China Jewel (20 page)

Sparkles said, “He’ll be sunk – literally - if he is wrong.”

The room went silent with her comment. After a few moments, Sparkles continued, “The America is further north. Strand’s captain is not taking any chances. He appears to be heading back toward Peru and a safe harbor. Water is usually too cold along the shore for these storms to follow him in there.”

“It’s not like Slidell to cut and run. His captain must be even more worthless and cowardly than I thought. Slidell and Strand are probably furious. I’m glad they are pissed for a change, the bastards,” Cutter said, grinning.

Sparkles continued, “The Brits are heading south. I expect they figure the weather will stay west. Here’s our Peregrine in fairly safe water.”

“As you say, though, safe only if the storm does not turn around and change course eastward.”

“Yes,” agreed Sparkles.

“Mister Cutter,” Laura called from the other end of the operations center.

“Yes, Laura.”

“A call just came from the editor at NBC television in Baltimore. He has assigned a reporter to interview you here today. The television team will be at the Motorboat Lounge this afternoon getting local opinions about the Peregrine and the storm. They asked if you would consent to an interview.”

“Lulu’s,” he repeated. “You can tell him we’ll be there.”

River Sunday had no auditorium big enough for town meetings. Even the high school basketball court space was small and limited in seating with barely room for the teams to maneuver. The courthouse had a large chamber built two hundred years ago and too small for the greatly enlarged population of River Sunday. The movie theatre was an early Nineteen Thirties structure that held a good crowd but the stage had no place to set up cameras and microphones. The Catholics had a modern school with a large auditorium but Pastor Allingham’s flock refused to go there. Most of the Protestants also had objections. These people didn’t give their excuses out loud, but reasons probably went back to the early days of anti-Catholic feeling in the original colony.

At any rate, the next best thing for occasions where the town got together was the large room at Lulu’s Motorboat Lounge out on the highway. Lulu, still beautiful at middle-age, usually arranged to set up her tables and chairs meeting style or installed several televisions so townspeople could gather and watch any important news. Lulu’s had been around since it was built originally as a speakeasy on what was then a dirt road from Baltimore to the ocean beaches during Prohibition. Lulu herself didn’t take over the place until her husband, the owner, was murdered investigating local political corruption. She took over and built the place up. People went for drink and dinner and spent their money. Some even went to the church services for one of the Christian white churches on Sunday afternoon. On Friday nights Lulu would import Baltimore male strippers and Saturday night she’d bring in the female nude dancers.

Doc Jerry said, “You might mention the weight boxes Stringer installed on both sides of the deck.”

Cutter asked, “Stringer hasn’t told me about that.”

Sparkles said, “Where is that guy?”

Cutter shook his head, “Haven’t seen him today.”

Doc Jerry explained, “Stringer had these weight boxes rigged into the hull along railings so weight could be could be put into them. That would make the side heavier during blows. It was to keep her from tipping over too far.”

Cutter said, “Sounds like something Stringer would do when he wants to help us win.”

“Well,” said Doc Jerry, “It’s not original with him. A lot of those fast brigs had them to keep from tipping over and swamping.”

Sparkles added, “They might be useful if the wind really blows her over on her side and she needs righting by shifting the weights to the other side. The wind will be coming in from the south in that right quadrant. Captain Hall will have her on a port tack. He wouldn’t have much sail up with probably the main and fore courses reefed and a storm jib, with her spanker reefed down too. The seas would be high so he’d make only a little headway during the worst of it. Keeping her on an even keel would help on speed and control in the storm swells.”

A large crowd had gathered in the main room near the bar, all eyes watching the television news coming in on the hour. The Peregrine pictures were being broadcast along with those of the other racers. These were all old shots, taken from file. No live shots were coming in from the sea locations due to the storm conditions. Weather forecasts droned on and on about the dangerous winds. One of the commentators was on a US Navy aircraft carrier five hundred miles to the south of the storm. The big ship was getting tropical downpours on her deck but the winds had not reached much more than thirty knots.

