Sailors and Sirens

by Charles Dougherty

  As Schmidt tied off the dinghy, I climbed aboard and took a turn around the deck, tugging on the stainless-steel standing rigging. She was all tuned up; everything felt good.

  Schmidt unlocked the companionway and took out the drop boards. He sat on the cockpit coaming, watching me, a smile on his face.

  When he saw me looking at the bare headstay, he said, "There was a junky roller furling headstay when I bought her. I trashed that and spent the money on three good headsails instead of replacing it. There's a 150, a 100, and a storm jib in bags in the forepeak. Never got around to rigging her for a spinnaker. The main is new — three reef points. Like I said, she's ready to go anywhere, as long as you aren't picky about her looks."

  "How about the engine?" I asked. "An Atomic four?"

  "No, the former owner put a little Yanmar diesel in. That's one reason I bought her. I never liked those old Atomic fours. Every one I ever messed with leaked gasoline. Dependable, but dangerous."

  "Yeah," I said, climbing down the companionway.

  "Look her over," he said. "I'll stay up here out of the way, but holler if you have a question."

  "Thanks," I said, as I took in the area below deck.

  His description was accurate; it was in rough shape, but clean. There were three sails in bags in the forepeak. I opened the bags and exposed enough of each to see that they were relatively new, in good condition. I went into the head and pumped the flush handle on the commode a few strokes, watching as the murky seawater from the anchorage rinsed the bowl.

  "Holding tank?" I asked, raising my voice a little.

  "Yeah, with a Y-valve. She's legal, but the tank's awful small. Same with the fresh water tank. There's only like 12 or 15 gallons of fresh water capacity."

  "That's typical," I said, taking the battered plywood cover off the engine compartment. I studied the little diesel for a minute or two, looking for leaks. I didn't find any. Pulling out the dipstick, I found the oil level between the marks. I raised the dipstick to my nose and sniffed. Sweet; there was no diesel fuel in the crankcase.

  "Fire her up, please," I said.

  Schmidt reached for the instrument panel. "Here goes."

  The little engine roared to life at his first touch of the key. I put the cover back on, but it was still noisy. I poked my head through the companionway and drew my hand across my throat.

  When the engine went quiet, I asked, "Does the stove work?"

  "Yeah, about as well as you can expect. It's alcohol, probably original."

  "Ground tackle?" I asked.

  Schmidt stood up and opened the cockpit locker, waving me up to look. "Twenty-five pound plow, 25 feet of chain, 200 feet of half-inch nylon three-strand," he said.

  "I'll take her," I said. "Wire transfer to your bank okay? We can do it while you wait."

  "You don't want a sea trial?"

  I shook my head. "You have the paperwork?"

  "In my car," Schmidt said. "The club manager's a notary."

  "Okay. Let's go ashore and get this done," I said.

  "All right."

  A few minutes later, we sat in the club manager's office. Schmidt signed the back of the title and a blank bill of sale that the club manager tore from a pad, and the manager notarized both of his signatures.

  "I didn't get your name, except for Finn," Schmidt said. "That first, or last?"

  "Just leave it blank," I said. "It's going to be a gift for my nephew, but I don't know how my sister and her husband will want it registered. Insurance, you know?"

  "Okay," Schmidt said. "You don't need to do a wire transfer; a personal check's okay."

  "No problem," I said. "It's all set."

  I took out my Phorcys phone and called a number from the directory. Phorcys handled their own wire transfers; I wasn't sure how it worked, but it did. When a woman answered with an extension number, I said, "Hi, it's Finn. That wire transfer we talked about earlier? It's for $6,500, to Jack Schmidt. He's here with me. I'll put him on and he can give you his account details."

  I gave the phone to Schmidt, and he answered a few questions for her. After a minute, he looked surprised and glanced at me. "You want to talk to Finn?" he asked. After a couple of seconds, he turned to me. "She says we're done, unless you need something else."

  I took the phone and thanked her, then disconnected the call.

  "She said I should call my bank and verify that the money's there," Schmidt said.

  I nodded. "I'll wait, just in case."

