Killer Aboard: A John Otter Novel Read online

  Two hours later, their catch was landed. A huge wahoo and the speared tuna made for an epic banquet. John watched the kids ravenously dig into the fish tacos as the sun began to set. He realized how intensely alive he felt. He hadn’t felt that way on any of the yachts he had captained.

  John realized that true happiness was perfect moments like this. Moments in time where the past and future disappeared, and you lived only in the present.

  A familiar head popped up out of the companionway and broke John’s revere. She blinked awkwardly in the sunshine.

  “Boy, am I glad to see you!” John said as he walked toward Jennifer. “How are you feeling?”

  “Much better. I just had a granola bar.”

  John sat down relieved. He was surprised to find himself holding back tears.

  “I was really worried about you, kid.”

  “I’m sorry. I wanted to say thank you. You saved my life,” Jennifer began her eyes getting misty. John hugged her. They broke the hug sheepishly.

  Jennifer stared at John for a moment.

  “You weren’t really going to do that were you?” Jennifer asked.

  “To save you, I would have done anything. I am very happy for both our sakes that you drank the Gatorade!” John said with a laugh.

  Chapter 11

  The anticipation of land when you are at sea is palpable. You feel desperately thirsty and only land can quench that thirst. The students felt that longing for the very first time.

  It was a tradition before each landfall that all hands would be called on deck to do Boat Appreciation. BA was a thorough cleaning and de-salting of the Beagle. Kids were spit-shining brass, polishing the stainless and removing any rust stains that inevitably pop up after a long haul at sea.

  The school ship only got one chance to make a first impression in new places, and Beagle liked to look good when she arrived in a new port.

  John watched as every single student took turns glancing furtively toward the horizon as they worked. John smiled at the sight of each one doing the same thing. He knew what they were looking for.

  “Land ho!” Jennifer suddenly yelled. The work stopped instantly, and the students rushed to the bow trying to catch their own glance at the new place.

  St. Helena made a dramatic entrance. The island was a tiny spec in the middle of the vast South Atlantic Ocean. It was breathtaking. The island was a large stone rock, that was roughly 1700 miles from South Africa, and 1780 miles to the closest point in Brazil.

  It had no airport. Roughly four thousand people called the island home. Their only way on or off the island was provided by a mail ship from Cape Town, South Africa that serviced the island every two weeks or via private boat. St. Helena was considered one of the most isolated, inhabited spots on the planet.

  The only more isolated spot in the world, was Tristan De Cunha, 1300 miles south of St. Helena. There only 250 brave souls eked out an existence completely divorced from the rest of the modern world.

  Since the students had already abandoned their jobs, John figured he should use the break for a teaching moment.

  “Alright everyone, since you have decided to stop working, who can tell me about this island before we arrive?” John asked.

  Wayland shot his hand up.

  “Anyone else?” John said trying to give any other student an opportunity to speak.

  “It was named after St. Helena, who was Emperor Constantine’s mother,” Greg offered.

  John waited for more, but that was all Greg had. It was more than Greg had contributed intellectually the whole trip so far, so John was happy to hear something. Maybe he was turning a corner.

  “Helena was an Inn Keepers daughter who married an emperor, gave birth to another emperor, and was later disowned by her husband for political reasons. When her son came to power and pushed the Christian faith throughout the Roman empire, she was instrumental in building churches around the world. Some religious groups believe that Helena found the actual cross Christ was crucified on,” Jennifer said.

  “Wow. That’s a lot more info than I thought you students had.”

  “This particular island was named by the Portuguese explorer Joao da Nova on May 21, 1502 on his sail back from India. It’s a popular myth that the Portuguese managed to keep this island hidden from the rest of the world until the end of the 16th century, but it’s never been proven,” Jack added.

  The other students looked as surprised as John was at the depth of information the four friends had on the island’s history.

  “How long have you four been studying this place?” John asked.

  Wayland refused to be outdone.

  “The island is also where Napoleon was finally imprisoned and died. In his will, he said “My death is premature. I have been assassinated by the English….” He was found years later to have massive amounts of arsenic in his system. Of course, that doesn’t mean he was poisoned. Back then everything had arsenic in it. He was imprisoned here for about six years in Longwood House where he died. His body was buried on the island for 19 years before it was brought back to France in 1840. The French government purchased the land where his original tomb is as well as Longwood House for posterity.”

  “And you will get to see both while we are here,” Smith interjected, joining the group. “But first let’s finish this boat appreciation.”

  John was irked that Smith had once again interrupted his time with the students and was trying to take command of them again. He made a mental note that it was time for that redirection talk with her. He couldn’t put it off any longer. There was a pecking order and she needed to learn that one way, or the other.

  Chapter 12

  St. Helena was unique. John couldn’t quite put his finger on it, but the locals were different. They were a mix of races-African, Portuguese, Hispanic, and English. The island’s isolation had given them distinctive faces from anything he had seen before in his travels. Beautiful and one of a kind. They were also called “Saints.” Talk about a lot of pressure to live up to.

