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

by Wayne Stinnett

  “Go ahead and take us in, Matt,” I suggested.

  “Aye, Cap’n,” he replied, then turned to Axel. “Ready the thrusters for maneuvering.”

  Axel activated the controls. “Thrusters ready,” he said. “Helm controls are switched to the joystick.”

  Matt moved over next to Axel, where the joystick control, similar to the ones on either side of the stern, was located. Using thruster controls only, he turned Ambrosia into the marina, moving at no more than two knots.

  Bright lights came on all along either side of the first slip, illuminating the piers and the water between them.

  Using the dual sticks, Matt stopped and began turning Ambrosia and backing her stern-first toward the slip.

  Reaching up, Matt switched on the three upper monitors, showing a livestream from cameras mounted on either side of the bridge roof, as well as from the aft edge of the helipad. The three cameras provided a view aft, along both sides of the ship, like the rearview and sideview mirrors on a car.

  Deckhands stood on the work platform, ready to throw dock lines, and men stood on the pier, waiting to catch them. Two other men, both in uniform, stood ready to board.

  With a finger pier length of two hundred feet, it was the shortest slip of the twelve they had for larger yachts. The longest one, at the far end, could accommodate two ships twice Ambrosia’s size.

  The other half of our slip was empty, so Matt had no trouble. Even if another boat of equal size had been there, he wouldn’t have come anywhere close to it. There was at least eighty feet between the two piers, and Ambrosia’s beam was only thirty-two.

  “Good job,” I said, as the dock lines were thrown.

  “Thanks, Cap’n. The new thrusters ’ll take some gettin’ used to. A lot more power over the old ones.”

  “That they have,” I said. “Makes the job considerably easier when there’s a current. Let’s go down and meet the customs men.”

  When we reached the bottom of the steps descending from the cockpit, I made for the hydraulic controls and lowered the work platform from its fully raised position five feet above the water down to dock level, and then stepped out to greet the two men.

  “I heard dere was a new Cap’n,” the older of the two uniformed black men said. “Welcome to Greens. I am Inspector Claude Whyte. Permission to come aboard.”

  “Please come aboard, Inspector,” I said, extending my hand. “I am Captain Jesse McDermitt.”

  He stepped over and shook my hand with a broad smile. “Yes, I know. How is Captain Hansen enjoying his retirement?”

  I smiled, liking the man. “Last I heard, Inspector, he and his wife were sailing the Med.”

  Whyte laughed. “Yes, yes. He and I talked about dat many times.”

  I glanced over at Matt, then back to the customs man. “I wasn’t aware Ambrosia was a regular visitor here. I’m sorry. This is Ambrosia’s first mate, Matt Brand.”

  “Pleasure,” Matt said. “But Ambrosia ain’t been here as long as I’ve been aboard.”

  The two shook hands, then Whyte turned back toward me. “Before I settled here in Grenada—de locals call it Greens—I was one of de navigators aboard a cruise ship in de Mediterranean. Nils was my captain. We often talked of sailing dere wid our wives when we retire.”

  Val appeared at the top of the starboard steps with Savannah and Alberto. “Everything is ready, Captain.”

  As we went up the steps, Whyte said in a low voice, “Unofficially, de country of Grenada is aware of and appreciates all Mr. Armstrong does.”

  I introduced him to Val, Savannah, and Alberto, and Whyte went through the clearing process quickly and efficiently at a table set up in the cockpit. All the crew’s passports were stamped or scanned using a portable unit, and Whyte asked only for a cursory look at the bridge deck and salon area before I escorted him back to the work deck.

  Whyte’s assistant stepped over to the dock, but Whyte turned to shake my hand again. “I see dere is a problem on de foredeck.”

  “We had to enlarge the forward hatch,” I said, glancing that way. “It wasn’t a planned change.”

  “If you would like, I can have a friend take a look. He is a retired ship builder.”

  “That’s not really necessary,” I said, knowing how things worked on island time. “We’re scheduled for maintenance on Bimini in about a week.”

