"Good enough," I said, rising to a crouch and opening the locker under my seat. I took out two safety harnesses with tethers attached. Handing her one, I slipped mine on and snapped it closed. She watched as I re-hooked the tether, making sure the carabiner passed through both of the D-rings on the belt.
"I'll take the tiller while you get the harness on and get it adjusted," I said.
She nodded and slipped her arms through the harness, fastening the belt under her ribcage and pulling it tight. "Harnesses all the time?" she asked.
I nodded. "Any time you're on deck. Hook the tether to that eye bolt down in the footwell while you're in the cockpit. There's another tether hooked on each jackline — one on each side of the coachroof. If you're going out of the cockpit, hook up to a jackline before you unhook the tether to the eyebolt, okay?"
"Got it," she said. "Don't worry; I'm a true believer."
"Good for you. It's amazing how many people aren't."
"Yeah. There are lots of fools running loose. Don't they see it's a death sentence to go overboard offshore?" she asked, readjusting the harness.
"Guess not."
I waited until she was hooked up and comfortable with the fit of her harness. She took the tiller again, and I hooked on to the port jackline and climbed onto the coachroof, crabbing my way to the base of the mast.
The fiberglass was wet with wind-driven spray, and slick in the spots that didn't have non-skid. I faced Mary and wrapped my left arm over the covered main. Working my way aft, I undid the common-sense fasteners along the underside of the boom as I went.
When I reached the end of the boom, I turned around, switched arms, and folded the sail cover, rolling it along the boom as I went back to the mast. I untied the sail ties as I came to them, stuffing them in my waistband. Once at the mast, I undid the fasteners holding the cover along the front of the mast and tied the bundled sail cover to the base of the mast.
I unhooked the main halyard from the eye at the base of the mast. Shackling it to the headboard of the mainsail with my right hand, I held on with my left as Island Girl smashed into the building waves. The swell that wrapped around Cabo Rojo was giving us a rough ride. I freed the halyard from the cleat near its winch and pulled in the slack. Taking the winch handle from its holder, I snapped it into the winch.
I turned my head and looked back at Mary. She nodded and held up the tail of the mainsheet, letting me know it was running free. I nodded back, and she pushed the tiller to the port. That brought the bow dead into the wind. I hoisted the mainsail hand over hand, keeping my head down to avoid the flogging canvas and the swinging boom.
When I couldn't gain any more on the halyard, I put my right hand on the winch handle and cranked a couple of turns, tailing with my left hand. I cleated the halyard and turned to Mary, giving her a wave. She turned the bow about 30 degrees to the west and hauled in on the mainsheet, her foot on the tiller to hold our course.
The sail filled with an audible crack. Island Girl liked that. She heeled over to the starboard, almost putting her rail in the water. Her erratic motion settled, giving way to an easy surge. The lift from the sail carried her smoothly over the waves that were now striking us at about a 45-degree angle to the bow of the boat.
I grinned when I saw Mary bend to the engine instrument panel and pull the shutdown knob. She knew what she was doing. Looking up at me, she gave me one of those smiles and raised a thumb and her eyebrows, then she extended her index finger, pointing at the headstay. She was asking if I wanted to raise the jib. I gave her a nod and went forward.
Two minutes later, I sat down in the cockpit across from her and glanced at the knot meter. We were making five knots on a close reach under a full main and a 100-percent jib. The ride was nice; Island Girl was in her element rolling smoothly over the waves.
"Good job," I said. "Thanks; we'll make a good team."
"I think so," she said. "You normally do that all alone?"
"Sure. You get used to it. I put a piece of bungee cord on the tiller and throttle way back, just enough power to keep her bow into the wind. Then I raise the sails and let 'em flog until I get back to the cockpit. But it was nice to have your help. You know your stuff."
She nodded, taking my compliment in stride. "Ever wish you had roller furling on the headstay?"
"No. It's unnecessary on a boat this size, and it's dangerous."
"The new ones are more reliable," she said. "Or so I hear."
"You've done enough of this to know things only fail at the worst possible moment," I said. "I've seen those oversized boats with a husband and wife crew come limping in with shredded jibs because the bearings in the furler froze in a squall. Besides, I like being able to fly different sized jibs to match the wind and the sea state."
"Amen," she said.
We sailed along in comfortable silence, watching the course creeping around to the southeast as Mary followed the wind around Cabo Rojo. By the time we were clear of the cape, the wind was blowing a steady 15 knots from the east-northeast. We were holding a course of about 130 degrees magnetic.
"I've got her," Mary said, after several minutes. "Why don't I take the first watch and let you rest?"
"I'm still wired up, but thanks. I'm used to this, remember? I don't really relax until I'm out of sight of land."
She nodded and didn't say anything. I liked that. She was a good shipmate. After five or ten minutes, she said, "You don't mind the company, do you? I'll go below if you'd rather have your solitude."
I smiled at her and shook my head. "It's nice to share this with you. There'll be plenty of time for solitude."
"You want to talk? Or just enjoy the sunset?" she asked.
"Both," I said. "But thanks for asking."
"I know how nice it is to be alone on watch, sometimes," she said.
