The two struck up a conversation, and she introduced Garland to her college-age daughter, Sofia, and her niece, the congressman’s daughter, Jenna. After several minutes of conversation about the ship and the coming storm, Garland invited the trio to join him on the bridge to watch the sunset that evening before they visited the casino. All three enthusiastically agreed.
After they arrived on the bridge, he introduced them to the members of the crew who navigated the Victory through the Gulf. Then he allowed them to approach the large windows overlooking the bow and sides of the cruise ship. They spoke excitedly as the sun began to set over Mexico to their west.
His chief officer interrupted the tour. “Captain?”
“Yes, Mr. Charles,” Garland replied. Don Charles was a polite young man from Pensacola who’d been assigned to Garland’s crew from the beginning. The two men had a good working relationship, so much so that Garland insisted on grooming Charles for advancement.
“We have reports that the tropical storm has strengthened and turned. It had been stalled by a dome of high pressure, allowing it to gain in size and intensity. More importantly, sir, the high has forced the storm on a westerly track.”
“In our path?” asked Garland, suddenly concerned about being in open waters during a hurricane.
“Sir, perhaps not if we could pick up speed. However, we’re smack in the middle of the westernmost traffic lane. We’re only five miles behind a tanker, matching his speed at thirteen knots. There are six other ships on the radar along this route.”
“Seven, plus ours,” muttered Garland. “Everyone else had the same idea, it appears.”
“Yes, sir. FYI, there are fifteen fishing and pleasure craft in the vicinity as well.”
Garland looked out the port windows at the darkening clouds on the horizon. “Where and when do you expect to pass the tanker? We can’t crawl along at thirteen and remain on schedule.”
Charles referred to the charts and studied the radar. He performed some calculations on his computer and provided the findings to his captain. “Bumping her up to sixteen knots will allow us a quick pass by midnight. It might also help outrun the storm.”
“So ordered, Mr. Charles. Carry on.” Garland returned to his guests on the bridge and pointed out some interesting aspects of the Gulf.
“This is fascinating, Captain Garland,” said Donna. She reached out and wrapped her arm through his, a gesture that didn’t go unnoticed by the two girls, who smiled at one another.
“Here’s a little-known fact about the area where we’re sailing,” began Garland, who made no effort to avoid contact with the attractive woman. “As we navigate in the direction of the Yucatan Peninsula, we’ll travel across a triangular area of the Gulf known as the Western Gap or, as we sailors call it, the donut hole.”
The congressman’s daughter laughed. “Is it anything like the Bermuda Triangle? If so, maybe we should take our chances with that nasty-looking storm over there.” She pointed toward the east. The setting sun cast a reddish-orange glow on the approaching clouds, giving the appearance that part of the storm was on fire.
Garland laughed. “No, miss. Nothing like that. It’s more of a political donut hole. When the two countries negotiated the border between the U.S. and Mexico back in the seventies, an invisible line was drawn that was considered a provisional border. Those lines were drawn using a complex series of arcs and tangents drawn from the coastline. Where they intersected, a portion of the Gulf was omitted, resulting in what the politicians call the Western Gap.”
Jenna laughed. “I bet my father would tell you that they probably argued for years about what to call it, which is why it’s still there.” She leaned in to Garland and whispered, “Please don’t repeat this, but he hates Washington. He said the oil business is cleaner than that cesspool.”
Garland and the women laughed so hard it distracted the entire crew on the bridge. While they focused on the reason for the uproar, Charles failed to notice two of the fishing boats abruptly changing course. They were now running parallel to one another and coming directly for the Victory at a high rate of speed.
Chapter Five
Aboard the Victory Casino Cruise Ship
Ninety Miles East of Carvajal, Tamaulipas, Mexico
Gulf of Mexico
When Abduwali and his men first entered Mexico’s territorial waters that day, the Gulf chop was moderate with a gentle three-foot swell and an easy distance between the waves’ crests. As the day progressed, the winds increased, occasionally ripping spindrift from the tops of the rolling waves.
The Baja Outlaws rode well across the water. The oceangoing fast boats were made for far worse conditions. Abduwali had just given the order to his companion boat to make their way directly toward the target at high speed. An empty tanker had just passed between them, and he intended to use its hulking footprint on radar to gain an advantage as he moved to intercept the Victory.
It was getting dark, and his timing would be just right. He expected most of the passengers to be eating at the last designated dinner service between 8:30 and 9:00 p.m., and the others would likely be in the casino, filled with free drinks and euphoric over the gambling.
He’d also studied the habits of the captain. He, like so many others, was a social creature. He frequently posted images of himself to Instagram and Facebook. If he didn’t post them himself, he was tagged by the honored passengers whom he befriended. Through his research, he’d identified 9:00 p.m. as the ideal time to strike.
The wind changed from a salty breeze to fresh gusts, an indicator that the tropical storm was fast approaching. The handheld radio in his pocket crackled to life. It was his most trustworthy assistant, who remained at the operations center during their attacks. His assistant monitored radar, news reports, and military communications throughout their time on the seas.
Abduwali held the radio to his ear to receive the report. “She has