  He took out his cellphone and placed the call. It took a minute for him to work through the menu to get a human on the other end. Once he explained what he needed, he waited a few seconds, grinned, and said, "No, that's all I need. Thanks."

  "Man, that's slick," Schmidt said. "Congratulations on your new boat. You can leave it on the mooring for a while. I can call you when I get another boat. I have your number from when you called me this morning."

  "Thanks, Jack. But I'll get her out of your way later today. Good luck finding your next boat. It's been a pleasure." I picked up the papers and stood.

  "When you come back," the manager said, "just tell whoever answers the intercom at the gate that you're here for Narnia. I'll let the staff know. And if you have any trouble with the boat, I'll give you a hand with whatever you need." He handed me a business card.

  "Good enough," I said. "Thanks, gentlemen."

  I stopped at a grocery store and a marine supply store on my way back to the hotel. My trip to the Bahamas should be short; I kept the hotel room and my rental car, in case anybody was checking up on me. Besides, that saved me taking everything with me. If things went as I expected, I might lose the boat on my way back.

  At the hotel, I lugged my purchases up to my room and packed everything into two new waterproof duffle bags — one for groceries and one for everything else. I would eat from cans for the next few days, unless I found a restaurant in the Bahamas.

  Satisfied with my inventory, I hefted the bags, testing their weight. They were manageable. I slung the strap of one over my left shoulder and picked up the other one. I left my room and locked it, holding the key in my hand. When I set the bags in the trunk of the rental car, I unzipped one and put the room key in it.

  Leaving the rental car in long-term parking at the Miami airport would provide more misdirection for anyone keeping tabs on me. On the way there, I stopped at a print-and-ship store in a strip shopping center. In my laptop, there were encrypted files to produce several useful forged documents. Today, I needed a U.S. Coast Guard Vessel Documentation Certificate for Narnia with an owner's name matching my current identity. I took the laptop inside and logged onto the store's Wi-Fi. Filling in the blanks on the form, I sent the output to a color laser printer.

  I retrieved my form and paid the fee. Narnia's new document might not stand up to a forensic examination, but it was good enough to get me through customs in Bimini. I put the form with my other paperwork and stowed it with the laptop in one of my duffel bags.

  Twenty minutes later, I pulled into the long-term parking lot at the airport; traffic was light in the middle of the day. I retrieved my two bags from the trunk and caught the shuttle bus to the main terminal. I walked through the departures area and caught the escalator down to baggage claim. Following the signs to ground transportation, I got in the taxi queue. The trip to the yacht club took about 15 minutes. I paid the driver and walked through the gate, following a member's car.

  I was pleased that I didn't have to call for admittance; that was one less contact that could pin down my itinerary. There was no reason to think anyone was watching, but old habits die hard. Besides, in my line of work, you just never knew.

  The tattered inflatable was tied to the club's dinghy dock where I asked Schmidt to leave it when we came ashore a couple of hours ago. I dropped my two duffle bags in the dinghy and fired up the outboard. When I got to Narnia, I tied the dinghy alongside and set the bags on the side deck.

  I climbed aboard and took the bags be
low, stashing them in the forepeak. While I was there, I positioned the 150 percent jib under the forward hatch and went back on deck. Opening the hatch from above, I pulled the bagged sail through the opening of the hatch and set it on the foredeck.

  It was time to bring the dinghy aboard. I freed the main halyard and hooked its snap shackle to my belt. Stepping over the side into the dinghy, I fastened the halyard's snap shackle to the D-ring on the dinghy's bow. I unclamped the outboard from the stern and set it on Narnia's side deck.

  Climbing back aboard the big boat, I untied the dinghy's painter and used the halyard to hoist the dinghy aboard. I opened the air valves, and while the air hissed from the dinghy, I took the outboard back to its storage mount on the stern rail, clamping it in place. Returning to the dinghy, I rolled it up, forcing the last of the air from it. I bundled it up and lashed it to the cabin top in front of the mast.

