Liz Bailey, the rescue swimmer, and Pete Kesnick, the flight mechanic, both waited for her at the cabin door. Bailey had already slipped Maggie a couple of capsules – a concoction of ginger and other herbs that magically quelled her nausea – when no one was watching. She had done this favor for Maggie the last time even before she knew her. Who would have guessed it would become a ritual. Maggie dry-swallowed them now. Then she put on her flight helmet and climbed into the helicopter.
Chapter 2
THE WIND WHIPPED AND SHOVED at the Coast Guard H-65 Helo. Bruise-colored clouds threatened to burst. Maggie could see flickers of lightning rippling through the mass that, thankfully, continued to stay in the distance for now. But it was definitely moving their way. It looked like the storm was rolling in on waves of clouds in layers of gray and purple. Below, the gulf water swirled and churned up white caps.
Sane people would be starting to take shelter, moving inland and grounding their flights in preparation for the storm. Wind gusts of forty to sixty miles per hour were predicted along with the rain. Yet this aircrew had not flinched at the order to take flight.
Within fifteen minutes they found what they believed to be the Senator’s houseboat. Maggie knew from the file she and Tully had been given that the boat was eighteen feet wide by seventy-five feet long. It was a luxury wide-body named Electric Blue and worth almost a half million dollars. From two-hundred feet above, it looked like a toy rocking and rolling in a sea of boiling water.
Maggie watched Liz Bailey prepare to deploy. No one else appeared to think this was an absolutely crazy idea. Wilson and his co-pilot, Tommy Ellis, couldn’t keep the helicopter from pitching one way and jerking the other as they tried to hover above the boat. And yet, Bailey was going to leap out into the gusts, tethered to the helicopter by a single cable. Maggie had watched her do it before, but it still astonished her. Was it bravery or insanity?
Maggie had been impressed with the young woman from the moment they met. Liz – Elizabeth Bailey, AST3, RS (rescue swimmer) – was a Coastie veteran at twenty-eight years old. She had told Maggie stories about how she had scraped her knees on sinking rooftops during Katrina and waded through debris-filled sewage left by Isaac. Despite having more rescues than many of her male counterparts, Bailey was still considered a novelty, a rare breed, one of less than a dozen women to pass the rigorous training and earn the title “rescue swimmer.” That was one thing she and Maggie had in common. Both of them had clawed their way to respect in fields that were still male dominated.
Now Bailey was ready. She sidled up to the cabin door but had put off changing out her flight helmet with ICS for her Seda swim helmet. Maggie knew she was waiting while her aircrew tried to assess the situation below. Once she switched out helmets she would no longer be able to communicate with them except through hand signals.
“No one’s responding,” Tommy Ellis, their co-pilot said. He had been trying to make radio contact with the houseboat.
“Keep trying,” Lt. Commander Wilson told him. “Who the hell takes a houseboat out in the Gulf of Mexico with a monster storm in the forecast?”
“Jim Cantore said it'd be just a few thunderstorms,” Pete Kesnick said, while he checked the cables.
In addition to being the flight mechanic, Kesnick was also the hoist operator. Maggie remembered that he was the senior member of this aircrew with fifteen or sixteen years, all of them at Air Station Mobile.
“Ever been on one before?” Kesnick asked no one in particular. “Like a floating condo. Pretty sweet.” He adjusted and worked the cables that would lower Bailey down.
Wilson slid back his flight helmet’s visor and turned to look at Bailey. He waited for her eyes before he said, “I don’t like this. Dispatch claims six on board. We can’t rouse anyone and I sure as hell don’t see anyone.”
The last time Maggie had been on board with this crew the men had all but ignored Bailey. Sometime during a nasty rescue flight in the vicious outer bands of Hurricane Isaac, Maggie had watched this same aircrew go from calling Liz Bailey “the rescue swimmer” to “our rescue swimmer.” She was glad to see the attitude had stuck.
