Ghost-ARC

by John Ringo

  "Don't go there," Courtney said, leaning back and laughing. "I'll definitely stop teasing."

  "Birds," Mike said, picking up the binoculars and focusing them in. "Yeah, they're feeding on a surface shoal." He put his feet down and touched the wheel, turning the boat to starboard slowly. Even with his care, the tuna tower still leaned to the side.

  "Whoa!" Pam said, grasping the rail. "That's a little . . ."

  "Exciting?" Mike asked, straightening out. "Courtney, think you can take the wheel?"

  "Maybe," she said as he stood up.

  "I'll back off on the speed," he said, throttling down. "It won't sway so much. You see those birds," he added, pointing.

  "Yeah?"

  "Steer for them," he said, picking up his beer and going to the ladder.

  "Where are you going?" she asked.

  "To get out the rods."

  "I'm steering this boat," Courtney said nervously.

  "I know," Pam replied just as nervously.

  "I don't know what I'm doing."

  "I know," Pam said, trying to sound supportive. "Just . . . steer for the birds."

  "They've moved," Courtney said, turning the wheel slightly. The boat turned, and she had to turn back and forth a couple of times to get lined up, the tuna tower swaying, to her, dangerously.

  "You're doing great!" Mike yelled from the deck.

  "He's . . ." Courtney said and stopped.

  "Yeah," Pam replied. "Is it just me . . ."

  "No," Courtney said. "And did you see those pecs?"

  "Yeah," Pam said. "And he said women aren't visual. God, what does he do, work out all day?"

  "I know," Courtney said, steering a touch to port. "It was all I could do to not run my finger over them just to see if they were real."

  "Oh, they're real, all right," Pam said. "And you know what gets me?"

  "Not a single come-on," Courtney said. "He's not gay, I can tell that. But he's not . . ."

  "I know. It's like he's waiting for us to make the first move."

  "I know. It's weird. And that thing about . . . servicing targets."

  "He's actually killed people," Pam said. "I mean, not just maybe. Has. No muss, no bragging, no bullshit."

  "Which just makes it worse," Courtney admitted. "When he mentioned romance novels I just about wet my pants."

  "You too?" Pam said, shaking her head. "He said he stocked up for female visitors. I wonder if there's a vibrator on board."

  "You mean other than the seats?" Courtney said. "Besides, who needs a vibrator. I've just been crossing my legs and rocking!"

  "Courtney, you are such a slut," Pam said, closing her eyes and leaning back in the chair. "And he wants to go fishing!"

  Chapter Four

  "Courtney," Mike called. "You did great, but I've got it from down here. You want to come on down?"

  "What's up?" Courtney asked, sliding down to the flying bridge and looking around. Two heavy rods had been rigged aft, and two more that she pegged as "regular" rods with normal reels were set to one side.

  "There's a school of bait fish under the birds," Mike said, throttling down. "What I'm going to do is point the boat at them and let out the lines. When we go through we should hook on to whatever is feeding on them, probably dolphin. I've got to get you rigged, though."

  He set the throttles to a fast cruise and led the two of them back to the aft.

  "This is a fighting rig," he said, putting a harness on Courtney. "You won't really need it for dolphin, but it should help. You put the butt of the rod in the holder on your stomach. What happens is that a fish will get hooked. You take the rod out of the holder, set the butt in place and hit the drag. That should hook the fish for sure. These should be chicken tuna, little ones, and that rod is way oversized for them. But what we'll do is bring one up to the boat and let it stay on the line. That will bring others around. Then we'll fish for them with the lighter tackle."

  "Okay," Courtney said, totally confused.

  "I'll walk you through it when we hook on," Mike said, putting another harness on Pam. After he'd done that he let out the lines, already rigged with ballyhoo. He probably could have just used lures, but the hoo made it more likely they'd get a fish hooked and he wanted the girls to get some fish.

  "Courtney, your rod," Mike said, pointing to starboard. "Pam, that's yours," he added, pointing to the port rod. "I'm going up to the bridge."

  He'd set the autosteer to go past the bait pod, but he touched the controls and turned to port, coming around into the Stream to drag the lines past the edge of the pod. He could see the flash of hunting fish at the surface and even some leaping, dolphin for sure. The dolphin school was huge. This was going to be good.

