The Inside Passage (Ted Higuera Series Book 1) (21 page)

The Queen Charlotte Strait

A trail of white
smoke rose from the foredeck of the fishing boat and a rocket sped towards the
Defiant
.
Time froze.

Ted watched in
slow-motion as the missile flew towards them. It seemed like an hour, but in
the space of a second, it was upon them, then over them, then over the island,
where it exploded in the air. “Holy shit!”

“What happened?”
Chris’ voice was barely a whisper. “I thought those were guided missiles.”

Ted realized he
hadn’t been breathing. “They are dude.” A big smile broke across his face.
“They’re heat-seeking missiles. We’re under sail. We don’t even have the heat
from our engine. The only heat sources on board are us. The missile can’t see
us.”

Chris and Meagan
let out a collective sigh.

“He’s loading up
again.” Ted held his breath as the second missile launched and again flew
harmlessly overhead, to explode out over Malcolm Island.

“They’ve given up
that shit.” Ted felt his heart beating wildly in his chest. “But they ain’t
done yet.”

He saw the men on
the bow of the fishing boat put down the rocket launcher and take up assault
rifles.

“I don’t think
we’re in range.” Ted held the binoculars to his eyes. The fishing boat closed
to within a half mile of them. “But we will be soon.”

He glanced back at
Meagan. She crouched in the corner of the cockpit against the cabin, her hands
over her head, sobbing.

The
Defiant
sailed on. Chris pushed her for all she was worth, desperately heading for the
building fog bank.

“Heads down.” Ted
almost shoved Meagan to the cockpit sole, then turned to see the muzzle flash
from the automatic weapons.

“Fuck!” Chris
screamed. “How close did they come?”

“Short of us.”
Ted’s breathing eased. He felt a sense of calmness, acceptance coming over him.
“Can’t you make this thing go any faster?”

“I think we can
get a little more out of her if I fall off the wind.”

“Can’t you guys do
something?” Meagan screamed, still sitting on the cockpit sole. “Call the Coast
Guard.”

“Ted?” Chris’
voice cracked.

“Gotcha.” Ted
dropped down the companionway stairs in a single bound and flipped on the VHF
radio. Before he had a chance to say a word, an emergency broadcast came over
the air.

“Mayday! Mayday!
Mayday! This is the BC Ferry, Prince Rupert. We’ve just gone on the rocks north
of Malcom Island.”

“Hello,” Ted
shouted into the microphone. “This is the
Defiant
. We’re being shot at
by terrorists.”

“All vessels on
this frequency stand down,” came a harsh female voice over the radio. “This is
Coast Guard station Port McNeil, standing by to answer the
Prince Rupert
’s
mayday.”

“No wait, you
don’t understand,” Ted shouted into the microphone. “There’s Arab terrorists
shooting at us!”

“The boat on this
frequency: CLEAR THE AIR. Coast Guard Station Port McNeil standing by to answer
the
Prince Rupert’s
mayday.”

“Jesus Christ!”
Ted shouted up the hatch, “They have some sort of emergency going on. They
won’t talk to me.”

“THIS
IS
AN
EMERGENCY!” Chris yelled. “TRY THEM AGAIN!”

Once again, Ted
was chased off of the airways.

“There’s a ferry
that’s gone aground. They made me get off of the radio.”

“Shit. Let out the
main and jib sheets.”

Ted sprang up the
stairs to the jib sheet. Meagan followed orders like never before. Chris eased
the boat unto a more southerly course, losing a little speed but making a more
direct run for the perceived safety of the fog.

Ted heard another
burst of automatic weapon fire from astern. “Mother fuckers!”

The fishing boat
altered course to intercept the
Defiant
. No more than a couple of
football fields of tossing water separated the two boats. The men on the bow
emptied their clips at them. A series of white plumes filled the water around
the
Defiant
.

Ted watched the
first wisps of fog reach for the
Defiant’s
rigging. Tendrils like
ghostly hands beckoned them to safety.

“Oh God.” Meagan
put her hand to her head. “Did you feel that?” She slumped down onto the
cockpit seat, hands on her head. “A bullet went right by my head.” Tears
streaked down her cheeks.

“STAY DOWN. GO
BELOW . . .  both of you. I don’t need you on deck now.”

