Pursuing Chase

by C J Schnier

  “I dunno. I don’t remember seeing anyone cross the banks with us and he has a much bigger and faster sailboat than us. He would have caught up in a hurry. And what kind of hitman uses a sailboat to chase down his quarry? I would think a powerboat of some sort would be a better choice.” I replied.

  “I don't know, maybe it is all part of his cover. Do assassins even bother with a cover?”

  “Do you think he could have somehow gotten a GPS tracker onto the boat when it was in the yard?”

  “No way. Frank kept that place locked down like Fort Knox. Besides, he turned him away, and we left before he could come back,” she stated.

  “That’s true, but how did he find us out here?”

  “I don’t know, Chase. Maybe he’s just good at what he does.”

  “Let’s hope not,” I said with a half-hearted chuckle. “Regardless of how he found us, I think our best course of action is to keep moving and to avoid the common cruising routes. It would be too easy to guess where we were going next if we just followed everyone else.”

  Kelly nodded in agreement and took another sip of her coffee.

  “We need to watch the weather too Chase. Hurricane season should be ramping up soon, let’s not get stuck somewhere where we can’t get away.”

  “Speaking of weather, I think there’s supposed to be another little blow coming through tonight from the west. I’d like to go ahead and move up the chain to Devils Cay, wait for it to blow through and then head over to the Abacos somewhere.” I said, voicing my idea for keeping on the move.

  Kelly grabbed the chartbook from the salon and found Devils Cay. “Can we anchor on the east side of the island? That would keep us in deep water if we needed to get away, and it would allow us to keep an eye out for that asshole following us.”

  “Get out of my head! That was my exact plan.” I teased. “We can anchor there as long as this west wind holds, if the prevailing winds look to take over we may be forced to rethink our position.”

  “Great minds think alike,” she quipped.

  “But before we leave, I think we should tear this boat apart. There is no way he just happened upon us. He knew exactly where we were and that it was us on the beach. There has to be some sort of tracking chip on this thing.” I said tensely.

  “Alright, you’re the captain.”

  Four hours later we had searched every locker, nook, and cranny on the boat. All of the boat’s supplies were strewn about the cabin and cockpit yet there was no sign of anything that could be mistaken for any sort of tracking unit. We even crawled into the deep lazarettes and made sure there was nothing attached to the bottom of the deck.

  “Well shit,” I said, exasperated.

  “If it is here, it is hidden extremely well,” she said, wiping sweat from her forehead.

  “Well, I always wanted to make an inventory of what was on the boat. I guess now I won’t need to,” I said. “Let’s get it all put back together and get out of here.”

  “Aye, captain. No rest for us mere galley wenches eh? Off to Devils Cay was it? Aptly named says I,” she said in a terrible pirate accent.

  “Get to it ye swab, ye had yer rest this mornin’. And I’ll have no more bellyachin’ from ya either, lest you ye want to be keelhauled,” I fired back in my best pirate captain voice.

  “Ye do that a little too well there Mr. Hawkins,” she said keeping her playful but horrendous accent.

  Both of us spent the next hour cramming equipment and stores back into the various spaces of the boat before we finally got around to pulling up the anchor. Devils Cay was only an eleven nautical mile trip, a short two-and-a-half-hour sail.

  The midday sun and heat seemed to steal all the breeze, leaving the ocean flat and smooth, like liquid mercury that heaved with the swell. Sailing would be impossible, and we were forced to motor northward. I kept the throttle back to conserve fuel. Since we were avoiding the cities and large towns, diesel would eventually become a valuable asset.

  Moving north we passed the long island of Bonds Cay and then spotted the white cliffs of High Cay.

  “You’re passing a bit of history here Kelly,” I said to her as the bluffs came into view.

  “Oh yeah? What happened here?”

  “These same cliffs were the first sighting of land that Columbus spotted upon his arrival in the new world in 1492,” I replied matter of factly.

  Motoring past them seemed to be a travesty, another exploration opportunity lost due to our dealings with the shady side of the world. I silently cursed both Santiago Acosta and the DEA for ruining what should have been a fantastic trip.

