Deadly Passage

by Lawrence Gold

  ‘‘Let’s get it over with. We’ll have the rest of the day to explore and shop, to shop and explore, or to shop and shop. You choose.’’

  Rachel looked up at her father.

  ‘‘What is it?’’ he asked.

  ‘‘I have a stake in this, too.’’

  ‘‘A stake in what?’’

  ‘‘Where we go next. It’s a small boat; I hear most everything.’’

  Andy smiled. ‘‘Please don’t tell your mother. It could ruin our… I’ll tell you more when you’re older.’’

  ‘‘Daddy, where?’’

  ‘‘Don’t know, yet. Your mother and I have only begun to talk about it.’’

  ‘‘Don’t I have a say? I live here, too. I’m your daughter.’’

  ‘‘Of course you have a say. It’s a big decision for everyone.’’

  ‘‘Don’t think I haven’t had a great time. It’s been fantastic, but soon I’m going to be a teenager…’’

  ‘‘Not if I can help it.’’

  She ignored him. ‘‘I’m almost 13. I can read a map, and I know that if we go to Cartagena, we’ll be cruising for years.’’

  ‘‘I know…’’

  ‘‘Let me finish. I’ll be 15 or 16 when we finally get back to the states. I’ll have missed so much.’’

  ‘‘That’s not all bad. We know what’s going on in high schools, these days. Excuse us if we’re not exactly crazy about drugs, alcohol, and permissive attitudes toward sex.’’

  ‘‘Now I really want to go… just kidding, Daddy. Take your bows. I’m a good kid, and strong enough to make my own decisions.’’

  ‘‘We know you’re right, Rache. Time’s moving too quickly for us. You were seven when we started, and look at you now.’’

  ‘‘Please think about what I want, Daddy.’’

  ‘‘We will.’’

  ‘‘My vote is that we move back to dry land.’’

  Andy shuffled through the stack of Calvert home schooling books. ‘‘Here’s an appropriate one: Critical Thinking.’’

  Jesse stuck her head through the companionway. ‘‘Turn on the radar, would you, sweetheart?’’

  ‘‘Sure. What’s up?’’

  ‘‘Something’s on its way. Let’s see how big it is.’’

  Andy started the color radar, and after it warmed up, scanned the area. At the edge of the five-mile limit, the radar caught the squall’s image. When he increased the range, he pointed at the screen. ‘‘It’s a big one, about three miles in diameter and real dense.’’

  Rachel studied the image. ‘‘Look how red it is in the center.’’

  Andy pointed at the screen. ‘‘That’s a huge amount of moisture. We’re going to get soaked.’’

  After Jesse glanced at the radar screen, she went into action. ‘‘Rache, take down the windscoops while I let out about 50 feet of chain. And, Andy, what about the dinghy? Keep it in, or take it out?’’

  Andy moved to the stern. ‘‘I’ll lift it out.’’ He hoisted the dinghy out of the water, and put it up on the stern davits. Then he secured it, and pulled the drain plug so it wouldn’t fill with water.

  As they completed the last of the tasks, the sky darkened, and Prophecy swung to face the oncoming tempest.

  Rachel looked out and chanted like an ancient mariner: ‘‘Wind before rain, topsails remain.’’ Then she turned, ‘‘This shouldn’t be too bad, Daddy.’’

  ‘‘Famous last words.’’

  In less than a minute, the sky blackened, and whitecaps charged into the harbor with violent winds.

  ‘‘Go below,’’ Andy said. ‘‘I’ll watch from the cockpit.’’

  After they descended through the companionway, Andy inserted the hatchboard, and pulled the cover shut.

  They’d been through many squalls at sea and at anchor. While they were exciting and sometimes dangerous, Andy loved them, especially torrential rains that flattened the sea. He placed his back against the hatchboard, watched, and breathed in the aerosolized briny aroma of sea and fresh water that he loved.

  Nature’s raw power left Andy in awe, as lightning struck and struck again. The storm’s leading edge was a bright iridescent curtain draped over the bay’s entrance. He watched it blow toward them.

  The sky flashed once more, and thunder followed within milliseconds. Andy jumped from the intense thunderclap that had shaken the boat.

  It was too damn close.

  Andy said a small prayer to the sea gods. A direct strike could melt their electronics, or worse: blow out the hull and sink them.

