A Fortnight of Fury

by David Culberson

  Philippe cocked his head and said, “And to find your girlfriend, this Lisa?”

  “Yeah, that’s what I said,” Captain Jay said and walked out of the building.

  * * *

  Based on what Tricia had told them, Captain Jay wanted to leave immediately for Dominica. Arlan and Tommy convinced him to wait until they’d met with Forrest and Henry to find out if they’d seen the Happy Hobo from the air. Jay agreed and drove the van though a rain squall to the airport, where they parked and ran into the terminal. They found Forrest and Henry having drinks in the airport bar.

  Forrest flashed his toothy smile and said, “The weather has us socked in. We couldn’t see a thing by mid-afternoon and decided the best thing to do was come back for a drink or two.”

  “It s-seems you’ve been s-socked in for a while,” Tommy said, nodding to the empty glasses on the bar.

  “This bartender is awfully good looking, but she doesn’t seem to be in a hurry to wash glasses,” Forrest said and finished his drink, placing the empty glass next to the collection of empty glasses on the bar.

  “What’s the weather forecast? When can you get back up in the air?” Arlan asked.

  Henry raised his glass, spilling some of its contents and said with a slur, “Not today.”

  “Did you find out anything?” Forrest asked and then listened as Tommy, Arlan and Jay told them what they’d learned.

  Both Henry and Forrest were visibly relieved that Lisa was alive.

  “We’re leavin’ tonight,” Captain Jay announced.

  “Are you sure he’s going to Dominica?” Forrest asked.

  “Either there or Grenada,” Jay said.

  “If the boat we saw early this morning was the Happy Hobo, it would be halfway to Dominica by now. But it still makes no sense why they were that far east,” Forrest said.

  “Sure it does,” Captain Jay said. “They had to get away as soon as Maynard killed the local guy and Tricia escaped.”

  “We don’t know it was Maynard who killed the man,” Arlan said.

  “Bullshit, Rookie. It was Maynard and that damned Boiled Bob. You heard Tricia. The man was probably givin’ them a ride back to the boat after buyin’ the dinghies. They killed him as soon as they caught up with Lisa, who I’ll bet didn’t go along peacefully. Couldn’t have him go to the cops.”

  “Tricia went to the cops,” Arlan said.

  “Yeah, but they didn’t believe her at first. That bought them some time.”

  “Why go east? There’s nothing there until they reach Africa,” Arlan said.

  Henry, the most experienced sailor in the group said, “Because there are too many navigational hazards south of St. Martin. They probably motored east until sunrise, when they could turn south and set sail.”

  Looking at Captain Jay, Arlan asked, “Aren’t there too many navigation obstacles for us if we leave tonight?”

  “It’s different, Rookie. We’ve got LORAN.”

  Arlan rolled his eyes. LORAN was an antiquated navigation system invented during WWII, and Captain Jay’s ability to use it was suspect ever since he ran his dive boat up on some rocks outside Caneel Bay while returning from a birthday bash on Tortola late at night a few months earlier.

  Arlan started to protest but knew it was useless. He was surrounded by men who lived for adventure and cared little about the risks. He wondered if he was heading down the same path. Since he’d known Captain Jay, he was off to a good start.

  “It’s two hundred miles to Dominica,” Henry said. “Assuming they don’t stop in Antigua or Nevis or Guadeloupe or a number of other islands between here and there, they could reach Dominica by early afternoon.”

  The conversation stopped while that set in. Arlan hoped the silence was Captain Jay rethinking his plan.

  “They’re goin’ to Dominica,” Captain Jay said. “And that’s where we’re goin’.”

  “Th-there’s a lot of o-ocean between here a-and there,” Tommy said.

  “We’re leavin’ tonight, Tommy. You comin’?”

  Tommy smiled and said, “W-wouldn’t miss it.”

  Henry shrugged and said, “If we can fly in the morning we should spot the boat before they get to Dominica and have a little time to search a couple of other islands along the way.” He paused, looked at Jay and said, “Just in case.”

  Captain Jay ignored him.

  Henry said, “Depending on the weather, you could be there by mid-morning. If you’re lucky you might stumble into them on your way. If neither of us sees the boat by the time we get to Dominica, then it has stopped somewhere else or could be sailing farther down the island chain.”

