Deadly Passage
By
Lawrence W. Gold, M.D.
Deadly Passage 2013 © by Lawrence W. Gold, M.D.
All rights reserved. No part of this book may be reproduced or transmitted in any form or by any means, electronic or mechanical, including photocopying, recording or by any information storage and retrieval system, without permission in writing from the publisher.
This book is a work of fiction. Characters names, places, and incidents either are the product of the author’s imagination or are used fictitiously, and any resemblance to any actual persons, living or dead, events, or locales is entirely coincidental.
A Grass Valley Publishing Production
Cover Art©2013 by Dawné Dominique
Dedication
To my wife, Dorlis, and her unshakable confidence.
Acknowledgments
Donna Eastman of Parkeast Literary Agency who first encouraged me to write.
Joseph Barron, a true renaissance man and my writing buddy. Gone but not forgotten.
Dawné Dominique, a gifted artist and cover designer.
Dr. Paul Muller, a great writer and editor.
Writers groups on both coasts. WOW in Palm Coast, Florida and Sierra Writers Fiction Critique Group in Grass Valley, CA
‘‘Adapt or perish, now as ever, is nature’s inexorable imperative.’’
H. G. Wells (1866 - 1946)
‘‘Time is nature’s way of keeping everything from happening at once.’’
Unknown
Anyone can hold the helm when the sea is calm.
Publilius Syrus
Other Works
By
Lawrence W. Gold, M.D.
Fiction:
Brier Hospital Series:
First, Do No Harm
No Cure for Murder
The Sixth Sense
Tortured Memory
The Plague Within
Other Novels:
For the Love of God
Rage
Non-Fiction:
I Love My Doctor, But…, a lighthearted look at the doctor/patient relationship
All available in print and in Kindle.
Chapter One
The artillery shell crossed Prophecy’s bow, and landed 30 yards to port with a deafening explosion that shook the heavy sailboat. The concussive wave broke over the bow like a tsunami, and cascaded over the deck to flood the cockpit. It soaked Andy, the skipper.
He wiped saltwater from his eyes. ‘‘Those guys are crazy!’’
His wife, Jesse, burst from the companionway. ‘‘Make them stop! They’re gonna kill us!’’
Andy grabbed the VHF radio’s handset, and switched to emergency channel 16. ‘‘Stop, goddamn it. We’re United States citizens.’’
The voice over the radio was all too familiar. ‘‘Sir, that was a warning. The next round will target you. Change your heading to 180 degrees.’’
The 47-foot Cutter, Gallop, out of the United States Coast Guard Station at Charleston, South Carolina, sat half a mile away with its 3-inch, MK-75 cannon pointed toward Prophecy, a 50-foot sailboat. Four patrol boats floated nearby.
Andy clutched the handset. ‘‘Prophecy’s declaring an emergency. We need immediate medical attention.’’
The radio voice was dispassionate. ‘‘We understand, sir. This is Captain Adams. I’m acting on orders from Homeland Security. You’ve entered United States territorial waters illegally. Head due south, or we’ll sink you.’’
Chapter Two
Porto Bello, Panama (March)
Andy Reiss rolled over and nudged his right arm against Jesse. When she arched her back, he slid his arm around his wife, and pulled her close.
The boat rocked gently at anchor, and then rolled with a passing vessel’s wake.
Andy looked at his Casio compass watch. ‘‘It’s 6:30. Somebody’s leaving the anchorage early.’’
Jesse pulled herself closer, and grunted something unintelligible.
The owner’s stateroom on Prophecy, a Sparkman and Stephen’s cutter, was aft and on the port side. Their queen-sized bed was awash with floral-scented tropical breezes passing into the porthole.
When he reached to caress Jesse’s breasts, she turned away. ‘‘Rachel will be up any second.’’
‘‘She’s twelve, and old enough to understand.’’
‘‘That doesn’t mean she wants to see it, hear it, or even think that her mother and father are doing it.’’
