by Aiden James
“We’re in Mobile, then. Right?” said Jeremy, studying the sites along the roadway.
“That’s correct son. At the moment we’re heading to the southern end of Blakely Island.”
“So, what kind of boat are we talking about?” Jeremy asked.
“A canoe, which should give you both plenty of exercise.”
“I’m serious, Grandpa!”
“Just kidding, son,” said Marshall, chuckling at his eldest grandson’s irritation. “Uncle Monty and I purchased a fishing boat three years ago, after we got hooked on the idea the previous summer. Don’t you remember the trip we decided to take together right before your Aunt Martha took sick?”
“I remember,” said Jack. “That was right after I graduated from St. Andrews.”
“The same summer I did my undergraduate summer internship in Amsterdam, wasn’t it?” asked Jeremy.
“I believe it was,” said Marshall. “Anyway, after Martha passed away the following January, Monty and I decided we would go in together and buy a boat, which we did the following June. We’ve taken frequent fishing trips out into the Gulf ever since, although we’ve had to go further out to sea since the BP disaster.”
“So, where’s this boat now?” asked Jack, searching the nearby coastline as Marshall veered onto South Marina Parkway.
The road led directly to a large marina on the banks of the Mobile River. For the first time that morning, they saw the police dragnet the news report said should be everywhere around them.
“Shit!” hissed Jeremy, once he saw the blue and white cruisers parked a quarter of a mile ahead.
Several other vehicles were parked nearby that either belonged to plainclothes officers or agents from the FBI, or ABI. Marshall slowed down and allowed another vehicle to pass him. He then made a u-turn and left the area, hoping none of the officers near the marina came after them.
“Before anyone panics, I’ve got an idea,” he said, and swung the vehicle into a near-deserted picnic area next to the marina.
At the moment, the area seemed free of any police surveillance. He parked quickly and cut the engine. Waiting to make sure no one followed them from the roadblock, he turned to face his grandsons.
“Since it appears we can’t drive much closer, we’ll have to try this on foot,” he said. “From where we’re sitting, our boat is less than half a mile away. Other than the police, the only thing I’m worried about now is some folks in Kmart talked about a few boats thrown up against the shore of Polecat Bay. I hope the marinas on the Mobile River side of the island weren’t so affected by the weather.”
He paused to reconfirm they weren’t under surveillance.
“Perhaps only the main roads have been blocked by the police. If so, we might be able to make it to the boat on foot—but obviously not as a group of three. You two can’t be seen together.”
“You and Jackie should go first and I’ll follow you,” suggested Jeremy.
“No, son. I don’t think that’ll work,” said Marshall. “Even if you follow us at a safe distance, someone might notice your presence and make the connection between you both. My thinking might only be slightly better, and more time consuming, but I believe if I take one of you first and then come back for the other, we might just make it out of here.”
Jeremy and Jack silently considered his suggestion. Since neither one voiced a better option, and unwise to hang around in the picnic area much longer, they told him they would follow his lead.
“All right. I’ll take Jack first,” he said. “And we’ll take a few of these bags with us. When I come back for you, Jeremy, we’ll see if we can grab the rest of the clothes, or at least most of what’s left.”
He had Jeremy hand him a few bags and then gave Jack a sun hat and a pair of sunglasses to wear.
“Thank God we’re planning on being out on the water, or I might’ve forgotten to buy stuff like this,” said Marshall, frowning, perhaps at the prospect of not actually reaching the Gulf should his plan fail. “Let’s get going, Jack. I should be back for you, Jeremy, in the next fifteen minutes, but don’t panic unless I’m not back here in thirty.”
They stepped out of the Escalade and walked over to the marina, moving at an easy pace. When they reached the marina, most of the police officers and agents were gathered near the parking lot entrances, just as Marshall had hoped. But a few plainclothes men and women walked along the piers, seemingly on the lookout for anything suspicious.
“Here goes nothing!” he whispered.
