The Inside Passage (Ted Higuera Series Book 1) (3 page)

Edmonds, Washington

“Ees everyone
ready for breakfast?” Mama wrapped an apron around her slight frame.

She seemed totally
at home in the Hardwick’s kitchen. Ted watched as she easily made her way among
the Italian tiled counters and backsplashes. She searched the glass-doored oak
cabinets and the copper pots and pans that hung from a rack above the butcher
block for the tools of her trade. This was a far cry from the yellow Formica
countertops with chrome trim, cabinets painted green, white and red like the
Mexican flag and the picture of the
Virgin de Guadalupe
that smiled down
over the kitchen table at home.

Candace insisted
that Mama stay at Harry’s house during her visit.

“Morning all.”
Chris slipped through the sliding glass doors from the deck with Skipper, the
family’s aging Chocolate Labrador Retriever, in tow.

“It smells great,
Mama.” Ted poured himself a second cup of coffee and looked out the windows at
morning sun sparkling on the waters of Puget Sound. Far below the house on the
cliff, white sails already dotted the blue water. Across the Sound, a
super-ferry pulled into the harbor at Kingston. Beyond Kingston, the snow-capped
Olympic Mountains stood against the blue sky. A giant container ship loaded
with stacks of steel shipping containers on deck slid up the water way.

 “Chris, Ted, I’m
glad I finally found you.” Harry grabbed an empty spot at the table. “I’ve
wanted to have a little chat about your future.”

“Dad, do we have
to do this now?” Chris bristled at his father’s comment.

“I’m not going to
put any pressure on you.” Harry held up the palms of his hands making a
peaceful gesture. “I was just thinking that I haven’t given you your graduation
present yet.”

There was a long
pause. Ted looked over at Chris. Chris didn’t respond. Ted didn’t want to get
involved in another tussle between Chris and his father.

“You guys have
worked hard,” Harry continued. “You’ve earned a reward. Ted, I’m as proud of
you as I am of my son. I thought I’d give you both a little gift.”

He pulled two
packages from his bathrobe pockets and handed them to Ted and Chris. Again
there was a long silence.

Ted weighed the
small box in his hands.
It feels solid.
It was about nine inches long,
three inches wide, wrapped in gold foil with an elaborate bow. It didn’t rattle
when he shook it. His spider sense was tingling.

What do I know
about Harry’s gifts?
 Chris said they’re extravagant, but they always come
with strings attached. For Chris’ high school graduation, his dad gave him a
shiny silver Porsche Boxster. With it came the understanding that Chris would
accept the offer to attend the University of Washington and stay close to home.
Chris wanted to go to school out of state, to get away from his dad’s
influence, but he couldn’t resist the Porsche.

Big deal.
Ted should only have that kind of problem. This box was definitely not a
Porsche.

“Go ahead, open them,”
Harry urged.

Ted tore the
wrapping from his package. It contained an expensive looking knife.

“Mr. Hardwick . .
. thank you?” Ted removed the knife from its leather scabbard. He slowly turned
it over and over in his hand. It was heavy, about eight inches long, with a
rosewood handle. The wide stainless steel blade had a blue whale engraved on
the blade.
Hmm, this knife has a serial number, I wonder if it’s a kind of
limited edition thing?
The blade was incredibly sharp, the back side of the
blade had an inch-long serrated section near the handle.
What the hell is
this thing for?
A metal spike, kind of like a giant needle, with a hole in
the end for a lanyard, fit into the scabbard next to the knife.

“Dad, I don’t get
it, a Myerchin rigging knife?” Chris stared down at his knife.

“I’m thinking that
you boys need a break, a long vacation. How about you take the
Defiant
on a cruise this summer? Up the Inside Passage. Princess Louisa Inlet,
Desolation Sound, the Queen Charlotte Strait. Who knows, maybe go all the way
to Alaska. I hear that Glacier Bay is incredible.”

“What ees the
Defiant
?”
Mama had a worried look on her face.

“She’s my C&C
40,” Harry responded.

Mama gave him a
blank stare.

“She’s a
forty-foot sailboat.” Harry explained.