  The island was also incredibly tranquil. The town's lone police officer let his prisoners out every weekend because he didn’t want to work the weekends too. But where would you go? You were on a rock in the middle of nowhere. If you didn’t show back up to jail on Monday, there was nowhere to hide. So, the prisoners dutifully returned to prison every Monday morning.

  The town of Jamestown was nestled in the island’s large valley. A single tight, and narrow street ran through the middle of downtown. The Government building known as The Castle was placed in the heart of the town. You had to love the English, that’s how you name a government building.

  To get out of the valley of Jamestown you had two options. You could take long winding switchback roads up the mountainside or walk directly up the Jacob’s Ladder. If you opted for the Ladder, you had to climb 699 stone carved steps to the top.

  The students wasted no time in challenging John to walk to the top of the Jacob’s Ladder with them. Peer pressure being what it was, he obliged. And it was a mistake.

  John’s thighs wobbled like confetti on the way back down. Of course, Lubanzi had decided to run up the entire stairs. And he looked no worse for the wear. The man was built like a tank.

  But John was glad he had made the long walk up. The view from the top of Jacobs Ladder was breathtaking. He could see Beagle sitting on the mooring in the tiny bay. When he spun around, he saw an endless ocean. Looking back toward Africa, it was hard to fathom how far they had already traveled. 1700 miles was a very long way.

  The kids were finally a crew. Ten days at sea had created a bond between them that was only getting closer. The cliques were still there but everyone was at least engaging with everyone else. There were no lone or isolated kids.

  There were budding romances, Ben and Rosie seemed to be hitting it off and John had only discovered that Greg and Jennifer were a couple when she was dying of dehydration.

  John couldn’t quite put the two of them togethe
r. Jennifer was plain and Greg could have had Monica. Where Jennifer was flat-chested, Monica was voluptuous and loved to tan herself on the flat top while the boys drooled. Amazingly, even in the storm, she had been able to maintain her flawless makeup routine. It was impressive. But Greg never looked twice at her. He practically ignored her.

  Greg was tied to Jennifer, it seemed in more ways than one. It was like he had to be with her, and John wondered whether Greg, as the only scholarship kid onboard, was playing the long game.

  Jennifer was as moneyed as they came, though surprisingly not stuck up about it. That’s how you knew if someone came from old money or new. The old money never talked it up. Jennifer’s father was a direct descendant of some of the founders of Lloyds of London insurance. She came from very, very old money.

  And yet, despite John’s suspicions about Greg’s motivations for being with Jennifer, Greg had seemed genuinely concerned for her well-being when she was sick, even doting on her. If he was only doing it for the money, then John had to admire him. He was thinking with his head instead of his dick, which was more than John could say for himself at that age.

  John decided to give the kids the rest of the day to explore the island, before the schooling restarted again tomorrow. They had three days planned in St. Helena before the next long leg to Brazil.

  Chapter 13

  John found a street café and ordered himself a beer. There was nothing like half an Atlantic crossing to make you appreciate a cold beer and fast internet.

  The internet was still slow by American standards but compared to Beagles Loran C, it was lighting fast. He bought an internet voucher from the bartender and plugged the code into his laptop.

  Immediately several days’ worth of emails downloaded all at once. John skimmed the inbox. There was no way he was going to go through it one by one. He saw a flagged email from the Silver Yachts Group, a crew recruitment center in Fort Lauderdale.

  A new build expedition yacht called Ivana had requested an interview. He had no idea who the owner was but was told that the man was fascinated with shipwrecks. Apparently, the itinerary for the yacht was to scour the world with no budget trying to find them. Sounded like the dream. John hoped they weren’t in a rush to fill the position. He fired off a response email, knowing that a phone call from St. Helena back to the states would bankrupt him in no time.

  “Who you is?” the bartender asked, sitting down across from John without asking.

  “I’m sorry?” John asked confused. She was speaking English, but it was a unique dialect he had never encountered before.

  “Where you from?” she asked understanding the issue. John could tell she was trying to speak his kind of English.

  “America. A place called Miami.”

  “Oww! Miami!” she exclaimed smiling broadly. “Miami Vice.”

  John smiled and wondered if that 1980’s show was considered a new release on the isolated island.

  “That’s right. That show certainly put us on the map.”

  John had to admire her looks. She was a beauty. Her dark brown skin glimmered in the sunlight. And he liked the way she spoke. Her dialect was so unique. There was some Afrikaans tilt to it, which wasn’t surprising since Cape Town was the island’s main source of everything. Still, the dialect also had some other intonation thrown in that he couldn’t quite place.

  “You wanna one cooldrink more?” she said pointing at his nearly empty beer. John thought about it. He probably shouldn’t have a second one, considering they were in the middle of the workday, but he didn’t see Smith around so why not?

  “Yes, please. Who you is?” He asked copying her initial question.

  She smiled at his attempt “I bita get ya cooldrink first. Name be Helen.”

  “Popular name here.”

  The café relaxation ended abruptly when John got a call from Charlie that one of the generators was overheating and he had to shut it down. With that great news, John knew his fun was over.

  “Helen, it was nice talking to you but duty calls. Back to the ship; I have something I need to fix.”

