by Cap Daniels
“It’s certainly not in our way, Chase. You’re welcome to stay as long as you’d like. Although I do have an unexpected and perhaps bizarre request.”
I was intrigued. “What is it, Jack?”
“Well,” he said, “I have a couple staying with us who spotted your boat and asked if it was available for a day charter. They want to have a day on the water and were quite taken with your boat. Is that something you and Ana would consider while you’re here?”
Hearing the alias Anya had been given hurt as bad as hearing her real name, but I kept my composure. “I’ve not really thought about that, Jack. Do they want me to take them sailing, or do they want to rent the boat without a captain?”
Jack said, “Oh, I’m sorry, Chase. I wasn’t clear. They definitely want you to take them out for the day. Perhaps they’d enjoy a trip down to Cumberland Island and back. We can have the kitchen prepare a lunch for them, and of course, we’d compensate you for your time and for the use of your spectacular vessel.”
“I don’t know, Jack. I’ve had a tough few days. Let me give it some thought and I’ll let you know in the morning. Is that all right?”
“Of course, that’s fine. Enjoy your lunch. Have anything you’d like. It’s on me. I’ll call the dining room and let them know. Will it be just you and Ana?”
“No,” I said. “Anya, I mean Ana, isn’t with me this time. It’s me and a couple of friends.”
“Oh? Well, in that case, lunch for three. My treat. I’ll talk with you in the morning. Goodbye.”
I’d learned Clark wasn’t the type to ask a lot of questions. He did a lot of observing, but not much talking. That was one of the things I liked about him. However, my conversation must have breached his limit for simply listening.
“I’m sorry to pry, but what was that all about?” He wrinkled his brow.
“I’m not sure. Jack Ford, the manager, told me a couple staying in the hotel wants to charter my boat for a day and have me take them sailing down to Cumberland Island. I don’t know why, but it doesn’t feel right. What do you think?”
“Is that typical in a place like this?” Clark asked.
“I don’t know. I haven’t spent much time in places like this, but it didn’t seem to surprise Jack. It’s not cheap to stay here, so I suspect the guests are accustomed to getting whatever they want.”
“I don’t know. It sounds pretty harmless. Maybe it’s just some rich people doing rich people stuff,” he said.
“Maybe you’re right, but it feels funny to me.”
The hostess seated us at a table next to a window with a view into Heaven. We admired the manicured gardens billowing with every imaginable flower. It was the best seat in the house. If Jack Ford treated all of his customers the way he treated me, they’d be life-long clients. A meal at the Jekyll Island Club, as I had come to understand and appreciate, was never merely a meal. It was a dining experience in a magical place where time stood still.
As we finished up, Skipper wiped her mouth with the corner of a white linen napkin. “So, can we go see the boat now?”
“Absolutely. It’s a short walk across the street to the dock.”
The waiter informed us that our lunch had been compliments of Mr. Ford. I thanked him and left him a more than generous tip.
We made our way to the dock and found the boat exactly where she’d been when I’d last seen her.
I motioned toward the big white catamaran. “There she is.”
Skipper’s eyes gleamed. “Is that really yours?”
“It really is,” I said. “And now, at least for a while, it’s your home, too.”
She ran ahead and stood beside the boat, looking up at the rigging. She truly was a stunning boat. I was even having trouble believing she was mine.
“Can I get on?” she asked.
“Of course you can. I told you it’s your home now. You don’t have to ask to go in your own house.”
She climbed onto the port side hull and then leapt down into the cockpit and stood behind the wheel. She must’ve been imagining what it would feel like to pilot such a boat. I’d soon make sure she knew how that felt.
She slid open the door to the main salon and peeked in. “Wow,” she whispered.
I followed her inside as she explored the interior spaces.
“Where will I sleep?”