Chris had told Ted
stories about growing up on the
Defiant
. Twenty-five years ago, he said,
she had been the scourge of the Puget Sound racing circuit. A fierce
competitor, Harry drove his crew to perfection. Ted deduced that sailing with
Harry was the only time Chris had ever felt close to his father.

“We haven’t used
her much since Chris’ mom got sick.” Harry looked at Mama as he poured himself
a cup of coffee. “She used to be a great cruiser.”

“So this ees a
boat trip?” Mama wrung her tiny hands.

Ted could see the
gears spinning in Mama’s head. “Mama!” He needed for her not to interfere.

“When Chris’ mom
was alive,” Harry told Mama, “we used to take an annual family cruise north
through the San Juan Islands and into the Canadian Gulf Islands. Once we even
went as far as Princess Louisa Inlet on the British Columbia coast.”

“Ees it safe?”
Mama patted her dark hair in place. “How deep ees the water? You will wear life
jackets, no?”

“I don’t know,
Dad.” Chris stared at the rigging knife in his hands. “I’ve taken her out for a
few day sails. But a big cruise? I don’t know if I can do it.”

“You’ll be fine.”
Harry looked out over the bright waters of Puget Sound below them. “You know
everything you need to know to sail the boat.”

“But, I don’t know
anything about navigation. . . I don’t know where we’d go. It’s been years
since I crossed the border”

“You have to learn
sometime, Chris. We all started out that way once.”

“What’s the
catch?” Chris looked up at his father. “What do we have to do?”

A hurt look
flashed through Harry’s eyes. This was beginning to get uncomfortable. Ted
didn’t want to be caught in the cross-fire.

“There’s no catch,
son.” Harry stared at Chris. “Take the boat, go north, blow off some steam.
Have a good time. Get yourself refreshed, then in the fall, you’ll be ready to
tackle law school.”

“You know I
haven’t decided about that yet.” Chris snapped. “I don’t know what I’m going to
do.”

“That’s OK, Chris.
I’m not pressuring you.” Harry leaned forward and patted Chris’ knee. Chris
stiffened at the contact. “Take the boat, have a good time. Sort things out.
When you get back, you’ll be ready for your next step.”

****

Toronto, Canada

Ahmad sat opposite
an exotic looking beauty at his neighborhood Starbucks. Things had not been
going smoothly. She refused to see the true path. Clearly she was not following
Mohammed’s way. Make-up, uncovered head, the latest fashions . . . He must save
her from herself.

“I’m sorry, this
just isn’t working.” Bushra Dahir’s dark, mesmerizing eyes flitted from him to
the coffee cup in her hands.

“Bushra,” Ahmad
gasped. “What’re you saying?”

“You’re too
old-fashioned.” Bushra glanced at her watch. “You want to go back to the Middle
Ages.”

“No, I just want
the world to return to its rightful order.” The coffee shop began to spin.
Ahmad fought to keep his mind focused.

“Ahmad, I’m tired
of your criticism. We’re not living in Iran. This is Canada. Women have rights
here. We’re free to make a life of our own.” Bushra didn’t look him in the eyes.

“But the Qur’an
says . . .” Beads of perspiration formed on Ahmad’s brow.

“I don’t care what
the Qur’an says. I have a career. I have a life of my own. I’m not going back
to being a good little housewife because of some outdated religious beliefs.”

Maybe he was being
too old-fashioned? Surely Allah would allow him to bend a little to keep up
with the times?
No, what am I thinking? I must be strong.

“But our parents .
. .”

“I’ve talked to my
parents.” Bushra looked at her cup, turning it around and around in her hands.
“They agree.”

 “Something
happened. What is it?”

“Ahmad, don’t.
Let’s just part as friends.”

Ahmad grabbed her
wrist. She pulled away.

What could her
father possibly have against him? “Bushra, tell me. What is it?”

Bushra’s eyes fell
to her hands. She spoke in a weakened voice.

“My father. . . he
says that some CSIS agents came to talk to him. He says that you’re being
investigated.”

Ahmad’s mouth
dropped open. Why? What did they know? How had they found him? No, he had done
nothing wrong. He had broken no laws.

“What have you
gotten yourself involved with?” she asked.

If only I could
tell you. You’re not ready to hear what I have to say. You don’t understand the
great evil that we’re facing. Someday, maybe someday soon, you’ll understand.