  “I’m gorn home not for a while yit. You wan dinna wit me tonight?”

  Well, they certainly were forward in St. Helena. Probably a pretty small dating pool, John thought.

  “Thank you, but I don’t know when I’ll finish fixing the generator.”

  “Seven?” she insisted as she leaned forward exposing the tops of her dark brown breasts teasingly.

  She was good, John thought. He wondered whether it was that obvious that he was a starving man.

  “Sounds good,” John said walking back down the street to the Beagle. He had no doubt how Helen intended to finish dinner.

  Chapter 14

  The next day, Smith led all of the students down Tomb Road on their bicycles. They dropped them on the side of the road and began walking down the grass path to the tomb.

  A simple wooden sign read “Tombe De Napoleon” and underneath the sign repeated the same message in English. No doubt the French had insisted their native tongue be on top.

  Smith was endlessly droning on about Napoleon’s life and accomplishments, with Wayland bursting in periodically with random extra facts. Wayland was an encyclopedia of information.

  Jennifer had learned long ago about Wayland's special condition, mild Asperger’s. It made him awkward in most social situations, but he absorbed everything with nearly photographic precision which was why long ago she had made him her study partner. She barely had to pay attention in most classes with Wayland’s mental notes being far superior to anything she could write down.

  Jennifer wondered whether she would trade one for the other. The ability to intuit what people were feeling or be brilliant like Wayland was without the ability to pick up social cues? She didn’t know the answer.

  Greg slipped his hand into hers again and she smiled. He had been even more affectionate after her medical issue during the storm. She found herself wondering whether he was genuinely caring about her or whether it was all a ruse.

  She wasn’t an idiot. Jennifer knew more than anyone that she was plain. Her breasts mere nubs, but she swore they were getting bigger with all of Greg's endless sucking. Her butt was bony, even more so now because of 4 days of starvation in the storm. Fasting was the last thing her body needed. Greg and she had fun but never really connected intellectually. It was a cliché, but Jennifer was bright, and Greg was the jock.

  Jennifer knew the score- Greg was poor, and she was not. She often questioned Greg’s motivation to be with her. She doubted it was entirely altruistic. If there was one thing her parents had driven home, it was that everyone was usually after their money. Trust no one, her father repeatedly said.

  The truth was Monica had been practically throwing herself at Greg the whole cruise and he barely even looked at her. Which was impressive, considering how Monica looked.

  Even Jennifer found herself looking at her roommate more than once, curious. Would she? Definitely, Jennifer thought. If only to see how it was.

  Jennifer felt the sexual frustration hit her all at once. Between the close quarters on the ship, and her being seasick, she hadn’t gotten laid since the hotel in Cape Town. It was not for a lack of trying, but the Beagle’s bunk beds were too narrow to fit two people. The school had probably made sure of that.

  Jennifer felt someone’s eyes on her, and she looked around. Monica was staring at her and Greg. Jennifer smiled sweetly, relishing the obvious jealousy of Monica. She had never been envied by a beauty before.

  Monica clearly wanted Greg. Jennifer was curious if they should invite her to join them. The thought made her wet, but she dismissed the idea. She didn’t want to be upstaged by Monica which she absolutely would be. Once Greg had Monica, Jennifer had a sinking feeling he wouldn’t come back to her.

  “Jennifer, did you hear what I said?” Smith asked.

  Jennifer flew back from her fantasy and realized with some shame that her pale white skin was flushed around h
er neck from her lecherous thoughts. Everyone was looking at her. Say something, she thought.

  “I did not Mrs. Smith, I apologize. I was just thinking about poor Napoleon. Someone who once ruled over 90 million people and was one of the most powerful people in the world came to end up dying here on a rock in the middle of nowhere. It’s quite a fall from power wouldn’t you say?”

  “An Icarus of our time. He got too close to the sun,” Wayland added.

  “Please pay attention,” Smith remarked coldly, before turning back towards the tomb. Jack made a face to Smith’s back that almost made Jennifer laugh. It was no secret that Smith was a taskmaster and not well-liked by the students.

  Jennifer dropped Greg’s hand and wandered around the small glade where the tomb sat. It was beautiful. A simple stone tomb surrounded by a chest-high metal fence. The area was perfectly landscaped. No doubt the French paid to keep it that way.

  Jennifer ran her hand along the stone wall surrounding the glade. It was hand-laid, and nearly 200 years old. She wondered about the people who had laid the stones. What were they like? Did they have all of the same problems that she had? It was hard to touch something historical and not envision the people that created it. Even something as simple as a stone wall.

  Napoleon’s body was no longer there in the actual tomb. The tomb had been his body’s home for 19 years, so it still mattered to the French. It was amazing to think that for 189 years this place was maintained, to honor the memory of a man. That was what you called leaving your mark on the world.

  It was as good a place as any to be buried, Jennifer thought. The birds chirped and the glade was cool in the afternoon. Not that temperature mattered a whole lot when you were dead.

  She walked around the tomb, looking at its base, wondering which one was the Southwest corner. She looked at her watch; it now read 2 pm local time. She tried to find the sun to give her a bearing, but it was just out of sight now behind the trees.