Storm Sail

by Charles Dougherty

"Yes. But if we hand them over to the authorities in the USVI, they'll check them both out. That's routine. If he's skipped parole, or for that matter, if she has, they'd be toast."

  "What should we do?" Connie asked.

  "What we're doing. Once we're in the USVI, our cellphones will work. We can put them ashore and call it in immediately, before they get too far. We don't need to confront them, that way," Paul said.

  "But what if they're innocent?" Connie asked. "We'd be causing them a lot of grief."

  "They're not innocent; give me a break. They're guilty of something."

  "Is that your inner cop speaking?"

  "No. Think about it. Why else would they sabotage the radio?"

  Connie thought for a minute. "What about our phones, then? If we're right, they won't want us calling the authorities when we get within cell phone range."

  "Mine's in my pocket. I've been reading on it, remember? Where's yours?"

  "In the chart table. Guess I'd better keep it close, huh?"

  "That would be a good idea," Paul agreed. "No point in giving them the ability to communicate, or a chance to screw up the phones. Get it now. He'll be coming up to join me for the evening watch soon."

  Connie scrambled below and retrieved her phone, bringing a 12-volt charging cable with her and putting it in one of the small lockers in the cockpit coaming. "Just in case," she said. "Still think we're okay with this teaching them to sail?"

  Paul shrugged. "If nothing else, it means we'll be able to keep an eye on them. Gives them less chance to get into mischief."

  After a moment of silence, Connie leaned over and kissed Paul on the cheek. "Think I'll turn in, if you're okay until Dalton gets here." She stood and moved toward the companionway.

  "Rest well, skipper. See you in four hours."

  21

  "Turn on the GPS," Connie said, "and give it a minute to find a position. It'll show a screen with the latitude and longitude co-ordinates, along with speed and elevation."

  "Okay," Gina said. "I think I got it. Now what?"

  "I'll be right down," Connie said, tightening the brake on the helm and going below to join Gina at the chart table.

  "Now," Connie said, "we're going to plot that position on the chart. We can cheat a little, because we know we've been roughly following the course line that I marked on the chart earlier, all right?"

  "So our plot's gonna be somewheres on that line? That it?" Gina asked.

  "Right. Or at least close to it. We may have wandered off the line a little because of wind shifts or current, but on this small scale chart, the width of a pencil line could be a mile. We won't be too far off the line, unless something's haywire."

  "Okay," Gina said. "I'm gonna guess we prob'ly went about the same distance along the line for the last four hours as we did for the time before, right?"

  "Very good. We've sped up a little bit, so we'll have gone a bit farther than between the last two fixes, but you've got the idea. Now, do you see the numbers along the edges of the chart?"

  "Yeah. The ones on the two sides are the same, and the ones across the top and bottom match each other, but they're different from the ones on the sides."

  "Good. The ones across the top and bottom are longitude, and the ones down the sides are latitude. Just remember that, okay?"

  Gina nodded. "The first number of the GPS position is the latitude, right?"

  "Good for you. Can you put a little pencil mark on the latitude at the side of the chart?" Connie waited as Gina made a tick mark. "That's good. You managed to make the transition from the numbers on the screen to the spaces and lines on the scale. Lots of people have trouble with that."

  "It's like a ruler," Gina said, making another short slash mark at the longitude. "But now I got to figger out how to get them measurements out into the middle of the chart."

  "These are called parallel rules," Connie said, picking up the two joined straightedges from the rack of navigation tools above the chart table. "Watch." She put the edge of one of the straightedges along the nearest latitude line that was printed on the chart and moved the other one so that it was on the mark that Gina had made on the latitude scale along the edge of the chart. "Now draw a line about an inch long along the edge where it crosses our course line."

  "That's so cool," Gina said, making the mark. "Can I do the longitude?"

  Connie passed her the parallel rules and watched as she made a short mark where the straightedge intersected the other short mark. "That's it," she said. "Good job. Now, draw a little circle around where they cross, and write down the time and date."

  "That's where we are, huh?" Gina asked, smiling.

