by Glen Robins
“The man who asked the question furrowed his brow, then translated for the others. There was a discussion. I caught bits and pieces of it, but they spoke too fast and too softly for me to understand much of it. ‘What is your business in Cartagena?’ he asked.
“In the distance I could see tension in the rope that dangled off the lead raft. The men were moving, possibly surfacing. That wouldn’t be good.
“The things I had going for me at this point were the fact that both my boat and the Coast Guard cutter had their stern lights on and the noise the cutter had made as it motored toward me. Hopefully my men would put two and two together and recognize the danger.
“‘I need to resupply,’ I said. ‘Food, medicine, canvas, water. You know, the usual.’
“This opened up another discussion among them. My hopes of this ending quickly and them moving on grew.
“‘Are you alone?’ he asked.
“‘I am,’ I said. ‘Just a solo journey to a few places I’ve never been.’
“The sailors talked this over. ‘We need to search your vessel,’ the officer said.
“My mind raced, taking a visual tour in the blink of an eye through the cabin belowdecks as I had last seen it. All of the equipment needed for this dive and anything incriminating was under the water with my men. There was, however, personal effects for each of them. That would beg a few questions.
“‘Come on aboard,’ I said, gesturing with my hand.
“Two of the men stayed on their boat while two others, including the man who spoke English, boarded the Admiral Risty. I tried my best to control my breathing and my heart rate. Some nervousness would be expected, but I had to avoid looking at my watch or at the water where I expected my men to surface.
“‘It doesn’t look like you’re alone, my friend,’ he said warily.
“I swallowed hard and thought quickly. ‘I don’t ordinarily sail alone. But my crew needed a rest and I need some time away from the island. Can’t go home just now. Trouble with the missus, if you know what I mean.’
“The man gave me a wry smile and explained to his companion what I had said. The second man also grinned and nodded his head.
“‘What island?’ he asked.
“‘Grand Cayman,’ I said.
“‘How long do you plan to be away?’ I use a deeper voice with my guests when I impersonate the Coast Guard officer.
“‘Not long,’ I answered. “Less than a week, I’d imagine.’
“‘I see,’ he said. ‘And you don’t have supplies for a week?’
“‘I left in such a hurry.’ I hid my face, as if ashamed or embarrassed. ‘I had to.’
‘This brought a chuckle from the sailors. ‘We’ll be on our way as soon as we finish our inspection of your boat.’
“They looked under seat cushions, in the head, in the galley cabinets, and checked under the rugs for trap doors. They inspected my storage compartments in the cabin and returned to the cockpit. Satisfied, they wished me well and climbed back over the rail to their own ship.
“I was glad they headed northeast instead of turning to the west where the two black rafts bobbed in the surf. I waited until they were out of sight and I could only faintly hear their engine before I pulled up my anchor and backed the boat to where the rafts were.
“As quickly as I could, I reset my anchor, then extended myself as far as I could to try to grab the line on the lead raft. When I couldn’t, I found my gaffer. With the gaffer, I was able to get hold of the line on the bow of the raft and pull it in. Once I had it in my hand, I gave two quick tugs, a signal that it was OK to surface. There was no response. I tugged again and felt a faint pressure, then more weight. Wasting no time, I began to haul the rope upward as fast as I could, all the while keeping an eye out and an ear open for the Coast Guard Cutter. I was pulling with all my strength and yet the pile of rope on the stern deck was not growing very fast. Sweat began to pour off my forehead and face. It was hard work. Bubbles began to swarm around the swim step and I soon realized why the rope felt so heavy. All four men were clipped onto the line. I was dragging up eight hundred pounds of men and gear.
“Anthony was the first one to breach the surface. Weak and pale, he gasped for air and clung to the swim step while the others popped to the surface on either side of him. Two of them didn’t look much better.
