The Mark of Cain

by William J. Coughlin

  Johnson had picked the spot as a safe harbor, one away from the authorities and close observation. They had been anchored in Macosta’s harbor for three days since speeding away from San Bonaparte. They monitored the radio news, but nothing was said about any occurrence on San Bonaparte. If the bodies had been discovered, no word of it had leaked out. Even the occasional boat that had sailed into the harbor carried no news.

  Johnson and Eddy were ashore. Cain hoped they might get more information about the pirate operation. The old fishing-boat captains talked freely to Johnson, but he had come up with very little information. They all knew of the Coast Guard’s theory, but none of them had ever run across the “pirates.” Although they knew boats had vanished, none of their own boats had ever disappeared. Still they all armed themselves now when they put out to sea.

  One of the old captains was due back from the island of Trinidad, and Cain had sent Johnson ashore so that he could talk to the man when he returned. Perhaps he would have a different report. Trinidad was close to the coast of South America; in theory the beginning point for the shipment of heroin. There had been no boats coming from that direction for the past three days, and Cain hoped the captain might be able to provide some new clue to the pirate operation and its relation to San Bonaparte.

  Cain grew tired of the maps. He had memorized the important features anyway. He rolled up the charts and inserted them back into their cylindrical containers. He burned with the desire to return to San Bonaparte, to continue where he had left off, to tear up the island until he discovered its secret. But he knew he must be patient. They would be wondering where he was, if they were smart. Cain wanted to use the boat’s radio. He could check with the company stations, but in doing so he might risk giving away their position. It might mean nothing, yet an unnecessary risk was a fool’s risk.

  They would have a morale problem if they stayed in the barren island’s harbor for much longer. Boredom was affecting everyone aboard. Even Soldier, who was usually as calm as a rock, was becoming irritable. Cain realized his own temper was getting short. They would have to take some action soon, or they would all end up killing one another just for something to do.

  The little harbor workboat pulled away from the old wooden dock. Cain put the field glasses to his eyes. Johnson and Eddy were in the boat, being ferried back by one of the harbor boys—a young boy who, even at a distance, reminded Cain of the dead Roberto.

  Slick pulled in his fishing line, and Soldier sat up to greet the boat as it approached.

  “Well, what did the man from Trinidad have to say?” Soldier called as they came up next to the large cruiser.

  Johnson frowned, nodding his head at the harbor boy in the back of the skiff. “I’ll tell you about it in a minute,” he said. Johnson climbed up into the cockpit as the skiff made contact with the cruiser. “Eddy, hand up those fishing rods,” he commanded.

  Obediently Eddy struggled to push up the thick rods, each with a huge, heavy-looking chrome reel attached. He scrambled up after them. Johnson tossed the boy a coin. A toothy grin acknowledged the payment, and the boy turned the skiff easily and headed back to the dock, his purring outboard motor the only sound in the harbor.

  Cain had come out of the cabin. “Okay, the kid is gone. What’s up?”

  “The man coming in from Trinidad didn’t show.” Johnson’s voice sounded tired. “They checked by radio. He left yesterday morning. He should have arrived here last night. No one has heard from him.”

  “Maybe he stopped off at some other island,” Slick said.

  Johnson shook his head. “The other captains checked by radio with every island within the range of his boat. He is gone, vanished. They think the pirates got him.”

  “He could have had engine trouble,” Soldier said, his tone implying more of a question than a statement.

  “His radio works on a separate electrical system. He would have called for assistance.”

  “What kind of boat did he have?” Cain asked.

  “A forty-three-foot diesel. About the same size as ours, with good engines but not as fast.”

  “Maybe something went wrong with it,” Slick said.

  “This man made his living on the sea,” Johnson said. “Take my word for it, he would have kept it in the best of shape.”

  “If he was coming from Trinidad,” Cain said, recalling the sea charts, “he would have to dogleg a bit around Cristobel island, otherwise it would be a straight line to this island.”

