'Long night. We're all tired, and it's a young crew,' the coastguardsman explained wearily. Oreza was nearly twenty-eight himself, and by far the oldest man of his boat crew.
'Trouble?' Kelly asked.
Oreza nodded, looking around at the water. 'Kinda. Some damned fool in a little day-sailer turned up missing after that little rainstorm we had last night, and we've been looking all over bejazzus for him.'
'Forty knots of wind. Fair blow, Portagee,' Kelly pointed out. 'Came in right fast, too.'
'Yeah, well, we rescued six boats already, just this one still missing. You see anything unusual last night?'
'No. Came outa Baltimore around... oh, sixteen hundred, I suppose. Two and a half hours to get here. Anchored right after the storm hit. Visibility was ptetty bad, didn't see much of anything before we went below.'
'We,' Oreza observed, stretching. He walked over to the wheel, picked up the rain-soaked halter, and tossed it to Kelly. The look on his face was neutral, but there was interest behind the eyes. He hoped his friend had found someone; Life hadn't been especially fair to the man.
Kelly handed the cup back with a similarly neutral expression.
'There was one freighter coming out behind us,' he went on. 'Italian flag, container boat about half full, must have been knocking down fifteen knots. Anybody else clear the harbor?'
'Yeah.' Oreza nodded and spoke with professional irritation. 'I'm worried about that. Fuckin' merchies plowing out at full speed, not paying attention.'
'Well, hell, you stand outside the wheelhouse, you might get wet. Besides, sea-and-anchor detail might violate some union rule, right? Maybe your guy got run down,' Kelly noted darkly. It wouldn't have been the first time, even on a body of water as civilized as the Chesapeake:
'Maybe,' Oreza said, surveying the horizon. He frowned, not believing the suggestion and too tired to hide it. 'Anyway, you see a little day-sailer with an orange-and-white candystripe sail, you want to give me a call?'
'No problem.'
Oreza looked forward and turned back. 'Two anchors for that little puff o' wind we had? They're not far enough apart. Thought you knew better.'
'Chief Bosun's Mate,' Kelly reminded him. 'Since when does a bookkeeper get that snotty with a real seaman?' It was only a joke. Kelly knew Portagee was the better man in a small boat. Though not by much of a margin, and both knew that, too.
Oreza grinned on his way back to the cutter. After jumping back aboard, he pointed to the halter in Kelly's hand. 'Dont forget to put your shirt on, Boats! Looks like it oughta fit just fine.' A laughing Oreza disappeared inside the wheelhouse before Kelly could come up with a rejoinder. There appeared to be someone inside who was not in uniform, which surprised Kelly. A moment later, the cutter's engines tumbled anew and the fotty-one-boat moved northwest.
'Good mornin'.' It was Pam. 'What was that?'
Kelly turned. She wasn't wearing any more now than when he'd put the blanket on her, but Kelly instantly decided that the only time she'd surprise him again would be when she did something predictable. Her hair was a medusalike mass of tangles, and her eyes were unfocused, as though she'd not slept well at all.
'Coast Guard. They're looking for a missing boat. How'd you sleep?'
'Just fine.' She came over to him. Her eyes had a soft, dreamlike quality that seemed strange so early in the morning, but could not have been more attractive to the wide-awake sailor.
'Good morning.' A kiss. A hug. Pam held her arms aloft and executed something like a pirouette. Kelly grabbed her slender waist and hoisted her aloft.
'What do you want for breakfast?' he asked.
'I don't eat breakfast,' Pam replied, reaching down for him.
'Oh.' Kelly smiled. 'Okay.'
She changed her mind about an hour later. Kelly fixed eggs and bacon on the galley stove, and Pam wolfed it down so speedily that he fixed seconds despite her protests. On further inspection, the girl wasn't merely thin, some of her ribs were visible. She was undernourished, an observation that prompted yet another unasked question. But whatever the cause, he could remedy it. Once she'd consumed four eggs, eight slices of bacon, and five pieces of toast, roughly double Kelly's normal morning intake, it was time for the day to begin properly. He showed her how to work the galley appliances while he saw to recovering the anchors.
They got back under way just shy of a lazy eight o'clock. It promised to be a hot, sunny Saturday. Kelly donned his sunglasses and relaxed in his chair, keeping himself alert with the odd sip from his mug. He maneuvcred west, tracing down the edge of the main ship channel to avoid the hundreds of fishing boats he fully expected to sortie from their various harbors today in pursuit of rockfish.
'What are those things?' Pam asked, pointing to the floats decorating the water to port.
'Floats for crab pots. They're really more like cages. Crabs get in and can't get out. You leave floats so you know where they are.' Kelly handed Pam his glasses and pointed to a Bay-build workboat about three miles to the east.
'They trap the poor things?' Kelly laughed.
'Pam, the bacon you had for breakfast? The hog didn't commit suicide, did he?'
She gave him an impish took. 'Well, no.'
'Don't get too excited. A crab is just a big aquatic spider, even though it tastes good.'
Kelly altered course to starboard to clear a red nun-buoy.
'Seems kinda cruel, though.'
'Life can be that way.'Kelly said too quickly and then regretted it.
Pam's response was as heartfelt as Kelly's. 'Yeah, I know.'
Kelly didn't turn to took at her, only because he stopped himself. There'd been emotional content in her reply, something to remind him that she, too, had demons. The moment passed quickly, however. She leaned back into the capacious conning chair, leaning against him and making things right again. One last time Kelly's senses warned him that something was not right at all. But there were no demons out here, were there?
'You'd better go below.'
'Why?'
'Sun's going to be hot today. There's some lotion in the medicine cabinet, main head.'
'Head?'
'Bathroom!'
'Why is everything different on a boat?'
Kelly laughed. 'That's so sailors can be the boss out here. Now, shoo! Go get that stuff and put a lot on or you'll look like a french fry before lunch.'
Pam made a face. 'I need a shower, too. Is that okay?'
'Good idea,' Kelly answered without looking. 'No sense scaring the fish away.'
'You!' She swatted him on the arm and headed below.
'Vanished, just plain vanished,' Oreza growled. He was hunched over a chart table at the Thomas Point Coast Guard Station.
'We shoulda got some air cover, helicopter or something,' the civilian observed.
'Wouldn't have mattered, not last night. Hell, the gulls rode that blow out.'
'But where'd he go?'
'Beats me, maybe the storm sank his ass.' Oreza glowered at the chart. 'You said he was northbound. We covered all these ports and Max took the western shore. You sure the description of the boat was correct?'
'Sure? Hell, we did everything but buy the goddamned boat for 'em!' The civilian was as short-tempered as twenty-eight hours of caffeine-induced wakefulness could explain, even worse for having been ill on the patrol boat, much to the amusement of the enlisted crew. His stomach felt like it was coated with steel wool. 'Maybe it did sink,' he concluded gruffly, not believing it for a moment.
'Wouldn't that solve your problem?' His attempt at levity earned him a growl, and Quartermaster First Class Manuel Oreza caught a warning look from the station commander, a gray-haired warrant officer named Paul English.
'You know,' the man said in a state of exhaustion, 'I don't think anything is going to solve this problem, but it's my job to try.'
'Sir, we've all had a long night. My crew is racked out, and unless you have a really good reason to stay up, I suggest you find a bunk and get a few Zs, sir.'