Legends of the Ghost Pirates (17 page)

Jo's now standing up in the cockpit watching
intently as they slowly gain on us. She's carefully laid out the
rope in a neat coil in the cockpit, and has one of the lobster
buoys with the attached rope in her hands. “Fisher,” she says.
“Without making any sudden moves, slowly steer the boat to
starboard.”

I do as she asks and steer toward the starboard side
while she carefully watches the position of both our boats. “When I
tell you, steer the opposite direction to the port side.”

Without warning she tosses one of the lobster buoys
overboard and feeds the rope to it. “NOW!”

I give the tiller a hard shove to the right and the
boat turns in the opposite direction. The whole time she continues
to feed the rope overboard. “When I tell you, steer back to our
original course.” As she's feeding the rope overboard it quickly
comes to the end becoming tight in her hand. When that happens she
throws the second lobster buoy, tied to the opposite end,
overboard. “NOW!” she yells.

Quickly I steer us back to our original course which
seems to be about halfway between the two buoys now bobbing in the
water.

“Cross your fingers,” Jo says. I'm still not sure
what's going on. Jo keeps watching the lobster boat gaining on us.
“Wait for it…” she says still with a keen eye looking behind us.
“...And here we go!”

I look behind us and see Skinny Pete's boat about to
go between the two buoys we just tossed overboard. Then it all
becomes crystal clear what Jo is trying to do. When they go between
the two buoys, their prop will get tangled up in the rope that's
suspended between the two buoys killing the engine. It's brilliant.
But as I watch them go between, there's just one problem; the rope
didn't catch the prop and they're still after us.

Jo jumps up. “Crapola! It didn't catch. We gotta do
it again! But this time I'll make sure it's really stretched tight
so it's sure to catch.”

There's not much time to pull off the maneuver
again, but we manage. I steer to starboard then back down to port,
then to the middle again, and the whole time Jo is throwing the
buoys in the water. They are just about to catch us before they go
between the second set of buoys Jo tossed in. Luckily they paid
little attention to what went overboard because the instant they
pass between the two buoys a big black belching of smoke erupts
from their exhaust pipe. And just like that the boat slows to a
stop and settles down in the water. Their prop is tangled tight
with the rope.

Sara, who was sitting quietly the whole time, jumps
up. “You did it, Jo! You stopped them!”

Jo doesn't say a thing as she smiles with her arms
crossed. Satisfied with how it turned out, she sits back down and
says, “Well, that takes care of the first part of the plan.”

“What are you talking about?” I say. “There's
more?”

“Yep. We're gonna sink ’em,” she says with a smile
beginning to curl at the corners of her mouth.

Chapter 22

Sink ’em!

“
We
don't need to sink them!” I
say. “They're dead in the water. They're going nowhere. We should
be able to get back to Mr. P's dock before they ever untangle their
prop.”

Sara looks at Jo with an agitated expression across
her face. “Fisher’s right. Let's just get out of here.”

“If we sink them—” Jo stands up and looks back at
the lobster boat. “—when they're going down, they're gonna have to
call the Coast Guard with a
Mayday.
When the Coast Guard
picks ’em all up they're gonna discover it's Skinny Pete, who
they've been after for a while. When they do that, they'll put two
and two together and figure out about their smuggling
operation.”

I look back toward them as we slowly sail farther
away. “Why don't
we
just call the Coast Guard from our radio
right now and report them?” I'm about to turn the tiller over to
Sara so she can steer and I can do just that.

Sara shakes her head with a glum look. “We can't do
that. This boat is registered in Mr. Plankinton's name. The first
thing the Coast Guard will do is ask us who's the owner of this
boat. And Mr. Plankinton doesn't know we're on his boat without his
permission. What do you think will happen then? Even worse, we lied
to our parents. They think we're on a sailing trip with him. If we
call the Coast Guard, guaranteed we'll be in a lot of hot
water.”

“But...” I put my hands up in the air.

Sara says, “This trip was a stupid idea from the
beginning. I knew we shouldn't have taken the sailboat. Fisher, why
do I let you talk me into things?”

I let out a heavy sigh. “Well, we can't just sail
back and forget about them. They'll get away somehow. Jo's right,
we're going to have to sink them.”

