A Fortnight of Fury

by David Culberson

  “What’s any of that got to do with goin’ after Boiled Bob?”

  “You might want to know what you’ll be getting into if the chase goes that far.”

  “Who cares about a damn airport?” Captain Jay persisted.

  “Cuban construction workers sent to offer help in countries friendly to Cuba are always paramilitary—highly trained and heavily armed.”

  “So, you’re saying that Cuba wants to take over Grenada?” Arlan asked.

  “Hard to say. Bishop asked the US to help build their new airport, and the US declined. Bishop found funding elsewhere, and Castro sent workers and aid. Bishop says the airport is to keep up with increasing tourism. The US thinks it’s to land Cuban and Soviet military planes,” Forrest said.

  “How do you know so much about all of this political shit?” Captain Jay asked Forrest.

  Tommy answered for him. “Ch-Charlie.”

  Arlan smiled, remembering the first few times he’d seen Charlie around the island. He was barrel-chested and had beady eyes and a military crew cut. An avid diver and snorkeler, his daytime wardrobe was usually a black Speedo swimsuit and a T-shirt. He had the nickname on the island of the White Whale, because his broad back was an imposing feature on the surface of the water when he snorkeled in the bays near the village, which he did almost every day. He maintained a perpetual smile and said little. When he did talk it was always in a quiet, gruff voice, and those he talked to listened intently. Arlan had once witnessed Charlie throw a lightning fast karate chop across a man’s throat, sending him stumbling from the restaurant where he’d made the mistake of harassing Charlie and his guests as they sat at a table enjoying their dinner. It was so fast that most people in the open-air restaurant didn’t see it happen, and Charlie didn’t watch the outcome. He continued to sit and enjoy his dinner and his guests, who must have seen the confrontation but acted as though nothing had happened. Arlan left the restaurant wanting nothing to do with the large man and his penchant for nonchalant violence. But, on a small island, it is hard to not come in contact with everybody who lives on it sooner or later, and over the next few months Arlan and Charlie had talked and sometimes shared a dive on Captain Jay’s dive boat. More recently, Charlie had approached Arlan and asked him to set up a business on Grenada so he could track Cuban sponsored military movements to and from the island. Arlan had declined, not sure why he would want to become a spy, especially after questioning Charlie about what would happen to him if he was caught and getting nothing but a beady-eyed smile in return.

  “Wh-where is Charlie?”

  “Dominica. I think the CIA is worried that whatever is happening on Grenada might spill over onto Dominica through the Dreads,” Forrest said.

  Arlan said, “I met some Dreads a few months ago while on Dominica. They’re a pretty rough group.” He then looked at Captain Jay and added, “Charlie should know when and where to find trouble. He’s always in the middle of it. Maybe you should work with him.”

  “That’s not gonna happen,” Jay said and looked at Arlan, who was still smiling at the memory of meeting Charlie. “What are you smiling about?”

  “Nothing. I was just thinking about something.”

  Captain Jay seemingly had heard enough. “We’re wastin’ time,” he said and stepped into his Jeep, started it up and made a wide u-turn in the parking lot. “We’re leavin’ in an hour, Rookie,” he shouted as he drove out of the lot and sped down the road toward the village.

  “Wh-what are you planning?” Tommy asked Forrest after watching Jay leave.

  Forrest smiled and said, “Well, I guess it won’t include Captain Jay.”

  He went on to tell Arlan and Tommy that he’d arranged to lease an old twin-engine Aero Commander from a dentist on Tortola. It could seat seven, take off and land on short airstrips and had a range of about a thousand miles. Forrest told them he planned daily runs from Tortola throughout the islands until they spotted the Happy Hobo.

  “We’re leaving tomorrow morning. Henry and Case are coming along as extra eyes,” Forrest said and stepped into his plywood Jeep. Before driving away he asked Tommy, “You going with us or are you going with Captain Jay?”

  “I c-can do more good from the a-air. I’ll bring m-my chute.”

  After Forrest left, Arlan asked Tommy, “What do you think is the big thing that’s going to happen?”

  “I think th-the US is going to in-invade Grenada.”

  “What makes you think that?”

