Corcovado, Or Quiet Nights of Quiet Stars

"And what do you want to do?" he asked his son.

"Get rid of this shit."

"Take the Zodiac, get some rocks from the beach and put them in the baggies, take them off a ways and dump 'em. Next, what do you want to do about her?"

His son looked down, shook his head... "I don't know, Dad. I just don't know."

"Well, whatever you decide to do is fine by me. I'm proud of you, by the way."

Ted looked up, smiled. "Yeah?"

"Yeah."

"Never thought I'd hear you say something like that, Dad."

"Oh?"

"You're not the most demonstrative father in the world, ya know."

The words hit him, hard, and he felt brittle, almost hollow inside for a moment, then he looked at his son again and nodded his head. "I am my father's son, Ted. Sorry."

"No need to apologize, Pops. I guess it just makes what you said all the more meaningful, ya know?"

He nodded again. "I'm going to put on some water for spaghetti. Is she in her bunk?"

"Yup."

"Is she hurting yet?"

"Yup."

"Goddamn it all to Hell," he muttered. "This isn't exactly what we had in mind, was it?"

"This is the world we live in, Dad."

"I must've missed something along the way."

"I doubt that."

He smiled again, and nodded, then smiled as he said: "Maybe you should be a cop, Ted."

"Why not a pilot?"

"Because if you have a family you'll miss all the fun."

"And a cop wouldn't?"

"You got a point there, Bucko. Well, you'd better got to it."

"Right."

"Should I just ignore her?"

"No, I think she's expecting you. She saw you looking at her arms; that's when she came to me."

"Okay."

Ted pushed off and motored away, then he turned and stepped into the canvas enclosure on his way below. He paused, then went down to the galley, pulled out a large pot and filled it with water, added some salt and olive oil then set it to boil while he pulled out a skillet and chopped onions and peppers. He set these on a burner in some more olive oil, added a little garlic and basil, then a few cans of diced tomatoes and some cayenne to kick things off.

"That smells good," he heard Tracy say, and when he turned he saw she was sitting in the saloon, her feet tucked-in under her legs - and his heart went out to her sitting there. She looked like a used up waif, her life already not turning out how she'd hoped, already in tatters.

"Next, my secret ingredient, a good shot of Merlot..."

"In spaghetti sauce?"

"It's classy spaghetti sauce, kiddo."

"Like you, huh?"

"Me? I kind of doubt that..."

"I don't."

He turned and looked at her again. "How you feeling?"

"Strung out, burned out."

"Lost, and maybe a little alone?"

She turned away, started to cry...

"Knock it off, will you?" he sighed. "We're supposed to grown-ups around here..."

"Sorry...I'm not feeling very grown-up right now."

"So? Besides strung out, what's bothering you?"

"Like I've been found out...by my parents, my father."

"And what would your father do right now?"

"Beat me half to death, I guess."

"And then...?"

"Him? He'd have gone down to the pub, I reckon. Had a few pints..."

"And your mother?"

"She wasn't around much, if you know what I mean?"

"No, I don't."

"She worked nights, mostly."

"Nights?"

"On the street."

"So, let me see if I've got this straight...? Dad was a drunk and mom was a hooker?"

She nodded her head, looked away. "We were poor, lived in..."

"Pardon me, but I really don't believe a word you're saying?"

"What?"

"I don't believe you."

She stared at him now, unsure of herself - and suddenly angry.

"You told Ted you spent two years at McGill, and somehow I don't see a heroin addict raised in that kind of home ending up at a school like that. It just doesn't, you know, add up," he said as he turned back to his sauce.

"You think you know me...?"

"Who - me? No, not at all. Point of fact, I don't know you at all. Second point? I don't think you know yourself very well, either."

"Oh, and what do you think I am?"

"In my limited experience, people lie like you do when they're trying to conceal something."

"Oh, and just what am I trying to conceal?"

"Beats me, kid. And even if you knew, which I kind of doubt, I don't think you'd tell me anything that even remotely resembles the truth. You want some wine?"

"Yes, please."

He poured her a glass of Merlot and walked over to her, looking her in the eye as he handed the glass to her. "The thing is, if you want to talk, I'll listen, but I think I've got the outlines in my mind."

"Oh, really?"

He walked back to the stove and stirred his sauce a little, sighing... "Yeah. Daddy's rich, and Mommy didn't get involved much, did she?"

"Involved? What do you mean?"

"He abused you, didn't he?"

"Abused? What do you mean?"

