Caribbean's Keeper

by Boland, Brian;

  Isabella splashed at him with her hand and asked, “Why do you do such things? You scare me.”

  Cole walked closer and picked her up. He thought, If she only knew all the things I’ve done. He didn’t want to disappoint her, or scare her, or hurt her—but he knew himself well enough to worry that he would.

  “I didn’t mean to scare you. The water just feels too good not to jump in.”

  As they walked back up the beach to their spot under the tree, Cole looked back beyond the waves and saw the wind dancing up and over the crests, kicking salt spray over the tops. It was good to be with the sea.

  They ate their sandwiches, drank their beers, and walked some more down to the far end of the beach before swimming again. Cole didn’t leave Isabella this time, but he never entirely shook the thought of how the water had felt at the bottom beyond the waves. Either way, he was happy to play in the shallow water with Isabella. When they were good and tired, they went again back to their spot under the palm tree. It was now the latter half of the afternoon and the beach was almost abandoned.

  Isabella was laying on her back on a towel. The sun had started to walk its way down over the hills to the west, and under the shade of the trees, it was dark and cool. Cole was laying on his stomach, propping his shoulders and head up with his elbows.

  Looking at Cole, Isabella reached down to the string knot on her hip that held her bikini bottom together, tugging at it until the knot loosened. Cole shifted his elbows and pulled himself in closer to her. With her other hand, she untied the knot on the other side then pulled Cole on top of her. They kissed and laughed. She brought one knee over and rubbed her leg against Cole while he loosened the knot tying his board shorts together. They kissed more and Cole looked up to check that no one was on either end of the beach. They were all alone.

  Isabella ran her fingers through his salty hair and pulled his attention back to her. By that point, he didn’t care if anyone was walking on the beach. Her lips were salty and he kissed at drops of water on her neck. They were wrapped up in each other and by the time they were through, the sun was an afterthought below the western horizon. There was still some twilight, but it too would soon fade. Tired from their time in the water and under the palm tree, they collected their things and made their way back to the car.

  Driving back to the Bakoua in darkness, Isabella rested her left hand on Cole’s thigh and her head against the headrest. With the wind, her hair was the same curled and beautiful mess that Cole had admired their first night together. Cole powered through the ups and downs of the winding mountain roads, enjoying the drive and Isabella’s company.

  Back at the Bakoua, they made their way to Cole’s room, settling into the same chairs from the day before to watch the moon come up. The easterly breeze blew with force, and after a day in the sun, it was chilly. As the first stars popped out, Isabella shivered. He smiled at her and motioned to go inside. They took a hot shower, washing the last bits of salt off their faces and dried off before crawling again under the sheets. Cole was in high spirits as Isabella wrapped her arm around his chest and tucked her head into and against his chest.

  Chapter 14 – HITRON

  OVER THE NEXT two weeks, Cole took Isabella all over the island when she wasn’t working. At one point, he asked her to quit working altogether, but she refused. Disappointed, he still admired her work ethic, and her even more because of it. And so, on the days she was free, they drove across the island to the east side and spent evenings at quiet bars tucked up against forgotten beaches. Cole had taken a liking to the rum punch and enjoyed the different variations of it at the bars along the way. They spent one afternoon roaming through Saint-Pierre on the northwest coast, picking their way through the remains of a city where nearly 30,000 people had died in the early 20th century when a volcano had erupted. The beaches were still a dark and almost black sand, evidence even after more than a century of the destruction that had roared downhill from Mount Pelee, on the peak that towered over the town.

  By the time he finally turned the car back in, both he and Isabella were exhausted. They spent the next two weeks eating at restaurants around the marina and evenings passed by as the two of them sat on the veranda and watched stars come out. Most nights, Isabella asked for a bottle of wine, and while Cole never could enjoy the taste nearly as much as rum, he obliged and the two of them worked through a bottle almost every evening.

  Each day, Cole picked up bits and pieces of French and Isabella practiced her English. Conversations went on for hours and Cole relished the tranquility. He couldn’t help but be happy when she would say something to him in French for him to repeat. When he did, she giggled and shook her head, hardly ever telling Cole what he’d actually said. Some nights ended before midnight, but many others went into the early hours of the morning. With a moon crossing the sky above them and the ever-present easterly breeze, Cole was content each night to sit until the morning and take in all he could. Most nights, though, Isabella gave him some hint when she wanted to call it a night.

  Sometimes it was obvious. She’d get up from her seat and sit on Cole’s lap, kissing him and pulling at his shirt. Other nights it was more subtle. She’d be quiet for a bit longer than usual and by the time it caught Cole’s attention, she was looking directly into his eyes and he knew she wanted his affection. He never knew what it was that turned the tide. Perhaps it was the things he said in French or perhaps it was nothing, but most often Isabella led him back into the room, turned the lights out, and crawled on top of him.

  Well into his second month in Martinique, he awoke one morning to find Isabella already dressing herself for work.

  “You know you should just quit, right?” Cole’s eyes were blinking as he shook the last bits of sleep away.

  Isabella, pulling on her shoes, replied, “I promised them I would work the summer. It would not be fair. Besides, what would I do with all that time?”