  “A lot can happen,” Whyte said. “I wouldn’t be surprised if my friend couldn’t have it completed before you sail.”

  “We’re only here for three or four days,” I said.

  “Luis Bishop will be here at dawn,” Whyte said. “If he takes more dan two days, I will eat my hat.”

  “Thank you.”

  “Anything Greens can do to help Armstrong Research, Cap’n.”

  “Please, just call me Jesse,” I said.

  “Den, Jesse, you will call me Claude.”

  “It’s been a pleasure meeting you, Claude.”

  When he stepped over to the dock, I looked at my watch. It had only taken thirty-five minutes.

  Savannah waited at the top of the steps. “Alberto and Fernando are staying with Crystal and Kassandra for the night.”

  “Really? I assumed the sisters would want to go ashore.”

  “Because they’re single?” she asked. “Or because they’re pretty?”

  She played this game with me often, and I was getting good at avoiding the trick questions.

  I nodded toward the port side, where several of the crew, all young, adventurous, and enthusiastic, were headed down to the dock. “Because they’re young.”

  She smiled. “Remember when we were young? Life was one big adventure, and everyone was in a hurry to see what was around the corner or over the horizon.”

  “Exactly,” I said.

  “You forget the dynamics of family,” she said. “You invited their parents and married sister. They felt obliged to watch their nephew.”

  “I should have invited them, too?”

  “Not for this,” Savannah said. “You did right. Who else is staying aboard?”

  “Axel and Ross. I told them I’d make up for it tomorrow. Plus, two from the security team. Aside from them, everyone is permitted ashore.”

  She gave me a slightly mischievous look. “You should also make it up to the Santiago sisters tomorrow.”

  “You mean Ross and Axel and the sisters all together?” I asked. “Are you playing matchmaker again?”

  “So, what if I am?” she asked, sliding the door open to the salon. “Let’s get dressed.”

  Just before 2200, we returned to the work deck, dressed for dinner ashore. Savannah wore a lightweight, sleeveless blue dress with matching sandals, and I wore a white guayabera, khaki pants, and Docksiders. The others were dressed similarly.

  “Giselle will be here shortly,” Ricardo said. “She stopped to check on Fernando.”

  “The restaurant is called Patrick’s,” Val said. “Reputed to be the best local fare on the island. It’s a short walk, about five hundred meters, just across Lagoon Road at the end of the dock.”

  When Giselle arrived, we started walking along the dock. There were only two other boats in this part of the marina, a massive barquentine as big as Ambrosia, and a sleek super-yacht at least three hundred feet long.

  “You’re a long way from the boat bum I met twenty years ago,” Savannah said, strolling along beside me. “Remember when we first met? You were climbing out of the bilge, all dirty.”

  “It was the engine room,” I argued. “And it was spotless, so I wasn’t dirty.” I looked down at her stylish dress and sandals and those long, perfect legs. “And you’ve come a long way from bare feet and cutoff jeans.”

  “You do remember,” she said with a smile. “I was mad enough to tear your head off for scaring Char the way you did.”

  I pulled her closer. “I was hoping you’d try.”

  We rounded the marina office and continued sout
h along the wide boardwalk to the end, then crossed the street and we were there.

  A lattice fence surrounded the front yard, which, instead of a lawn, contained tables and chairs arranged on a concrete patio. The restaurant itself looked like a simple West Indian home, bright blue paint, corrugated metal roof, and supported on short brick piers, with a crawlspace under the structure, just big enough for a dog to get out of the weather. There were two concrete steps up to a low porch, with tables set to either side. Most of the seating seemed to be outdoors.

  I introduced myself to a very buxom black woman with long, reddish-blond hair. “Pleased to have you with us, Captain,” she said with a bright smile. “I am de owner, Karen. Please follow me.”

  She led us all inside to a large table in the corner. Not several tables pushed together, but a massive slab of mahogany with room around it for at least a dozen people.

  “I assumed the owner would be someone named Patrick,” I said to Karen, as I pulled a chair out for my wife.

