The difference in speed proved too great, however. Less than five minutes after spotting the military craft, they had overtaken us. The boat made a tight circle, coming up alongside us, and slowed down to match our speed. They held their position roughly one hundred feet off of our port side. We were still over an hour's sail from escaping Cuban waters. If I could keep us underway and keep the soldiers talking, we could cross the border without them realizing. It was a long shot, but it was all I could think of.
I kept Paramour on the same course and speed. I'd been stopped by law enforcement enough to know the drill. You didn't do anything until they told you to. The powerboat's gunner glared at us from behind the sights of his weapon. He kept it trained on us while the boat angled in closer, closing the distance to twenty feet. No commands came from the boat and nobody shouted at us. Instead, the boat continued to inch closer, until the only sounds were rushing water and the low thrum of their diesel engine exhaust.
"What now, hotshot?" Jaye asked, eyes fixed on the barrel of the deck gun.
"I'm open to suggestions, I'm making this up as I go," I replied.
"That's not very comforting," she hissed.
"Let me do the talking, I've got a way with authority figures."
"Sure you do," she muttered, rolling her eyes. "Just don't get us killed."
"No promises," I said with a placating shrug.
As the boat drew closer, I reconsidered keeping the boat moving and turned up into the wind and let the lines loose so the sails would stop catching air and luff, effectively stopping our momentum. There was no way we could make it. The patrol boat shadowed us, holding their distance.
On the patrol boat, a small cabin serving as a shield against the wind and water stood proudly behind the colossal gun on the bow. The rest of the boat crew, besides the gunner, huddled inside. Through the cabin's large windows I counted four more soldiers, one of which wore an officer's uniform. It was this officer that stepped out from the shelter of the cabin to address us once the boat was within inches of Paramour.
A bank of medals laid in overlapping layered rows like scale armor. On his shoulders he wore garish gold epaulettes that flickered in the sunlight. The officer's silver-gray hair and his full, but manicured, white beard seemed to glow, taking on a radiance of their own in the bright morning light. An unlit cigar sat perched between his fingers as he put his hands on the gunwale of the patrol boat and leaned forward in a manner that, somehow, was as casual as it was intimidating. There was no mistake, this was the same man I had seen in the village. General Bardales himself.
"Good morning," Bardales said in perfect English. His tone was genteel, disarming in its politeness.
Jaye glanced at me, but remained completely silent and still. I could see her tense and coiled, ready to pounce or flee. Her apprehension was obvious, and I stepped between her and the general, trying to offer some sort of token reassurance.
"Uh, buenos dias," I said with a faltering wave.
"Now, now, no need to fumble through Spanish on my account," Bardales mewled, his words dripping from his lips like warm honey.
"Thanks, I guess." His politeness was unexpected and off-putting. If he was here for the idol, why was he being so nice? "What can we do for you, sir?"
"You see, I had reports of some grave robbers trying to flee the country by boat with stolen artifacts. You haven't seen anybody suspicious out here, have you?"
"Uh," I hesitated, deciding to play dumb. "No, we haven't seen anyone out here except you. We'd be more than happy to help if we can. Did your report have any specific information?"
"How nice of you to offer your assistance. My report did have some information in it. Let me see," he said, moving one arm back towards the open cabin where a subordinate placed a sheet of paper in his hand. Bringing the paper up to his eyes, he continued. "Oh yes. We're looking for a man and a woman. Man: white, long brown hair. Woman: brown, possibly mixed race. Curly black hair. They were last seen leaving Boca Sucia on a two-masted sailboat."
Bardales looked up from the paper and stared at me from behind a pair of gold-rimmed aviator sunglasses. "You haven't seen anyone like that out here, have you?" He asked.
"White guy with long hair, pretty tan girl, nice sailboat? Nope, not ringing any bells," I said, "but I'll be sure to give ya'll a call if I see them."
Bardales smiled, "That's very cute Mr. Hawkins, but I'm afraid you and Ms. Mercury here are under arrest."
"Well shit, for a moment there I thought we might get out of here," I said with a forced chuckle.
As if waiting on her cue, Jaye took this last moment of brevity and unleashed all the coiled up tension she had held since spotting the patrol boat. In one fluid cat-like movement, she leapt from the cockpit of Paramour to the deck of the powerboat. Her sudden explosion of movement was made more impressive by the fact that she had to twist and turn gracefully to clear the lifelines and bimini framework.
Before I realized what she was doing, she had landed lightly on her feet and redirected her movement towards Bardales. With the fluid ease of a gymnast, she launched herself, arms outstretched, for the officer's