  "Mike! Mike!" Courtney suddenly yelled as the reel began to scream.

  He went to reverse for a second to take the way off and turned around. "Pick up the rod and put the butt in the holder," he called, calmly.

  By the time Courtney had the rod in place he was next to her. The dolphin had stopped its initial run, and he leaned over and hit the drag just as Pam's line started to run. When the line went taut the dolphin shook hard against it and Courtney nearly dropped the rod.

  "That's a big fish!" she yelled happily.

  "Not all that big," Mike said, smiling. "Just reel it in; that line's way strong enough," he said, going over to Pam.

  Pam had gotten the rod in place without asking and was holding on tight when he hit the drag. She, too, grinned as she felt the fish on the end.

  "Just reel them up to the boat," Mike said, going over to the bait well. He had a mess of sardines, most of them still alive, and he scooped out a big netful and tossed them over the side, live chum to bring the dolphin up to the boat. He could see some breaking away from the main school and heading over to the largesse, their bodies flashing silver in the sunlight.

  "Mike," Courtney said, holding her rod up. "It's nearly up to the boat."

  "That's fine," Mike said, taking the rod and looking over the side. He reeled in a bit more and set the rod in a rocket launcher, the line tracking back and forth as the dolphin tried to escape. "The other dolphin will be attracted to it, since it's excited and they can't tell the difference between being on a line and feeding. So now we really fish."

  He took one of the open-face rods and hooked a sardine on it by the tail.

  "You ever cast before?" Mike asked.

  "Yes," Courtney said, looking at the rod. "Nothing this big, but I can do it."

  "Right out there," Mike said, pointing towards the bait pod. "When it's in the water, close the face and then hit this switch," he said, pointing to the trolling control. "That way when the fish hits it can run with the line at first. Give it three seconds, then flick the switch back and hang on," he added with a grin.

  He went over and more or less repeated the performance with Pam, but he had hardly gotten to the stage of explaining the open-face reel when Courtney shrieked and he looked over to see the rod bending nearly in half.

  "Now that's fighting a fish," he yelled.

  "What do I do?" Courtney asked as the dolphin tracked back and forth.

  "Bow to the rod," Mike said, coming over and readjusting the drag. "When it gives you line, reel in. When it runs, just let the drag handle it. It will tire out."

  He went over and finished explaining the mysteries to Pam, then went back to Courtney, who was reeling in from time to time.

  "I think it's tiring out," Courtney said. "I know I am."

  "You can use the leaning board," Mike said. "But you're going to be doing this a lot. Keep your right arm straight and let your back pull. Bow to the fish, reel in as you do, then lean back and pull it in."

  "That works," Courtney said, trying it. "I was trying to pull in with my arm. You say these are little fish?"

  "Tiny," Mike said. "Maybe tomorrow we'll go after sailfish. I'd love to see you pull in a sail."

  He headed back over to Pam who, having watched Courtney, was solidly pulling in her dolphin. />
  "Doing great," Mike said.

  "You were right," Pam said. "This is fun."

  "We were lucky," Mike replied. "You don't usually get this surface action. It's very fun when you do."

  "Mike!" Courtney called. "What do I do now?"

  "Bring it around to the transom," he said, pointing to the flush deck. He climbed down there, and when the fish came around he grabbed the leader and flipped it onto the boat, then up onto the fishing deck.

  "That's so pretty," Courtney said, shaking her head.

  "They are," Mike said. "But they're awfully plentiful, too." He went forward and got out a digital camera. "Want a picture?" he asked.

  "How?" Courtney asked, looking at the flopping fish.

  "Grab the leader, the line, down by its mouth," Mike said. "Wrap it around your hand—it's thick mono, it won't cut—and lift it up."

  Courtney got it up in the air and grinned, cheesily, for the camera.

  "Vacation pictures," Mike said, grabbing the fish and pulling the hook out. Then he grabbed it by the gill and tossed it in the cooler.

  "I'll need to throw some ice in there soon," he said, rerigging Courtney's line, then climbing down to the flush deck to land Pam's fish.

  He got ice, moved the boat, landed fish, took pictures, rerigged lines, untangled lines, baited lines, until the girls got tired.