‘‘You owe me.’’
‘‘No problem,’’ she smiled. ‘‘The sensual rise and fall on the soft swell at anchor gets to me. I think you knew that before we went cruising.’’
‘‘Don’t use the words ‘rise’, ‘fall’, and ‘swell’, and then turn me down.’’
Jesse smiled and kissed Andy. ‘‘You’ll survive.’’
Andy had managed to retire at 46 after selling his patent for the rapid diagnosis of
Lyme Disease to a national commercial laboratory. He had grown up in Grass Valley, California, as the only child of Harold and Isabel, native New Yorkers who had hated the city and couldn’t wait to leave. Harold had graduated from the University of California College of Medicine in San Francisco, and had practiced in the Sierra foothills.
Harold and Isabel had never pushed their son, although Andy knew from his earliest days that he’d be going to college and beyond. When Andy announced that he wanted a future in medicine, his father had beamed.
Andy’s first marriage had ended tragically with the death of his wife from ovarian cancer. After the funeral, Andy had gone to his chief. ‘‘I’m taking time off, boss. I’m no good to myself or anyone.’’
‘‘I’m so sorry,’’ he had said. ‘‘Take as much time as you need. When you’re ready, I’ll find a place for you in the program.’’
After three months in Europe, Andy discovered that geography wasn’t his problem. Happy couples walking hand in hand had left him lonely and in despair. They enjoyed lives poised on disaster’s fragile web, oblivious to the fact that it could break at any moment.
When Andy returned to San Francisco, he threw himself back into training and caring for patients to the exclusion of all else.
Over the next three years, his life had remained on automatic. He completed the infectious disease program, and took a position at Brier Hospital in Berkeley. Andy had enjoyed practicing at Brier, a community hospital with an academic atmosphere; it had an abundance of attractive women, but each time Andy dated, he found himself unable to shake the conviction that he’d never again achieve what he’d lost.
‘‘You don’t smile, Dr. Reiss,’’ the new nurse had said as she pulled up a chair beside him.
‘‘Excuse me?’’
‘‘I bet you have a nice smile.’’
She was young, he had thought, very young, and nearly six feet tall with exotic, olive skin.
He had glanced at her ID badge, which was imprinted with J. Kahn. ‘‘Jessica, I bet.’’
She brushed a lock of chestnut hair away from sparkling green eyes, and then smiled. ‘‘You shouldn’t have.’’
‘‘Shouldn’t have what?’’
‘‘Gone to the trouble of looking me up.’’
‘‘I didn’t… I just knew.’’
‘‘Right.’’
Andy had suppressed a smile. ‘‘You’re either an imposter, or a child prodigy. You look like you’re sixteen.’’
‘‘Come see if they serve me alcohol at Charlie’s. I’ll be there after 5:30. I’ll buy the first round.’’
‘‘Are you always so…’’
‘‘Restrained…? You noticed. Believe it or not, I’m the family introvert.’’
‘‘I’m Andy.’’
‘‘I know
, Dr. Reiss. I’ll fend off the advances until I see your smiling face.’’
‘‘I’ll see.’’
She had averted her lips in a near-perfect pout. ‘‘You won’t disappoint me, will you?’’
‘‘You’re going to hurt your lips by doing that.’’
Jesse had stood, and winked. ‘‘They’ll be just fine. Count on it.’’
He had eyed her as she walked away.
Before entering the nurses’ lounge, Jesse had turned, met, and held his gaze.
She’s good, thought Andy—very good.
On their wedding night three months later, he had turned to her. ‘‘You were exactly what I needed. How did you know?’’
‘‘I took one look at you, and I knew we were right for each other. Enough talk. Don’t forget that this is our wedding night.’’
‘‘It’s been a long day, and I’m tired. Wedding nights are overrated.’’
She had slipped her hand between his legs. ‘‘Tell me that in the morning.’’
