“Got some food and drink down here,” Garry shouted up to Barry.
“Be right down.”
Barry joined them and tore into the bread and cheese like he hadn’t eaten for days.
“Guess you were hungry,” Miguel said.
“Starved,” Barry replied.
“Christ!” said Garry. “He’s always hungry—eats us out of house and home.”
“I’m a growing boy,” Barry responded between mouthfuls of food. He snapped the tab on the Coke and chugged it.
“For Christ’s sake, you’re nineteen. I hope you won't grow anymore,” Garry chided.
They ate in silence and finished their drinks. Barry returned to the upper station and Miguel suggested that he fire another flare. As soon as he reached the top platform and scanned the horizon, he shouted to everyone below. “There’s a boat coming.”
Miguel clambered up the ladder to join him.
“Over there,” he pointed as he handed the glasses to Miguel.
“That looks like Julio from the marina,” he said as he adjusted the glasses and the boat came into focus. He was about five miles out and travelling flat out as evidenced by the huge bow wave on his 45' Sea Ray Sundancer.
“Should be here in less than 10 minutes at the rate he’s travelling.”
By this time, the boat was visible from the flybridge and they all watched as the rescue craft approached.
They left the San Pedro where it was and let the coast guard look after it. Miguel sent a message to them updating them on the situation. In less than an hour, they were entering the channel to the marina. Julio slowed the engines to idle and manoeuvred the craft through the narrow entrance. He aligned the boat bow-out from the dock, placed the transmissions in reverse and piloted the vessel between the dock and his neighbour. Enrique jumped to the dock with the stern line and looped it around a cleat, then grabbed the bow line from the side rail, pulled the bow in and secured the line to a cleat. Miguel handed his group their bags, and they all stood on the dock shaking hands.
“Thanks Miguel,” said Garry. “Excellent day of fishing, not to mention the excitement of running into some drug runners. Hope you get your boat back soon.”
“You're welcome,” said Miguel. “You can write a review on my website if you like. I'm always looking for good reviews.”
“Not a problem,” he said, and they bade their farewells. Without his boat, Miguel had to clear his schedule for the next few days and went home.
Miguel did not worry about his boat. He had installed a tracking device for this very occasion, and now he had a cell signal, albeit weak, he loaded the app and waited for it to locate the boat. The display was blank for a while with the small ‘searching’ symbol revolving in the top corner. After a few seconds, a map appeared, and a pin showed the location. Nicaragua.
* * * *
Earlier in the day, Miguel was setting up for the morning’s charter. A warm ocean breeze whipped up small whitecaps outside the protected harbour of Marina Pez Vela and caused sailboats to gently sway; stays slapping on aluminium masts. Gulls hung almost motionless in the breeze as a pelican folded its wings and dived into the surf, coming up with a fish in its bill. He heard the warble of his cell phone, and when he reached for it, the display read ‘Unknown Number’. He was always wary of unidentified callers and many times elected not to answer, but this time he did.
“Si ,” he said.
“Miguel? It’s Frederico.”
“Frederico!” Miguel said in a surprised voice. “Good to hear from you again. What’s up?”
Frederico Gomaz was someone who played an important part in Miguel’s last adventure surrounding the treasure of Lima. Back then, Miguel was Kyle MacDonald, and circumstances dictated that he ‘die’ to protect his girlfriend Jenny. At the time, Frederico was Chief of Police for San José, but was now president of his security company he started before his tenure with the police department ended. This was the company that Miguel—aka Kyle—had used to put together the covert team to rescue Jenny and retrieve his stolen boat. Frederico had helped to set up a new identity for Kyle and orchestrated his disappearance.
“How’s the new life going? I understand you met with someone from your old life. That was risky, no?”
“Not really. There is no real link to Anna other than she used to work for me. She understands the situation.”
“And how is your son? Enrique?”
“Yes, Enrique. He is fine.”
“That must have been quite a surprise when you discovered you had a son. How did she explain you to him?”
“Yes, it shocked me, I must admit. I wasn’t aware of it either until I met her last year. She just explained to him that we had an affair, and he was the result. He doesn’t know my real name or anything about my past.”
