68 Knots

  On August 18th, a warm and slightly hazy day with a light breeze and few cares, Logan was at the helm. He was feeling better than ever since he decided to lay off the rum, but he was thinking more and more about home. He steered a steady course, trying not to let on that he missed his family.

  That evening was quiet. Arthur made a light dinner, just sandwiches and soup, and the crew ate silently around the table. Their bodies were on board the ship, but their minds were far away. At home.

  The stillness of that evening was shattered by the squawking of the ship-to-shore radio in the captain’s quarters: “Schooner Dreadnought. Schooner Dreadnought. This is Captain Robert Fernandez of the United States Coast Guard Station at Rockland, Maine. Schooner Dreadnought, come in, please. This is the Coast Guard.”

  “Oh, shit,” Arthur said, tossing his napkin onto the table. “Marietta has finally turned us in.”

  CHAPTER SEVENTEEN

  FOUR KNOTS OF FREEDOM LEFT

  Logan steered the ship into a narrow bay tucked deep inside a small island that was little more than a dot on the map and dropped anchor. Then he gathered the crew in the dining room.

  “What are we going to do?” BillFi asked, pushing his glasses. “Marietta called the Coast Guard. She told the Coast Guard about us. She told them. What are we going to do now?”

  Dawn’s freckled face was calm beneath the brim of her battered red baseball hat. “I think we need a negotiator,” she said. “One of us who will be the designated person to talk to this Coast Guard guy. Someone who’s good with words. Someone who can debate and make our case clear and with conviction. Someone who—oh, I don’t know—someone who got us into this in the first place?”

  All eyes turned to Arthur.

  Arthur paused for a moment. “Oh, hell, I can’t argue with that,” he said. “But listen. I made a big mistake early in the summer. I didn’t try to take charge—I tried to take over. I know the difference now, and I have all of you—” he looked at Dawn, “—to thank for that. But if you want me to lead these negotiations, I will. And I’ll do my best to get us out of this. I can’t promise anything. We’re in a lot of trouble—the ship, the raids, McKinley. If I’m going to talk our way out of this, I’ll need a lot of support from all of you. I’ll tell you everything that’s going on, but I can’t be second-guessing everyone. I’ll talk with you about everything I do. But you’ll have to agree to stand behind whatever deal I can make.”

  The response from his crewmates—warm, loyal, grim—made it clear that he would get all the support he needed.

  “Okay,” Arthur said. “I guess I have a lot of talking to do.”

  “What should we do in the meantime?” Logan asked. “Like, pack our bags?”

  Arthur looked him straight in the eye. “That might not be a bad idea,” he said.

  Everyone stayed in the dining room while Arthur poured himself a glass of water, dug out a notebook and a pen from underneath his mattress, and entered the captain’s quarters, leaving the door open so the others could hear. Once he was ready, he picked up the radio’s microphone.

  “Captain Fernandez of the United States Coast Guard,” he said in a low steady voice. “Captain Fernandez of the U.S. Coast Guard in Rockland, Maine. This is Arthur Robinson of the schooner Dreadnought, responding to your hail. Come in, please.”

  In the main cabin, the crew whispered. “He said his name!” BillFi said. “He shouldn’t have said his real name.”

  Crystal scowled. “Marietta fucking talked to them, Billy Boy,” she said. “The Coast Guard knows our underwear sizes by now.”

  They listened some more. There was a long pause of silence in the captain’s quarters, and then Arthur repeated his reply. Logan began to hope that maybe they would be ignored and forgotten, but then the radio crackled with static. “Arthur Robinson of the schooner Dreadnought, this is the Coast Guard,” a woman’s voice said. “Please switch to channel four and stand by for Captain Fernandez. That’s channel four. Do you read?”

  “I understand,” Arthur said. “Switching to channel four.” He turned the dial on the radio until the number four appeared in a backlit square at the top. He waited. The crew waited.

  An eternity later, Captain Fernandez’s voice boomed out of the radio. “This is Captain Fernandez,” came the voice. “I understand I am talking to Arthur Robinson. Is that correct?”