  He listened as the rain thrummed and surged against the canvas. Suddenly, Andy thought he’d heard something. He stood on the bridgedeck, the raised area of the cockpit aft of the cabin house, and made a 360-degree survey, but saw nothing. On his third rotation, a shadow emerged from the darkness a hundred yards off the starboard bow. It was the outline of Secret, a 40-foot sloop. The boat had dragged anchor, and was moving toward them. The cockpit crew had someone behind the wheel. They’d engaged the engine as the black exhaust smoke of an overworked diesel poured from the stern. The tiny auxiliary sailboat engine strained in its futile effort to move the boat against the 50 to 60 knot gale.

  Andy banged on the hatchboard. ‘‘Get up here, now. Secret’s adrift, and we may need to fend her off. When Jesse and Rachel started from the companionway, Andy stopped them with his hand. ‘‘Life vests on, first.’’

  Andy pulled the dinghy oars from the cockpit, and handed one to each. ‘‘Do your best with these. I’d rather have broken oars than broken fingers. I’m starting the engine. We may need to maneuver away.’’

  The engine turned over, and then jumped to life with its diesel clatter.

  Secret moved closer. Black smoke billowed from the stern as the helmsman struggled for control. Two men at the bow were letting out additional chain in an attempt to reset their anchor.

  ‘‘Shit,’’ Andy yelled, ‘‘It’s coming our way. Get ready.’’

  Jesse and Rachel stood on the starboard deck holding the oars. Fully exposed to the rain, they were soaked in an instant.

  ‘‘Daddy, do something,’’ Rachel cried.

  Suddenly, the black smoke stopped as Secret’s engine died, leaving the boat fully adrift, and out of control.

  The sloop closed to 30 feet. Jesse and Rachel stood at the ready with their oars. Andy stepped back to the helm, turned the wheel fully to starboard, and pushed the throttle to maximum. As Secret was about to collide with them, Prophecy’s stern slid away.

  Secret drifted past, missing them by inches.

  ‘‘Too damn close,’’ Andy said as Secret moved toward the rocky shoals.

  ‘‘We have to do something!’’ Rachel shouted.

  ‘‘Can’t do anything in this wind, sweetie. Let’s hope they go aground before they hit the rocks.’’

  Secret’s bow oscillated, and she heeled over with the portside rail in the water. The crew hung from the starboard lifelines.

  ‘‘She’s going to hit,’’ Andy said as Secret looked to be only 50 yards from the rocks.

  Suddenly, Secret’s bow snapped into a fixed position. The anchor chain pulled taut, lifted out of the water, and stopped the boat’s drift. The anchor had set just in time.

  ‘‘Too close,’’ Andy said. ‘‘Another few feet, and we’d have to try a rescue. I don’t even want to think about that.’’

  The rain and the winds stopped as quickly as they had begun, and the sun beamed from cloudless skies—nature’s act of contrition for her petulance.

  Andy looked at his daughter. ‘‘You wouldn’t have had this experience on land, sweetie.’’

  Rachel shook her head, and reached for a towel to dry her rain-soaked hair. She placed a kiss on Andy’s cheek, and went below.

  ‘‘Reggie… Reggie, where are you, girl?’’ Rachel cried as she stepped into the main saloon. She stuck her head into the portside compartment. Reggie lay trembling in the lower bunk. Only one thing frightened the fearles
s dog: thunder.

  Chapter Four

  The storm through Porto Bello dissipated its rage, and by 11 in the morning, it had abandoned the anchorage.

  It had bent everything in its path to its will, but, weary, it yielded to the warm new dawn.

  Perhaps it was a nightmare, thought Jesse, as she stared at the cloudless skies over the suddenly calm blue waters of Porto Bello Bay.

  Jesse smiled. ‘‘We need a break. Let’s eat lunch in town.’’

  ‘‘Great,’’ Rachel said.

  Andy stretched his six-foot two-inch body over the dinghy, and inserted the drain plug before lowering it into the water.

  ‘‘Don’t forget the plug,’’ Jesse said. ‘‘The last time, we nearly lost the dinghy.’’

  Andy shook his head. ‘‘Let me put the oars back, and then we can go.’’

  Jesse and Rachel climbed into the boat, while Andy attached the fuel lines, and pulled the starting cord. After two tugs, the motor caught and idled smoothly.