  “Patrick was my dear friend. He passed away…oh…eleven years ago.” Two waitresses joined her. “Sit, everyone,” Karen said. “Welcome to Greens. This is Paula and Janet. If you have any questions on anything, they will be happy to help you. Enjoy your meal.”

  Paula and Janet handed out menus and took drink orders. I was still a little jumpy and just ordered coffee. I couldn’t quite put my finger on what it was that had me on edge, but it was there, way down in the dark part of the reptilian brain we all have.

  Most people tend to ignore those warnings or instincts, but I’d learned to trust them. It’d saved my ass many times. Nine times out of ten, I’d sensed some threat, and nothing had happened. But when nothing happened, it didn’t always mean the threat wasn’t real. Whoever the threatening person or thing might have been could have gotten the same feeling and passed on by.

  “I have an announcement to make,” I said, once the waitresses left with our drink orders. The others looked my way. “You’ve all met our daughter, Flo, and her boyfriend, David,” I began, gesturing toward them. “Earlier this evening, they became engaged.”

  There was a flurry of congratulations from the others at the table. Giselle reached over and took Flo’s hand, admiring the ring David had put there. The men stood and shook his hand, clapping him on the shoulder.

  “When is the wedding?” Val asked. “Or have you set a date yet?”

  “No date yet,” Flo replied, her face flushed.

  “Next spring?” David asked her. “After classes?”

  She nodded excitedly.

  “So, this sabbatical isn’t permanent?” I asked.

  “No, sir,” David said. “I would like to stay on and learn for a few months, though. I’ll still finish my junior year on time this May, after the spring semester.”

  “And if I take classes again next summer,” Flo added, “I’ll start next fall as a senior and we’ll graduate together.”

  “Aren’t classes supposed to start tomorrow?” I asked.

  “Yeah,” Flo replied. “But I don’t have any in-person classes until next week.”

  “How’s that going to work?” I asked her. “David here and you back in Gainesville for the fall term?”

  “I’ll have a three-day weekend for Labor Day and Ambrosia will be in Bimini that week, so David can come home. I’ll have another one in October for Homecoming. And I don’t have any classes on Friday before Veterans Day, and I’ll have five days off for Thanksgiving. It’s not like we’ll be apart for a super long time.”

  “And classes end before Christmas,” David said. “Where is Ambrosia going after Bimini?”

  “That’s always the question,” Val said. “We didn’t know we were coming here until we were on the way.”

  “You’ll just have to play it by ear,” Savannah said.

  From where I sat, I could see the three masts of the barquentine that was docked near Ambrosia. They were awash in lights from the deck. A little to the left of it, above the roofline of the houses lining the adjacent street, I could just make out the back part of Ambrosia’s salon and bridge deck, including the balcony of our quarters.

  “What are you looking at?” Savannah asked.

  “Ambrosia,” I replied. “At least part of her, anyway.”

  Conversation flowed, drinks were delivered, and dinner orders taken. When the food arrived, I kept glancing toward the boat.

  Val was beside Matt, who was seated to my left. He noticed me looking out toward Ambrosia and followed my gaze.

  Then he leaned in close. “Awright air ’e, Cap’n?”

  “I just can’t help feeling something’s amiss,” I replied, keeping my voice low. “But I have no idea what it might be.”

  “Ross and Axel are good men,” he said. “Plus, Gerald and Oswald stayed back. There ain’t goin’ to be no trouble, I’lltellywot.”

  “You’re right,” I replied. “Maybe it’s just being ashore for the first time in several weeks.”

  “We were just ashore yester—” He stopped, remembering the events of the previous day. “Sorry, Cap’n.”

  I gave him a grin. “We’ll sort it,” I said, doing a poor British accent as I glanced over at my daughter. “Life’s for the livin, innit?”

  “Oye, Cap’n.”

  “We’re off the boat, Matt,” I reminded him. “I wish you’d just call me by my name.”

  He winked and grinned. “Oye, Jesse.”

  “How is everytin’?” Karen asked, suddenly appearing beside me.

  “Sensational,” I replied, then nodded toward Marcos at the far end of the table. “Mr. Santiago is the chef aboard Ambrosia. I imagine he’d like to steal some of your recipes.”