“Tino, the last one to emerge from the depths, was held by Manny, who tugged desperately on the loop atop Tino’s vest to bring him to the surface. He frantically turned him face up in the water, urging him to breathe. Willy, the strongest of my crew members, patted his face, thumped his chest, and shook his shoulders. No response. The others watched hopelessly.
“I yelled for them to get him up on the swim step as I hurried over the gunwale. My CPR training came back to me. I removed his regulator from his mouth, tilted his head back, checked his airway for obstructions, then shifted him onto his side so the water in his mouth could flow out. I repositioned him and gave two quick breathes into Tino’s mouth. Still no response. I began compressions on his chest, pumping as hard as I dared in desperation. This went on for twenty minutes while the others looked on in horror.
“Anthony finally stopped me. ‘Boss, it’s no use. He’s gone and we need to get out of here.’
“I collapsed and wailed out loud in the anguish of my soul. I had failed. Tino was gone. It was like losing my son all over again.”
Chapter Nine
Three and a Half Years Before Meeting Collin Cook
En route from Cartagena, Colombia, to Jamaica
My emotions are running high. It’s time to move. I stand and turn toward the stern, collecting my fishing pole. I bait it and cast it, then start working on another pole.
Rob comes around the lounge clumsily. “Let me help you with that,” he says. It is apparent to me that he also needs something to do to burn off the collected tension.
“Look,” he says, “I’m sorry to make you relive all of this tragedy. I—uh, we—understand if you don’t want to continue.” He looks at Lukas for reassurance.
Lukas also stands but is not sure what to do or where to go. He’s not a fisherman, and with his bum leg, he’s not terribly adept at walking on a boat that is bobbing. “He’s right,” he says. “If it’s too much . . .”
I wave it off and switch gears, patting the gunwale as I start. “The Admiral Risty was my second sailboat. I was its second owner.
“The Rusty Pelican, a forty-eight feet schooner with a main mast that stood twenty-six feet above the main deck, was my first sailboat. It had two owners before me. For its size, it could really move. Before our fateful mission to Colombia, I loved that boat as much as I had ever loved any inanimate object.
“Shortly after completing our second mission, my men and I were fishing off the coast of Haiti. That is when those pirates took my boat from me. I presumed at the time that they had caught wind of our smuggling runs and wanted to stop us. I was fine with that. I had no plans to continue doing what we had done because the unnamed man had assured me that my involvement would be short-lived.
“To the pirates, I simply said, ‘Come aboard and see for yourselves. I have nothing to hide.’”
I reel in my line, talking as I do. My bait is gone, so I grab another sardine out of the bait tank and hook him in.
“Unfortunately,” I say as I whip my pole and cast that little sardine ten meters aft, “they took me up on the offer. They did not find evidence of any drugs or contraband, but they did find my cash stored in a compartment in my stateroom. Their leader yelped with glee, wagging the loot angrily for all to see. ‘Aha, I knew it,’ he said. Then he ordered me and my crew off my boat. He forced us into the dinghy at gunpoint. As we drove away, he torched my boat. We watched in stunned horror as our home and livelihood went up in flames. It was devastating.
“The good thing was those pirates didn’t kill us, and the Rusty Pelican was properly insured. The insurance company settled with me quickly and fairly. Very f
airly. Unfortunately, that was the second strike against me for my crew members. Three days in a dinghy with no motor and no oars was more stress than most can handle. The first strike had been when I got started working for the unnamed man.
“The hijacking convinced my crew that we were being punished for our misdeeds. Anthony, my first mate, was able to persuade them to stay. Really, there were no other jobs to be found with the Great Recession in full swing. Nonetheless, he had to use his people skills to convince them. In the end, they felt as I did, that it was just bad luck, not punishment. And it wasn’t all bad, either.
“With the proceeds from the insurance settlement, I went to work finding a new boat. A brand new one would be too expensive. I couldn’t find anything affordable in the same size range as my first boat. I was very discouraged until a friend of mine, who let me stay onboard with him temporarily, told me where he obtained his boat: the US Coast Guard auction sale in Miami.”
