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“Nicolai Nicolaiovitch Putin? Vladimir Vladimirovich Putin’s cousin?” Tom Barlow asked. “I thought he’d joined the Bolshoi Corps de Ballet after they threw him and his boyfriend out of the Navy.”
“No, stupid. Not that stupid Nicolai Nicolaiovitch Putin. The other one. The one who’s captain of the Czarina of the Gulf and before that captain of the atomic submarine Blue September. The submarine the Americans stole. No wonder we lost the Cold War.”
“So, what has Captain Putin done to so annoy you, Alek?” Castillo asked.
“He’s cost me a fortune, that’s what he’s done. And ruined the reputation of Imperial Cruise Lines, Incorporated. People will now be laughing at Imperial, instead of at Cavalcade Cruise Lines.”
“Refresh my memory, Cousin Alek,” Tom Barlow said. “Why were people laughing at Cavalcade Cruise Lines?”
“Some people thought it was amusing when the helmsman of the Cavalcade Carnival became distracted by the sight of bare-breasted maidens in grass skirts and ran the ship aground on the island of Bali.”
“I remember now,” Castillo said. “It turned over and they had to cut holes in her bottom to get the passengers off. So what has Captain Putin done that’s worse than that?”
“When I gave him command of the Czarina of the Gulf, Charley,” Pevsner said, suddenly far more calm than he had been just moments before, “I counseled him. I’m sure both you and Dmitri—excuse me, Tom—have yourselves counseled your subordinates before giving them an important command, so you’ll understand what I’m saying here, right?”
Both Tom and Charley nodded.
“What I said was, ‘Nicolai Nicolaiovitch, you are an experienced officer and seaman. You’re an honors graduate of the Potemkin Naval Academy. In the glorious days of Communism, you rose to command the nuclear-powered submarine Blue September, in which you prowled under the seas for years trying to scare the Americans. I wouldn’t dream of telling someone of your experience and reputation how to command the Czarina of the Gulf. But, as I’m sure you know, there is always an exception to every rule. And here’s that exception: The Czarina of the Gulf will be calling at ports in Mexico. When that happens, whatever you do, don’t take on any water. Not for the boilers. Not for the water system. Not even water in plastic bottles.’
“That’s what I told Captain Putin. So I ask you, does that order seem clear enough?”
“Sounds clear enough to me,” Tom Barlow said.
“Maybe you should have added, ‘under any circumstances,’” Castillo said. “That would have cleared up any possible misunderstanding.”
“Maybe I could have, but I didn’t,” Pevsner said. “I thought I was making myself perfectly clear.”
“I gather Captain Putin didn’t obey your order,” Barlow said.
“Let me tell you what that sonofabitch did,” Pevsner said. “He sailed from Miami on schedule. The Czarina of the Gulf had the AEA Single Women’s Sabbatical Educational Tour aboard. Sixteen hundred and six of them. It should have been a pleasant voyage for him and his officers, and a really profitable voyage for Imperial Cruise Lines, Incorporated.”
“And who are they?”
“Schoolteachers from Alabama. Single women schoolteachers, either ones who never got married or are divorced. When school is out, they get a vacation—that’s what ‘sabbatical’ means—paid for by the taxpayers. It’s supposed to broaden their horizons. Anyway, since they do this every year, we know how to handle them. They get on the Czarina of the Gulf in Miami. There’s a captain’s dinner with free champagne to get things started, and they start either romancing the ship’s officers—those schoolteachers really go for those blue uniforms with all the gold braid—or they head for the slot machines or the blackjack tables.
“The next day, when they wake up about noon, they’re in the middle of the Gulf of Mexico. There’s a captain’s luncheon, with more free champagne and more romancing of the officers, presuming the officers have any strength left. Some of the schoolteachers, especially some of the divorcées, are surprisingly… how do I say this? . . .”
“Frisky?” Castillo proposed.
“I was going to say ‘insatiable,’ but okay, ‘frisky.’ And then back to the casino as the Czarina of the Gulf makes for Tampico. They dock there and spend the night. Some of the teachers actually get off the ship to mail postcards home, things like that, but most of them stay aboard sucking up the free champagne and fooling around with the officers.
“In the morning, the Czarina of the Gulf heads here to Cozumel. Another captain’s brunch, more free champagne… getting the picture?”
“Getting it,” Castillo and Barlow chorused.
“And they finally dock here in Cozumel. They disembark, get on the buses waiting for them, drive to Cozumel International, get on the planes waiting for them, and two hours later they’re back in Mobile, Alabama, wearing smiles.”
“So what went wrong?” Barlow asked.
“When the Czarina of the Gulf docked at Tampico, Captain Putin went to bed in his cabin. He says alone, but I’m not sure I believe that. It doesn’t matter. He went to bed, and in the morning, when he didn’t answer a knock at his cabin door, the Czarina of the Gulf’s first mate took her to sea.”
“What’s wrong with that?” Castillo asked.
“While they were tied up, and while Captain Putin was asleep, supplies were taken aboard. The officer who was supposed to be watching wasn’t. He was tied up with an English teacher from Decatur. Or maybe the English teacher had him tied up.
“Anyway, he wasn’t where he was supposed to be, doing what he was supposed to be doing, so Mexican water was taken aboard. Some went into the ship’s tanks, some went to the boilers, and there were five hundred cases of Mexican water, in twelve-ounce bottles, twenty-four bottles to the case. They call it ‘Aqua Mexica
na,’ whatever the hell that means. It’s got a picture of a cactus on the label.”