Meagan darted into
the cabin like a scalded cat. Ted started to say something, then thought better
of it. At the companionway hatch he turned to Chris.

“Keep your head
down, dude. We may need it before this thing’s over.” Then he dropped down the
companionway ladder.

“GET OFF OF ME YOU
BIG OAF!” Meagan shouted as Ted sprawled on top of her on the cabin sole.

“Shut up and enjoy
it. I should stop any bullets that get through the hull.”

Meagan started to
say something, then ate her words.
 

****

Fog enshrouded the
Defiant.
They raced hell-bent for the shore. Somewhere ahead of them,
the rocky coast line hid in the fog.

“Which way do we
turn?” Chris said as Ted emerged from the cabin. “East or West?”

“What difference
does it make, dude?”

“The West is the
long way around the island. Lizard Point is between us and clear water.” Chris
paused. “The East is the shortest way. The terrorists probably expect us to go
that way. What if they’re waiting for us around Donegal Head?”

The shore line,
the pursuing fishing boat, the sea itself disappeared. Even the rigging faded
into the mist. The heavy moisture absorbed sound. The world shrank around them
in the fog. All they could see was the
Defiant’s
deck.

“Do you think
we’ve lost them?” Meagan poked her head out the companionway hatch.

“I don’t know.”
Chris sounded exhausted. “They can’t see us, that’s for sure.”

Then the stillness
of the evening was shattered by the sound of gun fire.

“They’re still
shooting at us!” Chris stared into the fog, seeing nothing.

 “They probably
have radar on that old tub.” Ted pulled his oil skin tighter around his neck.
“They’ll be able to track us in the fog.”

“Yeah, but if they
can’t see us they can’t hit us. Take down the radar reflector.”

“Huh?”

“That aluminum
thingy hanging from the signal halyard.” Chris pointed to what looked like a
giant Christmas tree ornament in the rigging. “Fiberglass boats don’t reflect
radar waves. Most boats have a radar reflector so other ships can see them in
the dark.”

Ted understood and
dashed to the halyard and lowered the reflector.

“The terrorists
probably think we’ll take the shortest way to Port McNeil.” Chris’ voice took
on normal tones. “They’ll be waiting for us at Donegal Head. We’re going to go
the other way.”

Ted was amazed
that using charts, the GPS and the depth sounder, Chris could navigate in zero
visibility. Chris worked his way towards Lizard Point, then headed for the
western end of the island. Once there, he would round the island and come down
the other side.

“Shit, dude, I
thought I was going to crap my pants.” Ted began to realize that the emergency
was over. They had survived.

“Chris?” Megan sat
hunched in the cockpit. “I was really scared.” Her voice was small and far
away.

Chris patted the
helmsman’s seat next to him.

She raised her
head, then moved next to him. “I’ve never had anyone shoot at me before.” She
cuddled close to Chris.

“Me neither.” He
put his arm around her and pulled her closer. “Jesus, we were lucky. Maybe we
need to think this through again. I never thought that we could get hurt.”

Splat. Splat.
Splat. Moisture dripped from the rigging. Ted wiped the drops from his brow.

“What’s to think
through?” Ted whispered. “They have a missile. They’re going to blow up your
Dad’s boat. We gotta do something.”

“We don’t know
that they’re going to blow up his ship.” Suddenly, Chris was denying the
obvious.

“Use your brain,
Chris,” Meagan slapped Chris’ forehead lightly with the palm of her hand.

Ted saw that her
strength was spent.

“It’s sick.” Anger
rose in her voice as she spoke. “They have an anti-ship missile that would sink
an aircraft carrier. What other target do they have way out here? We’re in the
middle of God-forsaken nowhere. You could go for days without seeing another
boat or a settlement.”

“I guess our first
plan’s our best bet.” Chris’ voice a whisper, he kept his eyes on the compass
and the GPS. “We’ve got to alert the authorities. Let them take care of it.”

“Can you get us
out of this fog?” Ted asked.

“Not just no, but
hell no. The fog’s our friend. It saved our butts. With the GPS we can make our
way back around the island through the fog.”

Malcolm Island, Canada
 

“Keep a sharp look
out,” Chris whispered up to Ted on the bow. It had been an hour since the
terrorists last shot at them, but they were still careful to keep their voices
down. “The chart shows some rocks to port.”

