by James Gray
“That’s good, because I think that we’re a little shorthanded for such a big boat,” I said.
“Rackman will come along, too, and he’ll give us a hand. He’s fished all over the Bay Islands and knows Roatán fairly well. He’s also navigated up and down the coast a few times. Besides, if any of the work he did fails, he’ll be there to fix it.”
Shirley appeared from inside the cabin, carrying a tray with two full glasses of ice, some lime and a bottle of rum.
“Join me for a quick one — ha, ha!” Just then his cell phone rang, and I could tell by the way he answered that he was expecting the call. “Yes, exactly, bring it all down to the point with the lancha (a motor-powered launch) and we’ll transfer it as planned. Sure it’s a safe place, the best. No one will bother us there, don’t worry.” There was a short pause. “I’ll tell you when we get to Roatán.” The Dog hung up, smiling.
“It’s in the bag.”
After a shot of Flor de Caña, I went back to my boat and told Mario, who was working overtime, that I was going to take Esmeralda over to the Bay Islands.
He didn’t like the idea at all. “Señor Jacques, I think Dog is a fucked-up, dangerous man. My family and I want you to spend Christmas day at home with us. It will be an honor for us. My wife will make us a wonderful dinner. Fiesta grande, si. (A big party.) You will be happy, eat lots of good food, drink mucho cerveza (lots of beer) and relax.”
It was obvious that Mario’s invitation was genuine. But at that moment, my mind was made up. I was itching to get away from dusty, dirty Puerto Cortés for a few days. And, of course, Valeska would be out there too; another incentive and maybe the most important.
“Perhaps you’re right, Mario, but my mind is made up.”
I gave him the rest of the day off, then went back to my place up in the hills and spent a quiet evening looking over the paper charts that I had of the region. It was a pretty straightforward sail, and with any luck, we’d be there in less than twenty-four hours.
I spent the first part of the following day relaxing. I slept, packed a small bag for the trip, and rested. The plan was to leave that night when the wind died down.
Beep, beep, beep. The alarm on my watch brought me out of a deep sleep. It was 3:00 p.m. on land or 1500 hours on board Esmeralda. Ship time always meant adapting to the twenty-four hour system. But whatever system it was, it was time to get moving. I felt a little nervous as I grabbed my sea bag and headed down the dusty little trail on my Jawa toward the base. It was the first time that I would find myself a skipper of somebody else’s yacht. I’d have to wing it.
When I arrived at the yard, the huge 200-ton sling was already in position to lift Esmeralda off its cradle and carry it over the slip. The Dog was up on deck shouting down at the soldiers who were preparing the move. “Don’t let those straps scratch the hull of my boat! Hey, Rackman! Watch those morons! Tell them to be careful.”
Ronnie Rackman was supposed to be in charge of the operation on ground level, but the soldiers would only listen to Barker and he wouldn’t listen to anybody.
I climbed up on the deck just before they took the long ladder away, and came face to face with Barker. “Look how these guys work. They’re going to destroy the boat before it hits the water. They don’t even know how to run their own travel lift. Can you believe this?” He shouted down again at Rackman, “Find some pieces of carpet to put in between the straps and the hull, Ronnie. I don’t want any scratches.”
“Pieces of carpet? In Honduras? You gotta be joking,” Rackman shot back.
“Well, think of something, wise ass. If the paint gets damaged, it’s coming out of your pay check.”
Finally, after a lot of shouting, hand signals, and cursing, the thick black keel dipped ever so slowly into the water, like a woman dipping her toe in first. She found it nice and warm, so the rest of her 80 tons followed. The job took close to four hours of hysteria, but after a lot of unnecessary grief, Esmeralda was at dockside. Now all we had to do was prepare the boat for sailing. I spent another three hours tightening up the stays and shrouds. Finally, at 9 p.m., Shirley plunked a fat, greasy chicken on the cockpit table where the Dog was already seated. That’s when Valeska showed up.
“I didn’t know that you would sail with us.”
“Yes, there have been some last-minute changes.”
Barker put a hand on her shoulder. “Shit, I forgot to tell him, Valeska. Just too busy here.”