  Back in the cockpit, I opened the port locker and found the dipstick for Narnia's fuel tank. The dipstick was hanging next to a deck-plate key. Using the key, I unscrewed the deck-plate marked "Fuel" and checked the level. The 25-gallon tank was full. That would give me a range under power of close to 300 miles. With a decent sailing breeze, I wouldn't need more fuel for a round trip to Eleuthera. If I were forced to motor rather than sail, I could fill up at Chubb Cay, on the east side of the Bahama Bank.

  I started the engine and let it idle while I uncovered the mainsail. Once I stowed the cover, I went up on the foredeck and hanked the jib onto the headstay, ready to hoist. I rigged the jib sheets and clipped the jib halyard to the head of the sail. Stepping back to the mast, I raised the mainsail, pausing for a moment to study it. Seeing that the reefing line was rigged through the first reef point, I nodded.

  With a last look around to make sure I didn't forget anything, I went forward and dropped the mooring pennant. The light northwest wind blew Narnia's bow off to port as I scrambled back to the cockpit. At the helm, I shifted into forward gear and opened the throttle.

  With the mainsheet running free, I let the mainsail flog while I threaded my way through the other moored boats. Once in the clear, I hauled in the sheet, feeling the boat heel as the mainsail began to draw. Motorsailing out of the anchorage, I rounded Watson Island and turned into the main ship channel, heading east. In a few minutes, I was in the ocean.

  Bimini is a little over forty miles due east of Miami, but crossing the Gulf Stream at a 90-degree angle on a slow-moving sailboat makes it seem farther. As I left the coast of Florida behind, the wind shifted to a steady 12 knots from the west-southwest, an ideal breeze for my trip. Narnia rode the gentle swell at about 5 knots through the water. Looking at my handheld GPS showed that I was being set to the north at 3 to 4 knots by the Stream's current. Without steering to correct for that, I would miss Bimini by miles.

  A little vector math told me I should correct my course by steering roughly to the southeast. This was no surprise; it's well known to sailors along Florida's east coast. My velocity made good to Bimini would be between three and four knots, assuming the wind held. It was late afternoon, now; I would be in Bimini early tomorrow morning.

  Stopping to check in with Bahamian customs in Bimini meant I wouldn't make it to Eleuthera until sometime the day after tomorrow. By then my target, John Hawkins, would be settled in his compound. That should increase his vulnerability, so I wasn't too worried about the delay.

  Once I left Bimini, I could lash the tiller and catnap until I was across the Bahama Bank. There was too much traffic in the Gulf Stream for me to risk napping this evening, but I would be well-rested by the time I got to Eleuthera. I should arrive in time to scope out his defenses in daylight. I would do my work the evening of my arrival and be underway for Miami by daylight the next morning.

  10

  My stop in Bimini to clear customs went as I expected it would. An hour later, I was on my way across the Bahama Bank. It was early the next afternoon when I anchored between Porgy Point and Sandy Cay on the west side of Eleuthera. My trip from Bimini was an easy one, with a nice, steady breeze.

  To my surprise, there were no other anchored boats within sight. Lady Luck was smiling on me. Most cruising boats anchored in Governor's Harbor or Rock Sound, both of which offered all-around protection from wind shifts.

  My spot was about midway between the more popular anchorages, and it was exposed to the west. That was all right; the weather was settled, and there was a nice steady southeasterly wind. I didn't plan to be here for long.

  I inflated the dinghy and launched it, tying it alongside while I retrieved the outboard from the stern rail. I put the outboard on the side deck and climbed down into the dinghy.

  Once I clamped the outboard on the transom, I fired it up and went exploring. I poked along the shore until I found a sandy spot where I could beach the dinghy and secure it to a good-sized piece of driftwood.

  Walking along the shore to the north, I came to a sandy road and followed it to the east. The island of Eleuthera was about a half-mile wide at this point. I walked across to the protected water of Savannah Sound. There's a settlement by that name, as well as the body of water. I crossed the main part of the island about a half-a-mile north of what passed for downtown Savannah Sound.

  The Sound itself was a narrow body of shallow water, about two thousand yards wide. It was separated from the open ocean by a two-mile-long, narrow peninsula. The peninsula was less than 150 yards across for most of its length. The target's compound was on the north end of the peninsula; I could see it well enough from where I stood.

