Dawn Patrol - Don Winslow [109]
Which is what Juan Carlos is thinking. Esteban can see it in the older man’s eyes. Juan Carlos is in his forties but looks older. His face is lined with more than the sea and the sun; his eyes show that he’s seen some things in his life. Esteban is just a teenager—he’s seen nothing—but he knows he doesn’t want to carry this memory on the inside of his eyelids for the rest of his life.
“What about them?” Esteban yells, pointing below.
Juan Carlos shrugs. There isn’t room in the life raft for them. It’s a shame, but a lot of things in life are a shame.
“I’m not doing it,” Esteban says, shaking his head. “I’m not just leaving them out here.”
“You’ll do what I tell you!”
Esteban plays the trump card. “What would Danny say? He’d kill us, man!”
“Fuck Danny! He’s not out here, is he?” Juan Carlos replies. “You’d better worry about not dying out here; then you can worry what Danny’s going to do!”
Esteban looks down at the children below.
It’s wrong.
“I’m not doing it.”
“The fuck you’re not,” Juan Carlos says. He whips the knife out from beneath his rain slicker and thrusts it toward Esteban’s throat. Two will have a much better chance handling the lifeboat in these seas than one.
“Okay, okay,” Esteban says. He helps Juan Carlos unlash the lifeboat and swing it over the side. It takes a while because they have to wait several times as the boat slides and then crests, almost tipping over. He and Juan Carlos have to grip the rails with all their strength just to hang on and not be pitched into the sea.
They swing the boat out, but they can’t climb into it because the boat rolls in that direction, almost lying flat on the water, the sea just inches from the gunwales. Juan Carlos slides toward the water but catches himself on the rail, his strong hands gripping for his life.
Esteban kicks at the older man’s hands.
Holding on himself, he kicks again and again as Juan Carlos screams at him. But Esteban keeps kicking him. Juan Carlos never breaks his grip, but Esteban’s feet break his fingers and the older man loses his hold and slips into the ocean. He tries to grab Esteban’s leg and take the boy with him, but his hands are too smashed to hold on and the ocean takes him.
Juan Carlos can’t swim.
Esteban watches him struggle for a moment and then go under.
When the boat rights itself again, Esteban hauls himself up, staggers to the wheel, and turns the boat back into the oncoming wave. With his other hand, he unties his rope belt, then uses it to fasten himself to the column of the wheel.
And prays.
San Andrés, I have fallen so far into evil that I would sell children. But I would not kill them, so I beg you for mercy. Have mercy on us all.
The sea rises up in front of him.
117
Dave can’t believe what he’s looking at.
He crests the top of a wave and sees the boat sitting in the trench, sideways to the oncoming wave, dangerously low in the water, sitting like a log to be rolled. The lifeboat dangles to the starboard side on its davits, as if the “Abandon ship” order had been given but not executed.
Where the hell is the captain? Dave wonders. What’s he thinking?
Dave surfs the Zodiac down the wave, racing the break to the boat. He gets there seconds before, enough time to jump on, tie on, and hold on as the wave smashes into the side and knocks the boat on its side.
Miraculously, it bobs back up again, and Dave makes his way to the wheelhouse.
The pilot’s unconscious, lying on the deck, next to the wheel, blood running from a cut on his head. Dave recognizes young Esteban from several of these pickups, but what the fuck is the boy doing tied to the wheel? And where is Juan Carlos?
Dave turns the boat back into the surf, locks the wheel on that setting, and kneels down beside Esteban. The kid’s eyes open, and he smiles.
“San Andrés …”
Saint Andrew, my ass, Dave thinks.
Then he hears voices.
It’s a night for weird voices. It could be the wind playing tricks, but these voices seem to be coming from below.
He walks around and opens the hatch.
Can’t fucking believe what he sees:
Six, maybe