China Jewel (16 page)

Doc Jerry pointed to the correct sail, and continued, “Finally they took down the main topsail leaving only the topgallant. The ship became covered with snow. Within another ten hours they tried to work to windward again with two fore and aft sails that hung between the masts allowing the ship to point up to the wind source. A fog came in and the wind went calm even though the sea was still high. Dana mentions that the weather was so quiet even with the swells that he could hear the sounds of the whales around them in the fog. Then a few hours later the weather grew rough again and they were back aloft with the topgallants. Another storm hit them and the sails and rigging were stiff with ice. That’s when they had to bring in the jib, one of the fore and aft sails that kept them into the wind. Dana wrote that he had to go out on the long pole called the bowsprit and get plunged over and over into the cold water to bring in that sail. This weather kept on for another three days. Everything on board the ship was wet including the food. Then as they went further west of the Cape they could begin to go northward and as the wind lessened they could add more square sails and pick up speed.”

He went on, “In the Eighteen Fifties, the female navigator of the clipper Flying Cloud, one of the most famous of the old sailing ships, documented her passage around the Horn. Her ship entered the Drake Passage via the Strait of Le Maire that you can see on the upper right of the chart. They went by the large Island, which is called Staten Island and named after a former governor of Holland. Here they had a wind from the Atlantic Ocean that came from the north and pushed them directly along the Strait. The first problem of the passage was over, that is, entering the Strait of Le Maire and getting south to the Drake Passage. Then, by good fortune the wind shifted to blowing from the east and got behind that large ship so it fairly scampered across the three hundred or so miles of the Drake Passage with the wind at the ship’s stern. In other words, the clipper was sailing at its maximum with all its square sails out and with the wind from behind, the best and fastest way to sail one of those ships. This gave it enough speed to handle the large waves and currents from the west.”

“A lot of work manning the boat,” said Cutter.

“Our boat is sailed the same way. The Willow came through with easterly wind behind it like the Flying Cloud. The Louis 14 had the same luck but with a little less east wind. Our boat is into the same stuff as Dana, west winds, and the winds are higher. Also remember we are talking about sailing ships. The sails are rigged at different levels so the men have to go up and adjust them all the time. With the ice and cold that is where the difficulty comes in.”

Doc Jerry pointed to the monitor. “There’s a wind shift indicated. The screen shows the avatars moving out of the passage. The America and the Peregrine are through Cape Horn. See, they are moving into the Pacific.” Cutter smiled.

The satellite phone interrupted him. Sparkles said, in an excited voice, “We got them on the air.”

Captain Hall was talking. Cutter could hear the shouts of the crew and the creaking of the masts and spars. The wind was whistling.

Sparkles broadcast his report.

“We had come down the Argentine coast and entered the Strait of Le Maire with Cape San Diego to our starboard. Waves were rough but nothing our ship could not handle. Deck was plenty awash and we had to be careful that no one went overboard. At this time we fortunately had an east wind and we chose to make a run before the wind.”

Doc Jerry looked at Cutter, whose face was grim as he listened.

“Our goal was to keep headway into the large swells that were coming at us from the west as we entered the Drake Passage. The westerly current was tough to go against but the sharp bow of our brig was slicing nicely through the crests. We tried to stay as close to land on the South American side as we could without running into the rocks. Our sails were cut down to the minimum needed for headway so that we could adjust them as quickly as possible. Ice was forming on the deck and rigging so that the handling of lines was difficult.

“It had cleared slightly and we could see the rock of Cape Horn to our starboard. Then fog closed in and the visibility lessened to one hundred feet. We had men out on the bow watching the sea ahead.

“Suddenly the prow of the America came at us from our port. It had been impossible to stay ahead of her. She was on a starboard tack directly in our way. We had no room and her captain needed to avoid us by letting out sail.

“In spite of our shouts and waving of arms and flags he refused to give way. He bore at us. His crew stared at us as if they were readying themselves for the impact. Then it came, her bow scraping into our side and her spars grazing our rigging. He was essentially pushing us into the shoreline where we would be wrecked.

