Coincidence Read online

  At 1300 hours the whole student body walked along with the teachers to the Miranda Hotel. They spent the afternoon swimming in the hotel pool with the Mexican students who would be their hosts and playing rollicking games of tug-of-war and volleyball. By the end of the afternoon, there were no more strangers.

  Melissa went to the home of Jessica, a seventeen-year-old girl who lived right on the beach in one of the little coves dotting the shoreline of Banderas Bay. The house was modest in size and the furnishings were simple, but its warm stucco walls and wide curving arches, not to mention its idyllic location, gave it such a feeling of light and spaciousness and charm that Melissa thought it the most beautiful house she’d ever seen. She and Jessica sat in the courtyard around the small pool before dinner, asking each other a million questions.

  The family took Melissa out for dinner at a beautiful seafood restaurant high on a hill above the hotels, overlooking the bay. The sun setting on the horizon over the deep blue water was spectacular, an ever-changing picture of radiant pinks and golds. The food was fantastic, too; Carol would have been happy to learn that Melissa had sampled some traditional Mexican cuisine and enjoyed it.

  After dinner, the two girls left to meet all of the other kids at a disco called Friday Lopez. This was the official, BWA-sponsored get-together.

  After the teachers went back to the ship, however, there was another get-together at another disco. This was unofficial and unchaperoned, and a few of the kids took advantage of the absence of teachers and had a drink or two. Melissa was tempted at first to have one but decided against it. The last thing she wanted was to be caught doing something against the rules and against the promise she’d made to her parents. Besides, she thought, as Pierre held her close, whispering in her ear about his host family as they danced, she was pretty sure that she was already about as happy as a girl could get. What could alcohol add to her pleasure?

  In the morning, the Floaties bid their newfound friends adíos and promised to keep in touch. Melissa and Pierre stood on deck holding hands as they watched Puerto Vallarta fade into the distance. It had been an interesting place, a place of great natural beauty, they agreed, and in some ways they wished they could have stayed longer. There were many more things to do than they’d had time for. But it had also been awfully commercialized and awfully touristy.

  Their next destination, however, was the opposite of commercial: the Galápagos Islands, a twelve-day sail from Mexico.

  13

  Once classes began, Melissa was surprised to find her ship duties had become so routine she had no trouble finding time or energy to study. Besides, the courses were fascinating. The teachers tied them to the places where they were traveling. Melissa had always been a good student, but now she was riveted to her studies like never before.

  Pierre, who had scraped by in school with a minimum of studying, was amazed to find himself enjoying the classes. Studying the history, geography, biology, and literature of the parts of the world they were sailing through made all the difference for him.

  The enthusiasm of the teachers was contagious. They made themselves available at all hours if the Floaties had questions or wanted to continue an absorbing discussion.

  A couple of days out, the wind died. The ocean looked like a mirror and there were no clouds in the sky. It was a perfect day for a swim call, Anika thought, and no telling when another might come along. She asked the captain if he would stop the ship. Because they had been making good time, he agreed.

  Mac and Charlie lowered the Zodiac into the water and Dr. Williams climbed in it to keep watch over the swimmers. The students swam in small groups, divided on the basis of their galley watches. Watches E and F went first.

  Pierre and Melissa, in watch F, jumped, hand in hand, from the side of the ship into the shining water.

  “So warm!” Pierre shouted as he came up for air. “I can’t believe it!”

  They paddled about in circles around each other for a few minutes, diving down and popping up to splash each other. The water, with the sunshine beating down on it, was warmer than the water in the showers onboard.

  Pierre headed for the ladder, shouting, “I’m going to jump in again—but this time, from up there! Come on!”

  Melissa looked at the bowsprit to which he was pointing, almost thirty feet above the water. Was he crazy? She was a good diver, and a competitive spirit, but there was no way she was going to jump from that height. She shook her head and gritted her teeth, one eye shut and one open, as she watched Pierre getting ready to jump.

