They sought shelter from the summer storm in a cove on the south shore of Little Cayman. The Leopard had a shallow draft but a wider beam, so Bobby set a second anchor for added security. With gusting winds up to 45 knots, it was prudent to be cautious. With the rigging secured and the dinghy set out with a double tether, there was little to do but wait out the blow inside the comfy cabin.

“Oh God, yes!” Tavia cried out beneath him. She gasped as they clung to each other passionately. He held himself above her, marveling at her face and incredible body. He had just turned seventeen, and she was eight months older. Despite their age gap, he was her hero, her lover. Her soul mate. She had fallen for him two years ago during sailing and navigation classes at the Neptune Academy. Her skin was dark from her Jamaican roots. He was nearly pale by comparison with fair skin and almost white hair. Over time, he developed a bronze tan with sunscreen and nearly constant exposure to the Caribbean sun.

She was still a virgin when she seduced him on his birthday, a year ago. Their first time was magical and unforgettable. It was during a warm summer evening, and the Leopard lay anchored off the shore near his family's lavish estate. The yellow-orange moon hung full overhead like a giant balloon. They laid a thick comforter over the trampoline netting on the foredeck between the hulls and reclined side-by-side on pillows, staring at the stars. An extra comforter at their feet in case it got cold.

Tavia changed from her typical bikini into a soft fleece night shirt and matching shorts, while Bobby changed into another pair of baggy board shorts. He felt at ease next to his best friend, and the closeness of her warm body and gentle floral fragrance filled him with serenity. Her soft hair drifted over his face, giving him a heady dose of her unique, alluring smell. When he sighed, she turned to face him, placing her hand on his bare chest and caressing his hard thigh with her soft leg. Her steel grey eyes glinted in the semidarkness, and he shivered when her breath touched his ear.

“What is it?” she asked softly.

“I couldn’t imagine a more perfect evening,” he replied.

She lifted her face to smile at him, “What makes this evening so perfect?” Her accent was thick, owing to her Jamaican heritage.

He shrugged, and memories crept from the dark cellar where they had remained buried. His shrug became a shiver, which she took as a chill, pressing closer to him. “It’s kinda dumb, but I like being on the water; I enjoy the ocean and feel at home here, under the stars, because no matter how alone you feel—they are always there, even when you can’t see them.” His mind drifted back to a younger version of himself sitting alone on his treehouse deck, staring at the night sky. “I always felt safe under the stars. And now I’ve learned to use them to guide me home when all else fails.”

She breathed in deeply through her nose, smelling his skin and hair, sighing to herself as he continued.

“Being out here on the water, under these stars, with you...it feels right,” he admitted wistfully, causing her heart to flutter. “I love…” He stopped and sat up abruptly, frustration washing over him. Tavia gasped in alarm when he didn’t say what she had longed to hear. She sat up with him and put her arm around his shoulder.

“Bobby, what’s wrong?” she asked fearfully.

He shook his head sadly. “I hate that word,” he muttered. “It’s stupid. Meaningless.”

Her soul withered, and she slowly released her grip on him. Tears came unbidden, and she shuddered tearfully as she breathed in. “Love? You think love is stupid?” Her soft voice was pained.

He looked back at her in alarm. Then he turned to face her, regretting his words immediately. “It’s the word, Tia,” he tried to explain, “growing up in that house, I only heard it from my mom and occasionally my brother and sister…and my da—uncle Frank.” He sounded bitter, and she saw the tension in his jaw. “But they never meant it. Only my dad truly meant it.”

She leaned toward him and wiped her eyes as she sniffed. “I love you, Bobby,” she whispered. “And that means something to me!”

He felt sorrow in her voice and swallowed uncomfortably. “I believe you. It’s easy to say because you know what it means to love.” His words backfired as she looked at him with anguish. She started getting up, but he still touched her knee. “Tia, I don’t want to say I love you when the word doesn’t mean what I feel.”

She sniffed and swallowed with a quiver, glaring at him. “What do you ‘feel’?” she demanded tearfully.

He took a breath and looked down to consider his words. When he looked back at her, she saw a change. The insecurity was gone, and she let him take her hand. “What I said earlier about the ocean, how I feel I belong here, and the stars above us that make me feel safe and never alone. And being able to share it all with you. It’s perfect, and I wouldn’t trade it for anything—” He paused and took another breath, “How I feel about you is all that—and more.”

They sat gazing at each other in silence. He was surprised when she suddenly reached across and grabbed him in a tight embrace. Her lips found him, and she kissed him urgently. He had never kissed a girl before, but instinctively surrendered his mouth to her. The taste of her lips and tongue; her warmth overwhelmed him. He moaned happily, and she hugged him tighter. Her lips tasted like passionfruit and mint, and when her tongue entered his mouth, he gasped as the contact shook him. It was like static electricity, and he realized the need to wrap his arms around her and hold her urgently. He couldn’t get enough.

