by Jay Giles
“I’d like to tell you it’s my doing,” he said giving me a quirky smile. “It’s not.” He walked over close to the engines and stared at them as if they’d give him the answer. “Best I can figure they needed to run some. I know I was against it, but that race we made into Salvador may have blown out the rust, got these babies humming again.” He turned, met my gaze. “Listen to ‘em.”
All I heard was a heady rumble.
He cocked an ear. “Port engine’s missing on one cylinder. The starboard’s timing is still off.” He chuckled. “Penny ante stuff.”
“How are we on fuel?”
“About half. They didn’t add any. We’ve got enough to make Maceio or even Recife,” he said, naming the two coastal towns ahead of us.
My plan had been the get to Maceio as fast as possible, call the American Embassy, and get protection from the men-in-black and their help in dealing with the cocaine. “When do you think we’ll make Maceio?”
“Late tomorrow,” he told me, his gaze judging my reaction. “Think we can make it?”
“Sure,” I said as we took the stairs to the main deck. “We’ve lasted this long.” What I didn’t add was And I don’t know why.
I left Nestor rummaging in the galley and made my way to the bridge. Su was still at the wheel. “What are you seeing?” I asked her.
She sighed wearily. “Few boats come and go. They not paying any attention to us.” She seemed to remember I was supposed to be somewhere else. “Weren’t you relieving Nestor?”
“He didn’t need me. He’s in the galley getting something to eat.”
She jumped. “Take the wheel. We don’t have that much for dinner. I need to stop him before he eats it all.”
I grabbed the spokes of the wheel, parked my butt in the captain’s chair, and alternated watching the radar and the sea in front of me. Twice, a single boat appeared on the radar. One was moving toward us at a low rate of speed. The other was far to our starboard heading north. Neither appeared to be a threat.
The soft hum and gentle vibration of the engines lulled me along. By my second hour at the wheel, my mind was wandering. A glance at the radar brought me back to reality with a jolt. Two blips had appeared. Chasing after us from the south. Moving fast.
I grabbed the intercom, “Battle stations, guys. They’re coming.” I swung the wheel hard to port, felt the big yacht lean into the turn.
Ollie was the first to reach the bridge. The ship was still turning. “What are you doing? Seriously? You aren’t going to try and ram them, are you?”
“I don’t want to,” I admitted. There was a risk this tactic would sink us. “But what choice do we have? The Venetian’s the only weapon we’ve got.”
Nestor burst in. Su close behind. “Crap,” he said after looking at the radar.
Su stood with her arms across her chest and a frown on her face.
“Ten minutes,” Ollie said.
I straightened out the wheel, felt my heart thumping in my chest.
Su nervously looked around the bridge. “Where are the glasses?”
Ollie opened a cabinet and handed them to her. She scanned the horizon. “I don’t see them, yet.”
A look at the radar showed them dead ahead. “You will.”
She gasped, her hand shot up, finger pointing straight ahead. “There.”
“Will, you want me to take the wheel?” Ollie offered.
I didn’t. “I’m good,” I said easily, my gaze now picking up the two boats. “Is one of them bigger than the other?”
“Why?”
“I’m going to hit the bigger one first.”
“Ohhh,” she groaned. “You kill us all.”
Nestor was studying the radar. “The bigger one’s starboard.” He glanced over at me. “However big it is, you don’t want to be hitting it head-on. You want to hit mid-ships. A glancing blow would be best.”
I swallowed hard, my mouth dry. “Okay.” I could see their silhouettes. They appeared to be about fifty yards apart. The gap between us was closing quickly.
“Two minutes,” Ollie said tensely.
He didn’t need to tell me. We were close enough I could make out details. Both were cabin cruisers. The boat on the port side had a two-tone hull, blue above white, low-profile superstructure, and a flying bridge. The starboard boat was all white with a wider hull, two-deck superstructure and enclosed bridge.
We were a hundred yards apart. I could see the captain on the port ship. He had on a white tee-shirt and a red ball cap turned backwards. I turned the wheel to the right for a course that would carry us into the side of the starboard cabin cruiser.