  Reggie stood at Prophecy’s stern, wagging her tail.

  ‘‘Can she come, Daddy?’’ asked Rachel. ‘‘She loves the dinghy.’’

  ‘‘Okay, but keep her on the leash when we get in.’’

  Andy pointed the dinghy directly east toward the bay’s end. Reggie stood with her front paws on the bow, sniffing the air and wagging her tail in joy.

  They tied up to the town dock, and walked to a small restaurant facing the beach. Rachel fastened Reggie to a post outside. Four wooden tables had purple tablecloths and Talavera plates. The owners had decorated the lime-green walls with cast iron sculptures, paintings and colorful sombreros.

  When the waitress came, Andy asked, ‘‘Can we get the cerveche without cilantro?’’

  ‘‘Daddy hates cilantro,’’ Jesse said.

  ‘‘Señor?’’

  ‘‘Cerveche sin cilantro, por favor.’’

  She smiled. ‘‘Si, Señor.’’

  They ordered empanadas: beef for Andy and chicken for Jesse and Rachel. Andy asked for two Balboa beers with lime and a coke for Rachel.

  The food was great and plentiful. Andy had saved part of his empanada for Reggie, who swallowed it whole. Afterward, they shopped the local markets for fruits and vegetables, and found a carniceria with refrigerated meat, a rarity in many areas. They bought several thin steaks and a roast chicken for dinner.

  They sped back to Prophecy, stowed the food, and returned to the dinghy for sightseeing. Andy beached them on the north side of the bay, and they climbed the grassy hill to explore the ancient forts. Rusted cannons still faced the blue bay, awaiting orders for the next salvo.

  After they returned to the dinghy, they motored through the anchorage to visit with three other boats. All agreed to a potluck dinner on Prophecy.

  Fortunately for Rachel, one family had a son of 12 aboard. Four dinghies floated behind Prophecy. The cruisers watched the setting sun, waiting for the green flash, the mystical emerald-green rim, as the sun sank below the horizon.

  Andy had raised the large teak table in the boat’s huge cockpit, and soon their guests covered it with their dinner contributions. Jesse had the blender grinding below, making another pitcher-full of margaritas.

  Two west coast crews originated from Oregon and San Diego. The other hailed from New Jersey.

  ‘‘Where are you headed to, next?’’ asked the Jersey skipper.

  Jesse and Andy looked at each other.

  Andy smiled. ‘‘I’m being outvoted. Jesse and Rachel want to go northwest to Isla Providencia.’’

  Jesse stared at him, but said nothing.

  Andy turned to their guests. ‘‘Where are you guys going?’’

  The west coast boats would sail to Cartagena, Columbia, and to the ABC islands for the hurricane season, while the New Jersey boat had plans for the San Blas Islands, and then back to Colon, where they’d leave their boat for the summer.

  After their guests had gone and Rachel had fallen asleep, Jesse grasped Andy’s hand. ‘‘Are you sure?’’

  ‘‘I’m not sure about much in life, except for the fact that I love you and Rachel. Each time we return home and talk with sailors at the yacht club whose mates would never go to sea, I remember how lucky I am to have had you for five years as my captain.’’

  Jesse embraced Andy. ‘‘No, you’re the captain. I’m the admiral.’’ She stared at Andy. ‘‘Would Fiona have gone cruising?’’

  ‘‘Why do you do that? Fiona’s gone. That was another life.’’

  ‘‘Do what? It’s only a question.’’

  ‘‘Right. To answer your question, I don’t think so. She may have done it for me… you know how persuasive I can be… but she wouldn’t have liked it like you did.’’

  ‘‘Don’t use the past tense on me, Captain. I love it, but I love other things, too.’’

  ‘‘I know.’’

  ‘‘You still think about her, don’t you?’’

  ‘‘Of course. You can’t forget someone you loved and lost.’’ Andy grasped her hands and pulled her close. ‘‘Most people are lucky to find true love once in their lives. I’ve found it twice.’’

  He released her. ‘‘You must think of Bill, sometimes.’’

  ‘‘Rarely. The whole thing disappointed me more than anything else.’’

  Jesse avoided talking about her past, not because it was awful, but because it was nearly idyllic. It embarrassed her to discover that not all parents were loving, supportive and financially secure. When she had reached high school, she’d discovered that her aspirations as a free thinker and an independent soul had been transformed into cheerleader and prom queen. She’d become a cliché, albeit one with SAT’s of 1420.

