by C J Schnier
"Like I said, I already dealt with Bardales," I replied. It was a lie, but it wasn't entirely untrue. I had, in a manner of speaking, dealt with Bardales. In my experience, the best lies are the ones based in truth.
"Still, I don't know. If you're lying, I could get in real trouble," he said conspiratorially. My over-tired brain raced to figure out what it was he was hinting at, but subtlety was not something I was prepared to process anymore. As my brain churned, Miles leaned forward and put his hand on my shoulder.
"I've got this," he said to me softly before addressing the guard. "Will you let us in for a hundred US dollars? We're all exhausted and want to get some sleep."
The man's eyebrows shot up at the mention of the money. It might have been my delirium, but I could almost swear that I saw his eyes turn green with greed.
"One hu-hundred dollars?"
"Yes," Miles replied patiently. "One hundred dollars, American. But we need to get to the boat to get it."
"Yes, yes. Of course!" The man said, rubbing his hands together gleefully. "Come on in."
"Thank you."
When we were out of earshot of the guard, I glared back at miles in the rearview mirror. "Another hundred dollars? What part of I'm broke did you not understand."
"Hey, it got us in the gate, didn't it?" he answered.
"I've got to agree with Dr. Blatt on this one. It got us in," Jaye added with a smile, taking some sort of perverse pleasure in my financial discomfort.
"I don't see either of you dishing out any money," I retorted.
"At least you have your boat, I'm out a plane," Jaye reminded me. She had a point, but we had all lost something trying to recover the idol. Miles had lost a lot of his research, Jaye her plane, and I had lost Paramour. It was blind luck Carlos had rescued her. In hindsight, Carlos was the only one coming out ahead in this venture.
"And look at her," I said, nodding to Paramour docked exactly where she had been before. "She's one beautiful boat."
"Pretty or not, let's hope that we can actually get out of Cuban waters this time," Jaye said
"Just remember Chase, you need to pay Carlos first. If you cheat him and he goes to the authorities, a Cuban gunboat will intercept you long before you make it to international waters," Miles said.
"Noted," I said as I grabbed the green duffel bag from the back of the Jeep and headed for the dock. "Grab your stuff. The sooner I get out of here the better."
Paramour was a disheveled mess. Her hastily dropped sails laid loose across the pilothouse and bimini top. The extra diesel cans that I kept strapped to a board on the deck were all missing, and half of my meager supply of clothes were strewn about the cockpit. The outboard motor was missing from its bracket on the stern but at least the dinghy was onboard. I knew I would find more of my belongings missing as I searched through the boat. It was to be expected.
Carlos had taken everything he could in the short time that he had possessed the boat, and I could hardly fault him for it. He, like the others in his village, was poor. A few gallons of diesel and a modern outboard would be the equivalent of a financial windfall. The money I was about to pay him was just icing on the cake.
Down below, both the salon and the galley were a mess. The drawers had been ransacked, though it looked like most of their contents were still accounted for. The rest of my clothes lay scattered haphazardly across the settees and floor. I let out a long sigh. We would have to clean all of this up once we got out to sea. I told myself that none of that was important right now. It was only time and effort, something I would have plenty of once we got into international waters.
Ignoring the mess, I dropped the duffel bag in the v-berth and checked my secret hiding spot where I hid my money. I had to feel around for a few moments until I found the stash. I pulled six hundred-dollar bills out. Five for Carlos, and another for the guard. I winced when I saw how little money I had left. There would not be any leisure stops on my way back to The States, that was for sure.
Miles, Carlos, and Jaye were waiting for me on the dock when I came back up on deck. Carlos wore an impatient frown as I hopped down to the dock beside him. When I pulled out the hundred-dollar bills, his expression morphed into a gap-toothed smile.
"You should tell our friend here that he's lucky he's getting five hundred bucks. It looks like he's already been through and taken what he wants," I said as I handed over the five crisp bills.
