Running Under Sail Read online

  "Yes. Most boats stop here when they come in from Antigua, and then head south, down the west coast. Typical stops are the park or Anse la Barque, the little fishing harbor I mentioned."

  "And then the Saintes?" Sadie asked.

  "That's right," Connie said, seeing the frown forming on Paul's face.

  "I looked at the cruising guide in my cabin. Guadeloupe is a huge island, and it sounds interesting," Sadie said. "What if I wanted to get off the beaten path? I mean, really lose myself here?"

  "Are you talking about staying on the boat? Or moving ashore?" Paul asked.

  "On the boat. It sounds like everybody goes down the west coast and to the Saintes, and then on to Dominica."

  "That's true," Connie said, giving Paul a look of caution. She smiled when he nodded. "What are you getting at?"

  "I don't want to go where everybody goes," Sadie said. "What if we did the opposite?"

  "The opposite?" Connie asked.

  "Yeah. Like what if we went down the east coast instead of the west coast?"

  "That's definitely the opposite of what most yachts do," Connie said. "There's an old colonial city called Le Moule on the northeast coast. It was once a seaport, but there aren't any facilities for yachts there; I'm not even sure if we could anchor. We went once, on a bus; it's not really much to see. Other than that, it's a pretty desolate coast from my perspective. I think there are nice beaches, but only if you're coming from the land side. It's all open to the ocean."

  "There's Desirade, and Petite Terre," Paul said.

  "You're right," Connie said, nodding.

  "What about them?" Sadie asked.

  "They're small islands off the southeast coast of Guadeloupe," Paul said, "Definitely off the beaten path."

  "Does anybody go there?" Sadie asked.

  "We've been," Connie said, "but there aren't usually any other boats there, except for locals in Desirade. Petite Terre is uninhabited."

  "Now you're getting me excited," Sadie said. "Can we go there?"

  "Sure," Connie said. "Desirade's around 60 miles, if we go across the north end of Guadeloupe and down the east coast. Petite Terre is maybe five miles farther."

  "So we could get there tonight?"

  "Yes. If we leave now, figure an hour to get back to the boat and get underway. We could make it by about sunset."

  "To Petite Terre?" Sadie asked.

  "Yes. Either one, really. If we go straight to Petite Terre, it's not even 5 miles farther. Just depends on the wind, but we can get in there after dark, if need be."

  "I like the sound of uninhabited," Sadie said. "Let's go."

  ****

  "Where the hell can they be?" Pratt asked.

  "I don't know, boss. We done looked ever'where, ain't we? What about that Barbuda place?" Freddy asked.

  "Hmm. That's a thought, I guess. I could get the pilot to take the chopper up there. You interested in another ride?"

  "Sure. Let's go."

  "You go. I'm gonna stay here. I ain't so sure we got the straight story from those bastards in customs."

  "How you gonna do anything about that?"

  "Gonna start by askin' the captain to make another run at them. If that don't do no good, then maybe I'll push it up the line. We got some leverage here, you know. The organization keeps some of these assholes on the payroll, kinda, so they'll look the other way when our shipments come through."

  "Why not just call 'em yourself, then?"

  "Because I ain't sure who they are, and they don't know me. They ain't necessarily the same people that's in customs. You know, like they're probably pretty high up the food chain."

  "The food chain? What the fuck's a food chain, boss?"

  "You are one dumb sumbitch, sometimes. I ain't got time to be explainin' shit like that to you."

  "Sorry, boss. You gonna call the pilot?"

  "Yeah ... no ... I got another idea. Barbuda ain't the kinda place Sadie's likely to go. There ain't nowhere to go shoppin' there."

  "What're you thinkin', then?"

  "Credit card."

  "Huh? I don't get it. I don't use 'em if I can help it. Too easy to track."

  "I know dumb-ass. That's the whole point. Sadie's got one, and she uses it."

  "So? You gonna get that damn kid in Miami to hack into her account? What's his name, anyhow?"

  "Mark, or maybe Mike, Winslow. Or somethin' like that. I can't remember right now. That's not important."

  "How you gonna get hold of him, if you don't know his name, boss?"