  Pierre’s leap into the water (“Whoa! Magnifique!” he shouted as he emerged from below the surface) inspired several other kids to climb up onto the bowsprit; once on it, however, and peering down—way down—into the sea below them, most of them inched their way back and jumped off the side of the ship instead. Only a couple were bold enough to follow Pierre’s example.

  Soon their half hour of swim time was up, and galley watches C and D jumped in. Pierre tried to get some of this group to take the plunge off the bowsprit but there were no takers. Maybe all the physical challenges and discipline at Caneff had been worth something, he thought. Not that he would ever go back.

  Suddenly there was a shout from Ryan, a Floatie in Melissa’s deck-watch group:

  “SHARK!”

  Everyone on deck raced to the side, hands shielding their eyes as they searched the water for the creature, pointing and shouting back and forth (“Where?” “What’s that over there?” “No, I don’t see anything!”) as they tried not to panic. Anika, fighting her own panic, was a model of calm on the outside. She yelled for those farthest from the ship to head for the Zodiac—“NOW!” —and for the others to come straight to the ladder, where Mac was waiting to help haul them over the side with all possible speed.

  Within minutes, all of the students were safely onboard. No one else had caught a glimpse of the elusive shark, if in fact there had been one at all. But, even though it might have been a false alarm, watches A and B had to miss their swim.

  “Another adventure to be tellin’ the grandkids, eh?” Mac said.

  Anika had organized the first onboard dance for that evening. Just after 2000 hours, everyone—except those on watch duty, of course—gathered amidships. Mary Wilson had bought a big donkey-shaped piñata in Puerto Vallarta, and Dave had hung it on the main boom. The kids took turns whacking it with a stick until it finally burst, spilling brightly wrapped candies all over the deck.

  After this rollicking start, however, some of the kids reverted to adolescent shyness. Pierre and Melissa lost no time in getting together on the dance floor, but most of the boys hung out on one side of the room, and most of the girls waited on the other.

  Hoping the students would follow suit, Dave Cameron took Anika’s arm and steered her onto the floor; Tom Michaels did the same with Sharon Rock; Mary Wilson followed suit and pulled Dr. Williams to his feet.

  The second number was a Latin beat, a medley of fast salsa tunes that went on for nearly half an hour. Pierre and Melissa signaled for their cabinmates to get up and join them in a group dance. This inspired some of the other kids, especially the girls, to start dancing in informal groups. As the evening wore on, more students paired off into couples.

  Melissa took special note of the way Nancy was dancing with Michael, a rugged-looking boy from Manitoba. They were looking pretty chummy, she thought, considering that Nancy had a boyfriend, Andy, back home in Boston. She had sworn that Andy was the only guy for her. He had been her steady since the beginning of high school. Nothing could make her change her mind about him while she was away. She’d gotten a little huffy when Melissa suggested that Andy might not be quite so willing to put his love life on hold until she returned.

  We shall see, Melissa thought. We shall see.

  Shortly before the dance ended, Pierre and Melissa disappeared outside and climbed onto the classroom deck. As before, they lay on their backs, studying the sky and hoping to see shooting stars. For e
very one they saw, they rewarded each other with a kiss. If they did not see one for a while … well, a kiss was a good consolation prize, n’est pas?

  In the morning the sky was gray and the wind had moved to the west. Captain Marzynski was forced to alter course so the ship could continue to sail. For the first time the ship was encountering large waves. It not only was pitching from front to back, it was rolling from side to side as well.

  This is a deadly combination for anyone not accustomed to sailing in high winds and seas. Most of the Floaties were not. Many of them were going through what Dr. Williams liked to call the Ten Stages of Seasickness:

  Stage One: Denial. The symptoms are burping, hiccupping, and nausea. The smell from the galley hits you but you say, “No, no, I’m not seasick. It’s just a drain smell.”

  Stage Two: Acceptance: “Okay, maybe I am a little queasy. But in these seas it’s not going to be so bad.”

  Stage Three: Contemplation of Positive Action: “Maybe I should just throw up and get it over with.”

