Kaboom!
Trace turned to Sage. “Go below and get Kelsey and have Makani guard Franks and Paul.”
Trace flashed his spotlight on the trawler. He grabbed the mic. “Who are you?”
“We’re here for Franks and our cargo.”
“We have Franks. But he’ll tell you we don’t have the cargo. It’s back in Port Vila.”
“Drop your sails!”
“My crew is below. Give us time.” Trace replied
“Hurry it up. You don’t want us to bring your boat to a stop our way, do you?”
“Understood.”
“We’re cooperating,” Trace said.
Sage and Trace hurried out of the forward companionway and lowered the sails.
Sage returned to the pilothouse and slipped into the captain’s seat. Trace grabbed the explosive device. He hustled down the companionway, through the quarters, and forward to where the scuba gear was stored. He quickly and methodically climbed into the gear. He checked the device to make sure everything was there.
Sage sat in the captain’s chair. His eyes were forward, watching for Trace to lift the forward hatch and slip overboard on The Tramp Islander’s starboard side. He grabbed the mic. “Okay, what do we do now?”
“Lower a life raft over the side and send Franks over.”
“What about his son?” Sage said.
“Whose son?”
“Franks’s,” Trace said. “His son is below with him.”
There was a pause, and during it, Sage caught sight of Trace lowering himself over the starboard side of The Tramp Islander.
Trace swam beneath the hull of The Tramp Island, clutching the peculiar-looking explosive device and the wires that went with it. And then he swam toward the light from the trawler that danced against the surface of the water above him.
“Hey,” Sage called threw the mic, “you don’t suppose you could hurry it up over there.” He smiled and said to himself. “I love messin’ with folks who think they’re in control and have it all figured out. Little do they know.”
Sage tapped his finger on the top of the control panel.
“This ain’t much of a decision,” Sage said into the mic. “It’s either yes or no. Or come to think of it, just go on, it’s all been a big mistake.”
Trace reached the boat from underwater. He flicked his flashlight on. He moved along the bottom of the trawler until he located the propeller shaft. The hull was wooden. He pressed the legs of the device into the haul. The grenade was pulled from a pouch around his waist. The wire was tugged to make sure it was secure. He slipped the grenade halfway into the can with the arm inside. He removed the pin and slid the grenade all the way into the can. He tested the device to make sure it was sturdy enough to hold when he yanked on the wire.
He took one stroke away. He turned. He thought, ‘Do I really want to do this. I only want a hole in the boat. I don’t want anyone to die. I want them to make it to a lifeboat.”
He closed his eyes for a moment, and he kicked and pushed away hard, taking strong strokes.
He swam hard and fast, letting out the wire. He reached the end of the wire. The Tramp Islander waved in the water above. Makani stood at the rail.
Trace erupted from the water. Makani quickly tossed a line. Trace pulled on the wire. He drew tight and slacked. Trace grabbed the line, and Makani began reeling him toward The Tramp Islander.
“What’s going on!” Came a voice from the trawler’s bullhorn.
Then there was the sound of a huge belch coming from beneath the trawler. The trawler lifted. Scraps of lumber, phosphorus sparks, and rolling flames heaved from the aft of the trawler. The dark sea lit.
Makani pulled Trace on board. Sage started the engine and let it settle. Then he moved the throttle forward.
Trace removed his gear and rushed to the pilothouse.
“Circle around,” Trace said, “keep a comfortable distance. I’m not picking any of them out of the water, but if there aren’t enough rafts, we can let one down for them.”
“They wouldn’t do that for us,” Sage said, “but that’s not the point.”
“Kelsey!” Trace ordered. “Send a distress signal, a sinking boat. Give the location.”
Kelsey tapped out a signal that a boat was in distress and sank.
Sage circled The Tramp Islander around the burning and smoldering wreckage.
Trace looked for survivors. There were eight men in two life rafts.
Trace grabbed the mic. “We sent a distress signal and gave your position.”
They cursed.
“They’re not very grateful,” Trace said. “Get back on course. They’ll be fine.”
Sage returned The Tramp Islander to their original course.
Trace slipped into the captain’s chair. Sage and Kelsey hoisted the sails.
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