Close Reach Read Online Free Page A

wire on the backseat. She’d left that girl on the side of the road twenty-five years ago.
    “It’ll be fine,” Dean said.
    For the first time in three years she wanted to hit him.
    “We don’t know it’ll be fine.”
    “Look,” Dean said. “It’s just a fishing boat. That’s all it is. A ship passing us. How many times has that happened?”
    “Never like this. Something’s wrong.”
    “We don’t know that,” Dean said. “And the weather’s getting worse. This is the safest heading to hold and the fastest course to port.”
    Dean was right about the weather, at least.
    The wind was blowing over forty knots now. The waves were growing. They were cresting at twenty-five feet and would pass thirty in less than an hour with the wind working on them. These weren’t anything close to survival conditions, not for a boat like Freefall, but she wondered what they might see in twelve hours.
    “We could use the engine,” Kelly said. The engine had been off since they’d raised the sails. “Get some extra speed and stay ahead of it until we reach port.”
    Dean shook his head.
    “We’re too low on fuel—we stayed out too long and had to dip into the engine fuel to run the heaters. And we’ll need the engine to work up the fjords to Puerto Williams or if something goes wrong.”
    “Shit.”
    She sat down in disgust. She hated him being right, but he was. She’d wanted to outrun the other boat so they never had to find out if she was right to fear it. They could get more speed by putting out more sail area, but with the weather system coming at them, any more sail than they were flying would be suicide. The boat could be overpowered in an instant by a strong gust, broaching up into the weather like a frightened horse trying to throw its rider. Or they could getknocked down by the wind and the waves, and if that broke the standing rigging or bent the mast like a soda straw, all bets were off.
    She took the binoculars from the bulkhead bin and went to look for the other boat again. But she didn’t need binoculars to see it. It was closing fast.
    * * *
    The crab boat slowed and matched their speed when it was a hundred yards astern of them. There were no men on deck, and the bridge windows were filthy with crusted salt and oily grime from the exhaust stacks. The port exhaust plume was dirty white; it had some kind of problem with that engine. Kelly couldn’t see whether there was anyone at the helm. Its name was painted at the bow, barely visible through the running stains of rust and marine growth.
    La Araña.
    Whatever that meant.
    For fifteen minutes it followed them at that distance, close enough that even when they were down in the troughs between the waves, they could see its superstructure. With the wind coming from astern they could smell the greasy stench of its exhaust and hear the thrum of its diesels.
    “It’s not passing us,” Kelly said.
    “Want me to hail it on the VHF?” Dean picked up the mike, his thumb over the transmit button.
    “To say what?”
    “I’ll ask if they want to pass to port or to starboard. So we can get out of their way.”
    “Okay.”
    He keyed the mike and brought it to his lips.
    “ La Araña, La Araña, this is the sailing yacht Freefall, one hundred meters off your bow. Come in.”
    Dean let his thumb off the button, and they both looked at the VHF where it was mounted in the instrument console. They sailed for a minute, long enough for three of the big waves to overtake Freefall from behind, and the radio was silent.
    “Maybe they’re not scanning channel 16,” Dean said.
    “Try 20.”
    Dean switched the channel and repeated his transmission, and again they waited. Kelly watched the crab boat off their stern, watching the white wall of water pushed ahead of its bow. If anything, it was a little closer now.
    “I’ll try 22,” Dean said.
    She shook her head. “It’s not going to answer.”
    Dean turned and looked at her and then at the filthy crab boat