He looked at his watch and held up two fingers to his men.
DeeAnn couldn’t believe how quickly those two minutes passed. The men had moved all three boxes to the door and unbundled the large parachutes on top. Suddenly, they all nodded to Caesare at once and pushed the first one out into the howling wind. They quickly followed with the next two, getting them all out within a matter of seconds from each other. She watched as Corso and Tiewater stepped back, and Caesare then made his way to the cockpit.
He slapped Joe on the shoulder and shouted something to him. Less than a minute later, DeeAnn grabbed one of the straps on the wall as the plane began to bank to the right.
“Okay. Here we go.”
It seemed to happen in a blur. Tiewater and Anderson moved behind them and began attaching her and Juan’s harnesses to their own. They pulled them in tight to ensure they were secure. Together, they pushed the two forward, with each pair shuffling awkwardly toward the door.
Behind them, Caesare fastened Dulce to his own harness, facing inward toward his chest. Her dark legs dangled in the air as he shuffled and joined them at the door.
Corso stood on the other side, ready to help them out. Through his goggles, he stared down at his watch. He held up one finger to the men and they nodded.
In a fog, DeeAnn yelled to Corso. “Why aren’t you attached to anyone?”
“It would exceed the weight limit of the chute.”
Her eyes shot open. “There’s a weight limit?!”
Corso ignored her and motioned to the men. Tiewater and Anderson both reached around, folding DeeAnn and Juan’s arms in across their chests.
Behind them, Caesare smiled into Dulce’s trusting eyes and whispered into her left ear. “This time like a bird.”
DeeAnn’s heart nearly froze as she peered straight out the door at the blue sky with green treetops far below. The last clear image she saw was Anderson’s hands reaching past her and gripping each side of the door, followed by a hard push.
OH…MY…GOD!
46
A minute later, Joe leaned out from his cockpit seat and looked back through the cabin.
Everyone was out.
He banked into a hard left turn, giving him a clear view of the ground below, and counted parachutes. Satisfied, he gradually leveled the DC-3 and headed back the way they came.
He was surprised to find signs of the storm still visible on the horizon. At that distance, he shouldn’t have seen anything. He didn’t know yet that the storm had once again turned east toward him.
It took less than an hour to realize how much trouble he was in. With nowhere to land before the Peruvian border, he was left with just one very bad option.
He would not make it back.
Two hours later, Joe Marcionek, a sixty-three-year-old ex-Army pilot who had helped thousands of suffering souls by flying in the face of political tyrants…would reach his final twilight.
His last moments would be a fight to the very end, and without a single regret.
47
Echo Pier was located in San Juan, Puerto Rico. It served as the primary base of operations for all United States Coast Guard activity in the eastern Caribbean Sea.
Overlooking the Bahía de San Juan, the “Sector,” as it was officially known, was the region’s only Search and Rescue station. It was also the nearest marine dock both secure and large enough to accommodate most of the U.S. Navy’s larger ships.
The six shore units included management of two of the nation’s busiest ports and the protection of over 1.3 million square miles of open ocean. However, at that moment, the station’s commanding officer had his full attention glued to the window. Captain F. D. Arthur watched the arrival at Echo Pier with a touch of anxiety, particularly after receiving a call directly from Admiral Langford only hours before.
The gleaming white hull of the arriving ship was known well at the Sector, serving as not just one of the Atlantic’s primary research vessels, but perhaps its most distinguished –– the U.S.S. Pathfinder.
Captain Emerson stood on the ship’s bridge, stoically. He watched as it eased alongside the giant dock, its huge rubber fenders shrieking against the concrete pillars. Heavy mooring lines were lowered to where they were tied around bollards large enough for children to climb on. The dock’s twelve-foot fenders gave up their final protest, permanently coming to rest, pressed against the Pathfinder’s thick steel hull.
Emerson heard the Pathfinder’s diesel engines disengage and nodded to his first officer, Harris. Emerson then crossed the small room and opened the metal and glass door, stepping out into the warm sun. He continued along a lightly painted gangway until he reached the end and then descended a ladder to the ship’s main deck.