A Blast to Sail - A Connie Barrera Thriller: The 3rd Novel in the Caribbean Mystery and Adventure Series (Connie Barrera Thrillers)

by Charles Dougherty

  "Yes. I've checked it out. There's a marina at Sandwich, right at the east entrance. We should be there around lunchtime."

  "Okay. That shouldn't delay us too much."

  "No. In fact, it'll work to our advantage. A little delay there should let us catch a favorable current through the canal. A five-knot current pushing us for seven miles should put us right back on schedule."

  Paul nodded. Neither of them spoke for a moment. Connie refilled the coffee cup and they passed it back and forth.

  When the cup was empty, Connie said, "Obviously, I don't want to leave the two of them on watch without one of us to keep an eye on them."

  "Yeah," Paul said. "And I'm not too crazy about you standing watch with either of them, unless I'm there."

  Connie looked at him, anger flashing in her dark eyes. "I can — "

  "I know you can take care of yourself, but I think trouble's less likely if we stick together."

  "Okay. I'm sure you're right. Should we break the news at midnight, when they come on watch?" she asked.

  Paul thought for a moment. "Yeah, probably. Things will be tense anyway. I can't see that having it out in the open will make it worse."

  They passed a few minutes in silence, Connie resting her head on Paul's shoulder as he kept an arm around her.

  "Paul?"

  "Mm?"

  "I guess you were right."

  "Right?"

  "About the bikini, I mean."

  "Don't buy into that, Connie. It's not your fault. Unwelcome advances are always the fault of the one who makes them; you know that."

  "Yes, but ... I guess I ... "

  "Stop second-guessing yourself."

  "Maybe I overreacted to him putting his hand on my hip."

  "It didn't start with his hand on your hip; his behavior was inappropriate before that. You said you tried to set him straight; I don't think you overreacted at all." Paul chuckled.

  "What?" Connie asked.

  "I'll bet the asshole was surprised when you kicked the shit out of him. Probably never had a woman do that before."

  "Well, maybe he learned something."

  "I doubt it. Anyway, we'll be rid of him soon."

  "I've been thinking about what you said. I mean, I was, before ... "

  "What I said?"

  "About not being so quick to use sex appeal to manipulate men."

  "Ease up, Connie. You're an artist when it comes to manipulation. I just meant you shouldn't make that your first-choice weapon. And anyway, I was just upset because they were all ... "

  "I know. Thanks for being you."

  5

  Mo jerked awake when the alarm on his wristwatch went off. He silenced it and looked at the watch, pressing the button to illuminate the display. He sat up on the edge of his berth and turned on a light. As he reached across to Abe's berth to wake him, he noticed the swelling on the left side of his friend's face. Then he saw the smears of dried blood on the pillow. Frowning, he put a hand on Abe's shoulder and gave him a gentle shake. Abe sat bolt upright, hands raised in a defensive gesture as he looked around.

  "Easy," Mo said. "It's our watch."

  "Shit," Abe muttered, probing the left side of his face with care.

  Mo noticed a clotted, gaping cut in his left eyebrow. "What happened to you?"

  "Fell," Abe muttered.

  "Where?"

  "In the cockpit."

  "Why didn't you wake me up? I could have found the first aid kit."

  "No big deal. I'm okay. You go relieve them. I'll go in the head and clean up. I'll be right behind you."

  Mo nodded and slipped on his deck shoes, leaving their stateroom as Abe closed the door to the head. He paused at the companionway, looking out, and saw that both Connie and Paul were sitting behind the helm.

  "Hi," he said, standing on the bottom step of the companionway ladder.

  "Hello," Paul said.

  "Let me grab a box of juice, and I'll be right up. Can I get you anything?"

  "No," Paul said. "Thanks, though. Abe still asleep?"

  "No. He's in the head. He fell and busted his face up last night; looks pretty bad. He wanted to clean up a little. He'll be right up." Extracting a box of juice from the refrigerator, Mo mounted the ladder again and joined them in the cockpit. "Beautiful night," he said, looking at the sky.