This time, they grappled above the covers, within the tidy cabin between Leopard's twin hulls. The sway and surge of the catamaran was less gentle than that previous night, as she reacted to the growing tempest beyond the sheltered cove. But their minds were oblivious to the storm as they clung to each other. She moaned in pleasure as he touched and caressed her skin with calloused hands and lips chapped from constant exposure to the Caribbean sun and salty air. Her skin tingled from his feathery touch, and she sighed heavily when his lips parted over her hard nipple. His hot tongue sent her body quivering, and she moaned urgently, gripping his hips as he poised above her.

“Now, Mon,” she breathed desperately. “Don’t make me beg for it.”

His mind imploded when she reached between them and gripped his rigid shaft, tugging and guiding him into her. He groaned as his resistance vanished, his body weight pressing down as he slipped completely inside her.

“Oh God, Baby! Yes!” she hissed. Her face looked drawn and desirous as she encouraged him to continue. Unlike the pain and uncertainty of their first time, they had grown accustomed to each other with frequent lovemaking. Now she clung to him, panting passionately with her legs hooked over his while he drove her through wave after wave of euphoria.

Later, they lay gasping beside one another, inside the warm cabin, safely sheltered from the seasonal storm that raged outside. Occasionally, they felt the boat surge and sway gently as a squall burst around them. The rain sounded like a thousand tiny hammers pelting the hull and cabin.

“I love this,” Tavia murmured happily into his neck as she held him beneath the warm comforter.

He smiled in the dark, “Mmm, me too.”

Occasional lightning flashed, illuminating the tiny cabin, followed by immediate thunder as the storm rolled over them. Bobby assessed the security of their double anchors by feeling how the catamaran rode the small waves in the protected cove. They fell into an easy slumber as the waves rocked them gently.

When the sun rose, it shone through the forward portals, brightly lighting the small cabin.

“I had misgivings about catamarans at first, but the Leopard is growing on me,” Bobby said with a yawn. He sat up and stretched, causing a draft of colder air to blow under the covers. Tai pulled the comforter tighter around her with a groan and poked him.

“Don’t bash my baby!” she muttered as she tried to recapture the warmth. Tavia Ashanti was the only child of a widowed marine biologist and professor at the Center for Marine Sciences at the University of the West Indies in Kingstown.

Professor Ashanti was a quiet and brilliant Australian scientist who fell deeply in love with a Jamaican woman. Despite his meager prospects, he pursued her with determined grace and charm, symbolizing his devotion by taking her surname in a surprising gaff to tradition. When she died of cancer, his loss sent him retreating into the comfort of academia.

Tavia was 13 when her mother died, and she suffered greatly from the loss. She lost her best friend and confidant, and the effect on her father drove him further from her. She found herself isolated at a young age. Her father didn’t abandon her physically but became emotionally distant. Only by studying marine biology was she able to stay connected. When she opted to further her maritime studies, he purchased the Leopard and showed her how to handle it. The 26-foot Simpson Formula One fast cruiser was sound, sturdy, and easily handled by a single person. By fifteen, she had sailed across the Caribbean on many solo excursions. Her pedigree assured her early enrollment into the Neptune Academy, where she met Bobby.

They bonded instantly as the youngest and most gifted cadets. When not studying or on voyages, they embarked on the Leopard, where he practiced sailing under her expert eye. He soon surpassed her in nearly all aspects of seamanship, but he never flaunted it. She adored his energy and curiosity. Tavia was aware of her modest charms and had fended off many advances. Despite Bobby’s naivete, she was attracted to him but resisted treating him differently from a close friend.

“I wasn’t bashing her, Tai,” he replied modestly, “the design has grown on me. It is well-suited for the open waters around us.”

“Daddy grew up on Western Australia’s waters before moving to Jamaica and meeting my mother. He lived on a similar version, so he was sold on the craft when he decided to buy it for me.”

It was a solid design. The twin fiberglass hulls were connected by a solid main deck, on which the cockpit and cabin were situated. Under sail, she was sleek, fast, and agile. When sailing wasn’t an option, she had twin 20-horsepower Yanmar diesel engines. She was outfitted with a state-of-the-art SIMRAD multifunction navigation and piloting system.

“I can’t wait to finish my classes at UCI,” Bobby sighed. “I’d love to work with your dad on the Heritage Project.” The project aimed to preserve marine habitats and involved several island nations and commonwealths, including Grand Cayman, Jamaica, the Bahamas, Turks and Caicos, and Haiti.

“You just want a free pass to go cage diving,” she smirked, rubbing against him. As a minor, it galled him that he was restricted from activities that few would even entertain.

His achievements were staggering for his years. His ‘uncle’ Kurt, a certified flight instructor, had been teaching him to fly. Kurt owned a Pipistrel Panthera bought from Slovenia, a larger Cessna 210 for charters, and an experimental SeaMax Light amphibious aircraft. Bobby had logged hours in the Panthera and planned his first solo flight soon. The joke at home was that he could pilot a small freighter, operate a dive charter on his dad’s fifty-foot sailing dive boat, and fly a single-engine plane, yet he was too young to drive a car.

