Thin Blood Thick Water (Clueless Resolutions Book 2) (5 page)

The Lyme, CT to Shear Water, Nova Scotia flight was a pleasant experience.  Crossing New England they passed over Boston and continued eastward in the clear and docile, early-fall weather pattern. Maggie had a question.

Earphones were necessary for the ‘Captain’ and ‘Co-pilot’ due to the wind noise of the De Havilland floatplane which was created by the float pontoons and cable rigging below the cabin, as it cruised through the air averaging 140 mph.

“What did the heading ‘19’ mean as we took off?” she asked over the intercom.  Max explained that the 19 was short for 190 degrees on the compass, almost due south.

“Oh, while I waited at the airport on your first trip home, I asked which direction you would be coming from. They said you’d be coming in on runway 19, and pointed south. Where do the numbers come from?” Maggie asked. Max explained that the runway numbers are abbreviated compass numbers representing which compass heading that an aircraft had to be on, to follow the track of the runway on which he was landing. When the last digit is dropped the runway numbers are from 1 to 36, which is painted on the either end. The system is universal, he explained.

“Oh, that’s simple enough, who knew!” she exclaimed, almost wishing she hadn’t asked.

“Well, every pilot, every boy scout, every sailor….,” he teased.  Maggie gave him a look of exasperation. “Okay, smart ass” she said, but Max went on, “Every girl scout..,”

“I get it, I get it!” Maggie said, getting a bit steamed.

Max knew that he had over-teased this time. “Sorry Mag,” he said apologetically. Maggie was a good sport and didn’t mind kidding around but she had her limits. Max had become aware of that.

They flew over the North Atlantic Ocean, comforted by the south coast of Maine, off to the left and below their wing. The flight was uneventful except for three separate radio reports, 20 minutes apart, from the point-to-point radar flight monitor controllers, regarding a Beechcraft Bonanza aircraft flying within one mile west of their position at 500 feet above their altitude.  In each case Max acknowledged, but after he and Maggie strained to spot the aircraft, he reported that they did not have the aircraft in sight. The other flight was in a blind spot relative to their position. The neophyte self-flyers could hear the radio notifications to the Beechcraft aircraft as to the position of their DHC2 floatplane and heard the acknowledgement from the proximate flight, “The De Havilland Beaver is in sight.” Because of that, Max explained to Maggie, there was no reason to be concerned.  There was one factor, however, that Max found strange.  He mentioned it to Maggie after the second warning notice.

“This is a little odd,” he said through their earphone intercom system. “A half-hour ago that Beechcraft was one mile to our rear and slightly above. Now we hear that she (referencing the obviously female pilot’s radio voice, which they had both heard) is still in the same position, directly behind us.”

“Is that unusual?” Maggie asked.

“It could be a coincidence, but the cruising speed of that twin-engine plane is at least thirty five miles-per-hour faster than this one. I know that because I took a check-out flight with Brad in the Beechcraft we have in the USAP fleet. It’s about the same size as this airplane but a lot faster,” Max responded. “She’s going in the same direction and should be way ahead of us by now,” he reasoned.

After 3 hours and 10 minutes of flight they were 20 miles west of Shear Water Airport. The third and final position report was identical to the first two.  Again, the Beechcraft acknowledged them but they could not see the Beechcraft.

“I’ve had enough of this,” Max said to his ‘co-pilot’ with irritation surfacing in his voice.  He throttled back and lowered the wing flaps one-third and the airplane slowed. Maggie watched the air speed indicator swing back to 100mph.

“We’re still going pretty fast,” she commented.

“Not really,” Max said, “keep an eye up above and in front.”  After approximately 3 minutes the twin-engine Beechcraft slowly passed above, slightly to the right of their position.  It seemed to accelerate as it banked slightly and turned to the left.   “This is De Havilland Charlie 2, I have the Beechcraft Bonanza in sight,” Max belatedly radioed to the flight monitor, as he pushed the throttle forward and raised the flaps. The other airplane was soon out of sight.  There were no other airplanes within sight or within identification range after that.  At that point the instruction came over the radio to change radio frequency to Halifax Flight Control as they neared their destination.

“We’re on our own now,” Max indicated to Maggie. Following his flight plan instructions he began to descend to 1500 ft. and turn the plane on a northward course until the Nova Scotia coast line could be seen ahead.

“According to Chip, we have to check this map and find Halifax Bay,” Max instructed. “At the opening of the bay we have to get down around 1000 ft. altitude using the console-mounted elevation radar /sonar unit.  As we see a river branch off to the left, we fly up the river at 400-500 ft. elevation until we see a small island on the right. That’s when we land and taxi into a cove on the island where there’s a green-colored double-wide boathouse straight ahead. We dial this number on the cellphone and the doors will open, and we taxi right in.”