I look hard at Jo. “Okay, miss genius, how are we
going to sink them? Last I checked we didn't load any torpedoes
onboard.

“Don't worry,” she says with a grin. “I've got a
plan.”

I put my hand to my head. “Another plan. Brother. So
what is it?”

“When I was in the engine-well, I noticed something.
I could see a little light shining through a lower plank near the
transom.”

“Yeah. So?” I say.

She looks serious again. “I pulled out my knife and
gave the plank a poke, and it was just as I suspected. It was
rotten as week-old watermelon. If I wanted to, I betcha I coulda
kicked it out right there at the dock.”

Shaking my head, I say, “That still doesn't explain
how we're going to sink them.”

“It's going to be a little bit of a rodeo trick,” Jo
says as she moves forward to the bow. Being careful to hang on as
the bow dips up and down through the waves, she kneels down at the
anchor hatch. When she has the hatch open, she reaches in pulling
out the fluke-anchor and all the rope that goes with it, then comes
back to the cockpit.

Carefully setting it down in the cockpit, she says,
“We're going to hook the rotten plank with this.”

“This is insane,” I protest. “You can't throw an
anchor, certainly not far enough to catch the plank.”

“That's why you're gonna sail us so close, I can
spit at them. And all I have to do is swing the anchor at the plank
as we go past. You're gonna come at the boat from their stern then
sail right at them. But you're going to have to get close; I mean
really
close.”

I roll the idea around in my brain. I think I can do
it, in fact I
know
I can do it; but can Jo? “Okay. Here we
go. TACKING!” I call out before I spin the boat around into the
wind. I give the tiller a hard push to the side and the sailboat
goes into a sharp turn as we head back the way we came. The sails
flap hard making a racket as we turn until wind fills in on the
other side. I look over at Sara and grin, but all she does is shake
her head.

Jo gives me a sharp slap to my shoulder. “I knew
you'd come around. Now just sail the boat right up their transom;
I'll do the rest.”

As we sail past, Skinny Pete and Turk are standing
near the back of the boat watching our every move. I'm sure they're
plenty confused why we've sailed back around. I guess they'll find
out soon enough. Once we've gone past them, I put on another extra
hundred yards or so then call out, tacking again. I immediately
turn the boat, and both Sara and Jo duck. Swoosh! The boom swings
past above us. Now I'm aimed right at the stern of their boat and
closing in fast. I take a deep breath and let it out.

“Here goes nothing,” I mutter to myself. “Jo I hope
you know what you're doing.”

“You're aimed perfect. Just keep it steady right up
the pickle-barrel,” she says now with the anchor in hand.

Jo positions herself standing at the rail of our
boat. “Sara. Grab hold of me by my pants and don't let me fall
overboard.” Sara grabs on with both hands.

We're now only fifty yards away and still moving
through the water at a good clip. Jo leans farther out, and starts
to swing the anchor back and forth as Sara holds her tight.

We're so close now I can see the look on Skinny
Pete's face, but I can't tell if it's a laugh or he's just shocked
at what he's seeing. If I saw a young girl coming at me swinging an
anchor, I'd probably dive for cover.

We're seconds away, and Jo shouts, “Just keep it
steady, Fisher!” I am just a hair past their transom. It's going to
be close! In a fraction of a second Jo gives the anchor a good
swing and heaves it like some crazy Gladiator with all her might at
the lower plank.

THUNK!

It's a solid hit and the sharp flukes of the anchor
sink into the rotten wood like a fork in a baked potato just as we
sail past only inches away.

In that same instant I realize Turk's standing on
the bow of the lobster boat with the trident in hand ready to
throw, but Jo and Sara don't see him. Letting go of the tiller I
dive for Jo and Sara knocking them hard into the bottom of the
cockpit. FWAPP! There's the sound of a sharp metal point hitting
wood like a dart hitting a corkboard. The two girls are a little
confused by what just happened, but when we look up from the
cockpit we're already several yards away. In the transom the
trident is stuck deep into the wood.

Jo jumps up with the anchor rope still in her hands.
The coiled rope is peeling off fast over the stern. “What's the
strongest part on the boat?”