A sharp change in the boat's pitch abruptly disrupted them from their musing. The starboard hull dipped sharply, alerting them.

Somebody had just boarded the Leopard!

Bobby slid out of the berth and grabbed his shorts as hushed voices came from outside. The rising sun over the bow foiled any view into the aft cabin portholes, but the shadow of at least one figure was seen in the pilot house. Bobby recognized that the intruder carried a rifle with a curved magazine. He turned back to Tavia in alarm and whispered, “Pirates” in her ear. She slipped from the bed and pulled on her clothes while he quietly bolted the hatch.

Two voices seemed to argue, but their discussion was unintelligible. Then, the hatch rattled as they tried to enter the cabin. Further cursing and whispering ensued. Then a loud pounding shook the wood-and-metal barrier. They jumped at the sudden racket.

“Open up and come out!” a heavily accented voice demanded. “We will shoot through the door if you don’t do this now!”

Bobby quickly flipped on the auxiliary power to the SIMRAD and VHF radio. The radar’s closed dome concealed the rotating transceiver. “I’m going outside to stall them,” he whispered, causing her to panic. “Stay hidden and contact GC Coast Guard.” He tuned it to 156.8 MHz and pointed to the display. “Give them our MMIS, AIS codes, and coordinates. Tell them we are under siege by armed pirates and request immediate assistance.” His instructions were unnecessary as she knew maritime emergency procedures as well as he did. But she nodded and ducked behind a bulkhead with the microphone to send their distress call.

“Who is it?” Bobby asked loudly, with genuine fright in his voice. “What do you want?”

“Come out now! Or we will shoot you through the door!” the voice demanded. “Do this now!”

“No! Don’t shoot! I’m coming out!” he cried, freeing the latch. He slowly opened the hatch and peeked out.

There were two pirates, both dark skinned and clothed in rags. One held a military-style rifle, while the other brandished a machete. The sun was rising behind him because of the easterly breeze. The gunman demanded that he climb up to the pilot house/cockpit quickly. He climbed one step and looked around the deck, comparing what he knew to expect and what he didn’t. Both men were smaller with spindly arms and legs; their emaciated frames likely from malnutrition and starvation, making them unpredictable and dangerous.

“Come! Come!” the gunman hollered angrily, waving the gun aggressively. He was squinting against the sun's glare over the eastern horizon.

Bobby acted thoughtlessly, considering only the woman in the cabin below. If they saw her, they’d be driven by more than hunger or desperation—and he’d do anything to prevent that. But that was as far as his brain got before he acted. Once on the deck, he launched himself at the man with the rifle. The sun was behind him, blinding the gunman. The machete wielder shouted, but it was too late to prevent them from colliding and falling backward over the transom into the sea.

The gunman cried out in despair, but his outburst was cut off as he plunged beneath the surface, driven under by Bobby’s powerful frame. The shock of the cold, clear water quickly wore off as he grappled with his opponent. The pirate had bony limbs, little muscle, and large, swollen joints at his elbows and knees. He released the rifle in his panic, trying to claw his way back to the surface. His efforts were futile in the grip of his young adversary, an expert swimmer and divemaster. Unlike his wiry foe, Bobby had spent nearly every day of his last three years in or on the water and had the hard trim body to show for it. With powerful kicks, he propelled himself deeper, pushing the pirate before him.

Bobby had instinctively drawn a deep breath that could sustain him for several minutes under exertion. The other man had cried out, foolishly expelling his air as they plunged beneath the surface. A calm fury swept through the young man as he watched the panic and terror sweep through his adversary's expression. He continued to kick furiously, driving them deeper. The ocean floor was clearly visible 10 fathoms below. The pirate clawed and flailed, scraping his nails across Bobby’s arms and chest as they sank further toward the bottom.

Bobby could tell by the pressure in his ears as they descended through 6 meters, approaching the first atmosphere, when human buoyancy was neutralized. He recognized the signs of imminent drowning in the other man’s face, as his eyes widened with terror—his oxygen depleted. At 10 meters, Bobby knew it was the point of no return for his weakened opponent. He reversed himself and kicked off from the pirate's body, sending him deeper while the youth shot back up towards the surface, slowly releasing his air as he rose.

Glancing up, he noticed a rough wooden canoe tied to the starboard hull. Just then, another body splashed into the water on the starboard side, and when he breached the surface at the stern ladder, he heard Tavia cursing at someone who splashed frantically while crying for help. He grabbed the ladder and yelled, “Tai, I’m coming aboard!”

Her face appeared over the stern as he climbed aboard, and she reached down to help.

“What happened?” he gasped, recovering his breath.

She pointed to the swinging boom, and he realized she’d used it as a weapon to knock the machete-wielding man over the side. He caught it as it swung back and re-stepped it into the bracket that held it secure when not under sail. He stepped over and looked down at the flailing pirate.