"I don't know. You tell me...?"

She looked away, took a big pull from her glass then looked at him again. "It wasn't like that, not really. I think he wanted to, but I don't think he had the courage."

"Now that's an odd choice of word, don't you think, Tracy? Courage?"

"Well, he always told me I was cute...too cute..."

"Ah, so it all comes down to restraint on his part? That's what you mean by courage?"

"I suppose so, yes."

"Because you're so, what, so irresistible?"

"Yes."

He looked at her again, careful not to say a word.

"God, that sounds awful, doesn't it?" she added.

He stirred the tomatoes and nodded his head. "Kind of, yes. What does your father do?"

"Imports. Foodstuffs from South America, for the most part."

"And he's wealthy?"

"Yes. Very."

"And mother?"

"She plays cards."

"And drinks a fair bit, eh?"

She nodded her head again. "Yup."

"You want a salad?"

"Can I help?"

"Sure...I can always use a fresh galley slave..."

She laughed at that, and was still smiling when Ted came down - and saw them both smiling and chattering away.

'God...I'll bet she never knew what hit her,' Ted thought, smiling a little at thoughts of other nights, and other interrogations.

+++++

'Yes...there it is again,' he thought. 'Something in the grass, moving this way..."

The pain in his right leg was overwhelming now, but the blood flowing from the wound had slowed a little after he put the coagulant around the penetrating metal shard, and though he'd wanted to shoot an ampule of morphine he knew he could't. Not yet.

Then he'd heard that something in the grass and curled up behind a large rock.

But nothing. Like as soon as he moved, the movement in the grass stopped...

He pulled some of the parachute over his body, trying to hide as best he could without disturbing the little structure he'd built, and then he'd had lain still for minutes, trying not to move anything. Then he'd looked at his watch...

And cursed. Almost five now, almost time to check in with the E2 orbiting somewhere out there in the night, somewhere out over the Gulf.

He flipped the switch to active and pushed the transmit button: "509, 509, 509," he whispered, as per protocol. "509, in the clear on 243."

"509, sitrep."

"Something moving in on my position, being very quiet about it, too."

"Okay. Seal Team airborne at this time, be at your position less than two zero minutes. Jolly Green will be coming in behind them."

"509, got it."

"Hang tight, fella. The cavalry's comin'..."

He flipped the power to standby, turned his attention back to the marsh, looking for a shift in the shadows...when a new, sharper spasm of pain broke over him. He looked down at his leg, saw a snake of some kind coiled up beside his right foot and he knew, just knew, he was going to die soon.

He heard more noise in the grass then and looked up, saw a small leopard walk out of the waist high reeds - looking right into his eyes.

He was reaching down for his 45ACP - slowly - when the snake struck again.

Chapter 3

He looked at the chartplotter again, checked their depth carefully as he motored slowly into Squirrel Cove, on the northeast side of Cortes Island - and deep within Desolation Sound. It was almost seven thirty, and while the sun was still up, somewhere behind the clouds, they'd been at it all day - setting sail at four in the morning and pushing-on through one heavy rainstorm after another. Now, with the end of their journey at hand, visibility was down to fifty feet and at ferocious wind, right out of the west at sixty knots, was pushing Altair towards the rocks on the right side of the narrow inlet. Tracy looked terrified; Ted looked bored. He knew his father, knew he was enjoying the hell out of this...the extra little challenge at the end of the day...

A violent gust rocked the boat and he turned her into the wind a little, though she rolled more than thirty degrees right for a moment - and Tracy shrieked, now beyond terrified. Altair stood up and he added power, his eyes now fixed on the chartplotter...

"Another hundred yards or so and we'll be out of the wind," he said for Tracy's benefit - just as another gust slammed into Altair, sending her almost on her beam-ends.

"Jesus, Dad, the wind gauge hit ninety...!" Ted called out, but he was focused on the rocky ledge about fifteen ahead - because these gusts were pushing him right for it...

He waited for the wind to settle a little, then slipped the transmission in reverse and backed down, to starboard a little, and as Altair's bow pointed away from the ledge he put the transmission in forward and gunned the engine, kicking the old girl with his spurs on one more time. A minute later they were inside the sheltering cove, and the wind, just as he said it would, fell off to the gentlest breeze imaginable.

"Get the eighty pounder ready first," he said to his son, and Ted ran off to the bow to get the anchors ready to drop. "How you doin', kiddo?" he added, looking at the disbelief in the girl's eyes.

"How did you do that?" she asked.

