Red Tide

by W. Dale Justice

  “When I tell you I’ve had enough for today, you better knock it off, or I swear to God, I’m going to record you on my smartphone and post it to Instagram. You’ll be the toast of FSU overnight.”

  “Okay, okay. Chill, man.” Dustin surrendered.

  Booby Lee had witnessed, and heard the exchanges. He turned to Sherrod.

  “Go get Ron, and get him below before he falls overboard and attracts attention. That asshole’s performance was perfect.”

  Cafeteria, Naval Station, Key West

  By dusk, the weather had deteriorated badly, forcing Admiral Phillips to suspend the smaller helicopter operations over the marinas. They had made their point. Shore personnel had personally checked on every large boat in the south shore marinas. They now fitted themselves with rain gear, and had been shifted to do the same at the remaining marinas on the north shore of Key West. Coast Guard patrol vessels were deployed in a cordon three miles offshore, and the heavy rescue SH3 Sea King helicopter and crew were on stand-by.

  It was questionable how effective the patrol boat cordon would be, as the weather was turning truly nasty, and they were essentially open cockpit boats. The only reason Admiral Phillips considered deploying them in such bad weather was the training, and skills of their crews. The Admiral was keenly aware of the danger these men and women faced, and was prepared to pull them in if the weather worsened.

  The Admiral, and his Bayboro team were back at Naval Air Station, Key West. They gathered in the mess hall to dry off, and catch same coffee. Everything they needed to do had been done. All available assets were in place, in radio communications which were monitored 24/7. Communications would call or page him if anything happened. Time to rest and regroup.

  Kate and the Admiral seemed to gravitate to each other every chance they got. This was another opportunity, and Kate seized it, joining the Admiral at the coffee machine.

  “So, Admiral, what’s the plan?”

  “I thought we agreed my name is Steve when I’m off duty?”

  “You haven’t been off duty in a week, sir.” Kate gave him an amateur salute, and leaned in so her shoulder touched his upper arm. “So sailor, what are the plans for the evening?”

  Steve tried to stifle a laugh, and turned away from Kate with a smile. She faced the machine, making her coffee. He faced the dining tables. Their shoulders still touched. They both needed to be discrete. Steve sipped his coffee.

  “Nice girls like you shouldn’t hang around with randy sailors fresh into port. Gets mighty lonely sailing the seven seas.” he replied under his breath.

  “Oh, I’m not such a nice girl all the time, sailor. I can be very persuasive when I want to be.” Kate flirted.

  “So I heard. That boatyard performance impressed the hell out of Agent Beth Sheridan. Definitely outside the NCIS manual.” Steve chuckled.

  “Oh crap. You heard about that? This is so embarrassing. Look Steve, that’s not me, I…” Kate looked up at Steve, hoping for forgiveness or at least understanding

  “I’m an Admiral. I hear about everything. You did what had to be done, and in a very creative way. You accomplished the mission in five minutes, where the NCIS agents on scene, with all their threats and intimidation could not have done the same in five days. Well done.” Steve’s smiled at Kate with pure admiration, and Kate felt it.

  “I just hope you know I don’t go around acting like that.” Kate needed more reassurance.

  “Pity. I was hoping for a repeat performance, a private command performance, if you will. I am an Admiral, you know.” Steve may be an Admiral, but he was still a sailor, through and through.

  “I’m sharing a bunk with Agent Beth. Sooo, just how big is an Admiral’s…

  “I hope you were going to say living quarters.” Steve finished for her. “Anything else, well, you’ll just have to be the judge of that.” Kate smiled. “Would you like to take a stroll on the Lido deck?” Steve invited.

  “Why, that would be delightful, Admiral.” Kate took his offered arm, and they strolled out of the club. Beth and Thuy smiled to each other. Oblivious Jimmy suddenly took notice for the first time.

  “Well, well, well? What have we here? He perked up in his chair.

  “Sit and shut mouth!” Thuy snapped.

  “Falcone, one more word and I’ll start breaking bones you never knew you had.” Beth added, and she meant it.

  Chapter Twenty-Five

  Marina, south of Downtown Key West

  “Jesus, Mary and Joseph!” Sherrod half prayed, half swore. At the moment, he meant both, as another gust of wind slammed into the moored She Got the House. “We have to wait this out. There’s no way we can make it to Cuba in this.”

  “Relax Sherry. It’s bad enough you look like a bitch, now you have to whine like one, too. You’ll wanna’ wait to piss your pants till after we clear the breakwater, then I’ll probably join you.” Bobby Lee peered out the cabin windows, watching the heavy sea crash against the stone breakwater protecting the moored pleasure craft. It was just past seven in the evening. It could have easily passed for midnight.

  “Look Sherrod, we got one shot at this, and that’s tonight. Nasty weather is actually a major deterrent to anyone setting sail. Only the truly desperate would even consider such a risk. That’s us. The Coast Guard already pulled their choppers off the marina, and patrol vessels can’t see fifty yards in this storm. You think you’re uncomfortable, them Coast Guard swift boats are open cockpit. Think how they’re doing about now.”

