by Ed Teja
She put her hands on her hips. “This makes no sense at all.”
“It's pretty clever, actually,” I said.
“No, I mean why would they work so hard to get you in trouble when you are so damn good at doing that all by yourself?”
Bill laughed. “If somebody with power within the US government wants something from us and doesn't think we will play along, catching us with guns gives them leverage. If we are facing big charges, the idea could be we might be convinced to cooperate.” He gave me a significant stare. “Personally, I've never traveled in those circles and haven't had to consider such possibilities very often.”
I shrugged. “We are just speculating and ruining what's left of the night. I'm guessing your little tête-à-tête will let us find out for sure in the morning. Either some military type will show up and explain things, or we will be overrun by armed people looking for weapons.”
“Either way, it should be interesting,” Tim said. His grin told me that the evening's raid and the prospect of more didn't bother him much. He was enjoying himself. Of course, after spending serious time in a Venezuelan jail charged with murder, the idea of getting arrested or extradited to the US didn't seem too bad. By comparison, that would be an inconvenience at worst, and at best an adventure.
For my part, despite shrugging it off, I did worry—a bit. As Bill insinuated, I had traveled in those circles. Although I was out of all official loops, I kept an ear to the ground, and I had a hunch. Actually, I had a pretty good idea of who might have sent this team. In fact, I could only think of one serious possibility.
What I couldn't imagine was why; until now, he'd made it crystal clear (his words) that he wanted nothing to do with me—ever.
Something had changed.
3
With the minions of the dark force scattered, or at least on their way back to shore, not counting the one squirming on the foredeck like a fish who’d been landed, thrashing about in a futile attempt to free himself, things calmed down. While I didn't think we'd be bothered again until daylight, only a fool would count on that.
There were many scenarios that could play out, depending on what they wanted. If they'd come for something, some object, the team could have orders not to return without it. They could have some misguided rule about never leaving a man behind and decide to regroup and try a rescue mission. We had disarmed the bulk of them, but they all had sidearms and the advantage of numbers. They might even have a truckload of weapons on shore. Now that they knew the terrain and our numbers, they would be able to make a better plan.
The plan they'd attempted hadn't been a bad one. If we weren't night owls, and if Gazele and I hadn't been lazing on the aft deck when they'd arrived, we might not have heard them. If they'd arrived a little earlier, we certainly wouldn't have heard them at all. And they hadn't counted on the searchlight. If they'd known it was there, they could have shot it out before boarding.
“It's a sobering thought that if they'd come on board when we were all be in our bunks, we'd have been toast,” Bill told Tim. “This, little amigo, is just one example of the value studying poetry has for a sailor. No military type is going to expect to be thwarted by even the most complex of poetry forms.”
That was true. Tim looked out over the water. “Some of them still have their weapons.”
“So we will be ever vigilant,” Bill said.
“I'm rather hoping they run off like whipped dogs and deliver Bill's message,” I said. “But you never know about people like that. Hell, we don't know for certain who they are.”
“Looked pretty military,” Tim said.
“They could be mercenaries—ex-military.” Though I doubted that. Mercenaries get well paid, and we didn't owe anyone money and weren't doing anything that would cut into someone's business operation. But again, you don't know until you do know. “We're just guessing.”
“You mentioned pirates. Could that be it? Could they be after Harm?” Tim asked. He was torn between shock at the idea that pirates could be a real thing and thinking, “We repelled pirates, how cool is that?”
Bill snorted. “If these are some military or ex-military types trying their hand at piracy, they screwed it up. It would be something like them doing a little boat shopping for friends who need a ship for a single run.”
“I read about some Korean freighter that was stolen like that,” Tim said.
“That was a larger ship hijacked off the coast of Indonesia,” I said. “They took it at sea when it slowed to go through the Strait of Malacca. They were trained enough to maintain radio contact for a few days, and no one missed it until it was late arriving in port. That gave the pirates time to take the ship to a port where they gave it a fake identity and a new flag.”
“A freighter chop shop?”
“Something like that.”
“Harm would be missed soon,” Bill said. “And the nearest place they could do a refit would be Venezuela. Granted, that's not far, but between here and there, there is plenty of water patrolled by the US Coast Guard. Walter, the port captain would know we wouldn't just take off without checking out.”
“I hope they were pirates,” I said.
“Why?” Tim asked.
“If these were just guys who thought their need for a freighter was greater than ours, they won't come back. They'll use the time Bill gave them to get as far away from St. Anne as they can and leave their buddy to his fate. If they aren't pirates, then things are complicated.”
Bill pointed his shotgun at our captive. “Should we see if we can get this prick to tell us what he knows?” He seemed eager to apply his skills to the task.
“Not now,” I said. “If he is military, they'll want him back with all his optional parts, and you did give them that option.”
Bill nodded. “Yeah. If we can't apply enough pressure to make him talk, where's the fun in that?”