Just as Cutter approached the bar, a loud booing went up from the crowd and fingers were pointed at the television.

“Want to see someone covering his ass?” a big muscled man in a Ravens tee shirt said to Cutter.

Cutter looked at the nearest screen. Stringer was there, his face photographed up close, the smallness of his eyes overwhelming. The words were drowned by the noise of the bar. The camera moved out to include an interviewer. They were sitting in plush red chairs in a conference room, the large letters of the NBC affiliate on the wall.

Slapping his fist into his palm, the Ravens fan shouted, “Son of a bitchin’ traitor.”

Cutter whispered to himself, “I wondered where the guy went off to.”

The room quieted as people strained to hear the interview. Stringer was saying, “I told them not to sail her,” he said. “I told them not to.”

The man said, “They sure as hell have been pumping him all day for something to get on the air. Wonder how much he got paid to screw us?”

A black man, whom Cutter had seen with Pastor Allingham, sat at the bar. He turned and added, “Most like he won’t be seen around here anymore.”

Another said, “He wouldn’t try it. You’d find him with a log jammed into his car on some country road.”

Cutter glanced at Lulu who was serving beer. She had not heard that last remark. Her husband had been discovered in his wrecked car, several logs jammed under the front wheels. No one was ever caught for the murder. The remark indicated that Stringer might meet the same brutal fate of local vigilante justice.

Up on the screen over the bar, Stringer took a drink from the red and white television station mug sitting on a table in front of him. He went on with his confession, “They wouldn’t listen to me. The Peregrine is a deathtrap and should never have been permitted to sail, certainly not near hurricanes.” Stringer proceeded to illustrate by moving his hands. “The power or leverage of the mast could drive the bow under. The bow was very sharp so it did not have the buoyancy of a fuller shape. That’s why they raked the mast back to compensate. However, with all the sail they carried the rake often wasn’t enough and with the right wind, the bow would go under. We call it pitch poling.”

Lulu brought him a beer. “Here you are, Mister Cutter. On the house.”

“Lulu, you better bring me some coffee. I’ve got to talk to these scavengers.” He pointed at the reporters standing with cameras.

“I know what you mean,” she said. “I ordered the girls not to serve them anything.”

“Thanks,” he smiled at her. Katy liked Lulu. She considered her a proud and modern woman. Lulu was not popular with the local matronly types, especially because of her ownership of a roadside bar and strip club. However, she made her own money and she kept her nose clean with the police. To Katy she was a woman with all the character of the frontier women in her history research, independent and self-sufficient.

Jolly appeared beside him with a portable computer, its top up with a video playing.

“You might want to watch this. It’s real-time coverage of the owner’s conference,” he said. “You can hear the others and chime in if you want to add anything.”

“In a few minutes. Right now let me hear this rat talking,” said Cutter.

They watched Stringer. They also listened to catcalls from the audience in the bar. Cutter grinned as he thought of Stringer’s treatment if the man ever set foot in River Sunday again. He didn’t begrudge him for his opinions on the Peregrine. What bothered him, and he suspected pissed off the local citizens, was his accepting money to work on a project that he didn’t believe in. That was dishonorable.

“You ready for these reporters?” Jolly asked.

“Sure.”

Jolly said, “Stringer is a lying bastard. We’ll tell the truth.”

“They’re going to ask about rescue.”

Jolly said, “Tell them if you want that we have a tug standing by in Peru.”

“You think we waited too long, Jolly?”

“You got to have faith in the boat and the crew.”

He remembered when he was a child and almost drowned. He felt again the pulling power of the water, the exhaustion, the willingness to give up. He could imagine on board the Peregrine the yelling by Captain Hall to adjust the sails.

His mind heard the roar as the huge waves smashed across the deck, snapping lines. Thin masts cracked with the tatters of sailcloth whipping sailors into the sea. Lifelines failed as the bow came back up to smash against the waves once more.

Only he saw the bow not coming back up just as Stringer had warned. It dove into the dark water. He saw his son crawling on the upended deck trying to get to the small, square, rain-soaked hatch. Then Cutter felt the cold water touching his own face as it drowned his son.

