Coincidence - Alan May [85]
“If you reject this offer, we will board by force and turn you over to the Colombian authorities, who will administer their own brand of justice.”
The captain paused.
“Consider where you’d prefer to be jailed, and whether you prefer to stop on your own or have your vessel rammed.”
Another pause.
“What’s your decision?”
Stefano stood motionless. His face was drained of color, and his eyes were blank.
In Phillip’s mind, jail in Colombia ranked just below death by sharks. He stopped the engines and picked up the microphone.
38
Dabbing at his chin with olive oil, Dr. Elliott Williams was ruing the day he’d decided to grow a beard. Then again, he could hardly have imagined, as a young resident, that his casual decision to give up shaving in exchange for a few extra minutes of precious sleep every morning would lead to so much misery fourteen years later. He’d surely never dreamed that his practice of medicine was going to involve such tribulations as removing duct-tape residue from his facial hair.
The task had been far simpler for Anika; she’d smeared cleansing lotion over her face, rinsed it off, repeated, and, except for a little redness, was practically as good as new.
He used up the rest of her bottle of lotion but sat there with stubborn bits of glue still clinging tenaciously to his whiskers, while she went off to call Kathleen Tutty in Montréal on the satellite phone. He just hoped olive oil would do the trick before they were to meet Captain Ritchie for lunch.
Anika came back into his cabin, looking more cheerful than she had in a week. She picked up the olive oil tin, shook it, and grinned.
“I hope the cook has another tin of this onboard,” she said. “Otherwise you’ll have to resort to engine oil.”
Elliott rolled his eyes as she sat down beside him. She poured some of the olive oil on a washcloth and rubbed it into his beard.
“Kathleen says everyone on the Inspiration is okay. She’s already ordered the new hydraulic parts for the steering system and the injectors for the motor. They’ll be air freighted to Easter Island within three days. Edward’s flying to the island tomorrow to meet us when we get there and to coordinate the repairs. Some of the other damaged equipment may not be so easy to replace.”
Elliott wiped his sticky comb on a towel and fingered his beard.
“A little better on this side, anyway,” he said as he began jerking the comb through the remaining traces of adhesive on the other cheek. “Assuming the boat can be put back together safely, is it Edward’s intention to keep on with the trip?” he asked.
“He doesn’t know yet. Kathleen says that’s his hope, but there are a bunch of things to be considered before he can make any decision. Obviously, getting the boat up and running safely is the first step. Hard to say at this point how long that might take. It should be relatively easy to fix the engine, but we don’t even know exactly what the electronic needs are until we talk to the captain. It may take Kathleen awhile to locate any parts that can’t be repaired, so she has to know as soon as possible.
“And apparently, if all goes well and everything can be patched up, we’ll have to be recertified by Lloyd’s. That’s a fairly lengthy process at best, and asking them to come out on the spur of the moment to Easter Island to make an inspection—well, who knows?
“But even if that works out okay—and thankfully we do have a four-day stay-over already planned, and we could extend it by a day or two without much problem—the main concern is the morale of the kids and all of the staff. And that’s not to mention the reaction of the parents.”
“Of course,” Elliott said. “The kids will need a thorough assessment, physical and psychological. We’ll have to monitor everyone for signs of post-traumatic stress. Ourselves included.”
He felt his beard again and sighed.
“Do you have a pair of scissors?”
In spite of their uncertainty about the situation, once they got