Rob listens as he reels and casts, too. Lukas is holding himself steady against the back of the Captain’s chair, using the boom to help balance himself when the swells come. They are engrossed in the story, so I keep going.
“When I arrived at the auction facility there, I was overwhelmed by the quantity and quality of the watercraft I saw. Hundreds of boats that had been seized by the Coast Guard, the DEA, and other initialed agencies. Most of them had belonged to those involved in the drug trade. Some had been owned by tax evaders or lost in bankruptcy after the economy melted down. Many showed signs of age and abuse. Others were in pristine shape. The Admiral Risty was somewhere in between when I first looked at her the day before the auction was to be held.
“After my initial walk-through, I went to my hotel room and researched everything I could find about the vessel online. There wasn’t much. However, buried several pages deep in a search and seizure report from the DEA, I learned that she was somewhat of a legend in her day; one of the fastest sailing yachts the Caribbean had ever seen. The arresting officer and his crew clocked her at nearly twenty-four knots at full sheets. Her main mast, like this one,” I motion with my chin at the ten-meter pole rising from the center of the hull, “was taller than most other boats its size. Built for the perfect combination of speed and luxury, she was a magnificent vessel.
“When it came time to bid, the initial offers were slow to come in. The Admiral was not in great shape. The interior had been torn apart, her sails were in disrepair, and the rudder broken. Her exterior was bleached, faded, and scarred. It would require a great deal of tender loving care to bring her back to her former glory. But, having learned of her speed, I felt she had potential to attract a certain caliber of clientele that could boost my reputation and set me apart from my competition among the tourist crowd.
“I mapped out my strategy for auction day. I would play it cool and never show too much interest. Wandering amongst the boats and potential buyers prior to the opening of the formal bidding, I would try to ascertain the interest level for this unique diamond in the rough. I hoped that the fancier boats on the block that day would draw the interest of the attendees.
“Arriving two hours before the bidding began, I followed my strategy. Indeed, my hunch had been correct. The majority of attendees and bidders seemed most interested in the many fine boats on the auction block that day. Apparently, few were interested in restoration projects. The auction began with a hundred-foot, multi-million-dollar yacht which sold for a fraction of its value. Dozens of high-speed power boats and sleek luxury yachts were on the docket as well and many in the crowd seemed anxious to get through the list so they could vie for those prized gems. Much to my delight, the Admiral Risty was second on the list that day and only two other people even bothered to try for it. My bid was $1,000 above the highest bid to that point and came in just before the clock expired. It left me with $18,000 remaining from my insurance settlement.”
Rob and I continue casting and reeling, though neither one of us is too intent on catching anything. We are mostly interested in keeping ourselves occupied. Because of the wind and noise from the waves, I am almost shouting so that both men can hear me.
“It cost me $1,000 to transport my newly acquired vessel from the auction yard to the marina in Fort Lauderdale, where the Admiral would be dry docked while I set about repairing her hull. There, I was able to procure the parts and materials I needed and rent a work area near the dock where I could replace the damaged rudder, repair the tattered sails, and clean up the ratty furnishings. I sanded down her exterior and applied a new fiberglass skin, then painted her name across the transom. The rent cost me $1000. The parts cost me another $15,000. Luckily, my labor was free, the advantage of learning the skill of repairing and building from my father.
“It took me ten long days to make her seaworthy. I started at sunrise each day and worked late into the evening using lights loaned to me by the marina operator. When I set sail from Fort Lauderdale, there was still much work to be done, but at least she was watertight and navigable.
“As soon as I arrived back home at Blossom Village, I set to work on my new asset. I began to sand the cabinets and the floor inside. I restored the deck and worked on the gunwales. Every inch of electrical wiring was inspected and much of it replaced, along with light fixtures, the refrigerator, the stove, and the head. Both the engine and the generator needed major overhauls, as well. It took me five weeks to refurbish her when it was all said and done. The results were worth all the blood, sweat, and tears I put into her. The Admiral Risty was fully restored to her prime. She was once again beautiful and fully functional. I knew she would be the envy of all the sailors around the Caymans. It made me proud to hear them whistle and coo as I sailed her back to my slip in George Town.