  "That's the place." Connie nodded. "See how we're off to the side of the projected course line a little bit?"

  "Yes'm. Cause of the wind and current, right?"

  "Right. So let's draw in our actual course line." She watched as Gina studied the chart for a moment, nodding as the girl positioned the straightedge so that it connected their earlier position fix with the one she'd just plotted. "Good. Mark it, and you might as well extend it to the islands down there. Can you make a guess at how long it'll be before we get there?"

  Gina put her thumb and forefinger on the last two plot points to get a distance traveled in the last four hours and then measured out the distance along the line to the tiny speck that was the U.S. Virgin Islands. "Eight times four," she muttered, "um, about 28 hours? No," she said, "thirty-two hours. That's early morning, day after tomorrow, right?"

  "Close enough," Connie said, smiling at the girl's pleased expression. "You could use the dividers and measure off the distance on the latitude scale, but what you did is close enough, given that our speed varies all the time with the wind and current. We'd better get back up in the cockpit and mind our ship."

  "Thanks, Connie," Gina said, a minute or two later, as she sat behind the helm, making a minor course correction to compensate for the vessel's wandering while they were below. "You're good to take up the time with me. Ain't nobody ever tried to teach me nothin' like that. I 'preciate it, very much."

  "You're welcome. You're a quick study; were you good at math in school?"

  "Um, not really. I didn't get to go to school much, see. I just kinda figgered stuff out on my own."

  "Well, good for you."

  "Connie?" Gina asked, after a minute or two of silence,

  "Yes?"

  "Me and Dalton was talkin' earlier. We think we ought to leave you and Paul some time alone, like in the afternoons, like y'all are used to. We'll just fix us some sandwiches and rest in our cabin, if'n that's okay."

  "That's thoughtful of you, Gina, but it's not necessary. We've only got another couple of days, anyway, and then you'll be getting on with your lives."

  "Yes'm, I reckon so. But it might be better, see, 'cause of Dalton. He still ain't quite over his, um, withdrawal, see?"

  "I see. Well, that's fine, if that's what you think is best."

  "I been learnin' to navigate," Gina said. She and Dalton were in their cabin eating sandwiches while Paul and Connie shared their four hours together in the cockpit. "I pretty well got the hang of it, I think. Me and Connie been plottin' the position for two watches, now."

  "Plottin' the position?" Dalton asked, his mouth full. "You mean writin' on that there map?"

  "Uh-huh. Chart."

  "Chart, map. The fuck difference does it make what you call it? You sound just like the old bastard on Blue Wing. How much longer, ennyhow?"

  "Tomorrow mornin', best I can figger."

  "To get there? Or to be in sight of land?"

  Gina shrugged. "To get there. I'm thinkin' we oughta make our move when Paul's on watch, between four o'clock and eight o'clock."

  "I like earlier better'n later," Dalton said. "Give her 'nough time to get to sleep, and then do him."

  "Yeah, I think that's right. 'Member, though, we want him alive. We need to be able to threaten him to get her to go along with us."

  "I'll 'member, all
right. Lookin' forward to makin' that pig squeal." The evil grin spread over Dalton's face. "Her, too. Mexican bitch-whore."

  "You can have her all you want, but not 'til after we get the diamonds, okay?"

  "Yeah, okay, but maybe just a taste — "

  "Dalton, we can't take a chance on that. She can't be hurt or marked up. We need her lookin' right so's she can go to the bank and get them diamonds."

  "How we know she ain't gonna rat us out?"

  "I'm goin' with her, that's how. You gonna stay here on the boat with Paul; that's how we gonna make her behave. You can mess him up a little ever so often, keep her worried, but no real damage 'til we get back with the goods."

  "Why? I figger once you and her gone ashore, I can finish him. Why not? She ain't gonna know."

  "In case somethin' goes wrong. That's why. He's like an ace in the hole, long's he's still alive. Besides that, there's gonna be other people close by the boat once we get there. You ain't gonna be able to mess with him then, 'cause somebody'll hear. They might call the cops. You gonna need to keep him quiet while we gone, me and her."