Maggie spotted the river opening off the west side of the bay and poked Max’s shoulder as she pointed it out.  Max activated the radar/sonar screen mounted on the center console, turned off the auto pilot which had maintained the aircraft’s altitude, and lowered their elevation to the 1000 ft. mark on the radar altitude display.  As they entered the mouth of the narrow river, flaps were lowered to ‘landing’ position. Max throttled back and lowered the floatplane to 400ft.  The island loomed up ahead but a crosswind was pushing the aircraft toward the left river bank. Applying right ruder and holding it there, Max cut the throttle and the DHC2 settled onto the choppy water surface.  Moving toward the island, the small cove opening appeared on an angle to the right.  While steering the floatplane into the cove, Max pointed to the cell phone number written on the map and Maggie dialed it.  The boathouse doors opened as if activated by a garage door opener.  Taxing slowly between the side beams, Max cut the engine to let the floatplane coast, with the propeller stopped, into an inflated canvass cushion surrounding the space for the pontoon floats. Max unbuckled, opened the pilot side hatch and exited onto the pontoon steps. He found a mooring line and fastened it.  He was surprised to see that the boathouse doors had closed automatically behind them and the interior of the windowless structure became lighted. A twin-outboard motor launch with an enclosed cabin was docked in an adjoining, forward section.

Max was mindful that, to the outside world, he, Maggie, and the Beaver floatplane, had disappeared approximately seven minutes after touchdown.

While helping Maggie out of the co-pilot’s door, Max commented, “Automation can be a wonderful thing when it works,” referencing the high-tech mechanical features of the boathouse.

“Amen” was Maggie’s response.

As instructed, Max connected an electronic cable attached to a flight analysis console on the docking platform to a jack in the airplane cockpit. On the illuminated display he entered an X in the Post Flight Analysis box. The computerized analyzer began checking through the various functions of the floatplane and its engine.  Max closed the cover and decided to let it process while he and Maggie made their way to the main office of the marine laboratory, on the opposite side of the river island.

Having landed on an inlet off of Halifax Bay, and competed the predetermined taxi to the boat house on a nameless river island, Max and Maggie were ready to follow the pre-planned inspection of the Bickford Marine Laboratory, on behalf of the USAP Partnership.

After having docked the De Havilland Beaver floatplane inside the boathouse and connected the automated flight systems analyzer, they scanned their environment. A thermometer in the boat house read 59 degrees Fahrenheit and both of the recent arrivals felt the damp chill.  Max, in his thick woolen plaid shirt didn’t feel uncomfortable but Maggie, wearing a short sleeved cotton blouse and slacks, began to shiver. Holding her arms akimbo, she waited as Max retrieved their carry-on bags from the storage compartment of the floatplane.  They both donned jackets and proceeded to a doorway having an entrance sign above it.

When Max slid his USAP ID card through a card reader mounted to the right of the doorway, the door latch unlocked with a click. The door, when opened, led onto steps which ascended to a veranda-style ante room of the 1930’s Craftsman-style bungalow.

A mechanical sounding voice from a speaker at the doorway instructed them, as they entered, to use the second floor facilities to freshen-up, if necessary, and to dial to the Bickford Laboratory office for transportation. They noticed a security system panel inside, beside the door frame, and they searched for an enable/disable button. A small split-screen monitor showed various interior views. It went blank when Maggie disabled it.

“I’ve got to use the facilities,” Maggie said, ‘dancing a jig’, as she did in times of extreme urgency.

“Okay, I’ll call this number and try to find out what the procedure is for a ride,” Max answered rather peevishly.  With a questionable glance at Max’s unusually brusque manner, Maggie proceeded to the second floor, quickly scanning the interior of the accommodations as she went.

After entering the call number on a wall phone in the kitchen, a watchman answered Max’s call after four rings.  He recognized the calling number and indicated that the laboratory was closed for business for the weekend.  He had been expecting the call and asked if Max would be coming there directly, or waiting until Monday. Before Max answered, he asked about transportation and was told that the shuttle driver was off duty during closures, but the watchman instructed him on how to locate the keys to a Land Rover SUV which was parked, and filled with fuel, in the attached garage off the kitchen.  A map of the local area describing restaurants, entertainment and recreational facilities was in the glove compartment.

Max thanked the gentleman for his hospitality and then indicated that he would make a brief, after-hours stop for a quick scan of the operation this afternoon, and planned to do a full inspection Saturday, and possibly Sunday during non-business hours.

As he replaced the phone receiver, Max felt the sudden pressure of a hard object against the back of his neck! In a flash, he instinctively tensed and started a self-defense evasive/disabling maneuver. As he crouched and began to spin with his elbow aimed at the assailant behind him, he heard a loud shriek.

“Eeeeek! Max!..Easy, it’s me!” Maggie shouted, nervously.

