Steady As She Goes: A Jesse McDermitt Novel (Caribbean Adventure Series Book 21)

by Wayne Stinnett

  “They picked up something without going all the way into the port?”

  Ross looked up at me, then pointed to a panel to his left. “This is the Canopus’s signature from an hour ago, just before she slowed down.” He typed some commands on his keyboard and a second sound graph appeared. “And this is her audible signature now.”

  I leaned in and studied the two graphs. They weren’t much different from the sound pattern of music on some stereo systems, using green bars rising and falling slightly, to show the highs and lows of the music. Canopus’s signature had a slightly irregular pattern. It was this irregularity that gave each ship its own sound signature. I remembered John Wilson explaining that even with a brand-new ship, there would be differences, caused by slight variations in each blade of the propellers.

  “This one’s digging harder,” I said, pointing to the second graph.

  Ross tapped the Canopus icon on the chart plotter. The readout showed she was making the same fifteen knots as she’d been doing before.

  “Engine revs are up about two percent,” Ross said. “But she’s going the same speed.”

  “An increase in weight?”

  “I estimate she’s about two tons heavier now,” Ross said. “I’d gotten so used to hearing her from before that the difference was noticeable.”

  “So, they went into the gulf opening, stopped and loaded something from another boat?”

  “I think so,” Ross affirmed. “There was an unidentified pleasure craft in the area when she started heading toward the gulf.”

  “How do you know it was a pleasure craft?”

  He shrugged. “Coulda been commercial, I guess,” he admitted. “But it had triple outboards.”

  I continued to look at the two sound charts. In these waters it probably wasn’t unusual to load and unload from a smaller boat. Fishermen did it all the time.

  A whole class of boats was built in the Chesapeake Bay area for just that purpose. They were called “buy boats” and would rendezvous with large fishing ships at sea to buy seafood and bring it back to local markets.

  Most likely, that was the case with Canopus. She’d met with a boat outside the gulf and loaded cargo.

  One of the analysts from the op center stepped out. “Communication for you, Captain.”

  He handed me a sheet of paper.

  “Thanks, Chip,” I said, looking down at the paper. As he started to turn, I stopped him. “Oh, close the partition, Chip. And tell everyone back there to keep their voices low. We’ll have a guest on the bridge shortly.”

  “Yes, sir,” Chip replied, his voice breaking a little.

  Chip McAllister had been with Ambrosia for a couple of years, though he didn’t look old enough to drive a car.

  The communication was an email from Savannah’s and my daughter, Flo. In it, she said that she and her boyfriend David would like to visit Ambrosia before classes started. She’d made arrangements with Charity, who was due to fly out to meet us tomorrow. She also asked if it would be okay if Tank and Chyrel came, along with an old friend of Tank’s.

  “I need to make a call,” I told Val. “Savannah’s bringing Giselle up in a few minutes. You can ask her then.”

  I stepped out to the side deck, where I’d have an unobstructed signal, and went forward to the Portuguese bridge, fished my sat phone out of my pocket, and called Flo.

  “Hey, Dad! That was fast.”

  “Why didn’t you just call my sat phone?” I asked.

  “You’re sometimes sleeping in the daytime,” she said. “It wasn’t urgent. Chyrel told me Charity was going to be flying out to meet y’all and I called her to see if she had room before asking you.”

  “How’s Tank doing?”

  My friend, Owen “Tank” Tankersley, had moved to the Keys nearly a year ago, after his oncologist had given him only a year or two to live.

  “David and I went to see them on Friday. He’s not doing well, Dad.”

  Very soon, I knew I’d be called away from Ambrosia. I’d already told Jack, and he’d said that when that day came, he’d send a helicopter immediately, and would be on it to look after things while I went to my friend’s funeral.

  “How bad is he?” I asked.

  “He can’t get around like usual,” Flo said. “He gets tired very easily and has coughing fits.”

  “Did his doctor okay him to travel?”

  She laughed. “Would it matter?”

