Chapter 62 - SEACOCKS

Caldwell was concerned about BALI. He had the big Concordia under reduced sail as they ran outside the islands. The three sailors were relieved to be away from the entanglements of Smithport, and not sorry to see Moosepeak light disappear over the horizon. But now they had a bellyful of drugs and the old boat was taking on water again.

Caldwell had cut the whaler loose just outside Rogue Island, which left them without a tender. That would prove a damned nuisance if they stopped in any harbors along the way, but Caldwell was hoping to stay outside until they made Small Point, if that was possible. Certainly the weather was favorable. The wind had settled into a stiff northwesterly, and BALI was booming along. Maybe too well, as the leaks were gaining on the electric pump, and Cyr was now working the manual one in the cockpit every twenty minutes or so, for a five minute spell.

Their cuisine was going to be less elegant. The knockdowns had fouled all the fresh and most of the packaged food. They'd be reduced to canned goods, but that would be hardest on Cyr, and Caldwell found he was less than forgiving toward his two companions. In fact he was furious at them. They'd misled him about how much he'd get paid for this caper, about its dangers, and they'd wounded this grand old boat unnecessarily. But Caldwell's anger was tempered by the realization he'd been a damned fool.. about running drugs, about what had happened with Liz and her child, about a lot of things. And he was too glad to just be out here sailing on this glorious afternoon to harbor much ill will.

After they were well off, and making a course for Mt. Desert Rock, Caldwell turned the helm over to Walker, and went down to try the reverse caulking trick again. His iron had gone overside when Liz jumped, but by using his jack-knife Caldwell shoved cotton into as many working seams as he could reach, but most of the damage was inaccessible from inside, and his efforts didn't seem to make much difference. Caldwell was glad he'd installed one of those inflatable rafts in a barrel, lashed down just aft the mast. It had been an after-thought, as he'd never intended to do much serious off-shore sailing in this old beauty. Now he was glad of the extra reassurance.

Walker and Cyr were remarkably subdued, too. The killings had been a bit much, even for their melodramatic souls, and the presence of the cocaine was less exhilarating than it would have been before. Of the three sailors, Cyr was probably the least effected. All he needed was a new role, and he'd be fine. And maybe that was the problem. These preppies had to find their own ways in a world of constant change. Caldwell had jumped ship from an expected life of corporate securities and graceful living. Walker had never been allowed to enter his father's world as a full member. And Cyr had left the familiar Catholicism of a Franco-American milltown to strut the boards. At least the Smithporters knew where they belonged and what was expected of them. Their conflicts were over gear and catches, and they could leave the civilized uncertainties ashore.. just go fishing. These three over-educated yachtsmen were in danger of self-analysis, and all those civilized neuroses.

They were just slipping into a brown study when the faint thwocking of rotor blades began to come down the wind. The chilling effect was almost a tonic.

"Hark," Cyr intoned. "Dost I hear intimations of pursuit?"

"Ah do heah a tinglin in mah ear," Walker said, grinning. Surprised at his own reaction. Here was another turn of the card, and a new hand to play.

It didn't take long for the possible to become probable. Ten minutes later an unmarked black military helicopter was hovering over them, downdrafts shivering BALI's sails.

"Stop and await Coast Guard inspection," came the call from a loud-hailer. "Indicate your compliance by changing course, now."

Cyr made a great show of miming that they'd already been searched, while Caldwell continued to hold BALI on the same course. The helicopter was unimpressed, and after repeated hails to stop, a burst of machinegun fire splattered the water ahead of the Concordia.

Caldwell looked at Walker. "You don't think they'd actually shoot us on suspicion, do you?" he asked.

Walker shrugged. "We'all could fine out." He laughed aloud, and Cyr made a deep bow toward the chopper. Caldwell made a slight change of course, still heading away from Smithport.

"Decision time, amigos," Walker said, as the black chopper came in low across their bow, and hovered ahead of them, as if to block their way. The propwash made BALI's sails luff a bit, but hardly stopped her forward motion.

"What choice do we have?" Caldwell said dejectedly, crushed by the prospect of going to jail.

"Let 'em search again," Cyr proposed. "They never found the false tank the first time."

"But maybe da fish man tell da sheriff," Walker said, nodding to himself.

"Then we're fucked," Caldwell despaired.

"Les we sink da ship," the cowboy said, raising his eyebrows in a question. Caldwell was aghast.