“Mag.., whoa!” he said loudly with a blank stare. “You caught me by surprise. I…ah, are you ok?

“Shhh, calm down. I’m sorry, but you are wound up tighter than a drum,” Maggie said soothingly. “I was thinking that we could use a laugh,” she continued softly.

“I know,” Max said solemnly. “You’re right. You’re absolutely right about that.”

“But I should have come up with something less threatening than a possible gun to your head, I guess,” Maggie said with genuine regret, while waving her cell phone to show what the ‘gun’ was.

Practical jokes and gags between the couple had become routine since their close relationship began. Each of them recognized this good-natured, private type of ‘teasing’ between themselves as an intimate sign of the mutual strong feelings they had for each other. Although a discussion about the subject had never occurred, both Max and Maggie felt that the word ‘love’, when used often and spoken automatically, showed a callousness that demeaned the true meaning of the term, and classed it in the same category of sincerity as ‘Good morning’, ‘Excuse me’, ‘Sorry’, ‘Pardon me’, and ‘Thank you so much’.

Maggie’s kidding around had jolted Max back into his more typical relaxed demeanor.

“I have been a little stressed,” Max said. “With the flight, being followed along the way, and dealing with this rather spooky hideaway...” he trailed off, letting out a sigh of relief.  He gestured around the surroundings and added, “The Laboratory owns it, and Chip set it up for our stay for a couple of days. It beats a hotel, don’t you think?” Maggie nodded her approval.

“Since we’re on the subject”, Max continued, “I want to check something else Chip has set up. Follow me,” he said beckoning her with his finger. He went into a bathroom off of a hallway to the rear bedroom. He began to feel around under the sink cabinet and, silently, a portion of the three-section wall mirror slid open to expose a wall safe with a digital number pad on the door. Looking at his cell phone keys he entered on the pad the numbers 88 7777 2 7. With a soft click, the door opened a crack. He pulled it open and inside was a bound stack of fifty dollar bills, the emergency phone number of USAP headquarters, two black automatic pistols and two boxes of 9 millimeter ammunition. Maggie was astonished and a slight gasp escaped her lips.

“Are those here for us?” she asked wide-eyed. Max explained that they were here for anyone connected with USAP for emergency purposes. He was aware that she didn’t know the opening code and told her it was the letters used for a cell phone texting message, U, S, A, and P.

“We shouldn’t need them on this trip but it’s good to know about for an emergency, don’t you think?” Max asked, referencing the guns. Maggie thought about it for a moment and hesitatingly agreed.

“I dated a guy in college who was in the military ROTC,” she said solemnly. “He was a gun nut and insisted I learn how to handle a pistol. We went to a shooting range and practiced a couple of times.” Max gave her a one eyebrow glance, faking jealousy. Maggie started to explain the past romantic involvement and stopped when she realized that Max was mocking her seriousness. She lightened up a little. College was eight years ago, and she had been engrossed in building a career.  Maggie had dated at times but hadn’t been involved with a man after her school days, until she met Max. Her past romances were essentially forgotten.

“Well, I don’t remember a whole lot about
him
, but the memory of shooting the guns lingers on,” Maggie retorted, feigning a warning look through squinted eyes. They shared a chuckle as Max wiped off any fingerprints with a hand towel and closed the safe. He allowed Maggie to locate, and give a second push on the button below the counter, which closed the concealing mirror section.

They then checked the rear entrance foyer which had the garage entry door to the left and a door to an outside enclosed patio on the right. As Max had been informed, there was a late-model Land Rover SUV parked inside the three-car garage. In addition to the SUV there was a black, tri-wheeled motorcycle with a small boat trailer attached to the rear. Hanging on a hoist cable above the trailer was a two-seat ‘Skidoo’ water jet.  Off to the side, a twin-seated ‘Snow Kat’ snowmobile was suspended, ready for loading onto the trailer during the next winter season.

   When back in the kitchen, Max opened his carry-on bag and retrieved an envelope from within.  Opening it, he took out a handful of Canadian currency bills for their use as needed during their stay.

“There’s no lack of varied transportation, that’s for sure!” Maggie commented.

“With the floatplane and motor launch in the boat house, and the garage full of rides, I’d say all bases were covered,” Max said, looking searchingly into her eyes. “And speaking of covered, did you notice an empty spare bedroom when you toured the upper deck?” he asked with a glint of good humor in his eyes. Max pulled his co-adventurer into a full body press, with his arms surrounding her waist.

“It so happens I did see four bedrooms. One has an en suite bath,” Maggie reported. “Would you like me to show you around?” she asked seductively, as a slight flush warmed her cheeks.