  “No, probably not. Who’s the friend he wants to bring?”

  “His name’s Bud Ferguson,” she replied. “A friend of Tank’s from Vietnam.”

  I didn’t have to ponder her request. We were on a routine “patrol and listen” assignment until it was time to head to Bimini.

  “Sure,” I said. “It might be a long, cramped flight in her Huey, though.”

  “She’s not bringing the Huey,” Flo said. “She relayed our request to Mr. Armstrong and he’s flying us to Grenada, where one of his helicopters is located.”

  I grinned. “So, why’d you even bother asking me?”

  “Thanks, Dad. We’ll be there tomorrow. Charity said to look for us about eight o’clock.”

  “That’ll be about noon UTC,” I acknowledged. “See you then.”

  Jack Armstrong had a fleet of helos and corporate jets stationed all around the world and often moved them around so he could visit his many financial investments. With his wealth, it was comparable to me driving the Beast from Rusty’s place to Skeeter’s, on Big Pine Key, to get a fuel filter for an outboard.

  We ended the call, and I went back inside the bridge. Savannah was there with Giselle.

  “Flo’s coming for a visit,” I told Savannah. “Charity’s bringing her and David, along with Chyrel, Tank, and an old friend of his.”

  “Oh, it’ll be good to see them again. When will they get here and how?”

  “Charity was scheduled for more computer training later this week. They’re arriving tomorrow morning.”

  “Oh, dear,” she said, then turned to Val. “How many empty cabins do we have available?”

  “Two doubles,” she replied without having to check the Metis tablet.

  “That’s a problem,” Savannah said. “They’re two couples and two single people—a man and a woman.”

  “Easily remedied,” Giselle interjected. “That is, if you wouldn’t mind Fernando staying with your son while your guests are aboard.”

  “Alberto would love that,” I said, curious. “Go on.”

  “Kassandra and Crystal can share Fernando’s bed in our cabin. They used to sleep over in our apartment all the time. Would the single man and woman be okay sharing a cabin?”

  “Tank’s friend could stay with him and Chyrel,” Savannah said. “And Charity could bunk with Flo and David.”

  “There are several crew members who are alone in double cabins,” Val offered. “Mr. Brand and I, for instance. Charity has stayed with me before.”

  “More than enough room,” I said. “Thank you for the offer, Giselle. You too, Val.”

  “It will be like old times,” Giselle said with a smile.

  “Val was just explaining to Giselle her idea of using her as a backup yeoman,” Savannah said. “Until we reach Bimini.”

  Giselle turned to face me. “May I speak to you privately, Captain?”

  I waved a hand toward the side hatch, and we went forward to the Portuguese bridge.

  Giselle stood looking out over the foredeck for a moment. I gave her time to gather her thoughts.

  “You have no idea the impact you have made on my family,” she finally said, without looking at me. “The resort had been closed for over a month. We were living hand-to-mouth when we decided to flee Venezuela.”

  “It’s that bad there?”

  “Si,” she said with a nod. “Even worse. Many men have been taken and forced to work in the coca fields. Women dare not go out alone. We had run out of options.”

/>   “We just happened to be in the right place at the right time,” I said.

  She turned to face me. “No, Captain. It is much more than that. You didn’t have to take us aboard. Nobody forced you to extend such generous hospitality. My husband and father are so incredibly happy that you have allowed them to work to pay for our passage. We all want to.”

  “Is this your way of saying you’ll accept the temporary job?”

  She looked down at her feet, the wind coming over the bow blowing her long, black hair over her face. Finally, she looked up and pushed her hair back over her shoulder. Her eyes were luminous with tears.

  “Would it be asking too much if these positions could become permanent?”

  “Permanent?”

  “We have no place to go, Captain. My mother lied a little when she said we have money. What we have wouldn’t pay for even one of us to get to America.”

  I didn’t have to consider the question long. We were short-staffed in a few areas, not the least of which was the galley and engine room. If Ricardo proved to be as capable a mechanic as he claimed, Heitor would appreciate the help. And I already knew Marcos would be a benefit.