  “Yes, sir, it is,” Arthur said. His voice was clear and strong, revealing nothing of the concern, worry, and fear that gripped his friends. “How can we help you?”

  “Well, son, it seems you and your friends are on a boat that doesn’t belong to you,” Fernandez said. “And the owner is missing. And a whole lot of yachts are missing valuables and food. Son, we even have reports of public nudity and underage drinking. We have reason to believe that you and your friends are somehow involved in all of this, and I’d like to ask you to visit me here at the station to talk it over.”

  “I appreciate the invitation, Captain,” Arthur said, “but we would be more comfortable doing our talking over the radio. We have a lot of things to get straight before we leave this ship.”

  Static.

  “Son, I can understand your concerns,” Fernandez replied, “but you need to look at the big picture. I have reason to believe that your boat is damaged and leaking. The Maine State Police, with whom I am in direct contact, have a warrant out for your arrest. And I understand that there are even some people on board who are being held there against their will. Now why don’t you sail on over to Rockland and get this all taken care of?”

  Arthur let a long lapse of silence fill the air. Then suddenly Dawn appeared behind Arthur and rested her hands on his shoulders. “We all want you to know,” she said, “that everyone on board this ship is behind you. Don’t let him bluff you.” She kissed him lightly on top of his head and returned to the dining room.

  “We won’t sail in until you and I have reached some agreements,” Arthur said into the microphone. “I don’t think you’ve been given an accurate picture of what’s been going on here.”

  “I understand, son,” Fernandez said gently. “Listen, it could have happened to anybody. McKinley was hard to deal with, he was threatening, so you panicked. You were stuck out at sea. You didn’t know what to do. So you overreacted. I’m sure the judge will take into account—”

  “That wasn’t it at all,” Arthur interrupted. “McKinley killed himself. We have notes he wrote that will show that. We did not murder him. We never panicked. We never overreacted. We talked things over every step of the way. We knew what we were doing at all times. We will not give up all we have gained just to beg for mercy. Panicked? Overreacted? Captain, the people on board this ship have never been so thoughtful, so mature, and so responsible in their entire lives. You will not take that away from us.”

  Fernandez’s voice took a harder edge. “How can you say you’re being mature when you’ve been doing the things you’ve done?” he said. “That does not look like mature behavior to me.”

  Arthur thought for a moment. Then he squeezed the radio microphone. “Captain?” he said. “With your permission, I’d like to tell you a story.”

  He leaned back in his chair, took a deep breath, and began to tell Captain Fernandez about the crew’s long vivid summer on board the Dreadnought. He talked about the wrath—and the tragedy—of Howard McKinley, even reading from McKinley’s letter to his mother and his suicide note. He talked about the summer dream that everyone on board had agreed to share. He talked openly about their mistakes and passionately about their joys. He wove a tale of love and adventure and ultimate betrayal, and he placed blame on his own shoulders without apology.

  When he was done, he waited for Fernandez’s reply.

  “It’s getting late, son,” the captain said. “Let’s pick this up again in the morning. Oh-seven-hundred hours sharp. Channel four.”

  Then there was silence.

  The crew gathered on deck to enjoy the evening air and talk over their si
tuation. “Sounded nice,” Dawn said.

  “Thanks,” Arthur said. “Fernandez needed to hear our side of the story. It was pretty clear that Marietta had told him a lot of lies.”

  “Who’s captain tomorrow?” Crystal asked.

  “I am,” Dawn answered.

  “Well, Captain,” Crystal continued, “there are a few things we need to think about. First, we should move the ship every night, and during the day, we should stay hidden away in little bays and things. If the Coast Guard comes looking for us, we sure as hell don’t want to make it easy. We have to give Arthur all the time he needs.”

  Dawn nodded. “Sounds good,” she said. “We’ll wait until it gets a bit darker and then hoist the anchor.”

