Pardners

by Roy F. Chandler

  Zero said, "We will wait until we can barely see our way through this accursed pass. Then we will follow the sailboat as far back as we can. When it becomes dark, we will be able to remain distant because we will see his masthead light—if he has one. If there is no light, we will move closer. His sails will show, and we will see them.

  "Our engine will barely idle, and they will not hear us. When there are no other running lights in sight, we will slowly close up, and when we come alongside, we will use our floodlight. They will see our guns, and they will drop their sails. What choice will they have?

  "Do not shoot into their boat unless you have to. If they attempt to escape, we can catch them easily. Then we can carefully shoot the men aboard.

  "Do not injure the boat. We do not wish to patch bullet holes. We want the best price for such a fine craft, and holes or patches raise questions.

  "I will control our boat. You will board the sailboat and move the gringos onto the handsome swim platform at the stern."

  Commander Zero had few teeth, but he showed what he had in a bitter smile.

  "When the gringos are secured, you, Jose, will tie this boat to our new boat, and you, Ramon, will hold your weapon on the gringos. I will come aboard our handsome new yacht, and each of you may shoot one of the gringos. Do not waste ammunition or fire unnecessary shots because you are enjoying yourselves."

  Zero's smile broadened. "Of course, we will carefully search them first. Gringos hide money in special belts, and I recall one who had his money fastened with a pin inside a pocket. It pays to search gringos carefully, Amigos.

  Alpha judged the wind steady from the south at about ten knots—perfect sailing weather. The gulf rolled in soft swells, and the Oyster swished her stately way eastward with little pitch or roll.

  They were more than five miles offshore, and daylight was in its last moments. Bravo hung the binoculars around his neck and used the mast steps to gain height. He climbed facing the barely visible shoreline behind them, but he did not climb far.

  Bravo did not use his binoculars. He looked shortly before dropping to the cabin top, then down into the cockpit.

  "They're coming, Don." His grin was wolfish. "I think we read their play book."

  "Good, how far back are they?"

  "Just outside the buoys, I would judge. They are hard to see. My guess is that they are keeping our masthead in sight."

  Byrne nodded, "That's what I would do.

  "They will loaf along back there until after dark, then they have two choices. They can come on like thunder, pretending they are going to pass, before they turn in hard alongside, or they can slip up quietly and be on us while we are still day dreaming."

  Bravo pursed his lips in thought. "If I were them and I had a lot of armed men, I would drive right in on us, but if there are only three of them? That is not a big advantage."

  "No it isn't, or it wouldn't be if we were similarly armed." Alpha considered. "My guess is they figure we haven't got much weaponry . . ."

  Bravo interrupted, "Which we haven't."

  "And they will not expect us to be waiting for them."

  Bravo agreed but said nothing.

  Alpha continued, "I will have to maneuver the boat, so you will have to do the shooting. That all right with you, Tommy?"

  Bravo nodded, and Byrne did not doubt his willingness.

  "They will not wait long. If there are no other boat lights in view, they might as well get on with it. So, a little after dark, we will drop the main—then we will not have to fool with that rigging. We will sail on the jib, so that they will be able to see the sail to home in on. We will use the engine but leave it quietly idling."

  Bravo studied the sky. There was overcast, and that would darken the night. The pirates would like that, but so would he and Alpha. Neither side would be able to clearly see the other until almost the last moment. In this case, surprise would actually be on the Oyster's side, because they would be ready and waiting.

  Byrne continued with his scheming.

  "I figure they will ease close, then gun their engine and slide right up alongside. They will have us under their guns in an instant, and they might have a spotlight to pin us in."

  Damn, Bravo hadn't thought about a light.

  Byrne said, "You'll be in the cockpit, Tommy. Keep your guns out of sight until you raise 'em to shoot.

