Coincidence Read online

  He should never have put Phillip in charge of something so important. Sure the guy knew boats and was a regular whiz at the helm, but he had no concept of the painstaking attention you had to put into a job like this.

  Eventually Juan found a likely spot at a marina in the harbor at Punta Magdalena, some ninety miles north. The marina closed at five every evening, but if he could entice the owner to come back after dark to service a late-arriving boat, it would be as good a spot as they could hope for.

  The harbor at Punta Magdalena was dilapidated but well protected by a rock breakwater with an opening about two hundred feet wide. The marina was at the end of an old wooden jetty that extended into the harbor about two hundred and fifty feet. Juan was glad to see that the few fishing boats in the harbor were allowed to swing on their moorings. That would give them plenty of room to manoeuvre the Two Wise in the harbor.

  The sides of the jetty were protected by long planks of wood with old used tires suspended from them for fenders. There was a gas pump, a diesel pump, and a ramshackle shed used as an office. Lighting was almost nonexistent. It was obvious that not much happened at night. They couldn’t take a chance on being seen in the daytime; the camouflage Phillip had devised was okay for disguising the boat from the air, but at close range, in the light of day? Who the hell would stick blue vinyl all over a million-dollar yacht?

  No, they would have to do the refueling at night, with as few people around as possible. Juan had found that it rarely took more than waving a few pesos under the nose of an underpaid worker to put him in a cooperative frame of mind. He jotted down the marina manager’s name and number. He’d get Phillip to make the call. That was the one thing the little bastard was useful for—passing for an upstanding middle-class citizen.

  That same day, Phillip was grappling with how to get seventeen rolls of vinyl aboard the boat. He hadn’t wanted to make inquiries in Puntarenas, so had headed for San Jose, the capital. He’d had a frustrating afternoon going from one sign shop to another before he found one that could order the material he was looking for, in Flag Blue, one roll of each size. Even so, it would take two weeks to come in, and the shop owner was the chatty type, all inquisitive about what he was going to be doing with so much blue vinyl.

  He’d had to invent a story, and a pretty darn good story it was, too, he thought, to have been hatched on the spot like that. He said he was filming a TV commercial and needed the vinyl to cover up the side of a building. The strips would come right off after the shoot, he’d said, warming to his theme. His film crew used it all the time.

  Then the guy wanted to know why he hadn’t just brought it with him from the States to begin with, in that case. He replied with something about all the hassles involved in bringing it through customs. The little man seemed satisfied at this, nodding and grumbling about the troubles the government caused with its silly regulation of this and that, and said that, as long as Phillip paid cash in advance, he’d be glad to order whatever he wanted. And if he should need any extras for the TV commercial, any locals maybe, for a crowd scene—No? Well, if not himself, he had a wife, mother, sister, nephews, nieces …

  Before leaving San Jose, Phillip located a small self-storage company and rented a medium-sized unit. It was larger than he really needed, but it was the only one available. He rented it for three months, paying in advance for the whole period. When the vinyl arrived, he would pick it up in a small rented van and deliver it to the storage unit until the day before they planned to steal the boat.

  Philip went over the plan on his flight back to Medellin, examining it over and over for any problems unaccounted for, any ends untied. Two weeks before the heist was to go down, he, Juan, and Esteban would fly to San Jose and rent a small van in an assumed name. They would pick up the vinyl at the storage unit and drive to Puntarenas, arriving about four in the afternoon. That would give them time to buy food for the trip and observe both the harbor and the boat, making certain that everything was okay. Around eight o’clock they would drive the van to the boat, unload the vinyl and food, and leave the van in a parking lot close to the harbor. It should take them no more than half an hour to load the vinyl, break into the boat, start the engines, cast off the lines, and take off for Buenaventura.

  What else? Was there anything, any detail, no matter how tiny, that—God forbid—he had overlooked that could trip them up? Anything at all he could add that would help—help them with the plan, and, most especially, help him get back into Juan’s good graces?

