Sonny Crockett slipped off his Raybans, wiped his eyes and put the glasses back on before reaching down beside his deck chair to the large cooler for another beer. He snapped the can open, took a drink and choked.
"Hot. I gotta be crazy."
His partner's voice came from behind him. "Like I already told you. Problem is, you make me crazy too. God, its hot!"
The St. Vitus Dance bobbed gently on the an almost flat sea and the horizon was lost in a shimmering heat haze. The sky was a ceramic blue bowl through which the sun shone unrestricted. Even with the nearly opaque tinting of his glasses, Sonny's eyes were watering.
Tubbs lay stretched out on a large towel, trying to find a comfortable spot between the coachouse and the liferail. Sonny grinned at his sweating partner as he tossed him a beer.
"Hey man, how's the tan comin'?"
"You'll never know. Have I said lately how damn hot it is?"
Sonny picked up a pair of high-powered binoculars and wiped the lens with his towel. "Once or twice." He tipped his glasses up and squinted into the binoculars, scanning across the eastern horizon. All he saw was shimmering mist; the yachts they were waiting for would still be lost somewhere out in the haze. The St Vitus Dance lay more or less along the course that the Miami Yacht Club regatta followed on its way back to the Club on the final leg of its annual off-shore race. With their sea anchor down and the breeze a dying whisper they had barely drifted during the long hot afternoon.
"That man of yours at the yacht club better be right about this, mon," Tubbs growled. "I don't mind dyin' for my country, but I object to fryin' for my country."
"That old boy is pretty reliable - he likes to brag he knows everything about everybody in that Club. So he overhears some drunken sailor in the bar bragging about how easy it is for a boat to slip into the fleet when its heading back to port. And it would be, too. Not many land lubbers could tell one set of sails from another. Or whether one ship wasn't s'posed to be there."
"But...?"
"Yeah. But. A drunk aint the most reliable source."
"Which is," Tubbs said dryly, "why we're roastin' our butts out here instead of apprehending offenders on dry land. So you can check out some drunken swabby's ramblings."
Sonny continued to study the horizon. He nudged the focusing dial with one finger, chewing on his upper lip thoughtfully. "That's odd."
Tubbs squirmed upright. "What?"
Moving the binocular in a slow arc, Sonny didn't answer for a few seconds. He wiped his eyes and looked again before he spoke. "I dunno. Sort of..." He pulled back, blinked and looked again. "...big. Like an island."
Tubbs snorted a brief laugh. "Yeah. Atlantis. Make sense."
Sonny refined the focus and caught sight of a small white triangle appearing out of the haze.
"They're coming."
Tubbs climbed to his feet and dragged the towel along the deck as he made his way aft towards the cockpit. "How far off are they?"
"About five miles, give or take a mile. Hard to tell over the water with all this haze...."
Tubbs was watching Sonny as the swinging binoculars stopped abruptly. He saw the sudden tension in his partners shoulders, saw the fingers grip the glasses hard.
"What's up?"
"I dunno." Sonny's voice was uncertain. "Something's wrong." He continued his sweep, more slow, searching. "They're on their downhill leg, but they aren't flying their kites. They're sheeting down."
"You wanna translate that?"
Sonny lowered the glasses and looked up at Tubbs. "What I mean, Mr New York, is that those yachts out there aren't racing any more. Which, since the finish line is the big marker off the point, ten miles back off us, is odd. They should be putting up their spinnakers about now; you know, those big sails that look like beer guts." He look back at the yachts through his glasses. "They putting on smaller rigging. Like storm sails!"
Tubbs frowned. "Does that mean I should start worrying?" He began to play close attention to the seas surrounding the yacht. "I mean, the water looks pretty calm to me."
Sonny passed him the binoculars and pushed past him to head below. "Yeah, I know. It's flat now, partner, but at this time of year it can turn nasty with no warning." His voice was muffled as he rummaged in the sail locker. "Just keep an eye on those guys out there and yell if they suddenly lie down."
Tubbs pressed his eyes to the lens, muttering to himself. "Count on it."
A few minutes later Sonny struggled up to the deck, the sail bags clutched awkwardly beneath his arms. Suddenly Tubbs started waving his free arm to catch Sonny's attention.
"Is this what you mean by lying down?"
