Chapter Fifteen
Gregoire pulled the throttle back on the boat, cutting the engine to idle. The boat slowed to a stop and bobbed on the undulating ocean, but Gregoire’s attention was focused on the compass in front of him. It spun wildly, not fixing on north or any other point for longer than an instant, before twisting around again. He tapped it with his finger.
“Now, that’s just not right.”
He looked around at the world to make sure the boat wasn’t spinning and closed his eyes for a moment to use his kinesthetic senses to feel for a sense of turning. Aside from the gentle rocking of the boat, the world was motionless. Yet, the compass still spun.
Gregoire picked up the map and shined his flashlight on it, the red light playing over the map. He looked around the ocean again, spotted a small smudge of a shadow on the horizon, and looked back at the map. He reoriented it and stared up into the night sky, locating Ursa Major and picking out the Big Dipper. He traced a line from it to the Little Dipper and located the North Star at the tip of its handle. He twisted the map a little more, orienting it with the night sky’s position, and then stared back out at the ocean.
“At least my eyes are working,” he said, marking his spot on the map with a pencil, “but what the hell am I doing back here, again?”
He set the map down and pushed the throttle forward, turned the boat toward the shadow on the horizon and made his way to it. A short while later he saw the lights of the island’s make-shift harbor, a network of white lights hanging over a small collection of wooden docks. He puttered the boat up to one of the docks and threw his line onto it, cutting the engine and jumping out of the boat to secure it to a cleat.
“Hello, sir, can I help you?” said the voice from a silhouette making its way down the dock.
The shape emerged into a cone of light from an overhead lamp and Gregoire recognized the man as the dockworker from earlier in the day. Gregoire smiled.
“You keep long hours.”
The worker shrugged. “It’s a living, sir. And you, what brings you back to our island so late at night? The weather is beautiful.”
Gregoire motioned toward his boat. “I’m having some sort of technical problems with my navigation system. I ended up here by mistake; I was trying to get somewhere else.”
The worker approached the boat and looked down into at the cockpit. He smiled.
“Compass problem?”
Gregoire nodded. “I was out there and it was just … turning on its axis. Damndest thing.”
“It happens more often than you think,” the worker said. “Usually the American Coast Guard has to come and rescue lost boaters, although a few of them make it here.”
“I know the dock is for guests, so I’d like to be a guest for the night, if that’s possible,” Gregoire said, fishing out his government credit card. “And, I’m going to need to refuel before morning.”
The worker checked his watch. “It’s after ten, sir.”
“I can sleep on the boat, if that’s alright.”
The worker looked around the docks and relaxed. “No, I mean, sorry, my shift is done,” the man said. “Please, if you want, you can stay with me, there’s no need for you to check in with the resort. I was going to crack open a bottle of rum and play the Yankees’ game from this afternoon, if you’d like to join me.”
“Rum? I’m game,” Gregoire said, introducing himself with a handshake.
“I’m Dierks,” the dockworker said, returning the shake.
Gregoire let out a small laugh. “Dierks, huh?”
“Family name. I’m Dutch on my great-great grandfather’s side, come,” Dierks said, turning and motioning for Gregoire to follow.
Dierks’ home was a small bungalow just inside the tree line, the interior a disheveled bachelor’s pad. Dierks pulled two small glass juice cups from a shelf in the kitchenette, set them on a round kitchen table with a Formica top and stainless steel tubular legs, and poured each half-full with rum. He handed one to Gregoire.
“Sorry,” Dierks said abruptly, “do you need cola or some other mixer?”
Gregoire shook his head. “I’m on an island, right, so let’s drink to the island life.”
The two men inclined their glasses and tipped rum into their mouths. Gregoire looked around the room and noticed the collection of Yankees paraphernalia on a bookshelf in a corner of the room.
“Yankees, fan, eh?”
Dierks nodded. “Lifelong. I’ve got the game on my TiVo, so we don’t have to watch the commercials.”
“Nice,” Gregoire said. “But, I was wondering, you said earlier that compass problems aren’t all that unusual out here. What’s up with that?”
Dierks eyed Gregoire curiously for a second, took another sip of his rum, and made a small face of embarrassment. “Who knows? The weirdoes would have you believe it’s the effects of The Bermuda Triangle.”
Gregoire raised his eyebrows. “The Bermuda Triangle?”
Dierks nodded.
“What do you think it would be?”
Dierks shook his head. “No idea. But every so often, somebody gets lost out there on the ocean, gets confused about their position and radios for help. You’ll listen to them tell the US Coast Guard that their compass isn’t working or their GPS is on the fritz. Sometimes, somebody will make their way here and tell us the same thing; only they weren’t able to contact anybody on their radio, either.”
Dierks finished off his last slug of rum and walked to the kitchen table for a refill. “And, every once in a while you’ll hear a story, always third- or fourth-hand, about some ship that was found adrift, empty, sometimes with what appears to be evidence of a violent struggle. Although, I’ve never seen such a thing nor met anyone who has, it’s always the friend of a friend who knows somebody who saw such a thing, so I don’t really know what to make of such stories.”
“Weird,” Gregoire said, and poured a small measure of rum into his glass. “And there are those who think it might be the effects of the Bermuda Triangle? I thought that was, I dunno, a myth or something.”
“It’s at least that, but down here among the islands, there are no shortages of folks who believe in strange, mystical things,” Dierks said. “Around here, it’s the Bermuda Triangle; elsewhere, Voodoo.” Dierks lifted his glass up and gently shook it. He made a slight shrug and half-rolled his eyes at the description of his fellow island natives, “Too much of this and people, island people, will believe anything they hear.”