Sky into an emergency turn while Max reached over to unclip the horseshoe buoy. Watching all of this through his binoculars, Leung signaled the captain, and the Cigarette headed toward Sloane.

  Max cocked his arm back, preparing to heave the life preserver after Sloane, when he felt Beth’s arm firmly restraining him. He took his eyes off Sloane and looked at her. “Let him go, Dad,” she said quietly. “It’s over and we won. It’s time we get back about our lives. Sloane and Leung aren’t worth another thought.”

  Max instinctively tensed but then relaxed his arm, allowing the life preserver to fall to the deck. He again located Sloane in the water, holding on to the white cockpit cushion, kicking with his bare feet. The speedboat approached him slowly and a line was thrown. He missed it the first time but managed to grab it when it was thrown again. He was pulled slowly over to the stern of the speedboat, where the captain helped him climb on board. The cushion from Red Sky was left floating in the water, bobbing around in the swells.

  Beth didn’t need binoculars to see C.K. facing Sloane in the cockpit. They were talking quite animatedly while another man standing in the cockpit, probably Andrew Leung, was gesticulating angrily with his hands, pointing an assault rifle at Red Sky.

  Their conversation continued for some time, and then suddenly Beth knew it was over. No fanfare, no crescendo. She watched as Sloane and Leung apparently reached some kind of accord because each seemed to relax and Andrew Leung put down his rifle. Then the three of them went down into the cabin below. The Cigarette turned slowly away from Red Sky before accelerating to full speed and heading off toward the southwest. In minutes, it was a speck on the horizon.

  “It’s over,” Beth said with complete finality. “Let’s retrieve the damn cushion and get back on course for Aruba.”

  Max went back down to the galley and reached into the sink for the bottle of Coke still lying there. It wasn’t until he tried to uncap it and pour himself a drink that he realized how badly his hands were trembling. His head hurt, and dizziness was
overwhelming him. He made it over to the couch in time to lie down and close his eyes.

  —

  A short time later, the radio beeped again, followed by, “Red Sky, Red Sky. This is the Venezuelan Coast Guard vessel Simón Bolívar approaching from your port quarter, over.”

  “You’re a day late and a dollar short,” Beth muttered before picking up the microphone to respond. “This is Red Sky, over.”

  “Red Sky, we are sorry we were delayed. Are you and your passengers safe?”

  “This is Red Sky. One of our passengers was taken off against his will, kidnapped by pirates about twenty minutes ago.”

  “Can you describe the other vessel?”

  “It was a forty-five-foot Cigarette speedboat with a black hull. They’re heading for Panama and they’re heavily armed. They shot our captain too.”

  “We will alert our helicopter unit stationed on Caracas and also the Colombian coastal patrol. They will intercept the perpetrators before they reach the Canal. Do you require any medical assistance? We have a corpsman on board.”

  “No, we’re okay now. The captain’s wound has been stabilized. He’s sleeping now. We’ll get him further treatment as soon as we land in Aruba.”

  “Understood.”

  “Also, there’s a badly damaged sailboat with a possible homicide victim on board to the northeast of us. I have the exact location for you here in our log.” Beth opened the log and read them the latitude and longitude. “If you need us, you can reach us at Oranjestad for the next few days.”

  “Very well, Red Sky. Buena suerte.”

  “Thank you, Coast Guard. This is Red Sky out.”

  Max came back to Red Sky and dropped his document case onto the cockpit bench before unhooking the gate and stepping on board. “Okay, that’s done,” he said. “They extended our visa, and the doctor at the clinic said my wounds are healing nicely and promised me the scars will be very macho.”

  “What about the stitches?” Andi asked.

  “He’ll take them out Monday or Tuesday.”

  “Did you speak to the police?” Beth asked.