"Do what?"

"Get us in here...?"

"Badly, I'm afraid. I should have anticipated those last two gusts."

"Badly?"

"Yeah. Sorry about that...that really could've gone smoother," he sighed, but his eyes were on the plotter again. He overlaid radar on the display and he could see the contours of the cove now, and every boat anchored there, too, even though visibility in the heavy rain was still under fifty meters. He changed range scales and fiddled with the gain setting, knocking back the rain-clutter, then he saw a likely place near the far north east of the cove.

Ted had the eighty pounder on the roller now, ready to go, and he waved him back to the cockpit. "No reason for you to stand out there," he said as his cold, wet son clambered back into the cockpit.

"How far?"

"'Bout a half mile, and this rain ain't gonna let up anytime soon."

"What's the forecast look like?"

"More of the same, like maybe two, three more days."

"Swell," Ted grumbled. "Just what the doctor ordered."

"It's pretty here," Tracy sighed, peering into the murk. "Nothing but trees..."

"Oh," he said, grinning, "there's more here than meets the eye."

"Like?"

"You'll see," Ted added, though he was grinning now, too.

"What's the big mystery," she grinned.

He looked at the plotter, confirmed there was no current pushing him around in the cove, then he looked up, checked the radar against the boats he saw looming out of the mist and rain just ahead. "About three hundred yards, Ted."

"I'm gonna get another fleece, my gloves, too."

He powered back a little, turned away from a group of boats anchored along the south side of the cove, then noted several were rafted-up together, forming a sort of floating community out here in the middle of nowhere...then Ted was bounding out into the rain again. He picked his spot and throttled down, let Altair drift to a long, arcing stop, then he toggled the windlass and let the anchor down...slowly...and then, when Ted gave him the signal, he backed down until he felt the anchor set.

He shut down the engine, marveled at this place once again - even as he listened to the wind through the pines and rain pelting the cockpit enclosure...then he noticed Tracy staring at him.

"Does anything bother you?" she asked.

"What?"

"That storm...the rocks...you could've lost your boat, maybe our lives, but it was like you were, well, on heroin. Nothing seems to upset you..."

"People get in trouble when they panic. When they stop thinking, when they act without thinking, that's when trouble starts. That's probably the first thing a student pilot learns, too, by the way."

"So, that's it? You run into things like this all the time, so it's like...just no big deal? Is that what you're saying?"

"Yup."

"What happens if you screw up?"

"A lot of people die."

+++++

He opened his eyes, looked around. Navy gray everywhere, and ductwork...the thrum of air conditioning and heavy machinery buried deep within the bowels of the ship. A medic of some sort fiddling with bandages around his swaddled leg, adjusting an IV hanging from a tree over his head.

"Oh...you're awake..."

"If this isn't a dream," he replied.

"No, sir, Lieutenant, no dream."

"Where am I?"

"Back on the Roosevelt, sir. Docs operated on both legs, and turned out that snakes venom was pretty mild, like maybe he didn't get a good strike or something, but I'll go get the doc..."

He nodded, then looked down at his legs and shook his head. "Fuck," was about all he could think to say, and he just stared until a man in green scrubs came up to his gurney.

"Seems you had one helluva night, Lieutenant."

"What happened?"

"Beats me. By the time the medic got to you, well, you were out cold and seriously fucked up. Good thing you powdered that wound on your right leg...that shard got close to, well, let's just say you had a close call and we'll leave it at that."

"And?"

"We still don't know what kind of snake got you. One of the Seals got it, brought back some pieces so we could ID the thing. I think what saved you was, well, your vascular network down there was already pretty compromised, so the venom just couldn't spread. It's responding to anti-histamines so it's probably a hemotoxin, so it wasn't a cobra or something like that."

"Prognosis? When can I get back to flight status?"

"Well, that's the good part. No fractures and no major muscle damage, so assuming no infection I'd give it about two months..."

"Two...MONTHS?"

"Believe me, Lieutenant, when you get on your feet again you'll realize how close a call you really had..."

"Can I go back to my quarters now..." he asked, clearly perturbed.

"You're leaving for Germany on the next COD," the physician added, "then stateside."

The squad CO, Dan Green, came in a few minutes after the doc left, and Green looked at his leg for a while, then came closer. "Close one, Jim. You remember what happened?"

"First SAM - went wide right, the second went off just aft. What about the Sukhois? Did we get 'em?"

