Blood of the Albatross

by Ridley Pearson

  “I’d like to kill him.”

  She tried to smile. “Believe me, I wanted to also.” She shook her wet hair from side to side. “No, no, that is not true. I could never kill anyone.” She looked back at Jay. “It was too far along for an abortion—besides, my father is a minister and well… So, I made an excuse to him about a summer course and I stayed on with my roommate at the apartment and I had the child.” A steady stream of tears ran from her eyes. “Before birth, I put it up for adoption,” she said, shaking. “I never even saw it. I never even saw my own baby.” She reached up and threw her arms around Jay’s neck, hugging him tightly. “I have never kissed a man since,” she whispered into his ear. “I have never allowed myself to even think about it. Until you. From the moment I saw you across the way, on The Lazy Daze, somehow I knew you would be the one. I was drawn to you.”

  She felt Jay squeeze her even harder. She wondered what he could be thinking. Had he sensed her innocence? Had he sensed her secret? Had she spoiled everything by telling him?

  “Kiss me,” she begged.

  He kissed her gently, but without the previous enthusiasm.

  “What is it?” she asked, dreading his answer.

  “Not like this,” he said. “Not here. Not now. It must be done slowly. You need time.”

  “No, Jay. I need you. I have never even wanted the affection. It is so amazing, how I feel right now, I can not tell you. I have never felt this way. Ever. I will not trap you. Is that not what I am supposed to say? I promise I will not trap you… but I need you. I need your affection. Do you understand?” She kissed his lips and he returned the kiss. She ran her fingers over his chest and again pulled his hand to her breast.

  They kissed and touched and explored one another. Then Jay pulled back. Marlene’s face tightened. He said, “We shouldn’t.”

  Silence. Her chest heaved up and down with her deep breaths. Her green eyes seemed slightly unfocused. “What is it?”

  “We can not make love, Marlene. Not here, not now. Not you and I like this.”

  “What do you mean? What do you mean, not you and I?”

  “We deserve better than this…”

  “Better than this?”

  He laughed. “I don’t mean this like that.”

  “You are confusing me.”

  “I mean, it’s better if we wait. It will be even better if we give it time.” He paused. “I care for you very much, Marlene.”

  She threw her arms around him.

  ***

  They sat in the same ice cream parlor, the same chairs, that they had sat in a few days earlier. Five minutes ago it had started to rain again. “I can not remember ever being out in a storm like that,” she said enthusiastically, her eyes glassy, cheeks flushed. She looked like the Queen of Health, despite her uncombed hair. The loose foul-weather gear hung off her shoulders and made noise when she shifted in her chair. “I cannot remember ever having two ice cream cones in the same week, either.” She smiled, a warmth still pulsing through her. She had never ever felt like this. She wanted to laugh, she felt so good.

  Jay’s dark hair lay flat against his skull. He looked like a little boy. His eyes nearly matched the vibrant blue of his Gore-Tex jacket, which was slung over a chair behind him. He licked his chocolate cone.

  She could still picture them both on the towel, the boat rocking seductively. Exploring. She could feel him kissing her. She shuddered, leaned forward, and whispered, “I am glad it rained.” Then she blushed. The thin hairs on her neck stood up as a heat consumed her.

  He blushed. “Me too. And thank you for sharing that with me. It was one of the most tender moments in my life, Marlene. No one has ever shared something like that with me. I feel privileged.”

  “I will not pressure you, Jay. You do not need to worry about…”

  “Marlene…”

  “…that. I will be leaving soon, that is, after the regatta.” She leaned across the table. She wanted to kiss him. Right here, right now. She wanted him to touch her again. Now. “No matter what, I will always remember today,” she whispered, “…and you.”

  “There’s more, isn’t there, Marlene?”

  Astonishment filled her face. “Why do you say this?”

  “What is it?”

  “I cannot.”

  “Yes, Marlene. That’s the point: You can. You can tell me anything. Don’t you believe that?”

  She ran her fingers through her hair. “I cannot.”

  “Please.”

  “I really—”

  “Marlene!” barked Holst’s voice.

