Just Different Devils

by Jinx Schwartz

  While trapped in the anchorage, we were not, however, idle.

  A call to Rosario, our expert hacker dude, giving him the number Javier called from my Satfone, garnered a clue who he worked for. The phone number was traced to PGR_BC. When I heard this, my blood ran cold.

  PGR_BC turns out to be Procuraduria General de la Republica de Mexico, the equivalent to the Attorney General's office in the United States! The question is, was Nacho working with them, or maybe against them? And either way, what in holy hell had I gotten involved in?

  "I guess this kinda puts the kibosh on counting on Javier as my best friend, huh?" I said, trying to make light of my deep fear. "He's a freakin' fed, for crying out loud. He's royally pissed off, and I'm firmly on his radar."

  "I doubt he'll tell anyone about that little incident, what with the Mexican male ego and all, but he could be holding a serious grudge. He doesn't write, doesn't call."

  I smiled, in spite of my inner turmoil. Jan and I had a long history with men who did neither. "This is very worrisome. I do not in any way trust the Mexican judicial system, or their agents. Matter of fact, what I should do, while I still can, is take this boat back to the States. Do not pass GO, do not collect two hundred pesos."

  "Can we do that? I mean, just leave? Run for the border?"

  "Yep. No one will miss me or my boat for at least a week, and by then I could be in San Diego."

  We spent the next hour calculating distances, fuel usage, and the like.

  "Here it is, in black and white. Running at slow speed, one engine at a time, I can get to Magdalena Bay with the fuel I have in the tanks. I don't dare pull into Cabo for more. But Chino can arrange diesel for me in Mag Bay, and then I'll make it to Turtle Bay for one last refueling before making a beeline for San Diego. I'd rather not stop in Turtle, but I won't have a choice. If everything, and I do mean everything, including weather goes well, I could be in the good old US of A in under a week. It would be a grueling trip, but it could happen."

  "Okay, so it's doable. What about cars?"

  "My guess? Mine is a write off. No way do I dare retrieve my truck. But you'll be okay. I'll drop you off near La Paz and you can beat feet back to Lopez Mateos. No one will even know you were here. Well, except Javier, and he doesn't have any idea you are working at a whale camp. As far as he knows, you're just visiting me from the States."

  "And just who is gonna help you take this tub up the coast? Po Thang?"

  "Maybe I could find crew." I glanced out the window and nodded toward Full Kilt Boogie.

  She followed my gaze. "Mac? Are you nuts? He might have offed Nacho. Or fed him to the squid."

  "Oh, come on. We don't know what happened to Nacho, but he's gone, and it won't take the federales long to trace him right to us. Me."

  "I don't like the whole thing, but I agree you might want to get the hell out of Mexico until this mess blows over."

  "And speaking of blows being over, let's take Po Thang to the beach. He's way overdue for a run, and there is no way any of those Parque Nacional dudes are gonna slog into the slop to get out here this morning. I'll talk to Mac on the way back."

  Mac was more than willing to help me get to Mag Bay, but not all the way to San Diego.

  We discussed my run for the border all afternoon, hashing out details and what everyone's role would be. Going over charts, time frames, and the like, we came up with a plan, but there were still a few holes, the main one being crew from Mag Bay north after Mac returned to La Paz.

  Mac left us to work on that while he went back to his boat and prepared to leave for La Paz as soon as possible. He would meet us the next morning at either Tecolote Beach or Balandra, depending on how much the seas calmed. He'd drive down in Jan's Jeep, she'd go to Lopez Mateos to meet Chino, and then I'd meet both of them, and refuel, at Mag Bay. And make my run for the border. It was going to be a verrry long week.

  As for crew north from Mag Bay, Jan suggested she and Chino join me there and the three of us continue to San Diego, but I nixed that idea. "No way. If I get boarded by the Mexican Navy for leaving the country without checking out, they'll arrest us all, and you two have way too much to lose."

  "I've gotta talk to Chino and come clean. He'll have ideas. And Hetta, you have to call Jenks and do the same. He won't like it, but we don't have time to do anything else. Unless you agree to get on a plane and leave the boat here."

  "Not a chance."

  "That's what I thought. Okay, here goes what could be the end of a lovely romance."