She pulled away from him and turned around. “Sorry, Jack, he should have let you know, but the main thing is that I made it. What a long drive. I’m exhausted, I can hardly see straight. I’m going to my cabin to rest up a little.” She stepped inside and continued down into the main saloon.
“Bitch.” Barker took his eyes off the spot Valeska had occupied seconds before. “Let’s look at the charts,” he said coldly. I followed him to the wheelhouse.
“Frenchman, take a look at this. Here’s the chart plotter. I guess you can figure it out yourself. I could never understand the damn thing. Once we’re out of the bay, all you have to do is set the course and make sure that the autopilot is turned on.”
“It’s not that easy,” I said.
Valeska reappeared. “Jack, whose watch am I on?” she asked.
“Mine, I guess. Ronnie and Mr. Barker here will be together for the other one. Four hours on, four hours off. I’ll wake you when it’s time,” I said.
She nodded and went back inside. She seemed awkward, like she was playing a new role and just couldn’t get used to the part.
Shirley shuffled up from the galley with a pot of coffee and poured us each a cup, managing to spill a few drops on the chart table.
“Go get a rag and wipe that stuff up before it ruins the varnish,” said Barker without looking at her. “Frenchman, it’s time to leave this hellhole. You’re the captain from now on, so don’t screw up.”
Within an hour, Esmeralda was on its way out to sea. Behind it, the Bay of Puerto Cortés was a mirror sparkling under an intense full moon. It would be clear sailing all night. The Dog was at the controls, happy as hell to be underway, puffing on another one of his fat, juicy cigars. At that moment, despite everything that had transpired between Dog and me, I was glad to have made the decision to leave. The fresh sea breeze, and a ship moving underneath my feet again, made it all worthwhile. There was only one thing to do: get the boat to Roatán.
For some reason, I thought about my philosopher friend Ben back at the yard. One of his favorite sayings was, Everything had its price. I wondered how much this trip would cost me.
Half an hour later, Esmeralda passed the last channel marker, turned northeast and left the shelter of the immense bay. Suddenly, the heavy yacht started to buck up against the steep, short waves. A surprisingly strong breeze was blowing. I increased speed slightly and the bow plunged into each short wall of water, sending spray flying high up over the deck and all the way back to the bridge. The Dog seemed a little taken aback.
“Shit, we got it right on the kisser. We’ll have to push this thing if we want to get to our meeting point on time. I’ll tell you our plans. Some guys are waiting for us at a small lagoon at the end of Punta Sal. It’s a well-protected hole-in-the-wall about forty miles down the coast. They have some shit to transfer on board.”
“What kind of shit?”
“A few cases of equipment for the guys who are setting up at the Ciudad Blanca.”
It was strange to be picking up cases of equipment at Punta Sal; that was a remote spot on the chart and known as a hideout for coastal pirates.
“Why Punta Sal? What’s the catch? You said this was supposed to be a straight trip over to Roatán.”
“Hell, Frenchman, there are some things I don’t even know myself. Madame is calling the shots, not me. In other words, she’s the boss.”
Barker shifted off the seat, and standing up, he put his back to the wind.
“Don’t worry, man, nobody’s going to see anything. Punta Sal is
so remote it’s off the chart. Once the transfer’s done, we’ll head out, probably just before sunrise, and continue on as if nothing ever happened. When we reach Roatán, we’ll offload onto a barge we have at a place called Port Royal. It’s one of the best natural harbors in the entire Caribbean. The kind of place where everybody minds their own business. By the way, to be honest with you, we’re picking up a load of guns that will be sent to our crew on the Mosquito Coast.”
“Guns? Nobody said anything about guns.”
“Yeah, I wonder why. It’s a hot subject, and the less said, the better. But these guns are strictly for self-defense ‘cause things can get a little hairy in La Mosquitia. Once the transfer takes place, we’ll head back to French Harbour where you’ll meet the man.”
“The man?”
“Yeah, Zarkin. Who else?”
THE NORTHEAST COAST
The wind had started blowing even harder, and the big yacht was slamming into steep head seas. Our speed was down to about ten knots (18 km/h).