“At that moment his topsail brace let go and the large square sail sprung back from the wind. The America gave a lurch and slipped back to port. The space between our boats increased.

“We had enough room to bring our ship more to port and adjust sail. We were dangerously close to the shoreline. The other ship drifted away as her crew rushed to get control of her loose topsail. As the sail was repaired, the America moved on to a port tack and sailed off out of sight in the fog. Meanwhile we fought to gain momentum and pulled in our sails to get forward motion again. Just barely did we clear the rocks.

“Off our port bow the Chilean frigate Minstero Zwentavo is standing by. She has sent up her red helicopter which has been buzzing us and taking pictures. I am sure a full photographic record of the damage to our port side will be in their report.

“The pictures will show that we received no structural damage or broken planks in the side of the hull but some paint is scraped down to board. I expect that we will have much data and proof for a challenge to the America. You had warned us of the aggressiveness of the competitors. The America kept boring down on us as if she meant to sink us.”

“Bastards,” shouted Cutter.

Doc Jerry said, “Strand and Slidell tried to do a job on us.”

Cutter asked the captain who was still on the sat phone, “Anyone hurt?”

“No crewmembers were hurt.”

"This time," said Cutter. He muttered, “Strand can’t get away with this.” He stood and headed for the door heading outside the operations center.

“Where are you going?” asked Doc Jerry but he knew the answer.

“Call the airport. These killers can’t hide in their offices in New York.”

Chapter 13

July 27, 12 Noon

New York City

It was an old seven-story building, brick, in poor repair. A small sign indicated that the office of Strand International was inside. Inside, there was a tiny lobby, with a stairway and an elevator. He could see that the stair treads were well worn as if the regular employees had already made the same decision to forego the elevator. He pressed the elevator button and the old door slid back, barely staggering as it opened. The inside box was worn and he could almost see the ghosts of the last century or more of riders. He quickly chose the stairs.

At the top of the first landing was a frosted glass door. He entered. He was looking at threadbare offices with busy employees who paid no attention to him. So much for one the Fortune 500’s biggest corporations. It was popular knowledge in the business community that Strand took the least expensive quarters he could get and had his employees work in dimly lit offices. Bill had remarked the Strand gang was trying to beat the Internal Revenue Service on property asset taxes.

He moved quickly to a doorway with Slidell’s name.

“Hold it, mister,” said a beefy voice. The security officer was suddenly beside him. He was in a blue suit, looked tough, and Cutter knew he was armed. The man kept his right hand under his jacket and reached for Cutter with his left. He said, “What you think you’re doing?”

“I came to see Slidell.”

The guard jerked forward as he drew a large revolver. Cutter saw this coming and struck hard with his right into the man’s throat. The man coughed and reached for his throat. His gun hand fell. Cutter faked a kick toward his crotch. As the guard moved to guard himself, Jim hit his jaw with a fast uppercut, knocking the man’s head backward into the sharp metal edge of a file cabinet. Blood spurted from the guard’s face as he came to rest, unconscious, with cardboard files falling gently across his chest.

“Just take it easy, mister.” Another guard was behind him with a drawn revolver.

Slidell’s door opened. “Bring Mister Cutter in here.” Slidell said. “I thought he’d show up today.”

Slidell returned to his desk, two other security men standing nearby. Slidell said, “Jim,” and raised his hand to ease back his men.

“Let’s talk,” said Slidell, smiling, from behind several computer monitors. Jim only glared at him.

Unlike the rest of the quarters, Slidell’s office was modern with glass desks and shiny metal chairs and tables. High glass windows looked over New York harbor toward Long Island. The sun was to the other side of the building and through the windows Cutter could see the shadow shape of Strand International stretching over lower buildings.

On one wall a large blowup diagram and photograph of the Chinese Clipper car hung prominently, its construction details displayed and the side view photograph in full color. Black arrows had been laid across the drawing to indicate manufacturing questions.

