Authors: Jinx Schwartz
Chapter 38
You cannot choose your battlefield, The Gods do that for you,
But you can plant a standard where a standard never flew.—Nathalia Crane
U.S. Coast Guard Cutter
Endeavor
: 0045hrs
.
What’s our speed now, Rich?” Captain Xavier asked, not looking up from a tome he was studying that covered International Maritime Laws and Regulations. Steaming into new territory, both figuratively and literally, Xavier was looking for something, anything, that might save his career when the caca hit the prop. He didn’t find it.
From their busy command center on the bridge, the two officers were delegating to, and observing, the men and women under their command. Under full battle alert for the first time since 9-11, the cutter was a beehive of activity and youthful excitement. For many of the Coasties, this was their first opportunity to put into practice hundreds of hours of rigorous training.
Hetta’s mayday droned over the ship’s radio, her voice growing scratchy with fatigue as she broadcasted the same message over and over. Only
HiJenks
’s coordinates changed.
“We’re making thirty knots, Cap’n, but this wind is really picking up, so we may have to slow down. Course, I guess
All Bidness
will, too.”
Xavier checked his monitor, watching as the computer triangulated
Endeavor’s
intercept with
HiJenks
. A timer ticked off the hours, minutes and seconds until estimated contact: two hours, four minutes, thirty-two seconds. Another display showed
All Bidness
’s estimated time to overtake
HiJenks
: one hour, forty-five minutes, five seconds. The figures didn't lie:
Endeavor
would be too late.
“Rich, can’t the snipes pour on more speed?”
“No sir, the chief engineer reports they’re getting all they can out of her. Blood out of a turnip and all that.”
“Damn. I was wondering if we could, or should, try to raise either
HiJenks
or
All Bidness
on the VHF.”
“It’d be a stretch from this distance. Besides, Cap’n, Hetta’s jamming channel sixteen with her mayday. Of course,
All Bidness
might have a scanner, and if it was turned on we can raise them on another frequency. And when we get closer we can turn up the wattage and override
HiJenks
’s signal on sixteen. Even then, Hetta won’t hear us unless she lets go of that transmit button.”
“Just as well, I guess. For now I think it best we keep
All Bidness
unaware of our presence. They’ll probably pick us up on radar, but can’t know who we are if we remain silent. Let’s keep ‘em in the dark. And speaking of, issue the order to darken ship. We don’t want to look like New York City steaming over the horizon.”
Within minutes
Endeavor
was blacked out to the outside world. Inside the darkened ship, Xavier stared at the drama unfolding on the screens before him. “Rich,” he said, pointing to a new blip, “what do you figure this is?”
Arrington looked where Xavier pointed, then checked his charts. “Can you believe we’re working from charts from the 1800s, with few updates? Oh, well, even accounting for the fact that charts can be a couple of miles off, there’s no rocks, small islands or the like anywhere near that skunk,” he said, using the naval term for an unidentified surface contact. Turning to a technician, he ordered, “Jones, designate that contact Skunk Alpha.”
Xavier watched the letter A appear below the blip. “He’s not moving, so he must be holding position against the wind and tide. He’s making no move to respond to the
HiJenks
mayday.”
“Could be a shrimper. Let’s keep an eye on him. I don’t want to start another Mexican American War by getting some Mexican vessel mixed up in the middle of what’s, so far, an American situation.”
“Maybe he’s just drifting in one of those weird currents they have here, and that’s what's holding him against the wind.”
“I hope he stays there. And I wish Hetta would let go of her death grip on that mic button.”
HiJenks
: 0100hrs.
“Hetta, give me the mic and take a break. You’re starting to sound like a frog.”
Hetta was startled from the mayday-mantra she’d been chanting for an hour. She let go of the mic key and shook her hand. “My finger’s are asleep. Let me get a drink of water and hit the toilet, then I’ll take over again.”
“No hurry. I’ve done all I can on the ham radio, so I’ll keep putting out the mayday on this one. While you’re below, get into your body suit and cover up with a lot of warm clothes. Bring me my suit, some warmies and a jacket, okay? Oh, where did we put those new blow up life jackets? We should put those on. When you come back up, get out our snorkeling equipment.”
Hetta eyed Jenks with suspicion. “Snorkeling equipment? Surely you jest, Jenks. If you think I’m going into that water,” she pointed outside, “at night, you’ve got another think coming. I’ve seen “Jaws”.
And
“The Creature from the Black Lagoon”. ”
Jenks smiled and shook his head as he watched Hetta tromp away, mumbling about sea monsters, and zigzagging as the boat rolled in a building beam sea. While he listened on channel sixteen for a minute, he checked the anemometer: 25 knots, gusting to 30. As he expected, he heard nothing on the radio, banged it with his fist, and then resumed the mayday call.
Why didn’t I fix this damned thing before we left?
Endeavor
: 0105 hrs
.
“Sir!
HiJenks
just stopped transmitting. Do you want me to try reaching them?” the radio operator asked.
Arrington and Xavier shared a glance, and Xavier nodded. “Tell them—” he began, but Jenks started transmitting again, precluding any chance they had of contact. “I guess we weren’t fast enough on the draw. Probably just as well. But if it happens again, identify yourself as
Endeavor
—just
Endeavor
—and tell them to change course towards us. That’s the best we can do for now.”
“Cap’n,” Arrington said, “we should be able to override the mayday on sixteen and contact
All Bidness
within the hour.”
