What's Next?
Kelsey would tap for a few minutes and rest. He kept the headsets on and lifted one off when talking with Trace. Sage kept watch over Franks and Paul. Patterson stood on deck watching for airplanes or fast-moving boats coming in their direction.
Hours passed. The sea and the winds were normal. Makani prepared sandwiches for everyone so they would not have to leave their posts.
Trace turned The Tramp Islander southwest.
Kelsey raised his eyebrows, waiting for an explanation.
“I’m taking a direct heading toward Brisbane,” Trace said.
Trace watched the horizon and looked at Kelsey. Kelsey’s face was dull, and his eyes blinked slowly.
“Grab the wheel for a while,” Trace said.
“Are you sure?” Kelsey said.
“Just keep the heading where it's at,” Trace said. “I’m going to take over the key for a while. I’m not as good as you are, but you need a break.”
Trace sat at the chart desk, and Kelsey sat at the wheel.
Trace snapped on the headsets and tested the key. Then he started sending. “Wow,” Trace said. “Let’s switch back. I’m getting something. You should handle this.”
They switched positions. Kelsey began writing down code and sending.
“Who is it?” Trace asked.
Kelsey ignored him and continued sending and receiving.
After a few minutes, Kelsey slid one earpiece behind his ear. “I’ve reached a RAN vessel,” he said.
“RAN?” Trace questioned.
“Royal Australian Navy,” Kelsey said. “I’ve given them information so they can verify me as an officer of the law. I informed them of our situation. That gives priority to verify us.”
“Can they help us?” Trace asked.
“Things like this can work incredibly slow,” Kelsey said. “We could be in Brisbane drinking beer before there’s an answer.”
“I didn’t know Aussie could be so formal,” Trace said.
“The whole country ‘as gone to hell in a hand basket if you ask me,” Kelsey said. “They’ve gone soft. They forgot what made them a good country: sweat, grit, and straight whiskey.”
“Sounds deep,” Trace said.
“My younger brother,” Kelsey said. “A real sissy, drinks lattes and cappuccinos.”
“They’re not bad,” Trace said.
“It’s the way he drinks them, and the way he describes the experience. It’s not an experience. The experience is what you’re doing and who you’re with. Only fruitcakes sound like that. He’s not a fruitcake. I guess you’d call him cultured and refined.”
Trace appeared puzzled, and Kelsey noticed it.
“Why am I telling you this?” Kelsey said. “It represents everything that’s going on in society. Two brothers takin’ two different forks in the road. What about you, you have a brother?”
“No,” Trace said, “I’m an only child. My mom was killed in a car accident when I was young, and Dad never remarried. Sagre is the closest thing I’ll ever have in a brother, maybe closer.”
Kelsey jerked and snapped on the earphones. “I’ve got something.”
Fifteen minutes of tapping and jotting on paper followed.
Kelsey stopped sending and pulled off the headphones.
“What’s up?” Trace asked.
“I gave them our course and heading,” Kelsey said. “They expect we can rendezvous sometime after sunup tomorrow.”
“What will happen then?” Trace asked.
“They will take Franks, the kid, and me off your hands.”
“That’s great for you, Franks, and the kid,” Trace said, “but we’re still going to be hunted. A score has to be settled.”
“Without Franks and the kid, they have no interest in you,” Kelsey said.
“And how will they know Franks and his kid are on an Australian naval vessel, six o’clock news?” Trace said, sarcastically.
“It’s the best we can do?” Kelsey offered a pathetic smile.
“It’s not the best,” Trace said sharply.
“What would you have us do?” Kelsey said.
“A small deployment, two or three men—armed,” Trace said. “That’s what it’s going to take. I should have left you in Suva; you’d still be parked in front of the hotel waiting for me.”
“I’ve got only so much authority,” Kelsey said. “In fact, the only authority I have is the arrest someone.”
“Arrest me,” Trace said matter-of-factly and proceeded logically. “Arrest me and the crew on suspicion of transporting drugs. Confiscate The Tramp Islander as evidence.”
“That can’t be done in international waters,” Kelsey said.
“There are several circumstances where that isn’t the case,” Trace said. “Most countries won’t bother with international waters. We were pretty sure Vanuatu would not come after us. It can be an international mess. And their corrupt politicians and police may have been drug into it. So they left it up to the crooks to take care of us. However, if a government really wants you, let’s say, like Australia, they can get you; they can get anybody.”
“How, legally?” Kelsey asked.
“You could claim we are pirates,” Trace said, “Nah, that would never work: I got both of my eyes, both of my legs, and no parrot.”
Kelsey chuckled. “Two of them I can fix, but I don’t have a parrot.”
“I like the way you think,” Trace chuckled.
“Years ago, many years ago,” Trace said, “my dad owned this boat. Then it was called the Tiki. He bought it in Hawaii. He has told me this story several times. He had a heck of a time getting all the ownership papers squared away. It seems it was flagged in Australia. Rather than take months to change it to an American-flagged vessel, he thought, what the heck, let’s just leave it flagged Australian. And that it has always been. Interestingly, the last fellow who owned this boat was an Aussie named Spence. What that means is that you and your navy have jurisdiction over this boat, no matter where it floats.”
“But you’re not smuggling drugs,” Sage said.
“Franks himself let loose the rumor I was smuggling drugs,” Trace said. “With those rumors flying around, that’s enough to confiscate The Tramp Islander for a while. Under the protection of the Australian Navy, that will give time for this whole thing to blow over or time to swoop in and pick up the usual suspects.”
Kelsey tapped his finger on the desk.
“I know,” Trace said. “This is a tough decision with a lot of moving pieces. But here’s something that just might push you over the edge.”
“What’s that?” Kelsey stopped the tapping.
“I see a commendation in this for you,” Kelsey said. “Extraordinary work and dedication.”
“There are a lot of loose ends and inconsistencies,” Kelsey said.
“How long do you think it will take your police to get here?” Trace asked.
“Two or three days at the best,” Kelsey said.
“I think between you and me, we can concoct a story that is plausible,” Trace said. “It will make you look as if you used me to set this whole thing in motion.”
“I’m not one for stealing another man’s thunder,” Kelsey said.
“It’s not stealing when it’s offered freely,” Trace countered. “And how many times has one of your loyal police comrades stolen your thunder?”
“It’s not like me to want commendation. It never has been,” Kelsey said.
“Here we are two sorry cowboys or stockmen,” Trace said, “who want nothing more, at the end of the day, than what’s owed us, a plate of beans, a cup of coffee, and a clear sky overhead. Here’s the thing about those clear skies: every now and then, a comet streaks across the sky. Some folks say that’s a good thing, something good is about to happen. You can’t ignore it.”
Kelsey gave a twisted smile. “It’s a logic I can’t put aside. Let’s get to work on a story. I can’t let a fellow stockman ride herd alone on a stormy night.”
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