4
"Ready, Mike?" Lt. Cynthia Madison asked her copilot.
"Let's do it," CWO Mike Lewis responded.
Within seconds, their MH-65 Dolphin lifted off from the medium endurance cutter that was en route to Bermuda to help with post-hurricane recovery operations.
"Plug in the coordinates they got from the Herc," Madison said, taking up an easterly course at about 1,000 feet.
She couldn't waste any airtime; the crew of the HC-130 Hercules patrol aircraft had spotted the sailing yacht Blue Wing an hour ago and had been unsuccessful with attempts to raise the yacht on VHF radio. The position was at the outer limit of the Dolphin's range, but the cutter was closing the distance at maximum speed, giving her a little margin on her fuel. Still, there was no time to dally in flight.
Their plan was to drop their rescue swimmer to make an assessment of the situation and then determine an appropriate course of action. The crew of the Hercules had seen no sign of life aboard and had scoured the area for a life raft with no success.
"With four people on board, looks like somebody would have tried to signal the Herc," Mike said. "You know they must have heard it, doing repeated low-level sweeps."
"Yeah. There's something off, there, all right. One or two people might have gotten hurt, or sick, but somebody should have been able to get on deck, at least."
"Unless they were dumb enough to launch the life raft," Mike said. "Still, they would have surely deployed their EPIRB if they got in the raft."
"Seems like, anyway," Cynthia agreed. "Besides, the crew of the Herc didn't spot the raft."
"Yeah, but with this sea state, that's no surprise."
"There it is, Mike."
Thirty seconds later, Madison said, "Hey, Jimbo?"
"Yes ma'am," Petty Officer 2nd Class Jim Andrews responded over the intercom.
"You ready?"
"Ready."
She took the helicopter down almost to the sea surface and hovered a few yards from the rolling, partially submerged vessel.
"Go," she barked.
Seconds later, Andrews swam into view. They watched as he heaved himself over the gunwale of Blue Wing and rolled onto the side deck.
"Nobody on deck. I'm going below," Anderson said, his voice on the radio distorted by the wind blowing past his face.
He was standing in the cockpit, peering through the companionway. "Cabin sole's awash," he said, as he went down the ladder. "EPIRB's in its bracket right by the ladder. It's a real mess down— holy shit!"
"What's wrong, Jim?" Madison asked.
"Two people, dead, in the forward cabin. No sign of anybody else. Looks like a damned slaughterhouse."
"Can you tell if the vessel's taking on water?"
"Checking," he said. "Bilge pump's not running; batteries are dead. Seacocks look okay. No signs of damage below the waterline. From the looks of things, she rolled through 360 degrees, at least once. Probably why they were dismasted. I'm guessing that's where the water came from."
"Can you tell what happened to the people?"
"Yeah. They're all chopped up. The man's got a hatchet buried in his head. The woman's head's all stove in."
"Get out of there; don't touch anything," Madison ordered. "We'll pick you up and call CGIS on the way home. Sounds like they need to send a crime scene team."
"Yes ma'am. On my way," Anderson said.
"Dropping the harness," she said, as Anderson slipped into the water.
"So anyway, this damn guy wants me to paint the boot stripe on his friggin' boat, and I — "
"Shh! Wait a minute, Bill," Gerry West interrupted his friend and pointed at the wide-screen television over the bar where they were eating lunch. "I've seen that guy."
Both men turned their attention to the pretty, heavily made-up blonde newscaster. She stood on the waterfront in downtown Annapolis, a microphone clutched in her right hand as her left held her jacket closed against the gusty wind. The only thing not flapping in the breeze was her hair. Bill suspected it was molded fiberglass, but he kept his mouth shut as the mug shot in the corner of the screen expanded to take up half the space.
"The trail of escaped serial killer Devon Egan appears to end here in Annapolis, Jeff," she said. "Egan escaped from his guard detail six days ago while he was in queue for an MRI at Baltimore's medical center. He somehow freed himself from the restraints that held him to a gurney and overpowered the male nurse who was in the room with him. The nurse's naked body was found stuffed in a closet adjoining the room, his neck broken. Egan apparently put on the nurse's scrubs and hairnet and simply walked out of the medical center."