Chapter 26
My aim was off. I missed the boat.
As we crossed behind her, I heard loud salsa music and saw partiers singing and dancing on her stern deck. The women wore bikinis, most sans tops. The guys were in bathing suits or cutoffs. Many of them raised bottles of beer and shouted at us. I checked the other boat. Same thing. Partiers.
Aware how awful it would have been if I’d hit that boat, I closed my eyes and let loose a long sigh of relief. I could have killed those people.
“Nice seamanship, lad,” Nestor said, patting me on the shoulder. My eyes popped open. “I’m sure it wasn’t easy to intentionally miss that boat.” He winked at me as he ambled off the bridge.
“Will, why don’t you let me take the wheel, now?” Ollie said and sort of scooted me away from it.
I wasn’t about to argue. Still smarting from what I’d almost done, I left the bridge and went down the ladder to the aft deck, flopped in one of the lounge chairs. The sat phone started ringing immediately. I looked at caller ID. LeeAnn.
“Hey,” I answered. “What’s going on?”
“Will, sugar, I’m afraid I’ve got some bad news, so plop that cute little tush of yours down somewhere.”
“I’m sitting.”
“When I came back from getting my hair done at the beauty shop—you remember, my standing Friday appointment—there was a message on the machine asking for me to call the nursing home.”
With my dad’s health I knew I’d get this call one day. Still, expecting it and getting it are two very different things. The realization that he was gone left me numb. I barely heard the words:
“Will, your daddy passed last night. They told me he went in his sleep. Said it was peaceful, if that’s any consolation. I hate to be giving you this bad news, sugar, you being away and all, but I knew you’d want to know.”
“You were right to call, LeeAnn,” I mumbled
“If you want, I’ll take care of the arrangements. We’ll have a memorial service soon as you’re back. You have any idea wh—”
I really wasn’t listening anymore. “I’ll call you back, LeeAnn.” Memories flooded my mind. Dad bending over me, helping me hit a baseball off a tee. Sitting on his lap watching MacGyver. Going to the office with him on take-your-child-to-work day. Shopping with him for my first car. Sitting together at college football games. How lost he looked after mom died. I felt a drop of water on my hand and realized I was crying. I bolted for my cabin before anyone could see me.
They say crying is cathartic. Maybe. It couldn’t help dad and it certainly didn’t help me. All I got out of it was a headache. That’s not true. I felt a renewed urgency to get home. When I’d gathered myself, I called LeeAnn back, thanked her for her offer of help, and talked over arrangements that needed to be taken care of immediately.
“Don’t you worry, sugar. I’ll take care of everything. You’ll be pleased.”
I thanked her profusely again, rang off, and went to the bathroom to wash off my face. The phone rang again. I thought it was LeeAnn calling back, but it turned out to be Sloane. “Will, I was so sorry to hear about your dad.”
How had he known so fast? “How did you hear?”
“Your associate called here when she couldn’t reach you at the other number. I gave her the new one.” Made sense. “I just wanted you to know our prayers are with you and
if there’s anything any of us at the bank can do to help, just say the word.”
I should have been bitter that I was away in the middle of nowhere on a fool’s errand instead of being with my dad when he passed. But right then, I didn’t have the energy to be hostile. “I appreciate that, Ban,” I said softly. “LeeAnn’s helping with arrangements. Hopefully, I’ll be home soon.”
“Well, if you need help on anything, I mean anything, you let me know, okay?” The last sounded like the real Sloane. If I did need something, he’d hand me off to one of his gophers.
I let Ollie and Nestor split the wheel for the night, secluded myself in my cabin, and read John Grisham in honor of dad. I read until I couldn’t see the print anymore. Three times during the night, nightmares attacked me. Morning found me tired, achy, and still in ill humor. I showered, shaved, and went to the bridge to find out when we’d make Maceio. I had no patience for this trip, anymore. I wanted to be home.
Nestor, who was driving the bus, reckoned we were two to three hours out. Apparently, during the night, our engines had reverted back to earlier form and Nestor had to mollycoddle them.