“Please! Help me!” the man pleaded.

“You just tread water till the ‘po show up, Mon!” Tavia yelled back, waving a boat hook menacingly. Then she turned to Bobby, her expression dark with fury. “And you, what are you thinking, charging a man with a gun?”

He stepped back uncertainly, “Um…it seemed like the thing to do in the spur of the moment—” he stammered.

“Idiot!” she snapped, returning to her soggy adversary. “You! Get away from my boat!” she yelled, brandishing the boathook. “Don’t make me whack you, Mon!”

The nearest maritime emergency response unit was the Little Cayman police department, which arrived within an hour of the distress call. The boat was a 35-foot steel-hulled shallow-draft vessel with twin 200 HP Mercury outboard motors. Five heavily armed officers crewed it, skippered by the only Caucasian member of the force—a crimson-haired Irishman named O’Rouke.

They tied off alongside the Leopard and quickly fished the surviving pirate out of the water. The machete lay on the deck and was collected as evidence. Bobby and Tai gave their statements to the Irishman, who took notes and shook his head at the actions described by the 17-year-old. The water was clear enough to see the bottom, and after a brief search, they located the unfortunate pirate. The officers hadn’t brought any diving gear, so Bobby offered to retrieve the body, but O’Rouke sent one of his men down with Bobby’s tank. He also retrieved an old Cuban AK-47 in such bad shape that it was unlikely ever to fire again. The boat they used was a dug-out canoe. The police crew joked about blow-guns, bows, and arrows as they finished their investigation and left.

After they had departed, Bobby quickly pulled the anchors and set a west-south-west course for home.

Any hope that word of their misadventure wouldn’t reach his family was dashed when they spotted a crowd of adults on the pier inside the breakwater protecting Celtic Dreamer and the float plane. From 100 yards away, he recognized his father, Chad, and the three nearly identical figures of his moms, Jessica and her twin sister Jennifer, and his long-time tutor and nanny, Geneviève. Beside her was Uncle Kurt, her enormous fiancé.

Out of caution and to stall the inevitable, Bobby tacked into the wind and helped Tai strike and furl the genoa and mainsails before entering the moorage under power. Kurt caught the bowline that Tavia tossed over and made it fast to the dock to assist him in landing the craft gently. Once the engines were shut down, he sighed heavily and held his girlfriend's hand as they disembarked together. The faces that regarded the two were grim and taciturn, and the silence was awkward as they stepped onto the dock.

Bobby was smothered in fierce embraces by the three women. When he finally came up for air, he saw Tavia getting the same treatment. Once they were done, his father towered over him, scrutinizing him intensely. Chad wasn’t Bobby’s biological father, but he raised him from birth and fought for custody when it was revealed that Bobby’s real father was his late aunt’s husband. This came to light during his parents’ divorce, leading to his mother rejecting him. He couldn’t have asked for better surrogate moms than Jessica and Jennifer. Though his dad and Jess were married, they formed a close throuple, and no one thought twice about his father sharing his bed with both twins. Even Spencer, Jennifer’s ten-year-old son, called him ‘dad’ without prompting.

Chad hugged his son possessively. “Are you all right, Bobbers?” he asked with an emotional voice.

“We’re good, Dad,” he replied as the adrenaline bled off, leaving a sense of vulnerability and disbelief. He suddenly had no control over the shaking that swept his body.

“Chief O’Rourke gave me a detailed rundown of what happened, but I’d like to hear it from you.” Chad turned and they returned to the house, his arm possessively around the younger man’s shoulder. The rest of the family followed closely behind.

The mansion was built by an affluent British expat who tried to capture a minimalist reveal but still embodied the low-carbon footprint that was all the rage a decade prior. It was designed and built to withstand any hurricane or natural disaster, while offering luxurious views and features such as grand vaulted ceilings, thick, expansive windows, and skylights. There were three levels, one above and one below the vast main floor. Bobby claimed the apartment below, which had immediate beach access and cave-like rooms.

When they entered the main level, they saw Spencer on the floor with Damien, the ten-year-old son of the Senegalese couple who helped maintain the estate. Musa and Ella Kante lived in a small home on the property. The seller highly regarded them and was prepared to relocate them with a lifelong stipend if needed. However, Chad, Jess, and Jen quickly became fond of the delightful family. It helped that the two boys became best friends over lunch, sharing high energy levels and similar interests. Spencer loved martial arts and MMA, while Damien always wore his green-and-yellow Sadio Mané football jersey. Both were seated on the floor, engrossed in an epic battle before the giant TV. Four dogs sprawled around them: Chad’s rottweiler Elvis, Tappy the Pitbull, and two puppies. Elvis wagged his tail when he recognized Bobby.

With an evil grin, Tavia strode over and stood between the boys and their focus. She weaved back and forth as they swayed to see around her.

