Wood's Harbor (25 page)

He left the cabin and sealed the door, guessing from the age of the boat that the cabin was constructed as a watertight compartment, but that was to isolate the damage and prevent sinking, not enable them to run at speed. Once the compartment filled, the bow would drop deeper and deeper into the water, unbalancing the boat. 

For once he appreciated the life jacket wrapped around Alicia and called to her, “And watch that door. If water comes out, sound the alarm.” She glanced up from the screen, a panicked look on her face, which grew worse as he stopped to grab two life vests from the netting above his head and took them with him. 

“TJ,” he yelled and exited the cabin. “Let Tru drive and help me. We’re taking on water.” The man instantly reacted and handed over the controls to the Cajun. In one step he was down the ladder and standing in front of Mac. “We took a hit from one of the missiles. Water is pouring in the forward cabin.” Mac handed him a life vest which he let fall to the deck and threw the other to the bridge, where it lay ignored. 

Mac didn’t wait for the man to take action. “Do you have a spare bilge pump? Or pull the one you’ve got. That’ll stem the tide, but we need to make a repair. Where are your tools?” Mac streamed off the questions and TJ reacted quickly. He went into the cabin and pulled the seats off the settee, dug through the compartment and handed Mac a small, battery-operated pump. It was rated for eleven-hundred gallons per minute, enough to help, but not solve the problem. “Get the wash down hose and we’ll hook it up,” Mac said, looking at the supplies in the compartment. 

There were some tools and plugs for the through-hull fittings, but they were all too small to seal the gaping hole. He looked at the cushion TJ had tossed on the floor, grabbed it and opened the door. Water poured over the raised door sill. The hole looked slightly larger as Mac stuffed the cushion into it. The water slowed, but he knew the repair was only temporary. One wave could take it out. 

“Here.” TJ stood in the doorway staring at the damage to his boat. 

Mac took the hose and attached it to the outflow on the pump. “We need some wire, about ten feet of two-strand.” He unscrewed the lens from one of the cabin lights, the only source of power available, and pulled the fixture from the ceiling. TJ came back with two small spools of wire and a pair of cutters, handed them to Mac, and stood watching while he rigged the pump.

“I got this,” Mac said. “Can you get an update from Tru and Alicia?” 

TJ left him alone in the cabin. Bracing himself against the V berth, he waited out another wave before the boat settled enough for him to attach the wire. He turned the light switch on and the other fixtures dimmed, but the pump started to work. But the relief was short-lived. The waves had shifted the cushion and more water poured in. He stood there with the outlet hose in his hand and finally stuffed it in the hole. It was a start, but didn’t solve the problem. He looked around for anything that could seal the hole. The surest way was from the outside, where the water pressure would hold the patch in place, but that was not an option. He heard an explosion close enough to shake the hull. The hole had to be patched from the inside. The seat cover was leaking badly and every wave enlarged the opening.

Surrender was always an option, but not one he cared to explore. He needed to get back to Marathon and help Mel. Another explosion rocked the boat. He went out to the deck. There were only two boats after them now, the smaller Zodiacs having turned back. The boats were too far back for him to see much detail over the white-capped waves, but from the age of the Cuban Naval ships he had seen, he doubted they could overtake them. They seemed to be matching speed, but at least for now, their missiles were falling short. 

“What’s our speed?” he yelled up to Trufante. 

“Twenty-two; it’s the best I can get from her.” 

Mac knew they could get another five to ten knots if he could stabilize the hull. That might make the difference between escape, and either death or a Cuban jail. He looked back at the boats chasing them and noticed the rows of dive tanks strapped to each side of the boat. There was something there, but it eluded him. Another shell exploded behind them, sending a stream of water onto the deck, this one a little closer than the last. The boats were closing. 

He went back into the cabin and saw Alicia huddled in the corner, clutching her life jacket. Looking at her, he was reminded about all the ships that had sunk and the powerless passengers that awaited death or rescue. Then he knew what to do. The shipbuilders had started using ballast tanks and airtight compartments to keep ships afloat if they were damaged. Even the Titanic had floated for five hours before sinking. The tanks held the answer. 