  Goggles. Night-vision goggles. What if they could slip out of the harbor without turning on their lights at all? What if they could just glide right past the fishing boats, through the breakwater, and out into the open sea, with no more light than the moon and the stars provided? It was an idea, one that just might quell Juan’s anger at him a little.

  He hated to think about being out in the Pacific Ocean with the man if it didn’t.

  9

  The day before the Inspiration’s departure, parents arrived to see their kids off. Of the thirty-two students on board, fourteen had family members present to bid them farewell.

  Carol and Craig Jordan, Melissa’s mom and dad, arrived early in the afternoon and checked into the Holiday Inn Harbor View, directly across the street from the Inspiration’s dock. Running straight to the window of their eleventh-floor room overlooking the water, her carry-on bag still in hand, Carol yanked the curtains open, eager for her first view of the ship that was her daughter’s new home. She was horrified to find it nowhere in sight. Had they somehow come to the wrong place?

  To the right, she could see planes taking off and landing at the San Diego airport. Looking across San Diego bay, slightly to the left, planes were taking off and landing at the North Island U.S. Naval Air Station. Several navy ships, including an aircraft carrier, were docked at the naval station. The Maritime Museum of San Diego was right across the street. But where was the Inspiration?

  She dialed the front desk and was relieved to hear that the ship was just around the other side of the harbor for its final provisioning and would be returning soon to its usual spot.

  Carol called room service and ordered tea, which arrived just as Craig appeared with the rest of their luggage. The two of them were sitting by the window sipping when the Inspiration hove into view, crossing slowly in front of the hotel and docking.

  Melissa was standing on deck as the ship docked, keeping her eyes peeled for her parents. Now that the time of departure had arrived, she was fighting off pangs of homesickness. She’d already bid a tearful telephone good-bye to Eric, who was now back at school. She had mailed cheerful postcards to her friends, telling them how excited she was about the journey—and carefully not mentioning that she was writing rather than calling because if she heard their voices, she might fall apart entirely.

  Suddenly she caught sight of her parents hurrying across the street toward the ship, her mom taking two steps for every one of her dad’s long strides. Dad, she noted, was wearing the same old Aussie hat adorned with souvenir badges that had embarrassed her no end when he’d worn it to her regattas. Her face dissolved into a silly grin; she’d never been so happy to see anything in her life. She ran ashore as they neared the dock and scooped them up in a bear hug. Anyone passing by would have had no trouble translating the trio’s babblings as expressions of joy.

  Melissa gave her parents the grand tour of the ship and introduced them to her cabinmates. Craig and Carol were floored by the size of the cabin, even though they had been told its dimensions.

  Thank goodness the girls seemed to get along so well, Carol thought.

  And the washroom! That was tinier still, and, Melissa told them, not only could she barely squeeze herself into the shower, half the time the water was only lukewarm.

  Carol, happy to be taking maternal charge again, whisked Melissa right up to the hotel room for one last long luxuriously warm shower before her little girl would be forced once more to brave the tepid waters of the har
dy sailing life.

  Afterward, Melissa, cozily bundled in a terry-cloth robe, sat on the edge of the bed as Carol sat behind her, unsnarling the tangles in her daughter’s long thick hair. Of course Melissa was perfectly capable of doing this for herself, but it was a ritual they enjoyed when they had the opportunity.

  Craig sat in the armchair by the window, wondering how long it would be before he would witness this lovely picture again. Or might Melissa’s experience on the Inspiration change her so radically that she would no longer even want to participate in these family rituals? That was such an endearing quality about his daughter, he reflected. As mature and capable as she now was, she was still perfectly happy to be as cuddlesome and snuggly as a four-year-old. It was like having a preternaturally thoughtful and self-sufficient toddler in the house; all of the charm with none of the hassles. Of course she had to grow up, he wouldn’t want it any other way—but must everything change?

