Once on the island they soon turned left on 345 and started doubling back to the south. A little while longer and they'd be in Wanchese, a town whose main businesses were fishing, seafood, boat building, and related maritime pursuits. Ketch didn't know his way around this town or this island very well, but his phone had a GPS app if he needed directions on the way back. It was getting later now and he was getting hungry - and so must the dog be, he realized. He hoped they'd reach their destination soon.
When they arrived in Wanchese they turned onto a street he didn't catch the name of, and Mick shortly pulled into the parking lot of a company called Tibbleson Construction. Ketch turned onto a nearby side street and parked his truck there.
"Jack, I'll be right back. You stay here," he told the dog as he rubbed its head. "I know you're hungry, me too. Be a good boy, and I'll get you something to eat soon."
He rolled the windows down halfway for the dog. Though he'd parked in the shade, he had to - it was later in the day, but it was still hot enough that it would be inhumane to lock the dog in the truck with no airflow. Hopefully he wouldn't start to bark; if he did, they might have to leave in a hurry - which put him in mind of his cell phone, which he took the time to silence before he got out of the truck.
He made his way back around the corner of the block on foot. He wasn't used to sneaking around like this, and he was nervous. Why hadn't he brought his binoculars with him? Then he wouldn't have to get as close to see what was going on. He decided he probably wouldn't make much of a detective after all.
Mick was pulling his truck around to the back of the building now. Ketch took a chance and followed on foot, his heart beating faster. He saw there was a dumpster back there not too far from the building, which could provide cover if he could reach it undetected. He took a chance and peeked around the corner of the building. There was Mick's truck, backed up to a loading dock, but no Mick; he must have gone inside. 'Tibbleson Construction' was again lettered on the wall above the open bay.
Okay, he thought, this obviously wasn't some girl's place - so he could leave now, right? He wasn't going to see what he'd perversely hoped to see here and his mission was a bust, so he should just stop being silly and go on back home. That would be the logical thing for him to do, wouldn't it? He chanced another quick peek and then sprinted for the dumpster. His heart pounding now, he steadied himself behind it and forced himself to breathe deeply.
There was some concrete rubble behind the dumpster, and Ketch discovered that he could see over the top if he stood on a piece of it. When he did, he saw Mick come out and jump down from the loading dock, still in apparent conversation with a good-looking blond woman who remained on the dock. Ketch could hear their voices, but he couldn't make out what they were saying.
Well, maybe there was something going on here after all. No, wait... Now another man was driving a forklift whose purpose appeared to be to transport large metal drums, probably 55-gallon drums from the looks of them. Ketch could see some writing on some of the drums and some official-looking stickers, and a skull-and-crossbones symbol on one of them. What was in the drums? Fuel? Some kind of solvent? Did Mick have a job that required something like that?
Ketch didn't know why, but his instincts told him he should take a picture. Isn't that what real detectives did, when they had to document the activities of some allegedly cheating spouse in a divorce case or whatever? Now that was truly silly, he told himself. This was not a game, and he was not a detective. A real detective probably wouldn't have brought his dog with him, he wryly reflected. He'd do well to just extricate himself from this potentially embarrassing situation and get the hell out of here.
Of course, just as with the binoculars, he hadn't brought his camera either - however, his phone could take pictures, and it even had a zoom feature. The quality wouldn't be great in the diminishing light, and he certainly couldn't use the flash nor get close enough for it to help anyway, but he could give it a try. He activated the phone's camera mode, remembered to make sure it wouldn't flash, positioned himself as best he could under the circumstances, and managed to get a shot of the loading dock and all three people over the top of the dumpster as the forklift was loading some of the drums onto the truck.
Okay, now that's it, he told himself. He looked around and saw that he could circle behind a neighboring building without being seen. He could then make his way back to his own truck from farther down the street.