  There was no moon, and this far offshore, there was no loom from land. The only ambient light was from the stars, and Mo sat, transfixed, studying the heavens. "I never understood why they call it the Milky Way, but now I see," he said. When the others didn't respond, he focused on opening his juice, a puzzled look on his face. He took a swallow of juice and avoided Paul's eye. He noticed that they both stared at him. Before he could ask what was wrong, Abe came out into the cockpit.

  "Okay," Abe said. "We got it. What's the course? I'll pay attention this time, Connie. Sorry about last night."

  She acknowledged him with a quick nod.

  Mo studied his friend's face in the starlight. "Sure you don't want me to get the first aid kit?"

  "Nah. I'll be all right. What's the course?"

  "Don't worry about it," Paul said.

  "What's wrong?" Mo asked.

  "We've decided to cut this short," Connie said.

  "Cut it short?" Mo frowned.

  "Yes," Connie said. "We're going to put you ashore at the marina in Sandwich."

  "But ... aren't you ... um ... I thought you had to pick up guests in New York," Mo said.

  "I'm sorry, Mo. You didn't have anything to do with this, but Abe didn't fall last night," Connie said.

  "Then how did he ... " he looked over at Abe and saw his features contort in a scowl.

  "He tried to molest me," Connie said.

  "Give me a break," Abe snarled. "You fucking asked for it, and you know it." He leapt to his feet and a pistol appeared in his hand.

  Mo shook his head. "No, Abe! Remember why we're here. You're gonna — "

  The pistol barked and splinters of teak flew from the cockpit coaming beside Mo.

  "Shut up, you pissant! Go find some duct tape and make yourself useful. Tape him up." Abe gestured at Paul with the pistol.

  "Abe, I'm ... " Mo's voice trailed off as Abe swung the pistol in his direction again. He got up and scurried below, returning in about a minute with a roll of silver duct tape.

  "Now we're going to have a little fun, me and Connie," Abe said, leering at her. "You okay with that, Paul?"

  After a moment of silence, he said, "I asked you a question, Paul. You don't mind if Connie and I have a little fun, do you? I mean, you're what, 10, 15 years older? Girl like her, she's got needs. Right Connie?"

  Connie stood up. "You don't want to do this, Abe," she said, edging to her right. She managed to put three feet between her and Paul, so that Abe couldn't cover them both with the pistol. "It's not going to end well for you."

  Abe laughed. "You got no idea, bitch. You're just an appetizer compared to what's waiting for me on the other side."

  Connie took a step toward him and he swung to face her, stepping back. "On the other side?" she asked.

  "Don't be impatient, beautiful," he said. "Wait until Mo gets Paul taped up, then you can have both of us."

  She took another step, moving diagonally to her right. She was close enough to strike, given an opening, and he was focused on her.

  "Stop!" he said, raising the pistol toward Connie just before Paul blindsided him.

  Paul drove him to the starboard cockpit seat and landed on top of him as Connie grasped the pistol in her left hand and ground the bony part of her right wrist into the inside of Abe's right wrist. Bending his wrist around hers, she loosened his grip on the pistol. She tore it from his numb fingers and turned it on him, shooting him in the right shoulder. Paul scrambled back, and Connie transferred the pistol to a two-handed grip and swung it toward Mo, who had been approaching her from behind. He froze in mid-stride and put his hands in the air, shaking his head. Connie lowered the pistol
a fraction and shot him in his right thigh. "For your own good," she said. "Just so you don't try anything stupid."

  As Mo collapsed with a scream, she turned back to Abe and put the muzzle against his head. "Hope you enjoyed the appetizer, asshole."

  "No, Connie!" Paul said. "It's over; don't kill him."

  "Why not?" she said, the pistol steady in her hands. "Give me one good reason."

  "We're in U.S. waters, not the islands. Too many people know they're with us, and we're too close to shore to ditch the bodies without a chance some fishing trawler will pull them up."

  "Okay," she said, stepping back and taking a deep breath. "But what are we going to do with them? We don't have time to deal with this."

  "I can handle that part. Don't worry. I'll call one of the guys I used to work with on the task force and take care of it."

  "You sure?"

  "Yeah. Keep an eye on these two. I'll grab the satellite phone and get it started."