The two moved out from the edge of the picnic area and crossed the parking lot to the pier where the boat should be. One of the women looked over and seemed on the verge of accosting them. But once Marshall smiled and offered a friendly wave, she turned her attention away from them. None of the other men or the woman’s female companion appeared to notice their presence.
“So far, so good!”
Marshall winked at Jack, who started to board a small boat docked nearby.
“Oh no, son! That’s not our boat,” he said, and then pointed to a forty-foot yacht next to it. “Here she is, and right where we last left her!”
“You’ve got to be fucking kidding!” said Jack, not believing his eyes. “You’re really splurging to rent a ship like that, don’t you think?”
“Jack, I’m not renting it. Like I told you boys earlier, Monty and I bought it. He and I own this beauty!”
“No shit??”
“Yep!”
Marshall led the way on board the Carver Motor Yacht, which survived the storm system with just a few scratches. Once he unlocked the cabin door and they stepped down into the salon, he motioned for Jack to take a seat on the leather sectional.
“I’d tell you to go ahead and turn on the television, but I’d prefer you wait until I get back with your brother,” he said. He motioned to the large plasma TV across the room from the couch.
“I can do that,” said Jack, still trying to get over the fact his grandfather and uncle were owners of a yacht.
Despite being fairly wealthy, Uncle Monty’s reputation as a tight-wad made the purchase of something this extravagant a major miracle in the man’s life. The only other time he had splurged on anything was when Jack’s late Aunt Martha talked Monty into purchasing their sprawling home in Tuscaloosa twenty-five years earlier.
“‘See you in a few!”
***
Marshall left the yacht and Jack had the entire vessel to himself. Since it would be another fifteen to twenty minutes before his grandfather returned with Jeremy, he decided to take a look around. The spacious salon and kitchen area were outfitted with expensive upgrades. The paneled walls and cabinetry made from the finest cherry, two rings of lightly tinted windows illuminated both sections from above.
To the left of the kitchen sat the main head, or bathroom, next to a large stateroom beneath the yacht’s flybridge. Jack returned to the salon, moving to the other end of the boat where a small stairway led down into the master stateroom. Again, the boat’s opulence surprised him. Uncomfortable investigating any further, he returned to the salon’s sectional to await Marshall and Jeremy’s arrival.
He started to worry when they hadn’t arrived within twenty minutes. But just as he prepared to leave the yacht to look for them, Jeremy and Marshall scurried onto the vessel.
“Both of you get below deck in my room!” Marshall ordered, motioning to the master stateroom. “Come on, boys, get a move on it!”
Once they disappeared into the room, he headed for the flybridge with the yacht’s ignition key in hand.
“What’s going on?” asked Jack, as soon as Jeremy closed the stateroom’s door.
“Probably nothing, but a couple of chicks started running toward our pier just as we reached the boat,” he told him. “Can you believe this thing?”
“Yeah, it’s pretty cool, but what about the women?” said Jack. “One of them watched us when Grandpa and I first got here. Did anyone else look like they were onto you?”
&n
bsp; “‘You mean the dudes out there?”
“Yes. Three or four searched the area along with the females.”
“I don’t think so, but who knows. The chicks might’ve alerted them by now—hey, it feels like we’re moving!”
The yacht pulled away from the pier and into the Mobile River’s main flow, heading to Mobile Bay.
“If we don’t suddenly stop then I suppose all is well,’ said Jack.
“That would be my guess,” agreed Jeremy, studying the smaller plasma TV that hung down from the ceiling and the Bose speakers throughout the room. “Geez… can you believe this shit, Jackie? Grandpa and Uncle Monty must’ve really dug deep inside their pockets for this.”
“You’ve got to believe Uncle Monty paid the bulk of it.”
“Yeah, but knowing Grandpa, I’m sure he paid as much as he could manage in order to help out. I’ll bet the wood used in here is solid cherry too!”
Like Jack, Jeremy could only shake his head in wonder at the fact their grandfather was the proud owner of something like this—especially when neither expected anything more than a small fishing boat with a big enough motor to effectively pull a pair of water skis behind it.
