Buried At Sea Read Free

bucks. Soon as it's dark I'll go below and write you a check. Okay?"
    "I don't want your check. It was a gift. It means something to me." Jim was fully aware that he was arguing the wrong issue. This was not about the Accurex, it was about Will's mysterious "they." But if he could convince Will to turn the boat around, he might make him realize that he had temporarily lost his grip. Out of that realization would come reflection; out of reflection, some simple explanation.
    "They will kill us, Jim. There is no way we're going back."
    "Who will kill us?" Jim asked. "Who are 'they'?" Will looked at him. He wasn't buying into realization, reflection, and simple explanation.
    "You think I'm making this up? You think I'm crazy?"
    Jim felt the first stab of fear.
    HOW DO WE know he's a competent sailor?" Shannon had asked Jim when Will first telephoned. She inhaled adventure books—the wetter, the colder, the higher, the better—and knew from her reading that offshore sailing demanded boat skills, sea skills, and navigation skills.
    Will's answer, which they had both found completely reassuring, was that he had bought his latest boat (his third) in Hong Kong, personally supervised an extensive refit, and then sailed it halfway around the world to Barbados. Based on that feat, Jim had put his life in the older man's hands. And judging by the effortless way Will handled the boat, Jim had e-mailed Shannon, he couldn't have asked for a safer captain. Until now. What they should have demanded was a letter from his shrink.
    "No," he said carefully. "I don't think you're nuts. But I am very confused. What's going on?"
    "Long story, kid. Most of it I can't talk about."
    "I want to hear it."
    "Maybe later. For the moment, let's just say we're goddamned lucky you spotted them in time." Will looked back again and snorted a little laugh. "I'd love to see their faces when they find that homing device floating all by its lonesome?'
    "They?" Jim repeated, treading very carefully. In one of his recurring dreams, he is snatching three hundred pounds when the bar snaps, and the weights smash his feet. Shannon called it his "fear of trying" dream. But that's how he felt now, as he talked to Will. If he asked the wrong question, the old man would suddenly snap and fall to pieces before his eyes. Where would that leave him?
    "Do 'they' know that we're sailing to Rio de Janeiro?"
    "Good question." Will paused to reflect on what "they" knew. "Probably," he said. " Though maybe not—considering they planted that homing device on you—but I'm not taking the chance."
    "What do you mean?" Jim asked.
    "No way we're going to Brazil?'
    "What?"
    "You heard me."
    "Where are we going?"
    "Africa."
    "Africa? What are you talking about? We're going to Brazil. My flight home leaves from Brazil."
    "I'll buy you a ticket from Lagos."
    "Nigeria? Isn't there a civil war going on there?" "No," said Will.
    "The Daily Show said the UN was sending slave ships to rescue West African refugees?'
    "That is cruel, crude, sophomoric—"
    "But they made it clear that it's dangerous?'
    "Not where we're going."
    "How far from here? How long are we talking about?" "Month or so. Depending on the wind."
    "Or so? Five weeks?"
    "Could be six or seven depending on conditions. We've got to get through the Doldrums, which can slow us down. We've got to sail the rest of the way across the Atlantic and pretty deep into the Gulf of Guinea?'
    "We had a deal, Will. We're going to Rio. Three more weeks, you said. Now you're talking six or seven."
    Will Spark scanned the darkening water behind them. "It's your watch. I've set her due east. I'll go below and work out an exact course. You keep an eye astern. Call me if you see any lights."
    "No, Will. We had a deal."
    "Don't blame me: it's you who brought them after us with that goddamned monitor." Jim started after him, then stopped and waited in the cockpit, trying to figure out a way to talk sense into Will. The trouble was when he took this job,