Just Different Devils (18 page)

A mile from the
bajo
, I halted the boat once again, pulled the dinghy against the  swim platform and cleated it off. "Come out, come out, wherever you are," I trilled.

Mac extricated himself from under the soggy, salt-encrusted blanket and snarled, "Very bloody clever, Hetta. What now?"

"I'm glad you asked. Take off the blankie so I can see what you've been up to."

"Shrew!"

"Now, now, compliments will get you no where. Disrobe for Hetta."

He peeled off the blanket and, as an act of defiance, threw it overboard. Dang, I loved that snuggly fleece. As I suspected, he'd managed to unwind the anchor chain from  his ankles.

"Okay, you know the drill. Retie that line, but only to one ankle this time. Tight."

He grumbled, but secured it around his left ankle. "Good boy. Tie the other end around your waist."

"You
are
a daftie. Absolutely baurmie." He pronounced it barmy.

"Not crazy enough to let you get back on this boat without some major impediments, Mate. Run the line around your neck and waist and tie them together. Cinch the anchor up against your belly button."

I let him stand and grab a cleat on the transom, but when he took a step up onto the platform, an anchor tine gouged his knee. "Ooowww."

"That's gonna leave a mark. You'll get the hang of it. Nice and easy does it. Up the ladder, maybe backwards. You'll figure it out. Hetta and her best friend, Mr. Springfield XDM, will be watching very carefully."

"Hure."

"I heard that. And for your information, I am not a hoor. I've never been paid for my favors."

It took some time, and a little pain on his part, but I finally got him all the way to the bridge, and into a dry shirt and hat I'd found in his cabin. From a distance, he'd look downright jaunty.

Letting him take the helm, which was an honorary position since we were on autopilot, I warned him of dire consequences should he try any tricky maneuvers as we neared the rendezvous site. Hunkering down with my back against the gunwale, I was out of sight from other boats, but somewhat vulnerable should Mac manage to jump me, anchor or no. In fact, the more I thought about it, the more paranoid I became.

The truth of the matter was I was very tired, and feared that eventually I'd drop my guard long enough for him to strike.

I threw him an extra long bungee cord I use in all kinds of handy ways when battening down the hatches for a blow. "Sit down in the captain's chair, wrap this around your wrist and the arm rest, and then throw both ends over your shoulder."

He slumped into the seat and didn't protest this latest order. I was pretty sure he was much more fatigued than I. Or at least I hoped so. The difference between us is I'd had twelve hours of sleep, thanks to whatever he put in my tea, and he'd been swimming, cold, and wet for over three hours. Still, a little insurance never hurts.

Pulling both ends of the bungee cord by the end hooks, I ran them over a rail and fastened them together. "Hey, yer cutting off my blood flow."

"You're lucky that's all I'm cutting off. Turn up the radio with your other hand."

I listened as boaters hailed each other and I knew some of them. I considered asking them for help, and they would come as fast as they could, because that is what cruisers do,  but if I did, whoever waited for us at the
bajo
might hear me, as well.

Suddenly realizing my attentiveness had strayed, I snapped to attention and saw that Mac had shifted his weight, turned his head, and was intently eyeballing me. It reminded me of the book,
Life of Pi
, where an Indian boy was trapped in the Pacific Ocean in a life raft.

For two hundred and twenty-seven days.

With a Bengal Tiger.

"Don't even think about it."

"I dinna do anything."

"You looked at me."

"My sincere apologies."

"Sarcasm will get you shot."

He grinned. "Well, then, I wouldn't have to look at you again, would I?"

Touche!

Why, oh, why are all the bad ones so damned charming?

Half a mile out, the radar revealed there was not one, but two boats ahead. And I picked up a third, larger, making a beeline for the
bajo
. Crap! Sure, I had a gun, but I wasn't Wonder Woman. Of course, Wonder Woman and I have never been seen in the same room, so there could be some doubt there, huh?

Anyhow, so much for arriving in stealth mode. Scanning with my binoculars, I saw the boats already at the bajo were pangas. One was white and just a regular old everyday panga, but the other was a super panga I knew well. Nacho's boat. What the hell? It had been hauled away by a contingent of Marines, and now it was back?

Oh, and the other boat coming our way? A shrimper, just like the one we'd seen hunkered in Partida during the blow. In fact,
exactly
like the shrimper in Partida during the norther. I zeroed in with my binoculars and confirmed that it was the same one Jan had scored shrimp and some
lenguado
—California Halibut—from:
Pelicano.
Were they part of this passel of punks? Or could I count on them as allies?

I told Mac to throttle back and let us drift until I could see whether
Pelicano
was actually in route for the
bajo
or was merely crossing the Sea. Many of these boats come from Mazatlan and San Carlos, on the mainland, so it was possible that's where he was headed.

I checked aft to make sure the dinghy's polypropylene tow line was floating on the surface. The last thing I needed right now was for it to sink and get wrapped in the prop. I'd customarily snug the dinghy to the swim platform to avoid this, but I was loath to leave Mac alone on the bridge.

We lingered, observing both the radar screen and the pangas. The two small boats at the
bajo
were stationary, moored, in fact, as I could see anchor lines descending from the bows. The shrimper was steaming at a pretty good clip towards them, and I'd know his intentions within a few minutes. If he passed by, it was one less thing to worry about, and I could surely use a break about now.

So, of course, the big boat slowed and headed straight for the
bajo
.

