Storm Sail

by Charles Dougherty

  That had worked for her before, but she didn't think it would do the trick with Paul. She couldn't compete with Connie when it came to that. But then again, that sort of play might confuse him, distract him enough for Dalton to get the drop on him. That might be her best option; she'd hold that thought until she had a chance to talk things over with Dalton.

  Once they had Paul, they could force Connie to take them on to Martinique. When they got there, they'd have to avoid the authorities; that was clear from what she'd learned from Connie this morning. She needed to force Connie to retrieve the diamonds from the bank without turning them in; that was another problem.

  She would leave Paul tied up on the boat with Dalton while she accompanied Connie. They'd still have Paul as a hostage, but she didn't like the open-ended nature of that. She didn't know how long it would take her and Connie to get the diamonds, and she didn't trust Dalton not to screw something up if he was left alone for very long.

  She was sure he'd start cutting Paul as soon as he was left alone with him, but that didn't matter. Connie wouldn't know, so they'd still have the threat to Paul as a way to control her. She was more worried that Paul's screams might attract attention. If anyone approached the boat, there was no telling what would happen.

  Finished rinsing her hair, she dried herself with one of the towels and wrapped another around her hair. She put on her clothes, wishing that she had thought to borrow something clean from Connie. They were close enough in size. Then she decided that she could wait. In a couple of days, she could help herself to whatever she wanted.

  She cracked the door open enough so that she could hear what was going on. Paul's soft snores drifted forward from the aft cabin, and she could hear Dalton muttering. He was probably waking up. She might as well face him; it was time to tell him a little of what she'd discovered.

  "Dalton?" she said, in a soft voice. She'd expected him to speak to her when she opened the door to their cabin.

  "Yeah," he said, his back to her. He lay on his side, facing away from the door, the photographs of the diamonds in his hand. He rolled to face her. "You see this shit?"

  "Yeah, babe, I did. I was hopin' you'd be awake so's we could talk it over,” she said.

  “What's all this paper mean?" he asked. "I can't make no sense out of it. Why'd they lock up these here pictures of diamonds, you reckon?"

  "Them papers are appraisals for the diamonds in the pictures, best I can tell," she said.

  "Appraisals?"

  "Yeah. Looks like she took them diamonds to some jeweler, and he made the pictures and give her a paper to say what they was worth. That's an appraisal."

  "Huh. How much he say they was worth, then?"

  "Looks to be somewhere's upwards of a coupla million," she said, relieved that he hadn't deciphered the whole story. She thought two million would be enough to get him hooked without him going crazy. She didn't trust him not to go nuts and blow their opportunity if he found out how much was really at stake. "But looks like she done spent most of it on the boat."

  "Shit," he said. "I was afeared of that. We still got the ones in the sack, though."

  "Best I can tell, she's got a few more left, but they're in a bank box."

  "A bank box? Where?"

  "Martinique, looks like. Someplace called Le Marin. Key's in one of them envelopes."

  "Well, damn! We done got it made, Gina. Let's us take that key and go see how many she got left."

  "I was thinkin' the same way, but we got to go careful like, Dalton. We need her to get 'em for us."

  "Why? We got the key, ain't we?"

  "They's more to it than just havin' the key, sugar. You know how them bank boxes work?"

  "Uh-uh," he said, frowning.

  "Well, they won't let nobody but her open that there box, see."

  "How they gonna know you ain't her?"

  "First off, you gotta show 'em a passport, and — "

  "We got their passports, Gina. Or will have. They in that place under them maps, where they got all the boat papers and shit."

  "And after they match up your face with the passport picture, you gotta be able to sign her name. They match it up with this here card that she done already signed when she got the box."

  "Well, reckon we could make you up to look like her, or maybe get us somebody could put a pitcher of you in her passport if we give 'em one of them diamonds."

  "That could work, but I still don't' know exactly how she signed her name, see. It's gotta match, or they ain't gonna dance a set with us."

  "Hmph," he said. "They's gotta be a way, Gina."