Jack found their fascination ironic, especially when compared to the far greater lavishness they encountered in Dr. Quard-e-Lazim’s house and basement, and the luxurious castle of the Essenes.
The yacht’s motor stopped. He and Jeremy looked at each other, fearing what this might mean. After openly debating whether or not to leave the stateroom, they decided to look for a hiding place inside the room. But the expert use of space left nothing available to conceal their presence. Without a better option, they stood on either side of the stateroom door and waited for whatever came next.
The wait agonizing, they pressed their ears against the stateroom’s paneled walls to hear what went on outside the room. For the moment, they heard nothing and prayed that Marshall hadn’t been arrested and escorted from the boat. Worse yet, they worried he might’ve actually experienced the heart attack Jack feared earlier.
As they prepared to investigate, the yacht crept forward, and regained its previous speed when it reached Mobile Bay. When they peeked through the stateroom’s windows, the area seemed clear, though they noticed a police boat had detained a smaller boat behind them.
“Are you ready?” whispered Jeremy, motioning at the door. “I’m taking my chances, bro, and hope you’re coming with me!”
He stepped out onto the small stairway that led back up to the salon. Jack followed him and the two moved into the kitchen where they could see up onto the flybridge. Marshall was very much alive and well, and alone. To their left sat the city of Mobile and McDuffie Island, and to their right a pair of buoys marking the hazardous waters still being cleaned of Deepwater Horizon’s toxic gift from two summers prior. But, in front of them lay only the Gulf of Mexico’s vast emptiness.
Marshall noticed his grandsons watching him from the boat’s kitchen. After a cautious glance around him, he left the flybridge and stepped back inside the cabin.
“Hopefully, that’s the last of our troubles,” he said. “For a moment there, I thought we might be in a world of shit! Fortunately, the cops only searched three boats out of the five detained. It might’ve helped when I switched hats and put on Monty’s windbreaker, and removed my sunglasses.”
“I bet the chicks put them on to us, Grandpa,” said Jeremy.
“Oh, I’m pretty sure they did,” he agreed. “But, I’d be willing to also bet the police figured you boys would hide out in a smaller boat than this one. One of the women who followed us, and who almost approached me and Jack earlier, probably didn’t get a good look at which boat we disappeared into. I mean, why else would they let us pass through without a thorough search?”
“‘Makes sense to me, Grandpa,” said Jack. “So, when are you planning to tell us where we’re going?”
“Well, I guess now is as good a time as any,” he said. “We’re going to a place called Cameril.”
“Cameril?”
Jeremy and Jack looked at each other. Just like old times they’d voiced a question to him in unison.
“Where in the hell’s that?” asked Jeremy.
“Mexico,” Marshall replied. “It’s a village located in a small cove hidden from the rest of the Gulf, near the northern edge of Vera Cruz and just south of Tampico. Monty and I found it by accident two summers ago, and we fell in love with the place, especially the people. We’ve been studying Spanish since then, and thought it’d be a nice place to finish out our days on this earth. I mean, the cove’s water is the bluest I’ve ever seen, and crystal clear too! It’s one of the few places touching the Gulf that escaped any damage from the oil spill. White sand beaches and a temperature that’s almost always around seventy five degrees…. I’d have to say it’s the closest thing to paradise I’ve ever seen in this world. Monty intends to join us there once things calm down a bit in Tuscaloosa.”
“So, I take it he knows we’re here now?” asked Jack.
“Yes, he does. I approached him with the idea of us all leaving the country last week, when I started getting threatening phone calls again.”
“What?? You never said anything about that when I visited you last Sunday!” Jeremy moved over to where Marshall presently stood, by the dinette booth. Irritated. “If I’d known about that, those bastards wouldn’t have been able to sneak up on me like they did the next day!”
“Are you so sure this information would’ve made things better?” asked Marshall, calm despite his grandson’s agitation. “From what you told me earlier, they might’ve succeeded in ending yours and Jack’s lives without their element of surprise to keep you from getting into worse trouble with your mouth!”