Oddly, Mac cursed under his breath. I interpreted this as a good thing. Was I gonna get that break, after all? Was the
Pelicano's
crew
not
in cahoots with the others and was just checking out the two boats? In which case, I needed to get there, pronto, in the event I had to ask them for a helping hand. Or a hand grenade.

"Let's go, Laddie. Put us in gear and bring her up to fifteen knots. If I'm going to engage some bad guys then at least I'll have witnesses."

Mac gave me a look I could only read as entirely sincere, and said quietly, "Ye do na know what you're about, Lass. Better you let me go. I'll swim in, and you can leave."

"Oh, sure. And with two go-fast boats in pursuit I wouldn't even make it to the anchorage."

"I can ensure you do. Let me go, and I promise no one will come after you. You have my word on it. Only one thing though, I will need
your
word you will remain at the anchorage for three more days, and you canna tell anyone
anything
about your situation. And, if you promise to do as I say, Nacho will be returned to you."

"Your
word
? Which we both know isn't worth a bowl of spit? Do I look that stupid?"

He refrained from answering that last question lest I force him back into the drink with that anchor still attached.

As we approached the growing flotilla at the
bajo
, someone waved at us from Nacho's boat. "Wave back, Mac. Make them think all is well, and whatever crappy plot you jerks have hatched is working. And why three days? What's happening during that time?"

He clammed up.

"Okay, then, tell me this much, at least. Is that Nacho's boat?"

"Yes."

Okay, he was telling the truth there. "How did your partners in crime get it? The last I heard it was being towed into La Paz by the Mexican Navy."

"Trust me, Hetta, the less you know, the better."

"I never like knowing less. In fact, I want to know it
all
."

"Aye, you are that."

I let his dig slide. If this mysterious "they" only needed three more days to accomplish something that involved kidnapping, and perhaps murder, it must be coming to a head fast. Maybe that is why he couldn't take the time to go all the way to Mag Bay with me? Or, did I have something on board they wanted? Or, was it my boat he wanted?

Too many unanswered questions, along with a narcotic hangover, made my head throb. I was far too fatigued and under-gunned to engage in a dust up at sea with an unknown number of bad guys.

"Okay, Mac. I'm going to gamble and trust you, which is probably the stupidest thing I've done since day before yesterday when I trusted you."

He looked like he couldn't believe his good luck, so I let him know I meant bidness. "Here is what is going to happen. I'm going to let you swim to your nefarious friends, but if I see anything at all that alarms me, and I mean anything, I'm going to run you down with this boat. Those Red Devils can't hold a candle to what mayhem a couple of bronze props at high rpm can do. Got that?"

"Aye."

"You will tread water for thirty minutes before swimming for the
bajo
. I don't think we have to synchronize our watches because if you leave that spot before your time is up, I will be on the radio calling in the gendarmes and everyone else in this area, so whatever you guys are up to will go to Hell in a handbasket."

"Ten minutes."

"You're
bargaining
with me?"

"I just know what will work. Fifteen."

"Deal."

"You will no regret this. There is much more at stake than you know."

"You could tell me, but obviously you won't. So, for now, I'll let the bungee cord go, and you work your way to the back of the boat, nice and slowly." Like he had a choice, what with an anchor around his waist.

The bungee cord was stretched to its very limit, and I had trouble unhooking it from the rail. When I finally worked one end loose it went flying and the plastic-coated hook hit Mac in the back of his head quite smartly. "Watch it!"

"Oops. Stand up and move on down."

"I canna swim with this albatross of an anchor around me."

"I know that. But you can walk with it, so get to it."

He executed a Quasimodo lurch down to the back deck, each step punctuated with a curse as the anchor hit him in some personal places. Then, under the watchful barrel of my new best friend, he unwound himself from his trusses, dropped the anchor onto the deck, and before he dove overboard, turned and said, "Hetta, thank you for your trust. I haven't earned it, I know, but if something happens to me, I want you to know it wasn't your fault." Before putting the boat in gear I yelled back, "It might be if you doublecross me!"

He shook his head and hollered. "Haggendass!" as he swam away.

Wondering what manner of Scottish slur he'd besmirched me with as a parting shot, I waved him my own single-digit gesture, redlined the tachs, and hauled ass for Partida. 

Pelicano
had turned north and put on some speed as well, but as I pulled away, it turned back. Hells, bells

Turning on the autopilot, I kept an eye on both Mac and the shrimp boat with my binoculars. Mac, the rat, didn't tread water for more than a couple of minutes before striking out for the pangas. So much for
his
word!
Never mind, Hetta, you'll be out of sight around the end of the island before he can even reach the
bajo
, and the shrimper couldn't catch me now if he wanted to. 

For insurance, however, I picked up the mic on my VHF and turned the radio power on HIGH. "Any vessel vicinity of Isla Partida, this is
Raymond Johnson
. I am inbound to the north end of Partida with an onboard emergency. Request medical assistance."

The radio sprang to life with a jumble of responses.

Now I had a posse on the way, and the last thing Mac and company wanted was a bunch of witnesses if, or more likely when, they came after me in those fast moving pangas. But, I wouldn't sic the gendarmes on them. Yet. After all, I didn't exactly want the authorities on
my
tail, either.

However, I was going to have to come up with a convincing medical emergency, because crying wolf to other cruisers is a sure-fire way to end up on the receiving end of a verbal flogging as well as getting a bad reputation. Okay, so maybe it was way too late for that bad rep thing.