The Double-Cross In Paradise; Episode 14. Night Talk

This is episode fourteen 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 In Paradise: paperback, Kindle. 

Night Talk 

An hour into Trace’s time at the wheel, storm clouds gathered from the southwest. He flipped on the weather channel to the shortwave. The report indicated heavy rain with ten to twelve knot winds.

“Not enough to worry about,’ Trace thought, ‘but enough to keep everybody off deck. With that bunch cooped up below, Sage may get his wish without even trying.’

Trace grabbed the ship’s mic. “Attention, everybody. We will be having heavy rains and moderate winds. I suggest going on deck and taking in some fresh air before it comes.” He hung up the mic.

In a matter of minutes, everyone appeared on deck. 

Trace grabbed the mic. “This will be nothing like yesterday. Also, we will make Port Vila in about ten hours. This will be your last night on board.”

The four passengers shouted jubilantly. They danced and waved their arms. 

Trace pressed the mic. “You can walk the rest of the way if you like.”

Trace hung the mic and thought, ‘That’s no way to treat paying passengers.’

Trace grabbed the mic. “Hey, I’m only kidding. I’d at least give you a raft and a paddle.”

‘There,’ he thought, ‘I’ve cleared my conscience—kind of.” 

The rain came in a sudden burst and lasted for three hours. It settled into a light rain for another hour and tapered to a sprinkle. 

Later, Paul handled the pilothouse from 10:00 PM until 2:00 AM. Trace returned at 1:45 AM.

“Hey, Paul,” Trace said through a muffled yawn, “looks like lights on the starboard bow.”

“I got an AM radio signal not long ago,” Paul said. 

“Port Vila?” Trace asked.

“An English-speaking station,” Paul said, steering and looking beyond to bow. “Aussie accent.”

“Music?” Trace inquired.

“Rock,” Paul said. 

“Let me take a look at our position,” Trace said, looking over Paul’s shoulder.

He sat at the chart desk. He flipped on the light over the desk, and ran his index finger from one side and the other from the top until they met at the control panel’s reading. He laid a ruler on the chart and measured to Port Vila.

“Fifteen miles,” Trace said. “Two hours. You can catch an hour and a half or so of sleep before the sails are dropped.”

Paul slid from the pilot’s chair. “It’s all yours. If it’s okay with you, I’ll stick around for a few minutes to wind down.”

Trace sat in the pilot’s seat. He adjusted the height down. He scanned the instrument panel. 

Paul sat on the bench. “Everything okay?”

“Just the way I left it,” Trace said. “So, how are you liking the sea?”

“It’s nothing I’d choose as a vocation, but it’s good work. I’m really enjoying it. I like The Tramp Islander. I like the crew. The passengers—not so much. What about you?”

“I’m a rancher,” Trace said, turning to face Paul. “That’s where I’m going to end up. I didn’t want my life the be ranching and that’s all. I chose the sea for a while. As my dad did when he was my age. I worked on the Bering for a year. Crabbing during crab season and one season of fishing. I took some of my money and went to a merchant marine school. I got to know some cargo captains when I was on the Bering. I contacted a couple and took the best job for me.”

“And what was the best job?”

“A small cargo ship named The Blue Mist. The crew was promised that after a year on the Bering, they would be going to the South Seas. I spent two years on the Bering.”

“They lied to you?”

“No, it’s just part of the business. The captain and owner was promised by his broker, and the broker backed out of his promise. And I’m sure the broker had every intention of The Blue Mist going to the South Seas. You can’t send an empty boat five thousand miles.”

“How’d you get here?”

“I took a vacation—and stayed. I won The Tramp Islander in a card game. I couldn’t leave.”

“Is that where my dad comes in?”

“Yeah. And I really think that from our first meeting, we had sort of a liking for each other. However, he was on one side of the law and I was on the other.”

“My dad really respects you. He said you can never hate a man doing the right thing, even if it’s the wrong thing for you.”

“I take you as a good man. You had to have been raised by a good mother. And your mother must have loved your father very much. She, as a good person, must have seen the good in your dad.”

