Wood's Harbor Read online

  ***

  “What do you mean you unplugged the charger from the scooter. That’s their only way out.” TJ stared at the water with the binoculars.

  “I didn’t know.” She was near tears. “I needed the outlet for the computer.”

  “We can only hope they make it back,” TJ said.

  Alicia squinted into the sun and watched the scene around the ferry. Boats circled the site and she saw the splash of divers entering the water. She could only wonder what was going on below.

  “Shit,” TJ said watching the course of several larger boats.

  Alicia didn’t need the binoculars to see they were heading to the harbor entrance. In minutes they would be captive. Come on, come on. She started an internal chant, willing the men towards the boat, then she saw a hump on the surface of the water several hundred yards away.

  “There!” she pointed, getting TJ's attention.

  “Saw that: think it’s a turtle,” he said and moved the binoculars away.

  She continued to watch the area. Whatever it was disappeared, but then she thought she saw bubbles moving towards them.

  “It’s them!” She pointed again.

  TJ moved the glasses and focused on the water, “Damn if you’re not right.” He put the glasses back in the console, worked the joystick and pushed down on the throttle. “Keep pointing. Don’t take your eyes off them,” he yelled over the engines.

  The boat plowed towards the bubble stream and he reduced speed when they were close, hovering a safe distance away to keep the divers clear of the propellers. He set the boat in neutral.

  “We need to signal them,” Alicia said, alternating between watching the bubbles and the harbor entrance. There were three boats spaced evenly across the quarter-mile wide channel and several more were speeding in that direction.

  “I have a horn mounted under the boat to recall divers” TJ said. “Don’t know if it’ll scare them or not.”

  “We have to try.” Her voice broke as she tried to force herself to remain in control. “Look.” She pointed to the boats blocking the harbor.

  TJ moved his hand to the console and pushed a button several times. The muffled sound of the horn startled her and she looked around to see if the other boats had noticed. She looked down, scanning the water around the boat when bubbles erupted near the swim ladder and turned to tell TJ, but he had seen them. He pulled back the shifter to place the engine in neutral, jumped down to the deck and hopped over the transom. She sat there not knowing what to do while he stood on the swim platform and helped the men onto the boat.

  “Goddamn, if you ain’t trying to blow out my ears with that thing,” Trufante said as he climbed onto the dive platform and spat the regulator from his mouth, revealing his trademark grin.

  She smiled back, relieved the men were alive, and watched TJ pull Mac out of the water and waited for Trufante to ditch his gear. It took both men to get Mac over the transom and onto the deck where he lay gasping for air.

  “I can help him,” she said and carefully climbed down the half-dozen steps to the deck. “Just get us out of here.”

  She went to Mac. His breathing was ragged, showing no signs of evening out. She felt the boat move and looked around for something to brace on. Suddenly Mac stopped breathing. She leaned over to check for an obstruction in his throat before starting mouth to mouth, but the bulk of the life preserver separated them. Adrenaline overcame her and she unbuckled the vest, placed it under his head and started to work on him, alternating between chest compressions and mouth-to-mouth. She began to tire and looked over the gunwale, but all she could see was the shore. They must be in the channel, she thought. She focused on Mac. Another breath and he coughed and spat seawater. She turned his head as he expelled another blast onto the deck. Relieved her training had actually worked she cradled his head.

  ***

  Mac felt hands turning his head as he coughed up seawater. He tried to move, but another convulsion took him and he waited for it to pass. Finally the water was out of his lungs. He looked up at Alicia and breathed deeply. The situation came back to him and he sat up shaking the cobwebs from his head. She tried to stop him, but he fought her off and rose. The shore was close on both sides; he saw the tower of the castle on the right as they sped out of the channel. He thought they might be in the clear until they rounded a slight bend and he saw the blockade ahead.

  He clenched his teeth, climbed the ladder to the bridge, and stood between Trufante and the other man surprised his legs held him. “What’s the plan?”