"Yup, sure did. Nothing got off the ground, and that base is history. We got some Seals in there to secure the place this morning. It's a done deal now, anyway. Saddam's people are bugging out, disappearing into the hills, and their air force is, well, they split too, flew to Iran."

"Iran? I thought..."

"Everyone thought they'd go to Jordan. They didn't."

"So, what? They're just going to sit this one out?"

"Guess none of them felt like being martyred this week, if you know what I mean."

"I guess," he said, disappointment mixed with guilt washing over him.

"So, they tell me you're headed to Wiesbaden?"

"Can you talk to someone, Dan? No broken bones...shit...I ought to be ready to fly in a few days."

Green laughed at that. "Hell, Jim, this thing is going to be over in a few days, for us, anyway. They're already talking about moving a couple of the boats back out to the Indian Ocean, maybe over to the Med. Seems like Saddam is getting ready to shoot off some Scuds, and the thinking is he might try to hit Israel."

"Too bad for him if he does."

"Yeah, anyway, by the time they get that leg fit for duty we'll be back at Pearl. I wouldn't sweat it, but if it heats up again you'll be ready to go. You're a short-timer, aren't you? You weren't thinking of extending?"

"I wasn't, until this thing. My hitch is up in June."

"Call it four months, then? Well, who knows. If we're still here in a few weeks I'll put in a request. About all I can do, shipmate."

"Thanks, Skip."

"Yeah. Well, some of the ground-pounders wanted to talk to you..."

"The Seals? Great...!"

And with that, five men came into the compartment.

"Hey, L-T!" their CO said as he lead his team in. "That was some mean shootin' you did out there..."

"Shooting?"

"That cat. You nailed it, right in the throat. Dropped him like a sack of potatoes. Pretty good for a 1911 - at that range, anyway."

"Cat?"

"Yeah, that spotted thing. Looked like a leopard, only it's not. Some kind of swamp-cat...you got him though, right in the chest..."

"All I remember is a snake...coiled up by my feet..."

"Yeah, he was still there when we got to you. Hernandez got him, emptied a whole fuckin' magazine in his fat ass, too."

He looked around at the Seal team and nodded. "Thanks, men. Appreciate your laying it out there for me."

He heard their chorus of "You bets..." and "No problemos," then they were gone, Green too, and he felt himself coming down hard and fast now.

"Germany...?" he sighed. "Well, at least I can call the folks from there, and Babs, let 'em know I'm okay..."

Then the throbbing started.

By the time he arrived in Germany his right leg was splotchy blue and the docs told him some kind of bug had gotten into the tissues of his lower leg...

"A bug?"

"Yeah, got in through the wound. They find there way into the space between the muscle and your skin. They multiply like crazy in there."

"And?"

"We try antibiotics, three or four of 'em, over the next 24 hours."

"We try? And what happens if they don't work?"

And the doc shook his head. "Let's not go there right now...okay?"

+++++

Tracy was shivering and Ted was almost as white as a sheet of paper when he came in from setting the anchors, so, as much as he didn't want to do, he fired up the generator, then turned on the cabin heaters. He set about making dinner then, though he kept his eyes on the weather raging outside every few minutes. And now, to top it off, the forecast was for freezing temps overnight, in the mid-30s, anyway - but that was for Vancouver! - yet three days from now - sunny and back in the 70s...!

"What a roller coaster..." he sighed as he turned the chicken breasts in the skillet.

"What's for chow?" Ted asked as he came out of the aft cabin.

"Lettuce wraps and that coconut soup you like."

"Ah...nothing like Thai on a rainy night."

"You're cooking Thai food?" Tracy asked. "On a boat?"

"Why not?" he replied. "It's not all that difficult, and it doesn't take long."

"Lettuce wraps?" she added. "Really?"

"Sure. I washed the lettuce and made the soup this afternoon. All I have to do is grind the chicken and put the soup in the microwave."

"A microwave? You have one of those, too?"

He shook his head - again - then turned to the stove - again. He added the lemongrass and basil, and finally one crushed cardamom pod, then he turned down the heat and let it simmer for a while. "Tea's ready, if anyone wants some."

"Don't tell me," Tracy sneered. "Fresh chai?"

"Yup."

"This is ridiculous," she sighed. "This is like a floating restaurant..."

"You'd rather I opened a can of dog food for you?" he asked, trying to keep calm.

"I just don't get it," the girl said. "Getting away from it all..."

"Doesn't mean I have to deprive myself of the things I like, Tracy. You forget, this is my home, and the idea of living like a backpacker doesn't appeal to me all that much."