“I need some help,” he called to Alicia, knowing she would be better off having something to do. “Find a knife and cut the cover off the cushion.” She stared at him, her eyes wide with fear, but finally moved. He left her and went on deck. A quick glance confirmed the boats were closing. He heard the whistle of bullets flying around the deck. “One of you guys give me a hand,” he yelled to the bridge. TJ jumped down the ladder, but just as he hit the deck, blood spurted from his thigh. He fell, clutching the wound and screaming. 

Alicia emerged from the cabin and stood motionless staring in horror at the wound. 

“Give me a hand here,” Mac called to her trying to break the spell. He noticed a colorful beach towel left by a diver under the bench, grabbed it and wrapped it around TJ's leg. Blood quickly saturated it and he looked around for something to stem the tide. The towel was soaked and he feared the bullet had hit an artery. A dock line tied to a stern cleat was the closest thing at hand. He reached for it, inserted the line through the loop tied on the other end and placed it over the towel. With the line threaded backwards over the loop, he pulled tight enough to stop the flow, ignoring TJ's screams. Satisfied, he wrapped it around again and tied off the end. “Stay with him. You’ve got to keep him conscious,” he told Alicia. He spotted the dive gear on the deck where he and Trufante had dropped it. 

Bullets flew past, but he ignored them, and dragged the dive tank and gear through the cabin and into the forward berth. The boat shuddered again and he felt the concussion of a missile on the port side. With one motion, he hefted the weight of the tank and gear onto the berth. He unbuckled the BC, pulled it off of the tank and set it below the hole, trying to get everything prepared before pulling the cushion. Once he was ready, he removed the cushion ignoring the water gushing into the cabin. The bilge pump strained, but was worthless with the amount of seawater entering the boat and he tossed the hose to the side. He worked to maneuver the BC into the hole, but the weights still in its pockets caught on the opening, forcing him to waste valuable seconds while he pulled the vest back out and pulled the lead out. Water was streaming over the threshold. 

“Alicia!” he yelled. Her face appeared in the open cabin door. “Tell them to raise the bow with the trim tabs.”

“Trim what?” she asked. 

“Trim the boat. Hurry, tell them.” He didn’t wait for an answer. Without the weights, he was able to place the BC in the opening and pushed the button to inflate the vest. Air rushed in and the vest expanded, filling the hole and stemming the flow of water. The boat responded almost immediately. Whether it was the trim tabs, the repair, or both, he felt it climb the waves, rather than crash into them. With the discharge hose for the bilge pump in hand, he left the cabin, wrapped the hose around the closest dive tank and watched the water pour into the ocean. 

He ducked as a blast of water caught him off-guard, but noticed it had hit behind the boat. They had picked up enough speed to separate from the Cuban boats and he stood by the transom, catching his breath and watching the water behind them as several more shells exploded, each further away. From the bridge he heard Trufante yell in victory, but he knew they had a long way to go and a lot could happen before they got there. He turned his attention back to Alicia, who had TJ propped up against a cooler, helping him sip from a bottle of water. 

“You going to make it?” he asked.

“Looks like we all will,” he said. “Damn! A beer would be good after that shit.”

Mac slapped him on the back, smiled at Alicia, and went to check the forward cabin. The floor was wet but there was no standing water, the pump able to pull the water out. The BC had only drips of water coming from it. He watched the repair when they hit another wave and realized the pressure against the damaged hull had stabilized the area. 

“What’s our speed?” he asked Trufante as he climbed the ladder to the flybridge.

“Damn near thirty knots – looks like we lost the buggers.”

Mac looked behind and watched the boats fading in the distance, then turned to the chart plotter and noticed that the red dot marking their position was in international waters. The Gulf Stream had pulled them further east than he would have liked, making landfall in Key West difficult, so he set the cursor on Marathon and pushed the Go To button.