  "I don't need him to hack nothin'. The card she's got's on my damn account. Gimme the phone. I'm just gonna call 'em and see where the last five charges were. Don't even have to talk to a human — just one of them robot things where you mash the numbers in."

  Freddy passed him the phone and sat back, watching as Pratt made the call and worked his way through the menu. In a few seconds, Pratt picked up a pencil and began scribbling on the notepad that was on the table in front of him. Freddy waited, watching, until Pratt hung up the phone.

  "You shoulda cut her off while you was talkin' to the card company, boss. She's gonna run up a — "

  "Don't be thinkin', Freddy. You ain't equipped. I want her to keep runnin' up a tab. Gives us a damn good trail."

  "Shit! You're a damn genius, boss. You get any charges?"

  "Yeah, yesterday. Restaurant at English Harbour for 50 bucks — lunch for her and somebody, I reckon. Clothing for $485 at a shop here in Falmouth. Bitch is right here close. We musta just missed that sailboat she's on."

  "You want me to go check again?"

  "Yeah — " Pratt was interrupted by a loud knock on the door of his cabin. "Come in!"

  "Hey, Mr. Pratt," the captain said, as he entered the cabin. "I just got a call back from my friend in customs about that boat we're looking for."

  "Tell me," Pratt said.

  "Well, he checked in the computer yesterday when I asked him, and they were still here when we cleared in."

  "Yeah, but we can't find 'em."

  "I know, sir. They're gone now. Cleared out over at English Harbour yesterday about the same time we cleared in."

  "So how come your guy didn't see that?"

  "Some shit about the computers. Batch processing, he said. The clearance shows up in there now. Anyhow, they were planning to leave this morning, before 8 a.m."

  "Where'd they clear for?" Pratt asked, rubbing his hands together.

  "Deshaies."

  "Let's go, then," Pratt said.

  Freddy said, "Boss, the chopper could — "

  "Shut up, Freddy. The chopper can't do nothin' but find 'em. We'll catch 'em halfway across and launch one of the big RIBs. If we play it just right, I might even be able to talk her into comin' back without no trouble, but if there is trouble, well, shit happens sometimes out of sight of land, you know? The ocean's a good place to get rid of trouble makers."

  ****

  "Whoa!" Sadie said. "This is a wild ride. Are we going to be okay?" She ducked, avoiding the spray from a wave that rolled back along the starboard side deck and crashed over the coaming, drenching the three of them as they sat in the cockpit.

  "Sure," Connie said. "This is why people don't like beating to windward, though."

  "You didn't tell me it was going to be dangerous," Sadie said. "I would've — " another wave interrupted her.

  "It's not dangerous," Connie said. "Some people even think it's invigorating. At least the water's warm. Imagine doing this in New England."

  "No thanks," Sadie said. "You sure we're going to be okay? I mean, we've got, what, six hours of this?"

  "Or more," Connie said. "But yes, we'll be just fine. This is probably one of the two roughest spots we'll encounter. What you're seeing here is called 'cape effect' wind and seas."

  "What's that mean?" Sadie asked.

  "It's what happens when the wind and the swells run into a point of land, like the north end of the island, here. The pattern of the swells is broken when they ru
n into the shore, and you get all kinds of reflected waves that make it sloppy. The wind wraps around the high shoreline and the mountains and gets accelerated."

  "I don't like this much."

  "It's nobody's favorite point of sail," Paul said. "We'll be through the worst of it in another 20 minutes or so, I think. Then things will settle down and we'll be on a normal beat."

  "You said this was one of the two worst spots," Sadie said, ducking again as the spray drenched her. "What's the other one?"

  "We're about to enter a huge bay." Connie said. "We're going to hold this course for a few miles. Once we're ten miles or so offshore, we'll come about and sail hard on the port tack, up into Grand Cul-de Sac-Marin."

  "That's a big bay on the north end of Guadeloupe," Paul added. "Given the way the wind wraps around the hills, we'll be able to sail most of the way across the bay on one tack. When we get close to shore, we'll come about to the starboard tack again and round the next cape. That's when it will get sloppy again, but it's nothing to worry about. See, it's already smoothing out."

  "Yeah, it is," Sadie said. "It's like somebody turned off the waves."