Andy’s 12-year marriage to Jesse, the second for both, had been going great, but after two years of trying to get pregnant, they had sought a fertility specialist. ‘‘All your tests are normal. I don’t know why you can’t get pregnant.’’
Jesse had squeezed Andy’s hand. ‘‘What can we do?’’
‘‘Fertility drugs or artificial insemination all the way to in vitro fertilization. If you have the time, the money, and the emotional stamina for all the hormonal manipulations and the medical procedures, sooner or later you’ll have your baby.’’
Two years later, Jesse was sick of trying. ‘‘I’ve had it. This whole thing is screwing up our lives. It’s not worth it.’’
‘‘Let’s give it a rest, then. We can talk about adoption after we’ve recovered from all of this. He had hugged her. ‘‘Baby or not, I’m the luckiest guy in the world.’’
Six months later, Jesse was pregnant with Rachel, their only child.
They’d been sailing since Jesse’s offhand comment: ‘‘Let’s take a demo sail.’’
It hadn’t taken long for the novice sailor to gain respect for the elements at sea, especially the wind. One ostensibly fine afternoon out on the San Francisco Bay, violent winds had suddenly gusted through the Golden Gate, and had knocked their boat flat. As it righted itself, Jesse smiled. ‘‘That was exciting.’’
Andy grimaced stoically. ‘‘Exiting, yes, but let’s not do it again.’’
‘‘That was only 25 knots… think about being caught in a hurricane.’’
‘‘Not to worry, that’s never going to happen.’’
After they had docked safely that day, Andy had turned to Jesse. ‘‘I think it’s now or never, sweetheart. We’re young and healthy enough for the rigors of a life at sea. Who knows what will happen?’’
‘‘Are you sure?’’
‘‘I remember a patient who had spent ten years preparing with her husband to go cruising. Rheumatoid arthritis ended their best-laid plans. She became so disabled that she couldn’t grasp the lines, or even the handholds. They didn’t make it. That was a lesson well learned. I say do it while we can.’’
‘‘What about Rachel?’’
‘‘We’re lucky. She’s easygoing, smart, and self-motivated. If we can’t home school her, it’ll be our fault, not hers. The experience will be fantastic.’’
Jesse paused a moment in thought. Her eyes moved up and to the right. ‘‘Each time we sail through the Golden Gate and look to the horizon, the ocean frightens me. Then I think about the boat, and how many things can go wrong.’’
‘‘We’re adventurous, but not crazy. Only the young believe that they’re invulnerable. They can sail into the open ocean without apprehension. We’ve lived long enough to have shed our illusions.’’
Jesse stared at Andy. ‘‘You’re so confident.’’
‘‘It’s a carefully crafted façade, and whatever apprehension I have is short-lived.’’
‘‘In truth, I wouldn’t have considered cruising with anyone but you.’’ Jesse paused. ‘‘Are we sure that this is for us?’’
‘‘If doing anything required certainty, we’d never leave home. Most don’t. Change isn’t easy, I understand. Going to sea is a major life alteration. Here’s what I know, or think I know; straighten me out where I’m wrong: we love sailing and traveling, we have a taste for excitement, we’re physically and emotionally fit for cruising, and, if we don’t do it now, we never will.’’
‘‘You’re right. It’s just…’’
‘‘I can’t do this, Jesse… no, I won’t do this if you’re not comfortable. That would come back to bite me on the ass. I won’t compromise our marriage. It is, and it will always be, priority one.’’
‘‘Don’t listen to me… it’s a female thing. I think it, and out come the words. I’ll be fine once the boat becomes our home.’’
When Rachel was six, they had departed from San Francisco on a foggy October morning. They’d sailed under the Golden Gate Bridge with a full load and a crew that included Reggie, a terrier mix, as official guard dog and Rachel’s inseparable companion. They had worked their way south through San Diego, and on to Baja California, cruised Mexico for several seasons, and then had sailed on to Guatemala, Costa Rica and Panama. They had celebrated their fifth year at sea during their passage through the Panama Canal.