  "We will look dumb and surprised until their boat gets almost beside us. Then I will pour the coal to our engine. This boat will tuck its stern and throw up a wake that they will not believe. If I time it right, their bow will come up out of the water even further with half the boat bottom showing. They won't be able to shoot, and that's when you come up with the shotgun."

  Byrne halted his explanation to warn, "You'll have to be braced hard, Tom. You've felt this boat squat when we give it full power, and if you aren't ready, it will throw you all over the cockpit. If that happens, our best chance will be gone."

  Shepard did not have to respond. He understood, and he would be ready.

  Byrne continued, "Your target will be the boat bottom below the waterline. It's got to be low and as far back as you can manage, Tommy. You've got to hole that boat so bad that they will not be able to do anything except plug leaks. Use rifled slugs, and empty the magazine into them."

  Alpha paused while they both visualized the scene. Then he went on. "I will keep accelerating, and you will pick up the Kalashnikov and keep them from shooting into us. Keep them ducking and diving until they discover they have to stop and save their boat."

  Alpha pursed his lips before adding, "If you get those slugs into her, some will go through both sides, and they will have water fountaining into the boat. The faster they go, the more water they will suck in. Unless they are some kind of master boat carpenters, I do not see how they can chase us at any speed at all."

  They got ready, and Bravo clipped his life line to a cockpit strong point. He loaded the Mossberg with Brenneke rifled slugs and practiced his shooting position. He needed to be able to swing because he could not know where the speedboat would appear. There was also no way to know which side of the boat the enemy would choose, so Shepard worked at both. He moved the Kalashnikov rifle's selector switch to semi-automatic, made sure a round was chambered, and placed the rifle in between—where he could grab it from either side of the cockpit. When Bravo used the rifle, he would aim, not just blast away.

  They got the mainsail down and furled tightly against its boom. Alpha cleated the main sheet tight. They needed no erratically swinging boom to distract them. The jib was roller furling and they decided that when Bravo finished shooting, he would roll the jib while Alpha concentrated on hiding them in the darkness. How well all of that went would decide what they would do next.

  Alpha started the big diesel, and buried beneath the Oyster's cockpit its low rumble was barely discernible. When the engine was warmed, Alpha jabbed the throttle a few times to test its readiness to respond and to allow Bravo to feel the powerful torque that would drop the boat's stern and create the huge wake that would surge both right and left until the boat got up to planing speed.

  Bravo made a slight adjustment to his safety line and believed himself ready. Alpha checked and memorized the compass heading—he needed to stay oriented. Then they settled back to wait.

  Commander Zero made his own preparations. He had idled along, patiently waiting for full dark and making certain no other boats or ships were about. He had held well back, making his course by the distant gleam of the sailboat's masthead light.

  Now he had begun closing in. He kept his approach as silent and as normal sounding as possible. He set his engine speed for a smooth easy closure and positioned his men along the port side. He would place that rail against the sailboat, and to the astonished and fearful gringos, his men would loom like armed giants.

  Moving in took time, but eventually Zero made out the loom of the sailboat and its single white sail. Close enough. He threw power to the outboard, and his boa
t's bow rose annoyingly high in the air, but speed surged, and he was almost alongside.

  Bravo heard him coming before the speedboat accelerated.

  He said softly, "Show time, Don." Byrne did not look around or acknowledge.

  Bravo sat in the cockpit, looking ahead as if watching the sail. His shotgun was held low where it was out of sight. He prayed silently that Alpha would time it right, because if he didn't, he, Bravo, could be absorbing a hail of bullets from whatever armament the enemy boat carried.

  The bow of the speedboat appeared in his eye corner. It seemed to hesitate an instant as a swell passed before it came even with the cockpit.

  Byrne turned, his jaw dropping in pretended surprise, but Bravo saw his fist ram the throttle full ahead. Bravo was braced and ready for the stupendous thrust that sunk him to water level before it heaved the Oyster ahead like a lunging whale.

  The Oyster's stern resurfaced on a monster of a wake that spread in a powerful surge, and Bravo's attention focused on the already high bow of the speedboat.

