Chapter 86
The Ghost felt more than saw the light from false dawn, the pain from his leg waking him. He crawled out of the small hide
of brush he’d made, sweeping off snow and blowing on his hands to warm them. The night had been long and cold, and he’d been
curled into the tightest ball he could make, using the down parka as a makeshift sleeping bag.
He sat up and lifted the makeshift bandage he’d wrapped around his thigh. The wound was red and raw, but had quit bleeding.
He adjusted the cloth of the bandage, moving the crust from the night before to the back of his leg and placing a somewhat
clean patch over the wound. He cinched it down, gritting his teeth from the pain.
He turned on the Iridium SATPHONE and pulled up the number Omar had stored. He hit send, then waited for it to connect to
the satellite. A man answered on the third ring, speaking in Spanish.
He said, “English?”
The man said, “Yes. I speak English.”
“You were paid to pick up three passengers today?”
“Yes, but I wasn’t given a time.”
“It will be only one. How long will it take you to get to the meeting spot?”
“No more than ten minutes. I’ll send a dinghy. What happened to the others? The price is the same. No refunds.”
“That’s fine. I’ll call you when I get there.”
He hung up the phone and stood, his thigh shooting with pain. He took a tentative step down the slope, then another. The pain receded to a dull throb the more he walked. He looked down at the bandage, where red was beginning to seep out.
Nothing he could do about that. Hopefully the boat would have a first aid kit.
He reached the bottom of the slope, finding the end of a hard-packed dirt road and a billboard proclaiming the start of the
Pan-American Highway, with a map showing the kilometers it took to travel all the way to Alaska.
On the other side of the billboard the road turned into a well-worn hiking trail, and he began walking down it.
He traveled for over an hour before he saw the sound leading to the Beagle Channel, and his spirits buoyed. He picked up the
pace, willing his injured leg to move faster. He began to deflate as the trail wound around various mountainous draws, going
up and then down again, but no nearer the water. Three hours later he saw the actual edge of the shore.
He reached it and continued hobbling along, scanning the shoreline. He’d gone about a half kilometer when he saw an altar
next to the water, a small, well-worn footpath leading to it through the rocks.
He walked to it and recognized it as a Christian shrine. He looked out over the water and thought he could see a fishing trawler
in the distance.
He dialed the SATPHONE and simply said, “I’m here,” then took a seat, begging the sun to provide heat as well as light.
Five minutes later he saw a speck on the water. It grew until he could make out a rubber raft with an outboard motor and a
single man in it. The boat drove straight to him, the driver lifting the outboard as it coasted into the rocky shore.
The man leapt out, wearing rubber boots and what looked like six layers of clothing. He held a rope from the front and waved.
The Ghost hobbled to him and said, “You’re here for the satellite phone call?”
The man shrugged, and the Ghost realized he didn’t speak English. He got in the boat and took a seat, the man pushing off and leaping into the hull in one motion. He went to the back, lowered the outboard, and sped the way he’d come, the Ghost leaning over to escape the wind.
Quicker than he expected, the man in the rear yelled at him and he raised his head, surprised to see a large wooden fishing
trawler right next to them. The man motioned to him and he realized he was supposed to throw up the rope.
He did so and a man above held it steady while he was hauled aboard. He found himself surrounded by four men, none of whom
spoke English.
A rotund man with a two-day growth of beard, the ubiquitous rubber boots, and a wool knit cap exited the wheelhouse and walked
over.
He said, “My apologies, but I’m the only one that speaks English. My name is Rodrigo.”
The Ghost said, “No worries. I’m Abdul. Where did we pay for you to take me?”
He said, “Punta Arenas.”
“What if I wanted you to take me to Santiago?”
Rodrigo laughed and said, “No way. For one, that’s not on the coast.”
“What about a city near Santiago on the coast?”
“That would be Valparaíso, but again, no. Punta Arenas is a day away. Valparaíso is more like three weeks, with multiple stops
fighting winter weather. No way.”
“I’ll pay. I’ll give you a season’s worth of fishing money for three week’s work.”
“How will you pay?”
The Ghost pulled out the credit card he’d taken off Omar’s body and said, “I have millions in this account.”
Rodrigo said, “Wait a minute.”
The Ghost saw him huddle with his men, conversing. The meeting broke up, and Rodrigo returned, saying, “You’ll have to pay
all of us. Each of us a season’s worth of fishing.”
Not even knowing how much that would be, but sure the bank account on the card held a hundred times that amount, he said,
“Okay.”
Rodrigo’s eyes popped open and he grinned, slapping the Ghost on the shoulder and saying, “Okay, amigo, okay.”
He went to the wheelhouse, then turned around and said, “Tell me, what will you do in Valparaíso?”
The Ghost sat down and rested his head against the gunwale. He closed his eyes, feeling true freedom, something he hadn’t
experienced since he’d been a child all those years ago.
He smiled and said, “I’m going to buy a fish market.”