  Both parents listened with rapt attention as Melissa related all of the details since her arrival in San Diego. Her words tripped over one another, her arms punctuated the ones she could get out, her head sometimes jutted forward with gales of laughter—until she felt her hair pulled to its limit against the brush and screeched “Ow!” followed by another fit of laughing. Almost all of the details, at any rate. Although Melissa told her parents that the boy-to-girl ratio was good, and that there were some cute guys onboard—some of them tall, even—she made no mention of Pierre.

  At dusk they went to Planet Hollywood for dinner, followed by a last-minute shopping trip. Melissa needed a pillow as the small blowup one she had brought with her, hoping to save space in her luggage, had already sprung a leak. Once in the store, all three discovered little items that might just be the very thing to have along on a long and possibly uncomfortable journey: hand and foot warmers, a whistle on a neck cord, extra tubes of lip ointment, small plastic bags, and, to go in them, a supply of peppermint patties, Melissa’s favorite candy. Melissa nibbled two or three as she filled up the baggies back at the hotel room, then stretched out on the bed and slept soundly until Carol got her up just before the ship’s eleven o’clock curfew.

  They held hands walking to the ship and said a teary good night. Carol had told herself sternly that she was not going to cry, that it would be quite unkind of her to put a damper on her daughter’s enthusiasm with any selfish displays of bawling. But as soon as she saw Melissa’s eyes begin to fill with tears, she couldn’t hold any back of her own.

  As for Craig, his eyes were half covered by his hat, which he had inexplicably put on even though there was no need for it now that the sun had gone down. He stood with his hands thrust deep in his pockets and said a hoarse, almost inaudible, “ ’Night, Baby.”

  “It’s okay,” Melissa said. “We’re still going to see each other tomorrow.”

  The gate to the floating dock was locked. The sign on the gate, which Melissa had never noticed, said it would be locked at ten-thirty every night. Melissa climbed the fence and boarded the ship. She moved to the bow, keeping her eyes on her parents as they walked back to the hotel. When they disappeared through the front entrance, she sat down on the bow and stared up at the eleventh floor. She spent most of the night sitting there, tears rolling down her cheeks.

  The next afternoon, the day of departure, the crew held a reception onboard for the families. It was primarily a chance for the parents to get acquainted with the crew and the other students with whom their kids would be spending the next few months. It was also an opportunity for Captain Marzynski, Anika Johnson, and Edward Flynn, the founder of Blue Water Academy, to point out the elaborate safety mechanisms in place on the Inspiration.

  “Lloyd’s Register, one of the top ship-surveying companies in the world, performs an annual check of every single component of every single system aboard the ship,” Mr. Flynn told them. “Every five years, Lloyd’s requires an even more thorough examination to reclass the vessel.

  “For this, the inspectors walk through the door as if they’ve never seen the vessel before.”

  He waved his hands in the direction of the engine room.

  “They tear down the main engines and generators—all of the pumps and sea valves, the electronic systems, the navigation systems—and examine everything under a microscope.”

  Craig couldn’t help noticing that the man who was assuring them of the safeguards for their beloved children was missing three fingers from his right hand.

  “Since the Inspiration is registered in the Bahamas, the Bahamian Maritime Authority appoints a surveyor to accompany the Lloyd’s surveyors; together, they go through a rigorous checklist of items that literally number into the thousands. It takes more than two weeks to complete the survey. An imposing level of redundancy is required. If anything, no matter how minor, needs repair, the vessel is down until it is repaired. Blue Water Academy cannot operate the vessel until the certificate is issued.

  “Furthermore, although the Lloyd’s requirement is that a vessel must go through two such surveys every three years, on the Inspiration we do it every other year.

  “Bahamian registration requires that there be six licensed personnel onboard the ship in order to move the vessel. The captain must be certified as unlimited oceangoing and sail-endorsed. The Inspiration carries three people who are licensed at this level. First mate Dr. Elliott Williams and second mate Henry Mattox are our fully qualified backups. In the unlikely event the captain is injured or ill, they are eminently capable of taking over.”

