The Inside Passage (Ted Higuera Series Book 1) (13 page)

Montague Harbor, Galliano
Island, Canada

The wind continued
to howl and the rain poured down. Little leaks began to appear around the hatch
covers and windows in the
Defiant’s
cabin.

By the second
morning of their confinement, Meagan was in a lousy mood.

“Who left the
toilet seat up?” She glared at Ted. “I nearly fell in last night.”

“Hey, chica, I
don’t ask you to leave it up for me,” Ted said. “Why should I put it down for
you?”

“You guys could
show some consideration.” She reached for a mug and grabbed the coffee thermos.
“Besides, don’t you ever rinse the sink out? Every time I go into the bathroom,
it’s full of your hair.”

“Head. It’s a
head, not a bathroom.” Chris looked up from the chart table.

“God damn you, too!
You could show a little support.”

****

Ted didn’t like
day three any better. His only solace was that he hadn’t had to listen to the
sound of Chris and Meagan doing the horizontal mambo last night.

To make matters
worse, Meagan’s crazy cat picked up the general mood. He was snippety and surly
all day. To Ted’s amusement, when Meagan reached out to pet him, he snapped at
her. Ted wasn’t amused when the cat got up from his perch in the pilot berth,
methodically walked across the cabin, jumped up on the galley counter, reached
out defiantly and scratched Ted.

“Jesus Christ,
what’s gotten into your damned cat?”

“He’s just showing
his good taste.”

“Bro, we gotta get
outta here,” Chris growled.

Ted noticed that
the whistling of the wind in the rigging had died down, but the rain continued
to fall. “Fine by me. I never minded a little rain.”

“If we sit around
here one more day,” Chris went on, “I think we’ll turn to cannibalism.”

“You big strong
boys go up and play with your boat.” Meagan turned her back on the men. “I
still have some magazines to read.”

Ted climbed into
this rain gear and followed Chris onto the deck. A stiff breeze out of the
southwest flung the rain against his face. He tightened down his hood, pulled
on his sailing gloves and made his way forward.

****

The salt air
smelled clean and clear. Two islands guarded the opening to the land-locked
harbor. Ted gazed at the shore, above the tide lines tall firs disappeared into
the mist. Wisps of cloud weaved in and out of the hills. It reminded him of
something out of a King Arthur legend.

“We’re going to
sail the anchor out,” Chris shouted up to him. “I don’t trust the engine.”

Favoring his sore
shoulder, Ted managed to haul in the anchor line. “Anchor’s free,” he called
back to Chris.

“Get ‘er up
quickly.”

The
Defiant
picked up the wind.

Ted made the
anchor fast, then returned to the cockpit where, under Chris’ direction, he set
the jib. The
Defiant
surged forward and Chris headed for the harbor
entrance.

“Ah, Chris, aren’t
you getting a little close to those rocks?” Ted asked calmly as Chris held his
course through the narrower of the two channels out of the harbor.

“We’re cool, bro.
I only want to have to tack once in the passage.”

Ted felt the sweat
inside his raingear as the rocks loomed closer and closer off the starboard
beam.

“Prepare to come
about,” Chris finally shouted. “Helm’s a lee.”

Ted stood by with
the jib sheets as Chris put the
Defiant’s
bow through the wind.

“Let go and haul.”

Ted flipped the
sheet off of the starboard winch and began to haul in on the port sheet like a
madman. The rocks swept closer and closer.

To Ted’s relief,
the
Defiant
handled the maneuver like a thoroughbred. Quickly passing
through the wind and settling down on the opposite tack, she surged away from
the rocks and towards the open sea.

The three-day
storm left a heavy sea and drizzly rain in its wake. Ted looked up to see
seagulls scudding beneath the low-flying clouds. Visibility limited to a mile
or so, the vast chain of islands to port was lost in a rain squall.

“Meg, get up
here,” Chris shouted.

Ted’s head
swiveled to see what his friend was shouting about.

****

William and Mary Island, Canada

“Everything is
arranged.” Yasim climbed stiffly out of the rigid inflatable boat.  “We leave
tonight.”