From what Maggie knew there had been no distress call from the boat. That was one of the reasons the Senator had gone into full panic mode. And Wilson was right. Maggie couldn’t see anyone down below. Empty loungers and a putting green that looked the size of a postage stamp occupied the upper deck. The lower couldn’t be seen from above, but if anyone was on board and the radio was out, they’d be coming out into view, at least to take a look at the noise above.
Instead, the houseboat thrashed around as waves pummeled against its sides. It made no attempt to escape or retreat. Maggie was definitely no expert but she couldn’t help wondering if the engines had been turned off and the steering house abandoned. Interior lights could be seen, but may have been automatically powered on by the darkening sky.
“It’s your call, Bailey,” Wilson finally said. “What say you?”
Chapter 3
R.J. TULLY THOUGHT HE HAD THE EASY part of this assignment until he met Senator Ellie Delanor-Ramos.
She had asked to meet him in the parking lot under Pensacola Beach’s famous beach ball water tower. Most of the spaces were empty. Still, he chose a corner closest to the water. He had seen the junior Senator from Florida in newspaper photos and on television news. She had become an outspoken proponent for immigration reform though pundits were always quick to point out that her own ancestry traced back to the Mayflower. She was hardly the poster child for such an endeavor and even her physical presence seemed to highlight that fact.
A strikingly beautiful woman in her forties, her skin was creamy white, her eyes a bright blue. She wore her mane of caramel-colored hair loose and just long enough to brush her shoulders when she walked. As Tully watched her cross the parking lot, flanked by two men, he understood immediately why this woman was regarded as one of the most powerful in Washington, D.C. She carried herself not at all like the model or beauty queen that she looked, but rather a Fortune 500 CEO, one capable of shoving aside or destroying anything – or anyone – who might stand in her way.
“You must be Agent Tully,” she said with her hand outstretched to him from four feet away.
“That’s correct, Senator.” Her grip was firm, long fingers, nails painted a blood red.
“For God’s sake, call me Ellie.”
“Are you sure?”
“Absolutely. Do you prefer R.J. or Agent Tully?”
“Actually, just Tully is fine.”
He glanced at the two men who accompanied her. No introductions were expected. Both men stood silent and a foot behind her. Secret service? Bodyguards? They wore dark suits and sunglasses despite the gray sky. They looked more like federal agents than Tully did.
“I missed the helicopter?” She asked an obvious question, immediately betraying her cool, calm façade.
“I’m afraid so.”
“Any news?”
It had been less than thirty minutes. And Tully was certain the Senator would be alerted of any news long before he would, just like she knew the helicopter had already left.
Instead of answering and wasting time with pleasantries, he said, “Sheriff Langley said there was someplace you wanted me to check out.”
“Yes, but I don’t want that idiot going along.”
So much for pleasantries. “Sheriff Langley?”
“If I thought the locals could handle this, I wouldn’t have asked Raymond for his assistance.”
“Raymond”, Tully realized, was FBI Assistant Director Kunze – his boss. It sounded odd having someone call him by his first name. A little like calling Hitler “Adolf”. It made Tully even more uncomfortable going over the heads of local law enforcement. This was their turf, their territory. Forget about pissing contests. Usually it made sense to have them leading the way, or at least along for the ride. Local law enforcement had the contacts. They knew the players as well as the shortcuts. It saved
time. Mostly, it spared Tully a lot of headaches. But this was a United States Senator. Both he and Maggie had been told to “assist her” in any way possible that would return her family safely ashore.
“Where is it that you want me check?”
“A friend of my husband’s.” She hesitated, looking for the correct word. “Not really a friend. More of a business associate.”
“What exactly to do you think happened here?”
She glanced back at the two men. “Can we have some privacy, please?”
The bigger one nodded and gestured to the other. But they didn’t go far.
“Not my idea,” she told Tully under her breath, her eyes darting back to the men to indicate it was them she was talking about.
“From what I understand, your husband simply took your houseboat out for a ride. Your husband and your children – two, right?”
