Billy didn’t feel like listening to any of his philosophical bullshit and snapped, “How long did they lock you up after Afghanistan?”
The pilot’s body sagged and his face took on a haunted look. He shook it off, and Billy watched him recover his poise. With a smile of openness Arnold hadn’t displayed before, the pilot said, “Long enough, and I’m doing okay. But something’s driving you, Billy. And if you don’t let it go, you’ll join my club.”
Billy guessed the pilot was telling him to stay calm for however long he’d be aboard
Lucky Dragon
. When the younger man didn’t answer, Arnold put both hands on Billy’s shoulders and said, “Whatever you’re thinking of doing, keep me out of it, ’cause the edge I’m dancing on is awful damn thin.”
“Arnold, did you ever stand up and say no to anything?”
He saw the older man’s troubled look return. As the pilot turned away, he said, “Go to hell….”
Billy watched Arnold scale the ladder to the helicopter pad and climb into the Hughes. He thought, Flying off to war again.
The wind had eased, and Sarah began to fear Benny would never find her. She looked down the sloop’s wake and then eastward toward the coast. All she could see was a wide, endless expanse of ocean. With a feeling of panic, Sarah realized she had sailed out of sight of land. She calmed herself and thought, I can read a compass, hold a proper course, and work the navigation computer. And I stood hundreds of watches while Billy slept. I’ll be fine. I’d better radio Benny and give him another position report.
Sarah engaged the autopilot, checked the horizon for shipping, and ducked into the cabin. She took a GPS reading, and then another. Her latitude and longitude, displayed on the digital readout, differed by only a tiny fraction of a degree. She reasoned that the discrepancy was due to the distance the boat had sailed between readings. She turned on the shortwave, punched in Benny’s frequency, and began transmitting, “Big Ben…Big Ben…Big Ben…”
Benny’s voice boomed out of the cabin speaker, acknowledging Sarah’s message, and she gave her position. His reply eased Sarah’s concern. “We have you on radar, so you should see
Salvador
in twenty minutes or so. Watch for us off your port side.”
“You’re sure?”
“Just pick up the glasses and see for yourself. Big Ben out.”
Like Billy had done so many times, she slung the binoculars’ strap around her neck and began climbing the slender aluminum mast. She didn’t like heights, didn’t like clinging to the salt-encrusted, corroding metal that swayed back and forth.
The distance between the mast’s tiny footholds was uncomfortably wide, and Sarah struggled upward from rung to rung. Her arm and shoulder strength, she was forced admit, was not as great as Billy’s, and she tired quickly. After a stop to rest, she reached the crosstree and stepped out on the spreader bar. Thirty feet above the deck Sarah balanced on the narrow, swaying perch with one arm around the mast. She looked down at the heaving sea and suddenly felt dizzy. The binoculars fell from her other hand to dangle around her neck, and she wrapped both arms around the mast. The swells, coming side on, increased the rocking of the boat and the arc of the mast’s sway. She felt nauseated, and panic again gripped her. Sarah clenched the mast tighter until the feeling passed and lifted the binoculars. In the distant haze, approaching from the north, she saw
Salvador
’s faint outline. She waved and cried out, “Come get me, Benny.”
She continued to stare at the old minesweeper, watching it slowly take on its distinct, familiar shape. The magnified horizon climbed and fell in her vision and the dizziness returned. Her mind spun and she willed herself to leave the mast, but she couldn’t force her hands to release their hold. Clenching her teeth, she told herself, “I have to get down and meet Benny.”
She released her grip on the mast and started down. At that moment a large swell hit the boat abeam. The hull rolled, and the mast swayed until it was leaning over the water. She looked down, saw the ocean below, and felt certain the boat was going to tip over. The unexpected lurching caused Sarah’s hands to slip. Then she lost her footing and fell. Twisting and turning, she screamed in fear. Her left foot grazed the railing and she slammed into the sea. Barely conscious, Sarah sensed she was underwater and struggled for the surface. Several seconds later her head emerged into sunlight and air. She gasped and looked for the boat. The sloop was only feet away, but it was sailing off without her. She sprinted after the boat that quickly receded beyond her reach. Panting from exhaustion, she watched the sloop sail on. Her eyes held on the little pair of leaping dolphins Billy had painted on each side of her name. At that moment she realized that they looked like Chatter.