“I hope it stays that way.”
“So,” Miguel said. “To what do I owe the pleasure of this call?”
“I have a small mission I would like you to consider. It’s in San José. My regular team is not available, so I thought of you. ”
Miguel thought a while about the offer and after a few moments, he responded.
“Frederico. I think it sounds exciting, and it piques my interest, but before I had a reason for going along to save Jenny. I am now pretty well settled down with Anna and Enrique. Christ! I am a family man now!”
“I understand,” Frederico said with obvious dejection in his voice. “Just wanted to pass it along to you. You did such a great job.”
“Thanks for the offer buddy. I hope the operation goes well.” Miguel knew enough not to ask anything about the operation because it would be on a need-to-know basis.
“Call me and we can have lunch. It’s been a while.”
“Would love that. I’m in Puerto de Quepos now on a charter. I’ll text you next week sometime. It looks like I will have a few days break in charters.”
“Until next week then?”
“Until next week,” Miguel said and ended the call.
The ever-present smell of the marina—a pungent combination of salt air, gasoline and diesel fumes, mixed with decaying fish from the many fishing boats in the harbour—filled Miguel’s nostrils as he busied himself with the chores of the day. His 12-year-old son, Enrique, on a rare occasion when he could join Miguel on one of his charters, was occupying himself with the lines, removing the spring lines and coiling them up. They were planning a fly-fishing adventure and expected to cash in on the abundance of billfish, or sailfish, that propagate the area. Sailfish are most often caught by trolling, and it is exciting to watch them chase the bait before they hit. Due to their display of tail dancing and vigorous antics once you caught them, they tire quickly, and inexperienced anglers can land them. His guests, being experienced fishermen, opted for the fly-fishing technique that requires more skill and uses a different tackle.
His charter group was due at 9:00 a.m. and had booked a four-hour session. They would travel for an hour before casting out their lines. After two hours of fishing it would be noon and too hot to remain exposed in the aft cockpit. Miguel would serve lunch and cold beer as they made their way back to the marina.
Just before 9:00, a group of three men approached the dock and noted the boat they were looking for. The Annabelle was gently rolling in her slip and tugged on the mooring lines. Her sleek lines, with raised bow and shallow cockpit, were perfect for fishing open water. She sported a multi-level tuna tower that had a full-function control station that placed the operator almost 25' above the water.
“Good morning,” one man called out, “are you Miguel Diaz?”
Miguel looked up from what he was doing and saw a tall man whose silver-grey hair was evident below a ‘Chicago Bulls’ cap. He guessed he would be in his late 50s, sporting a trimmed grey beard that covered most of his ruddy face and wearing a white tee-shirt emblazoned with a ‘Blackhawks’ Indian head logo, knee-length, white shorts, and sandals. Wraparound reflective sunglasses perched precariously on his su
n-baked nose.
“That would be me,” Miguel said as he hauled himself off the boat and joined him on the dock.
“Garry deSilva,” the man said as he proffered his hand. Miguel took the hand and shook it, noticing a powerful grip. “This is Manny Tarkinson,” he gestured to the short and stocky man standing beside him who wore a tee-shirt, shorts, sandals and a ‘BMW’ baseball cap. Miguel offered his hand, and they shook as Garry continued the introductions. Manny stepped aside and a somewhat shy, much younger man, approached Miguel with his hand extended. “And this is my son Barry,” Garry said. “He’s just along for the ride.”
Miguel guessed Barry’s age to be early twenties, and he had a black tee-shirt with a ‘Kiss’ rock group logo. He wore knee-length, khaki cargo pants and black Nikes. He sported a ‘White Sox’ cap that had its peak facing backward. Barry’s grip was the opposite of Garry’s and failed to close the fingers around the hand, a sign of a poor handshake. Barry also averted Miguel’s eyes, another sign of a poor greeting that suggested an introverted nature. It was obvious from the attire that this was his group from Chicago.
“OK,” Kyle said as he relieved the men of their knapsacks and stepped into the cockpit. “Let’s get aboard and get some fish!”
