“It certainly is. At seventy-two, it certainly is,” the woman repeated, nodding in agreement.
“Do you remember who lived there?” Max prompted.
“Yes, of course. Lord and Lady Cobb never came back to Antigua after the war. Their children only came here long enough to sell the property thirty years ago to old Andy MacElliott, manager of the Antigua Commercial Bank in St. John’s. Andy and his wife, Emma, lived there until the roof blew off during that devil hurricane in September of 2009. They never rebuilt it.”
“Do they still own it?” Beth asked.
“Oh, my goodness, no! They didn’t need such a big house after their three children all married and moved off the island, so they sold it right after the storm to Americans. Not nice people.”
“You’ve met them?” Max asked, surprised by her comment.
“Oh my, yes. They stop by the supermarket. I believe they are living down in the harbor.”
“Do you know their names?”
“No. They are always too busy to chat.”
“Could you tell us what they look like?” Beth asked, mentally kicking herself for not asking Bob if he had a photograph of his father.
“They’re white folks, like yourselves. The man is bald, not tall. He got a funny little beard and a mustache. His wife is taller. But not at all friendly, you know.”
Beth barely managed to stifle a gasp when she heard the man described. “And they told you they were living in English Harbour?” she asked.
“The man once said to me that they had to live there on a boat until the house had been restored. That was before the fire last summer finished what the hurricane had started.”
“Have they come by recently?”
“The lady stopped by my supermarket about two, maybe three weeks ago but did not buy anything. She said they planned to rebuild the house as soon as their insurance company stopped fighting with them about what damage was caused by the hurricane before they bought the house and what damage was caused by the fire after they bought the house.”
“Well, I guess that’s about it,” Beth said, satisfied she had heard enough. “I’m sorry we’ve taken up so much of your time. Do you have any cold soda?” she asked.
“Of course,” the woman said with a pleased expression covering her face. “What may I get for you?”
“Whatever is sugar-free. Diet Coke, Diet Pepsi. As long as it’s cold. Can we have three cans, please?”
The woman went inside her store and returned in a moment with three cans of a generic diet cola. “I am sorry,” she said apologetically, “but that is all I seem to have at the moment. They are a dollar each.”
“That will be just fine,” Max said, smiling warmly at her. He reached into his pocket and handed her a five-dollar bill. “Have a very nice day.”
“I’ll be back with your change in a moment.” She turned to head back into the store.
“Please don’t bother,” Max said, stopping the woman with his upraised hand. “You’ve been kind enough to let us take up your time. Enjoy the day.”
“And the very same to you, sir, and to you two ladies also….” The woman walked back inside her store as Beth drove the car onto the road to English Harbour.
“She was a delight,” Andi said.
“You know who she described, don’t you?” Beth asked, shifting the small Suzuki through its gears.
“No, who?” Andi asked.
“That guy who was staring at me yesterday at the Ad. He fits the description that old lady gave us.”
“You figure it’s Len Sloane?” Max asked.
“I’m sure. Connecting Sindicator to Atrophy with that mizzen clinches it,” Beth said. “Sloane wore a hairpiece. I never saw him without it. He could have taken it off now, and anybody can grow a beard and mustache.” She downshifted smoothly around a sharp curve in the road, avoided an oncoming truck partially over on her side of the road, and accelerated into the straightaway.
“Take it easy, will you, please?” The plea came from Andi in the backseat, wiping soda off her chin.
“Sorry, Mom.” Nevertheless, Beth accelerated the Suzuki adroitly all the way back into English Harbour. She was absorbed in strategizing the showdown if she came face-to-face with Leonard Sloane. She finally decided she’d punch him out first and worry about it later. Max would know what to do anyhow. She looked over at him and saw a look of cold determination fixed on his face. It relaxed her enough to laugh and shake her fist triumphantly at the next driver she cut off.
They were flying high on optimism when they got into English Harbour at ten thirty a.m. The elation turned to disappointment when they got to Nelson’s Dockyard and found Atrophy’s empty slip. The sailboat was nowhere to be seen.
They questioned everyone they saw. One of the workers told them he had seen Atrophy leave her slip late yesterday afternoon to anchor out in the harbor. Another remembered he had seen them in the moonlight sailing out of the harbor around nine o’clock but didn’t pay any attention to their heading.
They went over to the supply store across the yard. Except for apparel and souvenirs, the merchandise in the store was sparse, limited to essential marine parts displayed in a few widely dispersed areas.
“Good morning,” said the man behind the counter. “What can I do for you?”
“We’re looking for friends of ours, the Leonards,” Beth said. “They live on board Atrophy. Do you know them?”
“Sure. Mrs. Leonard was my last customer last night. She came in to buy chart CDs.”
“We’re going to be cruising with them. What charts did they buy?”
“So you’re going through the Canal with them too, huh?”
“Yes,” Max said, expanding on Beth’s lie. “We’re going to spend the year cruising the Pacific.”
“What charts did she buy?” Beth repeated.
“From here to Aruba, naturally. Large and small scale. And from Aruba to the Canal.”
“Did they buy charts for the direct route from here to the Canal?”
“They did. It’s a rough sail too. A beat to windward the whole way.”