The words would
not come. Ahmad answered with silence.

****

Seattle, Washington

Ted smelled the
enticing aroma of coffee as he turned the corner in the staircase. He shuffled
down the stairs and into the kitchen of the 1920’s Craftsman-style house that
he shared with Chris, about a mile north of the University campus.

An atlas of sea
charts, cruising guides and tide tables spread over the scarred old maple table
in the kitchen. Ted poured himself a cup of coffee and looked for his roomie.

Chris stood on the
back porch staring blankly into space.

“Dude, whatcha
doin’?”

Chris remained
frozen for a moment, then slowly turned and spoke through the screen door.
“I’ve been thinking. Dad is really pushing hard for us to take this trip. I
don’t know if I can do it.”

“I don’t know much
about sailin’, there weren’t no yacht clubs in East LA, but how hard could it
be? We pack a few brewskies, take the boat, head north.”

“It’s a lot more
complicated than that.” Chris came back into the kitchen. “I’ve been going over
the charts. You have to know a lot about navigation. There’re no highway signs
on the water. If you get lost, it could be big trouble. The tides up there are
ferocious. Boats have been lost in tide rips and whirlpools. We’d be crossing
into a foreign country. We’d be a long way away from help if we got into
trouble.”

Well, maybe it was
a little more involved than packing the car and taking off, still . . . “You
know all about sailin’ and stuff, don’t you? You’re always talkin’ about how
you used to race that boat with your dad.”

Chris seated
himself at the table and made room in the muddle of books and charts for his
coffee cup. “I can handle the boat. I’m not worried about that. If there’s
anything I’m good at, it’s sailing. I’ve always wanted to take a long cruise; I
used to dream about sailing to Mexico or the South Pacific. It’s all the other
shit that has me worried.”

“What other shit?
What’s the worst that could happen?”

“I don’t know,
Ted. I’ve never done this by myself before. It’s a lot of responsibility. What
happens if we get into trouble? What if we run aground or get caught in a tide
rip? What if we get hurt or sick? There’s no hospitals up there. We could be
days away from help.”

“Now you’re
beginnin’ to worry me.”  Ted picked up the chart atlas. “What is all this
shit?”

“That’s a chart of
the Straits of Georgia. The green is land, the white’s water. See these little
numbers?” Chris pointed. “They show you how deep the water is. The compass rose
shows the direction, these red lines are suggested courses. These scales along
the sides of the chart are latitude and longitude.”

“There’s nothin’
on the land part. This ain’t like a map at all. There’s no roads, buildings, no
land marks.”

“That’s not quite
true.” Chris picked up a set of stainless steel dividers.

Those
do-hickies look like the compasses we used in grade school.

“See these little
lines?” Chris pointed with the dividers. “They show you the contour of the
land. From the water, you might want to know how high a point is, or the shape
of a hill. Then there’s landmarks. See this symbol? It’s a radio tower. This is
a town. Here’s a ferry dock. The chart has stuff you can see from the water. On
a boat, you don’t care if there’s an interstate running through town, you can’t
see it.”

Ted saw two
things. First of all, there was a lot more to this navigation shit than met the
eye. Secondly, Chris knew what he was talking about. “What happens at night,
when you can’t see the landmarks?”

“We’d never sail
at night, but if we had to, there’s all sorts of aids to navigation. During the
day you can see the buoys and channel markers, range markers. At night, you
rely on lights. In the old days, they used to have light houses, now they’re
mostly automated lights. Look at this.” He pointed to the chart. “This is the
light off Point Roberts. The chart says its thirty feet above the water and
flashes once every fifteen seconds. That’s how you tell where you are.”

Ted pushed back
from the table and looked at his friend. “Damn, you really do know a lot about
this stuff.”

Ted got up and
crossed the kitchen. He reached in the cabinet for a bowl, then pulled down a
box of Raisin Bran. “Other people do this all the time right?” He reached for a
carton of milk in the old white Frigidaire with rounded corners and a chrome
handle. “You’re the smartest guy I know. You remember stuff that no one else does.
You can’t convince me that those other
mensos
know more about this shit
than you do.”

“I know it. I’ve
read a thousand books, but I’ve never done it.”