Hurricane (20 page)

“
How’s that?” she said.

“
Look at the knot meter,” Meiko said, “and see for yourself.”

“
Eight-point-five. We’re smoking,” Julie said, and they sailed like that, a perfect beam reach at eight and a half knots, till morning, when the wind shifted to just off their nose.

Meiko saw it first. The white sails against the dawn. About a mile behind. “Sails at six o’clock,” she said, and Julie turned to look.

“
Check with the binoculars,” Julie said, but her words weren’t necessary, Meiko already had the long glasses to her eyes.

“
It’s them.”

Chapter Eleven

For the last two hours a speedboat had been shadowing them at the edge of a normal man’s sight, but Broxton had better than excellent vision and he knew they were there. Had been for over an hour. It was a bad sign.

He pushed himself up from his seat in the cockpit, faced to the sea and into the afternoon, onshore breeze. He shivered against the early chill and ran his hands through his growing hair, enjoying the feel of it. He thought about the new couple on board. Something about them wasn’t right.

He stretched, ignored the familiar ache across his stomach and took in a deep breath, holding it in his lower abdomen, and with eyes closed he took himself away from the island coastline. He thought about Julie Tanaka, her glistening green eyes, her golden brown hair, her strong, tanned body.

And he opened his eyes. The speedboat was still there. Fast. Powerful. Holding back. Waiting.

For what?

He closed his eyes again and exhaled, letting the breath pass his lips in a trickle as he relaxed his shoulders. It was an art. With the air out of his lungs he took in a normal breath and blinked away the tears caused by the stinging wind. He moved toward the binnacle and slid around the wheel. There was no need to look at the compass or GPS, he knew where they were and what direction they were headed. He wanted to steer, to feel the wind in the sails with his hands, so he flicked off the autopilot, gripped the wheel and took in another long, slow breath.

He picked up the binoculars as he exhaled and grabbed a quick look. One of the men was holding what looked like a Mach Ten machine pistol.

“
Hey, Mr. Broxton, how’s she going?” Jimmy said, as he climbed out of the companion way. Jimmy was Australian and sounded like it. T-Bone found the couple, forlorn and lost in Fort de France four days ago. He was young and strong, his wife was pregnant and they looked down and out. They said they’d work for a ride up to St. Martin. T-Bone felt sorry for them and took them on.

“
Fine, and Susan?”

“
The little nipper is kicking up a storm like you wouldn’t believe. It’s gonna be a boy, sure as God made thunder.” He shook his hand in mock pain and Broxton pictured him holding Susan’s swollen belly, jerking the hand away when the baby kicked.

A gust of wind came up and Broxton corrected for it as the sails flapped. It took him a few seconds to fill them again. He glanced at the speed indicator, they were doing eight knots. He moved his gaze to the GPS, they were doing six over the surface of the globe, they had a two knot current against them.

“
I’ve done loads of deliveries with loads of blokes and you’re the only one that steers every chance he gets,” Jimmy said.

“
Can you put the dinghy in the water?” Broxton asked.

“
Now? At this speed? No way, too dangerous.”

“
If your life depended on it?”

“
Not a chance.”

“
Susan’s life, and your strong, kicking son?”

“
Maybe,” he said.

“
Go below, wake up T-Bone and have him bring up the pump,” Broxton said.

Jimmy looked into Broxton’s weathered eyes. “Am I in a hurry?” he said.

“
I believe so,” Broxton answered. “And tell T-Bone to bring the thirty-eight he has hidden in the port head.”

Broxton turned to look at the speedboat. Red. Fast. Still hanging back.

T-Bone poked his head out of off the companion way, his long hair hidden under a wide-brimmed, floppy hat. He dropped the pump in the cockpit, disappeared, then reappeared with the gun in his left hand.

“
Stick it in your pants,” Broxton said.

“
I’d feel better if I was holding on to it.”