  He shook his head. "You takin' all the damn fun outta this, Gina."

  "We just delayin' it a little, is all. You want that $2 million in diamonds, don'tcha?"

  "Well, yeah. I reckon. But there's all kinda shit I always wanted to do to a cop."

  "You can. Just wait 'til we got the diamonds. When me and her come back, we gonna take off right then. Once we're away from land, you can do whatever you want to him."

  "Her, too. I got plans for her, big time."

  "Yeah, baby. I know. She's all yours, once she gets them diamonds for us."

  "All right, I reckon I can wait."

  "Good boy. It'll be that much better. Waitin' always makes it better, don't it?"

  "Uh-huh. I just ... "

  "I know, babe. What did you and him talk about while you was on watch?"

  Dalton shrugged. "Sailin', mostly. Fishin', a little bit. And he asked me had I been on probation after I got out."

  Gina frowned. "Why would he ask that?"

  "It ain't an unreasonable question, Gina. If'n I'd a served three years out of five, I'd a-prob'ly been on probation."

  "What'd you tell him?"

  "Told him I'd done served the whole time, and I had good behavior, and there wasn't enough parole officers to go around. So I didn't have no probation."

  "He buy that?"

  "Seemed to. What difference would it make if he didn't? Ain't nothin' he could do 'bout it."

  "I reckon. Strange question, though."

  "Nah, I think we was just shootin' the shit 'bout somethin' we both knowed about. We ain't got lots in common, him and me, 'cept we both worked in crime. Just on different sides, like."

  Gina shook her head. "Let's get some rest. Things're gonna start happenin' soon."

  "She can plot a fix?" Paul asked, his eyebrows rising.

  "Yes; isn't that something? I walked her through the first one, but she's got it, now. After two watches, she's as good as can be."

  "I wouldn't have thought she'd have the math aptitude to deal with that."

  "I think she may be scary smart; it was almost intuitive for her. She couldn't follow all of what I was saying, but it just seemed to click for her. She didn't have any trouble going from degrees, minutes, and thousandths on the GPS to the right place on the latitude and longitude scales. And the parallel rules made perfect sense to her. She even developed a new ETA."

  "Amazing. You show her how to do that?"

  "I didn't have to. I asked her if she could figure it out, and she just took her thumb and forefinger and walked them across the chart, advancing our position in four-hour steps from the second to last and last plots."

  "Did it come out even?"

  "No. She interpolates. She doesn't have the language skills to tell you how she does it, but you can watch her work through it. I've never seen anything like it."

  "Good for her. She picking up the boat-handling skills to go with it?"

  "She is. No problems there. How's Dalton doing?"

  "He's okay, but he may be as backward as she is bright. He follows instructions well enough, but nothing seems to stick with him."

  "Think he's fried his brain with all the meth?"

  "I don't know. Could be, or maybe he's just slow. He's kind of creepy."

  "Creepy how?"

  "Well, he thought he was being subtle, but it was almost comically obvious that he's smitten with you."

  Alarm spread over Connie's face. "What did he say, Paul?"

  "Take it easy. Nothing off-color. Just comments like what a lucky man I was to have a beautiful woman like you." He grinned. "As close as it came to tense was when he told me that one of his cell mates was Hispanic; the guy told him all about Mexican babes."

  "You didn't — "

  "Relax. It wasn't like that. He didn't say it in a way that upset me. He was respectful and complimentary, in his own ham-handed way."

  She looked doubtful. "How could any reference like that not be offensive?"

  "Body language, context. You had to be there. I guess it's a guy thing."

  "Well, I'm glad I wasn't there; I wouldn't want to intrude on your locker room conver — "

  "Connie, hold on. You know full well how I react to that kind of thing, especially when you're the subject. I'm sorry I brought it up."

  "Where's my insanely jealous fiancé?"

  "That's my point. He didn't say anything that provoked that kind of reaction. He came across as innocent and dreamy, in a stupid, bigoted, fashion. I don't know how to describe it."

  "Okay, if you're sure. I just don't want you taking a swing at him because of something he said about me."