  “That’s not the usual route,” Johnson said. “Generally most boats stick to the most traveled sea lane. In this area it would be a straight line from Trinidad to San Bonaparte. That way you are never far from any of the islands, yet you don’t have to worry about running aground or hitting some little half-submerged atoll. And if you have motor trouble or need help, you stand a better chance in the regular lane. That’s the way he would have come.”

  “San Bonaparte again.” Cain spoke softly to himself.

  “What are the fishing poles for?” Slick asked. “Jesus, from the size of those things you must use them to catch whales.”

  Johnson’s eyes were on Cain as he answered: “You said we were to tell everyone that we were on a fishing trip. I realize I’m dealing with professionals, but I thought it might look better if we had some fishing tackle aboard.”

  Cain nodded, a half smile on his lips. “We makes mistakes once in a while. You did right to buy the tackle.”

  Slick fondled one of the rods, running his hand over the gleaming chrome reel. “Now that we have this stuff, Cain, let’s go fishing.” He pretended to be fighting a fish with the rod. “Hell, we might as well do something.”

  “Johnson, would you be able to recognize the missing boat if you saw it?” Cain asked.

  “I suppose so. It’s a Vulcan. That’s an unusual make of boat in these waters. I saw the boat when I was in here a year or so back. I think I could spot it. Why?”

  “I want to go looking for it,” Cain said. “We can start back for San Bonaparte and see if we can find the boat.”

  “Do you think that’s wise, Cain? Going back to San Bonaparte, I mean?” Soldier’s square face reflected his worry. “They probably have a warrant there for your arrest.”

  Cain shook his head. “I doubt it. There’s been nothing on the radio about the bodies. My guess is that they have covered the whole thing up. They have more important fish to fry. Anyway we can’t sit here forever, and I think that island is our best lead. They wouldn’t have killed Finzanno unless they were protecting something.”

  “Say, Cain, there’s another thing to think about,” Slick said. “There is more risk than just a warrant if we go back there.”

  “What do you mean?”

  The black man’s expression was somber. “That little lady spy, the one I fooled around with, she was setting us up for the boat bandits. You know, I fed her a story, and she went for it. They probably can’t wait to get their hands on this boat.”

  “So?”

  “So, I just wanted to remind everybody that we have more to think about than a possible murder warrant waiting for Cain.” Slick grinned. “Although we all know it ain’t the first time.”

  Cain’s face betrayed no emotion, but his slate-gray eyes seemed to burn into Slick.

  “Hell, Cain, I was only kidding,” Slick said hurriedly.

  “Our best bet is to come into the island’s harbor at night,” Cain said. “Will that give you any problems, Johnson?”

  “No. The harbor entrance is well lighted at night, and there will be plenty of places to tie up. I see no problem there, but we have at least eight hours until dark, and it only takes an hour to get from here to San Bonaparte.”

  “We’ll spend the time looking for that missing boat,” Cain said. “And if we can’t find it and we still have some time, maybe we can try out our new fishing gear. Okay?” He looked at the others.

  They nodded their assent, happy to be leaving the bleak anchorage and its boredom for
the prospect of something to do.

  Johnson quickly prepared the boat for starting, and Eddy hauled up the anchor. The big engines rumbled to life, and they glided swiftly out of the harbor. After clearing the harbor entrance, Johnson slowly increased speed until the big boat was ripping along through the slight chop in the crystal-clear water.

  Soldier uncased a pair of field glasses and climbed up to the top of the cabin. He sat down Indian fashion near the radar mast and began to slowly sweep the horizon with the powerful glasses. Johnson kept the boat headed due north toward the regular sea lanes. After roaring at top speed for thirty minutes, he eased the throttles back, and the big boat slowed, pursued by the large wave its own wake had created.

  “We are roughly in the middle of the usual sea lane down here. Almost all pleasure boats use this route to Trinidad and South America. Fishing boats jog up and down through here, and the fishing’s not bad in the general area. If the boat from Trinidad is to be found, this is where we should start looking.”

