Merciless Charity: A Charity Styles Novel (Caribbean Thriller Series Book 1) (14 page)

“My apologies,” the old man said. “The light from the little televisions made it hard to see the stars. There was no show on them anyway.”

“You sailed eighty miles, using only the compass?”

“I’ve sailed many thousands of miles,” Alonzo replied. “All with nothing but the stars to guide my way. The compass only points to one of them, so I rarely use it. The stars are timeless and predictable. They tell me where I am and where I am going.”

Smiling at the old man, Charity said, “I have a friend that says the same thing. You’re a celestial navigator?”

“He was his father’s navigator when he was just a boy,” Rosina said, smiling.

“We are nearing America,” Alonzo said. “It is perhaps five hours away.”

Glancing at the plotter, Charity saw that he was very close. The ETA displayed four hours and forty-five minutes to Key West at current speed. The knot meter indicated they were clipping along at fourteen knots.

“The wind has picked up,” Charity noted.

“
S
í, and changed direction,” Alonzo said. “A storm is brewing far to the north in the Gulf. We crossed the Stream an hour ago, at dawn. It was a special feeling for me.”

We’ll be within range of the Zodiac by early afternoon
, Charity thought.

“You and your family will be in America before nightfall,” Charity whispered to Alonzo. “You are an extraordinary sailor. May I bring you coffee,
Capitan
?”

The old man beamed. “
S
í
, café
! For little Roberto, as well. He will become a great sailor, just like the men before him for six generations.”

Going below, Charity switched on the coffeemaker, having already set it up the night before, while she and Isabella made soup and sandwiches.

Isabella came down the ladder, joining Charity. “You have given my father purpose again, Gabriela. I have never seen him like this in my whole life. Thank you.”

“Your father is a unique man,” Charity said. “In America, he will be called a Renaissance man.” She stopped what she was doing and looked at Isabella. Though she was only a year or two older than Charity, the lines in her face made her appear much older. “Do you have relatives in America? Anyone that can help you get started?”

“Both of my father’s brothers went to America long ago,” Isabella said. “I have many cousins in Miami. Most are my mother’s age, their children my age. We will be fine when we arrive. Father will take us to them and they will help us. It is what families do.”

Charity poured coffee into a large thermos while considering the comment that both father and daughter had made. Her own family were all dead, and the only people close to her were those on her team, who she had left behind.

What coffee was left in the pot, she poured into two large mugs, only filling them halfway. Handing one to Isabella, she lifted her mug. “To your future in America.”

Together, the two women sliced a loaf of Cuban bread that hadn’t gotten wet in the raft and put bananas and mangoes into a small basket. They carried everything, along with three more mugs, up to the cockpit.

Wind Dancer
sailed on through the morning. Alonzo kept her very close to the course on the plotter, though he never once looked down at it. Instead, he enthralled his shipmates with sea stories from long ago, while sailing by the compass.

By noon,
Wind Dancer
was within thirty miles of the Marquesas. They’d backtracked in just twelve hours what it’d taken Charity a day and a half to sail, running before the wind. They were now within the dinghy’s range of Key West.

Charity rose and motioned to Isabella. “Will you help me get the dinghy ready, Isabella?”

“We are that close?” the woman asked.

“In the dinghy it will take four more hours. I must get back on my course to Mexico. Do not worry, the engine is new. You’ll have no trouble getting there before dinnertime.”

“Will you not need it?” Alonzo asked. The look on his face told Charity that he was hoping to sail right into Key West Bight.

“I’ll get another, or return for it,” Charity replied, thinking of her timetable. “I have to be in Mexico within five more days. This is as far as I can take you.”

“It is alright, Father,” Isabella said. “I know we will make it. Gabriela has an important engagement in Mexico.”

Some of the sparkle left the old man’s eyes, then quickly returned. “I will build my own boat in America, just like this one,” he said, smiling.

After Alonzo furled the sails, it only took a few minutes to get the large rubber boat off its mount on the foredeck and into the water. Lifting the lid under the port bench, Charity removed the engine and stepped down into the dinghy to mount it.

The gas tanks were bulky, but Isabella managed to get them over the side, where Charity could set them up in the dinghy. Pumping the ball in the gas line, she explained to Alonzo how the little outboard operated. It started instantly, with only a slight tug on the starter cord.

Assured by the sound of the little engine, Alonzo and Rosina began to hand down their belongings. Charity shut off the outboard and stored the family’s belongings along the sides of the inflatable, leaving room in the middle for Rosina and Roberto and a spot in the bow for Isabella. She would have to visually guide her father, as they neared Smathers Beach.

“Do you know the beach on the southeast side of Cayo Hueso?” Charity asked Alonzo.

“Very well,” he said. “But I will go to the Mallory Docks.”

“You’ll never get close,” Charity said. “Too many boats. Besides, things have changed there, and you won’t like it.”

“Why the beach?” Alonzo asked, puzzled.

