Three of the six officers board Crazy Lady. “Who is the owner of this vessel?” asks a young officer with a falsely deepened voice.
“I am,” Tenn says with a raise of her hand.
“Ma’am, we are doing routine inspections due to an increase of human trafficking in these waters.”
I’m relieved they haven’t targeted us based on knowledge of our cargo. I hope we may evade this after all. Besides, I sailed halfway across the Atlantic unaware of what was below deck. I’m able to keep a poker face, but it’s not me I’m worried about.
“Before we inspect this vessel, is there anything you would like to tell us?” the officer asks.
Tenn is doing a decent job hiding the explosion of fear happening inside her. “Of course not, officer. Help yourself to some bread if you’re hungry. It’s fresh out of the oven.”
The officers ignore her offer and two of them head down into the cabin. The other officer stays on deck with us. We can hear them opening drawers and cupboards. As if there would be a family of illegal immigrants in our cutlery drawer.
“Where are you heading?” the officer standing on deck with us asks.
“Azores,” I answer with a friendly smile. I try desperately to contain my fear.
“I’m sure you will arrive tomorrow if the wind holds up,” he responds.
The longer the inspection lasts, the harder my heart beats. Tenn isn’t doing much better; she is trying too hard to conceal her guilt, and her fake smile looks suspicious.
“Are you okay, ma’am?” the officer asks Tenn.
“I’m fine,” she says.
There seems to be a serious discussion happening from the officers below. My mind races, trying to come up with a plan, but coming up empty. We are outnumbered and outgunned. I fear this is the end of the journey for me and Tenn. We knew the risk we were taking, and it seems our luck has run out. This will be a life sentence, I will die in prison, this is how it ends.
“We have something down here,” the lead officer with the deep voice shouts up from the cabin below, ravenous with excitement.
The officer on deck with us leans down below to communicate with his colleagues. We only hear mumbles, but what we can make out does not sound good. Tenn and I share a look of defeat. There is nothing we can do but let fate take its course.
The lead officer appears at the top of the stairs and looks me dead in the eye. “This is the first time for this one, did you think we wouldn’t find it?” he asks.
“She had no idea. I take full responsibility,” I tell him.
“Vince, no,” Tenn says.
The officer climbs up the steps and joins us, holding a black case with the words ‘Pirate Launcher’ painted across it.
I look up at Tenn and we both try to conceal our relief.
“I could arrest you both and seize your vessel but, before we go that route, I want to hear how in god’s name you plan to use this weapon.”
“It was a gift,” I respond.
The officer looks amused by my answer, as if receiving something as a gift pardons being in possession of it. The officer sets the case on the table and opens it carefully. He looks down at the odd contraption. “After we remove the C4 explosives, I would like to hear your explanation for this.”
C4 explosives? Where in god’s name did Stan get those? As I try my best to explain how one might go about using the Pirate Launcher, the officers seem to get increasingly more amused. I can tell they are holding back laughter. I can feel myself doing a bad impression of Stan, and even use some of his words like ‘blammo’ and other catchphrases he used when he explained it to me.
There is a moment of silence when I finish with my explanation. The three officers look at one another, amused and perplexed. I can tell they are trying to decide how they will handle us.
“Sir, it is not uncommon for us to find sailors like yourselves concealing weapons they plan to use in defense against attackers. The fact is, you are more likely to kill a poor fisherman that means no harm than a pirate. Now, this is by far the stupidest thing I have ever seen.” The other two officers hold back laughter. “It is so stupid that I’m going to let you sail away today. This explosive is enough to put you both in prison for a very long time, but I’m going to take this, and we are going to leave. You can look at this as the luckiest day of your life.”
Again, silence. I’m afraid that anything I say could cause him to change his mind. Tenn also holds her tongue, which I appreciate. The three officers seem to be finished with us and radio for their boat to retrieve them. They do not say a word to us as they leave, although they do give the open black case with the remains of the Pirate Launcher on the table a laugh before they motor away.
Tenn and I are both frozen, the energy of the officers still lingering. As they get further away, I begin to come back to life, like my soul was hovering above me and is finding its way back into my body. I notice all my senses are heightened, all the colors and contours of the ocean more defined. My hearing is unusually sharp — Tenn’s heavy nervous breathing, the wind whipping by the bare mast, the slapping of the ocean against the hull — are more clear than normal. What adrenaline is doing to me right now is far more complex than simple fight or flight. I feel alive.
The GNR vessel is motoring away, but Tenn and I still behave like they can hear and see us.
“Let’s get the sails up,” I say as if nothing happened.
“I’ll take the wheel,” Tenn answers. Her voice has the tone of shock and disconnect.
We leave the black case on the table. I hoist the main sail, then the foresail. Tenn turns us off the wind. The feeling of sailing rather than being dead in the water is helping us jolt out of the lingering stress of nearly being detained by the GNR.