“
They may have binoculars,” Broxton said, and T-Bone jammed the gun between his belt and his belly.

“
Who?”

“
Speedboat. Been following us a long time.”

T-Bone roamed his eyes around the sea. It was Antigua. It was Friday afternoon. There were a lot of boats on the water, though they were the farthest out. “I see it,” he said.

“
I have a strong feeling they don’t want us to get to St. Martin.”

“
And you want us to jump into the dinghy, out here, going eight knots, on a hunch?” Jimmy said, coming back up on deck.

“
That and the machine pistol I saw one of the men holding.”

“
I’ll blow up the dinghy,” T-Bone said.

“
What’s wrong?” Susan asked, coming through the companionway.

“
Mr. Broxton says we have to get off,” Jimmy said.

“
My god, why?”

“
The speedboat back there has been shadowing us. He thinks they’re going to pirate the boat,” Jimmy said.

“
We’re getting off, because of that?” she said. Broxton noticed her slight shiver.

“
If I’m wrong. We’ll be embarrassed, but alive.”

“
This is insane,” she said.

“
They’ve got guns,” Jimmy said.

“
It’s gonna be harder than hell getting the bloody thing blown up, I’ve no idea how we’ll get the engine on her,” T-Bone said.

“
We have to try,” Broxton said. T-Bone nodded and went forward. The dinghy was deflated and lashed upside down to cleats between the staysail and the main mast.

It started to rain.

“
That’s all we need,” T-Bone said.

“
It’ll give us some cover,” but as he said it the speedboat moved a little closer, and Broxton turned the autopilot back on.

The boat was sailing close hauled, healed over at a twenty-five degree angle. Broxton, even after a month on the boat, still hadn’t gotten used to moving around in a world where nothing was as it should be, but T-Bone and Susan moved forward like the boat was motoring in flat calm.

“
We’ll have to turn it over,” T-Bone said, and Broxton and Jimmy removed the line from the cleats at the port and starboard end of the dinghy, while T-Bone held it steady. “It’s heavy,” T-Bone said, “I’ll take the front and you two take the back.”

And they started to lift it when a wave crashed over the side, drenching the three of them. The dinghy started to slide toward the water, but Broxton dove between the dinghy and the lifelines, blocking it from sliding under and into the sea with his body.

It took the three of them to manhandle the dinghy back to the center of the boat, then T-Bone and Broxton flipped it right side up.

“
Let’s lash it fore and aft so we don’t lose it again,” Jimmy said. Sitting upright the deflated dinghy rocked back and forth on the hard fiberglass vee of its bottom with each swell that jolted the boat and Broxton had a hard time with the line.

“
I’ll do it,” Jimmy yelled to make himself heard over another crashing wave. He had the line cleated off before the water cleared the deck. Broxton cursed his inexperience.

“
Go below and get your gear while we blow it up,” Broxton told Jimmy, he at least could do that.

Lightning splashed through the sky as another wave washed over the deck. The boat was jerking and the autopilot was correcting with each wave. Broxton listened for the thunder that didn’t come. Then the rain stopped, presenting them with an Antiguan rainbow.

“
Take it off the wind a bit,” T-Bone said, “or the dinghy will fill with water once we inflate it.” Broxton nodded and worked his way back to the cockpit and set a new course for the autopilot, pointing them an additional fifteen degrees away from the shore. The boat flattened out and the waves stopped drenching the deck.

“
How’s that?” he yelled forward, and T-Bone gave him the thumbs up sign.

“
Think they’ll come in closer once they see we’ve changed course?” T-Bone asked him.

“
I think it’ll take them a few minutes to figure it out,” Broxton said.

T-Bone trimmed the sails and the boat picked up speed, gliding through the water like a dolphin. This was the kind of sailing that Broxton had come to love, a beam reach, the wind at the side, the sails full, slicing through the waves instead of them breaking over the bow.

