Found at Sea

by Anne Marie Duquette

  “Well, I’m gonna look bad if I miss my date.”

  “You’re both gonna look bad if you don’t concentrate,” the captain quietly warned.

  “Aye, sir,” the male crewmate sang out.

  “Sorry, sir, I didn’t— Captain, I think I’ve spotted them!” The woman checked the radar, adjusted her binoculars and nodded. “Sighting confirmed, Captain. Twenty degrees off our port side.”

  The captain lifted his chin. “Navigation, set an intercept course and increase speed to full. Notify the rest of the crew to lock and load the weapons. Time to rock and roll.”

  Balboa Naval Hospital

  3:00 a.m.

  TANYA CONTINUED TO sit in Chaplain Jill’s office. A tray of hospital food had been left with her, an MP stood guard outside the door and an elderly social worker by the name of Wilma sat at the chaplain’s desk on an ordered suicide watch. Jordan had long ago been released to return to Aurora’s room. Mexico had no charges against him, for Tanya had been careful not to reveal that Jordan had been in on the prison break, and the chaplain had not ventured any unsubstantiated conclusions of her own.

  “I don’t need a babysitter,” Tanya protested when Wilma had been brought in earlier. “If I didn’t kill myself in a Mexican jail, I’m hardly going to do it here.”

  Nonetheless, the woman had remained. Uniforms and chaplains and legal-services personnel had come and gone. Tanya had ignored them all. No one had the information she wanted to hear.

  Rory’s still out of it. Who knows how my mom’s doing? They won’t let me see Jordan. And that MP unplugged the phone and removed it from the office.

  A wave of despair washed over her—and for the first time she wondered if life was worth living after all. No one wants me. No one can stand me. I can’t even stand myself. Maybe it would be better if I’d run away like Rory. If Rory or Mom dies, I don’t think I could bear it.

  Tanya curled up on the military-issue couch and closed her eyes.

  “Are you all right, Tanya?”

  Tanya ignored the social worker.

  “Maybe you should stretch out on the cot we brought in for you.”

  I don’t want your stupid cot. I want to go home. Only with the greatest effort did Tanya prevent herself from crying, and then only so she wouldn’t give the social worker the satisfaction.

  “Stand aside and let me in.”

  Tanya froze at the voice outside the door.

  “I’m the child’s father, and I’m here with her lawyer. You find whoever’s in charge and tell them I want to see my daughter now.”

  “Dad?” Tanya uncurled from her position on the couch. “Is that you?” She heard more voices outside, then the office door opened.

  “Daddy.” Using the name she hadn’t called him for years, Tanya hurtled into her father’s arms.

  “I’m here, sweetie. I’m here.” Gerald gathered Tanya close. “Wait outside, please,” he told the social worker.

  “I’m her suicide watch,” Wilma insisted. “I can’t leave.”

  “I’m her father. Barry,” Gerald said to his lawyer, “show this woman outside.”

  After a pause, the woman complied. “Tanya, I’ll be right outside if you need me.”

  “She won’t need you. She has me,” Gerald said, Tanya still in his arms.

  As soon as Barry and the social worker left, Gerald sat down on the couch, Tanya shaking in his embrace. She cried on his shoulder, deep, shuddering sobs made even more terrifying by their silence.

  “It’s okay, Tanya,” Gerald said, stroking her hair.

  Finally she gazed into his eyes. “Is Mom...is Mom dead? Is that why you’re here?”

  Gerald smiled. “Oh, no. She’s very much alive—out of intensive care tomorrow, they say, and on the road to recovery.”

  “Really?”

  “Really and truly. I should know. I just left her. She’s sleeping peacefully. The doctors said another hour and we might’ve lost her. Whatever virus is going around down there in Mexico could have been lethal. Dorian’s going to be fine thanks to you. You saved your mother’s life, Tanya.”

  “But...what about Rory?”

  Gerald’s face lost some of its animation. “Your aunt’s still unconscious. She’s got to finish decompressing before we know anything.”

  Tanya’s face mirrored Gerald’s. “This is my fault, Daddy. I’m sorry. If Rory dies, it’s all my fault.”

