Hurricane (30 page)

Harris brought the dinghy along side. “Where’s Kurt?” he asked, wary.

“
Dead,” Julie answered.

His hand went to his shirt, but the big black man slapped the gun out of his hand as Julie shot him in the chest with the flare gun. The big man grabbed Harris by his long hair and shoved his head over the side and under the water. He held him there until he stopped kicking, then he let go.

“
Morning, Julie Tanaka,” the man said.

“
Morning, Henry Waller,” Julie answered.

“
You gonna wanna be sailing out of here real quick I think,” Henry said.

“
I think that’s best,” Julie said.

“
You say the other one’s dead?”

“
Dead, dead.”

“
I’m gonna motor round to the other side, so’s no one looking from shore can see. We’re gonna have to haul this one up. We can dump them when we get out to sea.” Henry motored the dinghy around to the other side of the boat.

Julie unclipped a spinnaker halyard and dropped it down to Henry. The two women watched as he wrapped the halyard around the dead man’s waist and cinched it tight. “Okay,” he said, “haul him up.”

Julie wrapped the halyard on a winch.

“
You’ll need this.” Henry held up a winch handle.

“
So you took them,” she said. Then she bent down and started grinding and the dead man rose from below. Meiko guided it over the lifelines and Julie lowered it onto the deck. Henry cleated off the dinghy and pulled himself on board.

“
My legs may be shot, but there’s nothing wrong with my arms,” he said. Then he unclipped the halyard and picked the body up, one handed, by the back of the pants. “Where do you want it?”

“
Kurt’s in the forepeak,” Julie said, and she went up front and opened the hatch. Henry dropped Harris in and they both winced as his body crashed on top of his dead boss.

“
A bad business,” Henry said.

“
Yes.”

“
His crew walked out. They didn’t mind the chase, but they couldn’t stomach kidnapping. They were good kids who fell under the influence of a bad man.”

Julie thought that was probably true.

“
You fixed the engine so it wouldn’t start and you took the winch handles. How’d you know?”

“
Darla. She overheard them again. So when you were in customs I came out and doctored the engine and removed the handles. Just to be safe. We didn’t want you to go without saying goodbye.” He smiled.

“
You said we,” Julie said. “Are you coming with us?”

“
Word is you’re headed to St. Martin,” Henry said.

“
We are.”

“
Darla’s always wanted to see St. Martin.”

Chapter Sixteen

After a day riding in the Bermuda High, Tropical Storm Darlene began a curve to the northwest, toward the Caribbean Islands. The clockwise winds in the high fed the storm, and the winds around Darlene’s center whipped up to eighty miles an hour and she became a hurricane.

Hurricane Darlene picked up speed, pushing smaller storms on ahead of her as she drew nearer the islands. Darlene was four hundred miles across and reached upwards over fifty thousand feet through the troposphere and into the stratosphere, moving more than a million cubic feet of atmosphere every second, whipping up sixty foot waves in the ocean below.

Broxton sailed the boat through the sparkling star-filled night toward early morning. T-Bone slept below. Broxton was alone with the boat and the ocean. He saw the stars off to the right, over the land, start to wink out, but rain clouds over the land didn’t bother him.

Broxton turned back to the sea ahead, a long line of flat that extended forever. A world with no borders, boundaries, bosses or businesses. A world shared with nature and all her glory. A world devoid of petty people and petty minds. A world that was never boring. Work was hard, rewards were few, friends were fast, luxury was rare, moments were enjoyed. Like now.

The sun was sliding up over the horizon. Billowing, high flowing cumulus clouds moved north. The higher cirrus clouds were glowing orange and red across the sky and Broxton thought of that old sailor’s adage, Red sky at night, sailor’s delight. Red sky at morning, sailor take warning.

He looked over his shoulder, back toward the island nation of Dominica. Those clouds weren’t red. They weren’t white either. But for now the dark grey rain clouds were over land. He didn’t think they posed a problem.