“Where you lead, I shall follow,” was Max’s reply, releasing her and bowing with a foolishly-corny Shakespearian flourish. Their mutual sense was that it was time to insert some much-needed one-on-one physical and emotional interaction into their business trip. They shared a long kiss and, with words being unnecessary, they strode up the stairway, discarding unneeded clothing items along the way.

The daytime sky was transforming to a glowing red sunset as Max drove the Land Rover across a single-lane causeway to the main peninsular of Halifax. They drove along on narrow, two-lane country roadway which ended on a city street following the directions to the subject property of their inspection assignment.  As they drove, Max recited to Maggie the phone conversation with the watchman at the Bickford Laboratory.

“I suggest that we take a quick look around the place and then find an eating place with a bar,” he recommended.

“That’s the second best suggestion you’ve made today,” she said, flashing her trademark after-hours smile, which Max adored.

The map route took them directly to the subject property within seven minutes.  A crushed seashell-covered parking area was off a laneway. Set on a tiny island, accessible across a thirty foot floating dock, the laboratory entrance was set into a slightly weather-beaten clapboard exterior facing the parking area. The three-sides of the opposite end of the gray, stucco-sided exterior bordered on the local ocean cove.  Max glanced down along the side of the structure as Maggie rang the main door buzzer.  The door opened and a late-middle-aged, uniformed watchman, stepped out to greet the strangers. He was a heavy-set man with slightly bowed legs and a dark-skinned Native Canadian Indian facial appearance. He carried a flashlight, a belt radio and had a baton hanging from a peace officers belt, but no further visible weaponry. After introducing themselves, Howard the watchman, escorted the inspectors through the various testing and examination labs and a small, three-tiered-seating lecture room. A beeper from his belt-holstered ‘walkie-talkie’ sounded and the watchman excused himself as he stepped away through a doorway to respond.  As muffled speech came from around the corner Max motioned to Maggie as he walked down a short hallway toward what was apparently going to be the next room to see. Max opened the thick door and was startled to see what appeared to be the skinned, gutted carcass of a large deer, or small moose, hanging by one of its hind legs from a chain hoist. Stale blood was splattered around the tiled floor. Feeling the cold air, they realized that the space was refrigerated.

“I’m sorry, that locked room is off limits!” Howard said loudly as he stepped in front of Maggie and Max, “You’ll have to let me show you the rest of the property.” He took Max firmly by the arm and ushered him, as he gestured to Maggie, out into the hallway, pulling the door closed as they left. Without further explanation he motioned them to follow as he walked them through the rest of the facility.

There was minimal conversation during the remaining tour of the facilities and Max, having thanked Howard for the tour, indicated that he would return around 8 AM on the next day, for measurements and video recording.

The two ‘investigators’ checked the map in the Land Rover and located a restaurant in the nearby city of Halifax.

After a few twists and turns the chosen destination had not been located but, in the process, a curbside café attracted Maggie’s attention. Max pulled to the curb in order to further investigate the possibilities for their evening meal.  They strolled back along a red brick sidewalk to the entrance and read the menu showing through the curtained front window of ‘Red Sally’s Café’.  Satisfied that the venue suited their needs, they entered the dimly lit, pub-style setting. A waitress, serving as hostess of the moment, seated them at a corner table off one end of a long, straight bar.

“I like this place Max, what do you think?” asked Maggie, expecting nothing more than complete agreement.

“It looks okay to me. I’m starved and real thirsty,” was Max’s response.

Vodka martinis were served and a mixed seafood platter for two was ordered.

“Is this adventure proving to be enjoyable so far?” Max asked, seeking Maggie’s reaction to the out-of-the-ordinary expedition they were involved in.

“An adventure, yes, interesting, yes,” Maggie answered. “But the enjoyment seems to be hiding behind the intrigue, Max. What was that thing in the laboratory freezer room and why did the watchman react that way? Was that other airplane really following us when we flew in?”

“Questions, questions, all the questions, I’ve had questions in my mind constantly since I became a USAP Partner, Mag,” Max admitted. “I wanted to listen, and learn, so that I could get up to speed with the group. I have learned a lot, but now I have questions about some of what I’ve learned, and there is nobody that I feel I can ask.”

“You sound like you’re in over your head, Max, and that isn’t like you,” Maggie confided. “Are you having second thoughts about the Partnership?”

The two puzzled over unanswered issues as they downed the meal and ordered a second round of drinks. To Max, the room seemed to get larger as he felt like he was shrinking into a corner. Maggie had left to go to the ladies room and he was scanning the crowd of diners wondering why she was gone so long.  A waitress-type woman dressed in what seemed to Max to be almost a disguise, came by and asked him, in a pigeon-English sort of accent, if he wanted her to do anything for him. He declined and she answered “Okay, sweetie” in that distinctive accent. Max heard a tingling, bell-sounding tone and felt as if he was being watched. It appeared that some sort of altar was being set up near the table where he and Maggie were seated.