  “Using marijuana and taking it across the border is your fault, Tanya. But what led to this mess—well, some of the blame is mine.”

  Tanya blinked. “Yours? How?”

  “I blamed your aunt for being a bad influence on you. I should have been more of a parent. But things were so hectic at work, and I kept waiting for the right time to confront you. I waited too long. I thought you were going through a phase that would take care of itself. I was wrong. I should never have put the business first and my family second.” Gerald lifted Tanya’s chin with his finger. “We’ve both made mistakes. We’ll learn from them and try again.”

  “You don’t hate me?”

  Gerald hugged his daughter tightly. “Of course not! You’re my daughter. I love you.”

  Tanya began crying again, her head on his shoulder. “Will you come visit me in jail? Even if I have to go back to Mexico?”

  “You have my word. No matter what happens, you’ll always have your dad.”

  Tanya raised her head. “And my dad’s lawyer?”

  Gerald actually managed a smile. “That, too, daughter. That, too.”

  * * *

  DONNA “DIAMOND” PADIEREZSKY stood next to Jordan and stared through the barometric chamber’s glass.

  “She looks awful. I thought she’d be recovered by now,” Donna murmured. “What does the doctor say?”

  “Hasn’t got a clue. We won’t know until Aurora wakes up. Where’s Neil?”

  “Outside. They’d only let one of us in.”

  “And Gerald?”

  “He’s with Tanya and the lawyer. Though I don’t know how much they can do at this hour of the morning. The courthouse doesn’t open until nine, and I doubt any charges can be filed until the investigation is complete.”

  “Then I’m off,” Jordan said.

  “Where in the world are you going?” Donna asked.

  “Neil and I have some business. Will you stay here with Aurora?”

  “Of course I’ll stay, but—”

  “I have an idea. I’ll let you know what comes of it when I get back.” With the tech’s approval, Jordan keyed the microphone.

  “Hey, Aurora. It’s Jordan. I have to leave again. Gerald is with Tanya now. He said your sister’s doing fine. Do you hear me? Dorian’s fine. Donna’s here, too. She’s going to sit with you while I’m gone. But I’ll come back, just like last time. When I do, I want you to open those eyes and tell me good-morning, okay?”

  Jordan started to hand back the mike again, then he stopped. “I love you,” he whispered. Then he handed over the microphone and quickly left the room.

  CHAPTER EIGHTEEN

  Neil’s car, San Diego

  “YOU WANNA TELL ME where we’re headed this time?” Neil asked his passenger.

  “Coast Guard headquarters.”

  “It’ll take us about ten minutes to get there,” Neil said. “Which gives you nine minutes to tell me what’s up. Eight if you wanna stop and get coffee. Real coffee.”

  Jordan ran a hand through hair that hadn’t touched a pillow in more than two days.

  Neil shrugged and drove down Florida Street to Interstate 5 and Grape. “So you say Rory’s still out of it?”

  “She hasn’t moved all night. But when she wakes up, I want to have good news for her.”

  “When,” Neil echoed. “I like the sound of that.”

  Neil stopped the car at a red light, his gaze now on Jordan. “What’s the plan?”

  “Earlier tonight—today—” Jordan stared at his diver’s wristwatch with bloodshot eyes “—I asked the MPs to
contact the Coast Guard for us. They’ve caught the two men who took off with the Mako, leaving us with a few errands to do if we’re going to nail them.”

  Neil’s eyes narrowed with satisfaction as the light turned green, and he once again faced the road and accelerated. “Count me in.”

  “And after we do that, we’re going to beg, bargain and plead with the authorities to make a deal with Mexico.”

  Neil immediately caught on. “We trade Tanya and Dori for Flores’s two thugs?”

  “Yep. Those two men, along with the diver we left at the bottom of the ocean, bashed me with baseball bats and pushed me off the pier. I can get them on counts of attempted murder. I formally identified them from the Mexican photos. The Coast Guard claims Flores’s boat was stolen in Mexico. I’m sure our two thugs won’t mind trading a murder charge for theft.”

  “No, but will Mexico want to trade a drug smuggler—Tanya—for thieves?”