He realized he was still in Lulu’s bar. He snapped his head upward as Jolly nudged him. The little man was holding up the computer again, the screen showing a group of men and women, the voices muted so the bystanders in the bar would not hear.

Jolly said, “Better see this. Like I said, we’re linked into the owners’ conference in New York, boss.”

The small screen showed the worried owners of the various competitors. Eyes were upon the massive television console which showed the map and locations of the racing fleet. The conversation was, however, not on the storm but on the discovery of the British documents. Bill was speaking to the other owners, holding up documents.

He said, “I want this innuendo about murders and missing jewels to be stopped. One of you is doing this rumor mongering. Unfounded stories like this have to come to an end. This kind of thing will hurt all the boats. People will think the race is tainted.”

Dela said. “I’d like to say, before we leave the issue of the British information, that we have no information that the original Peregrine’s crew was involved in any criminal activity in the Nineteenth Century.”

“Nice of him,” Cutter whispered to Jolly.

Professor Tung stated. “We have researched our files and found that the ship had no criminal record in our country. The records of that time are poor but we have been going back over them to see if anything was overlooked. We are also doing the same with the other entries.”

“Don’t they realize the boats are in a hurricane?” Cutter interrupted, speaking to Jolly.

Jolly shook his head. “It’s as if the racers are not as important as the message they are providing the companies on the stock market. Stocks go up if they don’t get disqualified, but sinking, well, that doesn’t affect the prices. It’s a game of deflecting the press from the real issue.”

As Cutter watched, the words pinned over his son’s hammock ran through his mind. He said the words to himself.

“Use the wind. Do not let it use you.”

If he lives, he thought.

Tears came to his eyes. Then he saw Sparkles rush into the room, sunlight coming with her from outside. She waved at Cutter as she ran to him. Beside him, Lulu rushed to her and grabbing her arm, guided her through the crowd to Cutter’s side.

“What?”

“Our electronics has completely failed. We can’t raise the brig.”

“How long have you been trying?”

“We lost him right after you left. The sideband is gone and there’s nothing on the satellite phone either.”

“The electronics again?” he asked Sparkles.

“No,” she said. “It’s worse. A sudden loss of the radio and phone like that might mean the boat went right underwater.”

“Maybe not.”

“Yes,” she said, as she stared at him. “Maybe not.”

 He could see that Sparkles had something more to say.

Cutter asked, dreading her answer, “What is it?”

“We’ve got another problem. We held off until our own weather sources were confident in their data.”

“What could be worse?” asked Cutter, knowing the answer to that question.

She saw his eyes, his concern. “It’s the worst we feared. The storm has changed direction and has reversed itself. It’s going toward the east and its travel speed is much faster. I’m not sure any of the ships will be spared. The Peregrine will be directly in its path.”

Chapter 17

August 6, 10 AM

River Sunday

Cutter studied the chart on his desk. Sparkles had marked with small pins the tracks of all the racers prior to the loss of communication and international locator beacons. The estimated search area for the Peregrine was marked with a circle.

He stood, rolling the chart quickly, location pins popping into the air.

“Where are you going, Cutter?”

He held the chart in his large right hand and slapped it against his open left palm.

“Somebody’s got to do something,” he said as he looked first at Sparkles, then at Doc Jerry.

“I’ll get them to listen to us,” he said over his shoulder as he went out the office door into the morning sunlight. As the hot August air hit his face he felt instead the cold wind of the ocean storm as if he were there beside Jamie and Madeline. He felt aches in his arms from hauling on the heavy sail lines, fighting to keep the ship afloat, its bow aimed at the blasts of wind and high waves.

Jolly’s Ford pickup was parked at the curb, the keys in the ignition. Cutter climbed in and started the big V8 engine. He squealed the tires out into the road. If he had looked in the truck rear view mirror, he would have seen a grim-faced Doc Jerry standing in the office doorway, Sparkles beside him.