"So how did the authorities track him to Annapolis, Marie? Why did it take them six days? Where else did he go? Do we know any more about that?"
"They're declining to comment, Jeff, saying that the investigation is ongoing and that they don't want to disclose information that might help Egan elude their search. A source close to the investigation has hinted that a vehicle which was stolen from the medical center at about the time Egan escaped was found parked here, in the metered lot right behind me. They're asking for anyone who recognizes Egan from the mug shot to call the local police department here in Annapolis."
The mug shot zoomed to full screen as the male announcer's voice droned on, advising that an update on Hurricane Ian would be up next.
"He was here, Bill," Gerry said, picking up his half-eaten soft-shell crab sandwich.
"I heard," Bill said. "Scary, huh?"
"No, man. I mean, like, right here in this bar. I saw him."
"No shit? When?"
"I dunno. Few days ago, I guess. They said he got loose six days ago, right?"
"What she said, yeah."
"Mighta been that day, even. I think it was late afternoon. I was drinkin' a beer, so it was after work. He was with a scuzzy lookin' broad. I've seen her 'round town, mostly hustlin' drinks in the tourist joints."
"Sounds like she mighta picked up the wrong guy," Bill said.
"Didn't look like a pick-up. She came in and went straight to his table. Sat down and leaned over for a kiss, like they knew one another. He finished up his beer and they left together."
"You gonna call the cops?"
"Yeah, I guess I better. Probably too damn late to do any good, though."
"Never know, man. Want my phone?"
"Nah. I got a new one." Gerry leaned sideways and worked an iPhone out of the front pocket of his paint-spattered jeans.
"Great pasta, Paul," Connie said, cleaning her bowl with a last piece of garlic bread. "I still don't see how you can cook when everything's moving around so."
"Practice, I guess. Glad you enjoyed it. I figured we were long overdue for a hot meal. Besides, the seas have flattened out quite a bit in the last couple of hours."
"Yes, thank goodness. I may actually get some sleep on my off-watch tonight."
"Hope so. By the way, I got several of the overhead lights working."
"How'd you do that?"
"Put the old incandescent bulbs back in them. The LEDs didn't fare well with the lightning strike. But so much for power efficiency. We need to change our habits again or we'll run the batteries down in no time leaving the cabin lights on."
"I guess we're pretty lucky," Connie said. "The lightning didn't really mess up anything except our electronics. Could have been ... " She stood up and put a hand to her brow to block the glare as she stared toward the western horizon.
"What?" Paul asked.
"Something out there; I'm catching a flicker of safety orange every so often."
He handed her the binoculars, and she did a methodical sweep of the area to the west. "Looks like a life raft. There may be a strobe on it, or it could be the glare. Can't tell for sure."
Paul stood up beside her, and she handed him the binoculars. "Yep, you're right. It's a strobe."
"Couple of miles away?" she asked.
"Yeah, give or take. If we hurry, we can probably get there before the su
n's gone."
"Let's go," she said, stepping behind the helm and switching off the autopilot. "You got a bearing?"
"Call it about 255 magnetic," he said. "Go ahead, and I'll ease the sheets."
She cranked the helm to the starboard, alternating glancing at the compass with keeping an eye on the orange speck on the horizon. She felt the boat speed up and the pressure on the helm eased as Paul adjusted their sail trim. "Looking good," she said.
"Okay. I'll rig the sling to the spinnaker halyard, just in case we need to hoist somebody aboard."
"Dumb," she said, "but I thought we were the only ones out here."
"Sure seems that way when all hell's breaking loose, doesn't it?" Paul asked.
"Well, besides that, I didn't hear anybody checking in on the weather net the last couple of times. At first, there was that other boat from Annapolis we were hearing, remember?"