  Eyes along the speedboat's gunnel that had turned large with the diesel's mighty bellow were only peripherally noticed as Bravo's concentration tightened. Tom Shepard felt his shotgun rise, and the speedboat's bow rose on the Oyster's wave as if to flip the fast craft into some sort of waterborne wheelie.

  Bravo saw the speedboat's bottom all the way back to the central compartment that had once held the inboard engine. His bead front sight fell on the keel as far back as he could see it, and Bravo's mind said, "Perfect." He began to empty the shotgun.

  A good man with a pump shotgun can empty at least as fast as another with a semi-automatic gun, but Bravo did not hurry. He placed each round in a slightly different spot, and he believed every one went home. Bravo's heavy slugs hammered the speedboat for not more than three seconds.

  By then, the surprised and exasperated Zero had cut his own engine's speed and was attempting to resume his closure on the sailboat's side.

  Taken by surprise by the immense surge that had almost upended their boat, his crew was sprawled on the deck, and one had lost his grip on his rifle. Zero was about to curse them back into action when he saw waterspouts climbing from the belly of his boat.

  Instinct allowed him to chop his power, but it was a long moment before Zero could realize what had happened. The bellow of the sailboat's diesel had muffled the sound of shots. Because his boat was almost standing on end (curse the overweight outboard) he had been unable to see, but Zero had encountered bullet holes in other boats—mostly on those he had taken.

  Now he saw the sailboat disappearing in the night while his own craft was spouting water in many places. He shut down his engine, and amid mighty oaths and promises to shoot anyone not helping hard enough, he flipped on the floodlight he had been prepared to use and began slicing apart a life vest to plug the many holes.

  For minutes, Zero feared his boat would sink, but they kept stuffing holes, and finally he believed his bilge pump could handle the remaining inflow.

  They had been waiting for him. The awareness was bitter in Zero's mind. Somehow, the gringos had known, and they had allowed him to suck himself into their trap as if he were among the greatest of fools. Sour mortification settled in Commander Zero's soul.

  The chase was over, of course. His best hope would be to limp back through the bar-ridden channel to beach the battered boat and make permanent repairs, but it was a long way, and they would have to use extreme caution lest the damaged boat begin to leak where they could not patch it.

  Then Zero's hearing took hold. He looked up and knew with certainty that even that chance was being denied him. He wasted no time on his unsuspecting crew. He snatched at another life vest and struggled into it.

  Don Byrne held course, and after emptying his shotgun, Bravo came forward and began furling the rolling jib.

  He heard Byrne counting seconds.

  Bravo explained, "No chance to use the rifle, Don. When they went up on that wake, the crew fell out of sight, but I bored some serious holes in that boat's belly. They will be busy for a while, that is for sure."

  The Oyster heeled as Byrne turned from east to north. He watched his compass and held the new course dead on. After a moment he asked, "How many men did you see?"

  Byrne began to answer, but Alpha again threw the boat into a ninety-degree turn, and they were heading west, back toward the land they had left behind hours before.

  Bravo said, "I saw two crewmen, but the skipper had to be at the wheel. I figure that was all of them."

  Byrne was again counting aloud, and at the count of thirty he once more turned left ninety degrees and was returning to the south.

  The maneuvering did not surprise Shepard. Alpha was clearly running a box, and he would end up pointing at the speedboat's last known position. With serious holes to mend, both Alpha and Bravo expected the speedboat would not have gone far.

  Bravo said, "Byrne, if you make this work, I'll admit that you really are a good planner."

  An instant later, light flooded the water ahead of them, and within the glow, they could clearly see the speedboat dead in the water with her crew laboring—desperately patching leaks both men figured.

  Bravo spoke for them both. "Now that was nice of them."

  The powerful floodlight hid everything beyond its range. Anyone looking out could see only the dark of night. With sails furled and powering in from an unexpected direction, the Oyster closed relentlessly and undetected.

