He eased the wheel farther to the right to pass well clear of a large fishing yacht. He gave Pam another look. She'd slipped the straps of her bra down off her shoulders for a more even tan. Kelly approved.
The sound startled both of them, rapid short blasts on the fishing boat's diesel horns. Kelly's head scanned all the way around, then centered on the boat that lay two hundred yards to port. It was the only thing close enough to be of concern, and also seemed to be the source of the noise. On the flying bridge a man was waving at him. Kelly turned to port to approach. He took his time bringing Springer alongside. Whoever this guy was, he wasn't much of a boat handler, and when he brought his craft to a halt, twenty feet away, he kept his hand on the throttles.
'What's the problem?' Kelly called over the loud-hailer.
'Lost our props!' a swarthy man hollered back. 'What do we do?'
Row, Kelly almost replied, but that wasn't very neighborly. He brought his boat closer in to survey the situation. It was a medium-sized fishing cruiser, a fairly recent Hatteras. The man on the bridge was about five-eight, fiftyish, and bare-chested except for a mat of dark hair. A woman was also visible, also rather downcast.
'No screws at all?' Kelly asked when they were closer.
'I think we hit a sandbar,' the man explained. 'About half a mile that way.' He pointed to a place Kelly kept clear of.
'Sure enough, there's one that way. I can give you a tow if you want. You have good enough line for it?'
'Yes!' the man replied immediately. He went forward to his rope locker. The woman aboard continued to look embarrassed.
Kelly maneuvered clear for a moment, observing the other 'captain,' a term his mind applied ironically. He couldn't read charts. He didn't know the proper way of attracting another boat's attention. He didn't even know how to call the Coast Guard. All he'd managed to do was buy a Hatteras yacht, and while that spoke well of his judgment, Kelly figured it had more likely come from a smart salesman. But then the man surprised Kelly. He handled his lines with skill and waved Springer in.
Kelly maneuvered his stem in close, then went aft to his well deck to take the towing line, which he secured to the big cleat on the transom. Pam was up and watching now. Kelly hustled back to the fly bridge and coaxed his throttle a crack.
'Get on your radio,' he told the Hatteras owner. 'Leave your rudder amidships till I tell you different. Okay?'
'Got it.'
'Hope so,' Kelly whispered to himself, pushing the throttle levers until the towing line came taut.
'What happened to him?' Pam asked.
'People forget there's a bottom under this water. You hit it hard enough and you break things.' He paused. 'You might want to put some more clothes on.'
Pam giggled and went below. Kelly increased speed carefully to about four knots before starting the turn south. He'd done this all before, and grumbled that if he did it one more time he'd have special stationery printed up for the bills.
Kelly brought Springer alongside very slowly, mindful of the boat he was towing. He scurried off the bridge to drop his fenders, then jumped ashore to tie off a pair of spring lines before heading towards the Hatteras. The owner already had his mooring lines set up, and tossed them to Kelly on the quay while he set his fenders. Hauling the boat in a few feet was a good chance to show his muscles to Pam. It only took five minutes to get her snugged in, after which Kelly did the same with Springer.
'This is yours?'
'Sure enough,' Kelly replied. 'Welcome to my sandbar.'
'Sam Rosen,' the man said, holding his hand out. He'd pulled a shirt on, and while he had a strong grip, Kelly noted that his hands were so soft as to be dainty.
'John Kelly.'
'My wife, Sarah.'
Kelly laughed. 'You must be the navigator.'
Sarah was short, overweight, and her brown eyes wavered between amusement and embarrassment. 'Somebody needs to thank you for your help,' she observed in a New York accent.
'A law of the sea, ma'am. What went wrong?'
'The chart shows six feet where we struck. This boat only takes four! And low tide was five hours ago!' the lady snapped. She wasn't angry at Kelly, but he was the closest target, and her husband had already heard what she thought.
'Sandbar, it's been building there from the storms we had last winter, but my charts show less than that. Besides, it's a soft bottom.'
Pam came up just then, wearing clothing that was nearly respectable, and Kelly realized he didn't know her last name.
'Hi, I'm Pam.'
'Y'all want to freshen up? We have all day to look at the problem.' There was general agreement on that point, and Kelly led them off to his home.
'What the hell is that?' Sam Rosen asked. 'That' was one of the bunkers that had been built in 1943, two thousand square feet, with a roof fully three feet thick. The entire structure was reinforced concrete and was almost as sturdy as it looked. A second, smaller bunker lay beside it.
'This place used to belong to the Navy,' Kelly explained, 'but I lease it now.'
'Nice dock they built for you,' Rosen noted.
'Not bad at all,' Kelly agreed. 'Mind if I ask what you do?'
'Surgeon,' Rosen replied.
'Oh, yeah?' That explained the hands.
'Professor of surgery,' Sarah corrected. 'But he can't drive a boat worth a damn!'
'The goddamned charts were off!' the professor grumbled as Kelly led them inside. 'Didn't you hear?'
'People, that's history now, and lunch and a beer will allow us to consider it in comfort.' Kelly surprised himself with his words. Just then his ears caught a sharp crack coming across the water from somewhere to the south. It was funny how sound carried across the water.
"What was that?' Sam Rosen had sharp ears, too.
'Probably some kid taking a muskrat with his.22,' Kelly judged. 'It's a pretty quiet neighborhood, except for that. In the fall it can get a little noisy around dawn - ducks and geese.'
'I can see the blinds. You hunt?'
'Not anymore,' Kelly replied.
Rosen looked at him with understanding, and Kelly decided to reevaluate him for a second time.
'How long?'
'Long enough. How'd you know?'
'Right after I finished residency, I made it to Iwo and Okinawa. Hospital ship.'
'Hmm, kamikaze time?'
Rosen nodded. 'Yeah, lots of fun. What were you on?'
'Usually my belly,' Kelly answered with a grin.
'UDT? You look like a frogman,' Rosen said. 'I had to fix a few of those.'
'Pretty much the same thing, but dumber.' Kelly dialed the combination lock and pulled the heavy steel door open.
The inside of the bunker surprised the visitors. When Kelly had taken possession of the place, it had been divided into three large, bare rooms by stout concrete walls, but now it looked almost like a house, with painted drywall and rugs. Even the ceiling was covered. The narrow viewslits were the only reminder of what it had once been. The furniture and rugs showed the influence of Patricia, but the current state of semiarray was evidence that only a man lived here now. Everything was neatly arranged, but not as a woman would do things. The Rosens also noted that it was the man of the house who led them to the 'galley' and got things out of the old-fashioned refrigerator box while Pam wandered around a little wide-eyed.
'Nice and cool,' Sarah observed. 'Damp in the winter, I bet.' -
'Not as bad as you think.' Kelly pointed to the radiators around the perimeter of the room. 'Steam heat. This place was built to government specifications. Everything works and everything cost too much.'
'How do you get a place like this?' Sam asked.
'A friend helped me get the lease. Surplus government property.'
'He must be some friend,' Sarah said, admiring the built-in refrigerator.
'Yes, he is.'
Vice Admiral Winslow Holland Maxwell, USN, had his office on the E-Ring of the Pentagon. It was an outside office, allowing him a fine view of Washington - and the demonstrators, he noted angrily to himself. Baby Killers! one placard read. There was even a North Vietnamese flag. The chanting, this Saturday morning, was distorted by the thick window glass. He could hear the cadence but not the words, and the former fighter pilot couldn't decide which was more enraging.