B
illy sat cross-legged at the stern of the battleship gray seine skiff with lettering spelling
WARRIOR
on the freshly painted transom. He roughed in the new name with a pencil and turned to face Rocha. The young Latino’s face betrayed an inner anguish, and Billy wondered what was eating at his guts. Rather than play psychiatrist, he asked, “Those letters big enough for you?”
“Yeah, they’ll do.”
He couldn’t subdue his curiosity and asked, “How come the new name? I thought Yolanda was great.”
“You ask too many questions, bro. What is it with you? You come aboard my home and everything goes crazy.”
“Your home?”
“Yeah, from one jungle to another, but this one floats.”
“You never told me about Yolanda.”
“My business.”
He finished outlining the last “R” when the klaxon’s jarring blast reverberated throughout the clipper. They froze waiting for the announcement. Then Gandara’s voice boomed out of the deck loudspeakers.
“Atún!…Atún…! Atún…!”
They looked at each other and Rocha said, “See you later, gotta go to work.”
“No! Tell me what happened. Right now. We got time! If you don’t, you’re never going to let it go! What happened?”
He grabbed Rocha and forced him to sit on the net. With a look of anguish, Rocha slowly began, “Me and Yolanda went out one night. Some guys showed up to hassle my guys. There was a fight. Someone pulled a gun. I pulled mine. He shot. I shot back and Yolanda was in the middle. She died. She was eighteen, my wife…The cops came after me. So here I am.”
“And you can’t go home?
“I’m wanted for murder.”
Rocha began crying, then turned and climbed into the skiff. Billy wanted to reach for him, comfort him. Instead, he backed away, not knowing what to say, and feeling disloyal, ran for the galley.
The frantic activity before the net was cast reminded him it was time to get the camera and radio out of hiding. He stopped abruptly by the mast and told himself, Slow down and think this through. Benny’s out there somewhere. So first, I have to let him know where I am. And I forgot to bring the GPS. So where am I in latitude and longitude? I haven’t a clue. The bridge. Maybe I can find out there. Now how do I pull that off?
* * *
From
Salvador
’s bridge, Benny focused binoculars on the sloop. He was expecting Sarah to turn the Westsail toward him. When she didn’t, he studied the cockpit and saw that the self-steering was engaged and Sarah wasn’t at the helm. Benny grew alarmed, took a bearing off the sloop’s wake, and ordered a change in course that sent the minesweeper aft of the sailboat. He thought fearfully, She’s either below combing her hair, or she’s overboard floating somewhere along the wake.
He keyed the ship’s loudspeakers, picked up the mike and yelled, “Everyone on deck right now, and if you’ve got binoculars, bring ’em!”
With her eyes only inches above the sea, Sarah lost sight of
Salvador
. She had never felt so alone, or so afraid. She was sure that she would never be found, and in the hours left, death would come by drowning. She clung to one hope. Benny would find the sloop, and would begin searching for her. She looked at the sun. How many hours of daylight left—three, four? And sharks? Maybe, but not likely, unless there was food nearby. “I’m food,” she said aloud. Instinctively, Sarah spun, looking around, half expecting to see the massive body of a great white rocketing toward her. There was something coming for her, and her heart stopped. Then she saw the familiar dorsal fin cutting through the water. She yelled at the dolphin, and from her soul came a scream of joyful reprieve: “Chatter!”
Sarah reached out for the dolphin, but Chatter veered aside and swam on. A few yards away, the dolphin put her head underwater and pinged on Sarah. The returning signal told Chatter more than the physical density of the human struggling through the water. The dolphin sensed the fear that she was radiating and began swimming slowly toward her. Chatter heard the woman call across the water, “Chatter, please come.” The dolphin responded as she had been conditioned to and swam for the human. She stopped beside Sarah and felt a hand grasp her dorsal fin.
In the galley, Billy filled a carafe with coffee, piled slices of pound cake on a plate, and slid them onto a tray. It might work, he thought; sometimes he orders coffee for the bridge when they make a set.
He hurried along the deck and was almost knocked over by the cowboys readying chase boats for launching. As he ran up the bridge steps he saw Santos out on the wing peering through spotting binoculars. Billy tried to slip past the mate, but he shot out a hand and stopped him. “Pour me one. Three sugars.”
Billy obeyed, and Santos grunted something that might mean thanks. He hurried on and carried the tray into the wheelhouse. Gandara was standing beside the chart table plotting a course on a map. He sensed Billy approaching, glanced at him, and then called out to the helmsman, “Head off to the southeast. Make it one, six, three.”