For the first time in five years, uncertainty hung over Jesse and Andy as Prophecy swung at anchor in the aptly named Porto Bello, Panama, a day’s sail from the city of Colon, where the Panama Canal met the Atlantic. They were sipping wine and watching the sunset from the cockpit. Jesse turned to Andy. ‘‘What do you think?’’
‘‘About what?’’
She punched him playfully in the arm.
‘‘Ouch. Okay. Do you want to have the conversation now?’’
‘‘You keep putting it off, but we both know that this is the perfect time and place to decide our cruising future.’’
‘‘I understand. I know you’ve had it with the cruising life.’’
Jesse replied thoughtfully, ‘‘It’s been great, but this is our fifth year at sea… remember our five-year plan? There’s so much more for us, especially for Rachel, on dry land.’’
Andy grasped her hand. ‘‘This has always been a ‘two yeses’ or ‘one no’ situation. If you want to go home, then that’s it.’’
‘‘Now you’re pissing me off, Andrew.
‘‘We never decided anything like that before, and I’m not going to start now. I’ll never veto something so important to you… God, you ought to know that by now.’’
Andy tried to hug her; she shook him off at first, but then they came together.
‘‘You’re the best, babe,’’ he said.
‘‘Aren’t you a little tired, too?’’
‘‘Of you?’’
‘‘Very funny. Of cruising.’’
‘‘When we have a shitty passage, when something breaks every day, and when it’s so hot you can barely breathe, I think there’s got to be more to life than this. But, then we have a fantastic sail on the beam with a 15-knot breeze and smooth seas, quiet anchorages and the travel. For me, it’s never been just sailing; it’s visiting new places in ways not possible, except from the sea.’’
Jesse ran her hand across the nautical chart that was spread on the cockpit table. ‘‘It’s either northeast to Cartagena, Columbia then on to the Windward Islands, Trinidad, etc., or we can head northwest toward the western Caribbean and, dare I say it, Florida? If we go to Cartagena, it means many more years at sea. I don’t know if I’m up for it.’’
‘‘We could leave the boat in Trinidad, and go back to the states for as long as you want.’’
‘‘That’s not the point, Andy. It’s about having a life on land, putting down roots, being with family, and all those things that you tend to dismiss.’’
‘‘Unfair,’’ he said. ‘‘We knew going to sea had its downsides. Every choice we make balance
s advantages and disadvantages.’’
‘‘I’ll let it go for now, sweetie, but remember: when the anchor comes up, we’ll need to point the boat somewhere.’’
‘‘Talk to me after I change the oil and filter.’’ He laughed. ‘‘When I’m hot, dirty, and pissed off, you can get me to do just about anything.’’
Chapter Three
After he finished breakfast, Andy Reiss stuck his head out through the companionway. Jesse lay in the cockpit under Prophecy’s large blue bimini, holding a tattered copy of David McCullough’s Path Between the Seas. It was her newest favorite book in circulation, describing the Panama Canal’s construction. ‘‘How’s the book?’’
‘‘If all historians wrote like McCullough, I would have been a history major.’’
‘‘You sure you don’t want to home school today?’’
‘‘Nice try, sweetheart.’’
Before Andy went below, he scanned the harbor. The boats at anchor under clear skies and calm seas looked like a Cruising World Magazine cover.
Andy joined Rachel in the main saloon. When he looked at his daughter, he saw Jesse: her hair, green eyes and stubborn chin.
Reggie had curled up asleep in Rachel’s berth.
‘‘Let’s get to it,’’ he said.
They unfolded the varnished table’s leaves to make room for Rachel’s books. Andy opened the main hatch, raised the windscoop, and stood in the breeze that funneled below. He took a deep breath. ‘‘Who needs air conditioning?’’
Rachel stared at her books. ‘‘Can we go into town today?’’
‘‘When we finish your lesson.’’
‘‘I’ll do double tomorrow.’’
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