For the next couple of months, I will serialize my current novel, A
Coup in Paradise. Each installment will be numbered so the reader can identify where they are in the story.
A brief introduction might be helpful.
ran wild. In some measure, it was due to TV. In particular, a series entitled Adventures in Paradise. It lasted for three seasons starting in 1959. It can be viewed on YouTube.
This novel is based on that program, however, it is not the series’s star Adam Troy played by Gardner McKay who is my protagonist; it is his son Trace Troy. He travels to the South Seas hoping to find what his father found and experiencing what made him into the man he became.
Episode 1
Trace Troy hesitated before knocking on Captain Lincoln Abbot’s cabin door. The crew called the Captain, Coln, or Cap. He wanted this meeting to go well. Leaving a crew short-handed on the Bering Sea can cause all sorts of disruptions to a crew. He thought Coln’s normal kind and understanding behavior might mask a cruel and spiteful person within. One never knows until tested. He’d seen Coln handle tough situations. He performed with the calmness of a man beyond his years. ‘It is ridiculous I should think otherwise on this occasion,’ Trace thought.
Trace knocked.
“Come in,” Coln said.
Trace opened the door and ducked slightly to walk in.
“Remind me never hire anyone six-five again,” Coln said.
Trace smiled. Coln appeared in a good mood. “This tough coming in here.”
“Well, let’s make it easy,” Coln handed Trace a business-sized white envelope. “It’s all your pay and a five hundred dollar bonus.”
“Thanks,” Trace said and slipped the envelope into his shirt pocket under his p jacket. It was unexpected.
And his reaction appeared to confuse Coln.
“Is there something you want to say?” Coln said.
Trace searched for something to say.
“You’re not coming back are you?” Coln said and smiled. “Don’t worry the bonus is still yours.”
Trace looked away and back at Coln again. He nervously stretched his fingers as if something sticky was on them. “This is hard for me. I’ve been on this ship for two years. It’s a good ship and a good crew. That made the Bering bearable. But I signed on because you said we were going to go to the South Seas. And that’s where I wanted to go.”
“I’ve been here four years,” Coln said. “My broker promised the South Seas after a year. It’s complicated but I’m making more money here.”
“I’m taking a month,” Trace said apologetically.
“You have a month coming,” Coln said. “Don’t make it sound like it’s not yours.”
“I’m not sure I’ll stay,” Trace said.
“You’ll stay,” Coln said. “I’ll keep your position open sixty days, just in case. I’ll hire a temporary.”
“I’ll call you the minute I’m sure,” Trace said.
“I won’t do anything permanent until I hear from you.”
“Are you sure you don’t want to sail back to Dutch Harbor on the Blue Mist?”
“Nah, now’s the time,” Trace bobbed his head. “Do you have a temp yet?”
“He’ll be here in the morning.”
“I didn’t say anything to the crew,” Trace said. “I don’t like goodbyes.”
“And here we are; saying goodbye,” Coln said.
“Yeah, exactly,” Trace said. “It’s uncomfortable. By the way, there’s a bottle of twelve-year-old in my room. I thought you might like it.”
“I will and thanks,” Coln said. “I mean this, stay in touch.”
“I will.”
“What do you plan on doing down there?” Coln said.
“I’ve been thinking about island hopping for a while,” Trace said. “Sleep on the beaches, bathe in lagoons, and tell stories to tourists, in palm leaf bars. I have enough for a year or so.”
“If we ever get the Blue Mist down your way, I may need a man who knows the islands,” Coln said.
“If I’m there I’ll be your man.”
Coln reached out and shook Trace’s hand. “Wear sunscreen.”
“Every blink of the eyes is a new sea, so stay awake, or blink only one eye at a time, Cap.”
Trace climbed down the main deck of the Blue Mist. His gear waited for him next to the railing. He tossed it on the dock and stepped ashore. He carried one white seaman’s bag on his shoulder and another was grasped in the opposite hand. A cab waited for him at the end of the dock. And it drove him to a small airport.
An hour later he was high above the Bering Sea. He sleepily gazed out the window. He thought about how serine it looked from above, yet many times it churned restless, about to swallow anything within its bite.
