The Inside Passage (Ted Higuera Series Book 1) Page 7

  An intense stillness hung over the docks. An occasional seagull mewed, but no one else was estupido enough to be up at this ungodly hour. The sun poked over the Cascades, revealing a clear, pale blue sky.

  Chris dropped down into the lazarette. “The oil level in the engine and transmission are good.”

  Ted gave Chris a hand climbing up out of the lazarette. Chris turned the key in the ignition and hit the start button, then peered over the transom to make sure that cooling water was flowing out.

  Ted felt the energy pulse through the Defiant as the engine caught. She was like some great beast coming to life.

  “Okay, Cast off the stern line.” Chris was getting into this.

  Ted unfastened the rope from the cleat and coiled it around his forearm like Chris had taught him. He shoved the stern away from the dock and climbed aboard.

  “Cast off the bow line.”

  Meagan unfastened the bow line and leapt lithely aboard.

  Ted took a deep breath of the salt air. The adventure had begun.

  ****

  Ted clung to the shrouds while Chris backed the Defiant out of her slip, put her in forward and steered around the south jetty into Shileshole Bay.

  “Totally awesome.” Meagan grabbed Chris’ arm and snuggled up to him. “We’re on our way.”

  Ted drank in the orange glow of the Cascade Mountains’ silhouette behind them. Mount Rainier to the south and Mount Baker to the north loomed over the mountain range. The Olympics Mountains on the west side of the Sound blushed with pink light. We sure didn’t have anything like this in East LA.

  “We won’t be seeing this view again for a while.” Chris put his arm around Meagan’s waist.

  The Defiant motored out of Shileshole Bay and up Puget Sound in the still morning air. The steady rumble of the diesel engine reminded Ted of a heartbeat. The boat felt solid in the smooth water.

  Two bright orange inflatable boats with aluminum cabins, big outboard motors and fifty caliber machine guns mounted fore and aft shadowed the ferry boats crossing the Sound between Edmonds and Kingston on the Olympic Peninsula.

  “What’re the little red boats around the ferry?” Ted asked.

  “Coast Guard patrol boats,” Chris replied. “Must be a terrorist alert on.”

  As the Defiant neared the green and white ferry, one of the boats broke off and charged towards them, putting itself between them and the ferry.

  “What’re they doing?” Ted noticed crewmen take their stations at the fifty cals.

  “Guarding the ferry.” Chris waved a dismissive hand toward the Coast Guard boat. “Whenever there’s a terror alert the Coast Guard puts patrol boats around the ferries to protect ‘em.”

  “Dude, how’s anyone gonna attack a ferry out here?”

  “It’s not out of the realm of possibility, bro. The Arabs blew up the USS Cole in Yemen. They came along side with a boat full of explosives. Imagine what they’d do to an unprotected ferry boat.”

  “Ol’ Teddy still thinks it’s a joke. Who’s gonna bother a few commuters way out here?” Ted seated himself in the cockpit and reached for his heavy computer manual. The Security + exam in September wouldn’t take itself.

  Around ten in the morning they came abreast Point No Point, the point on the Olympic Peninsula that marked the northern end of Puget Sound. A breeze began to stir out of the Northwest. Ted looked up when Chris took the boat out of gear and let her slow to a crawl. The wind ruffled the surface of the water into tiny ripples.

  “Let’s get the sails up.” Chris’ words came rapidly. “Meg, you take the helm.”

  Meagan took over behind the wheel while Chris unfastened the main halyard from the end of the boom.

  “Where do you want Teddy, dude?”

  “Take your station up by the mast. When I hoist the main, I need you to keep the slides running up the mast smoothly.” Chris turned to Meagan. “Bring us into the wind.”

  Meagan turned the bow of the boat dead into the wind. Chris began hoisting the main sail up the mast with the winch on the coach roof. Ted insured each plastic slide entered the track on the mast and went up without getting jammed. When the sail was up, Chris coiled the halyard.

  “Okay, let’s get the jib up. Tail the line for me.” Chris cranked on the winch handle in the cockpit.