  "Yeah, I think so, babe. I'm thinkin' on it. We just gonna have to make her get them diamonds for us, that's all."

  "How we gonna do that?"

  "I got an idea, but you need to give me a little time to work out the details, okay? Meantime, there's a coupla things we gotta do that you can help me with."

  "Okay. What?"

  "I'm gonna figger out how to get us all to Martinique. Then you gonna have to hold Paul hostage while I go with Connie to get the diamonds. You with me?"

  "Yeah, but how's — "

  "You just stick with Gina, babe. Ain't I always figgered things out for us?"

  "Yeah, but ... "

  "But what, sugar?"

  "What else do I need to do?"

  "First thing is, we got to get 'em to learn us to sail this here boat. Once we get them diamonds, we gonna sail away and ditch the two of them, but 'til then, we got to suck up to 'em, okay?"

  "Okay. They done said they ain't gonna let us stand watch, though."

  "Yeah. Can't say I blame 'em. They can tell we don't know jack shit about sailin'. That's how come we done lost our boat, right?" She grinned and winked at him.

  "Yeah," he said, smiling. "So how you gonna get 'em to teach us?"

  "I aim to ask, real nice-like. You just leave it to Gina, babe, and act like what you want to do more than anything is learn to sail this here boat. You just forget about them diamonds for now." She winked again.

  "Okay."

  "Good," she said. "Now you just keep on gettin' better. I'm goin' upstairs and dry my hair in the sun while I talk Connie into teachin' us."

  20

  The wind had clocked a few degrees, and Connie was cranking in the sheets, trimming the sails. With a quick look aloft, she stepped back behind the helm and glanced down at the compass.

  "Whatcha doin'?" she heard, as Gina climbed out into the cockpit, a towel wrapped around her head like a turban. "Okay if I come up and dry my hair?"

  "Sure," she said. "Come on up. The wind's picked up a little and clocked. I was just trimming the sails."

  Gina sat down on the starboard cockpit seat and unwrapped the towel, putting it on the seat beside her. "Sorry I missed that."

  "Missed what?"

  "You trimmin' the sails."

  Connie tilted her head and frowned slightly. "It wasn't a big deal."

  "Not to you, but see, me and Dalton was talkin' just a little while ago 'bout how we done lost Cajun Burn 'cause we didn't know how to sail, not really."

  "You must know more than you think; you got almost to Bermuda."

  "Yes'm, but we was mostly just lucky, I reckon. We didn't have no real idea what we was doin'. Feller we bought the boat from, he spent a day out on the Bay with us. Taught us to unroll the sails, and sort of how to pull 'em in a little bit to make the boat go, but that's about all we know."

  "How were you navigating?"

  "Well, we knowed we had to go kinda southeast, and ever'body told us if'n we did that, we'd eventually hit some land, either the Bahamas or some of them islands that's on the chart you got downstairs."

  "Okay," Connie said, shaking her head.

  "But we didn't have no clue what to do once the wind done started to change when the storm come up. We had us a wild ride for a while; couldn't make the boat go no particular way, and pretty soon, we done turned clean over and the masts broke off. That's when we went and got in the
life raft."

  "Wow," Connie said. "I see."

  "Yes'm. Well, we was a-thinkin'. We got a coupla three days before we get to the Virgin Islands, right?"

  "That's right."

  "Once we're there, we're figgerin' to get ourselves kinda put together again and get us another boat, soon's we can save up enough money."

  "I thought you were planning to live there."

  "Yes'm, that's true, but we figgered we got these coupla days with you and Paul, and if y'all was willin', maybe you could just kinda teach us what's goin' on with the sailin', don'tcha see?"

  Connie looked at her for a minute, thinking. She was still trying to comprehend the idea of two clueless people sailing out into the open ocean.

  "I mean, we wouldn't get in the way, or nothin', and you was perfectly right about not wantin' us to take watches." Gina paused, and when Connie nodded, she continued. "We was wantin' to just set with you all, like we was on the same watch. Me with you, and Dalton with Paul, see. And you could tell us what to do, and why, and we'd do all the work for you. Seemed like it would maybe help y'all out a little bit, in exchange for you teachin' us."