THIRTY TWO

The coast became familiar as they crossed the reef at Loo Key and followed Hawks Channel heading towards Marathon. Mac leaned against the railing, anxious now that they were getting close to Mel. The patch had held and TJ seemed to be OK. He would need a hospital, but the bleeding was under control and he was obviously not in shock from the way he was flirting with Alicia. They were almost home and he wondered if Mel was still alive, and if the entire ordeal had gotten him anywhere. Norm was dead and he was no closer to clearing his name than when they left. His only chance was the woman wearing the bright orange life jacket. Not a reassuring picture for his future. 

“Can you two break it up for a minute,” he said over the Jimmy Buffet music Trufante had blaring on the sound system. They looked at him as if he was ruining their party. “Alicia, I need your help.”

She rose from the deck and Mac noticed their hands pause before they let go. 

They moved into the cabin. “Norm made some promises. I did what he asked and need to see Mel,” Mac said. They replaced the cushions on the settee and sat down. 

“Oh.” She paused. “With all this going on, I forgot to tell you.”

“Tell me what?”

“I hacked into the hospital’s computer.” She paused again. “Yesterday, I think, and found some falsified test results from a bullshit doctor in Miami.”

Mac stared at her, surprised by her language, waiting for her to continue. 

“I emailed a co-worker and asked him to check it out,” she said and pulled the computer closer. The VHF was on the floor with an assortment of other gear that hadn’t been secured. 

Mac waited while she checked TJ’s phone and set it next to the computer. “Don’t you need the radio?”

“No, I’ve got four bars on the phone. It’ll work as a hot-spot. Be faster too.”

He waited while she worked through several screens and finally stopped to read. “Here. This is the response: Doctor handled and test results removed.”

“That’s it?” He was getting frustrated by the lack of information. “It’s Saturday, isn’t it?” he asked.

“I know. They are supposed to make a decision today,” she said. “I can pull up her records.”

“OK,” Mac said and raced from the cabin, passing TJ on the deck and climbing the ladder two rungs at a time. “Head for Boot Harbor and turn in the canal by the hospital. Trufante nodded. “And shut that crap off. We’re trying to run incognito here, you know. There might be a few folks looking for the boat that outran the Cuban Navy.”

He went back down to the cabin, checking on TJ as he went. He nodded back and Mac glanced over the rail. The beach at Bahia Honda was off to the left, putting them about ten miles from the hospital. Alicia was working the screen when he returned and he was surprised to find the life jacket to the side. 

She looked up as he sat next to her. “The test results have been removed and there is a note that her condition is unchanged. Treatment is pending a review by the ethics committee at four pm.”

“What time is it?” he asked.

“Three,” she answered. “Can we make it?”

“I think so, but I can’t walk right in there like I came back from the dead.” He slumped back in defeat.

“Actually, you can. You had the power to do that all along.”

Mac stared at her. “What about what Norm said?”

“I’m sorry, but he lied about that, as well as everything else, to facilitate his plan. The worst that could have happened was you would be arrested, but even incarcerated, you would retain your role as decision-maker.”

“So, let me get this straight. I can walk in the hospital, go to the meeting, and they have to listen to me.”

“Exactly,” she said and started typing. “I’ll send the hospital an email and let them know to wait for you.”

He set his hand over hers to stop her. “No. They’ll have the sheriff there. Let me surprise them. After the meeting I can deal with whatever fallout I have to.” He looked at her. “Don’t suppose you can help me with that?” he asked.

***

Mac paced the deck as the boat passed under the old Boot Key Bridge and entered the mooring field. He looked at the canal leading to his house, but turned away and searched for the Thirtieth street canal off to the left. Trufante appeared to be steering right for it and he went to TJ. 

“Can you put any weight on it?” he asked. “Hospital’s right up there, but there’s no dock and we’re going to have to walk a few blocks.” 

TJ looked up at him and extended a hand. Mac hauled the man to his feet. 

“I can put some weight on it. Hurts like all hell though,” he said. 

Mac looked around the deck and saw a boat hook latched to the gunwale. He released it from the bungee cords securing it and handed it to TJ. “See how that works.”

TJ took a few tentative steps, using the hook for a cane, and sat on the bench. “It’ll work.”