  As predicted, Chino was majorly pissed, but when he calmed down he agreed my escape plan might work. Being a Mexican, he knows the saying, round up the usual suspects, is the way any government entity, and especially law enforcement, works down here.

  "And, he had a grand idea. He'll get at least two of his cousins to crew. You'll have to drop them off somewhere before you cross into American waters, though. They don't have any papers and we don't have time to get them. If by some chance you are stopped, they'll just say you hired them in Mag Bay and they had no idea you were a criminal."

  "I prefer international fugitive, thank you."

  "Whatever. What about P....the d-o-g?"

  "What about him?"

  "You taking him with you?"

  "Why wouldn't I?"

  "Have you considered what the authorities would do with him if they snag your butt and throw you under the jail?"

  That thought made my stomach sink. Mexico is not the kind of country where the kindly Animal Control dude shows up at a crime scene and takes the pets to safety. "You're right. I can't take that chance with him. He goes with his Aunt Jan."

  We went back over the whole trip, using a large printed calendar to schedule day by day. If all went as planned, I'd pull into Mag Bay in under three days, offload Mac, load up on fuel and cousins, then head for Turtle Bay for the final refuel. Weather would dictate where I put Chino's cousins on the beach, but there were all kinds of places where fish camps abound, and these guys would know how to get home.

  It was a daring caper, and the enormity of what I was about to do came crashing down on me in a sudden wave of dread. There were just so many ways this escape plan of mine could go horribly wrong.

  Perhaps I should say more horribly wrong than most of what Jan calls my harebrained schemes.

  However, caught between the Devil and the deep blue sea, I choose the sea.

  Chapter Twenty-seven

  My escape from Mexico plan was fraught with all kinds of danger, some of which I really didn't want to think about. Like going down with my ship when I hit a rock in the dead of night. Or....

  "Hetta, you okay? You've gone all white and wonky looking."

  Po Thang, sensing something was not right, put his head in my lap and whined. Tears stung my eyes at his empathy. Swiping my face with my sleeve, I admitted, "I guess I'm a little skeered."

  "Just a little? Hell, I'm terrified, and I'm not even going with you. Let's try to look at the bright side, okay? Your crew from Mag Bay north will be Chino's cousins, who were born to the sea, and one, at least, will be a master mechanic. You couldn't ask for a better bunch."

  "This is true. They proved their merit working with us on the dive boat last summer."

  She ticked off a finger. "Po Thang will be safe and sound with me, which will make the trip so much more worry free. I'll bring him up to the States as soon as you get safely there and settle in. And, when I take Mac back to La Paz, I'll have someone with me to get your pickup. Win-win."

  "Now that you put it that way, I guess everything is as good as it can be, under the circumstances. Damn that Nacho! He got us into this and I can't even hunt him down and emasculate him with his own gun."

  "That's my Hetta. Uh, speaking of guns, if you get stopped by the Mexican Navy on the way up to the States, and they find the 9mm, which they will, they'll nail you for it."

  "In for a peso, in for a pound. That gun and I are going into battle together."

  "Remember t
he Alamo and all that, huh? Your call, Chica."

  "Ahoy, Raymond Johnson!"

  We went outside to wave at Mac as he left for La Paz. "See you tomorrow, Mac!"

  "Are you absolutely sure you're comfortable taking Mac with you to Mag Bay?" Jan asked after he motored away.

  "He's the only game in town."

  "I could come along."

  "No, you have to take you-know-who," I tilted my head at Po Thang, "to Lopez Mateos and help Chino get ready to refuel and crew me."

  "Somehow the way you put that sounds slightly naughty."

  "Ha. Okay, let's get this tub ready for a major ocean voyage. Mac is going to bring more oil, and the like, but although I'm sure we could feed a small third world country from our larder, let's inventory the pantry, just in case I need you to bring us stuff at Mag Bay. After all, we're only looking at a week here."

  "Yabbut for sure you'll need tortillas and beans. I don't imagine Chino's cousins are gonna be much for hummus and pita."

  "Maybe you can get Chino's Granny Yee to stir up a pot of her famous beans for the freezer. Boy, can that woman cook."

