The Double-Cross In Paradise: Episode 10, Exposure

This is episode ten in the sixth novel of The Trace Troy Adventure Series. It is titled The Double-Cross in Paradise. Here are the links to  The Double-Cross InmParadise: paperback, Kindle.  

Exposure 

Patterson, Margot, Erin, and Zoey squeezed together on the bench behind the mess table. 

Tom and Paul staggered into the mess and salon area.

“We’re in for a little rough going for the next few hours,” Tom said. “It’s not as bad as it feels.”

“It’s probably worse,” Patterson said.

“This boat is made for seas and weather like this,” Tom said. 

“So was the Titanic,” Zoey said.

“We’re not ramming icebergs,” Paul said. 

Makani’s face appeared at the opening between the galley and the mess. “This nothing. Trace, good captain. I  been with him longer than anybody. He know how to handle boat in bad weather.”

They calmed, yet their eyes widened with each violent thrust or roll of the boat.

Makani passed out Dramamine as a precaution. Paul and Tom secretly took a pill.

Makani prepared breakfast. He glided around the galley as if performing a ballet. He seemed to sense each violent thrust of The Tramp Islander. His nonchalant preparation likely had more to do with his desire to calm the passengers than anything else.  

The passengers nibbled on toast and sipped coffee or tea.

“How high are the waves?” Patterson asked after a particularly noticeable thrust.

“Fifteen feet,” Tom said.

“Captain Troy has steered ships in thirty and forty-foot waves,” Paul said calmly. 

Erin stood at his place and twisted around to look out the porthole. “My god, all I see is water.”

“Yeah,” Patterson said sarcastically, “we’re in the middle of the ocean.”

“No, it’s like we’re down in the water,” Erin settled fearfully into his seat as the boat rose.

“We have only dipped into a swell,” Paul said matter-of-factly. “It happens all the time. It’s like driving in hill country. Swells are like the contour of the land, except they move, and the ship moves with them, just like a car following the contour of the road.”

“That no make sense to me,” Makani said from the galley.

“You’ll have to visit the States sometime,” Tom said. 

“You mean like Eastern Washington?” Margot said. “You drive along and there is nothing but green hills all around you, and a minute later you’re on top of a hill and you see nothing but the tops of the other hills.”

“Exactly,” Paul said. “There, it is called the Palouse, right?”

“Yes,” Margot said. “Have you been there?”

“Once,” Paul said.

“That’s where I go to college,” Margot said. “Where did you go to college?”

“Harvard,” Paul answered, and quickly attempted to dash from the mess. 

It spurted from his mouth before thinking. He knew a flurry of questions and maybe doubt might follow.

“Harvard!” Patterson blurted. “And you’re a deckhand. I didn’t know that was offered at Harvard. I should check into that.”

“Don’t be too smart,” Makani said from the opening between the galley and mess. “He have what called a PhD. Don’t know what you mean.”

“Phenomenally Dumb,” Patterson said sarcastically. “What are you phenomenally dumb in?”

“Come-backs to Pampered Hebetude Dullards,” Paul said.

“Don’t even try,” Tom said to Patterson. “He’s way over your head.”

Patterson recoiled and glanced at his fellow passengers. 

“I don’t have any idea what he called you,” Zoey squirmed.

“Seriously,” Margot said to Paul and lifted her head, “what in?”

“Mathematics,” Paul said.

“What are you doing here?” Erin asked.

“Fair question,” Paul said and grabbed an overhead railing to brace himself. “But I won’t go into a long explanation. My father thought it would be good for me to work for Captain Troy.”

“And what does Daddy do?” Patterson smirked.

“My dad is what you might call a mob boss,” Paul said. “His name is Waldo Franks. Look him up. He’s in prison now. Captain Troy helped put him there. My dad told me, any man smart enough to put him away is smart enough to teach you life lessons not taught in college. So here I am.” Paul smiled politely. “What about you, Patterson?”

“What about me?” Patterson grinned while his eyes rolled as if expecting the sea to crash in on him.

“You see,” Paul said, “you don’t know where you’ve been, where you’re at, or what’s next.” Paul paused to allow that to register. “And to be fair, I’m just starting to figure those things out, myself. This storm, this sea, this moment should give you pause to think.” Paul smiled politely. “I was on my way to take a leak, so you’ll have to excuse me.”