  “You mean trade a teen with a few joints for an expensive boat that’s both stolen and evidence,” Jordan corrected.

  Neil grinned. “No, I mean a dangerous con who broke out of jail, aided by illegal immigrants, and started this farce.”

  “You talk too much,” Jordan commented.

  “And you’re crazy—which I’ve said once before. You think we can pull this off?”

  “I don’t have any other ideas. Do you?”

  “Well, I’ve got some Coast Guard contacts,” Neil said, reaching for his cell phone. “I deal with them on a regular basis when it comes to customs. But this...this is out of my league.” He almost missed the turn in the dark while fumbling for the phone.

  Jordan picked it up for him. “Give me the numbers and see if you can get your buddies into the office this early. Maybe you can bribe them.”

  “Bribe them?” Neil echoed.

  “You run a cruise ship.”

  “That’s not how I do business—and it’s against cruise-line policy.”

  “I never broke anyone out of jail, either,” Jordan reminded him. “Don’t forget, the Coast Guard knows you were with me, Flores and the other dead diver.”

  “Fine. I’ll ask them, but I’m not making any bribes—or promises, either. Still, there’s something to what you said about the governments exchanging prisoners.”

  “It’s a chance. I’ve got the Mission working with Immigration on behalf of the Mexican family who helped us. If you can swing the Coast Guard to our side and the docs help Aurora and Dorian, all we’ll really have to worry about is Tanya.”

  “Which is how it was supposed to be all along,” Neil said. “I’m gonna need a relaxing cruise myself after this is all over. Assuming I still have a job if this gets out.”

  “I spoke to Donna before I left. She said she’d do her best to keep things under wraps—away from the media.” Jordan rubbed his unshaven chin. “Speaking of Donna, why don’t you ask her to go along with you? She’s a good-looking woman. Better yet, she’s smart. You’d never be bored.”

  “I’ve thought about it—not that it’s any of your business—but she thinks I’m too old-fashioned. She’s always been more Rory’s friend than mine.”

  “I’m not so sure of that. In any case, you can let Donna thank you for helping your friend—and then take it from there.”

  “I don’t need advice on my love life, Castillo.” Neil merged with the traffic that crowded Southern California’s freeways twenty-four hours a day, seven days a week, before speaking again. “Still...I do get tired of the proverbial crowd of three.”

  “No privacy there.” Jordan almost smiled. “You must have the patience of a saint.”

  “I’m not a saint, just an officer and a gentleman. While you are either the biggest fool I’ve ever met—or the luckiest. I haven’t made up my mind yet.”

  “Give me some phone numbers and we’ll find out.”

  Balboa Naval Hospital

  Next day, sunrise

  SLOWLY, SLOWLY, AURORA returned to consciousness. Eyes still closed, she first noticed the silence of her surroundings. Then she registered the warm air above, below and around her. Next she felt the hard mat beneath her, the painful bruising and aching where air bubbles had expanded, exploding capillaries and stretching, bruising, smaller veins and arteries, as well as muscle tissue. Her head throbbed. Her ears throbbed. Her right ankle really throbbed. She tried to move it, but shooting pain and firm splinting prevented that.

  It’s broken. I broke my ankle. Memory rushed back. Tanya, the Mexican jail, the jailbreak, Dori’s illness, Gerald’s kidnapping, Flores’s death as the San Rafael collapsed, the pain of the bends and, finally, most recently, Jordan’s voice.

  Aurora opened her eyes. Jordan? she mouthed as she tried to focus. Nothing came out of her throat except a hoarse croak. She had an intense awareness of thirst. She cleared her throat and moved her head from side to side.

  Where am I? She lifted an arm and hit a clear barrier.

  “Aurora? Aurora, it’s me, Jordan.”

  Jordan? She looked up and couldn’t find him until she turned her gaze toward the sudden tapping she heard. She saw him, along with some stranger whose disembodied voice informed her that she was in a decompression chamber at a hospital and asked if she remembered her name and the date.

  Aurora ignored that voice. She couldn’t talk, and her throat hurt. The strange voice told her not to talk if she couldn’t, that she might have had laryngeal damage due to the bends. He said she required only a little more time to decompress, then they could see to her ankle and other injuries and medicate for pain.