  Before Arlan finished the question, they heard a distant rumble that sounded like thunder. They hadn’t seen a cloud in two days, and there were none in the sky then.

  Tommy smiled and said, “B-because of that…”

  They both smiled.

  “…and s-something Charlie t-told me b-before he left to go down island.”

  While waiting for Tommy to explain, Arlan looked toward Puerto Rico. He couldn’t see the island, which was eighty miles to the west and hidden by St. Thomas or the much smaller island of Vieques just off the east coast of Puerto Rico. The US owned the western half of Vieques and used it as a bombing range to train US ships and aircraft. The distant rumbling of exploded ordnance could be felt and heard by all St. John residents every time the US military decided to test new bombs, which was about once a month.

  “Ch-Charlie told me about a m-mock invasion of Grenada that the US m-military staged on Vieques t-two years ago—two years after Bishop took o-over and started to rub e-elbows with Castro.”

  Arlan shrugged and said, “It could be just a rumor. Besides, I’m betting that Boiled Bob and his crew run aground someplace a lot farther north of Grenada.”

  Tommy laughed and said, “I-I wouldn’t bet a-against that.”

  Both looked west as they heard another rumble.

  “I guess I better get going,” Arlan said. “I know that you’ll be flying with Forrest, but you’ll be coming back every day. Try to keep Frank’s crews in line as much as you can.”

  “N-no problem.”

  Arlan walked to his office to retrieve an overnight bag he kept packed for emergencies. He wondered how long this would take and if he’d packed enough clothing. He laughed out loud and said to himself, “How many pairs of shorts and T-shirts could I possibly need?”

  After answering a few phone calls, he slung the bag over his shoulder and walked to the parking lot where he straddled his motorcycle, kicked the starter and took off toward the resort where Captain Jay would be waiting.

  * * *

  After sailing from Cooper with some provisions, Boiled Bob had to decide to make the long passage to Dominica or make a shorter sail to St. Marten. He looked back to the trailing dinghies and sighed. If there was any type of air search initiated by the Black Ops the dinghies would give them away, regardless of the cosmetic disguise they’d applied to the yawl. What boat drags six dinghies behind it? Or even three or four? He needed to get rid of all but one dinghy as quickly as possible and decided that St. Marten would be the next stop.

  Just before dawn the Pappy Bobo glided into Great Bay on St. Martin’s south shore. Lights from the hundreds of businesses and the street lights of Phillipsburg lit up its beach and shone out into the bay, giving Boiled Bob plenty of light to navigate around the dozens of anchored boats and anchor near the center of the bay. An hour after sunup, Boiled Bob and Maynard towed all of the dinghies to a dock in the center of the town where Maynard quickly spread the word at a few stores and restaurants that they had dinghies for sale. He’d told them that he and his crew had purchased five used dinghies from a charter company on St. Thomas and that they were all in great shape. Maynard then joined Boiled Bob on a bench near the dock to wait for a prospective buyer.

  An hour later and tired of waiting, Maynard left the bench to look for coffee and croissants. Boiled Bob stayed behind and noticed a small group of local sailors sitting together at a nearb
y outdoor restaurant. Bob was convinced that they were looking at the Pappy Bobo with more than passing interest. He scanned the shoreline in both directions and looked back at the sailors, who continued to look out at the Pappy Bobo with more animation in their discussions. Bob thought, How many Alden yawls sailed the Caribbean. Not many. Maybe the boat’s disguise isn’t good enough. He continued to watch. As he sat, he stewed. His paranoia grew. He’d wasted too much time getting away from St. John. Maybe he shouldn’t have taken Lisa. Maybe he should drop her off and make a clean escape before Captain Jay or the Black Ops come for him.

  Maynard interrupted his thoughts when he returned with two cups of coffee and a paper bag with grease seeping through the bottom. Boiled Bob took a cup and ignored the food. He looked to where he’d seen the local sailors. They were gone.

  Boiled Bob sat his cup on the bench and said, “Stay here. I’m going for a walk.”

  Maynard shrugged and bit into his croissant.

  Twenty minutes later Boiled Bob returned carrying a heavy cardboard box. He walked past Maynard and onto the dock where he placed the box into one of the dinghies. Maynard followed.