“Tai! C’mon!” Spencer exclaimed dramatically as he got to his feet and narrowly avoided being killed by his ruthless opponent. She danced barefoot before him and then turned to the ebony-skinned youth seated on the floor. Damien ignored her as he pursued his advantage and whooped triumphantly when he emerged victorious.

“Ah, jeez!” Spencer grumbled as she ruffled his hair. “I almost had him!”

“Hah!” the African lad scoffed, his deep voice and thick accent evident. “You were doomed before breakfast, boy!” he taunted. “I owned you!”

“Yeah, ‘boy,’” Tavia taunted as she snatched the controller from Spencer’s grip. “Let’s see you put that talk where it counts, Mon." She sat heavily beside him and patted or rubbed every nearby dog while the game reset.

Spencer’s dejection quickly faded when he noticed his ‘bruh’ and went to him excitedly. “Hey, Bobby! I hear Pirates attacked you!” he greeted excitedly. “Did they kick your ‘booty’?” he laughed at his wit, drawing a smirk from the older boy.

Bobby recounted the morning’s events at the dining table as best he could.

Occasionally, Tavia interrupted with single words like ‘Fool,’ ‘Idiot,’ and her favorite, ‘Stupid-head’—without turning away from her virtual death match with the determined Damien.

Jessica put a hand on his arm. “Baby, what possessed you to attack a man with a gun?” she asked softly when he finished.

He shrugged and looked down at his hands. “I don’t know. I didn’t think about it,” he admitted shyly. “It just happened… I saw him squinting at me with the sun in his eyes, and then… we were sinking—or I was kicking us down.” He shivered at the memory and felt Jennifer’s warm hands on his shoulders. Suddenly, he felt a deep dismay and hiccuped as emotion washed over him. “I… I killed that man!” he whispered.

There was an awkward silence at the table.

“It’s okay, baby,” Jen said softly over his head. “I’m sure you didn’t think about that then.”

He stiffened under her touch. “No,” he replied, “I knew.” He looked up with reddened eyes at the adults around him. “I could see the fear in his eyes as I pushed him deeper. I knew he couldn’t swim, and I could have stopped and saved him.” He started shaking as the realization dawned on him. “I didn’t want him to come back up.”

Kurt had remained silent til then, “Why did you want him to die?” he asked calmly. There was nobody more familiar with killing than the ex-Ranger.

Bobby sniffed and looked up at his expressionless face. “I...was—”

“Afraid? Angry?” he prompted.

The boy nodded. “Yeah. I was scared to death at first.” It was lost on nobody at the table when he glanced at the girl on the floor next to Dante. “And then I was mad...really pissed off, you know?”

“I get it,” Kurt said and nodded to Chad.

“Bobby,” his dad said suddenly. “No one is judging you for what you did or how it played out.” He leaned forward in his chair, “I just need to know you’re okay. This is a lot to take on. I wouldn’t know how you feel. But if you need to talk to someone…” he was referring to the counseling sessions with Helen Dillard during his bitter divorce and custody battle with Molly. He’d fly her down first class if it would help.

Bobby remained silent for several minutes until a childish exclamation from the living room disrupted the quiet when Damien lost his match.

“Man! You cheated!” he whined as Tavia jabbed his shoulder and got to her feet. She handed the controller back to Spencer, lying across the snoring rottweiler.

“Better luck next time, boy,” she laughed and stepped into the kitchen.

“I think I’m okay, Dad, thanks,” he replied, gazing at Tai’s mixed emotions as she joined them. “I’m relieved we’re safe and unhurt. It’s just that…”

“What?” Chad asked.

“I want to be better prepared if it happens again.” He saw Jessica frown and guessed what she was thinking. “I’m not going to stop sailing and exploring because of this. Next year, we probably won’t be here,” he added quickly. Her jaw tightened, and he swallowed nervously. “We’ll be living in Kingstown, completing our MoV certifications.”

Kurt spoke before she could disagree. “I think you should go over it with me on the boat,” he offered. “Show me what you did, and then we’ll devise strategies if it happens again.”

“Roger Tower, Pipistrel Triple Eight Zero Uniform holding short, runway two six, departing west. Standing by for inbound heavy,” Bobby repeated through his headset.

“Ooh, baby!” Tai’s voice cut in over the CC Intercom. “You sound damn sexy when you talk like dat ‘Mon.”

He glanced at her and smirked. With sunglasses on, it was hard to read her true expression, but he knew her well enough to know her thoughts. Genivieve’s giggle sounded in his headset.

“For a solo check flight, there seems to be a lot of people on board,” he quipped. The Panthera could seat four, including himself, and all seats were occupied.

“Pretend we’re not here,” Kurt replied through his headset. He was seated behind Tavia on the right.

“Imagine us in our underwear,” Tai ginned, causing him to glance back at her. She wore a bikini with shorts over the bottoms and a cropped halter covering her breasts.

The four of them were seated in the single-engine plane at the east end of the taxiway, awaiting clearance. He listened as the inbound airliner announced itself on a three-mile final.

“What does that mean?” Tavia asked.