  This is followed by Stage Four: Bravado: “I don’t need to throw up. And I still want to be a Floatie.”

  Then comes Stage Five: Involuntary Response: You’re at the rail and on your knees, calling, “Moooooooohm! Daaaaaaaadd!”

  Stage Six: Apathy: “I don’t wanna to be a Floatie!”

  Fear comes in Stage Seven: “Oh, God, please don’t let me die.”

  And then, in Stage Eight, Despair: “Oh, God, please let me die.”

  Stage Nine is marked by Healing: “That wasn’t so bad. I’m feeling better already.”

  Finally, Stage Ten, Resurrection: “Of course I want to be a Floatie!”

  The bad weather lasted almost twenty-four hours. Pretty well everyone who was sick went from Denial to Resurrection in the same time period. Eventually the weather improved and the sun came out. The storm system had passed and the wind moved to its normal westerly direction, which meant the ship could return to its proper course.

  A few days later, the Inspiration was nearing the equator, a milestone for many onboard. Those who had not crossed the equator by ship before were referred to as pollywogs; those who had, as shellbacks. The night before the crossing, Anika gathered all of the pollywogs together.

  The crossing, she announced, would take place about 1100 hours the next morning. This was not something to be undertaken lightly, she told them. It would be necessary for all pollywogs to ask King Neptune to grant permission for them to cross. This was a ritual that all sailors must undergo on their first crossing. In preparation for tomorrow’s initiation, they must have the head of King Neptune’s spear painted on their foreheads.

  Just before the ship reached the equator the next morning, all pollywogs—Floaties and teachers alike—had to climb down into the bosun’s locker to await their initiation. Evan, one of Pierre’s cabinmates, volunteered to go first.

  “Whatever it is, I’d rather just get it all over with than have to stay in suspense,” he said.

  The others were called on deck alphabetically.

  As Captain Marzynski intoned his name, Evan crawled out of the locker on his hands and knees. The captain crowned him with a toilet-seat cover; then, in a vivid demonstration of Mighty Neptune’s powers in controlling the waters of the oceans, one of the king’s assistants—the one that happened to speak with a Scottish brogue—threw a bucket of seawater over his head.

  The initiate was then led to an oversize chair, where several more of Neptune’s helpful assistants anointed his upper body with old motor oil, cracked eggs over his head, and then covered the whole gooey mess with a floury white powder. This was to demonstrate that the king also ruled above the water and could do whatever he wanted.

  Next it was time for Evan to show his respect for the king by going on all fours through a canvas tube about twenty feet long and twenty-five inches in diameter. As soon as he entered the tube, the king’s ever-helpful assistants turned on the deck-mounted fire hose behind him to speed him in his travel to the king, not to mention tidy him up a bit for the royal presentation.

  The final task was to kneel before the king and ask for permission to cross the equator. Was it Evan’s imagination, or did Neptune’s voice sound suspiciously like Anika’s? And wasn’t “he” awfully small to be so powerful? In any case, the king always granted this request and was in fact so delighted to add a member to his retinue that he graciously bestowed the gift of a cookie on the new shellback. His Majesty would be offended if one were to refuse to gobble up the offering in his presence, so Evan took a big bite. Bleeaah! He had no idea what was in the thing—he’d rather not know. It was all he could do not to spit it out.

  The new shellbacks assembled at Neptune’s delicate feet and cheered on the dazed and soggy pollywogs as they appeared one by one. When the last initiate—Mary Wilson—came through, a thunderous cheer rose up to greet her.

  The captain awarded the new members of the Shellback Club certificates to prove they had undergone the proper initiation. They posed for photos, smiling into the cameras in exuberant muckiness, beaming with pride at having crossed the equator and survived.

  The following day the ship reached the Galápagos.

  14

  When Stefano awoke on Thursday morning, he looked out the window and saw a pristine blue sky with not a cloud in sight. He took it as a good omen. Not that he was worried. They were ready. They had spent the past four days honing his plan. Between his brilliant concept and his little brother’s meticulous working out of every last element—Juanito might as well have examined the details under a microscope—what could go wrong?

