Chapter 4

There was an aura of silence and mystery over the surface of the ocean as the early morning fog slowly began to lift. The seemingly impenetrable wall began to break up into writhing tendrils, permitting short glimpses of the restlessly surging water beyond. Everything was tinged a muted pearlescerit gray in the early morning light and the surf could be heard only as a distant mutter, with an occasional hollow boom as a big wave toppled over, trapping air inside its curl. The cold Atlantic swells were big and green, humping up like the backs of prehistoric monsters, passing by with that oddly muted sound of a building wave.

Suddenly, a slight puff of wind tore, a huge rent in the fog, making it possible to see several hundred yards out to sea, and the boat was under way. About a hundred yards out from the mouth of the harbor, a monstrous wave was beginning to build as a big Atlantic roller was forced upwards by the shelving bottom.

"It looks a little choppy now," the conniving millionaire explained to the worried Carter children at his side on the bridge, "but you just wait a couple of hours and see if it doesn't calm down."

"Why's it so rough this morning, Mr. Whipple?" Dusty half-shouted above the combined noise of the engine and the surf.

"We're probably catching the edge of a blow," Adrian explained. "It happens all the time this time of year ... No sweat, we'll be basking in the sun before we're half-way to Bimini."

The kids remained unconvinced. "How do you know we won't be heading right into it?" pouted Jordanna.

"Not a chance," laughed Whipple. "I've got a piece of equipment that tells me all I need to know about storms."

"A sextant?" Dusty queried unknowledgably.

"Ship-to-shore radio," Whipple explained with a toothy grin. "I called the weather bureau."

The kids lapsed into a considerate silence then, as their aunt's boyfriend piloted his craft through the swells at the head of the harbor and out into the open sea. They were at once excited at the prospect of their adventure, and not a little frightened at the awesome power of the mid-Atlantic and its unknown dangers.

Away from shore, and the bobbing shell-white skyline of Miami, the swells, still oily, slick and ominous, trued themselves to predictable undulations, their grey-green cast giving way to brilliant blue just beyond the three mile limit. At nine that morning, though still brisk and cool, the sun broke through to bask the breaking whitecaps in diamond-studded highlights.

"Hi, I'm not disturbing anything, am I?" Sylvia's cheery voice enjoined as she joined them on the bridge bearing a tray with four piping cups. "I brought cocoa."

Dusty and Jordanna, their spirits already beginning to lift with the morning fog, latched smilingly onto their steaming chocolates with appropriate "thank you's," and turned their combined attention again to the sea ahead. Adrian, looking jaunty in a calbe knit navy turtleneck and yachting cap, cast a happy smile over his shoulder and announced, "It's breaking up real nice, pet ... I expect we'll be swimming by noon."

"Swimming!" Jordanna enjoined incredulously. "Out here!"

"Sure, why not?" offered Dusty. "Twelve feet or twelve thousand, what's the difference? ... Jeez, you can't touch bottom in the deep end of the pool, anyway!"

"But, what about sharks?"

"Aw, Princess, we wouldn't be swimming if there was any..-"

"We'll put ol' Manuelo up in the crow's nest with a pair of binoculars," said Whipple. "Ol' eagle eye'll let us know if there are any big ones about."

Dusty nearly choked on his cocoa. "Y-You mean there are sharks around here?" he stammered.

Adrian nodded in the affirmative.

"Big ones?"

"As big as you want 'em, boy ... Great whites, tigers, blues ... we've got 'em all."

Dusty paled visibly. "If it's all the same to you, Mr. Whipple, I'll just stick to fishing."

"Now who's the scaredy-cat," chided the Princess, beaming.

True to Adrian Whipple's word, the noon sun beat down on a sea of glass for as far as the eye could see. The Yanqui Dolllar, as the boat was called, lay dead in the water halfway to Bimini, the first leg of the journey completed, while the men fished and the women lay sunning themselves on the fore-deck.

Dusty yanked the forty-pound test line once, almost bending the rod double and set the hook, immediately reeling in the line as it sliced the surface of the water in a choppy zag. He landed what must have been at least a twenty pound bass with relative ease now that he was getting the hang of it, a smug look of satisfaction spreading over his handsome young features.

"Wow!" he shouted. "Look at this one, Mr. Whipple!"

"It's a beauty, boy."

"I guess we'd better knock off pretty soon, huh? ... I mean, we've got enough to feed the early Christian church, now!"

"Yeah, in a minute ... I think I see an interested customer out there."

Adrian felt a light tug on his own line then, and thirty feet of line peeled off the reel before he caught it with the thumb-catch. "It's a big one!" he shouted, and pulled back hard on the rod.

"Oh my, Jordanna," Sylvia gushed concernedly as her eyes looked on her niece's naked back, "you're as red as a new penny....I think you'd better call it quits for your first day out!"

"Aw, Aunt Sylvia," the twelve-year-old protested. "I always burn before I tan."

"But darling," Sylvia countered, "you just don't know how fierce this tropic sun can be ... Now, you do as your ol' Auntie says, and go take a nap in your cabin until dinnertime." Jordanna grunted, "But I'm not sleepy, Aunt Sylvia!"

"Alright then, go to Adrian's cabin and read; he's got all the best sellers ... and I'm sure he won't mind ... Go on now, be a good girl!"

Reluctantly, Jordanna rolled over on her back and drew herself into a sitting position, adjusting the skimpy white halter of her two-piece bathing suit before getting to her feet. "You're sure Mr. Whipple won't mind if I go to his cabin?" she queried.

"Take my word for it, darling!"