Arnold’s voice sounded from the bridge speaker. “They’re about fifteen miles off, moving slow like they’re feeding on bait fish, not too far from Refugio Shoals.”
Gandara picked up the mike. “Your position, Mr. Lessing.”
The pilot transmitted his location, and the captain moved back to the chart and made a dot on the paper. Billy took a step closer to the map and read the coordinates. Gandara looked up and eyed him suspiciously. Billy moved the coffee tray as if asking where did the captain want it. Gandara motioned to the top of the chart locker along the wall. Billy set the tray down and started for the door.
“What do I owe you for this unexpected kindness?” Gandara asked sarcastically.
“Thought you might want coffee,” he said innocently.
“Billy, you do not lie well. Now, what the hell is it you want?”
Billy stood frozen, staring at the tall man’s demanding eyes, wondering how he should answer. He started to stammer something about the cook sending him. Then Arnold’s voice diverted the captain’s attention. “The pod’s beginning to move into the shallows. Better come quick, or we’ll lose ’em!”
Gandara reached for the mike. “With all speed, Mr. Lessing.
Dragon
out.”
As the captain moved for the chart table, Billy eased out of the bridge and ran for the galley. With his heart pounding, he dashed into the dry storage locker and yanked out the scuffed getaway bag. Where could he remove the camera without being seen? Arnold’s cabin.
Inside the pilot’s quarters, Billy opened the bag and pulled out the handheld marine band radio. When was the last time he’d changed the batteries? He couldn’t remember. He told himself, “They’ll be okay. They’d better be.”
He punched in the clipper’s ship-to-air frequency and heard Arnold’s excited voice. “
Dragon
…
Dragon
…
Dragon
…They’ve slowed to feed. We got a real circus down here. Come and get ’em, captain!”
He switched to
Salvador
’s frequency, stuffed the radio into the waistband of his jeans, pulled his T-shirt over it, and cautiously stepped outside to transmit free from interference. On deck, in the shadow of the superstructure, and away from the chase boat drivers and the crew assembling aft, he turned on the radio and begin transmitting, “Big Ben…Big Ben. Position report. Acknowledge.”
“We’re ready to copy,” a distant voice answered. Billy gave the clipper’s latitude and longitude, heading, and estimated speed. He added, “And I’d guess they’ll make the set in about fifty to sixty minutes.” He wanted to ask where Benny was, and if they had picked up Sarah, but feared his message might be overheard, and shut off the radio.
Over
Salvador
’s bridge speaker Benny listened to Billy’s message from the clipper and hoped to hell the college student radio operator had taken down his position correctly. He made mental calculations and estimated they were less than twenty miles from
Lucky Dragon
. Now he had to decide. He wanted Gandara. But there was Sarah. He muttered, “Where the hell are you, girl?”
He swept the binoculars across the sea, trying to imagine the track the sloop had been taking. He felt certain she was somewhere back along that line, floating in the water, maybe waving at him right this minute. He thanked God the sea was reasonably calm and there were still several hours of daylight. If the wind picked up, creating whitecaps, they’d never sight her. He wanted a better vantage point and climbed the mast to the lookout platform. High above the deck, he scanned the water. He knew, from years at sea, that it was better to use normal vision before binoculars. On his third scan, something that could be a head registered in his peripheral vision. Very slowly, so as not to lose sight of the target, he stared at the far-off object that bobbed up and down. With his focus fixed on it, he raised the glasses.
Got her!
Then he saw that she was clinging to a dolphin’s dorsal fin.
Kid, this is your lucky day!
He bellowed a course change to the helmsman, ordered full speed, and allowed himself a moment of self-congratulation.
At least my eyes haven’t aged.
When Sarah was on the bridge and toweling her hair dry, Benny told her about Billy’s message from
Lucky Dragon
. “They’re right over the horizon. About an hour and twenty minutes away.”
She indicated the dolphin, who had taken up a position off the ship’s bow, and said, “It’s my guess that’s where Chatter was going too. Now what?”
“We stay out of their radar coverage and hope that chopper doesn’t spot us. If they make a set, I’ve got ’em.”
“Billy’s on board,” she said anxiously.
“And you’ve fallen for him.”
Feeling self-conscious, she nodded. “If you sink the clipper, you’re as much a pirate as Gandara. Have you thought about that?”
Benny put an arm around her and said, “I want you to put dry clothes on and then stand by the radio operator. If Billy checks in, you get every word of his message down correctly. Now keep off my back for a while.”
“And what are you going to do?”