I nodded. "But it's nice to share a watch with a comfortable shipmate, every so often."
"Why, thank you, Finn. I think that was a compliment."
"Yes," I said "It was. And you're welcome. It's nice to have you aboard. Looks like we'll have a good trip to wherever."
"We've settled in on about 130 to 140 degrees, now," she said. "Where's that going to take us?"
"Somewhere between St. Lucia and St. Vincent, I'd say. We could end up farther south, depending on how the wind holds."
"That okay with you? Or should we trim the sails?"
"It's fine with me for now. We'll keep an eye on it over the next few days. You okay with it?"
"Sure. I'm just along for the ride."
"No destination, no schedule?" I asked.
"That's my plan, and I'm sticking to it," she said, smacking a fist on the cockpit seat.
I laughed. "I like you, Mary Elizabeth O'Brien."
She smiled. "Thanks, just Finn."
"My pleasure," I said.
After a few minutes listening to sounds of the boat, she said, "My family and close friends call me Mary Beth."
"That an invitation?"
"If you'd like. Looks like we're going to be close friends for a while, anyhow."
"Good. I like that. Mary Beth suits you." I waited, thinking she would ask what my friends called me, wondering how to answer her. But she didn't ask.
We passed an hour in easy silence, and when the sun was fully down, I said, "Excuse me; I'd better go turn on the nav lights and mark our position. You want anything when I come back on deck?"
"No, thanks. But you don't have to come back up if you feel like a nap. I like your company, but I can take a watch now, if you'd like."
How could I pass that up? I liked her company, too. I could sleep later. I switched on the nav lights and wrote our position in the log, along with our course and speed, and the date and time. I went back up to the cockpit and we sailed along in moonlit silence, each alone with our thoughts.
Feeling her hand on my shoulder, I jerked upright and opened my eyes, looking around, alarmed and confused.
"It's okay," she said. "You've been asleep
about four hours. Everything's fine; course and speed are the same. You good?"
"Yes, fine," I said. "Sorry I was such boring company."
She gave me that smile of hers and said, "You needed the rest. Pour yourself some coffee, and then I'm going below and stretch out for a while."
I nodded and filled a coffee cup. "The starboard settee's the best sea berth," I said. "There's a lee cloth under the cushions. Pull it out and snap the hooks to the pad eyes overhead."
"Okay. Thanks. Call me if you need me," she said, leaning over and brushing her lips against my whiskers. Then she smiled and disappeared into the gloom below, leaving me thinking I'd better shave soon.
6
I watched Mary Beth set up the lee cloth and crawl into the berth. She blew me a kiss and turned off the dim red night light, leaving me alone with my thoughts. I found myself stroking the spot on my cheek where she kissed me a few minutes earlier. I pulled my hand away, embarrassed. Did she see that?
Surely it was my imagination, but the spot felt warm. I shook my head. My interactions with women since my divorce 20-odd years ago were catch-as-catch-can. I was out of practice at dealing with flirtatious women, especially young, pretty ones.
What the hell were you thinking, Finn? You're committed to a mission; you have to be in St. Vincent in five days, and you can't have this girl tagging along when you execute. How did you get sucked into this?
My rationale that she was camouflage was just an excuse for falling prey to her hustle. She could be camouflage, but only if I were willing to let her get killed — or kill her myself — to cover my tracks. And neither option set well with me. Frustrated with myself, I acknowledged that I felt the need to protect her. Why, you old fool? She may only be a few years older than your daughter, but she's hardly an innocent child. And how did she end up in Puerto Real just in time to hitch a ride with you, anyway?
I thought back to when I saw her at the dinghy dock. I was focused on picking up the stuff I needed at the grocery store and getting underway. I wasn't in a bind from a schedule standpoint, but I didn't have time to waste, either. My target was expected to leave St. Vincent for Europe soon. I could deal with him in Europe, but St. Vincent was a far better spot for an execution.
Mary Beth looked good standing on that dinghy dock, and I was feeling lonely, and maybe a little too comfortable for my own good. This was my second mission since I 'retired' from active service with the arcane government organization that employed me for the past 20 years.
My time with them and my previous active duty time with the Army qualified me for a nice pension with benefits. When they offered me the option of contract work after I retired, I thought it would be an occasional thing. So far though, I might as well still be active. Two missions in two months — that was more work than I was accustomed to before I retired. The money was far better, now, though. And I did have some leeway when it came to accepting assignments.
Plus, now that I was a contractor, I could choose how I carried out my missions. If I wanted to take company along with me, I was free to do that — at my own expense, of course. Mary Beth wasn't a problem to my client, as I called them now, but she might be a problem to me.
I didn't know the first thing about her, except that she was pretty, and she was sending signals that she found me attractive. I'm not normally impulsive, and I never fell for a honey trap before. Could Mary Beth be part of a setup?
I chewed the inside of my cheek as I let that possibility roll around in my mind. She was in the right place at the right time, and she pushed buttons I didn't know I had. She also kicked ass when those three goons tried to snatch her.
That added a couple of dimensions to the problem. The first was how she came to be so good at hand-to-hand combat; the second was what was going on with those three men. Her explanations were marginally adequate.
