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.

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.