“A big jet is about to land. Look out to the left, and you’ll see it coming in.”

She leaned over him and peered out his window. Her fragrance sent a wave of desire through him that he shook off as she smiled and kissed his cheek. Then she pointed excitedly. “I see it!”

A Delta 747-400 out of Miami flew low over the bay and landed in front of them. Tai clapped excitedly and sat straight. After a minute, she looked over to him.

“Well, what are you waiting for, Mon? Fly this thing!” she demanded.

“We have to wait for permission,” he replied patiently.

“Pipistrel Triple Eight Zero Uniform, you are clear for departure, runway two six, heading west,” came the announcement right after he spoke.

Clicking the mike twice, he acknowledged the order and released the brakes. He held the yoke with his left hand and the throttle with his right. He steered the plane to the center of the runway and pushed the right pedal to turn into the slight westerly breeze. “Here we go,” he said, advancing the throttle steadily. The small plane surged forward, powered by the 360 HP Lycoming engine. They reached a rotation speed of 55 knots in under 20 seconds, but he waited until 60 before gently pulling back on the yoke and lifting the plane onto a steady climb.

Beside him, Tavia whooped joyfully as they raced toward the thin clouds. “Yeah, Mon! We are…flying!” she yelled.

At 1500 feet, he followed the departure control orders and began turning east for Kingston, Jamaica. The flight was expected to be an hour and seven minutes. He could do it faster, but every hour mattered for his student flight log.

Fifteen minutes into the flight, he contacted Kingston Approach Control and requested a student vector for Norman Manley Intl.

“Copy, Pipistrel Triple Eight Zero Uniform, squawk One Two Zero Seven for vector approach into Kingston,” the thickly accented controller replied.

Bobby acknowledged the instructions and dialed in the transponder accordingly.

“I gotcha Triple Eight Zero Uniform. Maintain flight level and bearing. I got your back ‘Mon.”

Forty-three minutes later, Bobby landed the plane with a slight bump. Pulling back the throttle, he powered down the engine and pumped the brakes, slowing to taxi speed. “Welcome to Jah-may-kuh ‘Mon,” he announced over the intercom.

“Very well done, Bobby,” Evie praised him, reaching forward to rub his shoulder.

“Very smooth!” Kurt added proudly.

They taxied for three minutes before he parked on the visitor apron. While the other three headed to Customs, Bobby checked in at the Arrivals Office. Parking a plane in the Caribbean was expensive, but it was bloody extortion in Jamaica. He completed the necessary form and agreed to purchase fuel before leaving, saving $50 per hour. He handed the surly administrator $500 US for the next two hours. The agent accepted his Customs Declaration card and pointed him to the main Lobby.

He found a crowded lobby full of travelers and waiting hosts when the sliding glass doors parted. He noticed an elderly Caucasian gentleman standing nervously near the exit and recognized Dr. Herald Ashanti. He smiled and walked over. The man failed to recognize him but politely tipped his head.

“G’day,” he greeted in a gentle Australian accent.

“Dr. Ashanti, I’m Bobby Hartley,” he said, extending his hand. “Tai and the others are going through customs.”

“Bloody ‘ell!” the man replied excitedly, taking the offered hand firmly. “You’re a right strapping lad, ain’t ya!” He looked around the lobby, “How’d you get through so quickly?”

Bobby winked, “Took a shortcut.”

Dr. Ashanti’s laugh was loud and hearty—not what he expected upon meeting the man.

“DADDY!”

They turned and found Tavia bounding toward them, her flip-flops slapping on the hard-tiled floor. She flew into his arms and kissed his cheeks. Kurt and Genevieve walked up, holding hands. Introductions were made, and once everyone was acquainted, they stepped out to the visitor parking lot, where their host loaded them into an older Volvo.

“Did you bring it?” Tai asked eagerly, sitting between her dad and Bobby.

“Calm yourself, lass,” he replied humorously. “It’s in the boot.”

‘It’ was a miniature umbilical-controlled submersible for scouting the ocean floor and reefs. The professor discussed it over lunch at one of his favorite restaurants.

“It has a 150-meter range but is rated to 30-meter depths,” he stated. “I may have pushed her beyond that a few times,” he winked. “But keep her above 100 feet if you can.”

Kurt and Evie exchanged curious glances.

“What do you need a submersible for?” Kurt asked.

Bobby and Tavia exchanged furtive glances. “In case we find something interesting underwater,” he replied dismissively.

“Like a sunken man-o-war,” Evie smirked.

Dr. Ashanti narrowed his eyes and regarded the two youngsters shrewdly. “What are they on about?”

His daughter smiled brightly and batted her long lashes innocently. “Nothing, Daddy,” she replied quickly, “yet.”

“But you two are onto something, aren’t you?” Genevieve pressed, “What were you doing off Little Cayman last week?”

Dr. Ashanti stopped eating, set his forks down, and regarded his daughter with a knowing expression. “You’ve been over the shelves?”