“We should have flown,” Zoey said. 

“You folks aren’t married, are you?” Tom asked.

They all said no.

“This gives each of you a chance to see how the other reacts under pressure,” Tom said. “It’s a euphemism, but marriage has some rough seas. Frankly, you all will handle tough times like you handle this situation.”

“And where did you earn your master's?” Patterson smirked and jerked with the turbulence. 

“I never completed a degree,” Tom said. “I’m what you might call an autodidact,”

“You can write with both hands?” Margot asked. 

“Yeah,” Tom said. 

“You’ll have to show us sometime,” Patterson said.

Tom grinned and stared pathetically at them. “Does anyone wish to ask any questions about autodidacts?”

“Sure,” Patterson said. “What is your dominant hand?”

“That depends,” Ton said.

“On what?” Erin asked.

“The equator,” Tom said.

“What’s that got to do with it?” Zoey asked.

“If I’m facing east and in the northern hemisphere, my left hand is more dominant,” Tom said. “If I’m south of the equator, my right hand is most dominant.”

“What if you turn around?” Patterson said.

“It all changes,” Tom said.

Tom grinned. “And you folks are all naivety—easily fooled. Autodidactic means self-educated.” 

“So we’re gullible?” Patterson questioned.

“Indeed,” Tom continued. “It stems from a variety of reasons, but I suspect the cases of you folks it come from a lack of exposure to the real world. Also, I’d strongly suggest there are other underlying reasons, such as a lack of critical thinking and, most disturbing, low self-esteem.”

“What?” Patterson blurted.

“It’s treatable,” Tom assured. 

“What makes you such an expert?” Erin tried to move forward in his seat but was pushed back by an unexpected thrust from the sea.

Tom grinned confidently. “You four are more like Paul and me than you think.”

“What about Captain Troy, Sage, and Makani?” Patterson said.

Paul staggered from the head and into the mess. “We’re here to learn from them—and not the sea.”

“And what valuable lessons have been passed on?” Patterson swayed sarcastically.

“Well,” Paul’s lips tightened as if thinking deeply, “in rough seas, no matter what you’re doing in the head, it’s best to do it sitting.”

The Double-Cross In Paradise; Preparing For A Storm, Episode 9

 This is episode nine in the sixth novel of The Trace Troy Adventure Series. It is titled The Double-Cross in Paradise. Here are the links to  The Double-Cross InmParadise: paperback, Kindle.  

Preparing For A Storm 

    There is always a feeling of complete detachment from the world when the last sighting of land sinks below the sea’s horizon. It is as if suddenly the vessel you are on is the only thing in existence other than the seas. Then it becomes a battle, you and the sea and the weather. 

The sea and weather are not governed or adjusted by intellect or a sense of conscience. Its will is expressed through natural physical occurrences that had their beginning ages ago.

At times, Trace wondered if one of those forces might not manifest itself in one of those once-in-a-thousand-year displays. A perfect storm. A perfect rogue wave of never-before-seen proportions. However, he was mostly aware of the real danger at sea: complacency. He had heard of sailors merely standing at the rail, looking at the sea. And suddenly fall into it. He heard of captains steering forward and crashing into the rocks they had been fixed on for an hour. The sea can make you forget what you are looking at.

That is the reason for training Paul and Tom. Fresh eyes are needed at the helm. And trained eyes and skills. To some, time at the helm can be a torturous exercise. Trace needed to find out who he could depend upon to take the helm in times of torture. 

He looked forward to training Paul and Tom. They were eager and fresh. They didn’t have a couple of years of bad habits to break.

Thus, the time Trace spent training Paul and Tom was good. They both learned quickly and asked compelling questions. They took initiative, but only on things Trace trained them to do. 

The passengers livened the deck with playful antics. Trace reminded them once about being very careful near the rail. “Always have an eye on the sea. This boat is one hundred and five feet long to us, but to the sea it’s not even a matchbox, it is a matchstick.”

They appeared appreciative of the advice; however viewed it as only hyperbole. 