  Henry stopped talking for a moment, and then said, “If they’re going to Dominica, the likely place for them to pull in would be Portsmouth. But they could bypass Portsmouth and sail to a bay farther down the island. There are several. With the seas as big as they are from the east, it’s unlikely they’ll land on the north or east side of the island.”

  “Is Charlie still on Dominica chasing Dreads and weapons?” Arlan asked.

  “He is,” Forrest said.

  “He’s sure to have a network of locals under his control. He can put the word out to watch for the boat in all of the likely entry points.”

  “I’ll make the call,” Forrest said and walked to a nearby payphone.

  Ten minutes later Forrest returned to the table and said, “Charlie is in Portsmouth. He’ll send word to his contacts around the island to watch for the disguised Happy Hobo and will wait for you to arrive in Portsmouth sometime tomorrow.”

  Captain Jay stood and said to Arlan and Tommy, “You guys comin’?”

  They stood, and Captain Jay tossed the keys to the van to Forrest. “You can give us a ride, then use the van and our rooms at the guesthouse tonight.”

  Forrest and Henry followed. Arlan glanced at Tommy, who looked at Arlan and shrugged. They were inching closer to Charlie’s shit storm, and Captain Jay didn’t seem to be paying attention to anything beyond punishing Boiled Bob.

  As they walked to the airport exit Arlan said to Forrest, “We’ll need Charlie’s phone number.”

  Chapter 10

  DAY 8: OCT 21

  Twice in the last twenty-four hours Boiled Bob had seen the same twin-engine, upper wing aircraft fly overhead, each time doubling back for a second flyover. The first time was the morning after they’d hastily departed St. Martin. Boiled Bob had estimated that they’d motored about thirty miles east in the dark before setting sail to the south. They were east of the normal sailing route through the islands, and Boiled Bob had been surprised to see the plane. His surprise had turned to fear as he watched the plane fly over, return and fly over at a lower altitude before disappearing to the west. The second time he’d spotted the plane was twenty-four hours later just north of Dominica. The pilot of the plane seemed more interested, but, lucky for Boiled Bob, a squall line had hidden the boat before the plane could make a third pass. The Pappy Bobo reached Dominica by noon. Boiled Bob skirted the main port of entry of Portsmouth and sailed to Roseau, twenty miles to the south, on the eastern side of Dominica, and hadn’t seen the plane again.

  Boiled Bob had avoided Maynard as much as possible during the long sail to Dominica, having Long Bill take the helm whenever he rested below deck. While they sailed, Bob talked little, his thoughts occupied by what to do next. His plan to relocate his crew to a different island and live a more utopian life had changed dramatically. Maynard had to go, that was for sure. Boiled Bob’s brain was also mired in the Lisa problem. He couldn’t keep her as a hostage, and he couldn’t kill her and risk being hunted for the foreseeable future by the Black Ops. He’d decided he’d talk to her when they were on Dominica and try to make a truce so he could get her to cooperate while he planned his next move, which might be to let Lisa go. But he needed to find out if the Dreads could p
rotect him if Lisa went to the authorities on Dominica.

  Boiled Bob looked at the shoreline of Roseau and the mountainous backdrop. It was a beautiful setting. The mouth of a river made up the point that was the center of the town, with a mile of structures along the mostly rocky shoreline in both directions. A few docks jutted into the bay, and a larger shipping port was to the north. Maynard told Boiled Bob to steer to the south and anchor close to shore, near a small dock where a few other boats were at anchor.

  Once anchored, Boiled Bob sent Maynard to shore to contact his Dread friends. Two hours later Bob saw the dinghy speeding back toward the Pappy Bobo, carrying Maynard and three menacing Dreads. Long dreadlocks flew in the wind as the three Dreads turned their heads to scan the shoreline and the other boats in the bay, settling on the Pappy Bobo when they were within a few feet of the boat. The dinghy slowed just in time to lightly bump the sailboat, and Maynard stepped to its bow and tossed the line to Boiled Bob, who tied it off to a cleat near the stern. When all four were aboard, Maynard made the introductions. There were no handshakes. All three Dreads went by Ras—Ras Lyon, Ras Joseph and Ras Renk. They pushed past Boiled Bob and his crew, not waiting for permission to check out the boat. Ras Renk smelled like a combination of marijuana, sweat, urine and dirt. Boiled Bob had to breathe through his mouth as he passed by. The other two Dreads smelled like marijuana.