  ‘‘After college, I married a male clone of myself, William Morgan. It didn’t take long for the other shoe to drop. When I arrived home unexpectedly one afternoon, the shoes were red stilettos, and they lay next to the bed I’d shared with my husband, and now his secretary.

  ‘‘I nearly laughed out loud as Bill sat up, looked at me, and said that he could explain.

  ‘‘I went my own way, all the wiser, but with the first significant chip in my patina of confidence, and the first bitter taste of cynicism.’’

  ‘‘It’s difficult to believe you were so sanguine about it.’’ Andy said.

  ‘‘I wasn’t. I traveled, partied, tried and failed at promiscuity, and tattooed my right buttock. And when a girlfriend came up HIV positive, I’d had enough, and returned to school for my RN.’’

  ‘‘Let me see that tattoo, again.’’

  ‘‘If you can find it.’’

  ‘‘I’ll find it, by Braille, if necessary.’’

  The next morning, they were sitting in the cockpit. Andy pointed at the chart. ‘‘I figure with stops at Isla Providencia, the Bay Islands of Honduras, and southern Mexico to Cancun, and a straight shot to Fort Myers, it’s about 1300 miles and a month in transit. It’ll take us a while to get ready, so we should be fine for departure by mid-April. That gives us a big time buffer. We need to be safely in Florida no later than the end of the first week of June.’’

  ‘‘That’s after the official start of the hurricane season, isn’t it?’’

  ‘‘Yes,’’ Andy said, ‘‘But early hurricanes are extremely unusual and we should have plenty of notice.’’

  ‘‘When we took our weather course, they told us of an early June hurricane in the 60s that hit Cuba and Florida.’’

  ‘‘That was Hurricane Alma in 1966. It started as a tropical depression, and then built to a category three storm. It passed between The Dry Tortugas and Key West, and then went up the west coast of Florida. The thought’s depressing, if you don’t mind the pun.’’

  Jesse shook her head in disgust.

  Chapter Five

  With three days to go before departing Portobello, Andy Reiss studied the weather fax and participated in Herb Hilgenberg’s southbound net. Herb had been providing weather information for vessels at sea from his hom
e in Canada for seven days a week since 1987.

  They’d topped up their fuel in Colon and had the reverse osmosis water purifier going several hours a day to fill their tanks with fresh water.

  ‘‘Have you completed the list?’’ Andy asked.

  Jesse lifted her pad. ‘‘Just about. Any special requests, Rachel?’’

  ‘‘If the panaderia has any of those sugar cookies, get a bunch.’’

  ‘‘Andy?’’

  ‘‘Don’t run out of margarita mix or tequila.’’

  It took three trips to town, but they had finally stowed enough food for two or three months. Prophecy, at 50-feet, had a huge storage capacity, and Jesse had stowed away chicken and beef that she’d canned when they were in Acapulco. Food properly canned would last for many years.

  On the afternoon before departure, Andy reviewed the weather. ‘‘The winds are out of the east at 10 to 12 knots. We should have a great passage.’’

  ‘‘Please get us to Providencia in daylight. I hate standing off for hours, waiting for sunrise.’’

  ‘‘Aye, aye, Ma’am. That means we need to pull out at 2 a.m.’’

  Jesse frowned. ‘‘That’s great.’’

  ‘‘Help me get going, and I’ll stand watch until morning. I’ll take a nap in the evening.’’

  They said goodbye to the two remaining boats; the third had already gone on to the San Blas Islands. Andy checked the engine, the generator, the navigational equipment, and the running lights before going to bed early.

  At 2 a.m., their alarm sounded.

  Jesse stretched. ‘‘I’ll fill your thermos with coffee.’’

  Andy went above, started the engine, and removed the mainsail’s cover and ties. He checked the jack lines, the flat nylon webbing that extended from the bow cleat to the stern on the port and starboard sides. They tethered themselves to these lines when leaving the cockpit at night. The odds of finding anyone falling overboard in the darkness—even with safety gear and strobes—were too slim to permit carelessness.

  Jesse came up with the coffee, and placed it in a holder near the helm.

  Andy turned to Jesse as she stood at the wheel. ‘‘Bring her up slowly.’’