On the second night out to sea, Sage manned the helm. The night started clear. The sky was salted with stars. 

Sage stepped out the aft door of the pilothouse and looked into the sky. “Where did the stars go. I know they’re still there,” he muttered.

He stepped back into the pilothouse and looked at the barometer. He picked up the ship’s phone and punched Trace’s cabin.

Trace struggled to the phone hanging on the inner wall of the cabin. He picked up the phone. “The checks in the mail. What’s up?”

“Thought I’d let you know, clouds have come in and the barometric pressure is dropping quickly.”

Trace stretched and yawned. “What kind of winds?”

“They’ve picked up a little. Nothing that concerned me but the barometer dropping, I thought I’d give ya a call.”

“Right thing to do. I’ll be up as soon as I get dressed.”

By the time Trace climbed to the pilothouse, Sage had already heard a weather report.

“We’re heading into fifty knot winds,” Sage said and asked, “Should we reef now?”

“Let’s not play around,” Trace said. “Let’s drop the sails and batten down the hatches.”

Sage called Makani’s, Paul’s, and Tom’s cabins. Minutes later,  Sage flipped on all the deck lights. 

Trace grabbed the mic, and called out over the deck speaker, “Safety, safety, safety!”  

Paul and Tom unloosened the halyards and eased the sails down. By the time they were fastening the sails down, the wind blew at a steady thirty knots. 

Trace started the engine.

After securing the deck, Sage rushed out and double-checked everything. He turned back to the pilothouse and heaved a thumbs-up. 

Paul and Tom entered the pilothouse from the aft door, dripping wet. They teetered and steadied themselves, latching hold of the ceiling's grab rails.  

“Good job,” Trace commended. 

“Thanks,” Paul and Tom said.

“Part of our duty,” Trace instructed as his eyes danced from the bow to the instrument panel, “is to keep the passengers calm. There are almost as many of them as there are of us. We don’t need four crazy people crying and screaming. Expect them to be scared. You can’t slap the fear out of them, you have to show them by example there’s nothing to fear—even if your own drawers are full of crap.”

“Are you scared?” Tom asked.

“I’m at a heightened state of awareness defined as ‘holy crap,’” Trace grinned, and his face changed to a serious calm. “I can’t allow fear to crowd my abilities to control the boat in times like these. Fear can be a roadblock to good decisions. No one wants trembling hands on the wheel.”

“Have you been in storms like this before?” Paul asked.

“Worse,” Trace said, “but that doesn’t make this any less dangerous.”  

“How long will it go on like this?” Tom asked.

“Just so you know,” Trace said, scanning forward from side to side, “it’s going to get worse for the next six to twelve hours, then it will calm down to what we have now.”

Sage slammed to aft door to the pilot house as he stumbled in, dripping wet. “Holy moly, I feel a toad strangler coming on.”

“What’s that?” Tom asked.

Trace flicked water off his arms, “The scientific term is gullywasher. Oh, right, we’re at sea. That’s a gale or squall. Back home, that’s a girl’s name and a common Indian name for women. Don’t you two get all correctional with me, I’m making a joke.”

“We’ve been around you long enough,” Paul said. “Hasn’t Trace told you yet, you can’t crap while laughing. It’s impossible. You should try it sometime.” 

A mixture of male and female panicked voices reached the pilothouse. Everyone looked at each other as if that was expected.

“Paul, Tom,” Trace said, “do you think you can quell the fears?” 

Paul and Tom held tight to the railings and swayed uncontrollably. 

“I’ll put some music on,” Tom said and swayed to the companionway.

The Double-Cross In Paradise; Episode 8, Goodbye Fiji

 This is episode eight in the sixth novel of The Trace Troy Adventure Series. It is titled The Double-Cross in Paradise. Here are the links to  The Double-Cross InmParadise: paperback, Kindle.  

Goodbye Fiji

Trace woke naturally. Not from anxiety, but a contentment that lay deep inside him for the love of what the day might bring. He remembered as a boy, his granddad and dad in the kitchen long before anyone else had awoken. Over a cup of coffee, with no words spoken, they imagined and planned the day. There were no intrusions or distractions. Decisions and discussions were reduced to a minimum of words. A simple “yes” or “no” might be all that was needed to proceed.