“If his CO shows up in the morning as you requested, oh so politely, then we will learn whatever bullshit story there is to learn. On the other hand, if this guy is a pirate, then no one will show up to claim him. Then we will have all the time in the world to play question and answer.
Tim scanned the horizon. “Do you think his friends will try to rescue him?”
“It's possible.”
“So—do we post lookouts, or what?”
He tried to look stoic, but his excitement showed in his face. While he liked being on the boat and seemed to have an unexpected knack for working on a freighter, it was this kind of thing, the unexpected event that got the adrenaline going. I smiled. Adventure was the real reason he had come to the islands. Not being boarded by armed thugs, but the uncertainty, the strange, sometimes scary things that went on.
This was a new, more confident Tim. The brutal experience of being thrown into jail in Venezuela had changed him. It took him some time to discover that and then work out who he had become.
After the Venezuelan police reluctantly dropped the murder charge against him, he'd returned to the States, thinking he wanted nothing more than to go back to school and get a degree. All too soon, it he was bored. The schooling wasn't relevant to the world he’d tasted or the life he realized he wanted to live.
He dropped out and told me he wanted to come back down and join us. I'd tried to convince him that running a freighter was a dull, boring life, and the business tended to be unprofitable. My arguments had no effect, and finally I told him that he needed training.
“What kind?”
“There is a course called the Standards of Training, Certification and Watchkeeping for Seafarers—STCW. It's a five-day class and a basic requirement for commercial work. You pass the course and I'll take you on as a deckhand.”
I thought he'd never bother even checking out the class, but three weeks later he showed up with a certificate in hand and a proud smile on his face.
“He called your stupid bluff,” was the way Bill put it.
After tonight, I
knew that Tim would be positive that my “boring, dull, and unprofitable” comment showed I'd been lying on at least two counts.
He was right. The evening had not been dull or boring, and I couldn't even claim that such things were even that rare. It made me think that, in my eagerness to push him toward a more mainstream life, I had lied. If I were in his position, I'd think so.
And clearly a little piracy now and then wasn't going to make him think less of his chosen profession.
Gazele tugged at my arm. “I need to get back and close up,” she said. “And Sally is expecting Bill.”
Bill nodded. “I did make a promise along those lines. I'll be back around dawn, however. Sally wakes me early anyway, and now I wouldn't want to miss the show, assuming there is one.” He turned to Gazele and offered an arm. “May I escort you to your chariot?”
She grinned at me. “Now that's how a gentleman treats a lady,” she said.
“He doesn't always act like a gentleman,” I said. “And you don't always appreciate a man acting like one.”
“Well, that's a fact, too. Leaves you with the problem of figuring out when to be one, assuming you know how.” She headed for the accommodation ladder. “Gotta keep the boy guessing,” she told Bill loudly enough for me to hear.
“An essential part of your mystique,” Bill agreed.
“Should I make coffee?” Tim asked.
I nodded. “With those two leaving us to our fate, we probably should take turns standing watch.”
“Cool,” he said, raising the shotgun. “Take no prisoners, right?”
“That's definitely your brother,” Bill said as he helped Gazele into the dinghy. “It ain't everyone gets a kick out of staying up all night watching for bandits.”
I sighed. “It's far worse than that, mate. Tim is hoping they show up.”
4
The night proved uneventful, but I was glad we stood watches. It kept me from waking every time the ship creaked in the night. Old freighters creak a lot. Even when Tim stood watch, I sat on the deck, alert.
In the drowsy hour before dawn, Bill returned, looking pleased and happy.
“I see the evil doers didn't spirit you away in the night,” he said all too cheerfully.
“Go wake up Tim,” I said. “Since you got to run off and paint town a glowing red, you get to make breakfast. Pancakes and bacon and eggs.”
“My Captain, My Captain,” he said, faking a sloppy salute that a wouldn't please a scout master.
We ate and chatted, with the conversation repeating much of our speculation from the night before and circling in the same groove.
Right at ten, the sound of a powerful outboard motor drew me out of the wheelhouse.
“Show time,” Bill said, coming out behind me. He handed Tim the remote control for the foredeck crane and winked. “Watch from the bridge wing. You'll have a great view. And remember my instructions.
I bit my tongue to keep from asking what the instructions were. I wasn't sure I wanted to know. Bill and I went down the ladder and strolled across the deck to stand at the accommodation ladder, ready for whatever the small powerboat approaching from shore was bringing.
Bill peered through a pair of binoculars and burst out laughing. He pointed at a tall man standing in the bow of the boat with his hands clasped behind him. Dressed in the tropical whites of a US naval officer, he stood stiffly erect. “Fucking military! You tell them you want to talk to the boss, and they send you a bellhop.”
“In Class A dress whites, no less,” I said.
Bill squinted. “That isn't who I think it is, is it? Is that—”
“It sure looks like it to me,” I said.
He nudged me. “This shit keeps getting better.”
“I hoped he wasn't involved, but I don't know that many people willing and able to send an assault team to deliver a message.”