"Blue something, wasn't it?" Paul asked "I remember that. When they didn't check in, the net control station kept calling them. I think he knew the people."
"Yes, that's the one. And he did know them; they stayed on frequency to visit one time after the net closed. I eavesdropped on them out of curiosity." She smiled at the recollection.
"Nosy woman,"
"Well, I was bored, and they weren't too far from us. Probably just over the horizon. Anyway, they'd just celebrated their 48th wedding anniversary the day after they left Annapolis."
"Wow! They got married before I was born," Paul said. "Think we'll still be sailing in 48 years?"
"I hope so."
They passed a few minutes thinking about that as they watched the orange raft grow bigger.
"We're going to have plenty of light," Paul said. "Sun won't even be setting when we get there, and then there's 30 minutes of dusk. We should be okay."
"I'm thinking I'll steer to pass close by, with them on the starboard side. I'll jibe when we're on top of them and heave to just down wind. Think the wind will blow them down on our windward side?"
Paul thought about that for a minute. "Sounds like as good a plan as any. If it doesn't work, we'll crank up the diesel."
"Wish we had a radio," Connie said.
"I could try them on the handheld," Paul said.
"I was thinking about afterward," Connie said. "No point in calling them now. Once we pick them up, though, we're going to be stuck with them until we make landfall, I guess."
"Unless we just happen to run across a ship that can take them off our hands, you're right," Paul said. "Oh, well, it'll only be a few days. Who knows? They might be fun."
5
Connie and Paul stood on the side deck, watching as the life raft drifted toward them. When it was about 50 feet away, Paul lifted the whistle that hung from a lanyard on his safety harness. Putting the whistle to his lips, he blew a long, piercing blast. There was no sign of life from the raft.
"Think it's empty?" Connie asked. Sometimes, life rafts washed overboard in nasty weather. Many were designed to auto-inflate when they hit the water.
"Hard to know," Paul said. "Guess I'll have to take a look."
He picked up a hank of line that hung coiled from the pin-rail at the shrouds. Tying one end around the cap-shroud chainplate with a bowline, he flaked the line on the deck so that it would run free. With the other end of the line tied to the D-rings on his safety harness, he unclipped the tether that was fastened to the jackline that ran along the side deck.
By then, the raft had drifted alongside and was held against Diamantista II by the wind. Paul grasped the cap shroud with his left hand and stepped over the lifelines, planting his feet on Diamantista II's cap rail. As the raft rose, lifted by the swell that passed under them, he swung out, holding on with his left hand and slashing open the raft's canopy with his razor-sharp rigging knife.
The raft dropped with the receding swell, and he and Connie could see two people huddled inside. Neither appeared to be aware of their presence, although their bodies flexed from the movements of the raft.
"What do you think?" Connie asked.
"Alive, but unconscious," Paul said. "Hand me the lifting harness, and I'll board the raft the next time it rises."
Connie handed him the bright yellow, padded sling of the rescue harness. "Shouldn't you tie off the raft?"
"I'll tie the tail of this line to one of the hand-holds." He waved the excess line that dangled from the length he had tied to his safety harness. He looped the rescue sling over his shoulder. "You hooked on?"
"Yes." Connie tugged on her tether to show him.
"Okay, here goes," he said, stepping into the raft as a wave lifted it against the side of Diamantista II. He staggered as the semi-rigid, inflated floor of the raft gave under his feet. Falling to the side, he bumped the figure that he could now see was a woman. She groaned and rolled her head, but never opened her eyes. "She's alive," he said. "Let's get her up on the side deck, then I'll see about the man."
"Tie yourself off, first," Connie reminded him.
"Right, thanks." He complied, and then draped the padded sling around the woman's shoulders. He lifted her arms through the sling one at a time and then adjusted the sling so that it rode under her armpits. "Toss me one of those short hanks of line, please," he said.
When Connie did, he used it to tie the sling snuggly around the semi-conscious woman. "All right. Take up the slack on the spinnaker halyard, and I'll kind of guide her over the lifelines as you crank her up."