  When they were out of hearing range, Boiled Bob cornered Maynard and whispered, “What the fuck are you doing? I don’t want those guys on the boat. What about Lisa?”

  Maynard said, “They wanted to see the boat. They have a proposition for us.”

  Ras Lyon walked to the bow. The other two Dreads went below.

  Ras Lyon walked from the bow to the stern. After leaning over the stern, he walked to where Boiled Bob and Maynard stood and from the bow said, “Bad bwai, you be teifin.”

  Boiled Bob turned to Maynard and asked, “What the fuck did he say?”

  Maynard smiled and said, “He thinks you’re a bad man and that you stole this boat.”

  “How would he know that?”

  Ras Lyon smiled and asked, “Yo fadder was a fool?”

  “What?” Boiled Bob asked and looked at Maynard.

  “Bobo means ‘fool’ in their patois,” Maynard said. “Pappy is universal.”

  Boiled Bob looked at Long Bill, who’d stood near the stern and shrugged. He then looked back at Maynard and asked, “Did you know this?”

  Before Maynard could answer, Ras Joseph, who popped his head up from the companionway, said, “Di is not yo boat an yo have beef below.”

  Boiled Bob looked to Maynard again.

  Maynard said, “He knows this isn’t your boat.”

  “I got that part.”

  “And you have a pretty woman tied up below deck.”

  Boiled Bob glared at Maynard and said, “So, you’ve told them everything? Even about Lisa?”

  “They want to use the boat. They had to know who’s on board and why.”

  “Why?” Boiled Bob asked. “And why do they want to use my boat?”

  All three Dreads were below now, and Boiled Bob and Maynard followed. By the time Boiled Bob climbed down the companionway Ras Lyon had come back to the galley from the forward berth with a grin. Boiled Bob fumed. The space below deck was hot, crowded and smelled like Ras Renk.

  “Dat woman in de front wit de rag in her mout is yo dawta?” Ras Lyon asked Boiled Bob.

  “What?” Boiled Bob said, understanding nothing of the Rasta’s dialect.

  “He’s wonderin de beef is yo girlfriend,” Ras Renk said.

  Boiled Bob turned and looked at Maynard, who shrugged.

  “She doan look like a willin guest,” Ras Renk said with a wide grin.

  Boiled Bob threw his arms up and climbed back onto the deck. Maynard followed. Before the Dreads appeared topside, Boiled Bob asked Maynard, “What do they want?”

  “I told you. They want to use the boat.”

  “For what?”

  “You’ll see,” Maynard said. “They want us to follow them to shore.”

  Boiled Bob took a step back.

  The three Dreads climbed from below deck and walked toward the stern.

  Maynard said, “I thought you wanted to help them.”

  “I did. I mean, I do. But I don’t want them to take over the boat. It’s mine.”

  “Let’s see what they have to offer,” Maynard said. “It might even be profitable.”

  Boiled Bob glanced at the Dreads, who looked like they’d have him for dinner if he refused. He nodded and stepped toward the stern to untie the dinghies.

  The three Dreads climbed into one of the two dinghies behind the Pappy Bobo without saying a word to Boiled Bob. Ras Lyon started the engine and headed to shore. Boiled Bob told LB to watch Lisa while he and Maynard climbed into the other dinghy.

  Pam spoke up and said, “Mary and I want to go along.”

  Boiled Bob had noticed the two women looking longingly at the three Dreads while they were on board.

  “We need some time on land,” Mary said.

  Boiled Bob shrugged and motioned for them to come along. Pam and Mary stepped into the second dinghy, and the four followed the Dreads to shore.

  On the way, Boiled Bob turned his head sideways and shouted to Maynard, “What deal have you made with these guys?”

  Maynard shouted back, “Don’t worry. They know the boat is stolen and that Lisa is a hostage. They like that. They want to deal with you because they know you have no regard for the law.”

  Boiled Bob felt a sense of pride and relaxed a little.