He’s too old
for this kind of work
, Ahmad thought as he pulled the boat up onto the
beach. “Did you get the coordinates for the rendezvous?”

“Here.” Yasim
handed him an envelope.

****

After dark, the
Valkyrie
steamed down the fjord and north into the Queen Charlotte Strait until she
finally rounded the northern tip of Vancouver Island in the early morning
hours. Daylight found her alone on the North Pacific. For two days she steamed
due west.

****

“We should be at
the rendezvous in an hour,” Ahmad said as Yasim joined Hani and him in the
pilot house. Perched on top of the deck house, the pilot house had an expanse
of windows all around. Hani held onto the spokes of the big teak wheel, while
Ahmad clung to a brass hand rail on the dashboard. Electronic equipment filled
the forward end of the compartment. Behind them a chart table overflowed with
yellow sea charts, cruising guides, tide tables and navigation equipment.

Ahmad’s stomach
hadn’t been right since they entered the open ocean. He caught a glimpse of
himself reflected in the deckhouse windows, his complexion various shades of
green. He tossed up everything he tried to eat. For the last two days he
existed solely on bottled water and soda crackers.
What am I doing out here?
My heritage is the open desert.

A tiny light over
the compass and the ghostly glow from the electronic instruments provided the
only illumination in the pilot house. They floated on a sea of black. The
three-day storm that swept across the North Pacific had left behind a large
swell and drizzling rain. In the rain and dark, he couldn’t see beyond the bow
of the boat.

“Good, keep sharp
look out.” Yasim cradled a cup of tea in his calloused hands. “They won’t be
showing light. Allah be praised that we have heavy cloud cover.”

“They’re big
enough that they should make a good blip on the radar.” Ahmad clung to the hand
rail. The cursed boat wouldn’t stay still for a moment. 

“Have you heard
anything more from Coast Guard cutter?” Yasim asked.

Early in the day,
Ahmad had heard an American Coast Guard cutter broadcasting in the general
area.

“Do you know where
is?” Yasim walked to the chart table and studied the pencil marks drawn by Hani
indicating their progress.

“No,” Hani’s eyes
were fixed on the GPS screen and the compass.  “We haven’t heard anything else
since the first broadcast.”

Ahmad felt a flash
of resentment for his broad-chested friend. How can he not be affected by the boat’s
motion?

“I got a fix on
them then.” Ahmad choked down the bile in his throat. “They were three-hundred-twenty
kilometers southeast.”
What are we doing way out here? Does anyone know?
What else could go wrong with this miserable mission?

“Could they have
come this far since then?”

“Yes.” Ahmad had
trouble concentrating. His stomach commanded all of his attention. “Hani tells
me that they’re more than twice as fast as we are.”
Why is Yasim not
afflicted?
No one else in the cell seemed to feel the effects of the boat’s
motion.

“I would truly
like to know where is, what is doing way out here.” Yasim tapped on the chart
with a pair of dividers, holding onto a grab rail with the other hand to keep
his balance as the boat rolled.

Within an hour,
Ahmad saw the first blip on the green radar screen. Focusing on a fixed point
made his stomach churn.

“Look, there it
is.”

“But do we know
who is?” Yasim crowded next to Ahmad at the screen. “Is freighter or American
Coast Guard?”

The Straits of Georgia

 “Sweet! They’re
beautiful. Where’s my camera?” Meagan dashed below.

Twenty yards off
their starboard beam, a pod of orcas surfaced so close Ted could see their
nostrils open as they exhaled into the misty air. Their warm breath vaporized
as it hit the cold air giving it the appearance of blowing water from their
spouts.

Meagan fumbled
about with her lenses, missing most of the action.

Dios mió, those
are powerful animals.
Ted watched the pod surge through the water, their
tall dorsal fins cutting the heavy air. They moved without effort as they leapt
forward. Their distinctive black and white markings glistened in the weak
morning light.

“You can hear them
blow!” Meagan finally seated the lens on her camera. “They sound like big
dogs.”

The sting of cold
water slapped Ted’s face as the pod‘s leader sounded, flew up out of the water,
stood on his tail for an instant, then splashed down, sending a tidal wave of
water towards the boat.