“After I talk with the kids, I’ll be up in the mast with my eyeballs pressed against a pair of binoculars.”
He called his crew to the bridge and began giving rapid orders. Then he told himself to slow down, speak calmly, and project a confidence he didn’t feel.
“We’ll do this just like we’ve practiced. When I decide it’s a go, close every hatch, port, and through-hull valve. I need everything that might come loose secured when we ram. You, boat crew and camera people, make the Zodiacs ready to launch. We may have to rescue the crew, or ourselves. Anyone not on duty, get busy and haul all the mattresses up to the bridge. Then line the forward bulkheads with them. When we collide, I want some padding between us and the steel. And you filmmakers, make sure your camera batteries are fully charged, and run a few seconds of tape just to make sure. There won’t be a reshoot, you know. After that, boys and girls, get something to eat. When I say we’re going for it, put on life jackets, and everyone without a job report to the bridge.”
He grinned at them and saw a mixture of fear and excitement on their faces. They were putting their lives in his hands. For a moment he questioned his right to put them in such danger. But knowing all twenty-three had eagerly volunteered eased his concern. Benny finished by saying, “If anyone has anything to say, now’s the time.” No one had a question. He turned, picked up the binoculars, and started climbing the mast.
On
Lucky Dragon
’s bridge, Gandara sighted through the Steiner twenty-power binoculars and watched a distant flock of birds diving into the frenzied bait fish that the spouting, leaping dolphins had corralled.
This one will be easy. But they’re too near the shoals. I don’t like that.
He called to the bridge. “Radar…?”
“The scope’s clear.”
“Depth…?”
“Eighty fathoms, with a rocky bottom, and shallowing.”
Santos joined him and asked, “The shoals…?”
“Not to worry, Santos. This set will go fast.”
Looking concerned, Santos moved off for the aft deck.
Billy stood by the starboard railing and hid the getaway bag under a ten-man fiberglass life-raft container. Glancing aft, he saw Santos by the seine skiff holding a walkie-talkie, talking to a group of fishermen. Rocha and his new deckhand stood in the boat waiting for the order to launch. The cowboys were already chasing dolphins, and he could hear the snarl of their outboards forward of the ship. It wouldn’t be long. Billy began taking slow, relaxed breaths, forcing himself to stay calm. He tried to focus on the sea, but the roar of chase boat engines intruded.
Benny, you’d better be out there, ’cause I’m laying it all on the line this time.
The angry sound of the speedboats diminished and the ship’s engine abruptly stopped its throbbing. Billy looked aft and saw the seine skiff drop off the stern. He reached for the radio, brought it close to his lips, and pushed the transmit button.
“Big Ben…Big Ben…Big Ben.”
“We read you,” came Sarah’s voice, sounding so near Billy feared someone would overhear.
“The net’s going out right now.”
“We’re on the way. Maybe forty minutes.”
“Gotta go. Love you, and hurry!”
He switched off the radio and stuffed it back into the bag. He decided to remain in the shadow of the bridge superstructure until the crew began hauling in the catch. He glanced out to sea. The skiff had the seine out and was heading back to complete the encirclement. He looked among the milling, fear-crazed dolphins, searching for Chatter. There were so many this time. Was she among them?
From the railing beside the superstructure Billy had an unobstructed view of the skiff completing the set. He checked to see that no one was watching, took the camera out of the bag, and thought, I might as well get it all.
He started taping with the lens wide, then slowly zoomed in on the seine skiff. He held the focus on Rocha, who was busy leaning over the side connecting the end of the net. When the shackle snapped shut, Rocha looked up and into the lens. Billy kept his finger on the trigger, sure that Rocha was staring directly at him. Then he heard the great power block beginning to draw in the net and saw the dolphins ramming their beaks into the mesh. He slowly panned the lens around the circumference of the net. His artist’s eye caught the soft colors and the subtle shading of blue. He went to a wide angle, trying to frame the whole scene, and created an overall master shot. He imagined a future painting and wondered if he would ever be good enough to capture the moment on watercolor paper. His thoughts were broken by a familiar sound. From over the sea came the whomp-whomp of the helicopter, and he watched Arnold buzzing over the water toward the ship. The pilot flew straight for the bridge, rising at the last moment to circle before setting down on the helipad. Billy tilted the camera and ran off a thirty-second shot of the helicopter landing, then zoomed in on Arnold’s face. He saw clearly that the pilot was looking directly at the camera—at him. He thought, He’s seen me, and he must have spotted
Salvador
. Now what?