“She did. Dad didn’t start out being a shady character. It all seemed to find him. Mom said he is a genius.”

“Morality and genius don’t always end up in the same brain.”

“It was Dad’s upbringing. His dad was a small-time crook. From all accounts, a real evil sort. Cared for nothing but himself. His mother left him with his dad to raise.”

The waves passed by, and the lights from Port Vila shone brighter.

“I’ve really messed up, haven’t I?” Paul said. He waited for Trace to reply.

“How do you figure?” Trace turned to Paul.

“The island and the bizarre religion, following a cult; that’s not rational thinking. I’m afraid that will be a pattern for my life.”

“Youth is full of indiscretions.”

“It was more than an indiscretion. I can’t call it that. To call it that makes it seem acceptable. Do you have any idea what it was like to face my father? He’s a man who sees through people. His life revolves around taking advantage of weak-minded people and exploiting them. And there I was, the very epitome of what he preyed upon. I must have looked like a fool to him.”

“I have no idea what the total amount is for your dad getting you off that island, but I know it’s well north of one hundred thousand. Yeah, you got hornswoggled, but who’s sitting in a crummy cell on the island of Fiji? I don’t know how much your dad had squirreled away, but he may have spent every last dime he had to get you away from that island. Waldo Franks, doesn’t place a bet unless the odds are heavily in his favor.” 

“In my life, I’ve never been so confused about things,” Paul hung his head.

“Well, hold tight on the reins and tighten up your butt cheeks, life is ahead of you and a lot more confusion.”

“My dad said time at sea with you would help me.”

“I don’t know about the ‘me’ part, but there is something about the sea. It can cleanse a man, if he allows it. You face storms that test your will, like the one we just went through. You can stare for days and endless waves and sky and think this is all there is. And that allows you to arrange your own little universe. On a clear night, you can stare into the vast heavens and wonder and figure out how little you are. And you realize the universe you arranged in your mind can only function if it is in harmony with the universe that is real.”

“My dad’s universe, the casino, is based on chance. The universe is not.”

“In a casino, you can tip the scales, fudge the odds, but not the universe.” Trace smiled. He reached over and flicked Paul on the knee. “Get some sleep.”

Paul stood and placed one foot on the companionway steps. “See you in a while. Thanks.”

The Double-Cross In Paradise; Episode 13, We’re All Looking For Something

This is episode thirteen 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. 

We’re All Looking For Something 

Eight hours later, Trace stepped from his cabin. He stretched and yawned. 

He stuck his head into the galley.

“Hey, Boss,” Makani said, “you sleep good?”

“Yeah,” Trace said. “And I’m hungry as a bear.”

“You sit, I bring,” Makani said.

“Nah,” Trace said, “I’ll go up and relieve Sage. Bring me something up there.”

“Aye, aye, Boss,” Makani said.

Trace plodded up the companionway steps, still trying to shake away the sleep.

Sage sat behind the wheel. “Good morning sunshine!” Sage said, feigning cheerfulness. 

“Ah, take a dip,” Trace half-grinned.

“Sleep good?” Sage asked.

“Too good,” Trace said. “I fell in my bunk and woke up eight hours later. It was like the snap of a finger.”

“You ready to take over?” Sage asked.

“Yeah,” Trace said, “but I’m going to walk out on deck and limber up, get some fresh air in my lungs.”

“Take as long as you like,” Sage said, “I’m pretty fresh. I stayed in the pilothouse, but Paul and Tom had two hours each at the wheel.”

“That’s good,” Trace said, stepping out the back door. He leaned back inside. “Makani is going to bring something for me to eat, and set it on the chart desk.”

Trace exercised on the foredeck for about fifteen minutes and returned to the pilothouse.

“Feel better?” Sage asked.

“Yeah,” Trace said, “well kinda.”

“Go below and get some more rest,” Sage said.

“I’ll feel the same,” Trace said. “Take off, I’ve got it from here on.”

Sage motioned toward the chart desk. “Sit and eat. Take over when you’re done eating.”