No more than a minute later, Connie had the woman stretched out on her back along the port side deck. She untied the line that held the sling in place, leaving one end tied around the sling. She slipped the sling out from under the woman's shoulders and handed it over the lifelines to Paul.
"Water," the woman croaked, in a barely audible voice.
"Soon," Connie said. "Let us get your friend aboard."
Paul worked the sling under the man's armpits and tied it in place. "He's really out of it," he said.
"I'm going to need your help with him," Connie said. "Otherwise, I'll end up just lowering him on top of her. I won't be able to— "
"No problem," Paul said. "I'll climb up with him as you hoist him, and we'll just swing him aft before we lower him."
"Good," Connie said. "You ready?"
"Just a second. I want to see if there's anything here we should ... "
"What's the matter?" Connie asked.
"There's nothing here. No emergency rations, no flares. Nothing. I was looking for papers, but ... " he shook his head. "Oh, well. Let's go."
Connie cranked in the halyard, raising the limp man as Paul guided him.
"Hold it," Paul said, reaching down with one hand to untie himself from the raft. "Okay," he said. "Go ahead."
In a few minutes, they had managed to get both of the victims into the cockpit and had bundled them in blankets to guard against hypothermia. The woman had asked for water again, but the man had shown no signs of consciousness. As Connie held the woman's head up and fed her tiny sips of water, Paul took the man's pulse.
"Strong and regular," he said, "and he's breathing easily." He examined the man's head, probing in the tangled, greasy hair as he looked for an injury. "Nothing," he said, after a moment. He thumbed an eyelid open, meeting resistance.
"Well?" Connie asked.
Paul shrugged. "It's like he's drugged, or comatose, or something."
The woman croaked, trying to speak, but her voice was weak.
"What?" Connie said, bending over and putting her ear close to the woman's mouth. She sat up, frowning, after a few seconds. The woman collapsed, exhausted by the effort of trying to speak.
"I'm not sure what all she said, but I got 'medication,' 'two days,' and 'withdrawal' out of it."
"She may come around pretty quickly," Paul said. "If they've been in the raft two days, she may just be dehydrated. I can't believe there were no rations or water packed in the raft. No ditch kit, nothing." He shook his head.
"Maybe it got spi
lled, like when the raft turned over or something," Connie said.
"That stuff's all fastened in — Velcro, lashed in mesh bags— something. There were mesh bags around the perimeter with Velcro closures, but they were open and empty."
"I had a thought," Connie said.
Paul raised his eyebrows. "What's that?"
"We could trigger the EPIRB and get some help for them."
He shook his head. "I didn't say anything; too much going on. I guess I forgot. Sorry."
"About what?"
"The EPIRB."
"What about it?"
"It won't pass the self-test. It's stone-dead."
"How can that be? It's not connected to any of the other stuff. How could lightning have gotten it?"
"There's a phenomenon called EMP— electromagnetic pulse— damage."
"Is that something related to the lightning strike?"
"I'm guessing, but it could be. The lightning strike sent a huge surge of current through our grounding system. That would have induced a big magnetic field that came and went in no time; that could wipe out any sensitive electronics that are nearby."
"How do you know about that?"
"EMP's a worry from a strategic defense perspective. I first heard of it in the military, then in some of the briefings for the antiterrorism task force. I've already told you more than I know, but that has to be what killed the EPIRB."
"So we're their best hope, at least until we can get them ashore," Connie said.
"Yes, I think so. Unless we see a ship we can flag down."
"Well, I'm glad that's done," Connie said, stretching her shoulders as she settled in behind the helm.
"Good thing he's not a big guy," Paul said. "Still, getting him below was tough. Dead weight."
"At least she was able to co-operate and help a little while we were moving her," Connie said. "She seems to be coming around."
"I guess so."
"She's able to take water by herself, now," Connie said. "That's quite an improvement in, what, maybe an hour?"
Storm Sail_A Connie Barrera Thriller_The 4th Novel in the Caribbean Mystery and Adventure Series Page 3