“Oh God, I got
that shot. I got it!”

“For a city girl,”
Chris said. “You sure get wound up about animals.” 

“They’re totally
awesome. They’re like totally powerful and free.” Meagan clicked off picture
after picture.

As if at a signal,
the pod sounded together.

“Where’d they go?”

“I don’t know.”
Chris scanned the water. “They can stay down for fifteen minutes. They may be
done with us.”

Minutes later,
Chris pointed to a rippling on the surface of the water
.
“Thar she
blows.” He flinched as an orca surfaced right next to the boat.

“My God, they’re
almost as big as the boat,” Meagan yelled.

The pod completely
surrounded the
Defiant
.

****

They were a happy
ship again. The excitement of the orcas carried the crew through the rest of
the morning. With a steady fifteen-knot wind out of the northwest, the
Defiant
sailed towards Horseshoe Bay. 

By early afternoon,
they threaded their way through the crowd of pleasure boats in Queen Charlotte
Channel.

“Everybody needs
to be on the alert,” Chris said as they approached Vancouver, BC. “There’s a
lot of boats in the vicinity. If you see something coming towards us, let me
know. I might not see it.”

Meagan leaned back
with her arms wrapped around the lifelines while Ted looked up from his
computer manual.

“Look out for that
blue ship.” Meagan pointed.

“Got it.” Chris
said. A blue and white super ferry loomed off their port bow.

“Where’re the
guard boats?” Meagan searched the area with the binoculars.

“This is Canada.” Chris fell off slightly to starboard. “They must not feel threatened up here.”

“Yeah.” Ted added.
“There’s never been a terror attack against Canada. They’re a quiet little
country. They mind their own business and don’t piss nobody off.”

Meagan put the
binoculars back into their holder. “I’d expect them to be as prepared as we
are. If there’s a terrorist threat in the US, they should be worried too, don’t
you think?”

“Canada’s a lot mellower about that kind of stuff.” Chris’ eyes shifted between the vessel traffic
and the sails. “Just look at the border crossing. Remember how easy it was?
Wait ‘til you see what we have to go through when we come back into the US.”

The crew’s mood
perked up even further when the rain stopped and the sun broke through the
clouds as they entered Horseshoe Bay. The low afternoon rays painted the
ripples on the water golden. A low point of land jutted out into the channel
from the hilly mainland on the north shore of the Fraser River.

The marina,
nestled in a bight in the end of the point, had a few floats filled with boats
at the height of the cruising season. A fuel dock, the government dock and
ferry terminal crowded the waterfront, and motels, restaurants and other
tourist attractions spread out behind.

Ted scanned the
floats for an empty slip.

“Oh look.” Meagan
dropped the fenders over the side. “It’s the
Nessie.”

The old double-ended
salmon troller lay tied to the outside float.

“Let’s raft up alongside
Jack.” Ted said. “He ought to be good for a few stories.”

Chris brought the
Defiant
alongside the
Nessie
under the jib sail alone
.
“Cast off the jib
sheets.” He rounded up neatly and glided alongside.

“Well done, Laddie.”
Jack yelled across the water as he took Meagan’s bow line. Robby barked in
excitement.

Ted jumped over
the life lines onto the
Nessie’s
deck and secured the stern line. Robby
licked at his hands as he tied off the line.

“It looks like yer
learning to handle that big old boat, Laddie. What happened to yer engine?”

“We’re still
having the same problem.” Chris furled the jib. “The guy at Customs told us
that there was a good mechanic here.”

“Aye, that there
is, if yer pockets are full o’ gold. Get settled down, then let old Jack have
another look at it. Maybe I c’n find something else.” 

****

 “Well, this might
be the problem, Lad.” Jack’s head popped up out of the lazarette. “Y’ have a
screen over the pickup tube in yer fuel tank. Over the years, y’ve accumulated
so much gunk in the bottom of the tank that it gets sucked up against the
screen and clogs it up. After a couple o’ hours, it’s so messy that no fuel can
get through.

“Y’ have two fuel
filters on this engine. I suggest that we remove the screen and let the filters
do their work. Y’ can easily change a filter when it gets dirty.”