“ I don’t see them.” He looked over the sea, then back at Ramsingh. The prime minister’s badger gray eyes sparkled. He was grinning, showing his top teeth. His long, silver hair, usually in place, was flying about, like he had been charged with a cartoon electro-shock machine. The adrenaline was flowing through him too.
“ Just off her starboard side.”
“ What?” Broxton shouted. They were approaching the south coast of Grenada and the early morning wind was whipping along the coastline, in and out of its many bays, stirring up the seas, making it hard to hear.
“ They’re there,” Ramsingh said, voice raised, but not shouting as he pointed ahead and to the right. Then he said, “Take the wheel.”
“ Sure,” Broxton said, slipping by to take control of the boat. “What are you going to do?”
“ Tighten sail.” He slapped a winch handle into a winch and started grinding in the jib sheet. The boat heeled over more as the rails slid into the water. “Turn a little to port.” Broxton stared at him, but didn’t respond. “Your left, just a little, off the wind.”
“ Yes, sir,” Broxton said.
“ I want to gain speed and stay well away from the rocks.”
Broxton spread his legs wide, to keep his balance, and gripped the oversized wheel with both hands. It was a chilly gray morning. The sea was snapping whitecaps and spitting foam over the deck. The wind whistled through the shrouds. The sun was hidden by cloud cover. It started to sprinkle. He tightened his hands on the wheel and squinted against the rain, straining to see the boat ahead.
“ Okay, they should be up ahead, between one and two o’clock,” Ramsingh said, pointing. Broxton followed Ramsingh’s finger.
“ I see them.” The sea broke around the rocks, the white caps shooting higher than the surrounding seas. “How many are there?”
“ I don’t know,” Ramsingh said. “You’re only seeing the tips of them.”
“ Any boats ever been sunk on them?”
“ I imagine that’s how they were discovered,” Ramsingh said, and Broxton shivered as a breaking wave hit the rocks sending foam high in the air. He pictured a tall ship breaking apart, its hands jumping over the side, grabbing at broken pieces of the boat, grabbing at each other, grabbing at crowded life rafts, and being pushed back into the cold, cold sea.
“ Frightening,” Broxton said.
“ Very,” Ramsingh said.
“ What’s she doing?” Broxton said, eyes again on Sea King.
“ What are you doing?” Earl called out. He’d watched her from behind the wheel as she circled the port jib sheet around the big electric winch.
“ Go below and get the gun,” she shouted to be heard above the crashing waves, “we’re going to jibe.”
“ What’s a jibe?”
“ Just get the gun.”
“ You got it,” he said. He let her have the wheel and he scurried below, appearing seconds later, pants on, gun in hand. “What’s a jibe?” he asked again.
“ We’re going to do a turn with the wind behind us. Normally I wouldn’t do it in weather like this without a more experienced crew, but without the main it isn’t a big deal.”
“ What are you talking about?” He was holding the gun, looking over her shoulder at the boat behind. It was gaining on them.
“ No boom to come around,” she said. “Take the wheel and crank it to the right when I tell you. When we come abreast of them, start shooting.”
“ Yes, ma’am. Do you still want me to spare Broxton?” he asked.
“ No,” she said. “Shoot them both.”
“ Yes, ma’am,” he said again. These were orders he understood. At last she was over her thing with him. If she’d let him deal with Broxton in Venezuela it would all be over now. They’d be on some tropical island somewhere drinking rum punches and lazing the days away. But mas vale tarde, que nunca, better late than never. And the Spanish phrase reminded him of Maria. He was finished with her now, but he’d seen that son-of-a-bitching bastard Broxton with her, the two of them cooing like love birds out by the pool. He’d sure enjoy turning his lights out.
Dani went back to the port winch and took off a loop of the line. “All right!” she yelled. “Jibe ho, start turning.” Earl turned the boat as she went to the starboard winch and took the line all the way off of it. Then she was back at the port winch, with the port jib sheet in her hands. “Turn, turn, turn,” she yelled, as she hauled on the line, pulling it, as Earl brought the boat around. The sail came across the deck and billowed on the other side as the wind hit their backs. She threw two more wraps on the winch, tugged the line into the self-tailing jaws and used the electric motor to power the sheet in. “All the way!” she wailed.
Then with the turn complete she took the wheel. “I’m going to sail close enough so that you can see the dirt under their nails. You think you’ll be able to hit them?”
“ You get me a shot, I’ll do the rest,” he said.
“ I want them both.”
“ I’ll get them both. Don’t you worry.”
“ She’s jibing,” Ramsingh said.
“ What?” Broxton said.
“ Turning.” Ramsingh’s voice dropped an octave, like he couldn’t comprehend what was going on. But then he grabbed hold of the situation and started issuing orders. “Keep on a steady course, I’m going below for a second.” Ramsingh slipped down through the companionway and in a few seconds was back with two large square sections of wood about three feet by four feet.
“ What’s that?” Broxton asked.
“ Sections of the cockpit sole, the boat’s floor. Teak, three quarters of an inch thick. I think we might need it up here.”
“ Why?”
“ Shields.”
Broxton nodded, then turned his attention to the boat in front. Sea King had completed her turn and was now headed back toward them. Broxton adjusted the wheel slightly. Turning a bit to the left, mindful of the rocks.
“ My guess is she’ll sail by as close to us as she can get, shooting away as they pass,” Ramsingh said.
Broxton didn’t say anything. He kept his eyes on the boat in front. It looked like she was planning on coming along their left side. His emotions were whirling out of control. She’d been a large part of his life. Still was. He was in love with her. At least he thought he was. He didn’t want anything to happen to her, yet he couldn’t let her get away. He wanted her stopped, but he didn’t want her arrested. It would ruin Warren.
He turned the boat a little more to the left. Ramsingh met his eyes, but didn’t say anything. Sea King was charging toward them, jib billowing, heeled over, slicing through the waves. She turned a little to her right, to avoid the collision course Broxton had put them on, but he turned a little to the left, keeping the boats nose to nose, racing toward each other, like two great animals about to do battle.
She turned again.
Broxton matched it. Once again he was playing chicken, but these weren’t kids on Cherry Avenue. Dani was on that boat and she had more nerve than anyone he’d ever met. If she perceived it as a contest between them, she wouldn’t flinch, she’d hold course and sail that boat right into them and damn the consequences.
He would turn aside, but not till the last minute, not till she was sure he was intent on playing out the game, not till she was bracing for collision, then he’d turn.
“ After I set this up, I’ll set the self-steering gear and we’ll go below,” Ramsingh said. Broxton smiled. The prime minister was laying the hatches across the cockpit seats.
“ We’re not going to hide behind your wooden shields?”
“ Of course not,” Ramsingh said, “but they’re going to think we are.” Then he went below and seconds later returned with a bagged sail. Broxton watched while he propped it under the teak floor covering. Now instead of lying across the two cockpit seats, the floor covering rested on the port seat and on the sail underneath.