The chopper fired another burst into the water alongside them. Caldwell threw over the helm and put BALI up into the wind. The chopper lifted up and circled them at a greater height.

What a terrible choice. Sink his dreamboat, or go to prison? And there was no time to consider. Caldwell could just make out the superstructure of the POINT HANON nicking the horizon toward Smithport.

"Shit," Caldwell said.

"In fo de dime," Walker observed.

Caldwell sighed. "OK, let's do it." The fog of self-loathing cleared with the need for action. "Take this," he handed Walker the tiller. "Cyr, you wave at them we'll sink if we head into the waves.. or at least something that'll confuse 'em," Caldwell instructed.

Then he dove below. Grabbing a kitchen knife off the galley rack, he yanked open the cupboard doors below the sink and began sawing furiously at the water hose coming off a through-hull fitting. Water started spraying him in the face, then the hose parted, and solid water spouted into the boat.

Caldwell scrambled aft into the engine compartment, grabbing a screwdriver from his toolbox. He quickly unscrewed the hoseclamps connecting the engine cooling intake from another through-hull, and yanked back and forth on the line until it broke free, gushing more water. As he backed into the main cabin, the water was already above the floorboards. Would she go down fast enough?

Clutching the screwdriver, Caldwell splashed forward to the head. Another minute's work and he'd pulled the sea-water intake to the toilet off another seacock, and water was streaming in there as well. He splashed back aft, and reached into the rising water to unbutton the floor, pulled up a board, and yanked the wires out of the electric bilge pump.

"What else?" he wondered. The pump outlets were above the waterline.. but not when she was sinking. Caldwell reached back down and pulled the hose off the pump. Already the water was up to his knees. Amazing how fast a boat can sink once her integrity is broached.

Caldwell was almost crazed with conflicting emotions. There was a mad glee in cheating the cops of their victory, but he was killing a beautiful old friend to do it. Caldwell laughed and cried as he slopped around the cabin unscrewing dogs on the port lights, and swinging them open. Then he did the same with the skylights. He sloshed forward and opened the lights in the cuddy. He unlatched the forehatch and pushed it up, climbing on the deck.

You could feel the weight of water below making BALI much more sluggish. Instead of lifting her lightly, the waves were thudding into lee side. Walker had been unable to keep her head to with all sails set, and now BALI was lurching along on a beam reach, heeled over in the stiff breeze.

"Good," Caldwell thought, "that'll put her lights under quicker."

The chopper was closer now, and the thwocking was a bit unnerving, but Caldwell was too charged up to be distracted. He looked toward the mainland, and the POINT HANON was almost hull up. They just might get away with it. He shook his fist at the helicopter for dramatic effect. Then he unlashed the emergency raft, and dragged it along the weather rail and into the cockpit. A glance down the companionway told all. Water was up over the cabin table, and with BALI heeled over it would soon reach the portlights on the lee side. Everything floatable was rising on the water.

Caldwell turned on the marine band radio to send a MAYDAY, but the batteries were drowned, and nothing happened. Walker winked at him.

Caldwell popped open the raft container, and triggered the inflatable. A bright yellow raft blew up, and Cyr and Caldwell managed it over the lee side, firmly holding the attached line. BALI was a lot deeper in the water now, and the waves were slopping over the weather rail. With all the weight below, the wind was having less effect on her angle, and her mast slowly rose toward the vertical, as the seas lapped into her open portholes.

Cyr handed Caldwell the bow line, and climbed into the raft. Walker grabbed something floating in the companionway, and jumped in behind Cyr. At the last minute Caldwell leaned into the companionway and grabbed BALI's log off the shelf just inside. Walker held BALI's safetyline to keep the raft from drifting away, and Caldwell swung over, and stepped in beside him.

They let go of the sailboat. The waves were now slapping the sides of the cabintop, and slopping into the skylight. BALI was still sailing nobly, as the waters rose up over her decks.. and swallowed her. The big mainmast tilted forward slightly, cocking her mizzen in the air, and BALI sailed into the deep.

The tension went out of Caldwell like air out of a balloon, and he broke into tears.

"Mah frens," Walker said, lifting the bottle of Calvados he'd salvaged. "A toast to a noble vessel, gone to her rest."

The three classmates were sitting in the liferaft under the chuddering helicopter, passing the bottle of brandy, when the POINT HANON came steaming up to capture them.