  “Ain’t got one,” Trufante said.

  “There’s a gap we can slip through if we can get there fast enough,” the other man said.

  Mac looked back at the deck to see where Alicia was. It was paramount to keep her safe, but the deck was empty. He assumed she was back in the cabin.

  “Go for it,” he said.

  The boat picked up speed and the man corrected course, heading directly for the gap between the shore and the first boat. He looked back and saw several other boats coming towards them.

  “We gotta get through that and into international waters.”

  “Yeah, TJ's the name, by the way.” The man looked at him.

  “You know the coast?” Mac asked.

  “Hardly; I know the reef out of Key Largo. Don’t think that’ll help us here.”

  Mac studied the chart-plotter. There was little detail along the coast; comprehensive charts of the area were not yet available to US consumers. They would be out of the channel in less than a minute and he needed a plan. He looked up and studied the water just coming into view outside the harbor. An unbroken expanse of dark blue lay in front of them, showing no signs of the green and brown indicating a shallow reef.

  “Straight out after we clear the boats,” he called to TJ. He studied the blockade as they closed the gap, realizing the entire area was covered by the guns of a small naval boat. The barrels of the mounted weapons were already visible and he knew he had miscalculated. Just as he thought it, a shell hit the water in front of them.

  “To port,” he yelled at TJ. “We have to stay out of their range.” TJ swung the boat towards the other side of the harbor mouth and Mac studied the other boats, looking for a weakness as another shell hit the water behind them. Several of the boats looked too small to hold any substantial weaponry, but they were close enough that they would have to deal with machine gun fire if they chose that course. There really was no option. He pointed TJ to a new route. The inaccuracy of the shells fired from the unstable platforms of the larger boat was less risky than what he was certain the machine gun fire would do to them. The hail of bullets was sure to damage the boat and probably hit a fuel tank, something they could not risk with miles of water between them and safety.

  “The way they’re turned, we’ll be in his blind spot if we cross close to his port bow.” Mac pointed at the ship that had fired on them. He could hear machine gun fire, but suspected they were out of range and focused on the course ahead. The boat was a hundred yards away. He could see the water churn as the captain tried to position his guns. Mac thought he was too late. They raced towards the gap, eyes focused on the blue water ahead. He heard the whistle of a projectile just before something exploded in the water.

  THIRTY ONE

  Seawater flooded the bridge, but quickly drained off. Mac turned to TJ. “No matter what - full speed!” he yelled. Bullets flew overhead and another missile caused a stream of water to splash off the transom. He jumped down to the deck to check for damage. Looking back before entering the cabin, he saw a line of boats converging on them.

  “Alicia! Call for help.” He entered the cabin and found two inches of water covering the deck. There was no escape; the boat was too slow, feeling sluggish as it plowed through the building seas. It would take a half-hour to reach international waters if they could maintain the twenty-five knots he estimated they were cruising, and that was if the Cubans honored the line. Right now they were at best a mile from t
he Cuban coast and the eleven miles to safety seemed liked crossing an ocean. There was no way they were going to make it unless he could change the playing field, but there was nowhere to hide in the open ocean, and he expected things to get worse. He entered the forward cabin and saw water pouring through a gash in the hull.

  The hole, a jagged mess of fiberglass, was about a foot-and-a-half long and half as high, just at the waterline. Not disastrous if the seas were flat, but as they pounded into the waves, water flooded the boat. Mac guessed about fifty gallons a minute was pouring into the cabin, increasing with every wave that smashed the boat. Even now, at three thousand gallons an hour, the flow was twice what the standard bilge pump could handle. He braced himself as the bow hit another wave and heard a crack as more water poured into the cabin. The repair would be straightforward if they were not running from half the Cuban navy, but in their present circumstance they were in deadly trouble.