Broxton pumped on the hand pump until the port side was inflated. He was breathing heavily when T-Bone took over and filled both the front and starboard chambers.

“
We’ll have to drop the dinghy in the water, then lower the engine down. It weighs seventy pounds, do you want to hand off or receive?” T-Bone asked.

“
I’ll hand off,” Broxton answered.

Jimmy and Susan came back on deck with a carry-on bag each. Susan went forward and dropped them in the dinghy, then she tied them in with a bowline, looping the line through the bag’s handles and the port handle of the dinghy.

“
We have to move fast now. We don’t have much time,” Broxton said.

“
We’ll get the dinghy ready while you get your gear,” Susan said.

“
I’m not going,” Broxton said.

“
What?” she said.

“
I’m staying, too,” T-Bone said.

“
Maybe we should also stay,” Jimmy said. “You can’t know for sure that we’re in any trouble?”

“
Believe me there’s a lot of reasons you want to get your wife off this boat,” Broxton said.

“
Lots of reasons,” T-Bone echoed.

“
You could be wrong.” Jimmy said.

“
If it wasn’t for your wife, you’d be dead right now,” Broxton said.

Jimmy turned ashen.

“
It had to be you. How else could they have known where we were. What did you do, call them from the restaurant last night?”

“
You son of a bitch,” T-Bone said, advancing on Jimmy.

“
No, stop. It wasn’t him. It was me. I’m sorry,” Susan said. “Jimmy didn’t know.”

“
Why?” T-Bone asked.

“
He said they just wanted to know where you were going. Nothing bad was going to happen,” she said.

“
He lied,” Broxton said.

“
How’d you do it?” T-Bone asked.

“
A man approached me when we went ashore in Dominica. He said he just wanted to know where Obsession was going to be. He said he was an insurance man and he was investigating a lawsuit. He gave me two hundred dollars and a cell phone so I could let him know where we were.”

“
So you sold us out for two hundred bucks.”

“
Don’t worry about it, T-Bone, “Broxton said, “I’ve been sold out before. There’s nothing we can do about it now.”

He looked at the speedboat still hanging back, almost at the edge of sight. Then he turned back to the couple. “We should get you off, before we get too far out to sea.”

Broxton and T-Bone lifted the dinghy up and dropped it over the side, while Susan held on the to the painter to keep it from floating away. Once it was in the water she wrapped the painter around a cleat.

“
The speedboat hasn’t moved,” Jimmy said.

“
I’ll get the gas tank.” Broxton went to the storage area under the cockpit seats, as T-Bone lifted the outboard off its wooden perch on the aft port side.

Susan took the gas tank from Broxton and lowered it into the dinghy. Then she went over the side and jumped in herself.

“
They may come looking for you, so stay out of sight as long as possible,” Broxton said.

“
Righto,” Jimmy said.

“
Good luck.” Broxton held out his hand. “Don’t be too hard on her.”

Jimmy took it and answered, “You, too.”

Then he was over the side and in the dinghy. Broxton helped T-Bone lower the motor. Jimmy struggled to fasten it to the dinghy’s transom, but the sea was too rough for him to slide it into place.

“
The speedboat’s coming in closer,” Susan said.

“
If the bloody boat would just stay still a second,” Jimmy hollered. A rolling wave slid under them and he almost lost the engine to the sea, but he held on and between waves he slipped it into place and clamped it down.

“
Quickly,” Broxton said, as Jimmy snapped the hose from the gas tank into place.

The speedboat eased a little closer and Broxton suspected that they were using binoculars and wanted a closer look.

Jimmy pulled on the starter cord.

Nothing.

The speedboat moved closer.

He pulled again.

Still nothing.

“
Use the choke,” Susan said as the speedboat roared to life. Jimmy pulled the choke and pulled the cord and the engine coughed.

“
Pump the gas,” Susan said and Jimmy squeezed the ball pump in the center of the gas hose.