He saw the rain in the distance, a sheeting haze coming down from the grey clouds over the island. The moisture in them picked up and reflected the sun’s rays, wakening something spiritual in him. If ever there was an argument for God, that view was it.

The air had a familiar feel. It reminded him of that smell he got when he was kid, after he’d just mowed the lawn and watered the grass. That special smell that made him glad to be alive, glad to be in that place. Glad to be home.

And then he knew it. He was home. Not the boat, not Obsession, but the vastness around him, the sometimes friendly, sometimes angry sea. That was home. Still looking at the far off rain, he smiled. This was something people who live in houses never see, and he never wanted to go back.

He ran his fingers through his hair and scratched his head. The hair felt good under his fingers, alive. He was alive. He had a passport good for five years. He wasn’t going back. Somehow he’d figure out a way to get a boat of his own and he’d sail the islands, fish for supper, share his life with the islanders and the cruisers, enjoy himself till he died. He wasn’t going back.

The jib luffed, then flapped. He put a handle in the winch, tightened it up and the sail’s belly filled, forming that vertical wing that gave the boat its lift and forward momentum. They picked up some speed. He turned off the wind a bit, and gained more speed. He was learning to steer by the feel of the boat and the wind on his face.

The waves picked up and he judged them to be about five feet. Large rolling waves that slipped under Obsession, like a cat sliding under a gate. He tingled with anticipation when the waves were higher than eye level, and he thrilled when Obsession floated over them.

A breaking wave splashed the side and foaming water rippled and ran across the deck. A second breaker was coming and he turned into it and sliced through it. Then he turned back on course, another breaker, another turn, then back on course. He kept it up until he was able to fine tune the turns and get in the groove, a slight turn to starboard, just enough so the wave didn’t break on the side, then back to port.

Then a larger breaking wave popped up out of sequence, smacked the side and flooded the deck. The stinging water slapped him in the face, like an angry woman he’d taken for granted. He wiped the salty water out of his eyes and turned toward the far off storm, surprised to find it wasn’t so far off anymore.

“
Better get up here,” Broxton yelled down the companion way. Then he turned back to the storm. The familiar gray squall line he’d grown used to was turning to black, and it covered half his vision. Dominica was gone, buried under black thunder clouds. The sea turned confused. No more steady rolling waves. They were all breaking now.

The storm had moved from behind to along side and the weather became a stark study in contrast. To the right, dark, murky skies, to the left, bright, white, red tinged sky. Heaven and Hell, life and death,.

“
Shit,” T-Bone said. When he saw the approaching weather. “We’re in for a blow.” Lightning flashed in the distance, lighting up the dark and dangerous sky. “Beautiful. Where else do you get to see this? Nature is out there and she’s kicking ass.”

“
How do we keep her from kicking ours?” Broxton asked. Thunder roared and rain sprayed his face. They were at the edge of the rain. And it wasn’t Sunday afternoon picnic rain. The black thunderclouds were pouring water down with the fury of a giant waterfall.

“
We could heave-to and ride it out,” T-Bone said, “but that wouldn’t be any fun.” He was holding on to the Bimini bar as a breaker splashed over the side and he skillfully slid back, avoiding the water that came splashing back into the cockpit.

“
No,” Broxton said, “not any fun.” His hands were knuckle-white on the wheel and his stomach churned at what he was afraid his friend was going to say next.

“
Boat against nature,” T-Bone said, “Sort of takes us out of the equation.”

“
But it’s the safest thing to do, right?”

“
Probably,” T-Bone said, and Broxton remembered him floundering around in the ocean, hanging on to those cockpit cushions when most men would be struggling for a line, wanting out of the water as quickly as possible and damn the cost. T-Bone, he decided, wasn’t always logical.

“
So what do you want to do?” Broxton said.

“
Well,” he said, and he was quiet for a few seconds. “We could run from it.”

“
Turn our backs on the storm?” Broxton shook his head. T-Bone’s clear eyes were like twin lights in the darkening dawn. Forked lightning split the sky and Broxton shivered with anticipation.

