White Cargo

3

By the time they had been an hour under sail, to Cat’s relief, Denny had integrated himself smoothly into the running of the boat. Cat had enjoyed giving him an extensive tour of Catbird, showing off the details of his careful planning and superior electronics layout. Denny had been particularly interested in the small touches Cat had installed, like the large chart cabinet and the “gun deck” — the stainless steel, light shotgun in its hidden compartment. Denny had proved his worth with his expert handling of sail, sheet, winch, and helm, and Cat was already feeling relaxed and confident with his presence on the boat. Katie and Jinx had grown highly competent with the yacht, but it was good to have another man’s strength and expertise available in the event of some emergency.

Denny seemed to have grown somewhat more reticent, less ebullient, since their sailing, and Cat attributed this to the young man’s realization that he was, at last, on his way home. Cat wondered whether Denny’s reunion with his family, who, no doubt, disapproved of him, would be accomplished with more success than his own attempts to achieve some reconciliation with his own son, Dell. A scab never seemed to fully form over that wound, and Cat wondered, wearily, if it ever would.

Denny insisted on taking the eight-to-midnight watch so that the family could dine together. Cat would always remember that dinner — rare, because before Denny, the three of them could never sit down at the saloon table for dinner together. Their talk at that dinner seemed a summary of all the good things in their relationship. Over a bottle of a good California cabernet, they had fallen to reminiscing, Cat and Katie about their early married years, when Dell was small and Jinx tiny, and Cat was a struggling young engineer; Jinx about her memories of them in those days. They had laughed about the time when Jinx, three, had climbed high into a tree, then fallen asleep in the crotch of two limbs. They had been afraid to wake her for fear she would fall, and it had only been with some difficulty that Cat had finally managed to reach her. They had never been able to figure out how a three-year-old could have made such a climb. Cat thought of the incident as an early sign of the determination Jinx had always shown. He felt a pride and pleasure in her intelligence, beauty, and good sense that helped to make up for his disappointment in his son.

By midnight Katie was asleep and Jinx was nodding. “You’d better hit the sack, kid,” he said, reaching across the table and placing a hand on her warm cheek.

She crawled over next to him, ducked under his arm, and laid her head on his shoulder. “I think I’ll sleep right here,” she said, snuggling close.

“You used to go to sleep there all the time,” he said, stroking her thick, luxuriant hair. “I’d put you to bed when my arm got numb.”

“I remember,” she replied. “I wasn’t always asleep, you know.”

“I didn’t know.”

“I just liked it when you carried me to my bedroom and tucked me in.”

“I liked it, too.”

“I’m glad I didn’t go to college yet,” she murmured. “I’m glad I came with you and Mother on Catbird. I didn’t want to leave you, not yet.”

Cat wanted to reply, but his throat had tightened. Her head rolled a bit, and she was asleep. He gathered her in his arms and took her to the forecabin, tucking a sheet around her.

“Mmm,” she said as he brushed her hair away from her face. Cat kissed her on both eyes, the way he had done when she was a little girl, then he walked aft and started to shut the door to her cabin.

“G’night, Cat,” she said.

He laughed, then got into a safety harness, poured himself a cup of coffee to fortify himself against the wine, then climbed into the cockpit to relieve Denny at the helm. The wind was holding nicely, and the boat seemed to race through the waves. The sensation of speed was greatly increased at night, Cat reflected, especially on a dark night like this one.

“No thanks, Mr. Catledge,” Denny said in the darkness. “I’m happy to go all night, if that’s all right with you.”

“I don’t believe in all-nighters,” Cat said. “No need to wear yourself out your first twenty-four hours at sea by pulling two watches. Save your strength; you might need it later.” He slid behind the wheel and took it from the younger man. “Besides, this is my favorite watch, midnight to four. I’m too stingy to let you have it.”

“Well, if you insist,” Denny replied, rising reluctantly from the helmsman’s seat.

“I insist,” Cat laughed.

Denny climbed onto the deck from the cockpit. “I’ll just have a look forward, make sure everything’s shipshape.”

“Good idea,” Cat said, tossing him a safety harness from a cockpit locker and retrieving one for himself. “Ship’s law is nobody goes on deck at night without a harness. I’d prefer it if you wore one even at the helm. It’s a nuisance to have to come about and recover bodies from the sea.”

Denny got into the harness, clipped onto a jackstay, and worked his way forward. He spent a good ten minutes there, most of it behind the headsail, where he couldn’t be seen. Just enjoying the night, Cat thought.

When Denny had gone below, Cat experienced a tiny moment of regret. It seemed, with the warm Caribbean breeze blowing across his face, that he had reached some sort of peak, that things couldn’t get better than this, so they would have to get worse. Then, he remembered that, after the Panama Canal, the South Pacific lay before them, that there would be many more nights as lovely, many more days of tropical sunshine with his wife and daughter as crew and friends. He passed his watch in a haze of bliss.

At a quarter to four the galley light went on, and Cat knew that Katie was awake and brewing her tea. But shortly before four, Denny appeared in the companionway, holding a mug. “I was awake,” he said, “so I thought I’d let Mrs. Catledge sleep. I’d like the watch, if that’s okay.”

Cat shrugged. “If you’re sure you don’t need the rest.” He slid from behind the wheel and relinquished the helm.