“You're a true Texan,” Trace said, and sat at the chart desk, and began eating. The meal was made up of hashed brown potatoes, sausage links, fried eggs, toast, and coffee.

“I got to hand it to Makani,” Trace said, food bulging his cheek. “He can fix anything. This tastes just like back home. You know the place, the diner just before you get to town.”

“Best breakfast in Texas,” Sage agreed. “They make everything right.”

Trace shoveled another bite of food into his mouth. “Makani told me our passengers have complained about the food.”

“That’s because they don’t know what real food tastes like,” Sage said. “I bet they was raised on McDonald’s, dinners out of a can, and frozen meals.”

“They are a bit pampered,” Trace said. “I’ve had my share of those things, but anybody can toss something into a microwave.” Trace pointed his fork at the food on his plate. “There’s love in this food. Some machine a thousand miles away didn’t cook it, and portion-controlled it into a cardboard tray, froze it, and shipped it. I know everything on the plate came from maybe a thousand or more miles away, but that guy below cooked it to perfection. He doesn’t have to. He’s got enough money to buy his own place and have other people do it for him.”

“Yep,” Sage said, “and we could be in that diner outside of town eating breakfast. So, why are we here?”

“Because we can be,” Trace said. “And it makes me wonder, how different are we than those spoiled brats below? Maybe we’re all looking for the same thing.”

“What is that?” Sage asked.

“You ever go into a room looking for something?” Trace said. “But you got a lot of things on your mind. You’re not trying to think of two things at one time; you’re not trying to solve two problems at one time. You’re in the room. You look around. And don’t know what you’re looking for. Well, it’s no wonder. You got a lot going on upstairs.” He tapped his temple. “We came here to clear our minds.”

“But have we?” Sage said. “What do you think?”

“Yes,” Trace said. “On the surface, I’ve had one thing after another happen to me, to you, the crew, this boat; but we have a lot of downtime, time to think. We get behind this wheel and let the wind do the rest. There’s hours of nothingness. But they’re not really nothingness. We think, figure, and plan. Most importantly, we look inside. And try to figure out who we are, and where we are going. We want to move with purpose, and in order to move with purpose, we have to discover what our purpose is.”

“You know me,” Sage said. “And when you wrote me about this life, and a chance to be with you on The Tramp Islander, you were telling me something. You were inviting me on a journey. You were my scout. You went out, and found it, and invited me along. At first, I thought this was your journey, and you needed a first mate whom you knew and trusted. But it was more, at least to me. Sometimes I stand on the pulpit and let the sea air cleanse me. There’s nothing better. Do you really think those idiots below are like us in this way? “Do you think those idiots below are thinking about those things?”

Trace grinned with a stash of food bulging his cheek. “No, not really. It’s just something to say they’ve done it. Last night, they were crapping their drawers and praying to be anywhere but here.”

“Heard that you was about to toss one of ‘em in his cabin, and lock it,” Sage said. “And Tom was not so nice either; he was about to toss the same guy in the hold and lock it. Well, anyway, they’re nothing like us. That’s it, I’m tired of unburdening my soul.”

“Have you figured out how far to Vanuatu?” Trace asked.

“Ten hours,” Sage said, rubbing the back of his head.

“That will put us in port in the middle of the night.” 

“Do we kick ‘em off the boat then?”

“I’ll tell ya what,” Trace said, “if we get any more crap from them, I'll wake them in the middle of the night and toss them and their baggage on the dock. We only agreed to sail them to Port Vila. There’s nothing said about giving them quarters while we’re there.” 

Trace scraped the last bit of food from his plate together with his fork and a piece of toast. He shoved it in his mouth. “I hope it doesn’t come to that—and on second thought, why not?”

“You know how you can tell when your food is good?” Sage said.

“I suppose there’s all kinds of ways,” Trace said. “What do you have in mind?”

“When a guy shoves the food into the side of his mouth to talk, it means the food tastes too good to swallow for only a salient comment.”

Sage stood. “The helm is all yours.”