  Alpha was short. "Brace yourself."

  Bravo held the Kalashnikov in both hands and leaned forward against the cabin roof.

  For a short instant, the speedboat appeared ghostly, wallowing in the swells with the much larger Oyster coming hard and aimed to strike the motorboat dead center.

  At the last moment, Alpha saw the speedboat captain's head rise, and he coldly observed the pirate's panicked grab for a life jacket.

  Bravo's voice held satisfaction. He said only, "Bulls-eye!" and the boats collided.

  Alpha had slowed his boat, and the heavily built Noisy Oyster was doing only eight or ten knots, but its solid fiberglass stem crushed through the frail speedboat's wooden hull as if it were made of paper. Wood snapped, and the powerboat seemed to crumple in the middle.

  The bow of the Oyster rammed deeply. The speedboat rolled until its keel reached water level, but Byrne had already shifted the Oyster into reverse, and as the powerboat's weight returned itself to almost level, the ram-like prow of the sailboat was pushed back and freed from the grip of the smaller boat's shattered side.

  The Oyster was backing at almost full speed, and Byrne kept it going. For only moments could Alpha and Bravo see the stricken powerboat. Water poured through her shattered side, and the craft was clearly doomed. Then the bright floodlight shifted focus, dimmed, and the light and its boat were gone.

  Byrne did not risk wild shooting from the stricken boat or from survivors in the water. He continued backing until he was sure they were hundreds of yards from whatever remained afloat.

  Alpha dropped the diesel into neutral, and they listened for sounds. Only normal night at sea sounds came to them.

  Don Byrne's voice was soft. "You interested in having a look?"

  Bravo snorted. "A man should know when it's time to move on, and that time for us is right now."

  Don Byrne agreed. He swung onto a southeasterly course with the Cayman Islands only six or seven hundred miles ahead.

  Neither warrior looked back.

  — — —

  With the Oyster sailing at less than one hundred and fifty miles a day, there was time for reflection and planning. They sailed wide around the Yucatan Peninsula, staying to the north and avoiding customs and coastal guards. Ahead lay the always-rough Yucatan current, and Bravo was not looking forward to that passage.

  At times they spoke about the speedboat attack, and wondered if any of the pirates had survived. They doubted any had. Far at sea, in little traveled waters, with a large shar
k population, survival appeared improbable. Bravo enjoyed quoting Dirty Harry Callahan of movie fame. "A man should recognize his limitations."

  At least aloud, they avoided dreaming about the treasure resting safely below them. Bravo was openly superstitious about counting on anything until it had happened, and Alpha was not a lot better.

  When they did speak of the future, Bravo still claimed he would move to California and invest in real estate. Byrne planned on looking into the medical school that he had discovered right there in the Caymans. At that off-shore school he could become qualified, but when he actually became a doctor, Byrne thought he would live in Montana or maybe Idaho, near some town that could use a general practitioner.

  Although Byrne did not speak of it, he believed he was already becoming a bit paranoid about the possibility that, sooner or later, someone would come to recover the Santos millions.

  He could not imagine how that could happen, but in his thinking, he built safeguards into his planned lifestyle that Bravo would have enthusiastically ridiculed.

  Alpha thought of guns, fallout shelters, survival storage, booby traps, secret passages, bulletproof walls, and hidden escape routes. The planning was idle and all remained unspoken, but he grew to enjoy the mental organizing, and the visions firmed until he knew pretty well where and how he would live.

  — — —

  It had gone without a hitch, and Bravo was going home. They stood together looking through large terminal windows. Handsome aircraft lined the runway, and Bravo's ride home was one of them.

  Bravo said, "Hell, you've got your pile, Donny, why go through years of butt-numbing classes just to look at sick people? Come to California. It's a golden land. Surf, live in a perfect climate—it never rains in southern California you know. Bring the Oyster. Buy a Jaguar sports car. Mix with movie stars. Meet gorgeous girls."