He succeeded in doing this. The dog finally did bark at his approach, but Ketch quickly opened the passenger side door and shushed him. He let out a long breath, hugged the dog, and tried to calm both of them down. "It's okay boy, you're a good boy," he murmured into the dog's furry neck. He probably had to go by now, he thought. "Want to go out?" Ketch stood back and let the dog hop out of the truck. After the dog had relieved himself, Ketch helped him back in. "Okay, all done now," he said. "Let's go find something to eat."
He started the truck, turned it around, and began to proceed back the way he'd come - but at the intersection where he'd turned, he had to stop and wait as Mick's truck, the bed now weighed down by several steel drums, pulled out of the construction company's driveway ahead of him. It looked like Mick was alone. Ketch slumped in his seat so his face wouldn't be easily visible, then waited a bit before continuing on.
When he reached the 345 intersection he looked left before making his intended right turn, and happened to catch a glimpse of what looked like the back end of Mick's truck. Why would he be going that way, Ketch wondered? He'd assumed everyone would be heading home now, wherever home was. He debated internally for a moment, then turned left. What the hell, he'd come this far, might as well satisfy his curiosity one more time before calling it quits. Again, some instinct was telling him that he wouldn't be sorry; though the thinking part of his brain was trying to tell him otherwise.
And so they continued south on 345, Ketch again hanging back behind Mick as far as possible and refraining from using his headlights despite the gradually failing daylight. The road was now also called Mill Landing Road. Wanchese Harbor, a working commercial waterfront, was coming up on his left. They passed by the Fisherman's Wharf restaurant and soon thereafter the entrance to a fish processing plant, and then just kept on going, onto a section of the road that was now called Thicket Lump Drive. It seemed like this road might continue forever, or at least until it ran out of island.
When it was about to do just that, Ketch saw Mick's brake lights come on, and Mick's truck turned left at a fork. Ketch stopped and idled, wondering what he should do next. He could backtrack to a small marina they'd passed not too far back, park the truck there, and retrace this route on foot - but he'd have to leave the dog behind, and if he started barking that could again become a problem. He decided to chance taking the right fork and parking a little way down there. He probably wouldn't be noticed if he kept his lights off, and if Mick came back this way he'd be unlikely to take the same fork.
He reassured the dog again, again left the windows half-open, then started walking cautiously down the jog Mick had turned onto. He saw there was a narrow channel ahead on the right with a small wooden building and parking lot nearby. There was also a patch of maritime forest by the road; Ketch stepped into it and crept closer, moving from one salt-stunted live oak to another for cover and wishing he'd worn trousers instead of shorts. He at least had his ball cap on, but his exposed legs and forearms might get scratched up if he wasn't careful. He'd have to remember to inspect them later for ticks, which unfortunately were fairly common in this part of the country.
He could see now that there was a boat dock on the channel, behind the building. The building appeared to have been some kind of sightseeing cruise business at one time, but looked defunct now. Soon he could see a fishing boat tied up to the dock, and Mick's truck parked nearby. There were no more trees to hide behind, so he crept a little closer and crouched behind a dense clump of scrub where he could see the dock . He didn't dare proceed to the building; it
was too close to the dock. It was officially dusk now, so if he didn't move much he shouldn't be spotted - he hoped.
Though he knew he was taking chances, he didn't feel quite as foolish now as he had earlier; maybe his instincts had been right after all. It looked like Mick and another man, whose voices he could again hear but not always clearly, were preparing to transfer the drums from the truck to the boat. It didn't look like the boat had a winch or hoist, but it appeared they had wood planks and a drum caddy. They could tilt and roll the drums if they had to. It looked like they weren't open-top, but rather welded-top drums with bungholes.
Still, it looked like it would be a project. Ketch knew that a gallon of water weighed over eight pounds, so if those drums were full of water they'd weigh over four hundred pounds each. Maybe they weren't full, or maybe they contained a lighter liquid, or perhaps a powder of some kind. But they couldn't be light no matter what, and it would certainly be easier to do this at a commercial dock where they'd have better equipment to help them - but he doubted a legitimate harbormaster would approve of this particular activity. He'd initially wondered what these guys were doing here, but it hadn't taken him long to arrive at the obvious and odious conclusion.