  The pretend Sailor boy had seen a cordon of patrol boats a couple miles offshore before the weather turned really bad, and mentioned it to his partner. Bobby Lee overheard their conversation as they finished fueling the yacht.

  “Let those Coastys get truly sick in this pitching sea for a couple more hours, then we’ll make our move.” Bobby Lee reassured Sherrod as much as he was going to. Sherrod needed to suck it up, or he would duct tape the little shit to the divan where Ron was now perched.

  The hours passed horribly slow. Sherrod took turns peering out the cabin windows, pacing, and looking at his watch. Bobby Lee tried to sleep, and Ron continued to drink, oblivious to anything happening around him. Around 1:00AM, Bobbly Lee stirred, found wet weather gear, and started topside.

  “Where are you going? Sherrod demanded.

  “I’m going to batten down the hatches. Anything not tied down is going to blow away, or worse, be blown through the cockpit window

  “So we’re really going. Tonight.” Sherrod spoke as if he were validating Bobby Lee was actually insane.

  “Yeah, we’re going tonight.” Bobby Lee answered. “Sherrod, the apples are real sweet out there where the limbs get real thin. This boat has the latest GPS and radar. I’ve already programmed our voyage. She has fresh fuel, and an engine with maybe a hundred hours on it, according to the maintenance log. It’s gonna’ be bumpy, but we can sail though the storm and out the other side in a couple hours. Once in open waters, we can hightail it to Cuba, an’ be there in a couple hours. The end of our run is in sight. You need to keep your nerve for just a little while longer.”

  “Yeah, Okay. I’m okay. Let’s just do it already.” Sherrod threw in his towel.

  “That’s what I’m fixin’ to do.” Bobby Lee climbed topside to pitch the deck furniture overboard.

  Ron was drunk. He was always drunk. And he was pissed off. He had remained in varying stages of intoxication since the love of his life decided to run off with his younger business partner after 25 years of marriage. She also had ripped him to shreds in court. If Ron had invested as much in good legal counsel, estate and business continuation planning as he had in personal trainers and cosmetic work for his ex, he might still have a business, a house, and a retirement instead of this damn boat.

  So, she got the house, half his business, and was aiming for half his ex-partner’s business if the asshole wasn’t smart enough to get a pre-nup. That would make her majority owner, and she wouldn’t need Patrick any more than she
needed Ron. It was a matter of time.

  Ron had no pre-nup. He had a prison that floated, but it was his.

  Ron sat on the divan, and listened to the bantering between Sherrod and Bobby Lee. He figured out who they were, and why they wanted his boat. That’s not what pissed him off. What pissed him off was they were taking his last possession in the world, and paying him a third of what it was worth. The only difference between his ex-wife and her attorney, and these two was Sherrod and Bobby Lee at least had the decency to hold a gun to his head while he was forced to sign the bill of sale. His ex and her attorney had done it with smiles.

  Ron had increased his capacity for alcohol consumption considerably in the last year. He could consume vast quantities, yet remain relatively coherent, or at least aware of his environment and what was happening. He continued to make himself martinis throughout the night while Bobby Lee threw his furniture overboard, and made plans to depart. But instead of gin and vermouth, he used tap water with an olive. Unless you took a sip, it looked like the real thing. As a result, Ron had sobered considerably during the past few hours, while giving the impression of the opposite.

  He rose, and staggered towards the bulkhead door, water martini in hand. Bobby Lee was still topside.

  “Where do you think you’re going?” Sherrod challenged.

  “I need to use the bathroo..burp..room.” Ron replied.

  “OK. Don’t puke on anything. Vomit makes me sick.” Sherrod instructed.

  “That’s why they call it vomit.” Ron smirked as if Sherrod had just said something stupid, then proceeded, bouncing off the door jamb as he exited the salon. Once clear of Sherrod’s eyes, he straightened and walked purposefully towards the center of the boat. He calculated his guests would depart within the hour. He had to move fast.

  In the center hallway, he bent to one knee, and opened a hatch in the floor, revealing the bilge. Some water had collected from the mast. There's no easy way to stop rain from entering through the mast, or seawater from the propeller shaft. Mast water is fresh water, so if you keep the area below the floorboards ventilated, there should be little damage. In the tropics with a major storm in progress, a little moisture had turned into a half inch. No big deal. Propeller shaft water is seawater, and can cause major damage if left unattended. The water in the bilge was fresh. Ron had not left the pier in two months.

  He reached for a device set in the hull through the puddle of bilge water. The long forgotten seacock, the valve in the bottom of the bilge that separates the world’s oceans from the inside of his boat. Most boat owners paid no attention to it. It’s essentially a ball valve. The only real difference between a seacock and a ball valve is that some seacocks can be disassembled for inspection and greasing of the interior housing and valve assembly. This was usually done in dry dock when the boat is not in the water to drain he bilge. Ron’s yacht had a half dozen seacocks. He needed just one.

