Bon Bon Voyage (32 page)

49

The captain called me up on the bridge when they sighted the
Bountiful Feast
, and what I saw were lifeboats, at least ten of them.
My God, what has happened?
I wondered apprehensively.

“We managed to contact the captain. Name's Marbella,” Wickendon said. “He says they had an explosion during a Mother's Day dinner.”

It's not Mother's Day,
I thought.
I missed Mother's Day.

“They put the passengers into boats immediately. Evidently, the hijackers had warned Miami that if the money didn't go into an account in Zurich and the hijackers didn't get away free, they'd blow up the ship. Well, it seems the passengers took the ship back and put the officers who'd done the hijacking into the ship's brig.”

My wife could well have been behind that,
I thought. Had she survived the counterattack? Was she in one of the lifeboats? I wished with all my heart that Carolyn would give up becoming entangled in dangerous situations. And where was my mother when all these things had been happening? She had been invited so that there would be someone to watch out for my impulsive wife. And, of course, because of her own health. Good grief. Here my mother had suffered a heart attack, and I had callously sent her out on a dangerous cruise.

“Miami thought with the hijackers detained, they couldn't blow the ship. Obviously, they were wrong.” The captain was studying the
Bountiful Feast
through binoculars.

I wished that I had the spyglass I'd bought on Tenerife.

“Appears to be listing a little,” said the captain. “Not too much.”

“Can't we hurry and get those people off the lifeboats?” I asked, fearful for my wife.

“All in good time. It's not as if we can race up to them and stop on a dime.”

They were all waving from the lifeboats. Probably terrified. Carolyn among them, or so I hoped. It was a good half hour before the
Fallwell
could start bringing the passengers aboard two at a time in canvas seats drawn up with ropes and winches, a slow and tedious process, with all these people I didn't know appearing over the side of the destroyer. And finally there was Carolyn, all dressed up, wet but beautiful, tearing herself out of the chair and hurling herself into my arms, where she burst into tears. “What are you doing on a destroyer?” she sobbed.

“Well, I flew out to join you for Mother's Day on Tenerife, but the ship never turned up.”

“Oh, Jason.” She burrowed into my shoulder and got the lieutenant's shirt wet with tears.

“So I called everyone I could think of. The line. The State Department.”

“Those horrible people,” said Carolyn. “I e-mailed them, and they never replied.”

“And then I found the USS
Fallwell
in the harbor, so I volunteered.”

Her head snapped up, and she gasped, “You've joined the Navy?”

“No, sweetheart, I just got aboard by volunteering to help with some pollution problems they were having.”

“That's so sweet,” she sniffled. “Did you know we were attacked by a Moroccan helicopter after we captured the hijackers? Luz helped shoot them down. They were probably terrorists.”

“Luz?” I asked, confused. “Luz Vallejo?” That was the only Luz I knew, and I had no idea why she was on the cruise.

The captain had been talking to one of his men and interrupted to say, “Actually, ma'am, that was two guys in the Moroccan army who got paid to steal a helicopter to pick up your hijackers. We just had a radio message from the Moroccan government apologizing for the mistake and asking if we could turn the thieves over to them for trial.”

“They're in the brig,” said Carolyn. “With the hijackers. Maybe if you wait awhile, they'll all drown.”

“Yes, ma'am,” said the captain, “but I don't think your ship is going to sink.”

“Well, I'm not getting back aboard. You'll just have to take me along wherever you're going.”

“Yes, ma'am, we'll take all of you back to Tenerife.”

“Good,” said Carolyn. “I was really sorry to miss the
guanche
mummies and the Virgin of Candelaria.”

Dear Carolyn,
I thought.
How like her to go through a hijackingand whatever part she had in taking the ship back, not to mention the helicopter and the explosion, and then find consolation in the thought that she wouldn't miss some interesting historical sight, after all.
Over Carolyn's shoulder, I could see the other passengers appearing on deck, among them my mother and Luz Vallejo.

“Well, Jason,” said my mother, “I think you should know that your wife has been sleeping with a Welsh crime writer.”

Carolyn whirled out of my arms and said, “That's a nasty lie, Vera, and you know it. You're the one who's been sleeping around. With Commander Levinson, not that he isn't a nice man, but having sex in the room next to mine? I was really embarrassed.”

“
Mother?
” I stared in shock.

“Sorry about that, lad,” said a short, burly man with clipped white hair, “but my intentions are honorable. I consider your mother the best woman I've met since my late wife died. Women of principle, both of them.”

“That's Commander Bernard Levinson,” said Carolyn politely. “U.S. Navy Submarine Corps, retired. Commander, my husband, Jason Blue.”

I found myself shaking the hand of the stranger with whom my mother had evidently been sleeping, which came as a great surprise. I'd have assumed that her feminist principles would have kept her uninvolved after her divorce from my father over thirty years ago, not to mention the fact that she was now over seventy, not an age at which I'd expect to find her engaging in a fling.

“And I'm Owen Griffith, the accused adulterer,” said a fellow with uncombed, black hair. “I wish I could say your mother was right, but your wife wasn't having any of it. Carolyn spent a couple of nights in my room so the hijackers couldn't find her and finish up the job of killing her, but she just wouldn't share a bed, no matter how charming and gallant I was.”

“Carolyn was true blue, as always,” said Luz Vallejo. “Vera and I were the only ones having sex, but then we're of age and unmarried. Right, Vera?”

I looked down at my wife, who was yawning. “How long since you've had any sleep, sweetheart?” I asked.

“Too long,” she admitted. “And all this running down hijackers, and explosions, and being shoved into lifeboats is very tiring. We did have a wonderful Mother's Day dinner.” She yawned again. “Once we got the ship back, and the chef didn't have to feed all the good food to the crew. By the way, Captain. You'll want to know that Bruce Hartwig, the chief security officer, is the one who tried to kill the Crosswayses and me. And Umar Patek, the chief steward and probably a terrorist, killed Mrs. Gross and stuck her body in the meat freezer. And hmmm—”

“I wonder if we can borrow a cabin, Captain?” I asked. “Carolyn is asleep on her feet.”

“Sure, take mine,” the captain offered.

“Don't blame the stewards,” Carolyn mumbled over her shoulder. “Hartwig talked them into the work stoppage and then didn't even present their demands to the cruise line.”

“I'll keep that in mind, ma'am,” said Captain Wickendon. “You have a nice nap now. Help yourself to the bourbon in my desk, Jason.”

“It's tasty with Coca-Cola,” Carolyn informed me as her head fell against my shoulder. The very thought made me wince, but I knew that Carolyn had never, in all our years of marriage, expressed a liking for whiskey of any kind, much less mixed with Coca-Cola. My wife has very refined tastes in food and drink.