Read Online Caribbean's Keeper by Brian; Boland - Free Book Online Page B
Authors: Brian; Boland
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solid boat out on the water. Cole almost forgot entirely about what they were doing as he enjoyed the ride.
After midnight, Kevin brought the boat to a stop. He squinted and looked forward, standing up on his toes. Cole looked too and could see faint lights to their left.
Havana .
“Holy shit, that’s Havana,” Cole said as the reality set in.
Kevin never stopped looking forward. “Yup.”
“We’re heading west of Havana, but here’s where we start to worry about the Cuban Border Guard. Do you see anything ahead of us that looks like a boat?”
Cole scanned back and forth, his eyes well trained to pick up the faintest hint of a running light. He’d tracked boats at night, but with the help of radar. The Grady-White had one, but Cole knew it was short range and if anything came up as a blip, it would probably be too late, so they left it turned off.
Cole pressed his lips together, taking one more slow and deliberate scan. “I don’t see anything.”
He stepped to the back and took a leak off the stern as Kevin continued to scan forward for any signs of danger. To the north, all Cole saw was a dark sea. He walked back forward and looked again for trouble, but there was none.
Kevin pressed the throttles ahead, keeping the speed back a bit. They worked slightly west of their original course and before long, Cole saw the rocky coast of Cuba in front of him. It started out as a dark jagged line rising from the horizon and took on a more defined shape as they crept closer. Kevin stopped a few more times, and they both scanned ahead and behind. The only sound was the motor at an idle purr and the water lapping against the hull.
With the landscape emerging in front of them, Kevin spent more time looking down at the GPS. He played the throttle and slowed down gradually. Cole kept his eyes out and on the water in front of him. He could see the outline of trees now and the moonlight against palm fronds. There was a rocky coastline in front of them and some sort of small coral peninsula on the bow. A wave broke over a reef in the distance every few seconds, its whitewater seemingly floating on an invisible plain. Kevin drove straight at the peninsula then made a hard right turn and slowed the boat as they entered a large bay. A fire smoldered somewhere in the distance and its smell caught Cole’s attention. Unlike a wood fire in the States, a fire in the Caribbean burned mostly green brush—no doubt cut by hand and machete—and its odor was a sweeter and more complex scent. Whoever the farmer was who’d cleared brush that day was certainly asleep by now, and the smoldering remnants of his day’s labor drifted in the midnight land breeze out and over the water.
Even in the middle of the night, Cole could see it was a beautiful bay with coral heads dotting the water. There were no lights and the bay was calm like glass. The moon cast slivers of light down as it climbed above them and over a low layer of scattered backlit clouds. Kevin sent Cole forward with a flashlight and told him to point it towards a small sandy area nestled behind the peninsula and to flash it three times quickly. Cole complied.
From somewhere in the brush beyond the beach, three flashes came back towards them. Kevin was as serious as Cole had ever seen him. He pushed the bow right up to the beach and it nudged the sandy bottom a few feet shy of the dry shore. Bodies emerged from the brush and Cole counted eight of them. One more, a man, stayed halfway between the brush and the water. He whistled softly at Kevin and called out, “Ocho, si?”
Kevin called back, “Bueno.” The man hurried back into the brush and disappeared.
The passengers wore ragged clothes and each carried a bag about the size of a teenager’s backpack. Kevin and Cole helped them up one at a time and sent them down into the crowded cuddy cabin. They were all thin and their skin dirty, likely from the daylong trip to this much-anticipated rendezvous in the middle of
After midnight, Kevin brought the boat to a stop. He squinted and looked forward, standing up on his toes. Cole looked too and could see faint lights to their left.
Havana .
“Holy shit, that’s Havana,” Cole said as the reality set in.
Kevin never stopped looking forward. “Yup.”
“We’re heading west of Havana, but here’s where we start to worry about the Cuban Border Guard. Do you see anything ahead of us that looks like a boat?”
Cole scanned back and forth, his eyes well trained to pick up the faintest hint of a running light. He’d tracked boats at night, but with the help of radar. The Grady-White had one, but Cole knew it was short range and if anything came up as a blip, it would probably be too late, so they left it turned off.
Cole pressed his lips together, taking one more slow and deliberate scan. “I don’t see anything.”
He stepped to the back and took a leak off the stern as Kevin continued to scan forward for any signs of danger. To the north, all Cole saw was a dark sea. He walked back forward and looked again for trouble, but there was none.
Kevin pressed the throttles ahead, keeping the speed back a bit. They worked slightly west of their original course and before long, Cole saw the rocky coast of Cuba in front of him. It started out as a dark jagged line rising from the horizon and took on a more defined shape as they crept closer. Kevin stopped a few more times, and they both scanned ahead and behind. The only sound was the motor at an idle purr and the water lapping against the hull.
With the landscape emerging in front of them, Kevin spent more time looking down at the GPS. He played the throttle and slowed down gradually. Cole kept his eyes out and on the water in front of him. He could see the outline of trees now and the moonlight against palm fronds. There was a rocky coastline in front of them and some sort of small coral peninsula on the bow. A wave broke over a reef in the distance every few seconds, its whitewater seemingly floating on an invisible plain. Kevin drove straight at the peninsula then made a hard right turn and slowed the boat as they entered a large bay. A fire smoldered somewhere in the distance and its smell caught Cole’s attention. Unlike a wood fire in the States, a fire in the Caribbean burned mostly green brush—no doubt cut by hand and machete—and its odor was a sweeter and more complex scent. Whoever the farmer was who’d cleared brush that day was certainly asleep by now, and the smoldering remnants of his day’s labor drifted in the midnight land breeze out and over the water.
Even in the middle of the night, Cole could see it was a beautiful bay with coral heads dotting the water. There were no lights and the bay was calm like glass. The moon cast slivers of light down as it climbed above them and over a low layer of scattered backlit clouds. Kevin sent Cole forward with a flashlight and told him to point it towards a small sandy area nestled behind the peninsula and to flash it three times quickly. Cole complied.
From somewhere in the brush beyond the beach, three flashes came back towards them. Kevin was as serious as Cole had ever seen him. He pushed the bow right up to the beach and it nudged the sandy bottom a few feet shy of the dry shore. Bodies emerged from the brush and Cole counted eight of them. One more, a man, stayed halfway between the brush and the water. He whistled softly at Kevin and called out, “Ocho, si?”
Kevin called back, “Bueno.” The man hurried back into the brush and disappeared.
The passengers wore ragged clothes and each carried a bag about the size of a teenager’s backpack. Kevin and Cole helped them up one at a time and sent them down into the crowded cuddy cabin. They were all thin and their skin dirty, likely from the daylong trip to this much-anticipated rendezvous in the middle of
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