  How’s Dorian? she mouthed.

  Jordan moved even closer. She watched him take the microphone from the technician.

  “She’s doing great, Aurora. Just great. Gerald told me himself. He visited earlier, but you were still out of it.”

  Tanya? Her lips formed the words, but again without sound.

  “Gerald’s with her. He and the lawyer are doing what they can. Donna’s back with Dorian, and I’m staying here—right here with you.”

  Aurora sighed and closed her eyes again.

  “Aurora? You gonna be okay?”

  She opened them at the worry in his voice. Then, despite the burning in her arm, ever so slowly she lifted her hand to rest on the glass opposite his face. She even managed a smile. It wasn’t until he returned her smile that she closed her eyes, her hand still resting on the glass, still as close to him as she could get.

  32nd Street Pier, San Diego

  J.A.G., U.S. Navy, 8:30 a.m.

  THE PROVOST MARSHAL rapped the gavel on his wooden desk. “Ensign, please confirm the presence of the people involved in this...situation.”

  The ensign, a physically fit female with dark red hair and a serious face, consulted her notes.

  “Jordan Castillo is present. Gerald Atwell is present. Tanya Atwell is present. Mrs. Gerald Atwell is still under a doctor’s care at Mission Bay Hospital, but we do have her statement regarding the minor child Tanya. Mrs. Ortega is present. Her son, Roberto, is present. Neil Harris is present. Donna Padierezsky, alias Donna Diamond, is present. Aurora Borealis Collins is still under a doctor’s care at Balboa Naval Hospital.”

  “Do we have her statement?” the judge asked.

  “No, sir. She’s recuperating from orthopedic surgery at present and was unable to make any statement. However, we do have representatives from the Mexican Justice Department and U.S. Immigration.”

  “Who else concerned with this investigation is not present?”

  “Deaths are confirmed for one Castillo Flores and one of his hired men—we have no identity there, sir. However, the representative from the Mexican government has confirmed the identity of two prisoners who were involved with said Flores and claims the third man can be identified as the brother of one of the two prisoners.”

  Jordan lowered his head, deploring the waste. Donna had finally filled in the background information for him and for the court. Flores was an illegitimate descendant of those Ca
stillos who had elected to return to the gold fields of South America centuries ago. Flores legally owned and worked a low-paying mine with the help of local labor and supplemented its meager profits with illegal operations, using the three thugs.

  Flores had known of Jordan and their familial connection ever since he’d read in a newspaper about Jordan’s miraculous survival during the hurricane, but had never bothered to pursue it. Always short of money, Flores continued to follow Jordan’s career. He smelled profit when Jordan suddenly turned up in California. Donna guessed he’d planned to bluff information from him about the San Rafael but something had gone wrong and the thugs were ordered to kidnap him and beat the information out of him.

  From there, Donna wasn’t exactly sure how Flores found out about the San Rafael, but she supposed it was likely that Brazil had old church records like those held by Mission San Diego.

  Jordan didn’t care how Flores had learned about the galleon. He did deplore the waste of a kinsman, especially an adult male who could have helped him at sea. Even sadder, Flores left no wife, no children, no other family that either Donna or Jordan could trace. As far as they could tell, Flores had exited from Jordan’s life as abruptly as he’d entered it. His cousin obviously hadn’t inherited Jordan’s sense of loyalty, honesty...or survival.

  “No bodies have been recovered at this time,” the ensign said. “Also present are representatives from various U.S. and Mexican social-service agencies.”

  “Thank you, Ensign.” The judge adjusted his reading glasses and scanned the stacks of paperwork on his desk. Finally he set down his glasses and shook his head. “This,” he said, “will take time to sort out.”

  You’re telling me, Jordan thought.

  Court recessed for lunch

  Noon

  THE CIVILIAN AND UNIFORMED crowd filed out into the sunlit courtyard at Balboa Hospital, splitting into smaller groups. Some drifted toward the hospital fast-food and cafeteria areas, while others remained outside talking. Aurora’s family and friends joined them, having once again made the ten-minute drive from the 32nd Street Military Courtroom north to Balboa Hospital.