“I’d rather pull the watch,” Denny replied. “Sleep well.”

Below, Cat got out of his harness, shucked off his jeans and T-shirt, and crawled into the double berth with Katie. She stirred as he snuggled close. “My watch?” she asked, sleepily.

“Denny’s taking it,” Cat said, cupping a breast in his hand.

“Oh, good,” she said, turning toward him. “I get you in the middle of the night, for a change.”

He kissed her, then they made love, gently, slowly, lying facing each other, coming quietly after a few minutes, together, as they usually did. Years of practice, Cat thought. Then he fell asleep.

A change in the motion of the yacht woke him. There was light against the curtains in the after cabin. Cat glanced at the gold-and-steel Rolex wristwatch Katie and Jinx had given him as a launching present: not quite 6 A.M. Why had the motion changed? Then the yacht, which had been heeled to port, rolled to starboard and seemed to settle. They were hove to; stopped. Then came a muffled, slithering sound and the thumps of footsteps on deck. The mainsail was coming down. Why? Had something broken? A halyard, maybe. The actions on deck seemed to fit that scenario. The main halyard had broken, and Denny had, quite properly, put the boat on the opposite tack, with the headsail backed while he got the mainsail in hand.

Cat rolled out of the berth, naked, got into his jeans, and felt for his Topsiders with his feet. He didn’t like to go on deck barefooted; he had once nearly broken a toe, tripping on a deck fitting. He moved slowly, sleepily into the saloon; there didn’t seem to be any great urgency; Denny was not calling for him. He climbed halfway up the companionway ladder and stopped, puzzled. The wheel was locked; Denny was standing on the stern of the boat, looking aft, shielding his eyes from a rising, red ball of a sun.

“What’s up, Denny?” Cat called out. “We got a problem?”

Denny turned and looked at him, silhouetted against the rising sun; Cat could not see his face.

“No, no problem,” Denny called back, then turned and looked astern again.

Cat climbed into the cockpit, raising a hand to shade his eyes. “Why are we stopped? What’s going on?”

Denny did not reply but continued to stare astern.

Now Cat heard an engine. He started aft toward Denny, staggering a bit with sleep and the gentle rolling of the yacht. He made the stem and climbed up beside Denny, holding on to the backstay for support as the hove-to boat rolled with the swell. “What is it?” he asked again.

“I don’t know,” Denny said, dully.

The young man seemed to be breathing rapidly, Cat thought. He looked out astern, the sun hurting his eyes, and, for the first time, saw a white shape that had to be a boat a few hundred yards out, coming toward them. The sound of an engine was distinct now, borne on the light breeze. Cat looked around the cockpit for the binoculars, then remembered that they had been stolen in Santa Marta. He squinted at the boat, trying to judge its shape and size. It seemed to be a sportfisherman, he thought, something on the order of thirty feet. It came on, steadily, toward Catbird.

“Why did you stop the boat, Denny?” Cat asked again.

The younger man stepped down from the stern and stood in the cockpit, still watching the approaching boat, now only a hundred yards away.

“Nothing’s wrong, Mr. Catledge,” Denny said. “Everything’s okay.”

Cat was wide awake now, and becoming irritated at the lack of an answer to his question.

“Denny, I asked you why you stopped the boat. Answer me.”

“Uh, there was a problem with the mainsail. I thought it ought to come down.”

It was as Cat had suspected, then. But what about the approaching boat? It was less than fifty yards away, and Cat could clearly make out a man and a woman on the flying bridge. There was a name visible on her bows, too: Santa Maria. The boat had slowed markedly, and her skipper was clearly bent on coming alongside. Cat could make out her crew’s features now. The woman, who seemed quite young, disappeared below. The man was in his mid-thirties, bearded, and rough-looking. Cat thought that all he needed was an eyepatch, and he’d look like a storybook pirate. Pirate. The word echoed in his head. He turned. “Denny,” he called back, evenly and distinctly, “please go below and hand me up the shotgun. Do it right now.”

“Yessir,” Denny said, immediately, and turned for the companionway ladder.

Cat turned back to the approaching boat, which had stopped perhaps ten yards off his port quarter. “What do you want?” he called to her skipper, who was leaning on the helm staring at Cat, keeping the throttle at idle. The man grinned broadly, exposing some gold teeth, but did not reply. Cat thought he must not speak English. He was trying to think of something else to say when he heard Denny’s footfall behind him. He turned to see the young man approaching, the shotgun in his hands. Katie was right behind him, coming up the ladder.

“What’s happening, Cat?” she was calling.

Cat reached out for the shotgun, and to his astonishment saw Denny step back and raise the weapon, pointing it directly at him.

“No fooling around, Denny,” Cat barked, alarmed. “I need that right now.”

Denny did not reply, nor did his expression change.

Cat stepped down from the stern and started toward Denny. He heard Katie call his name, and then a flat, heavy object seemed to strike his chest, propelling him backward. As his head struck the yacht’s wheel, a terrible roar filled his head, and he had just time to know that he had been shot before the noise spilled over into his vision, turning everything red, pressing him down, down into a dark place from which he knew he would never rise again. He tried to call out to those above him — Katie! Jinx! But he could only make a rattling noise as his breath left him and he sank into the darkness.