by Scott Cook
Sharon looked confused and she left her hand on my back, “What’s with you guys? Hey, what’s this lump under…?”
“He was shot,” Amanda explained. “Grazing wound across his upper back.”
Sharon’s eyes went wide and she yanked my T-shirt up, “Oh, my God! Scott!”
“What?” I asked. “I didn’t do it on purpose, for Christ’s sake.”
Sharon drew in a breath and gently lowered my shirt, “Does it hurt?”
“Well… it does now,” I cranked.
“That looks pretty nasty, hermano,” Juan said, squeezing my shoulder.
I shrugged, “Just a flesh wound, really. Only stings a bit… now.”
Sharon’s cornflower blue eyes met mine and I saw worry in them, “I’m sorry… dammit, Scott… I hate it when you get hurt.”
“I’m not a fan either,” I stated. “But it’s part of the deal sometimes, as we both know. Lisa hates it, too.”
“I’m sure,” Sharon said. “You should be more careful and sensible like Lisa.”
I chuckled. Lisa blushed a little.
“Yes, amigo,” Juan teased. “You should follow her example.”
“Dude… since we’ve been here,” I said, cocking an eyebrow and grinning at Lisa. “She’s gotten herself blown up, shot at, her car rolled over… oh and she stole a half million dollar boat and engaged in a gun battle in the middle of the ocean… at night. So there.”
Jackie and Amanda were laughing.
“Goddamn, girlfriend!” Sharon said and high-fived Lisa.
“Muy bravada,” Juan said, going over and hugging her.
“Oh, I see,” I grumped. “Lisa is a hero and I’m irresponsible?”
“Well… yeah,” Sharon retorted. “It’s different for a girl.”
I folded my arms and glowered, “You’ll all be sorry one day…”
When I called to check in with Ray, he said that he hadn’t heard from the kidnappers. However, as a way of saying thank you, he and Theresa took us out to Joe’s Stone Crab and treated. Joe’s is practically a world-renowned location on South Beach. The food is excellent and the wait time to get a table reflects it. Thankfully, though, Ray and Theresa have some pull in town and we didn’t have to wait too long.
I decided that it would be better to go down to Marathon that night and stay on the Maestro Pescador. We had a hundred mile or so run the next day and it wasn’t a meeting I could afford to miss. There was far too much riding on it.
Amanda and Jackie came along, although Grayson had once again made it clear before he left that neither of them was to accompany me. Both women insisted that they should at least stick by me until I left and for when I got back. Jackie as a personal guard and Amanda to tend to my wound. Fairly thin excuses but I appreciated them both for it.
The Viking was well fitted out. The Coast Guard investigation team had cleaned up the flying bridge and cockpit, thankfully. Inside, except for the chair I’d broken, everything was neat and clean. The galley was pretty well stocked with the exception of a few perishables. Amanda and Lisa ran over to Publix to get a few things while I inspected the boat.
The accommodations were plentiful, as well. Although not as spacious or plush as Ray’s superyacht, the Viking featured a large master stateroom forward and a smaller Pullman on the port side in the lower section in the bow. The saloon could also accommodate several on the sofas, one of which pulled out. There were even clean linens in a storage locker near the head.
“Fuel’s been topped off, too,” I noted as I started the twin diesels. “Oil pressure good… nav gear good… If I’m not mistaken, this boat has a range of at least four hundred miles at cruise. Even if we run at thirty knots, we should have plenty of fuel for a two hundred or so mile round trip.”
Sharon sat beside me in the teak and leather co-pilot’s chair sipping a Red Stripe, which was the only beer on board, but which had been stocked in the galley fridge in plenty. She gazed around at the marina lights and out to the huge mooring field beyond.
“Wouldn’t it be nice if we could do this shit just once for fun?” She asked wistfully, reaching out and taking my hand.
I shut down the engines and grinned at her, “Oh, come on, this’ll be fun.”
She chuckled, “Yeah, but only because we’re fucked up in the head, Scott. Who but you and me… and I guess Juan and Lisa… get off on this kind of dangerous action movie bullshit?”
