Without remorse - Tom Clancy [16]
'What's the problem?' Kelly called over the loud-hailer.
'Lost our props!' a swarthy man hollered back. 'What do we do?'
Row, Kelly almost replied, but that wasn't very neighborly. He brought his boat closer in to survey the situation. It was a medium-sized fishing cruiser, a fairly recent Hatteras. The man on the bridge was about five-eight, fiftyish, and bare-chested except for a mat of dark hair. A woman was also visible, also rather downcast.
'No screws at all?' Kelly asked when they were closer.
'I think we hit a sandbar,' the man explained. 'About half a mile that way.' He pointed to a place Kelly kept clear of.
'Sure enough, there's one that way. I can give you a tow if you want. You have good enough line for it?'
'Yes!' the man replied immediately. He went forward to his rope locker. The woman aboard continued to look embarrassed.
Kelly maneuvered clear for a moment, observing the other 'captain,' a term his mind applied ironically. He couldn't read charts. He didn't know the proper way of attracting another boat's attention. He didn't even know how to call the Coast Guard. All he'd managed to do was buy a Hatteras yacht, and while that spoke well of his judgment, Kelly figured it had more likely come from a smart salesman. But then the man surprised Kelly. He handled his lines with skill and waved Springer in.
Kelly maneuvered his stem in close, then went aft to his well deck to take the towing line, which he secured to the big cleat on the transom. Pam was up and watching now. Kelly hustled back to the fly bridge and coaxed his throttle a crack.
'Get on your radio,' he told the Hatteras owner. 'Leave your rudder amidships till I tell you different. Okay?'
'Got it.'
'Hope so,' Kelly whispered to himself, pushing the throttle levers until the towing line came taut.
'What happened to him?' Pam asked.
'People forget there's a bottom under this water. You hit it hard enough and you break things.' He paused. 'You might want to put some more clothes on.'
Pam giggled and went below. Kelly increased speed carefully to about four knots before starting the turn south. He'd done this all before, and grumbled that if he did it one more time he'd have special stationery printed up for the bills.
Kelly brought Springer alongside very slowly, mindful of the boat he was towing. He scurried off the bridge to drop his fenders, then jumped ashore to tie off a pair of spring lines before heading towards the Hatteras. The owner already had his mooring lines set up, and tossed them to Kelly on the quay while he set his fenders. Hauling the boat in a few feet was a good chance to show his muscles to Pam. It only took five minutes to get her snugged in, after which Kelly did the same with Springer.
'This is yours?'
'Sure enough,' Kelly replied. 'Welcome to my sandbar.'
'Sam Rosen,' the man said, holding his hand out. He'd pulled a shirt on, and while he had a strong grip, Kelly noted that his hands were so soft as to be dainty.
'John Kelly.'
'My wife, Sarah.'
Kelly laughed. 'You must be the navigator.'
Sarah was short, overweight, and her brown eyes wavered between amusement and embarrassment. 'Somebody needs to thank you for your help,' she observed in a New York accent.
'A law of the sea, ma'am. What went wrong?'
'The chart shows six feet where we struck. This boat only takes four! And low tide was five hours ago!' the lady snapped. She wasn't angry at Kelly, but he was the closest target, and her husband had already heard what she thought.
'Sandbar, it's been building there from the storms we had last winter, but my charts show less than that. Besides, it's a soft bottom.'
Pam came up just then, wearing clothing that was nearly respectable, and Kelly realized he didn't know her last name.
'Hi, I'm Pam.'
'Y'all want to freshen