Sonny cursed, dropped the bags and grabbed the binoculars. He found the fleet and cursed again, a bit more creatively. The horizon was obscured by darkness and the yachts were no longer heading for land in an ordered group. They were scattered and healing before a white-capped, storm tossed ocean.
"Jesus H.!" Sonny tossed the binoculars back to Tubbs and jumped across the cluttered deck. "Start clearing this junk below while I get the storm sails up."
Tubbs worked at clearing away deck chairs, drink coolers and various other bits and pieces, aware now of a rapidly rising wind sound. "Shouldn't we start the motor or something?"
Sonny grappled with the mass of sails held between his knees, working to connect the main halyard to the head of the new sail. "By the look of that sea the engine wouldn't do us much good. That wind will just blow us around unless we try and run before it, like those guys."
Tubbs looked over towards the yachts racing flat out before the wind. "You mean like the ones lying down?" His voice sounded more than a little sick.
Sonny glanced up and gave his partner a reassuring grin. "Hey man, don't worry about it. Hell, storms aren't that bad. In fact, they can be kind of fun, if you look at it right. Think of the story you can tell your lady friend...how I sailed before a high force gale off the coast of Florida."
"And messed a perfectly good pair of shorts doin' it." Tubbs managed a weak grin. "Can we go home now, please?"
Sonny's laugh was lost in the sudden gust of wet air that hit them. Tubbs grabbed the rail as the deck lurched; the Dance rose uncomfortably as a hill of water slid beneath her hull. Tubbs grabbed the rest of the loose articles on deck and threw them down the hatch, then fell down himself as a crosswind caught the Dance and pushed it over.
The deck was awash when he pulled himself back up. The Dance was being hit broadside by the storm.
Sonny stood straddled across the boom as he fought with the small pin on the end of the halyard, and he ignored the pelting rain that now poured almost horizontally from the angry black sky. Sonny swore, wishing he had a couple of experienced hands; someone to take the wheel, someone to get the sea anchor up and someone to help him with the goddamned pin!
"Hey Tubbs! Down in the little tool bag beside the hatchway is a flat metal plate. Looks something like a can opener, only longer. I can't let this go or I'll lose the sail over the side!"
Taking a firm grip on the teak railing that ran along the coachouse, Tubbs pulled himself towards the hatch. He couldn't believe that the sea had gone from empty calm to nightmare in a matter of minutes. The wind was building to a scream around him and the sea was a wild morass of grey and white froth-topped waves.
Locating the tool bag where Sonny had said it would be, he dug around until he found the right gadget, which did indeed look like a large can opener.
Crockett was attempting to balance himself against the rocking of the desk and still maintain some grip on the flapping sails. The main sheet was loose and the mast banged against his knees, trying to knock his feet out from under him. It was one hell of a time for a storm, especially with Tubbs on board. His partner had hardly seen the ocean before coming to Miami!
He watched anxiously as Tubbs crawled along the coachouse towards him, the small tool gripped firmly in one hand. The storm appeared to be on them and the light dimmed to a yellowish glare, while the rain continued on unabated, slashing at them before the wind.
Tubbs was only a few feet away when the yacht gave a vicious buck and lurched violently to one side, throwing them both off balance. Tubbs' hands began slipping from the rail...seeing the danger, Sonny stuffed the end of the halyard and a handful of sail under one arm and stretched out to grab his partner. The only thing grabbable on Tubbs was his hair and Sonny closed his grip, pulling hard to keep his partner on the deck. Tubbs yelled in pain as he was pulled back to safety, but he still managed a grateful grin as he clutched a handhold. He had kept hold of the tool and passed it to Sonny with a salute.
Conversation was virtually impossible above the crash of lightning and shriek of the wind. Tubbs held on grimly as Sonny wrestled with the stubborn pin. It finally gave way and with a muttered prayer of thanks Sonny slipped it from the shackle and freed the old sail, dropping it to the deck at his feet and manoeuvring the smaller sail into place.
With the pin firmly reattached he braced himself to one side of the mast and took up the slack in the other end of the halyard, turning it several times around the nearest winch. Waving Tubbs back to the cockpit, he started to wind, and the mast beat frantically as the wind filled the half-raised sail.