I pulled my own beer from a cup holder on the dash, “Well, there’s Wayne… I think Jackie does. Amanda is a bit more reserved. More into healing than hurting.”
Sharon sighed, “Christ, I can’t believe you… it’s not enough to be a private eye who goes on crazy adventures… now you’re a Lieutenant Commander in the Navy who goes on even crazier adventures.”
I chuckled and breathed in the sea air, tinged slightly with the sulfuric musk of low tide and the fragrant tendrils of frangipani, “Somebody has to do it.”
Sharon met my gaze and held it for a long moment, “Do you think this will be the end of this one? I mean, after Garcia gets his map, do you think it’ll be a done deal?”
I frowned, “I don’t know… I doubt it. We’re literally handing our enemies the key to the kingdom, here. No… this is only the beginning of the real shit show, I think.”
Sharon took a long pull from her beer, “The more you tell me about this, the crazier it sounds. Although it all kind of makes sense now, the whole Audrey, Nazi, EcoLife thing… but one thing bothers me.”
I laughed, “Only one?”
She grinned, “I get all the connections between you and Garcia and Audrey Lambert and all that shit… but how does Ray fit in? Okay, maybe Audrey dug into your genealogy for some reason and discovered that you’re descended from that Cook broad. And somehow, history knows that she got her hands on that map and deed. That’s pretty incredible enough… but why would this Bolivar guy think his brother had them?”
“Yeah… yeah… that bothers me, too. It’s a question for which I don’t have an answer. And it’s an important question, I think. Also, it’s odd that anybody would know about Kate’s having those papers as well… I don’t’ know, that part of this is strange.”
We fell silent for a minute or two. We sipped our beers and enjoyed the cool November night in the Keys. After a time, Sharon said softly:
“Scott… I have a weird feeling about this.”
I looked over at her with a question in my eyes.
She drew in a breath, “I don’t know… it’s just a feeling…”
“Now don’t turn into a Debbie Downer on me,” I chastised gently. “Let’s keep a positive attitude. We’re awesome and nothing can stop us.”
She smiled up at me, “You know I love you, right?”
I returned the smile, “I know. I love you too.”
Sharon held my gaze, “Scott… I don’t just mean as a friend.”
I contemplated her for a long moment. There had always been something between Sharon and me. Yes, we were very close friends… yet there was definitely an undercurrent of attraction and feeling. It was something we occasionally talked about but had agreed never to act upon.
“Oh, I’m not saying we should do anything about it,” Sharon went on. “I love Juan and you love Lisa. And they love us. Yet there is something more than friendship between you and me… I don’t know… I just… just wanted you to know that.”
I took her hand again, “I already do, kid. But don’t get maudlin on me, now. It’s going to be fine.”
“Promise?”
I grinned at her.
“Please promise,” Sharon implored very softly.
“I promise,” I said and kissed her hand.
We heard the voices of Amanda and Lisa walking along the dock and Jackie’s head appeared at the top of the ladder to the cockpit.
“How’s it look?” She asked, coming to stand by us with a beer of her own.
“I think we’re good to go,” I replied. “Fuel tanks are full, sy
stems seem to be in good order.”
“Wish I was coming with you,” Jackie bemoaned.
“Me too, Gunny,” I said. “Next time.”
I awoke at six a.m. False dawn hadn’t yet started to show and the world was just as dark and quiet as when we’d gone to bed. Moreso,even. The sort of heavy silence that blankets the land just before the dawn. As if the world were deep in a placid dream of itself.
“Mmm… it’s too early to get up,” Lisa mumbled sleepily as I attempted to extricate myself from her warm embrace.
“Duty calls, love,” I whispered and kissed her forehead. “Got to put the coffee on and get ready to shove off.”
Lisa rolled over and sighed, “Okay… I’m gonna sleep a little while longer… don’t forget to start the coffee pot.”
I stifled a laugh as I drew on my shorts and sweatshirt and padded out into the passageway and up the companion and into the galley. I hadn’t made a single sound yet Jackie sat bolt upright on her sofa the moment I touched the power button on the already prepared coffee maker.