  It took Ted a moment to figure out what Chris wanted him to do, then he grabbed the jib sheet and kept a steady pressure on it. The jib opened from the roller furler like a giant window blind. As the wind caught the big sail, it billowed out and began to draw.

  “Kill the engine,” Chris commanded.

  Meagan pushed down on the throttle lever until the engine coughed and died.

  The quiet was deafening. Gradually, Ted began to notice the sluice of water past the hull and the creak of the rigging.

  “This is my favorite part of the day,” Chris said. “The thirty seconds or so after we shut off the engine.”

  Ted felt the Defiant heel slightly and accelerate. The knot meter hovered around five knots.

  “This is what I call livin.’” Ted stretched out in the cockpit, his hands behind his head. “The sun’s even beginnin’ to warm up.”

  “Hey, you’re a pretty good sailor.” Chris said to Meagan as she held the sloop close to the wind. “You must have learned something from your father.”

  “I spent enough summer vacations on his sketch boat to pick up a thing or two.”

  As the day wore on, the wind freshened and held steady from the northwest. Meagan grew bored and handed the boat over to Chris.

  Ted followed his every motion, absorbing as much sailing knowledge as he could.

  The Defiant came out from behind Admiralty Head on Whidbey Island. Ted got his first glimpse of the Straits of Juan de Fuca.

  “Jesu Cristo,” He stared across the broad expanse of water. “You mean we gotta cross that?” Forty miles in the distance, he could just barely make out the outlines of a clump of islands. “You didn’t tell me we were gonna havta cross the whole damn Pacific Ocean.”

  Chapter 12

  Toronto, Canada

  The small airplane did a barrel roll in the clear blue sky, then dove towards a large maple, scattering a flock of crows. Moments before it crashed into the tree, the plane swooped back up to the sky. At the top of its arc, the plane twirled, did a hammer head stall and spun back earthward. Mere feet above the ground, it came out of the spin and climbed back to the sky.

  This time, at the top of the loop, the plane rolled out straight and level. After another loop, the plane turned back toward the ground. A short heavy man with a graying beard, wearing a Shimage and Egal, the scarf and head band of Islamic Arabs, watched with binoculars. A smile spread across his face. The plane dove towards the man, propeller whining, its two-cycle engine shrieking, skimming above his head. The bearded man dropped his field glasses and flattened himself on the ground.

  “Ahmad, enough,” Yasim yelled. “I am convinced.”

  The plane banked into the downwind leg of the landing pattern and began its descent. Turning final, it lowered its flaps and floated down to the runway.

  Yasim threw the door on the battered delivery van open. “I would not have believed if I had not seen myself.”

  A smile beamed from Ahmad’s face. “It’s the same technology that the Americans use on their remotely piloted vehicles.” Ahmad didn’t turn his head from the small black and white TV monitor on the console in the back of the van.

  His right hand held a joy stick; his left thumb controlled the throttle lever. Yasim turned to see the remote-controlled airplane roll out on the runway and turn to taxi towards the van. The TV screen showed a picture of Yasim and the van.

  Ahmad pulled the airplane up to the van triumphantly and killed the engine.

  “I copied it from drawings I obtained of the systems being used by the CIA’s Predator aircraft. The stupid kaffirs, they gave me access to all of their top-secret drawings. The Predators aren’t much larger than this,
but they’re armed with Hellfire missiles to rain down death on our people.”

  “I am convinced you can control toy airplane, but can you control vehicle weighing eight hundred and fifty kilos?”

  “The principles are the same.” Ahmad was confident. He ran through the system in his mind. “The same cameras and remote controls will do the job. The servos will have to be bigger, but I expect that it will already come equipped with them.”

  “How about speed. Can you pilot craft traveling at speed of sound?”

  “If Allah wills it. I believe I can control it, but at that speed, my reaction time’ll have to be much faster. It doesn’t have to go far. In three to five miles, I’ll only have to fly it for a matter of seconds. The problem is that I won’t have a chance to practice. We’ll only make one flight.”

  Yasim stepped out of the way as Ahmad climbed from the van and walked over to his favorite toy. He lifted his model as though it were a baby and gently removed the wings. With a wing span of over six feet, it had a tiny TV camera in its nose that showed Ahmad what the pilot would see from its cockpit. From his console, Ahmad could control the plane from miles away.

