Starry Night

The three women were held captive by the confines of the yacht Emeraldine and the expanse of a calm black sea under a cloudless night with a new moon and scintillating stars. The yacht was one hundred one feet long and rested motionless, save the occasional movement by the autopilot to stay on station. They were at an agreed upon spot off the coast of Fort Lauderdale, Florida, to exchange the women for a dazzling and large collection of precious gems.

To the north northwest, in the distance, the skipper could see the expected yacht heading straight for them. He called over his shoulder to the first mate, "Here they come, off the port bow."

The first mate, whose name was Nadav, made ready the rubber fenders and the lines for hoving-to with the oncoming vessel. He then stepped down the companionway to the cabin below where the three women sat glumly and apprehensively on the couches along the bulkheads. "Get ready. We're moving you to another boat."

The women solemnly gathered their purses and things they'd been allowed to keep.

Soon the approaching yacht was but a hundred yards away when it began to slow its engines. Its following wake pushed it gently up and down as it caught up with the boat then the engine was cut to a silent idle speed.

The captain of the Emeraldine switched on the searchlight and shone it at the approaching yacht. As the distance closed, he barked through the ship's hailer, "Ahoy! Name your vessel!"

The other skipper blared back on his hailer, "London Blue!"

"Come alongside, then."

The London Blue made her way slowly to come abeam of the Emeraldine.

One man from each vessel tied lines to their bow, stern and beam cleats, cinching the boats snug against the rubber fenders between them. One other man on each boat held submachine guns and locked eyes on the others, their guns pointing obliquely at no one in particular. The skipper of the Emeraldine took quick glances at the men and their activities while the skipper of the London Blue stood in the dark of the cabin by the wheel of his boat.

The skipper of the Emeraldine stepped to the gunwale and shouted at the other skipper. "Step out here. Let me see the stones."

The skipper of the London Blue stepped into the glow of the faint deck lights. His hair was black and peppered with silver, and he had a beer drinker's belly. His lower lip protruded from a grizzled face with puffy cheeks. With little effort, his voice, used to shouting orders over stormy seas and diesel engines, projected very loud and gravelly: "Let me see the women first."

Neither skipper moved for a moment then the skipper of the Emeraldine turned and shouted down the companionway, "All right ladies, let's go, everybody up on deck."

The women came up the companionway.

"Right," the skipper of the Emeraldine shouted, "now show me the stones!" Everyone on the Emeraldine was now facing the skipper and crew of the London Blue.

Just then a man in a wetsuit and still wet from a breath-hold dive below both boats silently and quickly pulled himself up onto the transom of the Emeraldine and with a Glock 21 shot its skipper in the back of the head. The man with a submachine gun on the London Blue opened fire on the other two men and killed them before they got off a single shot.

The women screamed—all except one who immediately took three quick steps across the after-deck and dove off the starboard quarter of the stern and into the deep black water.

The skipper of the London Blue bellowed, "Find her!" He tossed a flashlight to one of his men, then all the men quietly searched the sea around them. The skipper climbed to the flying bridge, turned on the searchlight, and began shining near the stern of the Emeraldine looking for her.

The man in the wetsuit stepped quickly back over to the London Blue and retrieved an underwater light and fins from the dive bag he'd left on deck. He put on his fins and jumped back in the water to look for the woman.

The two captive women screamed hysterically, looking down as they stepped in the spreading blood from the slain crew of the Emeraldine. The skipper lay face up, his eyes open but lifeless. The crew members were twisted and crumpled in death and still bleeding profusely.

The woman who had jumped into the sea held her breath as she swam back under the two boats and toward the bow of the London Blue. She had been on boats before and was a diver and knew it would be hard for them to see her if she were just under the bow. If none of them jumped into the sea to look for her, she had a chance—a slim one, but a chance.