“The winch!” I shout to her pointing to the drum,
about the size of a coffee can mounted securely to the deck. It's
the strongest because it's used to pull the sails in even in the
windiest conditions. In a second she has the tail-end of the anchor
rope secured fast to the winch.

I hadn't thought about this part of the plan, but
right away I know I'm not going to like it. The three of us keep a
sharp eye on the anchor rope when suddenly it snaps tight.
Instantly, we're thrown across the cockpit as the sailboat
violently comes to a stop then our boat rolls sharply on its side
from the shock load to the winch. Once again the three of us land
on top of each other. In the same split second water rushes into
the cockpit and for a moment we're swimming yet still somehow in
the boat. But because the sailboat has ballast, which is a heavy
lead weight that keeps it balanced while it's sailing, the boat
slowly rights itself with us still in it.

It takes a moment to get our wits about us, but when
I do, I notice the anchor rope has gone slack. Jo stands up,
brushes back her dripping wet hair, and looks over the stern
following the rope floating on top of the water. “There!” she says
pointing. “It's the plank!”

I see it too. The rotten plank is clearly pried off
the lobster boat floating in the water. “We did it!”

Jo rapidly slides her knife out and slices the
anchor rope freeing it from the boat.

“JO!” I yell as I watch the rope disappear into the
water behind us. “Now I'm going to have to buy Mr. P a new anchor.
And they're not cheap!”

With her hands up in the air, Jo says, “Geez! Sorry
I just saved our butts.”

When I look back at the lobster boat, I remember the
trident's stuck into the transom. Suddenly my gut feels sick. When
Mr. P see's three holes in the transom he's going to know we
borrowed his boat. We're cooked.

Sara grabs the tiller from me to steer while I lean
over the back to have a closer look. I let out a heavy sigh. The
three prongs are stuck deep into the perfectly varnished wood. With
both hands I grab hold of the trident and yank hard. Nothing
happens on the first pull, but by the third pull it rips free
tearing out chunks of wood with it. Now it looks even worse.

Standing up with the trident in my hand, shaking my
head, I look at it then toss it into the water. “That was too
close. I'm not even sure why he missed.”

Sara points to the lobster boat while she’s still
steering. “Look. I think they're taking on water. The bow's
starting to point upward.”

Jo takes delight admiring her work. “She's right,
the back of the boat's sitting much lower in the water.” Also the
bow rises a little higher out of the water like the Titanic. I'm
certain they're starting to sink.

I jump down below and turn on the VHF radio and turn
the volume up. There's nothing but dead air. Just as I sit back
down in the cockpit next to Sara, the radio crackles to life.
“Mayday—Mayday—Mayday. This is the vessel
Catch
of the Day
”
There's no mistaking
that voice as Skinny Pete's. The plan worked!

A moment later there's a monition voice that
answers, “
Catch of the Day
, this is the U.S. Coast Guard.
What is the nature of your emergency?”

“We're sinking!” shouts Skinny Pete.

After about a half hour or so of good sailing, the
lobster boat, or what's left of it, is now on the horizon. I can't
see it anymore, but Jo and Sara have been taking turns with the
binoculars keeping a close eye on them.

We're just about to the red bell-buoy to steer
toward Trent Harbor when Sara says, “Here they come. The Coast
Guard.” She hands the binoculars to me and I take a look. Sure
enough, there's a large white boat on the horizon with a red stripe
on its bow almost at the spot where we last saw Skinny Pete and
Turk.

“Well,” says Jo, “I guess that takes care of
everything. We're free and clear.”

Feeling my stomach getting sour again, I say, “Not
exactly. There’re three holes in the transom of Mr. P's boat.
There's no getting around this one. We're busted.”

“What's the big deal? It's just three holes,” Jo
says. “Can't you just put some putty in them?”

“It's just three holes that got bigger when I pulled
the trident out. It's gonna be major repair to get it looking
perfect again. Did you see how the varnished wood shines? It's like
an expensive coffee table! Only a professional boatbuilder will
know how to fix that. A boatbuilder who’s going to charge me a lot
of money.” I take a deep breath and hold it hoping it'll get rid of
my sour stomach.