"Gracias, gracias," he said, snatching the money out of my hand. He counted it twice, smiled up at me and turned to head back down the dock.
"Carlos!" I called after him. The old fisherman turned around, his exultant look still plastered across his face. "You forgot these," I said, tossing the keys to him. He caught them with one hand and broadened his smile more. After a quick nod and a wave, he scurried up the ramp to the waiting Jeep.
"Well, it looks like you got your boat back," Miles said.
"Must be nice," Jaye muttered as she tossed her stuff in the cockpit and climbed aboard.
Miles motioned me aside and whispered conspiratorially in my ear, "Don't worry about it, mate. She'll get over losing her plane."
"I hope so, or my reunion with Paramour might be short-lived. A week under sail with her is a terrifying prospect," I replied.
"Better you than me, mate."
"You're not coming?" I asked.
"Nah. I'm not done here in Cuba. I have a lot of research to do and Pancho to look after. With Bardales gone, it should actually be easier. At least cheaper anyway. One less person to bribe."
"Speaking of bribes, if you're not coming, will you give this hundred to the kid at the gate?" I asked, handing over the last of the hundred-dollar bills.
"Oh, no!" Jaye said, overhearing our conversation. "You're not coming?"
Miles took the hundred and stuffed it in his pocket and then turned to Jaye, "I'm afraid I can't, luv. Work to do and all that. You two be safe, though. Have Adrian let me know that you made it back safe. And Jaye, don't go throwing Chase off of his own boat now."
"No promises there," she joked. "Oh, come here and give me a hug. I barely know you, but I feel like we've been friends forever."
Jaye wrapped Miles in her athletic arms, easily encompassing his slight frame. I couldn't help but smile. A day ago she was a stone-cold hunter, willing to kill for treasure. Now she was compassionate. Jaye Mercury was certainly a woman of many facets.
I let them hug and say their goodbyes while I prepped the boat for departure. The key was still in the ignition and the old Volvo roared to life as it always did. I took that as a good omen. The familiar smell of diesel exhaust tickled my nose, somehow making our imminent departure seem much more urgent. What little wind there was was keeping the boat pinned to the dock. Knowing we wouldn't go anywhere, I tossed the stern line off and took my place behind the helm. Miles and Jaye were still hugging and chatting on the dock when my impatience got the better of me. I pushed the throttle back and forth, revving the engine repeatedly.
The two of them got the hint and finally broke their embrace. Miles, without another word, leapt down from the boat to the floating dock and walked to the bow line, uncleated it, and held it tight, keeping Paramour straight in the slip.
"Are you sure you don't want to come?" I asked, still surprised that he was staying behind.
"Boats never were my thing. I get terribly seasick," Miles said dismissively.
"And you call yourself a Scotsman. Shameful. I thought you were a hardy people," I teased.
"Someone has to run things on the ground. Don't worry about me, Chase. I know what I'm doing."
"I don't doubt that," I conceded. "Take care of yourself, Miles."
"Fair winds, Chase," he said, tossing the line to Jaye. "Be safe, both of you."
I shifted the boat into forward and bumped the throttle up a little. Miles waved a silent goodbye as we slid forward and out of the marina, heading for safety on the open sea.
CHAPTER TWENTY-THREE
Jaye's mood impr
oved as soon as we left the marina and even though it was dark, she jumped right in and helped prepare Paramour for sea. She didn't require any coaching, her experience from the previous day still fresh in her mind. Working together, we hoisted the sails and were making decent progress towards the safety of international waters. I kept the engine revved up nearly to full throttle, but I left all the navigation lights off. As soon as we were clear of the river, I covered the screen of the chart plotter with an old towel. The only remaining light that could give us away was the trail of ethereal blue phosphorescence spreading out behind us.
We had spent more time in the village and at the marina than I had realized. Within an hour of getting underway, the sky was already lightening towards the east. False dawn was upon us.
"I wish we had left an hour or two earlier," Jaye said, staring towards the east.