She nodded and slipped her arm through Bobby’s.

“Did you find anything?” His voice hinted at excitement.

She touched his arm. “No, Daddy, we haven’t,” she said in a low voice. “But me and Bobby think we are onto something.”

Bobby nodded, shoveling in his food like a starved dog. “There are three drop-offs plotted off the leeward shoal near Bishop’s Ridge,” he replied after swallowing. “Halfway to Scotts Anchorage, there are plateaus rising from the trough, about twenty to thirty fathoms deep.”

“Planning to dive 180 feet?” the professor asked incredulously. “Got helium?”

Bobby shrugged. “If needed, we have tri-mix manifolded on the Dreamer.” He smiled at Kurt and Genevieve. " Do you think Dad can be talked into searching for another shipwreck?”

“Better take your shark deterrent, too,” the professor added.

“I wanted to ask about that,” Bobby said, changing the subject. “I understand you and the Heritage Project developed a sensory interruption deterrent for wide-scale operations?”

The professor nodded, “Works good, too,” he replied confidently. “Drop it to the bottom, light it up, and you won’t have a shark within a quarter mile.”

“Can we borrow it sometime, Daddy?” Tai asked sweetly. “Pretty please!”

“Well, that will depend on what you find down there.”

On the return trip, Bobby flew north between the smaller Commonwealth Islands—Cayman Brac and Little Cayman. He descended to 700 feet, pointing out popular dive spots along Bloody Bay.

“Where are you ‘exploring’ for your wreck?” Kurt asked.

“Let me loop around and drop lower,” Bobby answered, bringing the plane around and gradually descending. “To the right is the easternmost Point of Sand,” he said, nodding. He flew southwest, following the shore. “The shelves begin...right about...now. They continue for several miles past the island’s southwest tip.”

“Doesn’t look very interesting,” Kurt replied.

“Exactly.”

Thirty minutes later, Cayman Approach vectored him on a direct approach, and they soared low over the water before crossing North Sound beach. Seconds later, he settled the plane softly onto the asphalt.

“Another three-pointer,” Kurt congratulated him as they slowed and turned onto the taxiway.

“Two more hours on the logbook,” Bobby smiled. Technically, neither trip counted as purely solo because he had passengers, but Kurt was happy to fudge a little because he was in the back and unable to control the aircraft. He trusted Bobby when it came time for his maiden solo flight. The boy had drawn up several flight plans, including a direct vector to Miami with an overflight permit over Cuban airspace. He hadn’t submitted any because he was returning to school soon.

With the summer semester starting, he managed a full schedule by attending only Mondays and Wednesdays, giving him four-day weekends. With her father’s blessing, Tavia moved in with him to his basement apartment at Casa Hartley. Everyone knew they slept together and assumed they’d eventually marry, but that was the last thing on their minds. While Bobby was in class, Tai kept busy helping around the house or taking the two younger boys to various activities, from soccer practice to working on the world’s biggest shark teeth collection. Their ambitions were epic, and their energy vast. She often found herself exhausted and handed them to another adult for entertainment.

When he got home Wednesday afternoon, they set out on the Leopard for Little Cayman. Some shelves were sparse and narrow, requiring fancy maneuvering to steady the boat while dropping anchor. If they drifted even slightly, the depth went from 20-30 fathoms to several hundred.

They anchored at dusk and prepared a dinner of frozen pizzas and cheese sandwiches. Before bed, Bobby switched on the perimeter alert and collision warning system installed by Kurt. The system offered proximity warnings of potential boarders, but it also warned away potential pirates with bright masthead spotlights and a pre-recorded message advising them to find an easier target. If boarding still occurred, an automatic distress call would broadcast the location and identity of their vessel.

After double-checking the anchorage, he returned to the cabin and secured the latch. Tai lay in the spacious berth with the comforter pulled to her waist. He shed his shorts and slipped beneath the covers to join her. Thirty minutes later, they fell asleep exhausted.

The next day, they deployed the mini submersible and practiced maneuvering it around the underwater plateau. The water clarity made the video quality excellent. Other sensors provided continuous data readouts, such as depth, water temperature, and audio. They recorded and captured the information relay on a digital hard drive for future replay.

Controlled from an umbilical tether, they kept it down while powering it from the Leopard’s auxiliary power unit. It took three hours to survey the first shelf, and then they weighed anchor. The next shelf was smaller and shallower, and they completed their survey in under an hour. The third was more extensive, with depths ranging from 12 to 20 fathoms (70-120 feet). The crescent-shaped plateau had a deeper shelf stepping down from the concave ledge. It became too dark to see beyond the ledge, but their hull-mounted depth sounder suggested it lay another 75 to 100 feet below the plateau.

While retrieving the mini submersible, the Cayman Islands Weather Forecast Service broadcast an urgent weather alert over the radio, warning all vessels of a tropical depression forming south of the big Island. With predictions of gale-force winds and 3-meter ocean swells, the announcement urged smaller vessels to seek shelter immediately.

