Wood's Harbor by Steven Becker Read Free Book Online

here several times and knew the general area, but needed the plotter and depth finder to navigate the unmarked channels. The other boat was out of sight, probably behind the island in front of him. He cut the wheel and entered what he hoped was the correct channel. Suddenly he was thrown forward and lost his balance. The boat brushed the bottom again and he reached for the throttles, pulling them back hard to keep from digging any deeper. There was an old saying in boating that if you were going to hit something, hit it slow. 
    The boat slowed, but as it came off plane, it sank deeper into the water and stuck.
    “Damn it,” he muttered. The chase was over. It would be hours before the tide brought enough water to lift them off the bottom.
     
    ***
     
    Norm slowed at the cut leading into Mooney Harbor in the center of the Marquesas Keys. White mast lights and the faint outlines of several boats anchored in the protected water were just visible. He entered the channel and steered towards the shore of the largest island following its jagged shape, using the plotter to keep him in deep water until he reached the tip. The GPS beeped. He looked up and saw a large trawler anchored several hundred yards ahead. Breathing deeply, he tried to settle his mind after the chase. He would need all his wits for this meeting. 
    At idle speed he closed the distance and saw the outline of three figures on the other boat. He thought two looked like they were uniformed and he tensed as the boats came together. Norm caught the line one of the men tossed to him and tied it to a cleat. The boats coasted to within a few feet and the other man tossed a bumper over the side and pulled them together. Norm got a good look at the men. He was right about the uniforms, but his heart missed a beat - they were Cuban.
    He had a quick moment of panic where he wanted to release the line and get out of there. Despite the risk, when the third man rose, his curiosity piqued. The figure, still in the shadow of the cabin, was also in uniform, his pock-marked face was illuminated when he pulled on his cigar.
    “Generalissimo,” Norm called across the boats.

 
     
     
     
     
     
     
     
     
    SEVEN
    Another fifteen minutes and they would have been able to see the muck they were stuck in, Mac thought as he stared at the dark brown bottom surrounding them. The sun’s rays pierced the surface now and clearly showed the bottom. 
    “Now what we gonna do?” Trufante asked.
    Mac looked over at the Cajun, sitting on the deck as if he were ready for a nap. “What do you think we’re going to do. I’m not waiting on the tide.” He looked around the boat again. The turtle grass waving in the current below them was not a good sign. Had they grounded in sand, the water would have been a light, almost clear green and they could have pushed the boat off the harder bottom. Turtle grass meant mud, the kind of bottom that would trap you to the knee like quicksand and create a powerful suction on the hull. 
    “Can you hold off on the nap for a while; I know you’ve had a few rough days with the party and all, but I need you to keep watch. That rental boat’s range is limited. I expect he’ll come back this way,” Mac said. 
    Trufante had propped himself up on the gunwale, his head resting in his arms. He looked like he’d be asleep in minutes. 
    Mac shielded his eyes, squinted into the rising sun, and cursed his luck. The CIA man was out there somewhere, and if he could figure out what he was doing, it might give him the leverage he needed to clear his name and help Mel. He inspected the water around the stuck hull, anxious to free the boat before the man returned. Although they had lost him, the channel had an unimpeded view of any boats passing by. The wind was down, the seas calm, and the tourists were already starting to take advantage of another beautiful day in paradise. With the additional boat traffic, it wouldn’t be nearly as hard or risky to follow