“A little,” he admitted, “but my plan was never to try to outrun anyone in a freaking sailboat. I was trying to blend in. Look, Lana, when they offered me a deal, I had to take it. And now they’re offering to expunge my record if I get that woman and her kid out of Russia. They need people like me, obviously.”
“Drug smugglers?”
“No! People who know high-end sailing and navigation. I’m talking about when all your electronics go down and all you have left are the stars, and you have to sail in the black of night through hostile territorial waters with channel markers and buoys disappearing, and crowded with all kinds of boats trying to stay clear of land with the oceans rising. Not to mention the Russian Navy.”
She could buy the need for criminals like him, but not the more startling Doper Don news of late: “Did you actually tell the deputy director of the National Security Agency that you’re looking to get back together with Emma and me? I can accept that they gave you a great deal. I can even accept that there’s an ounce of patriotism in you that might just possibly outweigh the tons of drugs that have passed through your greedy hands, but I can’t accept that a man who abandoned his two-year-old daughter and wife to play a stoned version of Pirates of the Caribbean really gives a damn about his family.”
“Quite a speech.” He stared at her. “Do I get to respond?”
“Sure. Be my guest.”
“I made a huge mistake. I’m looking to make amends. I’ve risked my life to take down some real savages in Colombia who would have delighted in torturing me slowly to death. I was a shitty husband and father. I was irresponsible. I’m the opposite of all that now. And, believe it or not, I’m the right person for the job.”
“Give me a break, Don. It’s a big country. There are thousands of qualified sailors. Not all of them with a nickname that pays homage to illicit drugs.”
“By the way, I would appreciate it if you’d stop referring to me that way in front of my daughter.”
“I’ve never called you that in front of her.”
He seemed delighted. “Well, thank you.”
“I fight fair.”
“As for those thousands of sailors you just mentioned, they’re really busy right now. I could clear a couple grand a day, if I were a free man.”’
Undeniably true. In the past few days, the nautical world had been turned upside down. Yacht owners were desperate for their captains — any captains — to save their floating palaces, but the captains generally worked for several boat owners at once; few ocean gentry had them on the clock twenty-four seven. Plus, the feds, under emergency provisions, had forced the recruitment of thousands of seamen who had served in various government capacities — merchant marine, Coast Guard, and so forth — just as they had impressed them in past centuries. They needed them to keep harbors from getting obstructed by boats breaking loose from their moorings — or by their wealthy owners scuttling them to make a quick insurance claim in a time of crisis, which had happened with such abandon after the 2008 financial collapse.
In short, skilled sailors were in unprecedented demand by the public and private sector — and making more money than ever. Except for Don:
“Instead,” he went on, “I’m still earning twenty-three cents an hour. That’s my prison wage and will be for the foreseeable future.”
“You’re saying you’re a bargain?”
“A great one.”
“Just answer one question for me. Answer it honestly, and we can tell Holmes we’re good to go and get moving: Why are you doing this? For real now, Don.”
“Because somebody set off a nuclear missile. Because in addition to the flooding, radiation is sweeping all over the earth. Because I have a daughter I love. And, goddamn it, I have an ex-wife who does incredibly important work for a country I want to serve. And nobody will take better care of you, Lana, than I will. I will get you in there, and I will get you out.”
He was so fierce, so impassioned, he almost convinced her. She suspected a residue of doubt would always remain.
“You realize, Don, that if we get caught, we’ll be leaving Emma an orphan.”
“You’re that sure they’ll kill us?”
“I’m that sure they’ll kill you and never let me go.”
He nodded somberly.
“So did you really find a charter over there for us?” she asked.
“Better than the Passport 44 the DEA was talking about,” he said with dedicated disregard. “Too beamy,” he explained, or thought he had: now Lana looked puzzled. “Too wide,” he explained. “Great for cargo—”
“You would certainly know about that.”
“But slow. I contacted an old boat broker of mine with, let’s say, a demanding clientele. He’s got a Dehler 38 waiting for us.”
“Tell me we’re picking it up somewhere close to the subject.”
“We are, in Pitsunda, Abkhazia.”
“What? We might as well be going to Moscow.” Abkhazia had broken away from Georgia, with Moscow’s wholehearted approval. Predictably, Russia was among the few countries that did recognize the teensy country, which was sandwiched between the two antagonists.
“Not really. Pitsunda’s a little bit beaten and a little bit lawless. But from what I’ve been told it’s really close to where we’re supposed to get that woman and her kid.”
“The Russian shadow falls all over Abkhazia.”
“It wasn’t my call. I just got the boat.”
“Tell me about it.”
“It’s not a race boat but it’s very quick and nimble. Cruising World’s best cruiser in its class. It’ll also have the right look for us. Affluent, but not so pricey that it would be out of line for a sport sailor trying to save his prize from the clutter of rising harbors. It won’t attract too much attention.”
One of Holmes’s runners rushed in: “The deputy director says it’s time to move. He wants you both in his office.”
Holmes stood as they entered. “We double-checked your boat broker,” he said to Don. “He’s solid.”
“I know.”
“We didn’t,” Holmes retorted. “You better be solid, too. I know you’ve done some fine work for the DEA but what you’re getting into now is more important than all the dope deals and FARC intelligence put together. Do not lose Lana, and get that woman and her child out of Russia. Then point that boat west and move out as fast as you can. We can’t help you for the first two hundred miles, and those territorial waters are a bit of a maze. You wouldn’t be the first captain to find himself towed into Russian territory because they found it convenient to do so.”
“Pitsunda, right?” Lana asked. “That’s where we’re getting the boat?”
Holmes nodded, as though he could appreciate her skeptical tone. “I know, it’s dicey, but the Abkhazians are intent on keeping up the façade of being independent of Moscow. It’s a little scary there, but let’s face it, so are some of the people we’ll have in place to keep an eye on you two. They can’t do anything for you once you enter Russian waters, but in Pitsunda and its surrounds, it shouldn’t be too bad.”
Famous last words, Lana couldn’t help but think.
“We’ve got a Sikorsky to fly you out to Andrews. You’ll board a Gulfstream 650. That’s for the first leg. The second will get more interesting. Get some sleep while you can. Once you’re on that boat, you’ll be all eyes all the time.”
“What do you mean, about the second leg getting ‘more interesting?’” she asked.
“It’s all ‘know as you go.’ Sorry,” Holmes said.