  “We should also choose locations that move us farther and farther away from the fucking coast,” Crystal continued. “We have to stay in radio range—if Fernandez loses contact with us, he might send out a whole bunch of helicopters to find us and force us in—but I think we should put some distance between us and Rockland.”

  “Por que? Why?” Joy asked.

  Arthur answered. “To keep our options open,” he said. “We got lucky—Fernandez seems like an okay guy to deal with. But we don’t want to make things too easy for the Coast Guard. We have to make it hard for them to find us, and hard for them to figure out what we’ll do next. We need as many cards in our hands as we can get.”

  Once the color of the sky had changed from blue to black, the crew of the Dreadnought got into position. They raised the anchor quickly, filled the sails, and eased out of the bay. Dawn was at the helm, and Arthur stayed with her. The others tended the sails. The night was beautiful: an explosion of stars dancing across the sky, a warm and soothing breeze, a ship full of friends and uncertainty and lovers. Arthur studied the charts and called out the markers—gongs, beacons, lighthouses—and between sightings, he and Dawn talked about themselves and their futures.

  “College of the Atlantic?” Arthur mused. “Hmmm. Could be perfect. I’ve been thinking lately about studying environmental law.”

  “That would be perfect,” Dawn answered with a smile. “Maybe I’ll see you there.”

  By two o’clock, the Dreadnought was tucked into a small bay on an unremarkable island, and the crew was below. They talked for more than an hour—about each other, about the ship, about how it all might turn out—and then the conversation wound down into comfortable silence. Just before everyone drifted off to bed, Logan lifted a glass of apple juice.

  “Well, gang—it’s been an awesome cruise,” he said.

  The radio came to life at seven o’clock the next morning. Fernandez seemed to be in good spirits.

  “Good morning, son,” he said after the initial hail and response.

  “Good morning, Captain,” Arthur said calmly. It was clear that he was prepared to talk for as long as was necessary.

  “Son, I’ve been thinking about the things you said yesterday,” Fernandez pressed ahead matter-of-factly. “I checked up on some of the things you said—I talked to McKinley’s mother and his brother in the hardware store—and I spent some time this morning talking to the District Attorney here. Everyone is prepared to accept that McKinley killed himself. You won’t be charged with that.”

  Arthur leaned back and took a deep breath. One important step was behind them. But many more steps lay ahead.

  Fernandez continued, “There’s the problem of your dumping his body overboard, but I think the judge will overlook that. What else are you going to do with a dead body at sea? We’ve also dismissed the charges of underage drinking, public nudity, and hunting seals out of season and without a license—I forgot to mention that one yesterday, didn’t I? And the bit about holding people on board against their will—well, we talked again with our . . . with our source, and we now know that everyone is there willingly. There’s no issue there.”

  More steps forward. Things were beginning to look good.

  “That only leaves us, basically, with the problem of the money, the valuables, and the food that you stole,” Fernandez said. “Starting with McKinley’s money and the other things on board, and going all the way through the stolen lobsters and the items taken from boats along the coast. We have twelve complaints on file, and I’m guessing there are a lot more we still don’t know about yet. Now I’d like to resolve this peacefully, and I think you ought to come on over here and tell us what happened. Give us your side of the story. Then we’ll all make sure that the outcome is fair for everybody. Sounds good, doesn’t it? No more running, no more hiding, no more worrying about getting caught. We’ll just move ahead to the next step and take it from there.”

  Arthur shook his head and picked up the microphone. “Captain, I appreciate all you’ve done for us. We’ve come a long way already. I need time to talk to my crewmates and decide how to proceed. Let’s talk again this afternoon. Fifteen hundred hours. Same channel.”

  “Fair enough,” Fernandez said.

  “There’s no fucking way I’m going to jail or juvey or whatever,” Crystal said, shaking her head. The crew was sitting on a small beach, eating charcoal-grilled hot dogs and bowls of baked beans. “I’ll never agree to that. Never.”