“Good, but hold off. We may be forced to warn them off unless something changes, but I don’t want to give
All Bidness
a chance to turn up the horses. As it is, we’ll be fifteen minutes late to the finish gate. But we have a dark horse that
All Bidness
doesn’t.”
Arrington raised his eyebrows. “Big guns?”
“That’s right,” Xavier said grimly. “Prepare the main battery for action.”
HiJenks
: 0115 hrs
.
Hetta braced herself against the bathroom sink and splashed cold water on her face before rummaging into storage lockers for spandex suits, socks, and heavy sweaters. Under her own suit, she put on a turtleneck and two pairs of socks. From their diving equipment bag, she slipped on rubber booties, then stuffed Jenks’s dive boots, plus their gloves and fins, into a mesh bag. As she did so, her stomach flip-flopped at the idea of jumping into the dark waters of the Sea of Cortez. She added her dive knife.
Stepping back into the head for an Alka Seltzer, she caught sight of herself stuffed into the two-toned body suit, and black humor raised its ugly head. Jimmy Dean sausage meets Jaws in the Sea of Cortez.
San Carlos, Sonora: 0130 hrs.
“Nikki, please shine the light near my right hand,” Jaime whispered.
“Jaime, are we stealing this boat?” Nicole asked, nervously glancing around the quiet, dark marina.
“Not zactly. Let us just say we are re-stealing it. There,” he grunted, “now, hand me the gum.”
Nicole removed the gob of chewing gum she’d been jawing and slapped it into his open hand. “Hope you like Juicy Fruit,” she deadpanned.
“It will be perfect. As for this boat, it was stolen from a marina in San Diego a month ago.”
“San Diego? How on earth did it...she...get here? She looks awfully big—not to mention glaringly obvious—to hitch to a thief’s pickup.”
“Hold the light a little closer,
por favor
. Zactly. That’s probably why the thieves drove her here.”
“In the water? All the way from San Diego? You’re joking. Isn’t this a race boat?” Nicole asked, surveying the bright yellow Donzi offshore racer. “Jesus, all it needs is numbers.”
“The best we can figure out from the engine hour meter, this boat was taken down the Pacific side of the Baja, all the way to Cabo San Lucas, then up here.
Bananas
was never raced because she was stolen just hours after delivery by the dealer. Needless to say, the new owner is not happy and there is some kind of insurance dispute. Meanwhile,
Bananas
stays here in Mexico, under the protection of the police.” Jaime twisted two wires together.
“Who are now stealing her,” Nicole said dryly. “Did you get whoever heisted her from San Diego?” She leaned over to pinpoint the wires Jaime handled with an adroitness that bespoke a misspent youth. The engine roared to life.
“No,” he shouted over the noise. “The two guys approached a very surprised American vessel off the Pacific side of the Baja and asked where they could get fuel. Smelling a
ratón
, the Americans reported the sighting to the San Diego Coast Guard. After that, no one saw her again until
Bananas
showed up in San Carlos. We suspect she was somehow used for running drugs and then abandoned near Catch-22 Beach. You may throw off the lines.”
“Aye, aye, sir,” Nicole said, and threw him a salute.
“Holy shit, what was that?” Morrie grumped as coffee sloshed over the notepad on which he was writing updated coordinates for
HiJenks
.
“Some jerk in a yellow speed boat,” his wife said, sticking her head out the cockpit hatch. “Has to be doing at least twenty. Probably some drunk Mexican.”
Just outside the San Carlos Bay Harbor entrance, two elderly Mexican men were quietly bottom fishing from their small skiff when a yellow streak roared by within ten feet. The little boat, violently rocked by
Bananas
’ bow wave, shipped water over her gunwales.
“
Madre de Dios
, what was that?” one asked.
His friend shrugged. “Probably some drunk
Gringo
.”
All Bidness
: 0200 hrs
.
Pam pounded her fist. “This friggin’ radar! Gato, do something, I can’t see shit,”
“I am trying,” the young Mexican told her, punching push pad symbols on the sophisticated radar control panel. He had absolutely no idea what he was doing, but if the
peluda
wanted him to look like he did, he’d try. The radar screen suddenly cleared and Gato grinned with surprise, and for the
Gringa’s
benefit, smirked.
“Gato, you’re a genius. Hey, what are these?” Pam asked, pointing to three blips that were not
HiJenks
. Before Gato could answer, a fourth appeared in the edge of the screen.
“Fishing pangas,” he said with more self-assurance than he felt.
“Oh, okay. I’m going out on deck with Gibby. He says you should stay topside, on the bridge, so you and KiKi can keep a lookout. I’ll watch the radar from down here, and I’ll let you know if
HiJenks
changes course. But we should be able to see them soon enough in this moonlight.
Gato left and Pam glared at the VHF radio.
“Shut the hell up, Hetta.” She snapped off the radio.
Mexican Navy Vessel Matamoros: 0210 hrs.
Captain Ortega stared at his own radar screen, trying to figure out who was who.
HiJenks
was easy, since Hetta’s monotonous distress call gave updates of their location, and
All Bidness
was closing. But what, in the name of all the saints and the Virgin Mary, is that down south?
“Lieutenant, put out a call on channel nine. I want to find out who that is moving up from the south so fast. It can’t be one of our navy ships, it’s too big to be a fishing boat, and if it’s a private yacht, it’s a monster. Maybe it is one of the small cruise ships. Whoever they are, they seem to be headed straight for
HiJenks
, perhaps in response to the mayday. Try English first. Anything that big should have a scanner. Use high power.”