  He left the cabin and sealed the door, guessing from the age of the boat that the cabin was constructed as a watertight compartment, but that was to isolate the damage and prevent sinking, not enable them to run at speed. Once the compartment filled, the bow would drop deeper and deeper into the water, unbalancing the boat.

  For once he appreciated the life jacket wrapped around Alicia and called to her, “And watch that door. If water comes out, sound the alarm.” She glanced up from the screen, a panicked look on her face, which grew worse as he stopped to grab two life vests from the netting above his head and took them with him.

  “TJ,” he yelled and exited the cabin. “Let Tru drive and help me. We’re taking on water.” The man instantly reacted and handed over the controls to the Cajun. In one step he was down the ladder and standing in front of Mac. “We took a hit from one of the missiles. Water is pouring in the forward cabin.” Mac handed him a life vest which he let fall to the deck and threw the other to the bridge, where it lay ignored.

  Mac didn’t wait for the man to take action. “Do you have a spare bilge pump? Or pull the one you’ve got. That’ll stem the tide, but we need to make a repair. Where are your tools?” Mac streamed off the questions and TJ reacted quickly. He went into the cabin and pulled the seats off the settee, dug through the compartment and handed Mac a small, battery-operated pump. It was rated for eleven-hundred gallons per minute, enough to help, but not solve the problem. “Get the wash down hose and we’ll hook it up,” Mac said, looking at the supplies in the compartment.

  There were some tools and plugs for the through-hull fittings, but they were all too small to seal the gaping hole. He looked at the cushion TJ had tossed on the floor, grabbed it and opened the door. Water poured over the raised door sill. The hole looked slightly larger as Mac stuffed the cushion into it. The water slowed, but he knew the repair was only temporary. One wave could take it out.

  “Here.” TJ stood in the doorway staring at the damage to his boat.

  Mac took the hose and attached it to the outflow on the pump. “We need some wire, about ten feet of two-strand.” He unscrewed the lens from one of the cabin lights, the only source of power available, and pulled the fixture from the ceiling. TJ came back with two small spools of wire and a pair of cutters, handed them to Mac, and stood watching while he rigged the pump.

  “I got this,” Mac said. “Can you get an update from Tru and Alicia?”

  TJ left him alone in the cabin. Bracing himself against the V berth, he waited out another wave before the boat settled enough for him to attach the wire. He turned the light switch on and the other fixtures dimmed, but the pump started to work. But the relief was short-lived. The waves had shifted the cushion and more water poured in. He stood there with the outlet hose in his hand and finally stuffed it in the hole. It was a start, but didn’t solve the problem. He looked around for anything that could seal the hole. The surest way was from the outside, where the water pressure would hold the patch in place, but that was not an option. He heard an explosion close enough to shake the hull. The hole had to be patched from the inside. The seat cover was leaking badly and every wave enlarged the opening.

  Surrender was always an option, but not one he cared to explore. He needed to get back to Marathon and help Mel. Another explosion rocked the boat. He went out to the deck. There were only two boats after them now, the smaller Zodiacs having turned back. The boats were too far back for him to see much detail over the white-capped waves, but from the age of the Cuban Naval ships he had seen, he doubted they could overtake them. They seemed to be matching speed, but at least for now, their missiles were falling short.

  “What’s our speed?” he yelled up to Trufante.

  “Twenty-two; it’s the best I can get from her.”

  Mac knew they could get another five to ten knots if he could stabilize the hull. That might make the difference between escape, and either death or a Cuban jail. He looked back at the boats chasing them and noticed the rows of dive tanks strapped to each side of the boat. There was something there, but it eluded him. Another shell exploded behind them, sending a stream of water onto the deck, this one a little closer than the last. The boats were closing.

  He went back into the cabin and saw Alicia huddled in the corner, clutching her life jacket. Looking at her, he was reminded about all the ships that had sunk and the powerless passengers that awaited death or rescue. Then he knew what to do. The shipbuilders had started using ballast tanks and airtight compartments to keep ships afloat if they were damaged. Even the Titanic had floated for five hours before sinking. The tanks held the answer.