  “We should check it out,” she replied with interest.

  “Really?”

  “Sure, how far are we from Devils Cay?”

  “Only a couple of miles, I think I can see it from here.”

  “Then let’s anchor behind the island, check it out, and then we can check out Devils Cay in the dinghy to make sure the coast is clear. I bet we could get a great view from the top of those cliffs.”

  “Hell yeah, that’s a good idea,” I said, excited.

  Paramour had no problems squeezing in the pass despite the strong currents. We dropped anchor in the empty anchorage and launched the dinghy. Climbing to the top of the cliffs, the views were stunning. It was striking to see the difference in water colors between the shallow teal waters to the west and the deep azure blue of the channel to the east. Devils Cay lay hidden to the north behind Little Harbour Cay, but the lack of boats on the water was a promising sign.

  Kelly and I made our way back down to the dinghy and zipped over the shallow waters, picking our way through the smaller islets. As we rounded the point of Comfort Cay, a tiny spit of land immediately west of Little Harbour, our hearts sank to our stomachs. There, lying at anchor behind Devils Cay was Zephyr, its name proudly gleaming in the tropical sun. I whipped the dinghy around and goosed the throttle to get behind Comfort Cay and out of sight, heading directly for the beach.

  “What are you doing Chase?” Kelly hissed.

  “I’m putting us on the beach, we’re going to have to watch him until tonight. There was nobody on deck, he couldn’t have seen us. For once we have the upper hand.”

  “Let’s just get out of here, pull up anchor and sail away,” she pleaded. “This is stupid.”

  “No way, I want to know what we’re up against. Besides, I’m tired of running,” I growled. “There’s a blow coming tonight from the west right?”

  “Yeah, that is what you said this morning, why?”

  “If he doesn’t go anywhere before nightfall, I might have a way to get rid of him.”

  Chapter Nine

  “Where are you going, Chase?” Kelly asked, genuine worry in her voice.

  “To take care of our friend,” I replied, my voice cold as steel.

  “He tried to kill us, and you want to confront him? Are you nuts?” she shrieked.

  “Look, that guy knew exactly who we were, and exactly where we were. I don’t know how he found us, but he did. He knew we were in Marathon, he probably just missed us in Bimini, and now he’s out here with a faster boat hunting us down. We can’t keep running.”

  “He’s a fucking cartel hitman Chase! What the hell are you going to do against that?”

  “Don’t worry babe, I’ve got a plan,” I said, winking at her.

  “Don’t you wink at me, asshole, you’re going to get yourself, and me, killed! We should be leaving. Hell, we should have left the instant we saw his boat,” she pleaded.

  “I’ll be careful, I just need you to stay here and be ready to go. We’re leaving right after I get back. If I’m right about the weather, there will be a blow tonight, so we’re in for a long, rough night. With any luck, though he won’t be able to pursue us,” I said trying to calm her down.

  “Again, what are you going to do?” she demanded.

  “You’ll see,” is all I said. “Grab the mask and fins out of the lazarette while I change, would you? I’m go
ing to have to pull some Navy SEAL type shit on this guy.”

  I pulled a pair of sky blue board shorts and a gray rash guard from the V-berth and changed into them. The light colors I knew would serve me better than dark ones. Out here with no lights, it was plenty dark, but the eyes were fast to adapt. The lighter tones I hoped would help me to blend into the white sands, both on the beach and in the water.

  Dressed, I met Kelly in the cockpit. She glared at me, red with anger but handed over the fins and mask without protest.

  “Thanks. I’ll be back in an hour, two at the most. If I’m not back in three, take Paramour and sail as far as you can. And make sure you keep the engine running in case we have to make a run for it,” I said, trying to sound confident for her sake.

  Kelly nodded, tears were building in the corners of her eyes, reflecting a tiny bit of moonlight.

  I threw my fins and mask into the dinghy and slid down into it. Kelly untied the painter and tossed it at me.

  “Chase,” she whispered.