  "If that's what you want to do, I don't see why not," Connie said. "I'll talk it over with Paul when we're together this afternoon and make sure he's okay with it. You could start this evening, maybe."

  "That'd sure be nice," Gina said. "So I reckon if Paul agrees, Dalton would set with him startin' around four this afternoon?"

  "That's right. And you'd come up with me at midnight. I'll let you know what Paul thinks. Are you joining us for lunch this afternoon?"

  "If that's all right, yes'm."

  "That'll be fine. We usually eat around 1:30."

  Gina ran a hand through her thin, stringy hair. "Done dry already. Reckon I'd better go get me a nap, so's I'll be fresh this afternoon."

  Connie was trying to make sense of her latest encounter with Gina when Paul joined her a few minutes before noon.

  "You look like you're miles away," he said, as he sat down next to her.

  She smiled and gave him a peck on the cheek. "It's Gina and Dalton."

  "What now?"

  She gave him a summary of her conversation with Gina.

  He chuckled, shaking his head. "That's just plain nuts, isn't it? Taking off like that?"

  "I guess if you really have no idea, you don't know enough to be scared," she said.

  "I suppose, but I can't imagine it. I'd think anybody would know better than to set out across the ocean with no preparation."

  She nodded. "You'd think. Most of the time, she sounds like she's got some common sense, but this one blows me away."

  "Yep. Me, too. How'd you respond? Are we going to teach them to sail?"

  "I told her I didn't see why not, but that I wanted to talk it over with you."

  "Hmm."

  "That's all you've got to say? Hmm?"

  "I'm thinking. The whole situation doesn't make sense, but I can't really see a problem with it. Except I just plain don't trust either one of them. Do you?"

  Connie shook her head. "No, not really, but it's only two days, and we're sailing anyway. Might as well give them a running commentary and let them do a little work. Besides, we'll be one-on-one with them, so we can keep an eye on them. What can it hurt?"

  "That's a good point. At least we'll be able to watch one of them, and the other one's got to sleep, I guess. I'm okay with it. She say if they were going to join us for lunch?"

  "Yes, I think so. I'm sure she will. Dalton's still drifting in and out, according to her."

  Paul rose to a standing position and braced himself against the steering pedestal.

  "What's up?" Connie asked, as he reached back and took the binoculars from their holder.

  "Ship on the horizon," he said, lifting the glasses to his eyes. "Looks like a little freighter."

  "Want to try calling them with the handheld?" Connie asked.

  "May as well. I'm not busy, and if we can offload these two, we can skip the Virgins and go on to St. Martin — get our electronics fixed."

  "Go for it," Connie said, as he stepped through the companionway and went below.

  He came up in less than a minute with the handheld VHF radio. Dalton and Gina were right behind him.

  "A ship?" Gina asked. "Why're you gonna call them?" She frowned.

  Connie saw a flicker of worry in Dalton's eyes. "We might be able to get you ashore sooner," she said. "Looks as if they're headed for the Virgins, and they're probably going half again as fast as we are."

  Paul picked up the binoculars and studied the ship, which had drawn much closer. He put the binoculars on the seat and turned on the radio, cranking the volume control up most of the way. He turned the squelch down until he heard a burst of static, and then turned it up just enough to quiet the hiss.

  Checking to see that the radio was set to channel 16, the hailing and distress channel, he lifted it to his lips and keyed the push to talk bar. "Tropic Trader, Tropic Trader, Tropic Trader," he said, "this is Diamantista II, Diamantista II, Diamantista II, under sail about two miles off your port bow, on channel 16, over."

  As they waited for a response, Connie watched Gina and Dalton. Gina looked tense, but Dalton smiled at her, relaxed.

  After thirty seconds passed, Paul repeated the call, again with no result.

  "Reckon maybe they ain't a-listenin'," Dalton said.

