Robert Walker - Darkest Instinct

“ Why would he bother?” asked Santiva a bit sullenly, still feeling jarred by last night’s revelation that the killer might well still be in Florida. “He doesn’t know we’re here. If he has come to the Caymans, he’s got no reason to suspect we know that, right?”

“ We know he’s outfoxed any number of port authority agents, Eriq,” she countered. “We know he’s cunning. Maybe he’ll take the race for a way for him to slip into the Caymans unnoticed.”

“ And maybe he knew about the race all along?”

“ Maybe… either way, we best not take any chances. Go in lower, Don, please…”

Don did as Jessica instructed, and together they studied each boat for any sign of perversion-a ragged sail, a weathered-the-storm appearance, any sign of death, as if it would leave a pall over the ship. What they found on closer inspection was that there were many ships in the race with torn and stripped sails and a beaten-up look. It appeared they had all seen some rough weather since their last stopover.

The brilliant yellows, oranges, blues, greens and reds of the boat markings only added to the needle-in-the-haystack feeling of the search.

“ If he has chosen to hide among this flock, he couldn’t have selected a better one,” Jessica said, a sigh releasing some of her pent-up frustration.

“ There’re too damned many…” complained Eriq.

“ Look for a large ship, larger than sixty feet,” she suggested.

Lansing added, “A schooner class is sleek, smooth-lined, but I gotta tell you, most of those below are schooner class. You gotta be to be in a race like this. Santiva said through his teeth, “There’re too damned many. If he is among them, how can we know?”

“ He’s got to be farther out than this. If he’s trailing the race, he’ll be due north ahead, and he’ll be standing alone. Take us up and northward, Don,” Jessica suggested.

The ships below were beautiful, the sails flapping in the wind, their brilliant colors winking up at the sun and the passing shadow of the helicopter. The trio moved onward, northward out to sea and toward Cuba, looking intently at those straggling, losing boats at the end of the race line. But none called out to Jessica or to the others as the killer ship.

“ God, I hope we’re not out here on a wild-goose chase, Jess,” complained Eriq.

“ Whataya want to do now?” asked Lansing, the chopper continuing due north, no sails whatsoever on the horizon.

“ Keep going forward for another ten or fifteen minutes,” Jessica suggested. “You suppose he was among those boats back there, Jess?” asked Santiva. “Maybe we should just return to port, wait at the dock and keep our eyes peeled there.”

“ No, he’s out here somewhere, and we’re going to find the bastard. Don’t you see? If we can take him in international waters, before he gets to Cayman-’’

“ Then he’s our prisoner free and clear, sure… I see, Jess, but it’s not worth it if we miss him altogether. Trying to see from up here, well, it has its drawbacks.”

“ Give it a little more time, Eriq, please.”

“ Ten minutes, then we head back.”

“ Agreed.”

They spotted a stranded ship on the horizon. The mast was down, and looked like there had been a war aboard the craft. They flew in low and closely examined the markings and the overall appearance of the lame ship. It was a sixty- or seventy-foot schooner, exactly what they were looking for, but there were three crewmen aboard, all waving life jackets. Their engines seemed damaged and they’d jerry-rigged a small sail, but it wasn’t getting the job done.

Lansing dipped the chopper from side to side, an international sign that their distress was duly noted and that the pilot would send back help. They thought the chopper was very likely an official checker for the race.

“ Now, turn us around and let’s head back for George Town,” Eriq told Don.

Lansing frowned and raised his shoulders, waiting for Jessica to give him the word. When she did so, Lansing turned the bird around, and they headed back toward Grand Cayman, the cockpit thick with disappointment.

“ I want you to fly in lower over the boats as we come on them again,” Jessica instructed Don.

“ How close do you want to be?”

“ As close as we got to that disabled vessel. I want to see the crewmen aboard, the names of the boats, the registration numbers, the tattoos on their biceps.”

“ What’s the use, Jess?” asked Eriq. “Can’t you admit defeat? He’s not out here; he’s most likely back in Pensa- cola, for God’s sake.”

“ We’ve come too damned far for defeat.” Lansing brought the chopper down, skimming just above the water, and as they came in sight of a racing vessel, they buzzed it, making crewmen either shout or curse-it was difficult to tell which. Some likely thought them a camera crew trying to get some footage for the evening news, while others likely thought them race spotters or thrill-seekers.

They passed boat after boat, and each had multiple crew members. “We find a boat with a crew of one aboard, we’ll have Tauman, Eriq,” she promised, sounding like the psychic detective Dr. Desinor, “and if we find him soon enough, he’s ours free and clear.”

“ Are you that worried the Cayman government will cause us problems with deportation?”

“ I just got an uneasy feeling about Ja’s plans for cashing in on this whole affair. He’s a good man, but he’s also into taking care of himself.”

Lansing brought the bird up a bit and wheeled to the left, spotting a ship off in that direction. He glanced over his shoulder at Eriq to see if he was all right with everything.

Eriq shook his head and said into his headphones, “Go, do as she says.”

Lansing lowered and came in hard toward the lone craft, and Jessica became excited for a moment, seeing a large T figuring in the lettering of the name. But it was the Trinidad, and there were two men above deck and a third who came rushing out when the chopper careened by.

More racing ship crewmen were alarmed now by the buzzing chopper, as if it were some enormous albatross that had invaded their space, a few of them sending up hand gestures to make their minds known. This only made Lansing more daring, and he began driving the chopper between boats that were a mere fifty or so yards apart.

While Lansing was having his fun, whooping like a cowboy, Jessica saw a ship to their extreme right which Don had not seen. The boat moved swiftly and its sail was clean, bright, a beautiful sundial image reflecting back at her. There were no rents in the sail. It looked different from the other ships only in that it was in too good a repair.

“ Don. turn us around. There’s one at just past three o’clock you missed, and I want to go in low over it.”

“ The sundial?” he asked.

“ Yeah, that’s the one.”

“ Give it up, Jess,” Eriq said into his headphones.

Lansing did a complete turnaround and circled high over the craft.

“ Bring us in,” she instructed as Eriq now studied the clean, teakwood lines of the sundial ship, his eyes growing larger.

“ She’s got the teakwood veneer we’ve heard so much about,” he granted. “Get us in a bit closer, Lansing,” he unnecessarily added. “Will do.” They lowered at an alarming rate, causing Eriq to grip the back of Jessica’s seat. “Damn, take it easy,” he shouted. They came in fast and low across the bow of the ship and sped by her. “You see anybody aboard?” asked Jessica.

Lansing shook his head. “Not a damned soul.”

“ Take us around again. This time approach the aft. I want her name.”

Eriq’s curiosity was piqued, but he cautioned Jessica with regard to the scarcity of crew members, saying, “They could all be below, eating or ill. Don’t get your hopes up.”