  Ron, broken spirited town drunk, had once taken great pride in his boat, doing most of the routine maintenance himself that most yacht owners delegated to others. He quickly disassembled the seacock, and removed it from its seating in the hull. He was greeted by a one-inch plume of seawater rising eight inches from the hollow casing, like a schoolyard drinking fountain. He placed the working parts in his pocket, closed the hatch, stood and began staggering back to the salon.

  An hour from now, the bilge would contain a half foot of water. Two hours from now, it would be close to two feet. The She Got the House would sit lower in the water, and the helm would start to become unresponsive. In rough seas, the effects would be unnoticeable until the wallowing vessel’s rudder became useless, and she would be at the mercy of the storm.

  Admiral’s Quarters

  Naval Station Key West

  Kate rested her head on Steve’s arm as a pillow, her thoughts on the past hour. It had been everything she had imagined, their lovemaking a dance of mutual desire. Steve was a thoughtful, and giving lover, gentle but strong and passionate. “I’m ready for a re-match” Kate mused.

  Steve’s gentle voice interrupted her reverie. “I know you’re awake.” he whispered.

  “No I’m not. I’m still sleeping.” Kate didn’t want this moment to end.

  “We’re talking. How can you be asleep and talk to me?” Logic had no place in this conversation.

  “I’m not talking. I’m sleeping. You must be dreaming.” Kate wasn’t ready to surrender.

  Steve gently displaced his arm from beneath the pillow, got out of bed, and padded towards the bathroom.

  “How do guys do that?” Kate asked Steve, admiring his tight ass.

  “Do what?” Steve turned to face her, naked as a jaybird.

  “That. Parade around nekkid’ without a single thought of modesty, or worry. Like, does my butt look too big, or will he think I’m too fat, or my boobs aren’t perky like a teenager anymore.” Kate voiced every woman’s universal body image fears.

  Steve looked down at his chest. “I’m perfectly happy with my boobs, and my butt fits nicely in my office chair, or on a bar stool.” He turned in a circle displaying his attributes.

  “Eeewww!” Kate covered her head with the sheet to stifle her laughter. Steve joined her, sitting on the edge of the bed, and jerked the covers off, revealing Kate’s nakedness. She scrambled to cover herself with her arms, still laughing.

  “Kate, if the good Lord meant for you to cover yourself, he would have given you three hands instead of two.” He bent down and kissed her lips deeply, withdrew, and looked into her green eyes with a smile. All thoughts of concealment left Kate, as she cupped his face with her hand.

  “I don’t have that skinny runway model body that everyone admires.”

  “No, you don’t.” Steve replied. “You have that Sophia Loren in a wet peasant dress, stepping out of the surf in the film Boy on a Dolphin kind of body. That Katy Perry without the cone-head bra kind of body that makes young men stare, grown men’s jaws drop, and old men’s loins to stir to life again. With I might add, a face that could launch a thousand ships. You sure launched my boat. You do a pretty good job trying to hide it, with lab coats, baggy sweatshirts, and that pony tail-glasses thing. But the truth will set you free! It sure freed my Willy.”

  “Ha! An Admiral, a film buff, a pop culture enthusiast, with references to Ancient Troy. You are a triple threat, and you have a way with words, sailor.”

  “I’m a poet, and don’t know it.

  “Have you ever been married, Steve? I mean, you’re a good looking man with a passable personality and a successful career.”

  “Passable personality? Whatever.” Steve shot back.

  “I’m joking, and you know it. But really, why no ring? You’re a damn fine catch.”

  “I could ask the same of you.” Steve replied. “Kate, I guess we both share the same issues, in a way. I’m a sea gypsy, you’re a grant gypsy. I was raised a Navy brat. You were a Wunderkind in medicine. My family was stationed everywhere in the world, from Pearl, to San Diego, to Subic Bay. I attended nine schools in six countries before I got a high school diploma. You spent decades in med school and making your mark in research.”

  “Did you have many girlfriends?” Kate asked.

  “Yep, got a new one every year. Tough duty for a teenager trying to find himself in this world. Tough thing for the daughters of Naval personnel, too. Every relationship was on fast forward, with an expiration date unknown. Everyone, and everything around me, and about me, was just passing through. How about you?”

  “The men I met in med school were after only one thing.”

  “I can understand why after that wrestling match we just had.” Steve responded with a smile.

  “I mean one thing after THAT thing. They wanted a meal ticket to pay for their med school debt. I was accelerated through med school with scholarships, and the hospital internship. By age twenty-four I was flush with research grants. They had years to go, and school debt piling up. I had scholarships, diplomas, and a fat
living stipend.”

  “Kate, I promise I’m not the least bit interested in your grants and living stipends. My only interest at this moment is THAT thing.” Steve pointed, and Kate smiled.

  “Your dad was Navy, and you joined the Coast Guard after Annapolis. Must have been some pretty interesting dinner conversations over that decision.”

  “That’s an understatement. Four years at Annapolis, and a fresh Lieutenant decides to chuck it all and head to the Coasty Academy at New London for another go round. My training as a coasty was accelerated, but still.”

  “And after graduating as a sexy coasty?” Kate rubbed her hand on places that grabbed Steve’s attention.

  “I came close to tying the knot once. Had the ring and everything.” Steve was a bit distracted.