  “Have you talked this over with your parents?” I asked.

  “With my mother, yes,” she replied, almost sheepishly. “My husband and my father are proud men. They would never—”

  “What if I asked them?” I interrupted.

  I looked into her dark brown eyes as a single tear rolled down her cheek. She quickly turned away and wiped at it. I took her shoulders and turned her to face me.

  “I understand a man’s desire to work and provide for his family,” I said. “And I also understand a man’s pride. I think I’ll talk to your dad first. If he is willing to stay on and work in the galley, do you think he can convince your mother and your husband?”

  Giselle fell into my arms and sobbed for a moment. All I could do was hold her and pat her shoulder. It was uncomfortable, to say the least.

  A Portuguese bridge is an open area immediately in front of the windows on the bridge. It has a low bulkhead at the front about waist high, where you can look down on the foredeck.

  Finally, Giselle stepped back and wiped her eyes. “Thank you, Captain. We will all work hard, and this ship will become our home.”

  We returned to the bridge, and I walked Savannah back to our quarters.

  “What was that all about?” she asked once we’d reached the interior companionway.

  “Mayra lied when she said they had money. They have practically nothing and nowhere to go.”

  “Then they should stay here,” she said. “Or maybe Jack can arrange jobs for them on Bimini.”

  “That was what Giselle wanted to ask me,” I replied, opening the door to our quarters. “If Ricardo’s and her temporary jobs could lead to permanent ones.

  Alberto and Fernando were at the small dinette, a chess board between them. Finn and Woden were lying next to the table.

  “I’m teaching Fernando how to play chess,” Alberto said.

  I smiled at our son. “Don’t show off. Teach him well, so you’ll have a worthy opponent.”

  “He is a good teacher,” Fernando said in halting English.

  I turned to Savannah. “I’m going to ask Marcos if he’d like to stay on permanently. It’ll be up to them after that, but I sense a strong family bond between them.”

  “Good,” she agreed. “But don’t make it seem like a handout. Hispanic men are enormously proud.”

  “That’s what Giselle said.”

  I left her there and returned to the bridge, heading straight to the coffee maker. There was a covered dish beside it. I lifted the cover and saw my unfinished omelet.

  “Giselle was worried that you hadn’t finished,” Val said.

  “Where is she?” I asked, picking up the fork and taking a bite.

  “She went below to compose herself,” Val replied.

  “Contact fourteen,” Ross interrupted. “An unidentifiable small boat, less than a mile off the southern coast of La Orchila.”

  I looked at the chart plotter. There wasn’t a corresponding AIS icon where Ross had indicated. Nor was there any radar return. We were nearly due south of the island.

  “It’s a single outboard engine, Captain,” Ross said. “Turning slow revs, probably making about ten knots. It’s too small for the radar to pick up at this range.”

  The radar antenna was a good fifteen feet above our heads. That meant the distance to the horizon for it was over eight miles. The boat was at least fifteen miles away. If it were as big as Ambrosia, the radar would barely reflect off the upper deck.

  “Probably a small fishing boat,” I said. “Ignore it and continue your search.”

  “Aye, Captain.”

  “Helm, come left three degrees and steady up on your original course.”

  Axel turned the wheel. “Left three degrees to nine-five degrees true, aye.”

  Giselle returned, smiling sheepishly at me, then she and Val went to the port side of the bridge, talking in low voices next to the spiral staircase.

  As the morning wore on, I thought about how best to approach Marcos. He’d worked late with Grady the previous night and likely started early this morning. Odds were, he was napping in his and Mayra’s cabin. I’d wait until lunch time, then go down to the galley.

  There were far fewer contacts than the previous morning and the routine on the bridge settled in. We made minor course corrections to avoid ships in the area, mostly out of an abundance of caution. I really felt uneasy being within eyesight of other vessels.