"Hey man, grab the blue rope....the blue rope...pull it hard." Tubbs heard the instruction and understood the gestures, and reached for the main-sheet where it exited from the pulley directly under his end of the boom. He pulled hard and had just taken up the slack when a sudden hard gust caught the yacht. The half-raised sail thrashed wildly, and the yacht swung around to lie head first into the wind. The wind took control of the sail and wrenched it from Sonny's grip, sending the boom flying across the deck. It caught him on the thigh and threw him over the side.
The shock of the blow sent him under and a swirl of current threw him up against the yacht's hull. He shouted in pain and went under again, taking in water and thrashing desperately for the surface. The Dance lay about fifteen feet away and through blurred vision he thought he could see Tubbs leaning over the side, yelling his name. He pushed one arm up out of the water to catch his partner's attention.
Seeing Sonny bobbing out in the heavy seas, Tubbs stood for a second or two, frozen in indecision. He knew he was a lousy swimmer and that in those seas he would probably drown trying to save Sonny. Looking about in desperation, he saw a life ring sitting in its basket on the push-pit. He grabbed the end of the halyard, tied it to the ring and threw it towards Sonny with all his strength. By some extraordinary fluke it landed inches from Sonny's thrashing figure.
For a moment Sonny didn't recognise the bright orange ring. Then instinct took over and he grabbed it and pulled - and Tubbs' hasty knot slid undone. A wave tossed him away from the rope end and in moments the Dance was lost to view in the sheeting rain. Cursing, Sonny shoved himself through the ring and began swimming, knowing it was hopeless, but knowing there was nothing else he could do.....
Off to one side of the storm-torn regatta fleet, the Shady Lady ploughed her way through the hurricane with stolid determination. In the twenty years since her keel had first tasted ocean she had weathered many storms, and the hands that guided her were almost as experienced at surviving them as she. They had hoisted their storm sails at the first sign or trouble and turned her butt to the storm.
Captain and owner Hugh Walsh was behind the wheel, his big body encased in a yellow weatherproof. The few members of his crew on deck didn't need spoken instructions from him; they'd mostly served with him all the years he'd owned the Lady and didn't need him to tell them what to do. The rest were below propped in their bunks, waiting out the storm.
Hugh's second mate, Jerry, and chief sail hand Carlos were near him, checking the lines, watching the bend of the masts, helping their boss keep the Lady with the wind.
Hugh constantly scanned the ocean, watching for other yachts, floating debris or any object that could piece the ship's hull. As his salt-reddened eyes swung about he blinked, and shook his head. He took one hand from the wheel, wiped his eyes, blinked again. The sea swelled and the bright patch of colour he'd seen vanished into a dip. He waited, and the wave rose again, and there it was, back in view.
He blew a blast on the whistle tied on a string round his neck. Carlos heard it and turned towards him and he gestured over the side, then began to turn the Lady slowly into the wind. She protested, banging her sails and bucking with renewed vigour, but she was a big, solid boat and Hugh knew her well enough to risk it for a little while. He glanced up to check the wind and then across at the bearing, and by the time he looked back Carlos had lowered a boathook and pulled the limp wet form onto the deck.
Carlos dragged the man across to the hatch while Hugh and Jerry took the wheel to turn the yacht back on course.
It was almost an hour later that Hugh found the time to look in on his unexpected passenger. The gale had lessened to a bad storm and he'd handed the wheel over to Jerry, dropping down the stairs and discarding his waterproofs with a grateful sigh. Manuel handed him a steaming cup of black, sweet coffee and grinned.
"Bit of a blow, hey Boss? She finished now?"
"Almost, Manny. How's our guest?"
"Not so bad. He got a big bruise on his leg and a bump on the head. What he is more interesting than what he got, though."
"So?"
"Yeah. He's a cop."
"Ah." Hugh nodded slowly. "How...annoying." He handed the cup back and walked passed Manuel into the forward cabin. Their guest had been put in that part of the forward cabin partitioned for the Captain's use. As Hugh entered he found the news of their guest's occupation had already spread; one of the hands had positioned himself outside the door, a big sawn-off shotgun laid across his lap.
Sonny had come to not long before Hugh entered, but he was still bleary and confused, aware only that he hurt. When Hugh's face appeared above him he wiped his salt-crusted eyes with a shaking hand and coughed.
"Where..am I?"