  “I’m thinking that our boat needs to look like a fiberglass boat. It’s still too conspicuous. Let’s take the dinghies and go back to the boat. We’ll find a quiet bay on the French side of the island and paint more disguise on the Pappy Bobo.”

  Maynard looked confused.

  Boiled Bob said, “We’ll be able to find buyers for the dinghies there.”

  Maynard frowned and stepped into the lead dinghy.

  Three hours later the Pappy Bobo sailed into a small, isolated bay just west of Grand Case, on the north shore of the island. Boiled Bob broke open the box and handed out paint cans, brushes and masking tape. After giving his crew instructions he told Maynard to go to the village of Grand Case and spend the afternoon spreading the word that they had five dinghies for sale—cheap.

  * * *

  Arlan drove to the resort, parked in the employee parking lot and walked down the concrete path that led through the resort’s lobby and to the dock.

  “Arlan, me son, where yo heddin so fast?”

  Arlan looked behind him and saw the giant shape of Norman Doway walking behind him. He was a mass of muscle, more genetic than earned. He wore resort maintenance clothes and a big grin.

  Arlan smiled and said, “Norman, what’s up?”

  Norman, a native of Dominica, walked ahead of a group of co-workers. He stepped close to Arlan and whispered, “It’s de Bull. Call me de Bull.”

  Arlan looked back at the other workers and said quietly, “I forgot.” He gave Norman a local handshake and said loudly, “De Bull? Everyting irie?”

  The workers passed with several “Okays.”

  Norman smiled and, after his friends passed, said, “Captain Jay tellin me yo going to look fo Lisa. Tis fo true?”

  “If she’s still alive.”

  Norman shook his head and said, “Dat a bad ting Boiled Bob did.”

  “Yeah.”

  “I hope Captain Jay kicks his ass. He’s a bad mon.”

  Norman and Arlan walked together for a while.

  “Where yo goin to be lookin?”

  “Everywhere.”

  “Dat’s a lot of lookin, me son.” Norman paused and said, “He might be headin to my islan.”

  “Dominica?” Arlan asked.

  “Yeah. Saw him der you know.”

  “Who?” Arlan asked.

  “Boiled Bob and his crazy friend who’s always carryin dat knife.”

  “Maynard?”

  “Yeah, de short mon. When you went wit me to carry dose Bob Marley cassette tapes to my island and I went to deliver some of dem to de Dreads up in de mountains I saw Boiled Bob and Maynard limin wit dem.”

  Arlan smiled at the memory of the trip they had taken together to Dominica a few months earlier. The Prime Minister of Dominica, Regina Charles, had a problem with Rastas and reggae music. She considered them bad influences and didn’t allow reggae music to be sold or played over radio airwaves on the island. Norman had convinced Arlan to carry a bag full of Bob Marley cassettes to the island, arguing that tourist’s carry-on bags were never checked. He was right. Arlan successfully carried a bag full of reggae cassette tapes through Dominica customs, and Norman sold them to the locals who craved them. Norman made a little bit of money, and Arlan got a free trip to Dominica, where he had a blast hanging out with Norman and a few locals for a couple of days.

  “What was he doing there?” Arlan asked.

  “Dunno. Up to no good if you aks me. He must be supplyin dem wit some drugs or somthin else. De Dreads don’t like white boys much. If dey hangin wit de Dreads, der’s a good reason.”

  “I met the Dreads who came to your village to pick you up with the Marley cassettes. Remember?”

  Norman nodded.

  Arlan said, “Some of them weren’t very friendly.”

  “Yeah, mon. But I tink deh would have been irie wit you if you had come along. Especially my friend Slim. I grew up wit him. He’s become a Dread, but he’s peaceful. He doesn’t like de radicals Dreads.”

  Norman stopped at a fork in the path and said, “Tanks again fo takin dose tapes fo me.”

  “No problem Norman… I mean de Bull.”

  Norman laughed and said, “Yo and de Captain be careful. Specially if you find Boiled Bob wit the Dreads. I hear dey been gettin weapons from Castro so dey can take over de islan.”

  Arlan paused and thought about how volatile Grenada and Dominica had become. He then smiled, fist-pumped Norman and continued toward the dock.

