Whether the visit was alcohol-related or not, Cheng had no idea at this point.
The captain was grizzled and sunburned just like his crew. The word “redneck” flashed into Cheng’s mind. It looked as if the captain had not seen the sharp edge of a razor for several days. He wore a tacky button-down short-sleeved shirt and a pair of swim trunks. A gold ship’s-wheel medallion hung from a chain around his neck. In his left hand, he clutched a half-smoked cigar and a can of light beer. The man reeked of alcohol. Shi had been right to warn him.
“Don’t just stand there, moron,” the captain barked at his mate. “Help these people aboard.”
Cheng could already tell this was going to be a long voyage.
The crew helped the party aboard, and after the captain had given them a brief tour and explained where everything was, including the life jackets, he fired up the twin Man 800s, the mate untied the vessel from the dock, and they shoved off.
As they got under way, the hostess offered them welcome drinks. When one of the princelings asked for a scotch and two others asked for beers, Cheng scolded them in Chinese. They settled for Cokes instead.
Cheng didn’t care for the man the Second Department had codenamed Medusa. He sat up on the fly bridge, piloting the yacht, alone and aloof. There was no depth to him whatsoever. This was obviously all about the money. Cheng had no doubt that the man would indeed sell them out if it served his purposes. He made sure to keep a very close eye on him.
The hostess and the mate were another issue altogether. They were continually touching or passing too closely in order to rub against each other. Cheng hated Americans more than he could possibly express and couldn’t wait to get to Cuba.
They had just entered open water when Cheng heard the engines throttle back and the boat begin to slow.
“What’s going on?” he demanded. “Why are we slowing down?”
“We’re not slowing down, chief,” the mate said. “We’re stopping.”
“No, we’re not.”
“Yes, we are,” the captain said as he climbed down from the bridge and began grabbing fishing poles from the racks mounted to the side of the boat.
Cheng stepped right up to him and got in his face. The smell of booze was overwhelming, yet Cheng didn’t budge. “You’re not being paid to take us fishing,” he ordered. “You’re being paid to take us to Cuba.”
Medusa looked at him, his cigar clamped between his teeth, and replied, “Relax. You’re going to get to Cuba. In the meantime, we’re going to make sure we look like a fishing charter. If we don’t, I promise you we’re going to have trouble.”
Turning to the princelings, the captain then asked, “Anybody want to try for sharks?”
There were several nods from the young Chinese men, so the captain said to his mate, “Let’s toss out some chum.”
After the fishing poles were placed, the captain climbed back up to the bridge and began piloting the boat parallel to the Keys, not south toward Cuba. Cheng wasn’t in the mood.
Climbing the ladder, he whistled to get the captain’s attention. “You’re wasting time. I’m sure there are plenty of fish en route to Cuba.”
“And you’re pissing me off,” the captain replied, placing his cigar in the ashtray. Looking past Cheng, he yelled to his hostess, “Angie, bring me a rum runner.”
“Aye, aye, skipper!” the slutty woman responded from below.
Cheng had had enough. “Let me explain something to you.”
“No,” the captain interrupted, “let me explain something to you. I know what I’m doing. This is my boat, my rules. You need to relax.”
“I’ll relax when we get to Havana.”
“You need a drink,” he replied. “Angie!” he yelled down to his hostess again. “Get our guest a drink.”
“What I need,” said Cheng, “is for you to explain exactly how this is going to go. I don’t want any surprises.”
Rolling his eyes, the captain snatched up his cigar, chomped down on it, and yelled for his mate. “Jimmy!”
“Yes, skipper?”
“Come up and take the wheel. I need to review the nav charts with our guest.”
“Aye, aye, skipper,” the mate said, and as he waited for Cheng to step down from the ladder, he motioned to one of the students to take his place, dig in the bucket, and keep tossing out the chum. Once Cheng had moved, the captain climbed down and the mate was able to climb up.
“Heading?” he asked.
“South,” the skipper replied, locking eyes with Cheng.