  Connie smiled. "Well, it seems like that, anyway. Once we round the next cape, we'll fall off onto a reach and have a glorious sail down the east coast to Desirade and Petite Terre."

  "A beam reach? Right?" Sadie asked, grinning. "I'm learning."

  Connie chuckled. "You are, yes. It may be a beam reach. It depends on what the wind's doing out in the open sea, but it'll be anywhere from a close reach to a broad reach — all easy sailing, compared to beating."

  "I can't believe it, but I'm feeling chilled," Sadie said. "It's the wind, I guess."

  "The wind and being wet; that bikini doesn't offer much protection," Connie said. "Do you want a windbreaker?"

  "No, thanks. While the ride's smoother, I think I'll take a shower and get dressed. I've probably had enough sun for today. Maybe I'll even nap for a while, before it gets rough again. How long do I have?"

  "A couple of hours," Paul said. "Rest well."

  "Thanks," the girl said, and ducked down through the companionway.

  In a few minutes, Paul and Connie heard the water pressure pump cycling on and off as Sadie took her shower.

  Paul looked at Connie and raised his eyebrows. "What do you make of this?" he asked.

  "The change of plans?" Connie asked.

  "Uh-huh." Paul nodded.

  "She's avoiding the popular spots, isn't she?" Connie asked.

  "Uh-huh. Granted, she does seem to enjoy the sailing, but most people want to see the well-known places."

  "I can't fault her preference for getting away from the crowds," Connie said. "It's what we like, too."

  "Yeah, but we've seen all the other places. I think she's avoiding somebody. This compulsion to explore the less-traveled areas started when she heard what happened to Tom Connolly."

  "You're right; it did. She seemed to be relaxing a bit, though, until yesterday afternoon," Connie said.

  "Yeah?" Paul asked. "You mean while you were ashore shopping?"

  "Yes. She was really getting into an island state of mind when we were at lunch. It was after we watched that megayacht come in that she got anxious again."

  "Morning Mist, right?" Paul asked.

  "That's right. Why?"

  "I wanted to be sure I had it right; I'll send Luke an email tonight. He mentioned that Pratt hung out on a megayacht; nobody knew who it belonged to, though. If he had a name for the boat, he didn't say, but he may be able to find out."

  ****

  "There's no sign of a vessel that matches what you're looking for, Mr. Pratt," the captain said, lowering the binoculars. He and Pratt were on the bridge of Morning Mist, which lay adrift off the entrance to Deshaies.

  "How the hell can they not be here, Gerry?" Pratt asked.

  "I don't know, sir," the captain answered. "If she left this morning at 8 a.m., she would have gotten here no earlier than about two. We didn't pass her; the only radar targets we picked up were all heading in the wrong direction. Should I anchor?"

  "No." Pratt said. "No, I don't think so. What if they kept on going? What's down the coast? Anything?"

  "Yes, sir, there are several spots a boat like that could anchor, but they would have stopped here for clearance, more than likely. It's possible to clear in at Basse Terre, but it's a pain. A charter skipper would have stopped here, for sure. They could have left earlier and come in here to clear. Then they could have gone down to the Marine Park to anchor for the night. Some people do that."

  "We ain't got much pull with the Frogs," Pratt said, rubbing his chin.

  "Sir?"

  "French customs," Pratt said. "They're too damn straight."

  "What are you thinking, if I may ask?"

  "I was thinkin' it'd be damn nice if we had somebody in French customs on the payroll."

  "You want me to ask about the boat?"

  "You know somebody in French customs?"

  "Well, it's a little different in Deshaies, for pleasure boats," the captain said. "They clear in at the Internet café; it's pretty laid back. It's all done online — no customs officer. I know the guy who runs the place. If we're gonna clear in, I can ask him — casually, you know, like I did in Antigua."

  "I don't want us to clear in here," Pratt said.

  "But, sir, if I go ashore, um ... wait a second. What are you worried about?"

  "Morning Mist's records. I got my own reasons, but I can't have her on the books here. Here or in Martinique, either, okay? It's a territory thing, with my, ah ... suppliers."

  "Of course, sir. How about if I take the picnic boat in?"