  Access to the compound from land would involve a trek of roughly three miles from where I stood. The route would take me through the most populated parts of the area. My plan was to swim across the Sound; I could bypass the wall that separated the target's compound from its neighbors by doing that. Using a camera with a telephoto lens, I studied the compound. There was no sign of life, but I was looking at the back side of the villa. It faced the ocean on the other side of the peninsula.

  Phorcys provided me with detailed aerial photographs of the north end of the peninsula, including the target's villa. What I could see matched what I expected. This was an isolated spot; Hawkins might not feel the need for sophisticated electronic security. From what I could tell, the gate in the wall was closed, secured with a chain. There was no guard there, but a man like Hawkins could have a few thugs with him for security. From my briefing, I knew to expect two or three armed men. Hawkins might have a woman with him, but I wouldn't know until I was inside his perimeter.

  Not wanting to attract attention, I moved on, walking south along the waterfront of the Sound for a few hundred yards. Before reaching the town, I turned west onto another sandy street. In less than a minute, I reached Queen's Highway, the main north-south road that followed the island's spine. I walked north along the highway until it intersected the road I took to reach the Sound when I first arrived. I followed it back to the west shore of the island and strolled along the water's edge until I reached my dinghy.

  Back aboard Narnia, I rummaged in the cockpit locker until I found a small tarp I noticed when Jack Schmidt showed me the anchor before I bought the boat. I stretched the tarp over the boom, rigging it to shade the cockpit from the blistering sun. Retrieving a bottle of water from below, I settled in the cockpit to rest and wait for darkness to fall. I felt a little sleepy, so I set an alarm on my phone for midnight, just in case.

  When my alarm went off, it took me a moment to remember where I was. As consciousness returned, I sat up and looked around. There was enough moonlight to let me see that I was still alone in the anchorage. I went below and splashed water on my face as I collected my thoughts.

  No people were out and about when I was ashore earlier, so I didn't expect to see anyone in the wee hours of the morning. Still, I took a lightweight, black neoprene wetsuit from my duffle bag and put it on. Aside from camouflage, it would provide protection from the sharp coral I would encounter on my swim across Savannah Sou
nd.

  I buckled a waterproof pouch around my waist and picked up my snorkel, mask, and flippers. The pouch held a razor-sharp folding combat knife, as well as a garrote fashioned from a stainless-steel-wire fishing leader. An inexpensive cellphone with a camera that didn't have an infrared filter was in there, as well. Using the phone's camera, I could spot infrared beams that might trigger intrusion alarms at the target's villa.

  Ready, I went up on deck and stepped down into the dinghy. After a moment's reflection, I opted to swim ashore instead. The distance was short, and the outboard was noisy enough that it might attract attention. Even though I didn't see any people earlier, there was no point in taking the risk of waking a light sleeper somewhere nearby. I was going to get wet anyway. I sat down in the dinghy and put on my snorkeling gear. Rolling over the side without making a big splash, I swam ashore. Taking off the snorkeling gear, I clipped it to a big carabiner on the belt that held my pouch.

  I kept to the shadows along the side of the road as I crossed the island. Within ten minutes, I waded into the rougher water of Savannah Sound. The inlet from the open ocean was less than half a mile from where I stood. The ocean swell rolled in, piling up in the shallows. That was good. The sloppy waves would provide cover as I made my way across to Hawkins's compound.

  This afternoon, I noticed from the wave pattern in the Sound that there was a reef stretching across the sound from shore to shore. With my dive booties to protect my feet, I could wade most of the way across. I left my mask and the heel straps of my flippers hooked to the carabiner and worked my way out onto the reef. The water wasn't as deep as I expected it would be, barely coming above my knees.

  Wading while keeping a low profile was tough, given the wave action. After being knocked down a couple of times, I crept into the deeper water on the side of the reef away from the inlet. With the reef between me and the ocean, the sea state was a little smoother. I put the flippers on and swam along the back side of the reef. When I got to the opposite shore, I hooked the flippers back on my belt and waded along the shoreline in a crouch until I was past the wall that protected Hawkins's compound.