Furious by Jeffrey Higgins (top 10 novels to read TXT) 📕

the end of the pier, beyond the catamarans, to the longest of all the boats—a Beneteau Oceanis Yacht.

“You’re kidding,” I said.

“What do you think?” Brad asked.

“You’re going to sail that behemoth?”

“We’re going to sail it. You’re my first mate. We can control everything from the helm, and it practically sails itself.”

A chill crawled across my skin, followed by a wave of nausea. I rubbed my neck and stared at the yacht, the vessel which would deliver Brad and me across thousands of miles of open ocean, and the only thing protecting us from my worst fear. Well, the yacht and Brad’s sailing ability. I shivered and gnawed on a fingernail.

The deck stood eight feet above the waterline, with expansive freeboard over a gleaming white hull. A band of tinted windows bisected the topsides and ran the length of the boat. A white hardtop covered the cabin, and a carbon mast towered ninety feet over the deck. The yacht looked contemporary, elegant, and efficient.

“How long is it?” I asked.

“Sixty-two feet and almost eighteen feet wide at the beam. She’s a beauty, isn’t she?”

“It’s huge.”

The yacht was much more than I had expected, and the idea of living on a boat for a month was tangible now—real for the first time. My hands grew clammy.

This is happening.

“I was lucky to get it,” Brad said. “The French only made thirty-five of these, but my father’s friend owns this one.”

“It seems like a Bond villain should live on it. I have to ask, how much did it cost?”

“This hull sold for $1.4 million and I rented it for $24,000 for the entire month of December.”

“That’s a third of my salary.”

“You don’t have to worry about money anymore.”

The name “KARNA” adorned the stern in gold letters.

“What does Karna mean?” I asked.

“I asked too,” Brad said. “The owner spends a lot of time in the Indian Ocean, so he named it after a mythological Hindi hero. Karna was a moral champion blessed with strength and ability. He suffered betrayal and attacks but stayed true to himself and overcame adversity.”

“It must be good luck to name a boat after a hero, right?”

“It’s a yacht,” Brad said.

“Come, come,” Ali said. “Let me show you. You ready for sail now.”

I had sailed with my father and taken lessons as a child, often navigating Boston’s Charles River by myself, but those lessons had been on an eleven-foot Sailfish—essentially a surfboard with a small sail, centerboard, and rudder. This yacht was a leviathan. I still remembered how to sail and had refreshed my memory by reading a sailing manual on the plane. I had a decent grasp of nautical terminology and knew enough not to call a line a rope, but the list of sailboat parts seemed endless. Sailing jargon was almost as complicated as medical terminology.

Ali leapt off the pier, climbed onboard, and hydraulically lowered the transom door. The door unfolded and extended ten feet behind the boat, forming a swimming platform. Behind the open transom, a nine-foot inflatable motorboat rested inside a tender garage.

“Come,” Ali said, and waved us onboard.

I hesitated, panic building.

Brad grabbed my hand.

“I can’t,” I said.

“You can.” He lifted me off the pier and onto the diving platform.

My head swam, and I stuck my arms out for balance. “I don’t know.”

“This trip will be an adventure,” he said. “I’m excited.”

“I’m nauseous.”

Twin companionways bracketed the stern, and Brad guided me up four teak steps to the deck. I had not been on the water since the incident, and a cool sweat broke out on my forehead and back.

Brad did not seem to notice my discomfort. He was giddy, like a child with a new toy. He grinned and surveyed the length of the boat, excited to show off his acquisition.

“We have twin helms, starboard and port, with duplicate sailing controls,” he said. “You can raise and lower the sails, steer, and navigate from either side.”

I glanced at the bay, light-headed. “I have no intention of piloting this boat.”

“It’s still a yacht, and it’s easy. You’ll figure it out in a day or two.”

“I don’t know.”

“Trust me.”

The cockpit lay in front of the steering wheels, with white-cushioned couches and teak tables on either side. Two feet of deck space ran along the gunwales all the way forward to the bow, and metal lifelines extended two-and-a-half feet above the deck, but they did not make me feel any safer. A composition arch and Bimini hardtop hung over the cockpit, and a covered companionway led below to the cabin.

I looked back at the pier and dry land.

“Follow me,” Brad said, walking toward the bow.

“There’s a lot of deck space,” I said, gripping the lifeline as I followed.

“It will seem smaller after a month at sea.” Brad stopped between two small hatches in the deck and a larger one near the bow. He bent and opened the large plexiglass hatch. “This is the foresail locker, it’s been outfitted as crew quarters, but we’ll store emergency gear in it.”

I peered into a small, claustrophobic space containing a bed, sink, and storage cabinets. “I’m glad we’re not sleeping in there.”

“The galley is stocked, as requested,” Ali hollered from the stern. He disappeared down the companionway into the cabin.

“Come on, Dags. We’ll have plenty of time to hang out on deck tomorrow. Let’s make sure he loaded our food onboard and topped off the water and fuel tanks.”

We walked aft, and I took a deep breath before descending six wooden steps into the cabin. To my left, a swivel chair had been bolted in front of a chart table, with communication, navigation, and control equipment recessed in the wall. A large dining table ran parallel to the port side, bracketed by couches. To starboard, a galley contained a freezer, refrigerator, stove, oven, microwave, and sink. Tinted windows extended to the bow, with white-lacquered cabinets above them.

“Behind you are two berths, port and starboard, each with its own head,” Brad said. “That’s a bathroom in sailor-speak.”

“Thanks, captain.”

“Our stateroom is in the bow.”

“So, two bedrooms in