I grinned at her and she quietly made her way over to me, “You sure you’re a squid?”
I grinned, “What, you think only Marines get up early?”
“Well, no…” she admitted. “Somebody has to drive us to the fight.”
“Hi-larious,” I quipped.
“I’ll come if you want me to,” she said suddenly in a quiet but urgent tone.
“If I had a nickel… but I better ask Lisa first.”
She punched me in the right shoulder, “Smart ass. And I already did… she said it was fine.”
I chuckled.
“Seriously, Scott… I’m ready to come along.”
I put a hand on her shoulder, “Thanks, Jackie. I appreciate that kind of loyalty, especially since we haven’t known each other for very long. But no… Colonel Grayson ordered you not to come. He ordered me not to take you, for that matter.”
Jackie frowned, “I doubt that’d matter to you.”
“Not in this case,” I said. “Since I’m being hung out to dry. But you being court-martialed does matter. Besides, we’re going to Havana, handing over a couple of pieces of paper and then escorting a cargo ship out to sea. Garcia isn’t going to launch some major attack, no matter what the political relations between Cuba and the U.S. Havana wouldn’t stand for it.”
“Then why go in with Lisa, Sharon and Juan?”
“Because Garcia might try something disreputable once I’m aboard the ship. Maybe try to plug me after he gets his map. So the others are there to dissuade him from doing something stupid.”
“And Ray’s mom?”
“I’m going to insist that she be delivered to him at the time of the exchange,” I replied. “I’ll insist that he verify via my satellite phone that she’s safe.”
Jackie’s brown eyes met mine, “You think of everything, don’t you?”
I sighed, “I hope so, Gunny. I hope so.”
I made us all a hearty breakfast consisting of sausage, egg and cheese scramble, fresh fruit, raisin toast and coffee. After that, Jackie and Amanda headed out to go and meet Ray Tavares. They would provide comfort and protection when he went to meet Raul Montoya.
Montoya had called him again to arrange the pickup of Angelique. When Garcia contacted him and confirmed that we were headed into Havana harbor, Montoya would contact Ray and arrange a meeting place.
I piloted the sporty past the big mooring field and under the bridge out into the Sister Creek area outside the harbor. As I was unfamiliar with the channels and passages into and out of Boot Key Harbor, I took it slow until I could see the main passage out to Hawk’s Channel beyond the reefs.
I checked the radar display, double checked the chart plotter and then pushed the twin throttles forward about two-thirds of the way.
The big boat’s twin Cummins six hundred horsepower diesels roared and I was surprised at how quickly the stern dropped, the long bow rose and then dropped back down again as the sixteen ton boat climbed up onto the step and planed off. At that throttle setting, the plotter indicated that we were doing thirty-two knots. That was just about perfect in order to put us at the DeBarlovento light that indicated the approach into Havana harbor and the Mariel Hemingway Marina by just after eleven in the morning.
Juan and Sharon sat along the portside bench forward, cuddling together with big smiles brightening their faces. The day was clear and the weather report said we’d have ten knot winds out of the east pretty much all day. Typical winds for being in the northern reaches of the northeast trades.
With that wind, the sea outside the reefs was running at about two feet and the big boat with her wide Carolina flaring bows met and shouldered them aside so smoothly we barely felt the motion at speed.
Lisa appeared beside me holding a thermos, “Can I refill your cup, Captain?”
“Ah, God bless you, Killick!” I enthused in my perfect Jack Aubrey voice.
“So how long of a run do we have?” Lisa asked as she settled into the chair beside me and began to top off my mug and one of her own.
“About three hours,” I said. “Once we’re in the strait proper I’ll put us on a rum line course to Havana and set the auto pilot. Pretty much a milk run, honestly.”
“Nervous?” She asked.
I waved that off, “Not for us. I’m more concerned about Ray’s mom. I hope that piece of shit drug dealer doesn’t get cute.””