“
Best way to learn to sail,” T-Bone said, “riding out a storm.”

“
I know how to sail.”

“
You learned a lot in a short time and you’re good, but we survive this, you could be great. Think about it.”

“
You’re crazy.”

“
Yeah.” He grinned like a retarded child, eyes twinkling.

“
Just turn away from it,” Broxton said, spinning the wheel.

“
I better go down and get some heavy weather gear,” T-Bone said and he slipped below as lightning cracked overhead, thunder boomed and the rain poured down. Too late for a raincoat, Broxton thought, and T-Bone was back up the hatch like a rabbit shooting out of a hole in an earthquake.

“
Put it on.” He handed Broxton a harness and a tether. Broxton slipped into it as if he was putting on a vest, then he clipped the tether to it. Then he clipped the other end onto the binnacle. He wasn’t going anywhere.

Lightning blasted the sky again. Thunder pounded. There was no counting between the sound and the flash. They were in it. Five foot rolling seas turned into ten foot breaking seas in minutes. The wind grew from fifteen to thirty-five knots and Broxton tightened his hands on the wheel, both to steady the boat and himself.

“
We’re gonna have to get some of the sail down,” T-Bone said. “Keep it as steady as you can.”

Broxton nodded and T-Bone went forward, He clipped onto the butt bars, took the main halyard off the self tailing winch, lowered the mainsail to the third reef point, and tied it off. He did it without effort as if he’d been born to it. The ten foot waves coming at the stern exhilarated him. They terrified Broxton.

T-Bone dropped to his knees and crawled back toward the stern, reaching the safety of the cockpit as Obsession flew over the top of a breaking wave and slammed back into the water. “Whoa, Danny boy, head up a little coming down or we’ll pitchpole.”

“
Pitchpole?” Broxton said loud enough to be heard over the rising wind.

“
Bow plows into the water and we flip, end over end. Very bad,” T-Bone said, and Broxton shook.

“
How far up?”

“
Ten, fifteen degrees, not much, just enough to slow us down a little and keep us on the wave,” T-Bone said, and the next wave was under them. But this time as they were coming off the top Broxton turned slightly toward the wind and Obsession surfed down the wave. Broxton felt like he did all those years ago when he used to surf the Southern California beaches.

“
Atta boy,” T-Bone said. “They don’t teach you that in school.” He looked at the windspeed indicator and pointed. Broxton nodded his head. Forty knots. T-Bone slapped a handle in a winch and rolled in the jib.

They crested another wave, and again Broxton headed up as they surfed down the slope. T-Bone sat in the cockpit, face to the weather, long hair whipping and flying in the wind, enjoying himself, and Broxton settled into the groove, riding up the waves, tail in the wind, cranking the wheel a little to the left and surfing down. His adrenaline was flowing. There was something about being pitched against the elements, watching T-Bone laugh, cajole and curse at the wind and the waves. His fear took a back seat and he started enjoying himself.

Thirty minutes later the wind picked up to fifty knots and a wave slammed into them from the side. Water rose straight out of the sea, covering the deck with frothing white foam.

“
Hard starboard!” T-Bone screamed. Broxton cranked the wheel to the right. For an instant it looked like the rudder was overpowered, but the boat turned and Broxton readied himself for the next wave as the frothing water rolled off the deck.

With the boat back in control, Broxton turned back to port and resumed surfing the waves, but the wind crept up to fifty-five knots, the seas to twenty feet and he wasn’t able to keep Obsession from crashing and slamming.

“
Head up a little more,” T-Bone said, and Broxton surfed down the next wave, twenty-five degrees into the wind, coming smoothly off of it. He straightened the boat, took the next one, then went back on the wind and once again he was in the groove.

He was pumped up, heart, nerve and sinew working together despite the riveting rain and the biting cold. When the wind picked up to sixty knots and the seas were too high to think about, he headed a little more into the wind when he surfed down the waves.