  Cain nodded. “All right, lay down any kind of search pattern you think best. Only don’t bring us within sight of San Bonaparte before dark.”

  “Right.” Johnson eased the throttles forward, still keeping the boat in a northerly direction. “I’ll go on a bit,” he shouted above the engine noise. “We’ll go beyond the usual lane of travel and then cut back.”

  “Suit yourself,” Cain said.

  Slick went below and brought out the other pair of binoculars. He scrambled up and joined Soldier on the top of the cabin roof. Together they silently searched the vacant sea before them.

  Cain went back into the air-conditioned coolness of the cabin. “Can I get you a beer?” Cain shouted to Johnson.

  Johnson’s eyes never left the sea. He shook his head, Cain climbed down into the galley and took a can of beer from the boat’s small refrigerator. White foam bubbled up as he pulled the metal tab. The cold liquid tasted delicious. Cain decided he too might as well relax and enjoy the boat ride. He climbed back, passing Eddy’s quarters on the way. The boy was asleep, his slack mouth open as if in death. Cain passed by quietly and returned to the main cabin.

  He was sipping at the beer when Soldier’s large form slid down past the front windshield. He gestured with the field glasses and then pointed in an easterly direction. Soldier almost lost his balance as Johnson turned the wheel and the big boat heeled over into her new heading. His back propped against the windshield, Soldier continued to peer through the field glasses.

  Cain gulped down the remainder of his beer and stepped out of the cabin into the warm Caribbean day.

  “What do you see?” he shouted to Slick, who was like a monkey around the radar mast, using it to steady the binoculars.

  “I’m not sure,” Slick yelled back. “Soldier thought he saw something on top of the water, spread around like wreckage, but I think he was imagining things.”

  Cain lifted himself to the cabin’s roof and swung his legs over, climbing toward Slick on his knees. “Let’s see.”

  Slick handed him the field glasses. Cain searched the surface of the sea. The motion of the boat made it difficult to see, and he braced himself against the radar mast as Slick had done. The water had become almost calm with only a slight chop, more like a ripple, disturbing the surface. Cain squinted against the glare of the reflected sun. Then he saw something.

  Whatever it was popped to the surface and then was gone. Another shape appeared nearby and then it too disappeared. The boat was speeding directly toward that area.

  In a moment they were in that part of the sea where he had seen the objects. Cain shouted to Soldier who, in turn, signaled to Johnson to stop the boat. The roar of the engines died away, and the big boat slowed as it settled into the water.

  “I think this is where I saw something. It’s hard to tell, but …”

  “Oh God! Look at that!” Slick shouted, his long arm pointed toward the side of the boat.

  The water was alive with sharks. Some bumped the boat, sending a small shock through the hull. Fins cut through the clear blue water and huge gray shapes flitted like shadows just beneath the surface. Several sharks rolled and splashed as they broke water near the boat.

  As if by some command a great gray cloud seemed to float up from the dark depths. Suddenly the entire area around them was filled with sharks. They watched, speechless at the mind-chilling spectacle. Some of the sharks rolled and stunted, throwing a spray into the air. Others just lay on the surface, their little beady eyes just above the level of the water.

  Slick turned and crawled back, dropping to the relative safety of the cockpit. Cain extended a hand to Soldier who scrambled up to the roof and then they followed Slick and returned to the back of the boat.

  “Let’s get the hell out of here, Cain.” Slick’s eyes were wide, and he stared at the action in the water.

  Cain looked at the black man. It was the first time he had ever heard fear in his voice.

  Soldier laughed. “They are not going to climb in here with you, Slick. Besides you said you wanted to do some fishing. Well, here they are.” There was no humor in Soldier’s voice. He too seemed strangely fascinated at the sight around them.

  Johnson came out into the cockpit. “I’ve never seen anything like this,” he said, “I’ve heard about people who have run into shark concentrations like this, but I’ve never actually seen it before, and I’ve been out here a long time.”