“I’ll make sure you’ll never see that car,” said Cutter

Slidell pushed back from the closest and largest of his computers; turned back to Cutter.

“I’d like to see how you plan to do that. Sit down, old friend,” he said with his crooked grin.

“We’re never been old friends, Angel,” Cutter replied.

He went on, staring at the man’s oversize black sunglasses, trying to penetrate into Slidell’s eyes.

Slidell broke from the stare and looked down, his left hand trying to smooth his wisps of hair on his white head. He said, “Oh, I thought this was a friendly visit.” He stacked his correspondence, making Cutter wait.

Cutter tossed on Slidell’s desk the photographs sent in by the Peregrine from Cape Horn. Slidell looked at them, sifting them.

“Sit down, old friend,” said Slidell again, his voice less friendly this time. Some pink appeared in his pale white face.

Cutter sat as he said, “You tried to murder my crew.”

“My captain is ready to complain about your dangerous ship handling,” said Slidell. “Your boat got in his right of way. Your captain made a mistake.”

“Not what the photos show.”

“We’ll see. Our captain is also suggesting Strand International sue the boat builders who gave us faulty halyard controls. The lines broke when we were at risk near your boat. Our crew could have been killed if they had not been such good seamen.” He stopped, thoughtful. Then he said, “If you would prefer, you can join us on the lawsuit.” Lines appeared on his forehead above the sunglasses. This was the look Cutter remembered from Africa, the way this man appeared before he ordered a murder. He said, “You can inform me of something else while you are here. Is it true this brig Peregrine is sailing under a suspicious history? According to the Chinese race rules, something unsavory in the boat’s story may disqualify it. We are certainly interested in this. We don’t want to race felons,” he added, placing the photographs neatly to the side of the desk.

Cutter responded quickly. “You people planning some lie for the media?”

Slidell smiled and said, “One of your people likes to talk.”

Cutter continued to stare at Slidell, not moving his eyes to indicate any surprise. He knew the architect had been the one to talk to Slidell, trying to cover his ass, the coward.

“So what, Cutter?” asked Slidell. He tossed the pictures back to Cutter. “Besides, I am sure, pictures can be easily faked. Your own specialty, I remember, a few times in the past.”

Cutter said, “You don’t change much, Slidell.”

“Yes, maybe so, but you sure as hell do, Jimmy.”

He paused. “You know, Jimmy, you guys are like a ball team which has lost its star batter.”

“Not likely.”

“Hear me out. In the old days, if you’d been on that boat of yours, I’m damn sure you would have run across the water and smacked that captain of mine right hard. I mean, nobody used to push around Jimmy Cutter. Now it’s like your captain has been ordered to turn the other cheek. My boat people told me the Peregrine just dropped back and licked her wounds. You didn’t tell him to go after us. Not like the old Jimmy. Nossir, that’s not the way it used to be. Of course, don’t get me wrong. I’m not complaining. None of us Strand people are sorry about you turning out this way.”

Cutter saw Slidell’s mouth try to grin. It came out a toothy fiasco as usual.

Slidell continued, “Face it, neither one of our employers is a good guy. They wouldn’t be where they are if they were pussies about breaking the rules.”

“Speak for yourself. You like hurting people, Angel. Back in Africa, you had your men attack my family on purpose and kill women, children, and refugees who were taking safety in the village. You did it, Slidell. Someday I’ll make you admit it.”

“You and who else? The law agreed with me I did nothing wrong. Anyway, you were never concerned about such things before. You did your share. The only reason you are still angry is your family got in the way this time and you had to have someone to blame. Defending a village from a legitimate government strike force is not the way to take care of your people, Cutter. You were just caught on the wrong side and you won’t admit it. About your family, blame yourself. I didn’t bring them into the country and put them at risk. You should get over it anyway. Everyone else has written all those days off.”

Cutter said, his fists tight, “It’s hard to describe a village full of old people and families as revolutionaries. Maybe we ought to say the government was against people who owned the leases your company wanted.”