What’s to stop that?” Sharon called over to us. The wind and the engines were loud, but we could still talk at almost normal levels.
“Garcia wants this map,” I said. “His brother, too. I’m going to insist that Ray, Jackie and Amanda have her in their custody before I even go aboard the cargo ship.”
“I hope that your Marine girlfriend has a plan for that,” Sharon said with a wry grin.
“I’m sure she does,” I said. “She’s well trained and experienced. She’ll know to have a clear avenue of retreat. I’m sure this is going to be nothing more than a long day of boating. Probably boring as hell for the most part.”
Juan nodded, “I hope you’re right, Scott. So what do we do in the meantime? Got any music? An audio book or anything?”
I grinned, “Both… but I also have Catherine Cook’s journal aboard with me. Last we read, she was just about to engage a couple of frigates with her little tubby merchantman.”
“Oh, that sounds interesting,” Sharon enthused.
“Killick! Killick, there!” I shouted in my Jack Aubrey voice to Lisa, as if she weren’t sitting right next to me. “Jump below and light along that book, will ya’ now? There’s a good fellow!”
“Which I’m agettin’ it, ain’t I?” Lisa shrewed in Killick’s peevish accent and then laughed as she climbed nimbly down the ladder.
28
October 17th, 1797
The sound of no less than seventy-five great guns all thundering at once was nothing short of astonishing, inspiring and terrifying. For those whose blood burned with the fire of a warrior the deep throated roar was a call to glory. For those of a fainter or more sanguine disposition, the sound was that of doomsday come at last.
All three ships now moved along parallel courses. After he’d worn round and shot through the gap between the two French vessels, Pellew had tacked around once again, taking advantage of their confusion and attempts to come about and re-engage. In spite of her greater size, Indefatigable had come about and once again shot for the gap. The French had been caught off guard for a second time and rather than continuing their own turns, had reversed their tacks and been laid by the lee, allowing the Indi to range up with admirable speed to deliver another ready volley, delivering a full broadside from both her larboard and starboard batteries.
“Warm work, sir!” Indefatigable’s first lieutenant hollered over the din.
Sir Edward Pellew, his hanger belted on and his pistols loaded, nodded gravely, “Verging upon the scalding, Mr. Albury. Back the main tops’l! Mr. Braiscirtle,
there! Double shot your guns! Grape atop ball!”
The second lieutenant, Antony Braiscirtle, paced along the gun deck, going from division to division, inspecting, overseeing and encouraging. He was a bulky man perhaps seven or eight years younger than Pellew and had a round and kindly face ill-suited to the expression of barbarous delight that now sat upon it.
“Aye, aye, sir!” Braiscirtle called out from the waist. “You heard the captain, lads! After this volley… cock your locks… wait for the roll… FIRE!”
The six and twenty twenty-four pounders thundered, blasting out great yellowish clouds of sulfuric powder smoke and great jets of flame. The quarterdeck forty-two pounders boomed as well, sending their prodigious shot aboard both French vessels and doing horrific devastation.
It was clear now that Pellew had been right. Both vessels carried twelve pounders on their gun decks, although the frigate, in addition to her twenty-two great guns also carried eight thirty-two pound carronades on her quarterdeck and focs’l. Only half of these bore on the Indefatigable, yet they too were doing considerable damage. The corvette was making a good show, but she carried no carronades and her twelve-pound shot was doing less on the Indi’s starboard side. However, even after three broadsides, the splinter netting above Pellew’s head was already beginning to collect a considerable amount of refuse. The hammock nettings on both sides and along the fife rail were already showing more than one ragged tear where round shot had passed through.
As usual, the Frenchmen were aiming high, most of their fire directed aloft. Between the two ships, they had made good practice of it. Pellew’s sails sported several dozen shot holes and there were cut bits of line hanging all ahoo from the foremast to the mizzen. One lucky shot had parted the mizzen crossjack yard and the two limp ends now hung down in the slings. Perhaps most important of all, the Indi’s boarding netting showed multiple tears and gaps, every high bar or chain shot the French fired reducing its overall protectiveness.