  “Stay in bed with me for starters.” Cole grinned.

  “I’ll be back in your bed soon either way.” Isabella flashed him a smile and adjusted her shirt before turning to walk out the door.

  “Oh, Cole, your phone is blinking. There is probably a message for you. Call the front desk. I will see you tonight, mon amour.” With that she walked out and the door closed behind her.

  Cole rolled over to see the phone and indeed there was a small blinking red light. It took some time to figure out how to play the message, but eventually he found the right button. His heart skipped a beat when he heard it. It was David. In so many words, he wanted Cole to get in touch with him. Cole sat for some time thinking about it. In every way, he was happy to have put Panama behind him and did not want to return, especially now.

  He went for breakfast to think it over. With a few cups of coffee, he mulled over his options. There really weren’t any. Cole knew David would track him down wherever he ran, no matter how remote of a corner in the Caribbean. Perhaps David had a compromise in the works, but Cole had no idea. What he knew was that he’d have to get in touch with David to find out. Moreover, while Cole hated to admit it, the past two months had eaten up the majority of what severance he had left from the Coast Guard.

  Returning to his room, he sat on the bed and reluctantly dialed.

  David picked up and said, “Hello?”

  “David, it’s Cole, returning your call.”

  David sounded genuinely happy to hear from him. “I think the weeks have been good to you, Cole. How have you been?”

  “Good, yeah. Thanks for the advice. Martinique is something else.”

  David switched to business. “Like I said, Cole, we just needed some time to let things quiet down. I’ve got some work for you if you’re interested. It’s in your neighborhood, too. I assume you want to stick around there for a while.”

  Cole thought for a second before replying, “Yeah, the island vibe is a bit easier on me than Panama City. What’s the job?”

  David laughed. “D
riving a boat my friend, what else?”

  Cole felt butterflies forming in his stomach. “Where to?”

  David laid out the plan. “You’ll get a ride out to one of our boats around sunset. It’ll be an hour or so offshore. Once the sun goes down, you run it up to Saint Croix and call it a day. And Cole, this is a fast one. You’ll make forty knots easy.”

  Cole paused and asked, “When and where do you need me?”

  “Great. Glad to hear it, my friend.” David was enthusiastic. “Tomorrow afternoon around five at the marina. Look for a red hull and center console. They’ll get you out to where you need to be. We’ll get you back to Martinique in two days.”

  Cole said goodbye and hung up the phone. It didn’t sound all that bad. Two days on the water and on the other side of the Caribbean. If it got him back in the good graces of David, that was a plus as well. If things had calmed down after Panama, Cole welcomed it.

  He went through his usual routine of swimming out into the anchorage and back before taking a nap that afternoon under a palm tree. By the time Isabella tracked him down around sunset, he’d worked up an appetite. They ate at the same restaurant as their first night. After eating, Cole told Isabella he’d be gone for two days. She didn’t seem too concerned at first, but she sensed something with the way Cole explained it to her.

  “If you are worried Cole, then I am scared.”

  He shook his head, “No, no, don’t be scared. It’s a piece of cake.”

  She persisted, “I can tell you are uneasy and that scares me.”

  “I’ll be fine.” He smiled at her and kissed her forehead.

  They walked around the marina and to the jetty on the far side of the inlet. They joked with each other and laughed when Cole tried to say things back to her in French. When there was a break in the conversation, Isabella draped her arms over Cole’s shoulders and held just a bit tighter than she normally did. Cole knew she was doing all she could to hide her fears and he loved her for it. She was as strong as she was beautiful.

  They turned in for the night early that evening. Isabella curled up against Cole as he lay on his back and ran his fingers through her curly hair, playing with each strand before tucking it behind her ear. He felt the rhythm of her breathing and realized soon that she’d fallen fast asleep, her right arm draped over his chest.

  They were both up the following morning, and Isabella kissed him before heading out the door. She promised to see him at the marina before he left. With that, Cole was alone with his thoughts. After breakfast, he took a long walk out to the abandoned garrison and sat for some time by the rusting gun emplacements. In town, he bought a sandwich and tucked a second away for the trip that evening. He slept for a few hours that afternoon and woke just a bit after three. Eating again at the bar where he’d first seen Isabella, Cole drank iced water with lemons in it until he was about to burst.

  Thanking the bartender, he picked up his backpack with a few necessities from his room and headed down to the marina. He was 15 minutes early, but sure enough there was a red hull with a center console tied off to the concrete bulkhead. Two men, one about Cole’s age and the other a bit older were sitting on the bow. They exchanged nods with Cole and he tossed them his bag. Just before hopping down, he heard Isabella coming up behind him.

  True to her word, she’d slipped out to come say goodbye. They hugged each other and kissed for a moment.

  She held onto him by his waist. “Come back soon, OK?”

  There was concern in her voice and she couldn’t hide it. Cole assured her he’d be back in two days. They kissed one more time and he pulled her tight against him. Cole felt regret and he hadn’t even left the dock yet, but he told himself it would be a quick trip.

