Phantom,” I said, looking around in awe at the wooden deck planks, the huge steering wheel, the fluttering sails rumbling in the night breeze, and the thirty or forty scary-looking pirates standing around staring at us.
“These be Holly Gooding and Mitch – uh, something,” said the captain to his crew.
“Mitch Keller,” said Mitch.
“They be me friends,” he said with a wink, as another pirate stepped up and handed Sebastian a pistol and a long curved sword, which he immediately strapped to his waist without a thought. “They ‘elped me escape from a strange white building and the scurvy bilge-scum that stole me weaponry.”
“Argh, argh,” they all grunted happily.
“Captain,” I said, “do you think we could sail around the headland to the bay where we came ashore?”
“What fer?”
“Well, we need to let our boatman know that we’re okay, and I still want to talk to the authorities about the black box.”
“Authorities? Nay! I don’t know about in your world, lassie, but where I come from, my line of business ain’t exactly legal, ye know?”
“Captain, I promise not to turn you in,” I said, touching his arm. “It’s just – very important to me. There’s a gold doubloon in it for ye.” I gave him a wink.
“Heh heh heh,” he growled with a grin. “Ye learn fast, luv.” Then he turned to his men and shouted, “Ye ‘eerd the lady! Take us out round the cape and into the bay just west of ‘ere – ‘andsomely, now!”
They scrambled to their positions and before long we were cruising off around the headland. As we rounded it, I said, “Did we travel two bays over?”
“No, lassie,” said Sebastian, “This be the bay where we come ashore. Yer friends have marooned ye.”
I couldn’t believe it.
The boats – all the NTSB vessels and the Coast Guard, the barges with their spotlights, and all the wreckage – gone. Just silence and silvery moonlight upon the now-black water.
It couldn’t be. I pulled out my cell – no signal.
“Ah well,” said Sebastian, “Never ye mind. Seems we’re back in my world now. Boys?” Four of his men stepped forward and grabbed Mitch and me by the shoulders. “Back to business then,” said Sebastian, baring his blackened teeth in a severe grin. “Take the pretty-boy to the brig – we’ll sell ‘im into slavery when we reach Caracas. And this one – bring ‘er to me quarters. Oh, and careful with that device of ‘is, it should fetch a pretty penny at auction.”
Mitch suddenly broke free and swung the heavy Betacam SP camera around by the top handle, smashing it into the head of one of the pirates, knocking out several teeth and bending the lens sideways.
In the commotion, I wrestled out of the thugs’ grip and ran toward Mitch. Together, we jumped overboard, plummeting into the cool, dark water of the bay.
We came up for air once, then went underwater again and swam eastward for the shore. Exhausted, we dragged ourselves onto the sandy ground and hid in the bushes, looking back at The Coral Phantom.
Nobody had followed us.
“We need to get back,” I said. “Come on – I have a theory.”
My instinct was proven right. Onshore, somewhere between the two bays, I felt that electrical tingling again as we passed through – whatever it was that linked Sebastian’s world and our own.
As we stumbled out of the jungle to find the recovery crew still lifting dangling, rotating chunks of aircraft from the murky water, we breathed a huge sigh of relief.
“What on earth just happened to us?”
Mitch dug in his pocket and pulled out a tape. The genius had stowed it just as the pirates were about to confiscate his camera. “It got wet.”
“Is it salvageable?” I asked.
“If not – never, ever bring this up again. If so,” he smiled, looking more handsome than ever as he peered closely at the dripping Beta cassette, “we’re looking at a journalism Pulitzer.”
I threw my arms around his neck and kissed him hard on the lips. “Well, blow me down!”
Ye Olde Ende
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