Trace slipped on his clothing. He stepped out of his cabin. He looked down the hallway. A light came from beneath Makani’s cabin. Trace opened the door of the head and stepped in. He splashed water on his face. He looked in the mirror and rubbed the three days of stubble on his face. “Tomorrow,” he mumbled.

He plodded up the companionway and into the pilothouse. He walked out the aft door and inspected the deck. As he did that, he loosened The Tramp Islander’s aft and bow lines and tossed them on deck.

Sage met him on deck as he jumped back on board.

“That’s a deckhand's job,” Sage said.

“I was up and decided to do it myself,” Trace said.

“What kind of shape were the passengers in when they returned?” Sage asked.

“They were happy,” Trace said. “They should be. I’ll have another heart-to-heart with them about safety. I want them to have a good time. Maybe what they’re doing is not too different than what we are doing at the age.”

“Ah, you’re gotten’ soft and sentimental,” Sage said. “And I was thinking the same thing.”

They walked back to the pilothouse.

Makani came up the companionway with three cups of coffee on a tray.

“Just in time,” Trace said, lifting a cup from the tray. He sat in the captain’s chair. 

Sage grabbed his cup and sat in the chair at the chart desk. Makani sat on the bench with his coffee. No words were spoken in the pilothouse, lit only by the instrument lights and a small night light above the chart desk. 

Each man sipped their coffee in the silence of early morning. Their heads turned at the sound of steps coming up the companionway. Paul and Tom slogged up the steps, each with a coffee.

“Is this a private meeting?” Tom asked.

“Not anymore,” Trace squeezed a tired grin. “Have a seat.”

They sat on the bench with Makani.

“Just kidding,” Trace said. “Just a quiet coffee.”  

Trace looked at the clock on the panel. It was 4:00 AM. “I know why I’m up, and Sage is just like me. And Makani, well, he’s Makani, but why are you two up?”

“We heard you were shoving off at four,” Paul said. “And we wanted to be on duty—do our job, toss the lines.”

“Sage and I handled that,” Trace said. 

“That’s a deck hand’s job,” Tom said. 

Trace glanced at Sage. They exchanged a telepathy cultivated over years of friendship. ‘This is exactly what we want to hear.’

Paul and Tom noticed the looks on Trace’s and Sage’s faces. They were not sure what it meant. To them, it appeared not to be negative, so they both raised their eyebrows slightly to signal satisfaction. 

“I was going to move slowly out of the harbor and wake you guys around five,” Trace said. “In Suva, Sage usually mans the pulpit and makes sure there’s nothing in the way. The harbor is full of wrecks. There’s nothing for you two to do.”

“One of us could be with Sage and the other in the pilothouse with you,” Paul said. “We could be learning something.”

Trace looked at Sage once again. The telepathy between them said, ‘Why didn’t we think of that?’

“So who wants to do where?” Trace said.

“I’ll take Tom,” Sage said. “I hear he was a crack guard back on the island. He’s a trained observer.”

Paul and Tom agreed with a look at each other and a nod.

“Let’s finish our coffee,” Trace said. “Then you two head to the pulpit,” he said to Sage and Tom. 

They finished their coffee. Makani climbed below. Sage and Tom headed for the pulpit. Trace and Paul remained in the pilothouse.

Trace sat in the captain’s chair, and Paul stood at his right. 

“This button,” Trace said, pointing at a chrome metal button. “It’s the starter.” Trace depressed it with his thumb. “Do you hear the engine?”

“Yes,” Paul said.

“That’s all there is to that,” Trace said. “This here gauge is the oil pressure. It should be at forty. Is it forty?”

“Yes,” Paul said.

“Here’s the throttle,” Trace said. “It’s in neutral. Push forward, you go forward. Pull back, it goes back. The further from neutral, the more RPMs the propeller spins.”

Trace moved the throttle slightly forward. He pointed to a digital gauge. That’s the speed in knots. A knot is 1.15 miles. We only want to do about three knots.”

And they were on their way. An hour later, the sails were hoisted. They sailed two miles off the southern coast of Fiji.  

By the time Makani had the evening meal on the table, Fiji lay serenely off the starboard aft.