Hugh pulled a canvas chair alongside the bed and sat down. "On board the Shady Lady, my friend. Which may either be good or bad news for you."
Sonny wiped his lips with his tongue, making a face at the stale taste. "How's that?"
Hugh picked up a sodden wallet from the side table and flipped it open. "Sonny Crockett. Dade County Vice. Tell me, Sonny Crockett, what were you doing floating around in a life ring in the middle of a hurricane?"
Sonny coughed again. "Practicing my endurance swimming, what else. Who's asking?"
Hugh filled a glass with water from a jug on the side table. "Name's Hugh Walsh, captain and owner of this vessel."
Bleary-headed or no, Sonny's cop instincts were waking him up fast. He looked up at the other man carefully, then twisted his head towards the door, catching sight of the guard and his obvious weapon. He looked back and saw Hugh nodding slowly.
"Yes. Very awkward. You've got yourself out of the proverbial frying pan and into the equally proverbial fire. The question is, what am I to do with you? You see, Sonny Crockett, we aren't exactly out here for the races."
At that moment, Tubbs didn't have time for guilt, though he knew it would come, later. He'd watched his partner being swept away by the sea, and done less than nothing to help him. Logic wasn't enough, but the self-loathing would need to wait. As Sonny vanished from sight, his own danger had come back to slap him in the face. He was alone on a boat that the storm was trying to tear apart around him.
The loose boom was whipping back and forth, the sail flapping and tearing in the wind while the boat itself jerked about with each swing of the wind. Commonsense told him that the boat's moving parts couldn't take that sort on punishment for long, and the last thing he needed was for the mast to be ripped out.
Inching forward, he grabbed the main-sheet and tied it to the rail, pulling in the slack as much as he could. Not the sort of seamanship Sonny would applaud, but the best he could manage.
But that caused its own problem. With the sail firmly planted, the yacht was reacting more to the wind, bucking and dipping, pulling against the sea anchor. Tubbs pulled himself back to the stern and sat behind the wheel. He remembered Sonny's words: "..unless we try to run before it....".
He knew zip about sailboats, but to run before something meant to have it at your back. Currently the StVD was trying to turn on its side, with the wind coming across Tubbs' right side. That meant he had to swing the thing around. Gingerly, he turned the wheel, managing to do it right first time. The boat put its stern to the wind and the bucking immediately subsided to a bearable level. It was then a matter of keeping the wind coming over his wet back and praying. And thinking about Sonny, lost out there in the storm...
Manuel was the nearest thing to a medic aboard the Shady Lady, but Sonny decided the Cuban was also a paid up member in full of the de Sade School of Torture. After being prodded and poked by the older man for five minutes he swore at him, describing the man's antecedents in uncomplimentary terms that had the Cuban grinning.
"Yes, it hurts there, I can see. But not enough for the bone to be broken, Senor Cop. You are lucky, I think."
A little white about the mouth, Sonny glared at the old man. "Leave it be, will ya! I can tell by myself that it hurts!"
Hugh entered the cabin in time to hear the shouted comment and smiled genially. His sandy hair was dry and his broad-featured pleasantly unhandsome face was clean shaven. "I fear Manuel enjoys his work too much, Detective. He doesn't get to practice it on a policeman very often. I think you'd better finish up, Manny, before Mr Crockett becomes violent."
Manuel bowed, grinning, and left, and Hugh sat in the chair. "I've been thinking about you." "I though you might be." Sonny rearranged himself on the bed, aware that Hugh was watching his every move. The man was big, but Sonny thought he might move very fast even so. "I must be a nuisance."
"In a word. You see, if we land you we'd probably find a reception committee waiting for us in Miami." Hugh took a cigar from his reefer jacket pocket and lit it with an old silver flip-up lighter. Sonny caught sight of what looked like a Marine symbol on the lighter. "The obvious answer is just to drop you back overboard. The difference between that, and just putting a bullet in your head is small. Either way its murder, and I genuinely abhor murder."
Sonny couldn't help himself. He grinned. There was something undeniably likeable about the big man. "Yeah, I can see you're a man of principles."
Hugh nodded mildly. "I am, and it often gets me into trouble. For the moment I think we'll just keep you under lock and key and put the problem off to a later date." He looked at Sonny through the drifting smoke, his eyes narrowed. "However, I suggest you overcome any natural urges for escape. Some of my crew aren't quite as principled as me, and a lot of them don't like policemen. Try not to give them any excuse."