  "I'm beat," Courtney said, rubbing her arm. "Can we quit soon?"

  "Have to," Mike admitted. "There's a limit on dolphin and we're getting close to it."

  "I'm done," Pam said. "But that was lots of fun."

  "That's the punchline to a really old joke," Mike said, taking their rods. He took the rigs off, then took them forward to the rod locker and stowed them.

  "What about these two?" Courtney asked.

  "Just reel them over the side," Mike said. "We'll toss them in the cooler, too."

  "What time is it?" Courtney asked, yawning as Mike spun the boat around and headed inshore. "I'm beat. Did you slip something in my beer?" she asked, mock suspiciously.

  "No," Mike said, smiling. "Being out on a small boat tends to wear you out at first. You get used to it after a couple of days."

  "And I'm hungry," Pam said, coming up to the bridge with three beers.

  "That we can assuage," Mike said. "I can either cook or we can pull into Rumrunners."

  "We were just there the other night," Pam said, smiling. "Remember?"

  "Not that one," Mike said, shaking his head. "That's Rumrunners II. The original Rumrunners is by itself on a small key; it was originally a speakeasy where the rumrunners actually brought in their loads. You can only get there by boat. Sometimes I sell my fish there. I think, in deference to you ladies and your fatigue and hunger, I'll just sell them whole. But I know the cook, and that means we can get his orange mahi for free, fresh from the fish we land."

  "That sounds good," Pam said. "But I need to wash up."

  "We'll go park at Rumrunners," Mike said. "I'll go dicker for dinner and you two can wash up and get more beautiful, if that's possible. Then I'll wash up and we three can go to dinner. They also generally have a great band."

  "I don't know if I can stay awake to party," Courtney said, yawning again. "But . . . you're on."

  "Hey, Louise," Mike said, walking in the back door of Rumrunners.

  "Hey, Mike," the cook said, wiping his hands on his apron. "What you got?"

  "Mahi," Mike said. "Fresh and quivering. Whole, though."

  "I take," the cook said. "You see the docks? Tree boats already bring in dorado, we're still nearly out."

  "It's why I parked around back," Mike admitted. "Get Jose to give me a hand with the cooler?"

  When the fish had been weighed Mike held up his hand.

  "Louise, got two young ladies with me," he said. "Can we get three of your delectable orange mahi? From those?" he asked, gesturing at the fish.

  "Pick," Louise said, grinning. "Finally get some girlfriend, huh? 'Bout time."

  "Just friends," Mike replied, shrugging. "A couple of nice tourist girls who enjoy fishing. And any of them will do."

  "This one really is still twitching," Louise said, pulling out his fillet knife and prodding one of the mahi. "Tree orange mahi coming up. I'll get you table."

  "Gimme time to wash up," Mike said. "And thanks."

  "You have fun," Louise said, grinning evilly. "Two girls? You tink you're man enough?"

  "They're just friends," Mike said, shaking his head on the way out.

  "How'd you get us past the line?" Pam asked.

  "I have friends in low places," Mike answered, pulling out her chair. "The cook was really happy to get more mahi; the tourists are eating him out."

  "This is great," Courtney said, bending her head down. "But I'm still beat. And sunburned all over but my back. You were right."

  "We'll aloe up when we get to the boat," Mike said, and waved at the menus. "I already ordered for us; you really need to try Louise's orange mahi. But if you want an appetizer . . ."

  "God, that was great," Courtney said, polishing off the last of the mahi with a bite of rice. "And this rice . . ."

  "Fragrant rice," Mike said. "Not on the usual menu. Like I said, the cook was really glad to have the fish. And we're friends. He used to be a Navy steward, so we keep an eye on each other."

  "Can I get the check?" Pam asked. "I feel like . . ."

  "We landed over sixty pounds of fish, Pam," Mike said. "The meal was more or less on the house. Even with the drinks' cost, there's a net that will go on the account I run here. Actually, I think I owe you girls some money."

  "Don't," Pam said, definitely. "You wouldn't if you figured gas. Let's just call it even."

  "I can live with that," Mike said. "You want some of the key lime pie?"

  "I was starved and now I'm stuffed," Courtney said. "I think I just want to chill. Can we really stay on the boat tonight?"