"You and me both," I said. "Dawn is typically my favorite time of day when underway. Today seems to be the exception."
"Do you think it will be an issue?" she asked.
"What? The sunrise? I hope not. We have roughly an hour before the sun comes up, if we keep moving at this speed we'll be fine," I said, knocking on the teak helm seat.
She gave me a stern look before replying, "Didn't you say something like that last time?"
"Well yeah, but last time I didn't knock on wood," I said winking at her, "We'll be fine."
"Sailors," she scoffed.
"When you've sailed as many miles as I have, superstitions have their place."
"I don't know how you can believe any of that crap," she retorted. "Aren't women and bananas supposed to be bad luck?"
"They are, and so is leaving port on a Friday," I said and then added, "What day is it, anyway?"
"Friday," she deadpanned. "It's all ridiculous. What is wrong with you sailors?"
"Say what you want, but it didn't work out so well for me the last time I had a woman aboard, did it?"
Jaye rolled her eyes, shook her head and went back to scanning the horizon. She was right; we had been as close to escaping last time as we were right now. But circumstances had been different then. Bardales knew about us, he knew about Paramour, and he had access to a radio to coordinate his troops and assets. Now, even if Bardales survived the horrific truck crash, Miles had destroyed his radio, and there was no way he could know that I had reclaimed Paramour from a local angler. My biggest concern was the patrol boat. Even in the general's absence, they would continue their normal patrols. But if they were the only wild card I had to worry about, that was a hand I was willing to play.
I obsessively alternated between checking the chart plotter and scanning the horizon for any sign of the patrol boat. The distance to international water ticked down steadily on the screen. Every second we inched closer to our goal and every drop that passed under our keel was one less that we had to traverse.
We crossed the imaginary line to safety as the sun peeked out from the ocean, bathing the world with its golden light. Never had it felt so good. Never had I been so happy to leave a place behind.
"That's it," I said. "We're officially out of Cuban waters."
"Finally!" She exclaimed. "Now, how long did you say it would take it get to Florida in this old tub?"
"It won't be as fast as an airplane. Probably about a week. Maybe less."
"A week?" She shrieked, "Miles was right to worry about you. I'm not sure I can handle being around you that long. I might just throw you off the boat," she replied with a smile and a wink.
"Hey now! Winking is my thing!" I said laughing. "But please don't kill me."
"Oh, you're safe for now. At least until I figure out how to sail this thing without you."
"I will keep that in mind," I said.
I checked the chart plotter again, making sure that we were well out of Cuban waters, and then turned the wheel a few degrees to port. Paramour changed direction, slowly but steadily, until I had her on a new course. We were heading more east now, but still angling away from the coast. Straying too close to territorial waters was a sure-fire way to draw unwanted attention.
After settling in to our course and tweaking a few lines, I flipped the switch on the autopilot and let it steer. When I was comfortable with our speed and direction, I shut off the engine and climbed up on the pilothouse roof. I sat down with my back against the wooden boom of the mainsail and relaxed, enjoying the sensation of the boom moving slightly with the changing wind pressure. An endless procession of water, bubbles, and spray slipped by as we continued on. The hiss of the water as it passed was more than relaxing. It was cathartic.
Jaye joined me a couple of minutes later. Neither of us said a word. We just watched the world go by, content to enjoy the early morning sunrise. She grabbed my arm and snuggled up to me, resting her head on my shoulder as she watched the water. The sudden affection caught me completely off guard, but I would be lying if I said it didn't feel good.
"Is sailing always like this?" Jaye asked, in a barely audible whisper.
"Not always. Sometimes it's a little more dramatic. Storms aren't a lot of fun to deal with. And then there are the Cuban generals chasing you, the Coast Guard trying to arrest you, and, get this, one time I had a bona fide hitman hunt me down."
She lifted her head off my shoulder, sitting straight-backed and staring out at the sea, which left me feeling strangely alone.
