Nineteen
Monday, March 22, 6:14 P.M. CST
Parrot Tree Marina, Roatan
At twilight, under a full moon rising, the Aggressor entered Parrot Tree’s harbor. Thanks to the detour in Cuba, the trip had taken longer than expected. It had been five weeks since they first set out from Memphis.
Well-lit luxury condominiums with marble columns lined the small bay. They headed for the marina, where most of the boats, according to Mel, belonged to expatriate divers and retired military. Two of those men were friends of his, Dewayne and Charlie. Mel had radioed ahead to let them know he was arriving.
Thomas breathed in the air, hoping for a whiff of nostalgia, then grimaced. “It smells awful.”
Mel chuckled. “It’s just estuary mixed with mangrove.”
Thomas shook his head at the luxurious development.