  Is Boiled Bob joining a revolution? Arlan wondered.

  A minute later he walked onto the dock and saw that Captain Jay had tied the boat alongside and was ready to go. Arlan tossed his bag onto the deck of the boat and told Captain Jay of his talk with de Bull.

  Jay snorted, stepped to the helm and said, “Untie us.”

  “Where’s Gizmo?”

  “He’s gonna stay here to run the other dive boat.”

  “I thought you’d want him to come along,” Arlan said, hoping for more muscle if they had to confront Boiled Bob and his crew.

  “Just because we’re goin’ to kill Boiled Bob—”

  “You mean to find Lisa,” Arlan interrupted.

  Captain Jay paused and then said, “Right. But I still got a business to run here while we’re gone.”

  Arlan untied the lines and looked to shore.

  “Hop in, Rookie. We’re goin’ huntin’.”

  * * *

  Arlan suggested that they travel to Cooper Island to talk to Ray Samuels before heading down island. Captain Jay wasn’t enthusiastic about the idea but agreed, and an hour and a half after leaving St. John, Captain Jay pulled alongside the dock on Cooper Island. Arlan tied the boat up and looked toward the familiar wood buildings with unpainted corrugated metal roofs a few yards off the beach. The largest building was an open-air restaurant and had a mix of wooden tables and wood and canvas chairs placed on the sand below its roof. Three small cottages had been built to the right of the restaurant, and Arlan knew there were another half dozen cottages he couldn’t see up the hill behind the restaurant.

  “Captain Jay, me son. And Rookie,” Ray shouted from the kitchen in the back of the restaurant as soon as Captain Jay and Arlan stepped off the dock and onto the sugary sand. He walked out to greet them with a large toothy grin.

  “Jesus. I thought only you called me that,” Arlan said to Captain Jay as they trudged up the beach to the shade of the restaurant.

  “Tis good to see yo two fine young men. But I know why yo come to see me,” Ray said, his smile disappearing.

  “You’re right, Ray. We came to talk to you about Boiled Bob,” Captain Jay said.

  “And Lisa,” Arlan added.
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  “Why don’t yo bote spen de night. Der are no guests, and we can talk bout dis horrible ting done by Bob. I guess yo be goin after him?”

  Captain Jay nodded and looked at his watch. He said, “Thanks for the offer, and we might take you up on it. We need to figure out what route he’s takin’ down island.”

  “He told me dat he goin across de Atlantic by way of Bermuda,” Ray said.

  “He’s goin’ down island, Ray. We all know that.”

  Ray frowned and said, “I suppose tis fo tru. I really didn’t believe his story bout goin across the ocean. Tis hurricane season. Dat would be a foolish ting to do.”

  “We are talking about a fool,” Arlan said and shrugged.

  Captain Jay asked Ray, “Did you see anybody on the boat?”

  “Saw a couple of people on de deck, but it was too far to see who de were. Bob came in by hisself. Bought some provisions and sailed away.” Ray thought for a moment and added, “I wasn’t sure at first, but de boat was de Happy Hobo. It looked different, dough. It had a different name too. Close to Happy Hobo but somethin like Pappy Hobo.” Ray shrugged and said, “It was far away.” After a moment he smiled and said, “He was towin a bunch of dinghies too.”

  “We know about the dinghies,” Captain Jay said. “Whatever he did to the boat, it’ll stand out like a sore thumb with that many dinghies in tow. He’s gotta get rid of most of them before he tries to sail too far. We need to figure out where.”

  “That’s fo tru,” Ray said. “Yo gonna need to figure it out wit charts and maps.”

  Captain Jay looked at his watch again and said, “You got two rooms without rats and palmetto bugs?”

  Ray let out a deep laugh and said, “Captain Jay, yo can have de room wit no rats or palmetto bugs, but yo gonna get mosquitos and scorpions. And I’ll give yo a 10 percent discount. I’ll give Rookie a clean room wit none of doz tings.”

  Captain Jay shrugged his shoulders with his hands out and palms up.

  “He doesn’t talk bad bout my hotel.”

  Captain Jay smiled and said, “Fine. But be sure to send all the women to my room.”