  Jan nodded. "Good idea. The cousins won't have to eat your cooking. Danger of mutiny there."

  "Hey, I'm not that bad. You're just better, and so is Grans Yee."

  "We all have our talents. I just had another idea. Remember all those fifty-five gallon fuel drums in Granny Yee's shed. We used them last summer to refuel the dive boat before you went and sank it."

  "For the millionth time, I didn't sink that boat. Intentionally."

  "Yeah, yeah, yeah. Anyhow, couldn't we strap them down on Raymond Johnson so you don't have to make a stop at Turtle Bay?"

  I went to my desk, and the growing pile of spread sheets, lists, schedules and charts for planning my trip back to what I now thought of as the promised land. "Okay, San Diego is a little over a thousand miles from Mag Bay, so if I top off there, I'll need at least four extra drums to get me to California, and not be running on fumes when I get there. Of course, two-hundred and twenty gallons of diesel adds around fifteen-hundred extra pounds of drag to the boat, and I'll have to run the generator some, but I figure four drums will get 'er done.

  "If, and this is a big if, everything goes well with the boat mechanically, and the seas and weather cooperate."

  "Gee, thanks, I need all the encouragement I can get."

  "Sorry, I'm just worried. I swear, if Nacho isn't dead and he shows up, I'm for sure gonna kill him for getting us in this mess. How dare he exploit our inherent greed."

  I grinned. "The bastard!"

  We arrived without incident—something increasingly rare lately—at the Puerto Balandra anchorage, just outside La Paz.

  As soon as we picked up some signal bars, we called Mac with our ETA. He reported he was on his way from Marina Palmyra, where he was leaving his boat at my expense, to get Jan's Jeep out of hock from a parking lot near Marina de la Paz. He'd meet us at the anchorage, even though the road was a little rough. We knew Jan's Jeep could easily handle the unpaved dirt track to the anchorage.

  While we waited for Mac, Jan packed up her things, and I gathered Po Thang's stuff. It was amazing how much paraphernalia a dog can collect. Once again, tears stung my eyes as I stuffed dog food, leashes, toys and the like into duffle bags. Po Thang hovered, paced, hovered and paced. Something was up, he didn't know what, but he did not like it. His humans were projecting doom and gloom, and there was packing going on. At one point he raided his own bag and unpacked his toys, which gave us a little moment of levity.

  "It's okay, baby," I told him as I gave him a big hug. "In just a few days we'll get back to normal."

  Actually that was a little white lie. Once I arrived in San Diego, if I made it to San Diego, what then?

  Jan must have read my mind. "Hetta, you can get a job anywhere. Your boat safe is jammed with valuables and your bank account runneth over thanks to Nacho. You'll be better off in the States until this whole thing blows over. You can always come back to Mexico, ya know."

  "If I don't get arrested at the police dock in San Diego for smuggling contraband."

  "Hey, better a California jail than a Mexican jail."

  "You're a real barrel of sunshine today."

  "Just looking for a silver lining. Hetta, you have to call Jenks, right now, and tell him everything. You owe it to him. If something were to happen to you, he will be devastated that you took off on this debacle, uh, offshore cruise, in the Pacific damned ocean without letting him know what you have planned."

  "You mean I should call to say goodbye, don't you?"

  "No, that's not what I mean at all. I have every confidence everything will go smoothly. But let's face it, stuff happens at sea. Call. Him. Now. Or I will, the minute I leave this boat."

  Jenks was far from happy at first, and demanded I wait until he could get here to go with me to San Diego, but I convinced him there wasn't enough time; I had to get gone before the feds came looking for me. I laid out for him what I hoped sounded like a well-planned trip, adding that from La Paz to Mag Bay I'd be accompanied by an experienced blue water cruiser who'd sailed all the way from Scotland single-handedly.

  "And when I pick up fuel in Mag Bay, Chino's cousins will come aboard for the rest of the trip so I'll have at least two great mechanics with me. If the weather holds, and according to the ten-day forecast, it will, I'll be in San Diego in a little over a week. On top of that, Jan says she's going to dog us by road all the way, so we'll have backup on land. She's even going to carry extra diesel, and can meet us at any anchorage if necessary."

  The more I worked at persuading Jenks what a piece of cake this whole thing was going to be, the more I almost convinced myself it was true.