She could have learned her skills from a brother who was a cage fighter, but the way she handled herself showed more than just basic know-how. Her speed and agility argued that she got regular practice.
Her story about the men following her around Puerto Rico was strange, too. She implied that they were somehow connected to her problems aboard Sisyphus, but if so, there was something more to that story.
If she were part of a setup, who could be behind it, and why? There were only two reasons somebody might want to capture me. And if I were the target, what happened in Puerto Real was meant to be a snatch, not a hit. Those guys weren't trying to kill either of us, but it was possible I was their intended victim and Mary Beth was bait to lure me into their clutches.
There were people who might want to pick my brain, if they understood who I was and what I did for a living. I knew where 20 years' worth of bodies were buried, literally. There was enough information in my head to cause the U.S. government some serious embarrassment. To someone with that goal, I was only valuable if taken alive.
The other possibility was that whoever was backing my current target wanted to take me out to protect him. That was a less likely explanation. First, they would have tried to kill me, and they didn't. Second, that would mean there was a leak from the government department I worked for. That was possible, but not likely. It was a tiny organization, well-hidden in the Department of Defense, and in my 20 years with them, there was never even a hint of a leak.
Then again, this could all be about Mary Beth, and her encounter with me could have been pure chance. I was a lonely middle-aged guy, and she was an attractive young woman. But even if that were the case, there was still more to her story than she'd told me. I resolved to work on that over the next few days.
7
"Hey, Finn," Mary said, poking her head up through the companionway as the first hint of dawn broke on the eastern horizon.
"Is it time already?" I asked.
"Four hours." She rubbed her eyes and climbed up a step or two, turning to face the bow, looking at the beginnings of the sunrise. She braced her thigh on the edge of the opening and stretched her arms over her head.
The T-shirt she slept in rode up; she wore nothing under it. I swallowed hard and averted my gaze, but not before I noticed another small tattoo centered on the untanned skin of her left hip. I didn't get a good enough look to tell what it was, and I wasn't about to stare.
"Sorry!" she said, tugging the hem of the shirt down as she turned to face me. "I forgot." She giggled and stepped into the cockpit.
"Forgot what?" I asked, keeping my eyes locked on the compass.
"Oh, nothing." She plopped down on the seat right next to me, her hip against mine. "It's always chilly at sea this time of day."
I nodded and wrapped an arm around her shoulders, glancing over at her. She squeezed herself up against me and gave me a kiss on the cheek.
"Beautiful morning," she said. "Give me a second to get my bearings and I'll go make us some breakfast."
"Take your time." I was enjoying the way she felt, snuggled under my arm, her head on my shoulder. "Did you rest well?"
"Slept like a baby. The seas have laid down, haven't they?"
"Yes. We're well offshore. There's a long-period, four-foot easterly swell running, with a little trade wind chop. Perfect sailing."
"Did you have a good watch?" she asked.
"I did. No complaints from me."
"I saw there were some eggs in the fridge. Scrambled sound good?" she asked.
"Yes, and toast to go with them, but why don't you enjoy the sunrise first?"
"You sure you don't want to eat and crash?"
"I'm okay. I'll hang out with you up here for a little while after we eat, then take a nap. Not sure I need a full four hours of sleep. I dozed a little, I'm afraid."
"Single-hander's habit?"
"Yes. I set the alarm on my watch to go off every fifteen minutes, so I can scan the horizon for traffic. That way I can't sleep long enough to get in trouble. I didn't see another boat the whole time. There's not much going on out here; we're pretty far off the beaten path."
Once the show was over, she sat up. "Okay. Scrambled eggs and toast with coffee, coming right up." She went below and began making cooking noises in the galley.
A few minutes later, she set two plates of eggs and toast on the bridge deck, followed in a moment by two steaming mugs of coffee and the thermos. She joined me in the cockpit and handed me my plate.
I noticed with relief that she was wearing her cutoffs; maybe she did just forget earlier. As attractive as she looked, I wasn't ready to add a new level of complexity to our relationship just yet.
I was hungry; I made quick work of the eggs and toast. She smiled and handed me a mug of coffee.
"More eggs?" she asked.
I grinned. "No, thanks. But that was a treat. I'm not used to having someone cook my breakfast." I took a sip of coffee.
"Glad you enjoyed it. It's the least I can do; I really appreciate your hospitality."
"My pleasure. I'm happy to have the company and the help. You're good crew."
"I hope so. I was thinking last night when I went to sleep that you took a big chance letting me tag along."
"No more of a chance than you took. Hitching rides on boats with strangers is pretty risky."
She smiled. "I'm a good judge of people; you look like the kind of man a girl can trust. I've had some experience with that kind of thing."
"Speaking of that, I don't mean to pry, but tell me a little about Mary Beth O'Brien, if you don't mind."
"Fair enough. I don't mind, but I'm not sure where to start. Give me a clue?"
"How did you end up crewing on superyachts, for starters?"
She nodded and raised her coffee mug to her lips. "I finished college a little over a year ago, but I wasn't ready to settle down and go to work. I came into a little money before I graduated, so I decided to do some traveling."
Assassins and Liars Page 3