Trace sipped the last from his coffee and placed the cup on the tray with the empty plate. His mouth pressed a tight smile. “Take this and shove it—some place.”

Sage grabbed the tray. “I’m getting some sleep. But before I do, I’m going to see if I can provoke Patterson to the point that we toss him on the dock in the middle of the night.”

The Double-Cross in Paradise; Episode 12, Don’t Mess With Tom

  This is episode thirteen 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 In Paradise: paperback, Kindle. 

Don't Mess With Tom 

Trace struggled at the wheel for another four hours. Sage relieved every hour until Trace felt rested. The winds abated, and Trace ordered the sails hoisted. The waves tamed to six to eight feet. 

“Sage,” Trace said with droopy eyes, “can you take her for a while?”

“Sure,” Sage said and grabbed the wheel. “Sleep as long as you like.”

Trace raised his tired hand and gave an informal salute. He trudged down the steps.

At the foot of the steps stood Patterson.

“Do you realize the danger you put us in. We should have never left Suva.”

Trace’s eyelids dipped slowly, and the words oozed from his mouth. “The storm was supposed to be well north of us.”

“We were beat around like pinballs.”

“I’m really sorry. That’s all I can say.”

“We paid good money for safe passage, and we ended up almost losing our lives.”

“I’m tired, very tired,” Trace groaned, “but I got enough left in me to toss you in your cabin and lock it. And don’t test me.”

Trace shoved Patterson on the shoulder and slogged to his cabin. He shut the door and fell into bed.

Patterson walked back into the mess. “The nerve of him to threaten me. When we get to port, I’ll report him.”

Tom stood nearly chest to chest with Patterson. He looked up at him. “You’ll have to report me as well. Another word out of your pie hole and I’ll toss you in the forward hold and lock it. The man saved our lives.”

Patterson took a breath and was about to speak.

“Choose wisely what you are about to say,” Tom said. “The captain is dead tired, I’m not.”

“I was about to say, it’s been an ordeal and I’m not thinking right,” Patterson said apologetically.

Tom turned to Paul, who sat at the mess table. “Maybe we should take turns in the pilothouse with Sage. One of us ought to keep watch on the sails for a while.”

“I’ll take the first watch,” Tom said. “Four hours sound good?”

“Sounds good,” Paul said and walked back down the hallway to his cabin.

The passengers exchanged glances, and they staggered forward to their cabins.

Makani opened a drawer in the galley. He returned a meat mallet he held tightly during the confrontation. He paused for a moment and practiced a couple of times opening the drawer and grabbing the meat mallet. The second time, he went through motions of hitting somebody with it. “Bam! Maybe some day.”

An hour later, the seas returned to normal. The Tramp Islander moved effortlessly through a gentle rolling sea.

The Double-Cross in Paradise; Episode 11, Big Storm

This is episode eleven 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. 

Big Storm 

The sea continued to thrash The Tramp Islander. Trace held tight to the wheel and continued vigilant over the vessel. And Sage stood solid, close by, keeping vigilant over Trace.

“How ya doin’, partner?” Trace glanced over his shoulder at Sage.

 “Don’t worry about me. Keep your eyes on the road, Captain,” Sage heaved his head forward.

Trace picked up the phone and rang the galley.

“What’s up, Boss?” Makani answered.

“How’s everything below?”

“Oh, we havin’ one heck of good time.”

“Can you bring a thermos of coffee?”

“Right up boss.”

Trace stared forward, fighting the wheel against the dashing waves and howling wind. He said to Sage. “I just want to get it mouth-to-ear from Makani.”

A couple of minutes later, Makani staggered and trudged up the steps. He carried a thermos under his arm, two cups in one hand, and two sandwiches in the other.

“You brought us something to eat?” Trace said, gratefully.

Makani wedged the thermos between the cushions of the bench and said, “You haven’t had anything in six hours. Egg, mayo, and sausage sandwiches, I made them before it started getting bad.”

“You’re a good man,” Trace said.

“That goes for me, too,” Sage said.

Makani handed the sandwiches to Trace and Sage. They chomped on them.