He eyed him knowingly, as if to remind him how costly some of his previous verbal indiscretions had been.
“How long will it take to get there, to this place called Cameril, Grandpa?” asked Jack, eager to change the conversation back to the subject of their destination.
“At our present rate? Probably by tomorrow afternoon, unless ya’ll would like to get there sooner,” he said, turning to face Jack. “If that’s the case, then we could be there by tomorrow morning.”
“Do we have enough food to get us by till then?”
“More than enough,” he advised, and then glanced out the front window toward the flybridge.
Satisfied the yacht’s course was steady enough, he led them to the rear and the storage area below the master stateroom. He opened the storeroom and turned on an overhead light, revealing a horde of dry goods and enough supplies to last several weeks.
“There’s several cases of drinking water, too, boys,” he said, smiling at their amazed facial expressions. “And Monty promised to have plenty of beer and soda on hand for us as well.”
“I doubt we’ll need anywhere near this much stuff,” said Jeremy, shaking his head.
“Now that we’re on our way out of the States, I’d have to agree with you, son. But, it’s always better to have too much stuff than not enough.”
He cut the light and closed the storeroom’s door, motioning for them to follow him back to the yacht’s main level and on into the kitchen.
“We’ve got plenty of flour, sugar, mixes, and even some…” he opened the refrigerator and freezer doors. “Yep, plenty of bacon, hamburger, chicken and a few steaks to boot!”
He moved on to the other stateroom, passing through the main head to get there. Once they rejoined him, Marshall walked over to the wall closest to the bed and opened a small door that housed a safe.
“Monty insisted on this when the Carver Boat Company custom built our yacht three years ago,” he explained. “At the time I thought it somewhat frivolous, but it’s come in real handy—especially now. There’s more than eighty thousand dollars here, which should allow us to live in comfort in Cameril for the next few years, if need be. If you’d like me to pay you back right now, Jeremy, I’m ready to do it.”
“I can wait until we’re on dry land again for that, Grandpa,” said Jeremy. “But, where’d you get that kind of money?”
“We’ve been adding a little to the safe for quite some time, and Monty added twenty thousand more on Tuesday. He agreed with me that ya’ll were in some serious trouble. We figured heading south of the border would be the best option right now, so he purchased the other supplies on Wednesday.” He looked back out toward the flybridge again and moved to the cabin door. “I’ll be back in a while, boys. Once we’re out to sea a bit further, we’ll fix some lunch!”
Marshall closed the cabin door, and Jack settled down onto one end of the sectional while Jeremy turned on the TV and sat down at the other end. Avoiding any news reports for the time being, they settled on the latest Bond flick on HBO.
Nearly one-thirty that afternoon, Marshall left the flybridge and rejoined them in the salon. They fixed themselves sandwiches and chips in the kitchen, and after their lunch Jack asked him when he planned to tell them what had happened at his home when Genovene and her brothers and sisters came to call. Though hesitant at first, Marshall relented, motioning for them to sit with him in the salon. After muting TV, the brothers sat on the couch again while their grandfather relaxed in a recliner across from them.
Marshall frowned while collecting his thoughts, nodding weakly when ready to speak. He told them he preferred to begin his account from when his police and FBI guests first showed up, Wednesday morning.
“Telling a story from the very beginning has always been easiest for me,” he explained. “And, when you get as old as me, it’s usually the only way to keep from forgetting important details….I didn’t sleep at all after I got your call earlier that morning, Jeremy, telling me you and Jack were headed for Canada. Not that the previous day had been much better, when I couldn’t locate either of you. But, I was certain someone would be by the house once the sun came up.”
He told them how at 7:00 a.m. two plainclothes officers, Stan Pedersen and Mike O’Reilly, from the Tuscaloosa PD showed up at his door. Courteous, both officers produced a warrant to search his home, so he let them inside. The first three FBI agents showed up soon after that. Two of them showed little respect, but their superior, Gene Grunhardt, treated Marshall well. His two subordinates’ names were William Bruce and Toby Nelson, a young punk fresh out of college.