Moisture hung in
the air and clung to Ted like a cloak. He stood on the bow and hugged the
forestay, trying to see into the fog. Rivulets ran down his face from his
soaked hair. “I hear breaking water off to the left somewhere.” The sound was
faint through the fog, water gently lapping on the shore.

“There.” Ted wiped
the water from his eyes. “White water off to our left. About a hundred feet.”

“Good, that’s
right where it should be.”

The
Defiant
ghosted along at two knots under sail in the light wind. They didn’t dare fire
up the engine in case the terrorists were still shadowing them. They didn’t
want to make noise or leave a heat signature for another one of the SAMs.

“Listen, did you
hear that?” Chris cupped a hand to his ear.

“What is it,
dude?”

A faint rumble
crept towards them through the fog.

“It sounds like an
engine. A big diesel.”

“Where’s it comin’
from?”

“I can’t tell. The
fog distorts the sound.”

Did Chris guess
wrong? Was that the fishing boat? Were they still hunting them?

“The bottom’s
coming up fast,” Chris said.

The depth sounder
reported shallower water. From one hundred thirty feet, it went to one twenty,
then one hundred. Ninety, seventy, sixty.

 “What if we hit
something?” Meagan stood in the companionway hatch with a thermo-mug of coffee
in each hand.

“We’re not going
fast enough to do any real damage,” Chris answered. “But we want to keep a
sharp watch. No sense in making more trouble for ourselves.”

The depth finder
read forty feet, then twenty feet.

The rumble of the
diesel engine rapidly grew louder. Ted felt his pulse quicken.
Could they
somehow see the Defiant through the fog?

Meagan handed
Chris a mug, then moved forward to Ted.

“Here you go, big
guy.” There was a little life back in her voice. “I hope you have your super
powers working now.”

“No problem,
chica.” Ted thought that a little light-heartedness would help. “Spidey’s
always on duty.”

A white shape
materialized from the fog.

“There’s something
in front of us.” The light-hearted moment was over. “I think it’s another
boat.”

“Could that be the
engine we’re hearing?” Megan asked.

“No. They’re just
lying there, still.”

“Maybe they’ve
anchored to wait out the fog.” Chris’ croaked in a stage whisper.

“Shouldn’t we
sound a fog horn or something?” Meagan turned back to the cockpit.

“I don’t want to
give the terrorists any idea where we are. If they’re close enough that we can
hear them, they’d hear us.”

“You better come
right a little, ‘
mano
. I can make out a boat now. It’s a little
cruiser.”

Chris eased the
Defiant
to starboard, letting the sheets out slightly. The new course took them farther
out into the Queen Charlotte Strait and towards open water.

“The fog’s
lifting,” Meagan said.

“We’re getting too
far away from the island. We need to head back into the fog.”

Chris brought the
Defiant
closer to the wind as they ghosted past the anchored boat. Meagan sheeted in
the sails without being told. They barely moved through the still water. The
fog hung heavy on the sails and rigging, dripping a constant flow of moisture
onto their heads.

The low rumble
they had been hearing became a roar.

“There they are!”
Ted pointed off the starboard bow. “On our right. Shit!” A ghostly shape
blasted out of the fog. “It’s coming fast!”

“Oh God, Chris!”
Meagan grabbed Chris’ arm with both hands.

An orange bow
burst through the fog, throwing up a wall of white water.

“It’s the Coast
Guard,” Chris yelled. “They must’ve heard our call.”

A sense of relief
overwhelmed Ted. He dropped down to the deck, his knees too weak to support
him. He hadn’t had time to think about how scared he was. Suddenly he was
shaking all over.

Sirens blared and blue
lights flashed as the Coast Guard cutter raced across the
Defiant’s
bow.

“Why aren’t they
stopping?” Meagan wailed.

“They aren’t here
for us.”  Disappointment filled Chris’ voice. “They’re here for that ferry that
went aground.”

The Coast Guard
cutter disappeared into the fog. The sound of its engines receded, leaving the
crew of the Defiant once again enveloped in a wet, silent world.

A loud thumping
overhead shattered the quiet.

“It’s a
helicopter!” Ted shouted.

A bright orange
bird swooped past them, low on their port bow.