“Now listen up,” I say as I finish reeling in my empty line. Something keeps stealing my bait. I guess I am too preoccupied talking and not paying enough attention to the tension on my line. “This is where it gets interesting.”
Both men look at each other, bemused. Rob says, “This whole thing has been interesting.”
“I’m glad you think so. But let me tell you, things about this boat are even more interesting. You see, during my weeks of labor, I discovered a few hidden features that were not brought to my attention before I purchased the boat. There were cleverly concealed compartments in the walls next to the bunks on each side at midships, and under the floor in the aft stateroom, that were perfect for hiding humans as well as contraband. The cabinet behind the back panel of the microwave I found by accident as I was rewiring the electrical system. There was enough space to hold a small duffle bag. When I removed the head, I found a stowage area behind the toilet would hold a large duffle bag. These secret gems made me smile, even though I had no immediate use for them. You never know when such things might come in handy.”
Rob laughs out loud. “Yeah, Collin told us about his time in there. Poor guy’s got claustrophobia like no one else I know. He hates confined spaces.”
Lukas shakes his head and gestures for me to continue.
“These secret compartments would have been useful during our first two smuggling runs for the unnamed man. Until I met your friend, Collin, I had never hidden a person in them. There was never a need and never a plan, but the possibility was always there. Collin Cook, your unassuming friend who found me and hired me to take him to Jamaica, became the only reason I ever needed to use those features of my beloved boat.”
“So,” says Rob, “for this third run, the one to Colombia, you were in this boat’s predecessor, the Admiral Risty, is that right?”
“That’s right. We had been sailing her together for maybe a month before the unnamed man came to me with the third offer.”
“So, you knew what she was capable of and were familiar with her?” Rob is looking off in the distance as he speaks, somewhat distracted. “How did you finish the job?”
“Yes,” I say, looking off in the same direction as Rob. It is apparent that he has spotted the same thing I have.
There is a swarm of bait fish near the surface. This is an indication of larger fish beneath, chasing them upward.
“We had to finish. It wasn’t easy. Our hearts were heavy. Our motivation gone. But we had to finish.”
Rob baits his hook and casts toward the area where the surface is burbling. I follow suit as I continue the story. Taking the opening Rob has provided, I move on to the next phase.
“My radar showed the Colombian Coast Guard ship lurking in the area. My navigation software had the ability to tag known vessels, so I tracked its every movement from the time it pulled away from my boat. I had to move quickly because there was no guarantee they wouldn’t return. In fact, I considered it a likely occurrence. While we all mourned the loss of Tino, the most playful of my crew members, it was imperative to finish the mission and not get caught. The four of them had managed to retrieve the goods from only two of the six containers on the first dive.
“I shook my head as I took inventory. It was wrapped in a net and had floated to the surface with the aid of specialized buoys.
“Anthony and Manny gently carried Tino’s body into the aft stateroom. They laid him on bunk bed while I stowed the contraband in every cabinet and compartment the Admiral had.
“No one spoke. The realization that our worst-case scenario had occurred cast a pall over the remaining crew.
“‘Men,’ I said. ‘We have a choice here. We can abandon this mission, or we can finish it. It’s up to you.’
“A long moment passed in silence.
“Anthony cleared his throat. His eyes were fixed on a spot on the floor near my feet and never moved upward. ‘If we quit. He died in vain. If we give up, we fail. If we fail, those bastards will hunt us down and kill us. We will all die. We must finish.’
“Willy spoke next. ‘To honor Tino …’ he couldn’t continue. He didn’t need to.
“Manny nodded his head. ‘Then we go. We finish this thing.’ He turned and went up top. A few seconds later, I heard the clanging of air tanks and dive gear.