“You’ll sleep in the port side forward cabin,” I told her. “That’s the left side of the boat and all the way at the front. My cabin is on the starboard side. We each have our own bathroom and personal space. I won’t come on your side without your permission unless I have a good reason, like plugging a hole in the boat.”
“It’s your boat, Chase. You don’t need my permission to go anywhere you want on your own boat.”
“As I told you earlier, this is your home now. I’ll respect your privacy and you’ll respect mine. That’s the only way two people can live together and not grow to hate each other—especially on a boat.”
“Whatever you say, but it’s still your boat.”
When she was satisfied she’d seen every inch of the interior, she headed back out on deck and found the trampoline at the bow. “Is that a trampoline?”
“Well, yes it is, but not the jumping kind. It’s for relaxing and watching the dolphins play beneath the boat.”
That answer seemed to please her. We sat together on the trampoline and watched birds floating overhead and the occasional boat passing on the Intracoastal Waterway.
She bit at her lip. “I don’t really know how to say this, but I need to talk to you about something.”
I’d been dreading this conversation since learning what kind of life Skipper had been forced to live. I’d tried to mentally prepare myself for what was coming, and I’d practiced what I’d say when she finally got around to telling me how bad it was.
“It’s okay, Skipper. You can tell me anything. I’ll listen, and I promise to be nonjudgmental.”
She appeared to be embarrassed. “I only have a couple changes of clothes and I don’t have any money at all. I don’t know what to do.”
I was relieved. “There’s no need to worry about that. I have some money, and there are plenty of great shops here on the island where you can find practically anything you want to wear. Life on the boat is pretty simple. We won’t spend much time worrying about our wardrobe.”
She smiled and closed her eyes, basking in the afternoon sun and enjoying the freedom of her new life. I wondered how the bratty little girl I’d known years before had become the bright, articulate young woman sitting before me. There had been such a tumultuous and unthinkable transition between those times of her life.
If her apparent strength was just an act, I’d see through it in a matter of days, but if she actually possessed such strength deep in her soul, if she were truly a survivor, she would be unstoppable.
I was thankful I had the skills to snatch her back from the brink of destruction in south Florida. But I feared that having her near me, entangled in the life I led and exposed to the dangers I faced, might deliver her back into the unthinkable jaws of peril she’d never see coming.
19
Freight Trains on Main Street
Skipper’s breath become deep and steady as she drifted off to sleep on the trampoline. I crept away, hoping not to wake her. She’d been through more than most people could survive, and far more than anyone deserved. I didn’t want to imagine the horrors she’d endured, the fears she’d known, and the loneliness she must’ve experienced. She deserved the sleep and peace I hoped I could help restore to her life.
While she slept, Clark and I had a cocktail on the stern deck and enjoyed the beautiful afternoon. I had a headful of questions for him but didn’t know if it was against protocol to ask. I tried some verbal covert ops to avoid coming right out and asking him what I wanted to know.
“So, do you ever miss the army?” I asked.
“I miss the camaraderie and esprit de corps, but I like what I’m doing
now.”
“Okay,” I said, “you’re obviously not going to let me coerce it out of you, so how long have you been a civilian operator like me?”
He studied his half-empty glass. “I’m not like you. I’m nothing like you, in fact. You’re a scalpel, a precise tool for slicing out cancer hiding behind healthy flesh. I’m a club—a splinter-filled wooden stick. I’m not cut out to be subtle. I kick down doors and knock heads together. I’m a knuckle dragger. Some of us sneak into Cuba and kill one man. Others, we drive a freight train down Main Street and kill everybody in sight. The world needs us both.”
That was a nice speech, but he still hadn’t answered my question.
I said, “You’re more of a scalpel than you’ll admit. You’ve heard me ask twice how long you’ve been doing this, and you’ve skillfully carved a path around an answer both times.”
He laughed. “I arrived at The Ranch about three weeks before you left. I didn’t have to be taught to shoot or fight, so my training was somewhat abbreviated. I’ve been off The Ranch and in the field less than a year.”