From out of
nowhere a large orange inflatable, like the one they had seen at Seymour Narrows, charged past, lights flashing.

“Well Dude,
there’s one good thing about this.” Ted took a few steps back from his post at
the bow to talk. “With all these sea-cops around, the terrorists aren’t going
to try anything.”

****

For two more
hours, Chris piloted the
Defiant
through the fog, around obstacles, past
shoals, keeping clear of rocks.

The excitement of
the chase left Ted. He felt drained, barely going through the motions while
Chris kept the
Defiant
on course. With the depth sounder, compass, and
GPS, Chris managed to avoid dangers and keep the boat moving around the island.

Ted replayed the
image of the terrorist shooting at them over and over in his mind. 
Jesus,
that was close.

 “We should be at
the north end of Malcolm Island any time now.” Chris’ voice intruded upon Ted’s
thoughts. He sounded tired, played out. “As soon as you can see Malcolm Point, we need to tack.”

“Dude, this is
like makin’ love with a mask on” Ted shouted back to the cockpit, his last,
futile attempt at humor. “You can’t see nothin’, you have to do it all by
feel.”

“Sometimes that’s
the best way,” Meagan cooed, burying her head in Chris’ shoulder.

As they rounded Malcolm Point and headed west, the fluky wind almost completely failed them. The sails hung
like limp dish rags.

****

For another
grueling hour they crept along on a westward course, the fog so heavy that they
barely noticed darkness descend. Ted’s stomach churned. He couldn’t remember
the last time he had eaten, but couldn’t imagine holding anything down now.

Could they really
do this? Jack had told them stories about old salts navigating by wind and
tide, working their way through treacherous passages by chart and compass
alone. Was Chris up to it?

Enough time had
passed that they were no longer concerned about the terrorists hearing them.
“There should be kelp off our port side, marking the rocks and shoals,” Chris
yelled forward to Ted.

God, I hope he
knows what he’s doing.

Ted flashed the
beam of a powerful handheld search light back and forth across the black water.

Somewhere behind
him, Meagan slipped down into the galley. Soon Ted heard the slap, slap, slap
of a knife on the cutting board, smelt the aroma of onions frying. How long had
it been since they had last eaten? Was it twelve, fourteen hours since breakfast?

He felt a knot
constricting in his gut. Maybe food wasn’t such a bad idea after all. Suddenly
his hunger made it hard to concentrate on the black water in front of him.
After what seemed an eternity, Meagan emerged on deck again.

“Here, you must be
getting hungry by now.” She had a mug of steaming hamburger soup in each hand.

She handed Chris
his mug, then moved forward to Ted. He could taste the soup before he took the
mug. Putting down the search light, he greedily wolfed down the hot food.

“Hey,
chica
,”
he said, “when did you learn to cook?”

“I’ve always known
how to cook, dummy. I just haven’t felt like it.”

“This is the
tricky part,” Chris put his mug down on the helmsman’s seat, his voice
strained. “The chart shows kelp beds on both sides. We’re going to try to
thread the deep water between two shoals.”

“Are you sure
about that?” Meagan returned to the cockpit. “You’re not even looking at the
chart.”

“It’s all in
here.” Chris tapped his forehead.

“Hey, dude,” Ted
shouted back to the cockpit, “I can’t see anything in this pea soup.”

“I’m watching the
depth sounder. We have ninety-six feet right now.”

The depth sounder
returned ninety-six, then forty-eight feet. They entered the treacherous area.
Thirty-six feet. Forty. Twenty-eight.

“You see anything
yet?”

“Negative. Only
water and fog.”

Twenty-six. The
Defiant
drew just under seven feet of water. The depth sounder’s transducer was located
under the water line. Ted guessed that they could still float if the depth
sounder showed six feet.

Eighteen.

There was a
stirring in the sails. “The breeze is picking up,” Chris shouted. “Were doing,
three, no four knots.”

The quicker we
get through this pass, the better.

Eighteen feet,
twelve.

What was that up
ahead?

“Look out!” Ted
pointed straight ahead.

“What? Where?”

“Right ahead of
us! A kelp bed.”

Too late. There
was a loud crunching sound. The
Defiant
tipped violently forward, her
bow dipped under water. Ted felt rather than heard a second loud crunch.