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.
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