“I suppose we should head for Bloody Bay,” he suggested as he stowed the equipment and pulled the anchor.

Tai returned to the cockpit and started the twin diesels. Moments later, they were motoring due north at 7 knots, watching the ugly black clouds forming behind them. As they rounded West End Point, she made a VHF ship-to-shore call to Casa Hartley to assure everyone they were okay and seeking shelter.

An hour later, they were securely moored to a transient buoy and sat together in the pilot house, watching distant lightning. Bobby wrapped his arms around her warm torso as she sat on his lap. He eagerly reached inside her halter and caressed her, feeling her shiver. “I hope it blows over quickly,” he murmured as he kissed her neck, tasting the salty sweat of her dark skin.

She shuddered and closed her eyes. “Mmm,” she purred, “I hope it lasts forever.” She reached back and ran her fingers through his thin, light hair.

“I love you,” he whispered. Her breath caught, and she turned to face him so their lips could touch.

“I love you too,” she replied, staring into his adoring eyes.

He squeezed her in his arms and rested his chin on her shoulder so their cheeks touched. “I want to marry you,” he confessed. In GC, the legal marriage age was 16 with parental consent.

She sighed happily at his words. “You have to propose to me first.”

“I will,” he replied confidently, “when we return. I want to do it on the beach in front of everyone.” At his prodding, she stood, and he knelt before her. “I’ve been thinking about the perfect ring for you,” he gushed. “It will be a simple band of pink coral reinforced with white gold. I want mine to match it, but with that blue opal coral we found on the beach at the Academy—I have both pieces!” He paused to catch his breath and stared up at her shining face. “You’ll say yes when I ask—won’t you?” he asked suddenly with less confidence. “Please say you will.”

She knelt with him and grabbed his head with both hands. “Yes, baby,” she assured him. “I want nothing more than to be your wife.” Her voice broke as she pressed her lips against his.

The wind howled around them and set the stays to whistling. There were bursts of lightning, thunder, and heavy rain. They felt the Leopard twist as the wind changed direction, but they rocked gently through the night in the cove’s shelter.

By morning, they awoke to a clear day and quickly got underway. They enjoyed a cold breakfast and hot coffee as they returned to the crescent shelf coordinates.

Once anchored, they deployed the submersible and marveled at the water clarity 100 feet down. The fish were incredible, with schools of grouper, angelfish, barracuda, and a dozen other species. They had to maneuver the catamaran closer to the ledge to give the submersible slack to descend towards the lower step. They noticed large numbers of small to medium sharks swimming along the wall as it descended. They gasped at seeing a massive goliath grouper hovering stationary against the strong current. There were so many fish that the bottom was obscured.

“I wonder if your dad’s electronic shark deterrent works on other fish, too,” Bobby mused as they swarmed around the mini-sub curiously.

“There are so many species,” Tavia marveled, calling out their Latin genus families.

“I think we’re about to run out of line,” he remarked as the drone moved further from their target. “The current is too strong to keep it steady.”

She checked the chart and guessed they had another hour before slack tide. “Maybe we can see something then,” she suggested.

He shrugged, unsure how the tide change would affect the millions of fish. But he agreed to take a break and pulled in the lines as she commanded the sub to surface. When the drag on the anchor eased, they sent it back down and watched through the camera as it sank through a cloud of fish. They guided it down to the 100-foot limit and still couldn’t see the bottom shelf.

“Should we keep going?” he asked, “It’s your dad’s drone, so you decide.”

She huddled beside him by the scuppers where the lines disappeared into the water. They had about 20 feet of umbilical left, coiled on the deck nearby. She nodded nervously, “A little bit further.”

They lowered it another 10 feet, but the fish continued obstructing everything around and below them. He glanced at her, and she chewed her lip before nodding again. He fed more line while she adjusted her grip on the remote, sending it deeper. Suddenly, she gasped, and he looked at the small color monitor. The schools of fish scattered as several small sharks raced toward them. But what caught her breath was what they saw further below. Beneath them were the broken remains of an old sailing ship spread across the wide shelf below.

“Oh wow!” he breathed, “Tell me we are recording this.”

“Oh yeah,” she replied softly as the wreckage drew closer. “That’s an old merchant,” she stated confidently.

“How can you tell?” he asked. The hull was half buried in the muck, and no masts or rigging were visible.

“It’s the wide beam,” she replied, pointing at the sides. “That’s a cargo hauler. And no military lines—” she paused and leaned closer. “Wait a minute, that’s a gun!”

Suddenly, the screen went fuzzy and then dark.

“Oh fuck!” she cried. “Pull it up! Quick!”

He tugged on the umbilical, drawing it in, arm over arm. “What happened?” he panted.

“You let it go down too far, you dummy!” she cried, beating her hand on the remote.

“Me?” he retorted. “You were controlling it!”

“Shit! Shit! Shit!” she cursed, shaking the controller. “You were supposed to stop us at 100 feet ‘Mon!”