  Everyone was excited. Juan cooked a huge meal of huevos rancheros. They couldn’t do what they needed to do today on tea and toast, he snorted, and it might just be their last square meal for several days.

  “Yeah, especially if we all get seasick,” Esteban said.

  Severo was already feeling a little seasick. He didn’t share the others’ attitude that nothing could go wrong. Something could always go wrong, no matter how carefully you tried to prepare.

  He could think of a million things without half trying. He hadn’t slept a wink all night thinking of them. What if the trucks were driving too fast and Polo got killed in the crash? What if his rifle jammed? What if the cartel found them? What if the drugs were discovered on Easter Island? There was no way anybody could control everything. Not even Juan and Stefano.

  It was all Severo could do not to hurl his untouched plate of eggs at the brothers and their self-congratulatory talk. He stabbed his fork in and out of his eggs. How could they possibly believe that the cartel wouldn’t find anything for months? That the authorities wouldn’t care? Juan and Stefano must be as ignorant as they were arrogant if they thought that was realistic.

  By noon everyone was in place. Polo sat in the SUV in the designated spot in the driveway; Esteban was in the pickup truck on the side of the road, a half mile away. Juan was ensconced in the clump of ficus at the road to the left of the driveway, Severo amid a thicket of trees to the right. Stefano waited in the ditch on the other side of the road just past the driveway, camouflaged by the jumble of thunbergia vines.

  Their engines were running and their guns were cocked.

  Esteban heard traffic approaching just before one o’clock. He reached for his walkie-talkie. A few seconds later, when the first of the three trucks rounded the curve in the road, he put the walkie-talkie to his ear and pressed the button.

  “They’re here. On my signal, Polo.”

  Severo began to shake.

  “Go,” they heard Esteban yell and everything fell into place. Polo’s foot lifted off the brake, just like in the practice runs, and the SUV started forward, picking up speed to twenty-five miles per hour as it approached the road.

  Esteban pulled onto the road behind the last pickup in the drug convoy, edging up close to its rear bumper.

  The timing was perfect. Polo swung the SUV out onto the road and rammed smack into the side of th
e van. Although this was the one maneuver they had not been able to rehearse, it went with impeccable precision. The van never lost control; it slid to a gentle stop just ahead of the SUV. To Juan, peering out from among the leaves, the impact seemed like a slow-motion sequence in a movie.

  Then, pandemonium.

  The lead truck squealed to a stop. Guards from all three vehicles swarmed out, drawing their weapons, shouting. Polo, pale as a boiled egg in his skimpy bathing suit, emerged from the SUV, raised his hands over his head and stood frozen to the spot, surrounded by six surprised guards, all shouting at one another and all with their guns trained on his scrawny figure.

  The din let up for a moment as the guards, realizing that the vulnerable-looking little man before them posed no threat, began to chuckle. Polo, in a convincing display of terror, was falling to his knees, hands still up, invoking the name of his sainted mother. The tall guard, the one who seemed to be in charge, barked a terse command to the others. They lowered their weapons while the tall guard took a step toward Polo, and then—

  Crack! Crack! Crack! The sound of rifles pierced the air as Severo and Juan fired, picking off the guards one by one before they could register that they were in danger.

  All was silent for a moment, but for the echo of the rifle shots reverberating in their ears. Polo was up and on his feet in a flash, pulling on the pants and shirt he’d stashed in the SUV, joining Juan and Severo in their exhilaration and accepting Juan’s compliments for his performance.

  “Polito, hombre, you should get an Oscar for that one.”

  Juan had known that Polo could look the part of a sniveling coward, but he’d been amazed by the guy’s acting ability. It was only Polo’s instant return to his usual cocky self that persuaded Juan that it had all been an act.

  Juan wheeled around, looking for Stefano, wondering if he’d been able to see any of the theatrics from his spot across the road.