  Her face paled. Jay thought she might faint.

  She looked toward the door. Holst stood there, neatly dressed, his short hair perfectly arranged. Defined. He cocked his head. She was to come with him. Marlene looked at Jay and shuddered. Her brow knitted and she whispered even more softly, “I must go.”

  Jay nodded reluctantly. He wanted to pop Holst in the chin. “Thanks,” he said quietly.

  “Tomorrow,” she told him affectionately, standing and holding her cone.

  Holst held the door to the small parlor open for her. Once she passed by him he looked down at Jay, who was looking up. The two locked eyes and all was said, right there and then.

  The screen door banged shut.

  23

  Sharon was treated as a guest. Francois, after leaving her with Claudia and Katrina, had checked in a few times, usually bringing food from the galley. Katrina was a chambermaid; Claudia, a waitress. They went out of their way to shield Sharon and make her comfortable.

  In four days of sailing they had had only one close call, when the ship’s navigator, who had his eye on Katrina, came looking to ask her for a date. Sharon had stood behind the door while Claudia shooed him away. The Dramamine they gave her quieted her stomach. She was clean, comfortable, and well rested. Since the quarters were crowded and hot, the three of them spent most of the time in tank tops and panties talking, laughing, sharing men stories. It reminded Sharon of the dormitory at Vassar.

  Katrina had a low voice, warm and husky. Claudia claimed her roommate was Russian, though to Sharon the accent sounded French, like everyone else’s. Katrina said, “It is too bad you cannot go up to the deck, yes? The air is so fresh there. You would like it much.” Katrina laughed throatily. “We are to New York soon.”

  “Are we on schedule?”

  “Yes, of course.”

  “Four more days then?”

  “Yes, four days I think. Then it is to New York. You will leave us there?”

  Sharon nodded.

  There was a quick knock on the door. The handle moved and the door swung open. The navigator saw two females in scanty underclothes: Katrina sitting in front of a mirror applying eye shadow; another girl, unfamiliar to him, sitting on the lowest bunk, very pretty but blushing. If this girl had not shut her legs quickly, he might not have given her a second look, so intent was he on the lovely Katrina. But her movement caught his eye because none of the crew was modest: they shared bathrooms, showers, swimming pools; on deck L, a private crew deck, many of the woman went topless and the men often wore nothing at all—the European way. This woman was not one of them! Not recognizing her, he asked angrily, “Who is she?”

  Katrina jumped up, pulled the man inside the tiny cabin, and shut the door. She replied in their native tongue. “Don’t you dare say a word, Jean-Paul, or it is the last you’ve seen of me.”

  “Who is she?” His anger grew. “A stowaway? Mother Mary, Katrina, do you know what they will do to you if they find out?”

  “And who’s going to tell them?”

  “I must tell them.”

  “Jean-Paul, don’t you dare!”

  “What choice is left to me?”

  “Jean-Paul…” Katrina wrapped her arms around his neck and pushed herself against him. “A few more days is all.”

  He pushed her away, opening the cabin door. “No, Katrina. It is against the rules. I am an officer—”

  Shar
on interrupted. “It’s all right, Katrina.” She spoke to the man. “I will see your captain, but only your captain, do you understand?”

  “Impossible.”

  “It must be your captain, only the captain.”

  “And why is that, young lady?”

  “Because…” She hesitated, not wanting to tell anyone. “I am an agent of the United States Central Intelligence Agency—the CIA. It can be checked. I am on an operation. It is imperative that I reach New York without anyone’s knowledge. My life is in danger.” She made it as dramatic as she could. “I will see your captain, and then you must be sworn to secrecy.”

  They both stared at her, shock on their faces. Katrina’s mouth hung open. Jean-Paul took a step backward through the door. “I won’t say a thing,” he said in English. “I promise. I never saw you,” he added.

  Sharon looked over at the stunned Katrina. As she did, a man passed behind the navigator and managed to glance over the navigator’s shoulder at the two women inside. He was a tall man with thick lips, though Sharon did not see his face. He raised a hand to shield his face from her and hurried down the narrow corridor. The navigator pulled the cabin door shut.

