Chapter 15 Summer Breeze

 

The wind was blowing fifteen miles an hour just east of north as Jeremy nosed the Catalina out of the harbor. This was good for them, as the weather front that had passed through the area was well south of Florida, and the winds would move gradually to the east and lessen somewhat so that the seas would calm. It was just light with the sun not yet risen, and the dark shape of the Caloosahatchee bridge was just visible, but clear enough for them to see the channel. They waited till they were through the bridge before raising the sails and shutting off the small motor. As the main sail snapped tight the boat began to heel slightly and the sound of the water lapping the hull increased in urgency. Then the jib was raised and set, and as it filled the full power of the wind was harnessed. The heel increased to nearly twenty five degrees and the lapping of the water changed to a resonant hum. With the tide flowing at nearly two knots, the boat was making a good eight to nine. At this speed it would take them a good three hours to clear the river.

 

The previous night they had found the Summer Breeze boat tied up at the municipal Marina, and luckily the owner was there checking it out. At twenty eight feet it was small for an ocean voyage, but it was in good shape, and  available. “I don’t have the papers here,” the owner had said, but urged on by a cash offer of twenty five grand, at least fifty percent more than the boat was worth, he agreed with alacrity to drive home to fetch them. Having anticipated their stay on Sanibel would be longer, they had bought provisions for a few days, so food was not a major issue, but water was, and this they had purchased at a nearby convenience store, as well as a good supply of chocolate and beer.

 

It took the Catalina only two and a half hours to make it down the river, better than expected, but still, by the time the Sanibel causeway was visible, the sun was shining brightly. A beautiful day for a sail, but it also meant anyone watching could see for miles. Luckily as they approached the drawbridge, a large cruiser was just ahead, so the bridge was raised when they got there. Not having to lower sails and wait kept the momentum going, and the open sea of the Gulf of Mexico was just ahead.

 

Mindful of the experience right there the previous afternoon, as they passed through the drawbridge Vanessa attempted to keep out of sight, and Jeremy pulled a towel over his head as if protecting himself from the sun. But sailing a boat has its demands, and they both had to move around the deck to set the sails for the open sea. They hoped no one was watching.

 

As they followed the channel out into the gulf, their course was a broad reach, and perfect for their spinnaker. It ballooned out in front of the Summer Breeze, a great swath of red and blue, and the speed increased noticeably, as if the boat was perking up with pride. As it did so, so did their spirits of the two occupants. “Now we’re moving, and what a gorgeous sight we are,” said Vanessa.

 

“Don’t believe it” responded Jeremy, “As fast as it seems, any reasonable power boat will go twice as fast, and a pair of good binoculars will pick up this sail from five miles away. I wish this guy had had a more subdued taste in sails.”

 

Conscious of the threat of being followed, the two of them continuously scanned the ocean back towards the island, and several vessels appeared. All of them fanned out in different directions, allowing the two fugitives to begin to feel that they had made it. Just as the island began to disappear from sight two more blips appeared on the horizon. They watched almost idly as the one curved away to the west, then to the north, heading away toward Captiva. Then they realized the second was not veering off, but heading straight towards them. “OK, lets not get too excited, but I don’t like this one,” said Jeremy, “Take the wheel while I get the gun.”

 

Jeremy took up his chosen station in the cockpit with the short barrel of the uzi resting on the gunwale. He knew that little incident on the causeway yesterday had reduced their ammo to only a few bullets. They would have to make every shot count.

 

As the power boat approached Jeremy and Vanessa could begin to see that it was a Cobia, an ideal deep sea boat, and at least twenty feet long. There were several figures visible. The fact that one of those figures was lying prone on the bow with what looked ominously like a rifle, suggested that their predicament had moved from serious to precarious. “Well this looks like the ultimate test,” said Jeremy.

 

“Whatever happens next,” whispered Vanessa, “Just remember I love you, and for God’s sake don’t miss!” As she spoke the Cobia came along side and swung across their bow. “You can’t escape, so give up now”, the man at the helm shouted.