Then she heard the splash and realized the man with the wetsuit had probably jumped into the water to find her. She took a deep breath and dove down as far as she could, her eyes constantly opened. In the pitch black and with no face mask, everything was blurry, but she could see the man's underwater light surveying the area in front of the direction in which he was traveling; he had no scuba gear so he was holding his breath, too. He was moving away from her so she surfaced as silently as she could but bumped her head on the hull of the London Blue. She swam underwater toward where she thought the bow was and surfaced again quietly. She was close to the bow but not under it like she was before. She back-stroked further away from the boat, keeping a careful eye on the lights flashing from the boat out over the sea, then dove again to see where the skin diver was heading. He was heading toward her, the arc of his light swinging back and forth. She surfaced quietly again, saw there were no lights shining out toward her, then, so there were no splashes from her swimming, quickly swam a breaststroke away from the diver. She turned and stuck her head under water and noticed by the glow that he was returning toward the boat. She dove down and swam toward him, but not too close, as he swam toward the boat. She pulled up near the bow again, and waited for the diver to return to the boat.

The diver swam up next to a ladder the crew had put down for him and said, "Nothing. I couldn't find her."

She heard the skipper of the London Blue roar from the flying bridge down to his men, "Never mind! There's no way she can survive out here without a boat. You women over there, shut the hell up and move over here!"

The women continued whimpering, frozen in fear.

"I said move! Now!"

She heard the two other women struggle mightily to contain their cries as they stepped quietly over to the London Blue.

The skipper spoke loudly from the flying bridge to the men scattered about the boat: "We'll just have to make do with the two of them. I'll go ahead and meet Julene at Aruba's on Saturday at noon like we planned and call Marek and tell him what happened. Nothing else we can do. Torch the boat and let's get the hell out of here."

The woman in the sea treaded water in a gathering panic wondering what to do next. She heard the crew scurry around below deck, then peeked around the bow to see them carrying fuel cans back over to the Emeraldine. They doused the yacht and its dead crew with the fuel, then stepped back aboard the London Blue. The crew untied the lines, then she heard the engine engage with the propeller and saw the boat start to creep forward slowly. The crew threw some flares over onto the Emeraldine and in seconds the boat was on fire with flames spreading rapidly.

Just as she took a deep breath and swam as deeply as she could, she heard the engine roar and finally diminish as it sped away from the scene. Her lungs bursting, she shot to the surface and gasped. The Emeraldine was ablaze and the heat warmed her face. She turned as she treaded water and saw the London Blue speeding away, its white wake shining and undulating under the brilliant moonlight and starry skies, the low roar of the engine fading in the distance.

There were no other boats nearby and the coast was too far away to see clearly, but at least she saw some lights. As she turned again to look at the blazing boat, she could see it begin to sink slowly, then more rapidly, and then it was gone. There was nothing for her to do now but swim for the lights and pray for survival.

From the novel,

Stones

by
James C. Hendee

Dedicated to the late 

Julianne "Jules" Nordby-Milanese

“The most precious jewels are not made of stone,

but of flesh.”

                                -- Robert Ludlum

Hero is Jason Stouter, together with sidekick Sali Bryant,

as from the novel Codon Zero, adding good guys & gals,

Julene, Colorado, Naieema, Masen, Captain Chet, and Jamie

(Novel to be released at the end of 2021 or early 2022...)

Following is a part of the chapter that introduces "Captain Chet"

in the Berry Islands, Bahamas,

followed by two excerpts near the end of the book, where,

"WE'RE ALL GONNA DIE!"

----------- Introducing Captain Chet ------------

When the old man with the long grey beard had dropped off his passenger at the Garnet Lady, he saluted the new passenger for the yacht and said, "Have a safe trip. See you next time." He turned the skiff around and headed back into shore full speed.

The men on board the Garnet Lady gave the new man a hand as he climbed on board the yacht.  There were just Reznik, Nadav and Vlad to greet him on the afterdeck, with the captured women below locked in their quarters.

As the new man stepped on board, he greeted Reznik first. "Mr. Reznik, I presume?"