  “I’ll be careful,” I whispered back.

  “You better be.”

  Our new Honda outboard was quiet and made little noise. In fact, it was nearly silent against the pulsing of the waves breaking gently on the shore. Still, I almost thought better of using it and instead try to use the oars to row to shore in complete silence. Rowing an inflatable for two miles however would not be my best use of time. I pulled the cord and let the motor crank, making barely a whisper. I twisted the throttle and raced up the deep ocean side of the islands in record time before landing on a strip of sand lining the north end of Devils Cay. I rode a small wave into shore, grounding the fiberglass bottom of the boat on the beach.

  I hopped out into the ankle-deep surf and pulled the dinghy farther up on shore. Grabbing the fins and mask, I then headed inland towards the tall grasses and scrub brush that made up most of the island. The trees and bushes provided enough protection that I was thankful that I didn’t have to army-crawl across the whole thing.

  Within five minutes I had picked my way through the brush to the other side of the island. I sat down on a sandy patch at the edge of the brush line to scope out my target. I was tired of feeling like the prey, it was past time that I did some hunting of my own.

  Three sailboats were anchored, all bobbing up and down in perfect time with the calm sea. A sea that I knew would turn nasty in a few hours. Though they were all protected from the predicted wind direction, there was still the risk of a lee shore where the island wrapped around in a crescent shape. This was better than being on the other side of the island where Paramour was, but it was still far from perfect. A mistake I planned to capitalize on.

  Squinting through the darkness, I tried to find my mark. I cursed myself for not bringing the binoculars, but with only a tiny sliver of moon, there might not have been enough light for them to be useful. Eventually, I could make out details on all three boats.

  One was a catamaran that was anchored near shore, taking advantage of the boat’s shallow draft. Another was an old and small dark hulled boat, no bigger than thirty feet long. Definitely not the boat I was looking for. The third boat was a modern new plastic production monohull. The kind you see on the cover of glossy sailing magazines. It was a charter boat, much too clean and bare-bones to be a real cruising boat. This was my mark.

  Sitting in the sand, I watched the boat intently, never taking my eyes off it. Mosquitoes buzzed in my ears, occasionally taking chunks from my exposed arms and legs. Still, I watched that boat for what felt like an eternity, looking for any signs of movement. Only once did someone come out on deck to take a quick look around before going back down below. After they had disappeared down the hatch, I waited five minutes and crept towards the water.

  Moving so as to avoid any quick or jerky movements I slithered my way down the beach and into the water. Shuffling my feet to ward off any hidden stingrays I waded out until I was in chest deep water. Swimming in the ocean has always been somewhat frightening for me. Perhaps I watched Jaws one too many times as a kid. I still managed to enjoy the sensation, but that primal fear was always there. Swimming in the dark just made it worse.

  Using all the self-control that I possessed, I managed to put my fears in the back of my mind and focus on the task at hand. I slipped my fins on one at a time, making sure that the buckles were snug but not so tight that they crammed my toes against the front of the footwell. One of these days I was going to have to buy a pair that fit. Then I spit in my mask, rubbed it clean and fitted it on my face.

  Most dive masks do not seal well on my face. The combination of long hair and worse, a long beard, makes getting it to seal a crap shoot. This time the mask sealed itself to my face on the first attempt. I let myself sink into the water and started to kick towards the boat farthest out, thankful there was no bio-luminescence to give me away.

  I kicked slowly, painstakingly slowly, making sure to refrain from splashing at all. Every hundred feet or so I would stop, float perfectly still and look at the boat. The salon lights were on, a good sign, the hitman’s night vision would be compromised. Unless of course, he had infrared goggles. That seemed unlikely though. He would be off his guard, confident that he was the hunter and not the prey. What he didn’t know was that the water was my domain, where I was at the top of the food chain.

  Every couple of minutes brought me just a little closer until I finally made it to the boat. I swam along the side towards the bow but stopped when I heard the companionway hatch slide open and light spilled out into the cockpit. The boat rocked as someone walked down the side and stopped above me. I pressed myself flat against the hull, trying desperately to find a handhold to keep me there.