  “Make sure you have all parts and equipment you need before we leave,” Yasim said. “Once we get there, no place to find spares.”

  “I never thought I’d be working on a project like this.”

  “Allah choose you, my brother. Blessed be his name.” Yasim settled himself into the driver’s seat in the van. “You have perfect background of toy airplanes and electrical engineering. Allah prepared you for moment your whole life. It was Allah’s hand found you job at EverTech. You had access to tools and technology, but also access to top-secret plans.”

  These last words stung Ahmad as he recalled losing first his top-secret clearance, then his job.

  “He has truly smiled on us.” Yasim patted Ahmad on the shoulder. “Allah Akbar.”

  Chapter 13

  The Straits of Juan de Fuca

  “Goddamn, it feels like we’re flyin’.” Ted draped his arms back over the life lines, leaning over the rushing water. Maybe he could get used to this sailing shit.

  He looked forward to see the wave of white foam cream from the Defiant’s bow. Pyramids of bright sails towered over him.

  The Defiant sliced through the water. With the brisk breeze and large ground swell, the knot meter hit eight knots as she surfed down the back sides of the waves.

  “This is what sailing’s all about.” Chris shifted his weight and put his foot up on the rail. “It doesn’t get better than this, warm sun, a stiff breeze.”

  A strong puff heeled the boat hard to starboard. A crash and a few swear words came up from below.

  “Jeez, you guys,” Meagan shouted up from the cabin. “Do you have to heel her over so much? A girl can’t walk around down here.”

  Meagan had gone from wearing jeans and a sweat shirt in the morning to shorts and a T-shirt. As the sun got stronger, Ted was pleased to see her change into a bikini and find a warm spot on the foredeck to stretch out and tan. To his chagrin, as the wind picked up and the Defiant’s speed increased, the water breaking over the bow chilled her to the point that she went below to put on more clothes.

  “Anybody gettin’ hungry?” Ted asked. “I’m startin’ to think about lunch.”

  “What do you have in mind?” Meagan yelled up.

  “How about sandwiches. We got some pretty good lookin’ pastrami at the deli.”

  “Great,” Meagan’s voice made its way up from below. “As long as you’re making lunch, I’ll take a turkey sandwich on whole grain. No mayo, a little Dijon, with lettuce, tomatoes and one of those dill pickles.”

  “I wasn’t offerin’ to make lunch.” Ted shouted down into the darkness of the cabin. “I was just sayin’ that I’m hungry.”

  “Well, if you’re hungry, you better do something about it. No one else is going to feed you.”

  Ted glared at Chris. “I thought you brought her along to cook.”

  “One thing I’ve learned about Meagan,” Chris shrugged. “Nobody tells her what to do. If you’re getting hungry, I suggest you make yourself a sandwich.”

  “Damn.” Ted hesitated a minute. “Nobody told me this was going to be a self-service cruise.” He slowly backed down the companionway ladder.

  He reached the cabin sole and turned around. Meagan stood in the main cabin in her jeans, holding her bra in her hand, tiny breasts pointing at him.

  “Jesu Cristo,” he shouted covering his eyes. “I’m sorry. I didn’t know you weren’t dressed.”

  “It’s OK, Ted. We’re going to be living in close quarters for the next two months. Besides, they’re just boobs. It’s not anything that you haven’t seen before.”

  Ted flew up the companion way ladder like the devil was chasing him. He rubbed his eyes like he’d been splashed with acid.

  Chris almost doubled up with laughter. “I’ve never seen you so embarrassed, bro.”

  “I just wasn’t prepared to see chi chis staring at me down there.” Ted tried to recover his composure.

  “It’s no big deal.” Meagan, now fully dressed, climbed up to the cockpit. “Besides, they’re nothing to write home about. I’ve got my mother’s body, small tits, big ass.”

  “I think you have a great ass.” Chris grinned. “Besides, when it comes to boobs, my Dad used to say ‘any more than a mouthful is a waste.’”