  Val explained to Giselle in great detail what each person’s job was on the bridge and how control of the ship was handled by more than just the helmsman. She made a point of telling her that while all were good at what they did, each did just the one thing.

  “A good yeoman is like a backseat driver,” I overheard Val explain. “One who observes and only makes suggestions when necessary. The main thing is to always assist the captain, to anticipate his needs before he does, so he can concentrate on controlling the ship.”

  I also thought about Flo’s upcoming visit. She was about to start her sophomore year at University of Florida and David would be a junior. He worked remotely for Armstrong Research on occasion and had been extremely helpful to the analysts in the op center when they needed computer help. Chyrel did basically the same thing and was impressed with David’s abilities.

  “Cap’n,” Matt said, entering the bridge. “If you don’t get things sorted with Marcos before we get to Bimini, we’ll lose out on a bleddy good cook, yeah?”

  He froze when he saw Giselle.

  “Matt,” I said, “say hello to Ambrosia’s newest crew member, Assistant Yeoman Giselle Lopez, Marcos’s oldest daughter.”

  “You mean you already—”

  “Not yet,” I said, cutting him off. “I planned to do so when I went down for lunch.”

  He grinned. “Don’t let me hold ye up, Cap’n. Go get some denner, yeah?”

  I made a perfunctory scan of the waters around us, then handed Matt the binos. “You have the conn.”

  When I got to the galley, I could hear laughter through the hatch. The laughter was punctuated with rapid-fire Spanish. When I opened the hatch, I saw Grady and Marcos, both dancing around the prep table as they talked and joked. Salsa music played from a small radio.

  “Captain!” Grady said, grinning and reaching to turn the music off. “I wasn’t expecting you.”

  “How are things here?” I asked.

  “Man, it’s so much easier with two of us in here. I mean, well…”

  “I understand what you mean, Grady.”

  “It’s just that me and Marcos get along really good, Captain. He’s a lot better cook than me.”

  “Señor Grady is too kind,” Marcos said. “I have never worked where time seemed to move so quickly.”

  “Do you have a minute?” I as
ked Marcos. “I need to speak with you privately.”

  “Si,” he replied, picking up a towel and wiping his hands. “Is there a problem?”

  “No, nothing like that,” I replied, holding the hatch open.

  We walked out into the companionway, and I led him forward to the crew’s lounge. One of the deckhands was just exiting with a book in his hand, leaving the room empty.

  “Have a seat,” I told Marcos, then sat at a small table.

  Marcos sat opposite me, his face bathed in concern. “What is it, Capitan?”

  “You’ve probably noticed we’re short-staffed in the galley,” I began. “But that’s not the only place.”

  “Señor Grady is a fine cocinero. But yes, he seems overworked.”

  “He could probably use two more people full time,” I said, rubbing the back of my neck. “And we only have one engineer and one yeoman. That’s what you call the assistant to the captain and first mate—a yeoman. I don’t know how well you know boats, but even a small one requires a lot of work; my engineer is overwhelmed. Don’t even get me started on the laundry—it’s always backed up.”

  “But I thought Ricardo was helping with the mechanical work.”

  “He is,” I said. “And I appreciate the two of you pitching in very much. But what happens when we get to Bimini and you and your family fly off to America? I’ll be short-handed again.”

  He cast his eyes down for a moment. “I do not know what will happen to us when we get to Bimini.”

  “Have you ever been there?” I asked. “It’s a small island, but there are lots of things to do. And plenty of work for someone who wants it.”

  “No, Capitan, I have not.”

  “After Bimini, we’re supposed to go to the Mediterranean,” I said. “Some of the crew are from Bimini and will likely stay at home once we arrive. We’ll probably hire others, but good help is hard to find on a small island. Have you ever seen the Med? Morocco, France, Italy, the Greek islands?”

  “No, señor,” he said. “I have only read about such places.”

  “The crew earns a good living on Ambrosia,” I said. “Meals and housing are included, but only a few have been aboard for more than a year. I really need to find more loyal, hard-working crew members.”