"You are correct.  I trust Marek has finalized your payment concerns?"

"He has indeed.  Half already sent; the rest given upon arrival."

"Good," said Reznik, then turned to his crew.  "Men, this is our captain now. He knows these waters a hell of a lot better than me, and he's going to take over the ship now until we get there.  His name is Chester..."

The new captain interrupted him, "Please, just call me Captain Chet. I'd rather the IRS and the few people I do business with not know my last name. I'm sure you understand."

Captain Chet knew every passage and every coral head between Miami and Trinidad, and had piloted everything from a surfboard to an oil tanker. His knowledge was legendary among charter boat captains of the Caribbean, and you could hire no better captain to take your yacht through the Bahamas during a gale on the verge of becoming a hurricane . He was in his early sixties but he retained the youthful resilience of a hard man in his forties.  People could easily recognize him from a distance by his big, thick grey mustache, as well as his characteristic bearing, gait and laughing demeanor.  His forearms and hands were  large and extremely strong from reeling in so many fish and pulling on so many lines attached to anchors.  His gut showed only a passing attraction to dark beers.  His life on the sea had made him a strong and capable survivor, and he had the wisdom of a life on the ocean.  He had mostly worked legitimate jobs, but he was rumored to have smuggled tons of marijuana and cocaine into the United States, yet he had never been caught, nor had the shipments apparently ever been witnessed.

He turned to Reznik. "If you can show me around, we can get started as soon as your men are ready."

Reznik introduced his crew, then said, "There are also three women on board, but they are belowdecks in their private quarters. I ask that you not speak with them, and don't ask any questions either. They are part of a surprise at our destination."

"Fair enough," said Captain Chet, then paused for a moment. "May I ask if there is anything illegal about their passage?"

"No," said Reznik, who stared back at him with a piercing stare and said nothing more.

The new captain thought to himself:  Well does he mean, "No, you may not ask," or, "No there's nothing illegal about their passage," but he decided to keep his mouth shut and instead just said, "Good enough. Shall we continue with the tour?"

----------- Near the End of the Novel ------------

Their initial excitement on leaving the underwater grotto of Rubicon Mountain gave way to anxiety as the Triton submarine entered the wondrous coral-encircled realm at sixty feet deep and onward to a precipice of an underwater cliff that was hundreds of feet deep. They were quite literally in a twilight zone of reduced light at such a depth, and it was gradually getting darker as the sun above dwindled in brilliance as dusk approached.

Naieema began to shudder and cry. "I'm scared. I'm sorry. I can't help it. I'm claustrophobic and I've never even been skin-diving in my entire life."

Colorado wrapped her arms around her and hugged her. "Hang in there, girl.  They don't make unsafe multi-million dollar subs anymore."

"She's right, Naieema, and we can start moving up now toward the surface," said Jason. "It won't be long now. Just hang in there."

Jason turned to Captain Chet. "Let's start moving slowly to the surface so we can get our bearings. Stay just below the surface until the sun goes down, then rise slowly to the surface."

The captain tried tugging at the ascent/descent control, but it wouldn't budge. "Uh oh."

The black silence within the sub dumbfounded them all for long seconds as they continued to gently fall through the sea past bioluminescent fish and other animals reflected by the headlights of the sub.

"What do you mean 'Uh oh,'" uttered Jason as they continued to descend.

"I mean the stick is frozen. I can't get it to move one way or the other. It was working fine when we left, but it just now froze, for some reason."

Naieema started to wail louder. 

"Is that the only control for ascent and descent?"

"It's the only one I've seen."

Nobody said anything as Captain Chet continued struggling with the control and the sub picked up speed as it continued to fall toward the bottom of the ocean.

Suddenly they could see the bottom approaching.  Jason and Captain Chet both looked at the depth meter at the same time.  They had just crossed three hundred feet deep.

"Everybody brace yourself!" shouted Jason.