  “Okay. But why do they want the boat?” Bob shouted.

  “They want us to go to Grenada and bring back weapons. That’s why they wanted to come on board to check out the boat. They wanted to see how much space there was below deck.”

  “How many weapons do they want to load onboard?”

  “I don’t know. They’ve been being supplied by a Cuban naval boat from Grenada, but they told me that the Cubans are worried about a US invasion of Grenada and have stopped moving shipments around the Caribbean until this thing blows over.”

  The Dreads landed their dinghy on a pebble shore near a parking lot that was empty except for two rusted, grey and white vans. Boiled Bob pulled onto the beach next to the Dreads. Five minutes later the group loaded into the two vans, their drivers leaving the parking lot and driving north through Roseau. They then turned inland and drove up a valley between two mountain ridges for a few miles before heading up a steep, rocky road that took them into thick jungle. They eventually parked the vans in a clearing next to an encampment of old wooden shacks that had been built at the base of what looked to be steps carved into a steep rock outcropping that rose sharply upward where they were enveloped in the thick vegetation.

  Boiled Bob leaned toward Maynard and asked, “Where the hell are we?”

  “Trafalgar Falls,” Maynard mumbled. “It’s one of two camps the Dreads use. Last time I was here they were all at a camp called Jaco Flats.”

  A few beat-up trucks sat haphazardly around the camp. A fire smoldered in the middle of the camp, and a few Dread men and women milled about, sharing joints that looked to be rolled in banana leaves. The fire was mostly embers, and the smoke that wafted through the camp was from the marijuana. The men were shirtless and lean, just like the three Dreads that came aboard the boat. The people in the camp stopped whatever they were doing and scowled at Boiled Bob, Maynard and the two white women after they exited the vans. When a tall Dread with long, grey locks stepped from a shack and warmly greeted Maynard, the crowd went about their business of rolling and smoking joints.

  “Bredren, wa gwan?” he said to Maynard.

  “Ras Kabinda. Irie. Bwai, ya done know seh mi deya gwaan easy,” Maynard replied.

  “Y
es I, a so it go still. Not’n na gwaan, but we a keep di faith, nuh true?” Ras Kabinda said.

  Maynard looked around the camp and said, “I don’t see Ras Paul.”

  “All good tings must end. I and I and my bredren parted wit him. He tink he can hide out from Babylon. He can’t. Dey will come fo him. Dey will come fo all of us in time. Dat is why I and I will trow de first stone.”

  Boiled Bob had no idea what they were saying, but it was clear they knew each other well.

  Maynard introduced Boiled Bob, Pam and Mary to Ras Kabinda, and he nodded with a smile. Ras Lyon stepped onto the shack’s stoop and conferred with Ras Kabinda for a minute before both retreated into the shack. Ras Lyon and Ras Joseph followed and motioned for Maynard and Boiled Bob to do the same. Ras Renk led Pam and Mary to the fire, where they sat on logs and were offered joints from several of the men around the camp.

  The inside of the shack was dark and musky, the only light coming from small windows on three of its four walls and the door they had walked through. Several AK-47 rifles were stacked on shelves in the back. Boxes of ammunition sat on the floor next to them. A few mismatched chairs were strewn around the room, and there was a large table against one wall.

  “Many tanks Maynard fo de bringin deez weapons a to us a while back back. It seems dat you ready to do it again fo I and I,” Ras Kabinda said, dropping much of the rasta speak.

  Ras Kabinda looked at Boiled Bob and said, “I understand yo are wit us because yo want to live amonks de chosen?”

  Boiled Bob took a moment to sort out what Ras Kabinda had said and answered, “We want to help with your fight against the oppressors here on Dominica.”

  “Tis as brudder Maynard tell I and I.” Ras Kabinda paused and then said, “I and I want to take yo boat to Grenada to pick up mo weapon fo I and I.” He pointed to the AK-47s stacked against the back wall.

  “You want to take my boat to Grenada?” Bob asked.

  “The Cubans are afraid of Babylon and doan want to bring dem weapons across de water to I and I anymore. Dey tink der will be a big fight wit Babylon in de days comin on Grenada. I and I need yo to take yo boat to go to come back wit mo weapons.”