  Chancing a look up the nearly flat side of the boat, I got my first look at the dark haired man that had been hunting us. He wore a loose fitting button down shirt and white linen guayabera pants. An unlit cigarette hung from his lips as he looked out at the island, towards where Paramour would have been anchored if we hadn’t found him first and in the general direction of where I had left the dinghy.

  The man reached in his pocket and extracted a gold Zippo lighter that he opened and struck it effortlessly with one hand. Holding it to the cigarette he inhaled, the tip glowing orange against the dark night. He then snapped the lighter shut and replaced it in his pocket.

  A minute later the dark-haired assassin flicked the cigarette into the water, mere feet from my face. It hissed briefly as the water quenched the smoldering tobacco. His ritual complete, he threaded his way back down the side of the boat and back into the salon. I let out a ragged breath, unaware of how tense I had been. Once I had my heart rate back under control it was time to do what I had swum out here for.

  Reaching out for his anchor chain I took a couple of huge breaths and dove down, pulling myself down the chain hand over hand. It didn’t take long before I found the end, only ten feet down and maybe fifty feet from the bow of the boat. A small pile of chain was coiled on the bottom, never having been pulled tight in the light winds. I felt around in the dark until I found the distinctive roll bar of a modern anchor. Most likely a Rocna or Mantus, both of which were excellent at holding a boat to the seabed.

  Modern anchors like these had amazing holding power and the ability to set and even reset almost instantly. That wouldn’t do. Running low on air I slowly surfaced again to catch my breath before diving straight back down on the anchor. I positioned myself in front of the anchor, most of which was buried in the sandy sea floor. Placing both my feet on the ground I braced myself and pulled as hard as I could on the roll bar. The anchor slid backward out of the sand.

  Wasting no time I groped for a handful of the loose chain scattered across the bottom. I wrapped as much of the chain as possible around the big spade shaped anchor fluke and even over the roll bar. Then I dropped the anchor back on the bottom where I could feel it skipping along the bottom as it tried unsuccessfully to dig into the sand. Confident that it was fouled, I shot upwards for the
surface, my lungs burning for air.

  Glancing back at the boat I was relieved to see that the companionway was still closed and I was alone in the dark sea. I had feared that he may have heard the movement of the chain hitting the anchor. I took a moment and caught my breath before I started the long swim back to shore, only stopping once. The waves had begun to build into little wavelets, and the winds were whispering through the palm fronds.

  On shore, I looked back at the charter boat, happy to see that it seemed to have slid back towards the lee shore. The salon lights were out, and I suspected that the hitman had turned in for the night. Smiling, I removed my dive gear and started to make my way back across the island to where I left the dinghy.

  Chancing one last view at the anchorage, I saw that I had been mistaken. Our hunter had not turned in for the night. Instead, he was in his dinghy heading for the beach, bouncing through the growing waves. Abandoning my attempt at stealth, I picked up the pace and sprinted for my own dinghy, only marginally trying to keep out of sight.

  I shoved the little boat back into the water and walked it out to waist deep water before rolling into it and starting the engine, this time uncaring about the noise. Kelly was pacing back and forth on the deck when I came flying up to Paramour.

  “Goddamnit Chase, I was just about to leave, do you know how long it has been?” she seethed.

  “Yeah sorry, it took a little longer than I thought. Got a good close look at our guy though, hopefully for the last time,” I replied throwing her the dinghy painter.

  “What did you do to him?” she asked, switching off her hysteria like flipping a switch.

  “Nothing, I just made sure his anchor was good and fouled. With the front that is coming through his boat should be on the beach by morning,” I said with a grin. “Especially since he came to shore right as I was leaving. He won't notice until it is too late.”

  “You went through all that trouble just to foul his anchor?” she asked in disbelief.

  “You bet, that should give us plenty of time to disappear,” I said. “Help me get the dinghy up on deck, we should try and get out ahead of this front. That at least should give us some sea room if it gets really nasty.”