“Yeah, you’re right,” Max said. “Anyhow, better give us the same charts in CDs and paper copies.” He knew without looking that the muttering he heard came from Andi standing behind him.
“Just to be safe, Dad, get some large-scale charts covering the whole area.”
“Be my pleasure,” the clerk responded. “Are you going to meet them over in St. John’s this morning?”
“Actually we were supposed to meet them here for breakfast.”
“I’m surprised. They sailed over to St. John’s last night. They need a part for their radar antenna mount and I didn’t have it here. They’re going to pick it up in St. John’s this morning and leave for Aruba from there.”
“Just as well. Our boat’s in St. John’s anyhow. We’ll drive back and meet them there.”
Max deferred to Andi as she came over to examine the charts. “Do you have a small-scale chart that gives a good close-up of the approaches to the Canal?” she asked. “Better yet, give me the Imray catalog. I want to see all the available charts. I don’t want to get too close to the coast of Colombia.”
“Yes, ma’am,” the clerk said respectfully, handing her the catalog.
Andi scrutinized the catalog herself this time and asked the clerk for several additional charts not available on CD. When he returned with them, he handed them directly to her. She looked them over, nodded affirmatively, and handed them back to the clerk. “We’ll take these,” she said to him.
“Yes, ma’am,” he repeated. He rolled up the charts and slid them into a narrow tube, which he handed to Andi.
“Do you take credit cards?” Max asked, relieved to see Andi assuming her role as navigator.
—
On the first mile or so of the trip back to St. John’s, the only sound heard in the open car was the wind. When Andi’s explosion finally came, its vehemence was not exactly unanticipated. �
��You two are out of your respective God-given minds!” she exclaimed loudly from the backseat.
Behind the wheel, Beth was tempted to make a comment about not being able to hear her mother over the wind, but she wisely thought better of it.
“What do you think this is?” Andi continued. “Some sailboat race where if you get fouled, you can complain to some committee dressed in white ducks and blue blazers?”
The silence from the driver and passenger in front was deafening. As a result, Andi became even more irate.
“We are not sailing Red Sky to the Panama Canal!” she raged.
The silence up front continued.
“One of you two better say something.”
“Look, I know you don’t want to hear it,” Max finally offered, “but I agree with Beth. I want to find those two.”
“And then what? Heave to and prepare to board? Cutlass in your teeth while you swing over on a halyard?”
“No, but the idea has appeal,” he gibed.
“Don’t you realize they have seventy million dollars to gain and nothing to lose?”
“Look, there isn’t going to be any confrontation. When we catch up with them, we’ll call the Coast Guard and let them handle the arrest.”
“Good! Then call the Coast Guard right now.”
“Mom, it would be days before they sort it all out and a week before they start a search. By then, all our efforts would be lost in the Pacific Ocean.”
“You two are certifiable!” It was all she could say.
—
Andi was still fuming when they got back on board Red Sky. Even Marylebone rubbing against her leg got ignored. “And suppose you don’t catch up with them?” she continued her tirade. “They have a bigger boat and probably a seven- or eight-hour lead at least. It’s a big ocean out there.”
“In the first place, Mom,” Beth started, “the three of us can sail circles around them.”
“And in the second place…” Max paused for effect. “We can track them.”
“Hold on just a second. What are you talking about?”
“They don’t know it, but they have a GPS homing beacon on board. The guy at Gold Coast Charters told me they install one on every boat to keep track of their fleet.”
“How come Sloane doesn’t know about it?”
“Because they put it in after he chartered the boat.”
“Why didn’t they use it to recover the boat themselves?”
“They didn’t even know they had a missing boat for over two weeks. Sloane chartered it under a phony name and then simply didn’t return it. By then, it was too far away for the thing to work.”
“So what do we use from our end?”
“A GPS tracker. It’s already built into our GPS. Gold Coast gave me the code. That’s what we look for.”
“That’s all there is to it?”
“As long as we’re within its range.”
“Well, I suppose I might as well start working on the charts,” Andi said reluctantly. “Give me the damn things and I’ll go below. It’ll take me a while to program the GPS.”
“Don’t forget to back it up with the satnav.”
“I know the drill. Now let me go below and navigate. And, in case you’re interested, yes, I’m still pissed.” Andi climbed down the companionway ladder.
“Hey, Mom,” Beth said, treading softly. “Do you think you’d better also chart the direct course to the Canal?”
“They wouldn’t go that way this time of the year,” Andi replied. “The northeast trade winds are too strong. Everybody goes to the Canal via Aruba.”
“But Beth may be right,” Max interjected. “We should be ready for that contingency.”
“We’ll be ready.”
“Let me know as soon as you chart the opening course for Aruba.”
“I’ll let you know.”
—
“It’s five hundred and fifty miles from here to Aruba,” Andi announced as Max came down through the hatch twenty minutes later, unable to resist standing over her at the chart table. “After we leave St. John’s harbor, we can either head 249 degrees between Nevis and Montserrat straight to Aruba, or we can sail 192 degrees over to the Guadeloupe Passage between Montserrat and Guadeloupe and then set a course of 252 degrees for Aruba.”