Hugh left, closing the door behind him and Sonny heard the lock snap close. He stretched back, then sat up and gingerly moved his legs off the bunk. Manuel had taken his jeans off to look at the leg, and Sonny stared down glumly at the bruise covering most of one thigh. Standing, he pulled his jeans back on and took a couple of tentative steps. It hurt, but it was bearable. He sat back down and made himself comfortable. There was nowhere to go and nothing to do but worry. About his own state - and how his partner was doing.
After an hour of being tossed about in the gale, the sight of the big grey Coast Guard ship was a very welcome sight. Tubbs watched it move through the storm towards him, sounding its hooter and flashing its lights. If he'd had enough energy left, he would have cheered.
The ship moved alongside the yacht with efficient precision inspite of the still-high seas and within minutes scrambling nets were dropping down the side. Two seamen climbed down to the deck and Tubbs greeted them with tired pleasure. Their first intent had been to take him aboard and leave the yacht but Tubbs refused to go until other seamen were lowered to sail the yacht back to harbour.
The ship continued to search for a further hour, but when there was no sight of any further survivors it turned back to port. As soon as they docked Tubbs was off to report to his Captain.
"I gotta go back out." Tubbs looked across into the dark eyes of his boss. "I can take the cigarette boat out and go find him...I know the area where he went over. He can't have drifted far..."
"No." The word was softly spoken, as always, but with a trace of understanding. Castillo knew how close the members of his teams were, and these two - his best - were very close indeed. "Leave it with the Coast Guard. They know their job."
"I gotta go myself! They looked already, and gave up."
Castillo, never one to waste words, simply shook his head. Tubbs locked eyes with his chief, and caught a spark of feeling there. Search and Rescue wasn't their beat and Castillo couldn't authorise a dangerous search through the tail-end of a hurricane. Couldn't authorise it - but could understand why some orders needed to be disobeyed...
Jerry was at the wheel when the big powerboat came into view. The hurricane had died to a storm and visibility had increased; the keen-eyed ship's second saw the needle-nosed boat while it was still a mile or so away. It's deliberate heading caught his immediate attention and he did a quick 360 degrees scan. Sure enough, the boat's twin brother was come up from astern. He wasted no time, pushing the alarm button on the Lady's control panel.
The ship erupted into life at the sound of the blaring klaxon. Men grabbed weapons from the arms cupboards and poured out on the deck. Moments later Hugh appeared, buckling a holstered pistol around his waist.
"What's up, Jerry?" He looked around even as he spoke, and swore. "Mendez. How in God's name did he find out? Get the engine going - I want some leeway. And get the men on the machine gun. I'll be right back."
He went quickly below and ran to his cabin. Sonny was sitting up when he entered, waiting. He looked up in surprise as an automatic pistol was dropped in his lap. Holding the familiar weight in his hand, he looked up at Hugh with a frown.
"I may be a fool to give you that," Hugh responded, his tone clipped and serious, "but right now I need all the guns I can muster. You'll be as dead as the rest of us if Mendez gets aboard."
"Mendez?"
"Lucius Mendez. Pirate, drug dealer and allround scumbag. How he found out about our run I don't know, but he's here for his 100% cut. If you value your life I suggest you get up on deck and defend it."
Without waiting for an answer, Hugh turned and headed back up top. Sonny didn't hesitate; he checked the clip, took off the safety and followed the captain to the deck.
He took a position by the main mast near Manuel, who handed him two spare clips without comment. Shoving them in his pockets, Sonny checked out the situation.
If they'd been wearing eye patches and tricorne hats, the Lady's crew might have been pirates waiting to repel borders. Some sat up the masts, others were crouched down behind the sides, and all were heavily armed. Two men were on top of the coachouse, with 90mm machine gun armed and ready. Half the crew were watching the nearer boat that was swinging in a circle towards their port quarter, while the rest watched the second boat approaching astern.
As the first boat came to within a hundred yards Sonny could see a figure standing with a megaphone near the controls. In the sudden hush that sometimes comes in a storm his voice cut through the gap between the two vessels.
"Walsh. If you give me your load, you can go on your way."
Hugh grinned, and cupped his hands around his mouth to shout. "Of course I believe you, Mendez. Come aboard and we'll talk."