Dog was on watch up on the flybridge. He yelled down, “Hey, Frenchman, I’m nodding off. You gotta take over. By the way, you’re doing great. Keep it up!”
Was that actually a compliment coming from the Dog’s mouth?
I went up and took his place. The next few hours were easygoing, so I let Valeska sleep. I was alone on deck, just punching the boat the best I could into the wind. Five hours at the helm passed quickly; the auto pilot did most of the work. Nevertheless, I was glad when the Dog and Ronnie showed up on deck.
“This is our heading. It’s my turn for a nap.”
I went inside and collapsed on a bunk in my cabin. The sheets were clean, and the monotone rumbling of the two powerful engines soon sent me into a deep sleep.
It must have been about an hour later when I heard a loud knock on my door.
“Wake up, Frenchman, we need you on deck.”
When I got out on deck, the first thing I realized was the boat was rolling uncomfortably from side to side and the only way to stop that would be to put up the main sail. Navigating that tub with some canvas up would make the ride a lot more comfortable. I shook the cobwebs out of my head and climbed onto the bridge above the wheelhouse. It was still pitch black and blowing strong.
“Barker, it’s time to put the mainsail up.”
“Okay,” Barker said, “this is how it’s done on board this ship—” and before I could say anything, he pushed a button, an electric motor whined and the big mainsail started to unfurl its way out of the mast. “It’s a great invention, don’t you think?”
“Yeah, but you’re forcing it too much. It would be better to slow down and point up into the wind.”
“Uh, oh, yeah. That’s why you’re here. But it’s unfurling. Look at that.” For a second, Barker seemed almost like a kid with a new toy. Then the thing jammed. “Shit, something’s wrong. It ain’t working the way it should!”
He pushed the “roll in” button, trying to pick up the slack as the sail flogged violently in the head wind.
“God damn! It’s jammed up tight. Rackman, go check it out.”
Ronnie didn’t look very eager to go out on that pitching deck. In fact, he looked rather green. So I went onto the foredeck to check things out. When I got to the mainmast, I had to hang on and wait for a lull, the boat was rolling so badly.
“Point into the wind,” I yelled to Barker. When the boat settled, I climbed onto the boom to try to figure out what was wrong. The only option was to roll up the gigantic mainsail and start again, but it was obvious that all the tugging in the world wouldn’t free it up. I made my way back over the wet teak planks to the stern and climbed up to the bridge. The Dog was pissed.
“It’s jammed solid,” I told him. “So we’ll have to live with it like that until we reach Roatán. There’s nothing I can do out here.”
“Will it break the sail?” asked Barker.
“No, there’s not enough sail out. We’ll just keep it filled with wind and it’ll stop flapping. Watch.”
I took the helm and eased off a little. “It will keep the boat from rolling so much. Feel the difference? The boat is being stabilized by the sail.”
For a moment, Barker looked ahead in an attempt to comprehend what I had told him. “Ronnie is fucking seasick,” he said. “He’ll be worthless until it calms down.”
“Yeah, okay, I think Valeska’s in the same condition. I feel good, though, so go get some rest if you want.”
Barker grunted and went inside.
I peered into the darkness as we plodded in choppy seas. There was nothing on the horizon. No lights, just a lonely, empty, dark sea and a big full moon in partly cloudy skies. Whenever the moon shone fully, the water came alive and sparkled. Whitecaps were everywhere; at times, the big yacht would shudder as it banged into the head sea, which slowed it down a few knots. Other than that, we were making pretty good progress, heading straight for our rendezvous at a place that, on the chart, seemed no more than a narrow hole in a cliff.
I went below, double-checked the GPS and marked a new position on the paper chart. Sure enough, we were right on the button. I felt a soft hand caress the back of my neck.
“Jack, how’s it going?”
“Good, I guess. How are you doing? You’ve been hiding ever since we left.”
“I wasn’t feeling good, so I took some Gravol and finally dozed off.” She lowered her voice. “When I was lying in bed, I could hear Ronnie and Dog talking. They were in the cargo hold, and I could hear their voices coming from the new ventilation ducts that run right through my cabin. I think they’re up to no good.”