“Do you have a preference?”
“Besides divorcing you and that child of mine, my inclination is the direct way. I want to check the prevailing winds for this time of year against the weather reports.”
“Let me know what you decide.”
“If we take the direct route, the first waypoint will be Redonda.” She put her finger down on a speck of land on the chart. “It’s a tiny islet about fifteen miles southeast of Nevis. After that, it’s a straight downhill run to Aruba.”
“Any problems between here and Redonda?”
“No. It looks like there’s plenty of water all the way. There’s some shoaling on the south side of Redonda, so we’ll pass it to the north.”
“Any other land between that and Aruba?”
“Not if you want the quickest way to get there. We could follow the Windward Islands to Grenada, but somehow I don’t think you have the scenic way in mind. Now go away and let me finish.”
“I’m glad you’re my navigator.”
“I love you too, Max. Now go!”
Max left and continued preparing Red Sky for sea. Beth was busy examining all the rigging to make certain that every turn bolt, shackle, and cotter pin was secure. “I’ve checked the bow, Dad, and I’m almost finished with the mast.”
“Better check the lifeline stanchions. I noticed the base by the portside gate is loose. One of the screws may be stripped.”
“It’s next on my list.”
“If you can’t tighten it, use some epoxy filler.”
“Don’t worry.”
“I’m going to check the oil and batteries and mess around with the gearbox. I heard a funny noise in reverse yesterday. As soon as your mother’s finished charting the course, we’ll take Red Sky into the dock and top off the fuel and water tanks.”
Max turned and climbed back down into the cabin, getting his toolbox out from the storage compartment. He lifted the companionway ladder from its hinges, exposing the engine. After checking the oil level, he opened the Volvo manual to a diagram of the gear system. He cleaned and reconnected several wires and tightened a few related bolts before putting the ladder back on its hinges. He then climbed back up into the cockpit.
“Any luck?” Beth asked, sitting with her legs crossed in front of one of the lifeline stanchions, pliers in one hand and a shackle key in the other.
“I hope so. I gave it my best shot. Your mother’s a better mechanic than I am. I’d hate to lose our reverse gear.”
“We’ll get them. With you and me doing the sailing and Mom navigating, we’ll take them in no time at all.” She was silent for a moment before adding, “I wish Bob were here too.”
“I didn’t realize you felt that way.”
“I miss him.”
“Did you tell him why you were coming down here?”
“It would have been too complicated. I just told him I was coming down to spend some time with you and Mom. That’s all I told Clifford too. I’ve done a lot of lying to people that I care a great deal about.”
“There’s going to be payback, you know.”
“Tell me about it,” she agreed, reaching over to the idle winch behind her shoulder and spinning it with her hand for emphasis.
“I want you to know this little adventure of ours doesn’t thrill me.”
“You worried about what happens when we catch them?”
“That’s what I do, worry. I figure our twelve-gauge shotgun is maybe good for seventy-five or a hundred yards.”
“It won’t come to that.”
“What if they have a heavy-caliber rifle that can shoot ten times that far?”
“We’ll stay out of range and let the Coast Guard handle it.
”
“What if they get too close? A sailboat’s clumsy in close quarters.”
“Can’t worry about it, Dad.”
“Worry is the best shield we have.”
“We’ll sail Red Sky and do whatever has to be done when we get where we’re going. The rest is all crap.”
“Okay, coach!”
“Before we go to the gas dock,” Beth said, “let’s take a slow run around the harbor to make sure Atrophy isn’t anchored somewhere out here.”
“Good idea. Take the wheel while I start her up.”
Max reached over to the engine controls. The diesel caught immediately. He looked back over the transom to assure himself there was a good flow of water coming out of the exhaust pipe. No more time to worry, he urged himself. His crew was lionhearted, killers all.
Beth steered Red Sky under power in a slow pass around the harbor while she and Max kept a lookout. She maneuvered carefully, weaving her way through the fishing boats and the dozen or so sailboats anchored about. No Atrophy was seen.
She finally pulled Red Sky into the dock as Max threw a stern line to the attendant. Andi jumped gracefully onto the dock with the bow line and made it fast to a forward cleat on the dock. She sat on a rusty folding chair on the dock to wait while Max unscrewed the fuel cap and took the hose from the attendant.
Max started pumping and then stopped when he heard the fuel gurgling to the top of the tank. He squeezed in a last few drops and handed the hose back to the attendant. He screwed the fuel cap back down tight and turned on the blower to ventilate any fumes out of the engine compartment.
“Busy today?” Beth asked the attendant.
“No. Mostly local fishermen.”
“Did you see a sailboat, about fifty feet?” she asked.
“Yes, miss. There was one. Five, maybe six hours ago. They came into the dock too fast, in a real hurry.”
“Couple on board?” Max asked.
“Yes, sir. Man and woman. Arguing about something. They had a deckhand too. A local boy.”
“Sounds like friends of ours. Did you get the name of their boat?”
“No, sir. My boss only tells me to write the name down when the people pay by credit card. They paid cash.” He walked over to the transom and carefully wrote “Red Sky” down on the slip.
Noble Chase: A Novel Page 18