  Henry beamed. He had received his sail endorsement just six weeks before.

  Dr. Williams gave a barely perceptible nod.

  “And, in the even more unlikely event that some catastrophe should befall all three of them, well, our bosun Mac, while he does not hold certification, is as capable as anyone of sailing this ship.”

  Mac gave a mock courtly bow at this acknowledgment.

  “The Inspiration has two captains who rotate every six months,” Mr. Flynn continued. “Each has been with the program for over fifteen years. Captain Luke Marzynski here likely has more time at sea than any other living sail-endorsed captain. And now I will stop bragging about him and give him a chance to get in a few words of his own. Captain Marzynski?”

  When the applause died down, the captain began.

  “As you all know, this is no luxury cruise. This is a working vessel, and much of the unique learning experience we offer comes from the students pulling their weight with all of the day-to-day operations. They are not playacting. They are not engaging in busywork or performing superficial tasks. They are crewing this vessel, with all of the responsibility that entails. But I want to assure you that, in spite of the inherent risks involved in sailing, we do everything we possibly can to ensure the safety of every person on this ship.”

  All of the parents had already heard all of this several times. Program safety had been stressed in the Blue Water brochure. Kathleen Tutty had gone over it with them at the time of the interview. It had all been laid out again in the admission papers. But no one minded in the least hearing it one more time.

  “Students must wear the right kind of shoes on deck and when going aloft. There are stringent requirements as to when their safety harnesses must be clipped on. Stainless-steel safety lines are part of the rigging. The professional crew knows when to add an additional lifeline and when to demand that all students stay within the deckhouse. I’m happy to report that accidents have been few and far between—and the most serious ever was a broken arm.”

  “And that from slippin’ in the soup he’d just spilt!” Mac called out. “Had nothin’ to do with the sailin’!”

  “True,” the captain said. “Furthermore, no student is required to take on a job in which he or she is really uncomfortable—”

  “They’ll peel tatties whether they like it or no’!” Mac put in, leaning forward in his best pirate-captain imitation, sweeping the crowd with an evil sneer that fooled no one.

 
“Other than peeling potatoes, of course,” Captain Marzynski said, suppressing a smile. “But no student goes higher on the rigging than is comfortable, no student handles lines that are too heavy for them to manage. All jobs aboard this ship are vital for its operation—”

  “Especially tattie peeling!” one of the students yelled.

  “Hear, hear!” several others shouted.

  The captain grinned.

  “We have conducted emergency drills every day since the students arrived—fire, man overboard, abandon ship, every conceivable emergency—and will continue to conduct them on the course of our journey. And, believe me, no one runs a tighter emergency drill than our Mac.”

  The students let out a cheer. Mac had scared some of them silly with his gruffness in the first drill, but they had soon discovered that it was a cover for his sweetness and a manifestation of his abiding concern for their safety.

  The truth was, if anything were ever to happen to a student in his care, Mac would never be able to forgive himself.

  “And now,” Captain Marzynski said, “before our bosun’s head gets any more swollen than it already is, I’d like to introduce our ship’s director, Anika Johnson. She’s going to tell you a bit about the educational aspects of the program.”

  Anika seemed slightly out of breath as she stepped up to speak and was rummaging about in her pocket.

  Dave Cameron had been wondering where she’d disappeared while the captain had been talking. Was something wrong?

  “One of the chief educational tasks the students face, “Anika began, with a graver expression than Dave had ever seen on her usually sunny face, “is the use of this crucial piece of equipment—”

  Here she produced the potato peeler she had run to the galley to fetch, and raised it high over her head like the torch of the Statue of Liberty.

  Fortunately for Anika, the crowd’s laughter went on long enough for her to get her own giggles under control. She ran her hands through her close-cropped blond hair and began again, on a more serious note. The program directors, she told the parents, determine the itinerary eighteen months in advance.