  Pratt thought about that for a moment. "How's that gonna help?"

  "It's documented in the U.S. as a pleasure craft; I haven't had a chance to change it since I picked it up from the factory in Maine a few months ago."

  "Whose name's on the paper?"

  "Mine, sir; I thought I'd sign it over to the corporation when we got a chance to — "

  "So we can take it in and leave Morning Mist out here? Outta sight? No connection to me or Morning Mist?"

  "Yes, sir. No problem."

  "The authorities won't be suspicious? I mean if we run across a patrol boat somewhere? A little boat like that, all by itself? All the way from the U.S.?"

  "Sir, she's 35 feet long — perfectly capable of island-hopping her way down here from Florida through the Bahamas. People do it all the time."

  "Damn, that's perfect. Launch it, Gerry, and let's go in and see what's what."

  "Yes, sir."

  Chapter 14

  "So is this far enough off the beaten path for you?" Connie asked. They had anchored Diamantista II after dark last night. She lay in the slough between the islands that made up Petite Terre, and there was no sign of other people — no boats, not even any of the flotsam that often spoiled deserted beaches.

  "Yes; this is what I had in mind," Sadie said, looking around at the two low-lying islands. She set her coffee on the cockpit table and helped herself to a slice of mango from the fruit plate Paul had prepared for breakfast.

  "It's hard to believe there's an island a few miles away with half a million people on it, isn't it?" Paul asked, taking a sip of coffee.

  "It really is," Sadie said. "This is awesome. Nobody comes here?"

  "Sure, people come here, but not too many," Connie said. "We've anchored here before, but only when we didn't have guests aboard. Most people who charter say they want solitude, but they like it in small doses, I guess. This is too isolated for most of them. You're our first exception." She smiled at Sadie.

  "You must be burned out by the crowds from your concerts, huh?" Paul said.

  "Well, kinda. I don't know ... it's complicated. I mean, I love my fans; I'd be nowhere without them. But I had no idea how little privacy I'd have. I can't go anywhere without somebody bothering me."

  "I think you're safe here," Connie said. "We've seen other boats here, b
ut usually only on holiday weekends. The locals come here to party then, and there's an occasional fisherman, but that's about it."

  "Are there other places like this?" Sadie asked.

  "Yes, a few. There are also some populated spots where outsiders rarely go, like Desirade, or Marie Galante," Paul said. "They don't get tourist traffic. Of course, in this day of satellite TV, they might still recognize a celebrity." He gave her a warm smile and a wink.

  She blushed. "I'm hardly a celebrity," she said, as he poured coffee from the thermal carafe into her cup. "Thanks," she said, taking a sip.

  Paul nodded. "Should I put the dinghy together?"

  "Can we go ashore here?"

  "Only on Terre de Bas," Connie said. "That's the big island. The little one's Terre de Haut, and it's off-limits. It's protected because it's a nesting site for seabirds."

  "That's kind of nice," Sadie said. "Who owns these islands?"

  "This whole area's a national park," Paul said. "I guess the government owns them."

  "What's there to see on the big island?"

  "Not much," Connie said. "You can land the dinghy on the beach, and there's a trail up to the lighthouse. You get a pretty good view out to sea from there."

  "If you aren't up for the hike, the snorkeling is excellent right off the boat here." Paul said. "That reef off our bow's about as good as it gets anywhere."

  "That sounds more like it," Sadie said.

  "Should I dig out the gear while Paul cleans up after our breakfast?" Connie asked.

  "Maybe in a little bit," Sadie said. "I'm happy just to sit here for now. The sound of the waves on the reef is so soothing; it makes me want to do nothing, you know?"

  "I do," Connie said, smiling. "It has the same effect on both of us. We'll just sit here, then. We can put up the awning in a bit and rig the hammocks. You're welcome to any of the books on the shelves below, if you'd like to read."

  "I noticed there's a series of thrillers set down here in the islands," Sadie said. "Are they any good?"

  "We like them," Paul said. "But we're prejudiced, I guess."

  "Why's that?"

  "The author's a friend of ours," Connie said. "Charles Dougherty — Bud, to his friends. That series is based on those two young women who taught me to sail. They've had some real adventures."