“I’m all for that,” Garry said as he followed Miguel onto the boat, with Barry and Manny following. Miguel climbed the steps to the bridge and introduced each of them to Enrique. He gestured to the men to sit while he stowed their bags inside the cabin. The boat had a captain’s chair, two companion chairs, and an abundance of bench seats around the bridge. Garry and Manny took the port and starboard seats, and Barry hoisted himself into the centre one and admired the layout of switches and controls .
“Wow!” he said softly to himself scanning the instrumentation. Miguel reached around him and turned the key to the port engine. The low oil pressure alarm sounded, and he pressed the ‘start’ button. The ten-cylinder MAN diesel burst into life with a low rumble, and after two seconds, the alarm silenced.
“Cool!” Barry said. Miguel repeated the sequence for the starboard engine and it too joined in with its partner in a low synchronized rumble. After allowing the engines to idle for a few minutes, Enrique stepped off the boat and undid the bow and stern lines, keeping them looped around the cleats.
“What are all these instruments for?” Barry asked.
“I’ll go over that once we are under way.”
Miguel turned on the chart plotter, radar, radio, autopilot, and tri-data. He had already made his pre-excursion check of the boat to make sure all systems were functioning properly.
“OK,” he called to Enrique who released the bow line, threw it onto the deck and pushed the bow out, then proceeded aft and unhooked the stern line, carrying it with him as he stepped onto the boat.
Once Miguel had cleared the dock, he manipulated the port and starboard controls to steer the boat through the entrance channel and into the ocean. Once clear of the channel, he moved the throttles to increase the RPMs to 1,500 and the bow bit into the slowly rolling surf, casting small sprays of salt water aside.
“Keep her heading straight,” he said to Barry as he slid off the chair and offered it to him.
“Neat!” Barry said as he climbed into the seat. Miguel made his way aft to stow the lines while Enrique brought in the fenders and stowed them. Miguel then returned to the bridge and addressed the passengers.
“We’ll be travelling for about an hour before we reach the area I want to take you. There are cold drinks in the fridge,” he gestured to the cockpit refrigerator. He turned back to Barry, who was like a kid on Christmas day at the helm. “Ease her up to 2,000 RPM and maintain this heading of 260°.”
Barry grabbed one of the levers and Miguel said. “No, use your hand on both levers at the same time; that’s why they’re shaped the way they are.” Each throttle lever curved from the base so that the handles were close together. Barry placed his hand on both levers and eased them forward and the revolutions rose until the tachometers read 2,000. The engine note increased, and the bow lifted as the sleek craft was now cutting through the slight swells, casting sheets of spray aside as she sliced through each wave. The sun caused small rainbows to form in the spray as the breeze carried the wisps of water from the wave tops.
Miguel pointed out an ‘X’ on the chart plotter. “This is where we are going and you need to ‘aim’ to starboard to allow for the drift caused by the breeze coming from starboard.” Of course, he could have just engaged the autopilot, but that would not have been any fun for Barry.
“What is starboard?”
Miguel forgot that he was addressing land lubbers.
“Starboard is the right side of the boat when facing forward, or left if facing aft. That way, it is always the same side. The other side is ‘port’.”
“Look at that!” Barry shouted, pointing to the side. Schools of flying fish were leaping out of the water and flying for several feet before plunging back in. Garry already had his camera out and was shooting a video of the spectacular scene.
“Awesome!” was Barry’s comment. “So what do all these instruments tell me?”
Miguel ran through the operation of all the instruments and controls. The newfound information intrigued Barry, whereas Garry and Manny were familiar with it all and were more eager to get fishing. Leaving Barry to pilot the craft, Miguel led the others to the cockpit where he retrieved a rod for each of them.
“Wow!” said Garry. “Hardy Zane Saltwater 3 rod with Temple Fork Outfitters TiCrX reel. Nice! How much line is on the reel?”
“There’s 20 yd. of Cortland’s 13 wt. clear intermediate sink tip fly line and 500 yd. of 45 lb. Gelspun Backing.” Miguel said as he opened a cabinet and pulled out a box. He opened the lid to display a multitude of hooks and colourful flies. “I recommend a pink popper for sailfish, but you can experiment with any of them.”