“I guess your Special Forces background comes in handy,” I said. “I’m envious of that experience and training. I’ve never been in the military. They plucked me right out of college. I think guys like you have a huge advantage over people like me. I think I could learn a lot from you.”
He poured us each another drink, and said, “I’ve watched your tactics for a few days, and I can’t think of a single thing I’d have done differently.”
I thought back over what we’d done together and watched it play out like a movie reel in my head. “I probably shouldn’t have killed Micky.”
“Bullshit!” he said. “You did everything right that night. That thing you pulled with making Doc out to be the son of one of the Russian mafia kingpins was one of the most brilliant improvisations I’ve ever seen. That piece of crap deserved a pair of bullets in his head. He would’ve put two in your skull if he’d had the chance. You’ve got to get those thoughts out of your head, man. You were presented with a target, and you walked through that target. Don’t look back. This is in your blood, dude. Don’t start doubting yourself.”
“How can you say I did everything right? I got Anya killed.”
“Yeah, we lost an operator, and it sucks,” he said, “but it won’t be the last one. I promise you that. I also promise if you do this long enough, it’ll be you in a body bag sooner or later. We don’t live forever in this game. Anya, or Ana, whatever her name was, undeniably meant more to you than just a partner, and that makes it worse. But if you kick yourself in the ass every time somebody doesn’t come back from an op, it won’t take long ’til you lose your nerve and start second-guessing everything.”
I closed my eyes. “Her name was Anastasia Burinkova. She wanted to be called Anya, and when she defected, her documents came with the name Ana Fulton. She was an SVR officer when I first met her, but she defected not long ago and helped me finish the Suslik job. I was in love with her. I know that’s against all the rules, but rules don’t stop some things.”
With uncertainty in his eyes, he asked, “Are you telling me that you flipped a Russian agent and talked her into defecting?”
“No, that’s not exactly what happened. I didn’t really have much to do with it. We fell in love and it just happened, but it gets weirder than that. She was actually Dr. Richter’s daughter from an affair with her mother who was KGB at the time. It’s a long, convoluted story that’s almost impossible to believe.”
I took another drink and closed my eyes. “There’s more, Clark.”
He lifted his eyebrows.
“She told me that she and the SVR knew about my family.”
“What? How could she know anything about your family?”
“I don’t know, but she swore to me that she’d tell me everything as soon as Skipper was safe. I never gave her that chance. Now I’ll never know what she would’ve told me, and there’s nothing I’ll ever want more than to know the truth of what happened to my family.”
“I don’t know, Chase. Something about that doesn’t smell right to me. But I am really sorry you lost her. I know it sucks, and it’s going take a while to get through it.”
“Thanks. You’re right, it does suck, and I don’t know if I’ll ever get past it completely.”
We sat in silence, and I believed we were both reliving the moments in our lives when we’d lost people we loved. Mine had been limited to my mother, father, and sister, and now Anya. I couldn’t imagine how many times he must’ve watched his fellow soldiers fall beside him. I wondered if it would ever get easier to endure such tragedy.
“So,” he said, “are you going to do the charter for the rich folks?”
“I don’t know. I’m not a charter captain, and this isn’t a commercial vessel. I’m not sure I want to get wrapped up in that kind of thing.”
“What kind of thing?” he asked. “It’s you taking a couple of rich people sailing as a favor to the guy who let you keep your boat here, rent free, and who bought us a pretty terrific lunch.”
“I guess you’re right. What’s the harm? I’ll call him in the morning and let him know I’ll do it. I hate to ask you, but maybe you could hang out with Skipper for the day while I take them out.”
“I’d love to,” he said, “but I have to get back to work. I have a mission, so I’m blowing town in the morning. If I were you, I’d put her in a cute little sundress and have her serving cocktails and hors d’oeuvres. She might even get a nice tip at the end of the day.”
“A mission?” I asked.