  Paul returned to the cockpit a few minutes later with the first aid kit and a handful of cable ties. He bound Mo and Abe, both their wrists and their ankles, while Connie kept their pistol trained on them. Once they were secured, Paul bandaged their wounds.

  "Coast Guard will be here in about 15 minutes," he said, as he tied the last compress in place around Mo's thigh.

  "That's quick," Connie said.

  "We're only about 60 miles from Provincetown. There's a cutter somewhere between here and there. We just got lucky on that. They're sending a RIB to pick up these two."

  "I thought they'd send a chopper," Connie said.

  "Probably would have, except the cutter was in the neighborhood, and I told them the prisoners had gunshot wounds. They can patch them up on the cutter quicker than they could fly them to a hospital."

  "Are we going to be tied up answering questions?"

  "I don't think so; Luke vouched for me." Luke Pantene, Paul's former partner, had taken Paul's place running the Miami P.D.s homicide division when Paul retired. He had also replaced Paul as the city's senior representative to the local Joint Terrorism Task Force. "I told him the whole story, and he kicked it to the JTTF; they'll take it from here. We'll have to answer some questions later, but we can probably get it all done over the phone."

  "JTTF?" Connie asked.

  "Joint Terrorism Task Force," Paul said.

  "Terrorism? You think these morons are terrorists?"

  Paul shrugged. "It was the quickest way Luke and I could think of to avoid all kinds of red tape. The FBI guys in Miami know us both, and they don't sweat the jurisdiction."

  "Pays to be connected, I guess," Connie said. "What are they going to charge these two with?"

  Paul shook his head. "They'll figure something out. Piracy, maybe? Armed robbery? Kidnapping? There're lots of options."

  "We're in international waters," Abe blustered, unable to keep his mouth shut.

  Paul looked at him. "You tried to hijack a U.S. flagged vessel, son. That's a Federal crime, no matter where it happens. You're in more trouble than you can imagine."

  "Yeah? You just wait. We're gonna sue the shit out of you guys."

  Connie lifted the pistol toward Abe and tossed Paul the duct tape. "We don't need to listen to — "

  A blaring siren cut her off as they were bathed in the cold beam of a searchlight.

  "Diamantista, Diamantista! This is the U.S. Coast Guard. Heave to immediately. Repeat, heave to immediately."

  Connie laid the pistol on the seat next to her and disengaged the autopilot. She swung the helm to port and the sails rattled as Diamantista II pointed into the wind. The boat continued to turn, carried by her momentum, until the sails filled on the starboard tack. The drive from the main and mizzen was offset by the back-winded headsails, and the boat sat, dead in the water, rising and falling with the gentle swell.

  A large, orange rigid inflatable appeared out of the darkness, the helmsman bringing her cushioned starboard side firmly into contact with Diamantista II's leeward side. Five figures armed with assault rifles leapt aboard, covered by a man at the heavy machine mounted in the patrol boat's bow.

  "Hands in the air," barked a female voice from one of the black-clad figures. "Ma'am, slide that pistol toward me with your foot, gently."

  Connie complied, and one of the other members of the boarding party picked it up and put it in a canvas shoulder bag.

  "Any other weapons on board?" the woman asked.

  "No," Connie replied.

  "Are you Connie Barrera?"

  "Yes."

  "Good. You can drop your hands, but stay where you are, please. Lieutenant Russo, identify yourself."

  "I'm Russo," Paul said.

  "That true, Ms. Barrera?" the woman asked.

  "Yes."

  "Okay, Lieutenant, you can relax. I see you zip-tied the two prisoners; that's good. At ease, boarding party."

  The other figures shifted their weapons slightly, but otherwise didn't change their positions.

  "Daley and Smith, get the basket stretchers," the woman said.

  Two of the figures slung their weapons over their shoulders and turned to the RIB, which was holding position alongside Diamantista II. Two crewmen passed the stretchers over the rail, and Daley and Smith set them on the side deck.