"Not today, Hugh. Just drop the stuff in a dingy and you can go home. Otherwise we'll blow you and your shitty ship out of the water."
"Save your breath for escaping the sharks, Senor. Take it you can."
Mendez wasted no further time. A moment later the two boats swung in towards the yacht, their big engines roaring. Hugh took over the wheel and swung the Lady towards Mendez' boat. As soon as they were in range the men on the machine gun opened fire.
On rough seas with their target dodging at speed they made few initial hits, but each bullet did damage. Weaving and bucking, the two boats ran in towards the bigger yacht and were soon alongside.
Shots began pouring into the Lady's side, tearing through the wooden hull. Two crewmen went down, instantly dead. The remaining crew increased their fire, and three of the pirates went over the side of their boats. The powerboats went cleverly close, so that the machine guns couldn't reach them; in true pirate fashion the attackers tossed steel hooks over the yacht's rails and began to climb the attached ropes towards the yacht's deck.
Knives appeared as the fighting became hand to hand. The machine gun could not be turned inwards for fear of hitting their own men. Sonny, perched behind the mast, took careful aim and knocked over one pirate who came towards him with a spitting Uzi. He caught sight of Manuel twisting to face him...saw Manuel's gun rise..even as he moved, Manuel fired. A figure fell into his line of sight and he flashed the Cuban a salute in thanks before turning back.
It wasn't going well for the crew of the Shady Lady. They were outnumbered and each casualty lessened their chances. Sonny crawled over to the side and peered over the side...perhaps he could lead an attack on one of the boats. A moment later the yacht shook as the boat he was looking at disintegrated as its fuel tank exploded. Sonny looked about, dazed, and caught sight of a familiar shape racing in towards the yacht. He saw Tubbs behind the controls, controlling the wheel with his knees as he fed another shell into the big slug rifle. Pulling himself upright, he waved and saw Tubbs raise his hand in response.
With the unexpected loss of one boat the pirates lost heart. They clambered back into the remaining boat and it pulled away at full speed. Sonny waiting by the yacht's side, fitting a full clip into his gun as he watch Hugh's approach across the splintered deck.
"Don't trouble yourself, Hugh. My ride home has arrived."
Hugh looked over the side at the idling cigarette boat and nodded. "In the nick of time, like in the movies. It seems both our problems are solved."
Sonny eyed the big man, his expression thoughtful. "I think you should navigate different waters from now on. I will be watching." He smiled, suddenly. "But thanks for picking me up."
Hugh smiled, but his eyes were just as thoughtful, as if he was aware of his armed crew, silently gathered behind him. It was a ticklish moment, a chess gambit worthy of a master, and he laughed. "Very well. All debts are repaid. Keep the wind at your back, Sonny."
Sonny nodded and turned to go, then hesitated. He twisted to look across at Manuel, then moved forward and held out his hand. After a moment, the old man took it.
"Muchos Gracias, Manuel."
"You're welcome, Senor Cop." Manuel grinned. "Watch out for big winds, hey?"
Sonny grinned and limped across to the railing. He pulled himself over and down to where Tubbs waited. As soon as he was firmly in his seat Tubbs turned the wheel, gunned the engine and headed away.
"....so I knew something nasty was going on soon as I heard the firing. I took a look through the glasses and saw you popping away from the behind the mast and the rest, as they say, is history." Tubbs didn't speak for a few moments, and when he did his voice was uncertain. "I made sure your boat got back in one piece."
"Thanks." Sonny eyed his partner and guessed his feelings. "Listen, I knew you couldn't swim. I didn't expect no heroics, ok?"
Tubbs rolled his eyes. "I can too swim!"
"Well, then, why didn't you come in after me! And another thing I'm gonna teach you, Tubbs, is a little seamanship." Sonny sat back, crossed his arms and closed his eyes. "Like how to tie a decent knot. My kid does his shoelaces better."
Tubbs opened his mouth to answer, and shook his head. There was he, Ricardo Tubbs, survivor of a hurricane, rescuer in the nick of time against all odds and orders, being maligned in a most unfair way by his bruised, battered and smelly partner. It was enough to have a man thinking of New York with affection. He glared across at Sonny, feeling put upon.
"I shoulda thrown you back!"
* * *
10