  What was Joseph Goebbel's propaganda strategy during WWII? Oh, yeah. "If you tell a lie big enough and keep repeating it, people will eventually come to believe it."

  Chapter Twenty-eight

  It was with a heavy heart that I ferried Jan and Po Thang to the beach while Mac stashed his belongings in the guest cabin, and then, after tearful goodbyes, I went back to prepare to leave.

  By the time I returned to the boat, Mac was out on deck and had the heavy duty motorized davit system ready to lift DawgHouse out of the water, and into the chocks on the sundeck overhead behind the flying bridge.

  I'd planned to have new chocks made to fit my new pangita, but we'd have to make do with what was already there. The existing cradle was well-built, but designed to hold a rigid-bottomed inflatable, not a fiberglass boat with a deeper chine. However, Mac turned out to be a master rigger, and lashed DawgHouse down snuggly.

  While we worked on securing the dinghy, we discussed our watch schedule. We agreed I'd take the first shift, since it was already two in the afternoon and I really, really, hate night watch, especially on the first night out. He'd get some sleep and relieve me around nine, man the helm until just before first light, then I'd take over again. Once we rounded Cabo Falso and headed north, we'd be far enough offshore that I'd feel more secure with taking a night watch.

  As I sat on the flying bridge, we entered the San Lorenzo Channel, cleared the land mass, and I entered a proper waypoint on the boat's GPS navigation system, setting a course directly for Punta Arena. Jenks had, bless his heart, marked all the way points from La Paz to Mag Bay when we made this trip from the other direction the year before. Yes, there are all kinds of charts and cruising guides out there with the latitude and longitude of anchorages, hazards, and that sort of thing, but I prefer the ones marked either by Jenks or me on site. With my own GPS coordinates, I can confidently return to any place we've been in heavy fog or dark of night.

  These waypoints, entered only a year ago, brought on a wave of despondency. Was it only a year? Seemed both like yesterday, and eons ago.

  I don't normally get depressed, hold onto feelings of sadness very long, or feel sorry for myself more than a few hours, with the exception of when my dog, Raymond Johnson—RJ to his friends—died. Tha
t set me on my rear for several weeks. I finally got over it by buying a forty-five foot yacht, a therapy I highly recommend. Watching the Baja peninsula—a place I'd learned to love—slide by, I had a presentiment that things were not going to go well for me in the near future.

  Making matters worse, I'd so looked forward to making this return trip with Jenks when he finished up in Dubai, and here I was, on the run, alone. Well, not totally alone, for Artherrrr MacKenzie Gra-ham, Mac to his friends, was with me, but after talking with Jenks earlier I realized any attraction I had for the handsome Scot had evaporated.

  Yes, he was attractive, and yes, I was grateful he was willing to help me, but he wasn't Jenks.

  I wanted Jenks.

  I wanted my mommy.

  I wanted my dog.

  I wanted to be anywhere but running for the border!

  Much to my relief, Mac joined me on the bridge early, just as the last light faded and I was already getting a little anxious. We'd just passed Ensenada de los Muertos—Cove of the Dead—which the new developers didn't think sounded good for business and had renamed Bahia de los Suenos or Bay of Dreams. It will, however, remain Muertos to boaters for years to come. Jenks and I had anchored there for a few days and gone ashore to a boater potluck which is something cruisers throw together at the drop of a sombrero. As I looked longingly at the boats in the anchorage, I recalled how clever cruisers can be at putting together casseroles from just about anything on board.

  Unfortunately, the Bay of the Dead wasn't on the itinerary for my voyage of the damned.

  We were making ten knots at Jenks's insistence. He said my bright idea of running one engine at a time wasn't all that good for the transmissions, especially on such a long voyage like I was undertaking. He was right. The last thing I needed right now was a transmission failure. We'd slip into Cabo for fuel around three in the afternoon, a busy time when fishing boats are returning and the harbor bustles with activity. If anyone bothered to ask, we'd tell them we were fishing our way to La Paz, then hopefully get underway again by five and do an overnighter to Mag Bay. Putting on a few turns, doing twelve to fourteen knots, would put us into Mag Bay by the next afternoon.