  Alone with Sharon, Katrina recovered and asked, “How did you ever think of that? You sounded so convincing. What a line. You are so clever, Sharon, so very clever.” Katrina continued to stare at her new friend, waiting. All she got was a shrug.

  ***

  An hour later a hurried knock startled both women. The door opened a crack, and a high female voice said in French, “Katrina, Claudia, a fire in storage room C. We must evacuate immediately. Hurry!”

  Katrina turned to face Sharon. “It’s quite a ways down. If it threatens this area, I will send François. You are safer if you stay, yes?”

  “Yes. Hurry. I will be fine.”

  Katrina spoke quickly as she donned a robe. “François is in charge of making certain all the cabins are cleared. He’ll warn you if it is serious. These things happen frequently. Nothing to worry about.” She opened the door and left.

  Footfalls padded down the metal corridor past Sharon’s door. Voices and confusion continued for another few minutes, followed by silence. Sharon tried to force herself to read.

  She saw the door open and thought it would be François. When she saw him, she screamed. It was like a nightmare: the tall man with thick lips; the same man who had chased her the night of Brian’s death! How could he be on board La Mer Verde? Impossible… unless the conduit had still been alive and able to talk…

  The man pushed the cabin door shut and came straight for her, knife in hand. Only then did she see the syringe protruding from his top pocket. He won’t cut me, she thought, he’ll use drugs and make it look like natural causes, protecting himself. That’s to my advantage. Before she could even contemplate a move, he was on top of her, pinning her against the hot metal flooring, the blade held against her throat. He was much too heavy to move. She writhed below him, bucking in an attempt to dump him off her. The man didn’t budge. With his left hand, he reached for the syringe.

  She had no choice. She rocked forward, the blade cutting her neck, and bit down on his thumb. He moved just slightly, but enough for her to use it. She lifted her right leg and tilted him as he lifted the syringe.

  He held the syringe high in the air. Out of the corner of her eye Sharon saw it hovering above her. He would drop his hand now. He would kill her. She bit down even harder, drawing blood.

  She saw the syringe stop moving. Then she saw the hairy hand wrapped around her killer’s wrist. François took the killer’s hair in his right hand and jerked the man’s head back, then pinched the man’s throat between two strong fingers, choking him. François redirected the syringe until it was an inch from the killer’s neck. The killer’s eyes opened wide and he tried to shake his head no. He dropped the knife. He wanted to drop the syringe but François controlled his left hand. “No…” he gasped in German. “No.”

  In one quick movement, François shifted his weight and drove the man backward, ramming the killer’s head between Sharon’s legs and onto the metal floor. The killer went slack, unconscious. François’s face was covered in sweat.

  Sharon, now sitting upright, still gripped the killer’s thumb between her teeth, her neck bleeding. François asked, “Are you all right?”

  24

  Wind howled savagely across the stays. Rain pelted the decks. Marlene had gone off shopping and was due back in about two hours.

  Last night’s gig had been a disaster. Books had blamed it on the weather. Jay had blamed it on the band. Something had gone bad, and the music had never jelled. What had started out as a fairly good-sized crowd had ended up ten people and, as a result, the bar manager had let the band off early. Sometimes Jay didn’t know why he did it: up on stage, singing personal songs to total strangers, opening himself up, lucky if three people applauded. Oh, there were times when the crowd went wild, fell right into the palm of his hand, was entertained, caught up in the lyrics or the beat. But more often than not, a gig was four hours of indecent exposure, while people treated you like dog dirt and ignored your efforts. Even when the crowd was enthusiastic, Jay often didn’t feel right. A part of him didn’t belong up on stage. Music was a thankless job. And yet, one day, with the help of a couple of DJ’s, it might all change. Critics would ascribe symbolism to the lyrics, others would herald the band’s creativity and professionalism; the crowds would come. People would listen and enjoy. Then maybe this decade of lugging heavy gear, ringing ears, impossible group politics, overdue bills, low pay, and bad food, would all be worth it. Maybe.