The gig slowed as it approached the accommodation ladder. The coxswain cut the engine and jumped out to grab the bowline. Bill went to the railing and stared down. “Well, if it isn't fucking Admiral Hank Jeffries.”
The admiral stepped out of the boat and onto the platform at the base of the steps. He paused, then looked up.
“Permission to come aboard?” he asked.
Bill gave a disgusted shake of his head. “You idiot child. Are you trying to make a point? Do you think you are such a big deal that you don't have to follow instructions even when they are carefully spelled out? Or are you just so damn stupid you don't know what the words mean?”
The admiral looked puzzled. “I'm here right on time.” The coxswain handed him a box from the boat. “I brought the coffee and donuts.”
“You were told to come alone.”
It took a moment before he seemed to understand Bill was talking about his coxswain. “This man piloted me out here, that's all.” I spread his arms out. “I came unarmed.”
Bill wasn't impressed. “Alone is a word that my good friends Merriam and Webster assure me means unaccompanied. There is no meaning in their lexicon that allows you to expand that to include whoever you decide to fucking bring with you.”
“I didn't realize that you meant no driver.”
“How could you not realize that's exactly what it meant? Besides, why do you need a coxswain? Has the US Navy deteriorated to the point where a man can become a fucking admiral without knowing how to pilot a boat from the dock to here? If so, the world is in deeper trouble than even I had thought.”
“That was an oversight on my part.”
Bill nodded. “I see. Then, as we learn by repetition, and I want the correct motor skills trained, how about you return to shore and try making this trip again, this time following directions?”
The admiral held up the box. “I can do that, but the coffee will get cold,” he said.
“He has a point,” I said.
Bill snorted. “All right but be advised that you now have one strike against you in these negotiations,” Bill said.
The ladder squeaked as Rear Admiral Hank Jeffries climbed up.
“Hello, Hank,” I said as he came on board. He handed the box to Bill, who inspected it and handed me a coffee.
“No thanks,” I said. “We don't know where that's been.”
Bill nodded and put the box down.
The admiral turned to me. “It seems that you and I got off on the wrong foot.”
“You mean now, or in this life in general?”
“I can explain why I asked the men to come here. “
I laughed. “They didn't 'come here,' Hank. You sent an assault team.”
“It was wrong and I'm doing what you asked.”
“Back up a step or six. If you wanted to show your intense disrespect for me, for us, then message received. If you were simply sending pirates to seize my ship, then you lost.”
“What's all this talk about piracy?”
Bill snorted. “Piracy is an act of robbery or criminal violence by ship or boat-borne attackers upon another ship or a coastal area, typically with the goal of stealing cargo and other valuable goods. Those who conduct acts of piracy are called pirates.” He grinned. “I looked it up. I wanted to be certain in case you wanted to dispute the terminology. But I didn't realize you don't even understand the meaning of 'alone' at that time.”
“These are my men—US military. And you are American citizens.”
“That's irrelevant, and you damn well know it. We are Americans who live and work on a Panamanian-flagged boat currently checked into the sovereign waters of Sister Islands. I know you have agreements with the various island governments, but I'm quite sure those don't include the right to send a merry band of armed thugs to attempt to board us at night.” He started to speak, but I raised a finger and he stopped. “I'm sure of this, because I chatted with the coast guard about it this morning and they were upset.”
“Look, it was necessary to be expedient—”
“Military bullshit
talk,” Bill said.
“Speaking of which, where is Chief Chandler?”
“Who?”
“The team leader.”
“The leader of what wasn't an assault team?” Bill asked.
I pointed up to our foredeck crane where he hung suspended over the deck. He was awake now, but Bill had stripped him to his boxer shorts, bound and gagged him, tied him to the cargo hook, and hoisted him high.
The admiral looked. “What the fuck?”
“Legally, that man committed piracy. I'm holding him until the authorities arrive and take him into custody. I'm afraid that being charged as a pirate will look very bad on his resume.”
“You've made your point,” he said. “Cut the man down. I gave the order. Your argument is with me, not him.”
“If that is the case, then you can wait around until the police inspector arrives. After you confess to being behind an act of piracy, I'll let the flunky go.”
“Be reasonable, Martin.”
“Like you? Look, I have no particular argument with you, but you decided to throw your weight around and I didn't like it.”
“Can I have him back?”
“I'm not sure why you want him,” I said.
“I'm responsible for him.”
“We don't want him,” Bill said. “He would be useless to us and going to court to testify is boring.”
The admiral was starting to sweat. He looked strangely out of place standing on the deck of a rusty old freighter in his starched whites and chest full of medals on a morning that was growing hot fast. The American brass could be as strange about such things, as full of pomp and other bullshit as the Brits.
“Now that you are here, how about explaining what the fuck is going on? What the hell was the idea of sending armed men to my boat?”
“I wanted them to bring you to me—to have a talk.”
“You couldn't call? Even a note card would do; one of those fancy ones saying that the admiral requested my presence. How many taxpayer dollars did your embarrassing fiasco cost?”