 

As the attackers swung round to the other side of the Catalina, Jeremy had a perfect shot. He pulled the trigger and the bullet slammed into the man on the bow, jerking him almost over the side. A second shot, and the man at the helm grabbed his shoulder, causing the Cobia to swerve precariously. The boats did not actually collide, but the wake of the big power boat caused the Catalina to rock violently, and Jeremy’s third shot went wild. It struck the Cobia amidships, seemingly with no effect. Regaining his balance Jeremy aimed carefully again and pulled the trigger but this time, “click”. The previous shot, the one that had missed its target was their last bullet.

 

“Hell,” thought Jeremy. “this is it.” Then without warning, the Cobia sputtered, and stalled, and as the power dropped away from the propellers, the shiny hulk of a boat drifted to a stop.  In the ocean on the port side of the vessel a sheen appeared on the water. Fuel! That last shot, the one that went wild, did more damage than the other two.  Slowly, ever so slowly, the Catalina pulled away as the ocean around the Cobia covered with fuel. Jeremy could hardly believe his eyes. “That wild last shot has severed a fuel line. They are falling back,” he yelled with glee.

 

It took the men on board the Cobia a few minutes to realize what had happened, and by the time one of the uninjured men had retrieved the rifle from the dead man hanging over the bow, the Catalina had opened up a gap of perhaps a hundred yards. Not far enough to be safe from a marksman but just enough for the rocking of the idle Cobia to distract the inexperienced hoodlum from his task. The fist shot zipped as it struck the water on the port side. He tried again, again he missed completely. It was easy to see why he had been the boat crew, and not the gunman, he really was a poor shot.

 

The gap widened between every shot, and though several struck the Catalina, neither Jeremy nor Vanessa were hit, nor was the boat damaged. When the gap got to five hundred yards, the man stopped firing.   Vanessa yelled to Jeremy, “Lets get out of here.”

 

“The boat is already going as fast as it can,” he replied, “but we are opening the gap fast, and they can’t hit us from there. As long as they stay dead in the water, we are safe.”  As if this was a signal, the Cobia sprang into life again.

 

“Hell, they’ve got it going again,” said Jeremy under his breath. ”What now? We’ve got nothing left.”

 

“Here, take the wheel,” screamed Vanessa, “I’m not giving up, not now.” Even before Jeremy was in position to grab the wheel, she disappeared into the cabin, reappearing a few seconds later with a flare gun. “If they are leaking enough fuel, we may just have a chance”. The approaching boat was about eighty yards astern when Vanessa pulled the trigger on the flare gun. The red pocket of light arched up, hung there for what seemed an eternity, and if the Cobia had not been moving it would have landed right in the bow. But it was, and it didn’t. The flare fell some ten yards astern. It seemed to fizzle as it struck the water, but just as it died a new flame, this one a yellowish orange, started to dance across the water. At first it seemed to be moving away from the boat, following the trail of spilt fuel back in the direction they had come, and both Jeremy and Vanessa held their breath. Then it started to move forward, first in slow motion, then in a great rush. It closed the gap to the Cobia in just seconds, and with a whoosh the shining boat burst into flames. Before any of the occupants had a chance to escape from the blaze, a massive explosion ended their pain. The first impression was that the rear half of the boat was totally demolished, but the bow seemed to continue forward on it’s own. Slowly, it capsized, and began to sink, gurgling as the trapped air escaped through the cracks in the hull. After a minute or so what was left of the beautiful craft stood on its end, and the boat slipped below the waves. It was all over.

 

Neither Jeremy nor Vanessa spoke for a long while. The emotional mix of horror and relief was too confusing for words, and they clung to each other for mutual support. When, at last nothing could be seen astern other than water, sky, and a hint of smoke, they began to recover some composure. “That was horrible,” said Vanessa, “but I am glad it was them, not us.”

 

“So am I” said Jeremy, “So am I.” He adjusted course to a more southerly tack intending to head for the Dry Tortugas before leaving US waters, perhaps forever.