  "You can stay for weeks if you want," Mike said, getting up. "No dancing?"

  "Not tonight," Courtney said, standing up and then swaying. "Definitely not tonight. Among other things, I feel like a french fry."

  "Then may I take your arm?" Mike asked, offering his to both girls.

  "A beautiful lady on either arm?" Pam asked. "Yes, you may."

  "Every man's dream," Mike said, leading them out and around the restaurant to the boat. "Aloe first, then we'll head over to the slip. You ladies can rack out as soon as you're aloed. I need to move slightly offshore, though; they need the dock space."

  "That's fine," Courtney said, yawning as she stepped on board. "Where's the aloe?"

  "All three bathrooms," Mike said. "Could I suggest that you put your suits back on for aloe? Getting it on past shirts and bras . . ."

  "Will do, Captain," Pam said, smiling.

  "I'll meet you in the front cabin as soon as I get this thing anchored," he said, casting off.

  By the time Mike got the anchors down, one forward and two aft, and he got to the cabin, only Pam was there.

  "Courtney is O-U-T, out," Pam said, shaking her head. "She got aloe on the worst of it and collapsed." She had changed back into her bathing suit, a blue-and-red string bikini, and was rubbing aloe on her stomach when he came in.

  "Well, your back is okay," Mike said, sitting next to her on the bed. "But the backs of your legs, I think I should have gotten them."

  "Give me a hand?" Pam asked, diffidently, holding out the bottle of aloe and rolling sideways.

  "I know you want a tan," Mike said, gently smoothing on the thick green after-sun gel. "But you need to take it easy. It took me a month to get this tan after I got down here."

  "That feels good," Pam said, sighing. "I really am burned."

  "Not too badly," Mike said, turning her to check her other leg. "Side of the thigh," he said, leaning across her long, shapely, legs and smoothing on some more of the gel. "Probably reflection from the boat or the water when you were fishing." He straightened up, looked her in the eye, then leaned forward a
nd kissed her.

  Pam had felt ready to explode as he gently rubbed on the aloe and she did explode when he kissed her, a totally unexpected wave of emotion that approached an orgasm and made her moan. She found herself running her hands over his pecs and across his shoulders, humming in pleasure.

  "Whoa," Mike said, pulling back and chuckling throatily. "Let's make this last awhile," he continued, lowering her down and sliding his tongue across her throat and then up to her ear, tickling the earlobe. His hands slid up and undid her bikini top, gently sliding it out and away. Then he brought his tongue down to the juncture of her neck and shoulder, probing hard, while one hand played with her nipple.

  "Oh, God," Pam moaned, running her hands over his back and shoulders. "I've wanted you to touch me all day."

  "I know." Mike chuckled. "Well, I knew after a while. That's why I didn't. Anticipation and all that."

  "You evil bastard," she whispered, her eyes closed. "Be evil to me. Please."

  "Do you know what you're asking?" Mike asked, his face hovering over hers.

  "I don't . . . I . . ." Pam said, opening her eyes and looking at him with pleading in them.

  "Softly tonight, love," Mike said, gently brushing one finger up her neck. "Softly. Perhaps another night we'll talk about what you're asking."

  "How do you do that?" Pam asked, shuddering. "How do you know just where to stroke?"

  "Experience," Mike said, lowering his mouth to her neck again. He played with her nipples, then slid his mouth down to them, his right hand on her left arm, reading the goosebumps. When the goosebumps were up above her elbow, he knew she was having a good time. It was a trick he'd learned years before, and it stood him in good stead as he slid down from her beautiful breasts, nibbling at her aloe-covered stomach, down lower, the bikini bottom coming off . . .

  Pam bit back a scream when she came, her legs clamping down hard. Mike had both his hands on them, though, holding them open. As soon as she came, he lifted himself up and entered her, filling her and resonating with the orgasm in a way she'd never experienced. She was shouting, but she realized that his hand was over her mouth, muffling her shrieks, his other hand on the back of her head, totally controlling her, and that just made it better, so much better that she went into a continuous stream of orgasms, shaking and moaning, scratching at his back in desperation to escape and so out of her mind she couldn't begin to think beyond the waves of pleasure . . .