Tenn slowly closes the black case. Oddly enough, I feel like Stan’s silly Pirate Launcher has saved us after all. If it weren’t for its discovery, perhaps the inspection would have gone further. I don’t think the officers would have laughed off five hundred pounds of cocaine and let us sail away. I imagine what it would have looked like on the news. All the illegal contents trapped in our hull stacked on the deck of a GNR ship guarded by armed officers. The headline would be an astronomical number representing the street value followed by the word SEIZED.
It could have gone that way so easily. I think of Stan, and in the form of a prayer, I thank him privately.
“What are you smiling at?” Tenn asks.
“Nothing. Are you okay?”
“I think so,” she answers. I can tell her soul has yet to find its way back into her body. “Did that actually just happen?”
“It did,” I tell her.
“You know, Vince, I’m starting to think this might be a bad idea. We’re going to check into customs tomorrow, and if we get past them, we’re going to moor in the marina and hope someone just shows up to take all the cocaine away and leave us a briefcase of money. It’s starting to feel like an insane plan, and I’m starting to think it isn’t worth the risk.”
I can see the moment her soul makes all the final connections with her body. She lights up. “Let’s throw it all overboard. Let’s sink it to the bottom of the ocean. It’s not worth it, Vince. There is too much that can go wrong.”
“Sure,” I answer easily.
Twenty-One
I had lost confidence with the accuracy of our dead reckoning position, so when the officer said we were a day away from our destination, I was pleasantly surprised. The early evening air begins to cool, and the shadows are long. This will be our last night at sea, and I’m more than slightly nostalgic about this passage coming to an end.
Even though it’s been several hours since the GNR boarded us, the moment still lingers. Tenn and I have been lost in our own thoughts, though sporadically Tenn would shout something at me as if I can hear the debate happening in her head.
“Or maybe we have come too far to change our minds!” she shouts into the silence as if there were a crowd of people debating.
“I’ll put on some tea,” I say in a calm voice, and head below.
My nostalgia turns into sadness. At this point, my only suggestion would be to sail around the Atlantic together and never see land again. As I turn on the propane stove where the kettle sits, I’m reminded of our dwindling supplies. Then I think of violent storms, giant waves, and navy ships; whether I like it or not, this leg of our journey must come to an end.
I would be lying to myself if I pretended not to care about the potential of having a sum of money that could sustain myself and Tenn for the rest of our lives. If we do go through with this crazy plan, and we sail away with an obscene amount of money, I think we will push on into the Mediterranean. We can spend years exploring Europe, perhaps we would sail back to the Caribbean for the winter. I have a new confidence in Crazy Lady. I would happily call her home for many years to come.
Night falls, and we are both lost in our thoughts. Decisions must be made. I don’t want to press Tenn, but if we are going to abort our mission we should do so in the dead of night, and tonight will be our last chance. I’ve been waiting for her to make a firm decision. I will support whatever she decides, but I have developed some feelings on the matter that I want to discuss.
Tenn seems to have retreated deep into her thoughts and I am losing hope that she will initiate this conversation. I consider an old-fashioned pros and cons list. I laugh at the thought of what that might look like.
We are both nestled into our spots. Tenn seems tormented with indecision.
“Are you doing okay over there?” I ask, trying to pull her out of her thoughts.
She looks over the horizon and doesn’t answer my question.
“Tenn, we’ll figure this out,” I speak loudly.
“What do you think we should do?”
I was afraid that’s what she might say. “I can go either way.”
“Fuck that, Vince. I need to know how you really feel about this.” Tenn looks me dead in the eye.
“I am inclined to ditch the drugs and forget the whole idea. We can push on to the Med and figure something out. Being poor sailors is better than being in prison.”
“What I was thinking was worse than prison,” Tenn says.
“All the more reason to throw this garbage overboard and forget it ever existed. There is one problem though,” I tell her.
“What?”
“There’s someone in Azores expecting us. If we don’t show up, they will come looking for us.” I hate saying it, but it must be said.
“You’re right,” Tenn admits. She sits up and scans the dark ocean. “I’m sure they know exactly where we are right now,” she adds.
We both sit in silence and consider our options, as if there are any. We have come too far to turn back. And Tenn is probably right. If we are this close to Azores, I’m sure we have been spotted. They aren’t sitting at the dock casually waiting for us to pull up. They are likely watching us right now. The whole idea of having Tenn transport the drugs on this boat was because her record is clean, and she’s not suspicious in any way; if we are indeed being watched, they will keep their distance until we clear customs.
“So, we’re going through with this then,” Tenn says as she exhales with relief.
She has been driving herself mad and her whole body relaxes now that we have made a commitment.
“Why don’t you get some sleep? I’ll keep watch,” I tell her.
“Sleep?” She laughs. “I don’t think I’ve ever been more wired in my life.”
“Fair enough. We can both keep watch tonight. The more eyes the better. There are going to be more boats and hazards the closer we get to Azores,” I add.