Thoughts raced through my head. Did I say something to put her off? She was a tough and independent woman, and we'd had our fights, but there was some sort of chemistry between us. Or at least I thought there was. Was I reading too much into it?
"Chase," she said, her voice shaky. Her nervous tenor snapped me out of my thoughts and sent me into high alert. She raised her arm, her finger pointing at something out on the horizon. "Is that what I think it is?"
I followed her finger with my eyes. There, in the distance, was the unmistakable form of a small boat powering through the waves at high speed. Mounted on the bow was a massive gun, pointed straight at us.
"So much for that easy sailing. It looks like this trip is about to get interesting," I said, hopping to my feet.
"But, I thought you said that we would be safe this far out."
"I thought we would be," I replied.
I went down into the salon and immediately regretted not taking the time to clean up the mess. I rifled through the shelves looking for my binoculars, but they were nowhere to be found. Either Carlos appropriated them, or they were lost somewhere in the detritus that covered the entire cabin.
"So much for that idea," I said out loud, returning to the cockpit where I could see the boat closing on us. Details of the speeding vessel were coming into focus now. It had the same general shape as the Cuban gunboat that had plagued my existence, but something was different.
Where the Cuban boat had been dilapidated, this boat was pristine. It practically shone in the brilliant morning sun. Absent were the streaks of brown rust flowing from the deck fittings. There was no smoke bellowing from the back of the boat, only a steady white rooster-tail of spray and the twin diverging lines of a clean wake. Even in the strange yellow light of morning, I could see a reddish orange pontoon that ran all the way around the small boat. This was no Cuban Patrol boat.
"It's the Coast Guard," I told Jaye, my voice betraying the shock that I felt.
"Like the US Coast Guard?" She asked, equally surprised.
"Yeah. Thank god."
"I hate to burst your bubble there, Chase, but I don't think that is much better. We just left Cuba. Illegally."
I considered this as I watched the boat approach. The truth of our trip to Cuba was not an option. We would have to lie, and we would have to lie well.
"You're right. But there is no way that they know for sure that we were in Cuba. If they ask, we're just out for a sail. We left Marathon about a week and a half ago and are circumnavigating Cuba."
Jaye nodded her understanding and then asked about the one big hole in my plan. "What about th
e mess and how we look? I mean, it looks like we got robbed and I'm literally wearing a Cuban officer's pants."
"The storm that rolled through last night tossed us about and beat us up. Sailing can be rough, and if I know much about the Coasties, it's that few of them know much at all about sailing. As for your pants? We'll just have to get lucky."
"I hope you're right," she replied, obviously unsure.
"Trust me. Just follow my lead and let me do the talking," I said.
"Fine, but do a better job talking than you did last time, huh?"
"That wasn't my fault," I protested.
"Sure it wasn't."
"Fine, whatever," I said capitulating. "Please tell me you have a passport. That will probably be the first thing they ask for."
"Yeah, I always hide one when I fly into foreign countries on business," she replied matter-of-factly.
"One?" I asked. "How many do you have? And more importantly, will it pass if they check it?"
"It's my real one. I stashed it in the plane when I landed. I always use a fake when in country. It'll pass."
"Great. Where is it?" I asked.
"Should be in the red folder on the left couch. And by the way, hide that folder."
"Right," I said, disappearing down the companionway. Once again I waded through all of my belongings scattered throughout the cabin, but I found the folder Jaye had mentioned right where she said it would be. Inside was a worn U.S. Passport with her picture in it. I stuffed it in my back pocket and retrieved my passport and my captain's license from their hiding place in the v-berth.
The Coast Guard response boat was close enough now that I could hear the low hum of its dual outboard engines. A distorted electronic voice rang out like a siren, easily drowning the sounds of the boat's quiet four-stroke engines.
"Sailing vessel, maintain speed and course. This is the United States Coast Guard. We are coming alongside."
I complied, keeping Paramour steady on her course, just as I had thought to do when Bardales had tracked us down and boarded us the day before. But this time I was much less apprehensive about the experience.