  Eddy stayed in the cabin, his face white with trembling fear.

  “What do you think would cause something like this?” Cain asked.

  “Beats hell out of me,” Johnson replied. “It reminds me of a fish hatchery at feeding time.” He shook his head. “All I’ve got to say is, this is no time to fall into the water.”

  Cain watched as the huge monsters swirled the water around them. The bumping against the boat became more frequent.

  “I think we had better get out of here,” Johnson said. “Some of those things are really big, and they might damage us if they keep knocking into us like that.”

  Cain nodded. “Okay, let’s go.”

  “Right.”

  Johnson returned to the cabin and gently pushed the throttle forward until slowly they began to move. The sharks became more agitated, swimming faster and rolling around, crashing their long gray bodies into other sharks. The boat increased speed, and the great school of sharks started to follow. In a few minutes they were clear of the gray bodies, although they could still see the army of fins cutting the water in the area they had just left.

  Johnson slowed the boat. “Hey, you want to see something unusual?” Soldier said.

  “What?” Cain asked.

  “Those damn sharks will go for each other. They are cannibals,” Soldier said. “If you fired a rifle and hit one, the others will turn on it. It might be something to see.”

  Slick cursed. “Come on, Cain, we don’t need any more of this. To hell with fooling around, let’s get out of here.” Slick was calmer now, but his black skin was still glistening with sweat.

  “We will never see anything like this again,” Soldier said. “It might be something you could tell your grandchildren about, Slick.”

  “Get a rifle,” Cain called to Johnson.

  Johnson gave the wheel to Eddy and in a minute stepped out with a 30.06 rifle and a box of shells.

  “You want to take a crack at it, Soldier?” Cain asked.

  The big man nodded enthusiastically.

  Johnson handed the weapon and ammunition to Soldier. With the quick hand of experience Soldier expertly loaded the rifle and aimed it toward the sharks. He rolled with the boat, becoming one with it. He sighted and squeezed the trigger. The roar of the rifle startled them all.

  “I think you missed.” Cain said. “Try again. This time aim just below the fin …”

  “Missed, eh?” Soldier said triumphantly.

  A spinning shark half jumped out of the water, falling back into a splashing swirl. The white water sudde
nly went red. As if a volcano had erupted, the sea seemed to explode with a squirming mass of gray bodies. The sharks went mad, making the sea into a cauldron of foaming red water

  “Please, Cain,” Slick said, “let’s get away from here.”

  Johnson’s face was white. “I’ve heard about it. It’s called the feeding frenzy. They go mad at the sight and taste of blood and rip away at anything near them.” He paused. “I’ve heard of it happening when a plane full of people has crashed into the sea.” He trembled slightly. “Grisly sight,” he said softly.

  Soldier had remained motionless, watching like the others. Now he raised the rifle again and fired the remaining rounds at the writhing mass, as if the bullets would somehow stop the frenzy.

  Cain nodded to Johnson. “Let’s go.”

  They all followed the boatman back into the coolness of the cabin. Johnson took the wheel from Eddy and pressed the throttle levers forward, hurrying the boat away from the feeding sharks.

  Johnson shook his head. “I don’t think I’ll ever forget that sight.”

  “None of us will,” Cain said, raising his voice above the noise of the motors. Cain noticed that Slick’s fingers were wrapped around the arms of his chair, his large knuckles showing pale beneath his dark skin. Slick might forget the sight, Cain thought, but he would never forget the fear.

  EIGHT

  At a distance the night outline of San Bonaparte resembled a Christmas decoration. The lights from the villas twinkled in rows, each row rising closer to the top of the long island. The casino building stood out, lit up by giant searchlights, glowing like a second moon. The harbor entrance was well marked, and Johnson eased the big boat through the narrow neck of the harbor mouth with no difficulty.

  A large boat was moored in their previous berth. Johnson moved the boat slowly, searching for another suitable well along the dock. He found one, well set back from the lights of the shore. They tied up quickly.