Trace said with a bite in his cheek, “How’s it going down there? You know the passengers and crew?”

“Paul and Tom do good,” Makani said. “Keep college kids calm and not give inch. They try get smart. That Paul and Tom smart guys.”

“How do you think the passengers are holding up?” Sage asked.

“They do good. They scared. They be glad when on land.”

“I be glad to,” Sage jokingly mocked Makani.

“Thank you, you speak so I understand,” Makani said.

“Look out!” Sage said.

The Tramp Islander’s bow dipped into a deep swell, and a tall, solid wall of water rushed over the bow. The Tramp Islander rolled starboard and turned that way. The sea washed over the pilothouse. It appeared as if they were gazing into an aquarium. 

Trace grabbed two handles of the wheel. He strained and pulled port side. The wheel gave way. Trace plunged against the port side of the pilothouse. The wheel spun freely.

“We lost steering!” Trace shouted. 

Trace grabbed the ship’s mic. “Everyone, life vests!”

“Sage, below,” Trace said, “see if everyone is okay.”

“What happened?” Sage staggered to the companionway.

“Broken steering cable,” Trace said and flipped the emergency warning radio signals.

“What you want me do?” Makani said.

Trace flipped on the radio and handed Makani its mic. “Call out, mayday, mayday.” Trace pointed to a digital display on the control panel. “If somebody responds, that’s our location. I’m going to see if I can find the break in the cable.”

Trace grabbed a flashlight from below the control panel. He swayed and staggered to the aft door. He strapped on a safety harness and nearly fell out the aft door. He attached the line of the safety harness to the railing. He struggled to keep his footing. He removed the bench top and shone the light along the cable. He grabbed it and pulled. It was tight toward the rudder and loose from there to the wheel. 

Trace returned to the pilothouse and removed a panel near the wheel. 

Makani continued to call out, “Mayday, mayday.” 

Trace pulled on the cable. “I hope it’s in the engine room,” he muttered.  

He dashed down the companionway steps. 

Distress from the passengers filled the mess. Paul and Tom tried to calm everyone. 

The Tramp Islander tossed a list in whatever direction the storm inclined it. 

At the end of the crew’s cabins hallway, Trace pulled the engine room door open, and ducked in. He used the flashlight to follow the cable from where it entered from the pilothouse to along the starboard side. Four feet on the starboard side, he saw the broken cable. 

On the port side of the engine room stood a cabinet of drawers with nuts, screws, bolts, and clamps. He pulled drawer after drawer open, sifting through the hardware for cable clamps. He rocked back and forth, banging his head against the cabinet. The engine rumbled from behind him. At last, he found them in a drawer. He grabbed six and staggered back to the broken cable. 

He wedged the flashlight between an overhead wire and the ceiling and aimed it at the cable break. Fighting off the violet thrusts from the waves, he sleeved three clamps onto opposing sides of the broken cable. Then he wound the wires together and moved the clamps over the area he spliced. Using an Allen wrench, he tightened the screws on the clamps.

“Sage!” He bellowed. “Hold her steady. I’m coming up.”

Trace ducked through the engine room doorway and back up the pilothouse. He grabbed the wheel as Sage moved away.

“I got to get her tacked into the waves,” Trace said.

Trace shoved the throttle forward. He tugged and pulled at the wheel for no more than a minute. And The Tramp Islander settled into a steady roll with the waves. Though not pleasant, certainly better than the tossing from side to side that they had just gone through. 

“Cancel the mayday,” Trace said. 

Makani called out that all was now under control and canceled the mayday.

“Do you think the cable will hold?” Sage asked.

“If it breaks again, it will be in some other place,” Trace said. “We’ll get new cables as soon as we make port.”

“I’ll go in the forward holds and see if everything is okay,” Sage said. 

He grabbed the flashlight and dashed down the companionway. He was met with a barrage of questions from the passengers. He assured everyone that everything was fine. 

After a thorough inspection, he reported back to Trace that besides the cargo shifting, the haul remained in good shape.