  Ted struggled to keep his balance with the heavy motion of the boat, always grabbing for a hand hold before moving. He worked his way around Meagan like she was made of high explosives and down to the cabin. A short while later he climbed back up to the cockpit juggling plates filled with sandwiches, a bag of Tim’s Cascade jalapeño potato chips and three bottles of ice cold Henry’s Private Reserve.

  “Who’s up for lunch?”

  He handed a plate to Chris who struggled to keep the boat under control and eat at the same time. Megan took her plate and settled down on the opposite side of the cockpit from Ted.

  “What’s this shit?” Meagan lifted the top slice of bread to reveal a pastrami sandwich. “I thought I asked for turkey?”

  “Hey, mensa, I only make one lunch. You want special orders, you have to make ‘em yourself.” He pushed back his sailor’s cap with one finger and sat down, extremely pleased with himself.

  “That’s the most ridiculous hat I’ve ever seen,” Meagan shot him a look of disgust.

  “I bought it special for this trip.” What’s wrong with my hat? Ted removed the light blue yachting cap from his head, turned it over and examined it closely, running his fingers over the embroidered life ring on the peak. “I thought it was appropriately nautical.” He popped the hat back on his head at a jaunty angle.

  “Well I think it looks silly, besides you’re about as nautical as a cement truck.”

  Meagan seemed immune to the laws of gravity as she danced around on deck like a ballerina. In a swift, easy motion, she dropped her plate, jumped over to Ted and grabbed his hat.

  “I think it’s stupid. I’m going to get rid of it.”

  “Hey, give that back.”

  Meagan stood at the lee rail, holding the hat over the side. Ted jumped up and grabbed her around the waist, reaching for the hat with his other hand.

  “No, you don’t. Give it back!” They struggled for the hat, paying no attention to the boiling white water rushing inches below their feet. Ted pulled in her arm, little by little.

  “Hey, you guys, cut it out!” Chris shouted. “Stop it before someone goes overboard.”

  “What do you think, Teddy?” Meagan ignored Chris as she wiggled the hat over the boiling water. “Do I give it a toss?”

  “Give me the fuckin’ hat.” Ted grabbed for her hand.

  “Over it goes.” Meagan flipped the hat with her wrist. Ted watched for what seemed like an eternity, as the hat hung in the air, then sailed like a Frisbee and skimmed the water’s surface before making its final dive.

  ****


  Horseshoe Bay, British Columbia, Canada

  “You boys know anything about fishing?” the big, old Swede asked in a sing-song accent, a bone-colored ceramic mug cradled in his large, calloused hands. They sat at the mess table of an ancient purse seiner. Hani, the cell’s boat expert, sat next to Ahmad.

  “We told you that we’re not fishermen, Mr. Bjornsen.” Ahmad eyed the thick black liquid in his mug with distaste. “We work for a company called Pacific Oceanic Surveys. We’re not going to use the boat for fishing.” Ahmad spoke loudly, to compensate for the old fisherman’s lack of hearing.

  “Well, she a good old boat.” Bjornsen patted the mess table. “None of my sons wants to become fisherman like their old man. Fishing not good enough for them. They want to be stockbrokers and computer guys. Bah,” he spat his chaw into a coffee can at his elbow. “Not a one of them does a honest day’s work.”

  “Don’t worry, Mr. Bjornsen, we’ll take good care of the Valkyrie.” Ahmad surveyed the galley. A huge diesel stove stood along the bulkhead, next to a worn Formica-topped counter with a deep stainless steel sink and a hand pump. The once white paint peeled from the surfaces and a liberal coat of grease covered everything. Ahmad felt unclean, just sitting at the table.

  “What you going to use my boat for?”

  “Survey work.” Stick to the cover story. “We need a big, clear deck and lots of room below decks. There’s lots of construction going on along the coast. Every time some developer wants to build a new resort or a marina, the government requires them to fill out an environmental impact statement. We do surveys of the surrounding waters, to help them figure out how their project will affect the marine environment.”

  “It sound like a lot of bureaucratic bullshit to me.” Bjornsen got up, refilled his coffee cup and returned the blackened pot to the stove. “What ever happened to good honest work? In my day, we find fish, we catch fish. We need a cannery, we build a cannery.” He settled himself back into his spot at the mess table.