She smiled and shook her head. "Even though I think you walk on water, pun intended, I have a couple of other suggestions for the dumbest category"
He looked at her suspiciously. "You have a mean streak."
"Let's see: for starters, parachuting onto a Chinese Communist ship in the middle of the night in the middle of the Pacific Ocean."
"I was trained to do that."
"You were trained to fly, too. A naturally gifted pilot who successfully flew jets from the decks of aircraft carriers."
Scott didn't blink an eyelash. "New subject?"
Feeling a sudden pang of guilt, Jackie nodded in agreement. "Sure." He has to live with this for the rest of his life.
"Let's set up watches," he suggested. "Four hours on, four off."
"Sounds fair." Jackie glanced at the two collapsible oars. "We can sit next to the open hatch and slowly rotate the raft."
He reached for an oar. "An unrestricted view of the ocean and the sky."
"Yup, we sure don't want to miss anything."
Scott raised the flap and glanced at the horizon. "And we don't want to be sunk by some ship we didn't see coming, spoil our vacation."
"Just keep the flare gun handy."
He unfolded one oar and locked it in place. "I'll take the first four and you try to get some sleep."
"I won't argue with you." She made herself a comfortable lair and curled up under two space blankets. "Wake me if a cruise ship stops by."
"Count on it." Scott mindlessly paddled the raft in a slow circle, scanning the horizon and the sky. My flaw is being too mission-oriented, too eager to press on under any circumstances. There wasn't any timeline — no need to rush to Geneva. A night in Gander would have saved a lot of grief. Fortunately, no one was killed or injured.
Scott allowed Jackie to sleep an extra hour before he began dozing off. Reluctantly, he woke her and waited until she was fully roused. He consumed some chocolate and water before stretching out and closing his eyes. Although he was exhausted, Scott was tormented and embarrassed by his serious lapse in judgment. Finally, after twenty minutes, the gentle undulation of the raft rocked him to sleep.
Jackie settled into a slow, methodical routine of paddling and searching. The low overcast began to dissipate and the sun was appearing more often. By late afternoon, Jackies eyes were playing tricks on her, or so she thought. Is that an airplane low on the horizon? She scanned back and forth. That has to be a plane, but there isn't any sound — probably a turboprop with the power pulled back.
"Scott, wake up!"
Startled awake, he rubbed his eyes. "What is it?"
"Its a plane — look! It's just under the overcast!"
He scrambled to the opening and took one look. "Damn!" He reached for the flare gun. "Watch out."
She rolled out of the way and looked over his shoulder.
Scott pointed the flare gun up at an angle and squeezed the trigger. The bright flare quickly reached its apogee while Scott reloaded the gun. He fired the second flare and they stared at the plane.
"It's a P-3 Orion," he said, as the sun suddenly bathed them in its warm glow. "They're either hunting subs or searching for us."
"Let's hope it's the latter."
They watched for fifteen seconds as the aircraft continued on course.
"Come on," Scott said impatiently. "Hell-o, is anyone awake?"
After another ten seconds, their hopes were dashed.
"Well," he said, meeting her gaze, "we know people are look—"
"It's turning, banking toward us!" She grabbed the dye marker and tossed it to Scott. "Might as well use it."
He quickly deployed the vivid yellow dye and watched it spread over the sea. "Between our international-orange canopy and the dye, I don't think they'll have any problem locating us."
Jackie raised a hand to shield her eyes from the bright sun. She could barely hear the low deep-throated sound from the four turbo-props. "Question is, how long before a ship or helicopter arrives?"
Scott held his answer while the antisubmarine-warfare plane flew low past the raft. They waved at the crew of the P-3C as it pulled up in a gentle climbing turn to the left.
"Who knows? It shouldn't be too long."
"I hope you're right."
The big maritime patrol plane slowed and began a wide holding pattern around the raft. Thirty minutes later, the tall mainmast of a vessel under sail appeared on the horizon. The gleaming ninety-two-foot crewed charter yacht was headed straight for the raft.
Scott smiled reassuringly. "Things are going a lot better today than they were yesterday evening."
A sixth sense compelled Jackie to look beyond Scott. Another aircraft was approaching from the southwest. "And we have more good news," she announced, pointing to a low-flying C-130.
Even at a distance, Scott immediately recognized the white aircraft. "The coast guard is here."
Low on fuel, the navy P-3C rolled wings level and departed to the southwest. The sound of the engines became louder as the airplane climbed through the broken overcast and disappeared.
The coast guard HC-130H slowed and passed close to the life raft. A crew member standing on the open aft ramp tossed a bright orange object into the ocean. It landed within ten yards of the raft.
"A radio," Scott said excitedly. He reached for an oar and plopped on his chest at the entrance to the raft. With long smooth strokes he propelled the raft to the orange container.
"Got it," he said, unwrapping the survival radio. It was already tuned to the emergency channel. "Coast guard, it's good to see you guys!"
"What's your condition?" the pilot asked.
Scott keyed the radio. "We're in great shape."
"Excellent, stand by."
"Roger."
The C-130 began a wide left-hand orbit before the aircraft commander again keyed his radio. "The good Samaritans in the approaching yacht have graciously agreed to host you until our helo arrives. Recommend you keep your raft for the helo pickup, easier than lifting you close to the mast. Copy?"
"Roger that," Scott said, and then laughed with Jackie, relief in their voices. He rubbed the stubble on his cheek. "From a life raft to a sailing yacht, cant beat it."
With the tension now subsiding, Jackie turned sober. "We had an extremely close call, but the real fun begins when we visit with our insurance company."
"Yeah, that's going to be ugly."
When they were helped aboard the luxurious yacht, Scott and Jackie were surprised to see a Union Jack ensign. The British crew and their Italian passengers were friendly and hospitable to the two Americans. During their short visit, Jackie and Scott were given dry clothes, food, and all the bottled water they could consume.
They were escorted on a tour of the impeccably maintained teak, brass, and mahogany vessel. When they reached the dining room, highlighted by bird's-eye maple panels and oriental carpets, the ship's skipper gave a champagne toast in celebration of their rescue.
Minutes later an HH-60J Jayhawk helicopter from the coast guard cutter WMEC 907 Escanaba arrived over the yacht. After profusely thanking their hosts, Jackie and Scott boarded their life raft and cast off. The helicopter crew quickly plucked them up. The captain of the yacht recovered the raft, deflated it, and stowed it belowdeck.
Scott and Jackie were flown to the cutter and greeted warmly by the commanding officer. Following explicit directions from coast guard headquarters in Washington, D. C., the captain made arrangements for the pair to have privacy in order to contact a government official.
Hartwell Prost was thrilled to hear from them as they explained what happened. As usual, he came right to the point. "Let's be thankful you're safe and on your way home. What happened is in the past, can't do anything about it. Look to the future, and don't worry."