There were a dozen passengers aboard. The stewardess was a young Aleut woman with a warm smile a pleasant tone and a charming native accent.
“Our flight to Anchorage will take about six hours. If you haven’t flown with us before, our flights may be colder than what you have experienced with other airlines. For adults, there will be a free mini bottle of rum. I’ll pass them out and offer coffee or tea.”
She passed out the beverages and returned to the front of the plane. She grabbed the phone. “A meal will be served in about an hour; chicken salad or ham and cheese sandwiches, potato salad, chili and crackers, pie or cake. Soft drinks are available.”
A middle-aged man leaned across the aisle. “First flight?”
“From here,” Trace said.
“I’m a doctor,” the man said. “I fly in once a month. I’ve been doing it for three years.”
“Four years on the Bering,” Trace said. Two years; summer fishing for fish and two crab seasons. The last two years I worked the deck of an island cargo.”
“I guess you earned your stripes,” the man said.
Trace responded. “Some guys spend a lifetime on the Bering, some don’t make it that long.”
“Yeah, I’ve been a part of some rescues,” the man said. “You heading home for some vacation?”
“I’m going to Fiji,” Trace said.
“That’s a switch,” the man said.
Trace picked up a magazine from in front of him.
“Tough life on the Bering,” the man said.
“It can be,” Trace said and thumbed through the magazine.
“I’ve never been on the Bering,” the man said.
Trace raised his eyebrows.
“What will you do in Fiji?” the man said. “Do you have work there?”
“No,” Trace said.
“So vacation, a little R and R?” The man said.
“Both,” Trace said. He was becoming annoyed and began to think it would have been less painful to stay on The Blue Mist.
“I can tell you need some R and R,” the man said. “You’ve been at sea too long. You’re fatigued.”
“What I need is some quiet,” Trace said and closed his eyes. He wasn’t sleepy now; he only wanted the man to take a hint.
“Sorry,” the man said. “I’ve been doing this for three years, and still nervous.”
Trace opened his eyes. “Understood. I’m a little tired, didn’t sleep well last night.”
The man leaned closer and held his hand beside his mouth. “I have a little something for that.”
“Thanks,” Trace said. “I don’t need it.” He looked out the window and imagined Fiji.
The stewardess announced a meal would be served in fifteen minutes.
The man leaned over and whispered. “Chili and crackers.” He winked.
“Thanks,” Trace said. “If you’re hungry they always have extra.”
Trace ordered the chili.
Halfway through the meal the man leaned over and whispered. “What did I tell ya? Look at the other passengers; half-eaten sandwiches.”
“The chili is good,” Trace said. “Thanks for the recommendation.”
“You never know who you’re sitting next to do ya,” the man said.
“I should count my blessings,” Trace grinned. He extended his hand. “Trace Troy, originally from southwest Texas.”
“Paul Procter, Dubuque, Iowa.”
“Yeah,” Trace said, “I heard of you, Doctor Procter. You pulled a piece of steel out of a shipmate's leg a little over a year ago.”
“Oh, yeah,” Procter said, “I remember that one.” He smiled. “Is he walking yet?”
“Yeah, does just fine on that peg leg,” Trace joked. “Placed in the Bering ass kickin’ contest this year.”
“It’s always good when you hear about one of your patients achieving greatness,” Procter said.
They finished the meal along with light conversation. The stewardess collected the trays.
“Get some sleep, sailor,” Proctor grinned.
Trace nodded. He turned his back to Procter and pulled his collar up. It was the kind of sleep he drifted in and out. In that time he thought about his grandfather and father. He must see them first. ‘Dad would be disappointed if I didn’t see him before going to the South Seas. He might even have some advice for me—oh I’m sure he has that.’
Trace lounged in the Anchorage airport for twelve hours before his flight to Seattle took off. In that time he read a western novel and started a detective one. He finished the detective novel on the flight to Seattle.
In Seattle, he booked a flight to San Antonio. He had to fly to Denver first before catching a plane to San Antonio. From Seattle, he called his dad and told him he’d be at the airport the next day.