  He devoted his mid-morning to the interior “chrome,” as he called it: the stainless steel that covered every latch, knob, and window crank in The Lady Fine’s teak interior. Even the so-called stainless would pit from the continual exposure to salt air if it wasn’t rubbed down every few days. He finished the job and turned his attention to cleaning the small portholes.

  An hour later, the windows clean, Marlene had still not returned. Running out of things to do, Jay debated washing down the vinyl seat cushions, but then, hearing the hard rain, decided to take her out for a trial run. He had not sailed The Lady Fine solo in a storm, and if there was one place a person learned about a boat, it was under adverse conditions. He switched on the diesel and warmed it up, going below to don foul-weather gear. Once topside, he rigged the dodger—a canopy rigging that covered the companionway—unfastened lines, and backed The Lady Fine out of her slip. He motored around the massive breakwater and checked his watch, noting that he had at least an hour to kill before Marlene returned. A few hundred yards past the breakwater he pointed her into the wind and kicked her into neutral, moving quickly forward to raise the mains’il. Rain splattered against the thick rubber foul weather gear and he smiled. There was something exciting about sailing in the rain, like skiing in a snowstorm. The mains’il went up easily, and although the rain fell hard, the wind was tolerable, so Jay decided against reefing. He winched it taut and tied it off. He had not sailed The Lady alone, and he was loving it.

  It was a freak happening. A tremendous gust of wind blew off of windward and kicked the main sheet around the steering column. The same gust pumped into the mains’il, filling it with life and jerking the main sheet hard. The resulting jerk snagged the main sheet and made it fast around the steering column. The Lady Fine heeled quickly and cut into the Sound with all the determination of a racer. Jay was thrown off balance—nearly overboard. Jesus Christ, he thought, she should correct herself and steer into the wind. She was rigged to pull herself out of these situations. The wheel should just spin and allow her to head up. He fought to keep his balance, The Lady heeling. He threw his weight forward in an effort to reach the rail that ran alongside the companionway. His fingers grasped the wood, and he pulled himself against the main cabin and made his way to the cockpit, the dodger flapping noisily in the wind and rain. Feeling suddenly uneasy, he glanced quickly over his shoulder, over the
bow. The Lady Fine was headed straight for a finger of rock not a quarter mile away. Another gust rocked the boat as Jay made his move for the cockpit. He lost his footing, swayed, and slipped. He fell to the narrow deck, reaching for anything to stop him. Nothing there. The Lady jerked hard, heeling farther over. His feet caught in the rushing water and the drag sucked him overboard. He slipped into the foam beneath the rail, screaming for help. At the last possible second, his fingers hooked around a stanchion and he managed to hold on, still dragging alongside the boat. The foul-weather hat flew off his head, but was held around his neck by its strap. It quickly filled with water, like a bucket held overboard, and the string choked him. He was losing his grip. He pulled hard and took hold with both hands, and then used all his strength to pull himself aboard. He looked up ahead. The boat would hit the rocks in just a few minutes. He fell into the cockpit, reached quickly for the mainsheet, and attempted to free it, noticing for the first time that the mechanism had jammed and tangled, and was hopelessly knotted on itself. He pulled on the steering wheel—and there was the problem. It had jammed. He tugged hard, port, starboard, port—nothing. It was frozen stuck. The rock jetty was only a hundred yards off the bow, The Lady Fine steaming for it. Jay had no choice. He quickly hurried forward, nearly falling overboard again, and uncleated the main halyard. The mains’il tumbled down. The boat righted in the water and slowed. He hurried aft, switched on the diesel, and placed the transmission in reverse, revving the engine. The Lady Fine slowed even more, water boiling behind her. Jay hurried below, located a sea anchor, and a few minutes later had it tossed overboard. He punched the transmission to neutral, reducing the engine’s rpms. Then he unfastened the foul-weather hat, ducked beneath the dodger, and entered the companionway. The rain fell noisily. He had stopped the boat fifty yards from the rock jetty—too close. Much too close.