Why would people transport drums containing apparently toxic materials by boat, when they could more easily be transported by truck? Because they were being shipped overseas, obviously inapplicable here given this kind of boat, or maybe for a project on an island that was only accessible by boat - but why do it at night, and at an out-of-the-way location like this, and with less than optimal gear? And as for this old fishing boat, there were regulations to be observed regarding the type of vessel to be used for transporting such materials.
This old fishing boat... Ketch squinted in the fading light and realized this boat looked familiar. And then one of the men's words floated up to him like a feather on the wind - "amigo". Yes, that was Mario down there with Mick; and that was Mario's boat; and they were going to illegally dump toxic waste at sea.
Indiscriminate ocean dumping of drums like these containing hazardous waste had been allowed at one time, but when it was learned the drums could corrode and disintegrate faster than had been thought, the practice was halted, at least in civilized parts of the world. Especially when dumped on the continental shelf or in shallow seas, it was understood that this kind of pollution could easily contaminate fish and shellfish harvested for human consumption.
But money talks, as they say, and Ketch supposed this was one way to make some when you were down and out; and though it was utterly abhorrent to him, they probably had few if any qualms about doing it, other than worrying about getting caught. And with all the environmental regulations in place today, doing it this way was undoubtedly less expensive for the company than doing it the right way would be.
Unbelievable... Mick's involvement didn't surprise him, but he'd thought Mario was more ethical than this. Granted that might seem incongruous to some, given Mario's lifestyle; but though it might not appear to make sense, to Ketch there was a distinction between being an outlaw and being a criminal - especially an environmental criminal, which to him was one of the worst kinds of all.
The oceans were not limitless, as many people seemed to believe, and there would eventually be far-reaching consequences if people didn't stop polluting them - and soon. In addition to contamination of seafood, there was the seawater itself to consider. Ketch had read that this state was one of those that didn't regularly monitor water quality at its beaches; well, they'd have to when people started getting sick, as he knew had happened from time to time at some of the beaches in New York and New Jersey.
And what about the myriad other creatures that didn't have the option of leaving the water? There was legislation nowadays, to be sure, but it never seemed to be enough, as evidenced here tonight. There were sea turtles now with fibropapilloma tumors; fish with ulcers; coral reefs dying from bleaching and black band disease; and shellfish, numerous bottom dwelling organisms, and seabirds poisoned by algal blooms. A huge garbage patch had been discovered floating in the middle of the Pacific, consisting of particles of pelagic plastics, chemical sludge, and other debris trapped by the currents of the North Pacific Gyre; estimates of its size ranged from a quarter million square miles to over five million.
Marine mammals were also being impacted, including dolphins, which Ketch personally admired more than the vast majority of people he'd ever known. Chemicals, sewage, nuclear waste, lack of food due to overfishing, all were starting to take their toll. Several massive die-offs, each numbering in the thousands, had occurred in recent years. The populations of harbor seals in Europe, bottlenose dolphins in the Gulf of Mexico, and striped dolphins in the Mediterranean had been dramatically reduced. And some years ago over half of the bottlenoses on the East Coast had been killed by some kind of bacterial infection. Where would it all end?
Extinction, that was where. And when the seas and the rain forests are dead, mankind will soon follow. We may be among the last to go, Ketch thought, but go we surely will. Mother Earth will inevitably assert her regulatory powers and right the wrongs just as she always has, and she'll expunge us without a second thought.
Red-faced now and dangerously stimulated, Ketch's first instinct was to jump up, run down there, and stop them - but fortunately his thinking brain overruled the instinct this time. Mario might possibly listen to reason and Ketch believed he wasn't a violent man, but who knew what Mick might do? Maybe he was being overly dramatic, but he decided it would be wise to not risk ending up in the hospital, or worse yet wherever those drums were going. Maybe he could call the Coast Guard later, after he'd gotten safely away from here.