Tenn seems happy with the idea of spending the night together on deck. She gets busy making it more comfortable. She brings up more blankets and pillows and a full pot of tea. Tenn could make a pile of rocks feel like home. One of the blankets she brought up is a rather large quilted blanket, and she is struggling at getting it around her.
“That blanket could cover the entire boat and you can’t wrap it around yourself?” I tease.
“You’re not helping, Vince,” she shouts back with amusement.
Finally she gets herself tucked in, and now I’m concerned she might not be able to get out. She is cocooned with only her face is exposed. Tenn looks longingly at her cup of tea. She made a considerable amount of effort to tuck herself in.
“Now what?” I say, laughing at her predicament.
We share a laugh. Her confined state seems to cause her to laugh harder. We haven’t had a good laugh in a while, and it feels good. Most of this passage had us acting like children, though that changed slightly after the storm. But even after the storm, we seemed to be able to loosen up again. I think I have laughed more on this passage with Tenn than I have in a decade. Laughed, eaten, had sex, slept — it’s no wonder I’m mourning the thought of this coming to an end. Hopefully it’s not a sad ending.
It has been a difficult day, and Tenn is finally relaxed. It feels good to see her decompress.
“So, this is our last night, huh?” she says with a sigh.
Although I know Tenn has been looking forward to walking on solid land again, I can tell she is feeling sentimental about closing this chapter.
“So, if tomorrow goes as planned, what’s next?” Tenn asks.
I appreciate the question. We’ve barely talked about what happens after Azores. I was beginning to feel like it could be bad luck.
“We could sail to Portugal, then into the Mediterranean,” I answer.
Tenn looks like she is imagining what that would be like. “You know, I have never been to Europe,” she adds.
“Well, you are going to see a lot of it. We’ll explore the streets of Spain, go to the finest restaurants in the French Rivera, drink wine in Italy, explore the Greek islands, all from the comforts of Crazy Lady.”
Tenn smiles. She scoots her body so she is facing me. “Who are you, Vince?” she asks with a smile.
“What?”
“How did you end up on a fancy boat? You’re hiding something from me. This isn’t your first job like this, is it? You know what I think, I think you’re in hiding. I think you did a big job in Seattle, you got a big payout, and you bailed.”
“You really think I’m a criminal?” I ask.
“Are you?” she asks with a wanting smile.
I consider my options. Clearly, Tenn likes the idea, and given her history, it’s fair to say that she likes the bad boys. Although the truth of my past is not uninteresting, I fear it may break whatever spell we are under. Lying is not an option. It’s messy and always ends badly. I am, however, allowed to withhold the truth — a little mystery is always a good thing.
“I told you. I was a railroader, then I sailed to the Caribbean,” I say aloofly.
Tenn laughs. This time she is laughing at me, rather than with me.
“How can you not trust me? I mean, how bad can it be? Did you kill a guy or something? If that’s the case, I assume you had no choice.” Tenn looks away from me and talks to the starry sky above. “Oh my god, you’re not a hit man, are you?” She wiggles her hands out of her cocoon and covers her face. “Oh my god, Vince, you didn’t do something creepy, did you?”
This has gone too far. I was willing to let Tenn think I was a leather-jacket-wearing badass, but her imagination is going south, and I have no choice but to confess the truth of my past.
“I’m a romance
author,” I say as if I’m confessing something humiliating.
Tenn looks stunned. Slowly the shock melts away, and she quickly turns to me again, this time a little too quickly, and she falls right off the bench. She’s wrapped up so tight she can barely catch herself with her free arm. She lands with a thud, trapped under the cockpit table. I try to help her up, but the best we can do is get her in a seated position on the floor. The fact that she’s laughing only makes it harder.
“You are that Vince Stark,” she says with disbelief.
I raise my hands like a magician that just reappeared from a lame disappearing act.
“I remember you! I never read your book, but I think every single one of the girls I worked with at the time did. I thought you were a woman who pretended to be a man.”
“Thanks,” I say sarcastically.
Tenn laughs again. “So, let me get this right. I’m about to sneak a ton of cocaine past customs, then scam a dangerous organized crime outfit out of a boatload of money — and the man I have protecting me is a goddamn romance author?”
“I’m afraid so.”
“I wish we had more rum.”
Twenty-Two
It is day twenty-four of our passage.
“Are we there yet?” Tenn shouts from below while she takes a loaf of bread out of the oven. She has been asking that question every few minutes since she woke up this morning. The sun isn’t even up yet, but its light spills over the horizon creating a ghostly atmosphere. I love this very brief time of day. The evening twilight is similar, but there is something about dawn that feels like it’s only for me.
“Are we there yet?”
I hear the familiar thud of her putting the heavy baking pan on the counter. It has been a long night, and the smell of bread coming out of the cabin warms my soul. I remind myself that this passage is coming to an end, but this is just the beginning of the journey for me and Tenn. After our stopover in Azores, which I think will be as brief as possible, we will push on to yet another passage to mainland Portugal. Albeit only a few days, but still a passage nonetheless.
Uncharted Waters Page 21