“It’s important that you get ashore as quickly as possible. Until your feet are on American soil, you can be returned to Cuba. Make for the beach, it is the best landing place. With Isabella watching for rocks, you can run right up onto the sand. When your feet are out of the water and you are standing on the beach, you will be Americans. Tell the first people you see on the beach, that you are Cuban refugees seeking asylum and ask them to call the authorities.”

“Just like that?” Isabella asked.

“Yes,” Charity replied. “In America, it is called ‘feet dry.’ Any Cuban national who gets ashore in America is granted immediate refugee status and permitted to stay. But your feet must be on dry land.”

Placing the ladder over the gunwale, Alonzo helped his wife down into the Zodiac. Then Isabella climbed down, Roberto clinging to his mother’s neck once more. She took Charity in her free arm, hugging her close in the pitching boat.

“Be careful, Gabriela,” Isabella whispered. “I fear there is danger and pain ahead for you. But you will overcome both. The amount of pain will depend on how much you expose yourself to others.”

“Take good care of your family, Isabella.”

Climbing up to the cockpit, Charity turned and faced the old Cuban smuggler. “
Vaya con dios, Alonzo.
”

“Fair winds and a following sea, Gabriela,” Alonzo said. “You have done so much for me and my family. I will dream of sailing this boat every night, and I will pray to San Cristóbal for your safe passage.”

“Be careful,” she warned. “If you have trouble, do you know the Marquesas?”

“Pretty fish to look at, but not many to catch,” he replied with a knowing grin. “I have hidden there from the authorities many times.”

“This doesn’t surprise me,” Charity said, smiling down at the white-haired man. “The Marquesas are part of America. Stop there before continuing to Key West. I put a camera in the emergency kit. Go ashore and find something permanent. There are a number of wrecks and abandoned boats along the shore. Have Isabella take a photograph of you on the beach, with one of these in the background. If you are stopped before reaching Key West, the picture will prove that you were on American soil before you were stopped.”

The old man took Charity in his arms, hugging her tightly. Before releasing her, he kissed both her cheeks. “We will see one another again.”

“I look forward to that day, Alonzo. Now go. Take your family to America, so Roberto can grow up a free man.”

He stood on his toes and kissed her on the forehead, before scrambling quickly down the ladder. His new purpose in life seemed to renew his old body with vigor. The little engine started on the first pull, and Charity tossed the painter to Isabella. Within seconds, the little Zodiac was up on top of the waves, heading toward America.

T
he wind continued to change direction throughout the afternoon. Within two hours of sending Alonzo and his family off to Key West, it was blowing at a steady twelve knots out of the south-southeast.

With the sails close-hauled, the apparent wind direction was out of the south at fifteen knots, and
Dancer’s
speed was pushing eighteen. Charity calculated that she’d reach the spot where she’d collided with the Montoya family before midnight, having lost less than a day of travel time.

Feeling refreshed after they’d allowed her to sleep late, she was prepared for the coming night, with a new strategy. At sunset, she planned to sleep for one hour, then wake and be alert for half an hour. That would give her a full seven hours of sleep over the eleven hours between sunset and sunrise.

With the sun nearing the horizon again, Charity heard a pair of whooshing sounds, one after the other. Knowing what it was, she unclipped her safety line and attached it to the port cable rail, then went forward, checking the rigging and equipment. When she reached the bow, she waited a moment, looking ahead.

Suddenly a pair of dolphins rose to the surface, riding her bow wave for a second before separating and submerging. She knelt down and peered over the bow. The two dolphins were swimming effortlessly just below the surface, easily keeping pace with the fast-moving
Wind Dancer
. Surfers ride on top of a wave using gravity, but dolphins use the force of the displaced water below the surface and ride along on the pressure bulge.

The larger one surfaced, blowing air and spray right in Charity’s face. She couldn’t help herself and started laughing. Among sailors, having dolphins ride your bow wave was considered a good omen. She certainly hoped so.

When Charity returned to the cockpit, she went down to the galley and made a sandwich, using the last of the Montoyas’ bread loaf. Before returning to the helm, she checked her laptop for messages and found none. Taking her sweater, a pillow, and a blanket, she returned to the helm to watch the sunset.

As the sun began to slip below the horizon,
Wind Dancer
was three hundred and fifty miles from Progresso and over seven hundred miles from Alvarado. If the wind continued to blow out of the southern quadrant and she could average ten knots, she could still clear customs and take a short rest in the Yucatan port city, before arriving in Alvarado in less than five days.

A
fter eight days of training with the small automatic weapons, Hussein was satisfied, even if Karim didn’t agree. But he’d allowed Karim to work for another three days with three of the men who weren’t as adept at shooting.

In Hussein’s tent, Awad and Karim sat on the bare ground, waiting for the leader to finish his opium pipe. Finally, the blue-gray smoke curled from his mouth and up to the vents in the tent roof.