  He held Isabella’s hand for one more moment, then hopped down to the boat. The two men untied her as the engine kicked and snorted to life. The driver reversed then pushed the throttle ahead and motored for the channel. Cole looked back again at Isabella. The breeze was blowing her hair to one side and he could see the outline of her body through the thin cotton shirt pressed against it. She waved and then wiped at her eye with her finger.

  She cried a bit. There was no denying it. It tore at Cole’s heart, but he was already on his way. All at once he wanted to turn around and call the whole thing off, but at the same time this run was already set in motion and there would be hell to pay if Cole backed out now. He ran both his hands through his hair, looking back at Isabella. She waved one more time and Cole did the same. After that, he was through the channel and she was gone.

  The driver pushed the throttles halfway as they passed the last of the buoys marking the channel. Abeam the old garrison, he turned west and pushed them up all the way. Cole felt the clean air against his face and chest. As the boat turned with the wind, it backed off and they raced westward. Running downswell, it was a rough ride and Cole steadied his feet as Martinique trailed off behind them. The driver handled the boat well, turning and reading the backs of each wave as he carved a crisscrossing path until they were well clear of land.

  g

  For the next two hours, they ran hard at close to 30 knots. Cole had pushed thoughts of Isabella crying from his mind and focused on his return in two days. He was on the open water once again and the late afternoon sky filled with vibrant shades of yellow and orange against the dark blue water. As the sun started its descent below the western horizon, the driver slowed to idle. He was working off of a handheld GPS, much like Cole had done so many times. They waited for a bit, cutting circles out of the rolling water surrounding them.

  When the sun was finally down, the driver pushed ahead for another 20 minutes and then slowed. Both the driver and the other passenger were looking ahead. The one on the bow pointed just left of the bow, and the driver turned to follow. Cole saw a blue tarp on the water draped over something. They driver yelled something in Spanish and someone from under the tarp began pulling it back and yelling back at the driver.

  Cole was amazed at the boat that had been concealed. It was a monster, easily 40 feet long with three outboard engines. The entire boat was painted dark blue to include the engines, and she had one large center console about a third of the way forward. There were three guys on it when the driver of the red hull pulled up alongside. They looked like hell. Cole had heard of this tactic before where a boat would drive all night then pull a tarp over the top of it during the day to hide from aircraft and ships. By the next nightfall, it would pull the tarp and make the rest of the trip.

  The three men on board looked like they were barely holding on. They’d been under a tarp for more than 12 hours with no breeze or fresh air. The Caribbean sun had practically cooked them. As they climbed over to the red hull, Cole and the older guy from the bow hopped over onto the Go-Fast. The driver stayed on the red hull. Cole looked his crewman over and realized quickly that the guy was stoned. Whatever, he thought. Cole looked back a bit unsure since he’d always run with Diego and Hector, but the driver waved and pushed himself away from Cole’s new boat.

  Cole turned the keys in the ignition and the engines came to life with the usual shudder. The fuel tanks were full along with two more drums behind him. Cole’s stoned crew member went about checking the lines for a minute or two before giving Cole a thumbs up and taking a seat up forward among the bales. Cole figured they must have refueled that morning before pulling over the tarp. With a deep breath, Cole worked the wheel back and forth and gave it a once over. The GPS mounted on the console had a decent display screen, far better than the handheld ones he’d used in the past. It had a course to steer and bearing already in place and, with a charge from the boat’s battery, would last as long as necessary. Between the gunwale and one of the fuel drums, Cole spied a rifle tucked away. He didn’t bother to take it out and function check it, but it looked to be some variant of an AK-47.

  It seemed like the big leagues. Here he had a boat most certainly purpose-built for running drugs and a Kalashnikov rifl
e tucked in the corner. Behind him were the fuel drums and in front of him were close to two dozen bales, of which he was certain were full of cocaine. Cole thought for a moment that he probably could have carried even more than was onboard, but it didn’t matter either way. The driver of the red hull waved them off and with a red sky to the west, Cole spun the boat around and pointed northwest, towards Saint Croix, some 300 miles away.

  Within minutes, Cole was back in his routine. The sun was gone and blackness blanketed the sky. Cole jammed the throttles up, and the boat surged up over the five-foot chop and powered through it like no other boat he’d driven. When he ran migrants, the boats were shaky at best in any sea state and rode horribly at max power. The pangas were more graceful, but still had to find a niche in any sea state to ride well, oftentimes at less power. But with this behemoth, waves didn’t matter, nor did the wind. She plowed through waves and held her course. When she surged up and over a wave, she settled back down evenly and felt solid as she dropped her deep V hull back into the water. Cole glanced down at his GPS and he was covering 40 knots over the ground. He laughed a bit as the wind blew some sea spray against his face. He knew in a few hours he’d be tired of it, but at the moment he enjoyed the ride.

  Two hours went by. Already a third of the way there, he heard what sounded like a faint whining from behind him and thought something was wrong with one of the engines. Yelling at his crewman to get his attention, Cole pointed back at the engines. Reluctantly, the stoned guy made his way aft, past the console and stood there for a moment or two, bracing himself against the console and the hull.

  “Well, what is it?” Cole yelled but got no reply.

  Damn pothead, Cole thought.