“Yeah, I’ve been tasked to go back to the Middle East and kick in some doors. The intel pukes have been picking up chatter about some Arabs planning some sort of big attack on the U.S. later this year. I’m not privy to the intel. I just go where I’m told to go and shoot who I’m told to shoot.”
He obviously wasn’t going to volunteer any details.
“Keep your head down and your powder dry,” I said.
“You know I will, brother.”
When the sun began to set, I thought Skipper might want to watch it, so I woke her up and invited her to join us.
She stretched. “How long have I been asleep?”
“A few hours,” I said. “You needed the rest. We’re watching the sunset and thought you might like to join us.”
“Yeah, I’d like that.”
We sat on the cushions and stared off into the western sky, watching the orange orb disappear behind the mangroves and sawgrass. The sky bloomed with vivid and breathtaking reds, purples, and oranges. I wished Anya could’ve seen it.
“Elizabeth, what’s your favorite food?” Clark said, out of the blue.
“Pizza!”
“Great! Mine, too. I know a great pizza place not far away. How about you and I go grab a pizza while Chase gets ready for the charter tomorrow?”
“Wait, what charter?” she asked.
“That’s a great idea,” I said, “I have plenty to do on the boat. Bring me back a slice.”
“Will do.” Clark grabbed Skipper’s hand and headed off down the dock.
I didn’t know what the pizza date was all about, but I was looking forward to spending a little time alone and gathering my thoughts. There was nothing I could do to make the boat more charter-ready, so I had a couple of hours to relax and reflect.
I remembered the first time I visited that island and met the characters who talked me into becoming what I am. I’d smoked my first cigar and drank my first glass of anything that cost more than four bucks.
I strolled to the hotel and found the old marble-top table where Dr. Richter, Ace, Beater, Tuner, and I had sat that day. I ordered up a twenty-year-old scotch and the best cigar they had in the humidor. Watching the ice melt in my scotch and the plume of white smoke encircle my head, memories of that day, and every day since, engulfed me and made me glad I’d become part of something meaningful.
I doubted I’d ever become a historical f
igure like the four men I was remembering. Tuner developed the science of acoustic signature detection. Ace had been one of the great fighter pilots. Beater had interrogated more prisoners than anyone in history and taught those skills to hordes of future interrogators. And Dr. “Rocket” Richter had been instrumental alongside Chuck Yeager in breaking the sound barrier in manned flight. So far, I’d thrown away a promising professional baseball career by being arrogant and believing I could block home plate and overcome the inertia of a charging baserunner. I’d chopped up a Russian assassin and helped kill and send his brother to the bottom of the Atlantic Ocean from my beloved sailboat Aegis. I’d found and rescued a nineteen-year-old girl from the hands of pimps and pornographers in south Florida and managed to get the woman I loved killed in that operation.
I doubted any of my accomplishments would become influential world history. Maybe I’d make a difference at some point along the way. Perhaps patience would pave my way into immortality like my recruiters. If I couldn’t play ball, at least I could drink old scotch, smoke great cigars, and perhaps save the world one mission at a time. My concerns and doubts about my potential impact on history would turn out to be the ignorance of innocence. In the years to come, I would have history fall into my lap on far too many occasions to count, and I’d be saddled with the awesome responsibility of ridding humanity of evils before they were allowed to surface. I’d never asked for that responsibility, but I would never turn my back on it, or the people who depended on me, and I’d keep them safe in their comfortable world of oblivion.
20
Just Chase
When I returned to the boat after my scotch- and cigar-infused stroll down memory lane, I found Skipper sound asleep in her cabin. I’d broken my promise to not invade her privacy in the portside hull, but felt justified in doing so to make sure she was safe and secure. I also found a small cardboard box with two slices of pizza in the refrigerator. On the inside of the lid, I read “I’ll be your wingman anytime.” I appreciated the sentiment and Clark’s obvious homage to Top Gun.