  Paul tried again. The ship was overtaking them, passing about a mile off to their starboard. When there was no answer, he turned the radio off and put it in his pocket.

  "Maybe," Paul said, "or maybe EMP got the handheld."

  "Say what?" Dalton asked. "EMP?"

  "Indirect damage from the lightning strike," Paul said. "Guess I'd better warm up some beans and rice."

  "Dalton does seem a little better," Paul said. Dalton and Gina had gone below after their meal, leaving Connie and Paul alone for the last hour of their shared watch.

  "I guess so, but were you watching them when you called the freighter?"

  "No, I was focused on that. Why?"

  "Their reactions. She was worried, like she was scared we were going to put them on the ship."

  "What about Dalton?"

  "He looked just plain smug."

  "Smug?"

  "Yes. He and Gina were looking at one another; when the freighter didn't answer, he had an 'I told you so' look on his face."

  Paul was silent for a beat, thinking. He took the radio from his pocket and unscrewed the antenna. "I'll be damned," he said, looking up into the female threaded connector on the bottom of the short rubber-covered antenna. "Look at this."

  He handed her the antenna, and Connie studied it. "What am I supposed to see?"

  "Looks like somebody put some aluminum foil up inside there," Paul said, taking the antenna back. He took his rigging knife from its pouch on his harness and folded out the marlinspike. Digging inside the connector with the pointed tool, he dislodged a bit of crumpled, compressed aluminum foil. He extended his hand toward Connie, the foil in his palm.

  Looking at it, she said, "Sabotage?"

  "Looks that way. When's the last time we used the radio?"

  "You checked it after the lightning strike," Connie said.

  "Yeah, sort of. I turned it on and got static, and I keyed it and it acted like it was transmitting, but there's no way to know for sure."

  "Oh, come on, Paul. It had to be them. Nobody else has had a chance. But how would they know how to do that?"

  "It's not surprising a jailbird would know how. Cops do it to rookies as a joke, sometimes. It's no big secret. The foil shorts out the antenna; it won't transmit."

  "Wouldn't that keep it from receiving, too?"

  "Maybe, unless there was a really strong signal. We wouldn't have noticed that, either way."

  "Think it will work now?"

  "Probably, but the freighter's out of range. Guess one of us should hold on to it, though, in case we get another chance."
/>   "Why would they have done that?" Connie asked.

  "Good question. It must be that they don't want us talking to anybody. Maybe they want to be sure they get to stay with us all the way to the Virgins."

  Connie frowned, chewing on her lower lip as she looked at Paul.

  "What?" he asked. "I know that look; out with it, woman."

  "I told you about Gina asking about clearing in, right?"

  "Yes. What about it?"

  "At the time, I was a little suspicious, but she sensed it, I guess and explained it away."

  "Suspicious why?"

  "She was asking about sneaking past the immigration authorities, but in the context, it wasn't too blatant. After she backpedaled, I put it down to the fact that they'd lost their passports. She had no idea at all of customs and immigration requirements, so the questions didn't seem totally outlandish."

  "Hmm," Paul said. "Wonder if they even had passports. They were unprepared in every other way."

  "But they must have known they'd need them to get into foreign countries," Connie said. "She's got good common sense."

  "Never assume that common sense will overcome deep-seated ignorance."

  "I'm not buying that her ignorance is that deep, Paul. She knew enough to guide the conversation around to the relevant questions."

  "Good point."

  "Is it possible that Dalton can't get a passport because of being an ex-convict?" Connie asked.

  "It depends. If he's had a felony drug conviction that involved international travel, they'd take his passport away, but once he's served his time and fulfilled whatever parole obligations he might have had, he could probably get one."

  "What if he hadn't?"

  "Hadn't finished his parole?" Paul asked.

  Connie nodded.

  "You may be onto something, Connie."

  "That would explain their wanting to make a low key entry into the USVI, wouldn't it?" she asked. "They're about as American as you can get; nobody would mistake them for anything else, once they were there."