  She turned toward one of the waitresses. “Run get me a copy of my cookbook.”

  “You don’t have—”

  “Nonsense, Captain,” she interrupted with a big smile. “In Greens, we share what we have. Now,” she said briskly, rubbing her hands together and looking up and down the table, “did you save room for dessert? Our coconut drops will knock your head right offa your shoulders.”

  “I was nearly hit in the grape by a falling coconut once,” I said. “It nearly broke my collarbone.”

  Savannah looked at me, shocked. “Jesse!”

  “What?”

  She leaned in. “That’s a bit vulgar—talking about getting hit in the testicles at the dinner table.”

  I burst out laughing, then quickly apologized. “Sorry. In boot camp, our drill instructors referred to a recruit’s head as a grape.”

  Then I leaned toward Savannah. “How does a falling coconut almost hit me there and end up breaking a collarbone?”

  “Dese are a bit different,” Karen said, laughing. “Sweet pastries made with grated coconut.”

  “Sounds perfect,” I said. “Coconut drops on everyone.”

  After dessert, I paid the bill with my own credit card, over-tipped, as is my nature when the service is excellent, and then we started back to the boat.

  Marcos and Mayra led the way, and Savannah and I brought up the rear.

  “What about those two?” Savannah whispered.

  “Those two what?”

  “Matt and Val.”

  Ahead, Mayra held onto Marcos’s arm, behind them Ricardo had a hand around his wife’s shoulder and her arm was around his waist. Just in front of us, Flo and David walked hand in hand. Matt and Val were in the middle, chatting and laughing, but not in contact.

  “You need to rein that in,” I whispered. “You can’t go around creating couples out of shipmates.”

  “But they’re so perfect for each other,” she said, hanging on my arm.

  “He’s ten years older than her and barely speaks the same language.”

  “You’re ten years older than me. At least in the spring.”

  “It’s not the same,” I said, kissing the side of her head. “They’re young.”

  “Are you calling
me old, Jesse McDermitt?” she said in a scolding manner.

  “The thought never crossed my mind,” I said. “It’s just different when a couple is in their fifties, versus being in their twenties and thirties.”

  “It better not cross your mind,” she said. “Because Alberto is spending the night with Fernando and the sisters.”

  “He is?”

  “They insisted,” she replied. dropping her right hand to my waist. “And the dogs too.”

  I grinned at her. “You thought of everything, huh?”

  “Flo and I aren’t leaving until noon, the first fuel truck won’t arrive until ten, and Mayra will have the boys in school all morning.”

  “School?”

  “She asked me about it yesterday morning,” Savannah said. “Public schools have already started back home. She already has lessons planned through our arrival in Bimini.”

  “So, we have the cabin all to ourselves until mid-morning?”

  She lowered her hand and pinched me on the butt. “I’ll show you who’s old.”

  Far to the southeast, twenty miles off the coast of French Guiana, Canopus was making eighteen knots. Her AIS was turned off, relying on radar and great visibility to stay clear of other vessels as she moved through the darkness. It wasn’t uncommon for ships in this area to not be equipped with the automated identification systems that made the ship’s radar more reliable.

  It was early morning, a couple of hours after midnight, and just off the port bow, the full moon shone down from a vantage point well above the horizon. It and the stars provided plenty of light on the vast waters ahead of the ship. It was more than enough.

  After the incident with the rich yacht owner, Captain Mauricio Gonzales had made an unscheduled stop in Porto do Itaqui, anchoring far from shore in the late evening. Mauricio had gone ashore himself, with four of his best crewmen rowing the lifeboat. It hadn’t taken them long to find a few ill-tempered sailors who would do anything for a peso.

  On the way back to the ship, they’d rowed into a nearby marina and stolen a matched set of outboards from two newer looking rental boats. Once they’d returned to the ship, Paulo Sousa, the ship’s engineer, took the outboards to his engine room to check them over and make any repairs they might need. They’d quickly gotten back underway, running the freighter at full speed through the night, the following day and into the next night.