  "Don't worry. Dalton and I are getting along well enough, considering our backgrounds."

  "Did you talk about anything else besides Mexican babes?"

  "Connie — "

  "Sorry. I just had to pull your chain."

  Paul looked dubious. "We did. Most of our conversation was about sailing and fishing. We talked a little bit about what it was like for him doing time, how he coped with the racial tension in the pen, that kind of thing."

  "I'd guess that must have been a challenge for him, given his biases," Connie said.

  "I'm sure it was. He had some connections with the Mexican Mafia that he mentioned. He's got the typical prison gang tattoos; he wouldn't talk about it, but he had to be in the Aryan Brotherhood."

  "Why do you say that?"

  "He has the tats; they don't take kindly to non-members wearing the markings. He'd probably have been killed if he wasn't one of them."

  "What's the Mexican Mafia?"

  "A Hispanic gang; oddly enough, they and the Aryan Brotherhood have a kind of cooperative relationship. The AB guys are pretty violent; they're contract enforcers for the Mexican Mafia."

  "That all sounds so bizarre; it's like a different world."

  "It is a different world; a guy like Dalton is probably more comfortable inside than out on the street. I mean, inside, he knows who to trust and who's gunning for him. Out on the street, he probably feels naked, exposed. And then there's the paranoia that goes with his meth problem."

  "Gina said he got high as soon as he got out; he doesn't know it, but she ditched his stash when they abandoned ship. He was 'tweaking,' she said, for a couple of weeks until they got in the raft. Whatever 'tweaking' is."

  "Tweaking means he was drugged out of his mind; no sleep, constant state of agitation. That's when meth-heads are at their worst, their most dangerous."

  "No wonder she tossed his stuff, then."

  "Yeah. My bet is he was probably using the whole time he was locked up."

  "He could get meth in prison?"

  "Meth, coke, no telling. That's one of the things the gangs do on the inside."

  "I'll be glad when we see the last of them. Him, especially. Her, I wish we could somehow ... "

  "Let it go Connie. She's a big girl, an
d you're not Mother Teresa. She makes her own choices, and Dalton's one of them."

  She nodded. "I know you're right. But I feel so sad for her; she never had a chance."

  "Don't buy into that; you know better. We all have choices; some are better than others, but nobody has to put herself in a situation like hers."

  "Yes, sir. It's nearly four. You'd better choose to go hit the sack for a while. I've got the ship."

  22

  "It's real peaceful-like out here this time of the mornin'," Dalton said, his hands resting on the helm.

  "It is," Paul agreed. "Want some more coffee?" The two of them had come on watch about 45 minutes earlier.

  "Nah, thanks. I'm good."

  Paul nodded, pouring himself a mug from the half-finished thermos. He took a sip, noticing that the sky was a bit lighter in the east. Dawn would be breaking in the next few minutes. He saw a flicker of movement in the dim red glow from the nightlight over the chart table and simultaneously heard a soft cry.

  He rose to his feet and leaned into the companionway opening as Gina appeared in front of him, her right hand gripping a dish towel that was wrapped tightly around her left hand, a distressed look on her face.

  "Could you he'p me, Paul?" she asked, her voice just above a whisper. "I done cut myself pretty bad, fixin' breakfast."

  He sensed motion behind him. As he glanced over his shoulder toward the helm, there was an explosion of light in his head and he fell forward.

  "Hit him again," Gina said, arresting his fall. "He ain't clean out."

  Dalton drew back the sock that had two fresh bars of bath soap tucked in the toe and swung it with vigor, snapping it like a man cracking a whip as it smacked the back of Paul's head.

  Gina gave a soft grunt as she took Paul's full weight, keeping him from falling down the companionway ladder. "That did it. Gimme a hand gettin' him down here, but don't make no noise. Let her sleep long as she can."

  In less than a minute, they had dragged the unconscious Paul to the port settee, the one on the low side, given Diamantista II's current angle of heel. They rolled him to a facedown position, and Gina trussed his wrists, ankles, and knees with duct tape.