Naieema was sobbing uncontrollably.  Colorado's eyes were opened wide and her lips were trembling as she and Julene held tight to Naieema.  Sali and Jason both pulled the straps tight on their seatbelts.

They all watched the bottom drawing closer.  Captain Chet kept pulling on the stick. "Oohhhhhh shit!"

They landed on the ocean floor sending up a great cloud of brilliant white sand billowing around them. It was a soft landing compared to what it might have been, owing to the depth of the sand.

Nothing was broken, no leaks.  Nothing but silence, and the headlights still shone out into the darkness as various strange-looking fish swam by or sea stars or other critters crept along the bottom.

Soon, however, after the sand cloud settled, they noticed that they were on a slope near the edge of a cliff and they could see nothing but deep blue-black reflecting back at them from the lights of the vessel.

Jason said, "Is everybody okay?"

Naieema whimpered, "I don't want to die!"  Everybody else nodded their heads that they were okay.

Captain Chet finally gave up on the stick and started looking around the inside of the vessel for any clues as to other ways to move the submersible.

Julene scolded nobody in particular: "Hey, did anybody read the fucking manual? There's got to be a way to get this thing moving."

Captain Chet, Sali and Jason started looking all over the sub for the documentation or any other clues as to how to get the sub moving.

Just then the sub began sliding down the sandy incline, heading for the edge of the underwater cliff.

"Oh, shit, oh dear," said Julene quietly.

Captain Chet tried pulling up on the stick again.  Nothing.  It was frozen.  The sub continued to slide.  Jason and Sali, undaunted by the passenger's apparent slide into oblivion, kept looking around the sub for documentation on the operation of the sub.

"Oh my God," said Colorado.  "This is it. We're all going to die down here and nobody is ever going to find us."

"Shut up," said Julene, "You're only making matters worse."

Just then the sub fell over the precipice of the great underwater cliff, orienting completely vertical and now at over five hundred feet deep, and free-fell more, yet at a slower pace than before. Captain Chet was able to steer it back to horizontal, but there was no longer a bottom with swimming organisms to give them any sense of perspective as to how fast and how far they were falling; but they all knew they were indeed falling because the tiny particulate matter was flying upward in the lights as they plunged deeper and deeper.

"How much air do we have left?" asked Jason softly.

"About six hours," answered Captain Chet.

Nobody said anything as the sub continued to descend slowly, and they all just sat there for the moment, wondering what might happen next, if anything, while Naieema continued with a sob muffled by her folded arm over her mouth.

-------------------

Jason tried to think of all possible ways he might help them get out of this mess, but at this depth—hundreds of feet deep, and counting—even if they could get out of the sub, there was no way they'd make it to the surface, not to mention what the pressure would do to their bodies. The sub had a telecommunication system, but who could possibly be listening up top?  His mind ran out of possibilities and he began to feel that horrible dread of no-way-out.  And it wasn't just himself this time; now he had endangered all these other people, all of them good people, and it looked like they were going to die down here—alone and unknown by anybody that they were even in the sub and on their way out of the mountain.  His remorse was monstrous and his regret found no rationalization in having escaped into this deep, dark hole in the ocean.  He should have thought of another way and asked for feedback from Sali and the others.  This had been a colossally stupid move, and now they would all pay with their lives.  He closed his eyes and fought back tears of sadness at having doomed all these good souls.  He had to do something that could bring hope, although there seemed to be none.  He reached for the specialized telecommunications microphone, even though if the ship heard them and rescued them it would likely mean certain death upon capture.

"Hello, can anybody hear us?  Mayday, mayday, mayday.  Please somebody answer, can you hear us?"

He waited.  No answer.  He repeated several times, and finally gave up and said to the group, "Maybe we can try again in a little while."  

But he knew it was fruitless, and so, probably, did they.  Who could possibly be listening, and even if they were, what could they do?  They all sat there in their own little world of ruin, each with their own thoughts of their lives unexpectedly coming to an end at the bottom of the ocean.

----- End of Excerpt -----