“Pink’s good for me,” said Garry as he selected a Cam Sigler Pink Tube fly, and Manny selected a green one. Enrique set up the rod with the ‘teaser’—this was a hook-less lure used to bring the fish close to the boat so it was within range of the fly rods.
As they drew close to the desired area, Miguel climbed the ladder to the top station and took over the controls from Barry. From his vantage point, he could see better the telltale signs of sailfish as they came close to the surface, showing brief glimpses of their long bill and the large dorsal fin. It was not long before he saw several just off the port bow, so Miguel changed course to take them close to the group of meandering bill fish.
“Ready the teaser,” Miguel shouted down to Enrique. Both Garry and Manny had their lines baited and their fly lines coiled in a bucket of water at their feet. “OK, let her out!”
Enrique tossed the teaser bait into the water and released the drag on the line. Miguel maintained steerage at just above idle until the teaser was about 200 yd. behind the boat. Miguel dropped the engines to idle and Enrique reeled in the teaser. Almost immediately, a fin appeared behind the bait and Enrique reeled faster to keep it ahead of the fish. He watched as the fish almost swallowed the lure, then he jerked it with a pull of the rod, reeling at the same time. Garry and Manny stayed poised for the right moment when Enrique would yank the teaser out of the water and they would cast their fly lines to the spot where it was. “Now!” said Miguel when the fish was less than 50' from the boat. Enrique pulled the lure out of the water as the two fly fisherman were casting their lines back and forth, gradually increasing the reach, then letting it go to drop close to the sailfish. The agitated fish would look around for the teaser and go for one of the flies.
“Fish on!” Manny shouted as the rest of his fly line spun from the bucket and peeled the backing line off the reel. The reel zinged as the quarry tried to get away. Manny tried to grab the spinning reel, but realized it was pointless until the fish tired somewhat. The reel continued to zing as hundreds of yards of line peeled from it. Miguel shifted the transmission into neutral and came
down the ladder to the cockpit.
“I hope this guy runs out of breath before I run out of line,” Manny said chuckling. Adrenaline was coursing through his veins as he held the butt of the rod into his stomach, pulled on it with his right hand while reeling with his left. No fighting chair with this method of fishing, and a large fish can be very challenging.
“Hold him steady,” Garry said as he retrieved his line. “Looks like a good one.” Sailfish can range from 100 to 200 lb., and are the fastest fish in the ocean, capable of speeds of over 60 mph. Manny’s reel suddenly stopped spinning, and he grabbed one of the handles and retrieved the line, keeping it taught. After a while, the line slackened, and he thought he may have lost the fish, but about 300 yards behind the boat, it surfaced, stood on its tail and tried to shake the lure loose.
“Awesome!” said Barry.
“Wheew!” Cried Garry. “Keep the line taught.”
Manny hauled on the rod and continued reeling in, then the drag zinged again as the fish took off.
“Jesus!” Manny said. “This bastard will not give up.”
After ten minutes, the reel stopped again, and the fish did another tail dance and plunged back into the water, Manny hauled in a hundred yards of line, before it took off again. After about 40 minutes, he got the flailing fish to the side of the boat where Enrique grabbed hold of its spear and took the lure out of its mouth. Miguel grabbed its tail, and they hauled it onto the boat’s swim platform. From the tip of the lower jaw to the fork in the tail measured 101". Miguel consulted his chart. “About 150 lb. Not bad.” They did the usual photo op and then released it back into the ocean.
That consumed the first hour of their fishing, and they repeated the process with setting the teaser and this time, only Garry was fishing. Before long, he latched onto one, and fought it for over half an hour before they got it close to the boat. Enrique donned his life vest and climbed down to the swim platform, Miguel behind him. Enrique reached for the spear as Garry manoeuvred the fish to the side of the boat. Just as Enrique grabbed the spear, there was a huge splash as the sailfish seemed to leap from the water, causing Enrique to lose his balance and fall off the platform and into the water. As the fish came further out of the water, they saw the head of a great white shark wrapped around it as it plunged back into the sea in a huge splash of churning water and bubbles.
Death Drones Page 2