  "Okay, take the little one first," the woman ordered. Daley and Smith grasped Mo under the arms, one on each side, and lifted him to his feet. One of them cut the cable ties that held his ankles together and they frog-marched him to the stretcher. One of them forced him to lie down in the wire basket and the other strapped him in place. They returned and repeated the process with Abe, paying no attention to his yelps of pain as they wrenched his shoulder. The two men passed Mo across to the boat crew, who strapped his stretcher in place forward of the steering station. Once Abe was secured next to him, the woman in charge said, "Captain Barrera, Lieutenant Russo, I'm Senior Chief Petty Officer Jane Dawson. I just have a couple of quick questions and we'll be out of here, unless you need some help with the boat. She's a beauty, by the way."

  "Thanks," Connie said. "We've just owned her a little while. We're fine; we don't have any problems."

  "Okay, good. I need any belongings that these two brought on board."

  "I'll go gather their stuff," Paul said.

  "Daley, go with him and bag the stuff."

  Daley nodded and followed Paul below.

  "Where are you headed, Ms. Barrera?"

  "We're on our way to pick up charter guests in New York for the fourth, and it's Connie, please."

  "Thanks. I'm Jane. Where in New York?"

  "79th Street Boat Basin."

  "How long were these two aboard?"

  "They came aboard when we launched two days ago; they work in the boatyard."

  "Have they been left alone on the vessel for any extended period? Long enough to conceal anything, or tamper with anything?"

  "Not since we launched, no."

  "Okay. If you find anything that doesn't belong to you, call whoever you called before, right away. Understand?"

  "Yes."

  "Anything else I can help you with, Connie? Sure you don't need a couple of crew to help you get to New York?"

  "No, thanks. Paul and I have a lot of sea time, double-handed. We'll be fine."

  "No problem." The woman started to stand when she saw Daley start up the companionway ladder with two plastic bags, Paul behind him.

  "Jane?" Connie said.

  "Yes?"

  "Something about this seems strange."

  "What about it?"

  "You're making it seem too easy. I thought there'd be endless red tape."

  "Yeah, me, too. There would be, normally, but I got my orders, loud and clear. Whoever your Lieutenant Russo is, he's not just a pretty face. He's got some pull somewhere way up in DHS."

  "Oh," Connie said, looking surprised.

  "'Oh' is right. And whoever these two jerks are, there're a bunch of people looking for them, too. I gotta run. Four g
uys in suits landed on the cutter in a chopper as we were leaving. They're waiting to make the acquaintance of your friends."

  Connie looked puzzled by that. "I thought they were just two spoiled rich kids."

  "Maybe, but it doesn't look that way to me." Jane Dawson stood and turned to her men. "Let's go, boys!" She watched as they scrambled aboard the RIB. She shook hands with Connie and Paul. "Fair winds, folks. And remember, Connie, call if you find anything strange." She turned and leapt into the boat, waving as they pulled away into the dark.

  Paul fixed a hearty breakfast and they ate early, sitting at the folding table in the cockpit and watching the sun rise over the ocean.

  "Why would four guys in suits fly out to the Coast Guard cutter to talk to those kids?" Connie asked.

  "I don't know," Paul said, "but I'll probably find out. Once the dust clears, Luke will fill me in."

  "We're really not going to have to spend hours with some paper pusher, answering questions?"

  "I don't know. It may come to that. I'm hoping we'll be able to do most of it by email or over the phone. I've had plenty of practice with incident reports, don't forget, and they know me."

  "They apparently do. Jane was impressed with your connections."

  "Jane?"

  "Senior Chief Petty Officer Dawson to you, Lieutenant."

  "How did you two get to first names so fast?"

  "It's a girl thing. She thinks you're cute, by the way."

  "Cute?"

  "Yes. But what really impressed her was how well connected you are in the DHS."

  "Oh. I liked being cute better."

  "She didn't actually say that," Connie said.

  "No?" Paul feigned disappointment.

  "No. She said you weren't just a pretty face."

  "Damn. When men carry on like that about women, it's sexist, but you women get a free ride."

  "Seems fair to me."

  Their banter was interrupted by the satellite phone. Paul picked it up and looked at the caller i.d. screen. "Luke," he said, pressing the connect button and switching to hands-free mode.

  "You're up early, Luke."

  "Yeah. Actually, I never got back to sleep after you called. Connie there?"

  "Yes," she said. "Hi, Luke."

  "Hi. You guys by yourselves?"