  Dawn took a drink of iced tea. “So far,” she said, “Fernandez has been pretty vague about what would happen if we sailed into Rockland. He talks about ‘the next step’ and things like that, but he hasn’t spelled anything out. I think he’s trying to keep his options open, but it also means we have some room to wiggle. Going to jail might not be the only possible outcome.”

  “Well, we’d better get things spelled out pretty clearly,” Crystal said. “Because if turning ourselves in means going to fucking jail for theft, then I won’t do it.”

  “Listen,” Logan said, “I’m telling you, the only way out is for us to, like, sail into international waters. The Coast Guard doesn’t know where we are right now. Boom! We can totally get out of here free and clear. If we don’t, we’re all going to be arrested, taken to court, charged with a whole bunch of thefts, convicted, and sent to jail or some kind of juvenile detention home. I don’t know about you, but I’d totally rather take my chances on the open seas.”

  Dawn shook her head. “Forget it,” she said. “I’d rather turn myself in. I’m tired of worrying about getting caught, and I’m tired of not dealing with anyone else except for ourselves. There are a lot of people out there who care about us. I don’t want to leave them forever.”

  “But Logan has a good idea,” Arthur said. “I don’t want to leave the country either, but the Coast Guard doesn’t know that. We might use that option—the threat of that option—to get some of those other charges dismissed.”

  “I don’t know,” Dawn said. “It sounds risky. We don’t even know where international waters really are, or what the Coast Guard is allowed to do out there.”

  “It won’t matter,” Arthur said. “The Coast Guard is presenting us with their plan for the near future: We turn ourselves in, go through the courts, and take whatever comes. And Fernandez has hinted that he is willing to back that up with force—that line about resolving this peacefully was intended to be a threat. Well, what we need to do is present Fernandez with a plan of our own: We sail into Rockland, hand over the boat to Fernandez, and if we have to, go through the courts with the promise that even if convicted, we won’t serve any jail time. And then we back that up with our own threat. If they don’t promise to forget about jail, we’ll sail into international waters and vanish. Fernandez will just have to choose between the two plans—and the two threats.”

  In the captain’s quarters, the negotiations continued over the radio. Arthur stated clearly that whatever outcome was discussed, going to jail could not be one of the possibilities.

  “Let me get this straight,” Fernandez said. “You want to be able to break into yachts and haul up lobster traps, take all sorts of things that don’t belong to you, and you shouldn’t be punished for it? What kind of society would this be if we allow
ed such things to happen?”

  “First of all,” Arthur said, “let’s address the issue of the lobster traps. In court, all you would have, I suspect, is your one witness’s opinion against all of ours. I’m willing to talk with you, in private and off the record, about things that might or might not have happened. But in a courtroom, you’d have a hard time proving much.”

  Fernandez was silent for a moment. “I like the way you see things,” he said. “Clear. No clutter. And you’re right—we would have a hard time proving the lobster theft. But the yacht thefts are a different story. We have all kinds of witnesses—people who were out on the docks at those times and will testify that you were there as well—and we have fingerprints and other pieces of evidence. So that one won’t just go away.”

  “I understand that,” Arthur said. “But jail can’t be in the equation. What would it take to get a guarantee—a guarantee—that the worst would be fines or community service or something?”

  “You want a guarantee!” Fernandez said. “Look here. One word from me, and a fleet of helicopters will be in the air within an hour, and they’d waste little time finding you. Then the cutters would go out, seize your ship, arrest the whole bunch of you, and drag you here whether you like it or not. Don’t talk to me about guarantees, son. You’re using up my patience.”

  “Captain Fernandez,” Arthur said, his voice still calm and pleasant, “I am quite aware of the position we’re in. We are willing to admit to our mistakes and do something to make up for them, but we won’t go to jail. There are several people on board who want us to sail off to the east, out of U.S. waters, and just disappear. Take our chances on the ocean. Go to Europe or something. Most of us have families that we don’t want to leave, but without a promise that we’ll avoid going to jail, the people who want to escape might just take the helm and get us out of here. So please, if you can find a way to end this without sending us to jail, it would make everything a whole lot better.”