  “I need some help,” he called to Alicia, knowing she would be better off having something to do. “Find a knife and cut the cover off the cushion.” She stared at him, her eyes wide with fear, but finally moved. He left her and went on deck. A quick glance confirmed the boats were closing. He heard the whistle of bullets flying around the deck. “One of you guys give me a hand,” he yelled to the bridge. TJ jumped down the ladder, but just as he hit the deck, blood spurted from his thigh. He fell, clutching the wound and screaming.

  Alicia emerged from the cabin and stood motionless staring in horror at the wound.

  “Give me a hand here,” Mac called to her trying to break the spell. He noticed a colorful beach towel left by a diver under the bench, grabbed it and wrapped it around TJ's leg. Blood quickly saturated it and he looked around for something to stem the tide. The towel was soaked and he feared the bullet had hit an artery. A dock line tied to a stern cleat was the closest thing at hand. He reached for it, inserted the line through the loop tied on the other end and placed it over the towel. With the line threaded backwards over the loop, he pulled tight enough to stop the flow, ignoring TJ's screams. Satisfied, he wrapped it around again and tied off the end. “Stay with him. You’ve got to keep him conscious,” he told Alicia. He spotted the dive gear on the deck where he and Trufante had dropped it.

  Bullets flew past, but he ignored them, and dragged the dive tank and gear through the cabin and into the forward berth. The boat shuddered again and he felt the concussion of a missile on the port side. With one motion, he hefted the weight of the tank and gear onto the berth. He unbuckled the BC, pulled it off of the tank and set it below the hole, trying to get everything prepared before pulling the cushion. Once he was ready, he removed the cushion ignoring the water gushing into the cabin. The bilge pump strained, but was worthless with the amount of seawater entering the boat and he tossed the hose to the side. He worked to maneuver the BC into the hole, but the weights still in its pockets caught on the opening, forcing him to waste valuable seconds while he pulled the vest back out and pulled the lead out. Water was streaming over the threshold.

  “Alicia!” he yelled. Her face appeared in the open cabin door. “Tell them to raise the bow with the trim tabs.”

  “Trim what?” she asked.

  “Trim the boat. Hurry, tell them.” He didn’t wait for an answer. Without the weights, he was able to place the BC in the opening and pushed the button to inflate th
e vest. Air rushed in and the vest expanded, filling the hole and stemming the flow of water. The boat responded almost immediately. Whether it was the trim tabs, the repair, or both, he felt it climb the waves, rather than crash into them. With the discharge hose for the bilge pump in hand, he left the cabin, wrapped the hose around the closest dive tank and watched the water pour into the ocean.

  He ducked as a blast of water caught him off-guard, but noticed it had hit behind the boat. They had picked up enough speed to separate from the Cuban boats and he stood by the transom, catching his breath and watching the water behind them as several more shells exploded, each further away. From the bridge he heard Trufante yell in victory, but he knew they had a long way to go and a lot could happen before they got there. He turned his attention back to Alicia, who had TJ propped up against a cooler, helping him sip from a bottle of water.

  “You going to make it?” he asked.

  “Looks like we all will,” he said. “Damn! A beer would be good after that shit.”

  Mac slapped him on the back, smiled at Alicia, and went to check the forward cabin. The floor was wet but there was no standing water, the pump able to pull the water out. The BC had only drips of water coming from it. He watched the repair when they hit another wave and realized the pressure against the damaged hull had stabilized the area.

  “What’s our speed?” he asked Trufante as he climbed the ladder to the flybridge.

  “Damn near thirty knots – looks like we lost the buggers.”

  Mac looked behind and watched the boats fading in the distance, then turned to the chart plotter and noticed that the red dot marking their position was in international waters. The Gulf Stream had pulled them further east than he would have liked, making landfall in Key West difficult, so he set the cursor on Marathon and pushed the Go To button.