“What kind of no good?”
“I don’t know, I couldn’t hear everything they said, but there’s going to be trouble. I can feel it. Sometimes I would like to dump them both over the side.”
Valeska looked in my eyes. “Dog told me that he gave you the .38 a while ago. Do you still have it?”
“It’s in the drawer under the chart table. I’m not going to carry that thing around on me anymore. It’s bad energy.”
“Yes, but it could save your life, maybe mine too.”
I pulled the drawer open and showed her the piece.
“Good, keep it there. It could come in handy someday.”
“Valeska, sometimes you scare me.”
I went outside and climbed up to the small flybridge above the wheelhouse for a breather. Up there, the fresh breeze hit me head-on and gave me a rude awakening. It was blowing about thirty knots.
Shortly after that, Valeska came up and sat with me, turning her back to the wind, but didn’t say a word. After a long time, she got up and went inside. I was almost glad when the Dog and Ronnie finally came out on deck. After we chatted for a while, I relaxed. Maybe these two guys weren’t as bad as Valeska told me they were. When I thought about it, perhaps she was the one who was causing all the trouble. There were just too many unanswered questions. Maybe she just needed someone on her side, and I happened to be there at the right time. Then I began to doubt everything I had done to get myself in the position I was in. The whole thing began to feel like a setup. Damn, how blind I had been ever since that woman had crossed my path! I decided that, once in Roatán, I would find a way to disappear.
A few hours later, the sky began to clear off to the southeast, and all of us on Esmeralda could see the silhouette of the rocky shoreline of Punta Sal.
“Perfect,” said Rackman. “Puerto Escondido is right over there. See where the waves are breaking on the rocks? We’ll go in just to the left of where the surf is breaking.”
“You’ve been here before?” I asked.
“Sure, but not with this boat. Remember, just keep in the center of the entrance or else we’ll need a new keel.”
I sped up the engines. Gradually, Esmeralda picked up speed and slipped inside the narrow entrance on the back of a wave. Inside the lagoon, all was calm. The bay was like a lake, surrounded by palm trees and a sandy beach.
“L
ook, there they are,” said Valeska.
Off to the left, close to shore, sat a big black lancha with three 150hp outboards hooked onto the stern. The thing was built for speed. It came over and tied up alongside us. There were four Latinos on board. They were well armed and nervous.
Valeska went down on deck to greet the guys. “¿Todo bien?” (All good?) She pointed to the crates. “Before they come on board, I want to see inside.”
She climbed onto the lancha and inspected the merchandise. I was standing on deck beside Barker when I caught a glimpse of what was inside the crates. Maybe a dozen AK-47’s, with plenty of boxes of ammunition, all neatly packed and ready to go. Barker said without looking at me, “The guys working at the site in La Mosquitia will be a lot safer with some hardware. We had to load this shit up here — it’s not the kind of thing that you do at a military naval base.”
Valeska finished her inspection. It was time to test the new hoisting equipment. “Okay, Dog, load it on board,” she said, harshly. In a few minutes, six wooden crates had been hoisted on board Esmeralda. The operation was short and sweet. Once the crates had been stowed below in the new cargo hold, Valeska locked the hatch and put the key in her pocket. Then she handed a waterproof bag to one of the guys on the lancha, who immediately opened it up and briefly inspected its contents. Then he nodded to the guy at the wheel and they were gone. The Dog and Ronnie watched, surprised at her initiative.
Valeska came up and joined me on deck. “It’s done, Jack; we have everything we need. Now let’s get over to Roatán as fast as we can and unload this stuff.” She saw that the guys had gone below and whispered, “Remember what I said about the guys? I wasn’t thinking straight. They’ll be alright.” She kissed me softly on the lips.
“Forget it, Valeska. We’ll work it out later. I’ve got to set a new course.”
Still a little confused about her change of attitude, I went inside the pilothouse and put in a new waypoint on the GPS. With a push of a button, the autopilot took over. From then on, we were back on cruise control. Esmeralda headed east toward Roatán as the four of us stood together on the bridge making small talk and watching the sunrise. Everyone knew that we had enough weapons to start a small war.