So he maintained his position and fished his phone out again. Despite the poor lighting, he got a zoomed shot that would be unacceptable to a serious photographer but did clearly show what was happening. Then he quietly retreated back up the road and returned to his truck.
A couple of short barks ensued at his arrival, but that was probably okay since those two down the road would be occupied for a while and there'd be no lollygagging on his part this time. He started the truck and turned it around as quietly as possible and drove, again with the lights off for now.
He wished he knew where that boat would be going. Maybe if he'd gotten closer and stayed longer and listened harder... But Mick and Mario might not have a firm destination in mind anyway. They might just motor out a ways and do the deed wherever it felt 'right'. He thought again about alerting the Coast Guard, but he couldn't provide a course or destination. They wouldn't be foolish enough to jettison the drums in the shallow sound, right? Probably not; Mario at least should know better than that - unless he knew of a deeper hole. But they'd most likely head out to the Atlantic through Oregon Inlet, and with their running lights off - another reason it would be difficult for anyone to find them. And if he could convince the Coast Guard to mobilize, it would take time (it wouldn't take them that long to load those drums), and by then it would be too late to intercept them in the inlet, and maybe too late as well to catch them before they dumped, which would be a waste of everyone's time. If only he knew for sure where they were going...
Well, he couldn't know where they were going right now - but he thought of a way he might be able to later find out where they'd been. He couldn't try that until tomorrow, though; but with any luck he'd then have all the information he and the Coast Guard would need.
Assuming of course that he was right about what they were doing. Though Ketch considered it highly unlikely, it was possible that there was a perfectly innocent explanation for what he was seeing, one that wasn't occurring to him for some reason; in which case he'd only embarrass himself at best, and unnecessarily kill a friendship and make an enemy at worst, by reporting them without cause. Another good reason to wait until he'd gathered more evidence.
Okay then - he had a plan. Meanwhile, his stomach was rumbling, which was not surprising since he'd eaten nothing since his meager brunch earlier in
the day. It would soon be full dark and he was famished - and the dog as well, he imagined. He needed to find them both something to eat.
~ ~ ~
9. Each time was new, and he didn't think about the past.
Ketch pulled into the parking lot at Fisherman's Wharf and parked as far from both the road and the building as possible. Granted it was a weeknight, but during the season places like this usually stayed open later to cater to the tourist trade, and the lights were still on here. He figured that although this was a full-service restaurant and not a fast-food joint, he should still be able to get some kind of quick takeout. If they kept driving there'd be some other options in Wanchese proper, around the Junction, and then in Rodanthe, but he didn't know their hours; and they were here now and they were hungry.
He let the dog out for a couple of minutes to give him a chance to stretch and relieve himself, then helped him clamber reluctantly back up into the truck. "This is a restaurant. I'll get us some supper. Be good, and I'll be right back," he said. "And be quiet." He left the dog behind once more and headed across the parking lot.
He reasoned it should be safe to take a short dinner break here. Mick and Mario should be occupied for some time with loading the drums, and then with driving the boat to wherever they were going and back again. In the unlikely event only one of them took the boat out, it would be Mario, and in that case even if Mick stopped here Ketch doubted he'd be recognized, especially without his beard. So there was no need for undue haste now - except that he did sincerely want to get home.
Home... Wonder where that'll end up being when all's said and done, he thought. He turned to look back at the dog, who was tracking Ketch's progress with sad eyes. Dogs were indeed the most loyal of friends. Though he wasn't in a joking mood, an old one popped into his head - if you don't believe a dog is man's best friend, lock your dog and your wife in the trunk of your car for an hour, and then observe which one's glad to see you when you let them out. And here he was dragging the poor creature with him all over the Banks.
Port Starbird (Storm Ketchum Adventures) Page 10
