A gentle land breeze mixed the fetid smell of rotting vegetation and the earthy smell of a freshly plowed field with the salty tang of the sea air. Clutches of stars peeked quickly through the fleeting clouds scurrying across the sky. The twinkling lights from several small fishing villages were visible around the periphery of the wide bay. The lights were the only sign that the bay ended and the island began.
All was darkness around the black hulk, as if it sucked in all light like a sea-going black hole.
The unexpected message had arrived early in the morning. Orders from COMSUBPAC were to make best speed to this remote bay on the North side of Java. Rendezvous with the agent at 2230. But no one had shown.
Hunter stayed at the mouth of the bay for an hour past the rendezvous time. When no one showed, he elected to drive slowly into the bay, as far as he dared, in hopes that the agent was merely delayed and he could be met on the way.
Loitering on the surface within spitting distance of land was not a smart move. They had stayed in the confines of the bay as long as they dared. Too many things could happen, all of them bad. Patience was not Hunter's strongest characteristic and this was trying him to the limit. They should be a hundred miles closer to their destination and hours closer to completing their mission.
There was nothing to do but turn around and head out to deep water.
"Captain, Nav reports one-five feet under the keel. He recommends turning now. The bottom is coming up fast, four hundred yards to shoal water." Jeff Miller's whispered voice came out of the darkness.
Hunter looked around once more and whispered, "Very well, Weps. Back one-third, left full rudder. Train the outboard to port nine zero and start the outboard. Let's get out of here."
Hunter was already drafting the message to SUBPAC in his mind as he anxiously paced the tiny deck. Maybe the agent had been compromised, possibly his boat had failed, or he just had cold feet and didn't show. There was no way of knowing. But they had wasted eight priceless hours in this futile effort, what with the deviation from the planned track and the wait in the bay. And for nothing. What should have been a source of precious information had turned out to be a dangerous waste of time. Hunter was not happy and he intended to let SUBPAC know it.
Jeff Miller nudged Hunter with his elbow. "Skipper, look. Call it two points off the port bow. Out about five hundred yards. Thought I saw a glimmer of a light."
Hunter looked out into the blackness. "Don't see anything but black, Jeff. Come to ahead one third. Steer course zero-two five."
Dark clouds were moving in and obscuring what little starlight was available. The light breeze carried the promise of rain.
"There it is again," Miller all but shouted, pointing excitedly.
"I see it now." Hunter answered. "Steer for the light. Let's get a little closer before we answer. Could only be a fisherman out here, fishing. No sense letting him know we are here until we are sure."
Miller looked through the alidade on the compass repeater, reading the bearing to the faintly visible light. He ordered, "Helm steer course three-one-three." He continued to stare in the direction of the light. "Skipper, the light is flashing now. I make out two shorts and two longs repeated every thirty seconds."
"That’s our signal," Hunter replied. "Come to all stop and drift up to him." He took the little penlight from his coveralls pocket and answered the signal.
The little perahu pinisi almost bumped against the SAN FRANCISCO's hull before they could see it. Its low dark wooden form was all but invisible in the blackness of the night.
Large droplets of a warm rain began to sputter down.
SAN FRANCISCO slid to a stop as the fishing boat came abreast of the sail. Someone could just be seen sitting in the stern. Hunter reached for his Beretta, just in case.
"Captain, sorry I'm late. Permission to come aboard." The jaunty Australian drawl was unmistakable. "Oh, yeah, password is 'matey'."
Hunter slid the 9mm Beretta back into its holster when he heard the password. He really didn't remember drawing it, but he saw Jeff Miller holstering his Beretta, too. Tensions were running high.
Hunter reached down into the cockpit and grabbed the coil of knotted rope lying on the teak grating. After checking to make sure that one end was firmly tied to a stanchion, he tossed the coil down to the waiting agent. "Quick, grab the rope and get up here. We haven't got all night."
The agent grabbed the rope and climbed up the vertical side of the sail. He stepped onto the port sailplane and then hoisted himself up the last few feet to the lip of the cockpit as Hunter reached over and yanked him in, head-first.
The agent regained his footing and stood next to Hunter. He stuck out his right hand and jauntily said, "Durstin Turnstill. Sorry to be a bit late. Bloody motor on that boat. Had to paddle all the way out."
Turnstill looked to be a middle-aged, medium height, slightly over-weight Australian, dressed in jeans and a Foster's beer tee shirt.
Hunter ignored the proffered hand and growled, "Time for pleasantries later. Get below. We have to get out of here."
Turnstill ducked below the cockpit coaming and disappeared down the ladder.
Hunter grabbed the 7MC microphone and said, "XO, our guest is coming below. Get him