In the galley, I discovered we were out of everything. Even coffee. Dinner last night hadn’t been much, either. Add hungry and cranky to the list. Maceio couldn’t come fast enough.
Back in my cabin, I was brushing my teeth when Nestor came on the intercom. “Bandits or partiers approaching. I’m not sure which.”
I raced down the hall, climbed the stairs to the bridge two steps at a time, arriving out of breath. Three blips on the radar were approaching us from the north. That was odd. The men-in-black should be coming after us from the south.
“What’s your read?” Nestor asked.
After yesterday’s fiasco, I wasn’t sure. “How long till they get here?”
“Five minutes, maybe.”
Ollie arrived on the bridge wiping sleep from his eyes. He glanced at the radar, glanced at me. “I’ll take the wheel this time.” Nestor got out of his way, and Ollie settled his bulk in the captain’s chair. “Same plan as yesterday?” he asked.
“Unless you’ve got a better idea.”
“Let’s get a look at them. Nestor, the glasses are in the cabinet.”
Nestor got them out, raised them to his eyes, and quietly stood staring out the window. The tension ratcheted up as we waited. “There they are,” he said, at last.
His words made my heart rate jump.
“Pack of three,” he continued. “The boats look smaller than yesterday’s. One’s a runabout. Damn, they’re spreading out. Ollie, the biggest one’s heading port side.” He put down the binoculars; he didn’t need them anymore. They were close enough we could all see them.
It looked to me as if they planned to circle the Venetian.
“I don’t like this,” Ollie said under his breath. “Those boats look fast. Ramming one might not be possible, Will.”
The runabout was the closest to us. I watched it bounce over the waves. For sure we wouldn’t be hitting him. “Head toward the big boat and let’s see what happens.”
Ollie spun the wheel to port and the Venetian adjusted course.
The other boat adjusted, too.
“Now what?” Ollie wanted to know.
“Turn more. Don’t back off.”
Ollie again put the Venetian on a collision course. Sweat broke out on his forehead.
“Time to grab your ass and hold it,” Nestor muttered nervously.
The big boat must have realized what we were doing. Her course altered abruptly, effectively taking away our angle.
“Hard starboard,” I urged Ollie. “Turn into her.”
He grunted, hauled the wheel over. But we’d been outmaneuvered. There was no way we’d be able to turn quickly enough. Unless the other boat did something stupid, she’d pass thirty feet away to our starboard.
I gave up on her. “Where’s the third boat?”
I never saw her. I was too busy finding the floor as the bridge windows exploded.
Chapter 27
The shooting lasted until that boat passed us. I gave it five Mississippis and inched my head up for a sneak peek out the broken glass. The runabout, with three men wielding semi-automatic weapons, was on our port flank. I pulled my head down as gunfire blew out what little glass remained. Slivers of glass rained down on my head and shoulders.
These weren’t the men-in-black. This had to be Red Stripe’s crew coming back for their cocaine.
Ollie’s head was near mine on the floor. Our gazes met. “What do we do?” he whispered.
Behind the bridge was the aft lounge. Using the lounge stairs, I could make my way to the main salon and from there to the cabins with the suitcases of cocaine. If I threw the suitcases overboard, I theorized it would divert their attention from us to retrieving the drugs. “I’ll distract them. Keep the boat headed for Maceio.”
Hunched over to avoid being seen thru the lounge windows, I cautiously made my way to stairway. Halfway down the steps, the Venetian abruptly jerked to a stop.
It was as if the rug had been pulled out from under me.
I flew off those steps, did a flip in the air, landed flat on my back, the breath knocked out of me. I tried to get a breath. Tried to get to my knees. But the shoeless foot of a black man with a raggedy beard and shoulder-length dreads decorated with beads pushed me back down. Standing over me, rifle pointed menacingly at my head, he ordered, “Get up, you,” with a faint Jamaican accent.
Still dazed from the fall, I managed to make it to all fours, but not fast enough to suit him. The butt of his gun slammed into my side.
“Up, I said.”
I stood. “I heard you.”
Outside, a white man with Orphan Annie hair and a three-inch chin beard had his gun trained on Ollie and Nestor as they descended the ladder from the sundeck. A third man—black, shaved head, full beard, wearing cargo shorts and an ammunition belt over his right shoulder—followed them down.
“Over there,” Annie ordered the two of them.
They came over and stood by me.
Su emerged from the salon door, hands in the air, a scowl on her face. A step behind her was a paunchy guy with black curly hair and beard wearing red and white flowered shorts and no shirt. In his hand was an ugly looking black pistol. Su’s gaze went from the three of us to the guns of our captors. The look in her eyes said she knew they weren’t going to let us live. Her gaze met mine and she gave me the smallest of smiles as her right foot kicked out unexpectedly.
Her foot caught Flowered Shorts on the outside of his left knee, the leg bent sickingly inward as the force of the kick tore ligaments from bone. ACL. Meniscus. LCL. PCL. Probably all shredded. Screaming in pain, Flowered Shorts fell to the deck and flopped around, clutching his knee, groaning uncontrollably.
Annie, closest to Su, whapped her behind the ear with a swift swing of his semi-automatic. Her head flew sideways and her body followed. She fell awkwardly on Flowered Shorts. His eyes rolled back in his head, his screaming went into a higher register.
Annie angrily pointed his gun at her head prepared to shoot.
“Jesus, Mary, and all the Saints,” Nestor muttered.
Annie didn’t pull the trigger. Instead, he cocked his head as if he was listening for something. I listened, too. Not easy to do with all Flowered Shorts’ wailing. But I heard it—the sputtering exhaust of a boat followed by a light thump as it kissed the Venetian’s hull. Brown hands reached over the railing and a man was hauled over the rail onto the deck.
His gaze took in the scene, settled on Su, who was just getting back on her feet. He took two fast steps forward, swung his right fist and clocked her hard enough to send her sprawling back down to the deck “We meet again, bitch,” Wild Eyes gloated, standing over her.
He hadn’t changed. He was still dressed in that baggy brown shirt and pants. Judging by the smell, they were probably the same clothes. Judging by the look in his eyes, he was still as crazy. “Liam—”
“Yeah,” Annie said.
“Keep your gun on them.” He grinned insanely. “If anybody moves, one of them blinks, blast ‘em. Understood?”
Annie nodded.
“The rest of you,” Wild Eyes signaled his troops with a wave of his hand, “Check the rooms. I want every suitcase.”
Orders issued, Wild Eyes sauntered over and stood in front of me. Our faces inches apart. His pupils were enormous. I wondered how high he was. His breath reeked of Capt. Morgan.
“Should have done what we told you,” he yelled, spittle splashing me in the face “Instead you tried to keep it for yourself. Not smart.” He pressed the barrel of his revolver to the center of my forehead. “Not smart at all.”
“We didn’t steal your cocaine,” I offered, my voice as calm as I could manage. “Another group—”
His face looked like it was going to explode as he drowned me out. “You killed Francoise.”
“He—” “You shot JaMarcus.” His whole body was twitching with rage. “Don’t deny it. I saw you. You murdered him.”
He was so in my face, I took a step back. Annie’s finger tightened on the trigger. I froze.
Wild Eyes’ gaze was drawn away as men carrying suitcases reappeared. “All there?” he demanded.
“Don’t know yet,” Dreads said.
Wild Eyes turned back to me. “If one’s missing, your deaths will be long and painful.”
I swallowed hard, mouth bone dry. Head thumping. Heart racing. Stomach knotting.
More men with suitcases emerged from the salon. “That’s all of them, Miguel.”
Wild Eyes did a quick count of the bags that now cluttered the deck. The number must have been to his liking. “Get them on the boats,” he ordered.
Immediately, they started throwing bags over the side. In seconds, the deck was clear.
He turned back to me. “Now for the fun part,” he said, grinning, as he raised his revolver.
I braced for what was coming.