She nodded, and Tully could immediately see that just the mention of the kids caused a reaction. There was a shift in her posture, her shoulders actually slumped forward if only for a moment or two, as though she had been carrying a heavy weight and just remembered it was still there. Her eye contact had been piercing but now there was a flicker in the brilliant blue that betrayed the fatigue, maybe even a hint of panic.
“George builds boats for a living. He built our houseboat. And he can certainly handle it on stormy waters.”
“This was supposed to be a family outing?”
“Yes. I was meeting them but I got delayed.” Her eyes slipped past Tully and past the parking lot toward the emerald green water of the Gulf.
Tully studied her face, thought he saw regret. He could tell it wasn’t the first time she had been late for a family outing. Maybe her husband was driving home that point. Teaching her a lesson. Tully’s ex-wife used to work late all the time. She’d cancel out on him and his daughter Emma constantly, so much so that after the divorce he and Emma hardly missed her at all.
Pensacola Beach had quieted in the time since Tully and Maggie arrived. A few tourists were still out on the beach. Despite the red flag, a couple of daredevil surfers were riding the waves. Others had gone indoors. Tully could see a full deck at the restaurant, Crabs. The dark sky had even set off the parking lot lights.
For as much as the Senator had appeared in a hurry, now she seemed contemplative, still watching the gulf as if she hoped to see the houseboat crest over the next set of waves. Tully couldn’t imagine George Ramos taking his kids out with a monster storm coming, even if he thought he could teach his Senator wife a lesson. But then Tully had seen people do a lot of strange things to each other. Still, he knew when to keep his mouth shut. She must have suspected what he was thinking.
“I know something’s terribly wrong,” she said.
Finally she looked at Tully, met his gaze. There was a firm resolve in her eyes but he caught a glint of sadness before she could stow it away. “And they wouldn’t have left without me.”
Chapter 4
BY MAGGIE’S CALCULATIONS, Liz Bailey had been down on the houseboat for nine minutes. Shouldn’t that be enough time to know if anyone was aboard? If there were injuries? Whether or not they needed to send down the rescue basket or the Med-Evac board?
“Have you seen her yet?” Wilson asked Kesnick for the third time.
“Nothing yet.”
“Where the hell’s that cutter?”
“They said less than an hour,” Tommy Ellis told him.
Wilson shook his head in exaggerated frustration. But Maggie understood. An hour seemed like forever.
To make matters worse, the rain had started. Not a few raindrops or a light shower, but a torrential downpour. The helicopter rocked and jerked despite Wilson’s best efforts. Maggie’s heart thump-thumped against her ribcage with the rhythm of the rotors. Sweat trickled down her back. The helmet threatened to suffocate her. She pushed back the visor. It didn’t help.
Fortunately, she was too concerned about Bailey to pay attention to the churning in her stomach. Each jolt of the helicopter sent new spasms of nausea. She tasted blood before she realized she was biting down on her lower lip.
“Is she still with us?” Wilson wanted to know.
Kesnick pulled on the cable till it was taut. He had slowly let out sections, a little at a time as Bailey moved from the top deck to the bottom and then as she disappeared inside. Now he nodded to Wilson when he seemed convinced that she was still attached.
“Give her a tug.”
“I have already.”
“Visibility is turning to crap,” Tommy Ellis said. “Pretty soon we won’t be able to see her.”
“We can’t be out here much longer,” Wilson told them. “I’m gonna take us down closer. Kesnick, keep an eye out.”
Maggie white-knuckled the straps on the side of the helicopter. Wilson’s attempt to lower the craft met resistance. The wind gusts grabbed them, rocking and swaying every inch. Then suddenly they dropped. A freefall.
“Son of a bitch.” Wilson wrestled them back from a roller coaster plunge.
Maggie’s holstered revolver dug into her side and she realized how totally defenseless she felt. The void of control overwhelmed her. It wasn’t motion sickness. It was the inability to do anything but sit back.
“I see her,” Kesnick yelled as he slid his visor up for a better look. “She’s waving from the lower deck.”
“What does she need?”
Maggie watched Kesnick’s face. Tanned and weathered. Crinkle lines at the eyes. Not an easy read. The man kept his expressions intact but this time she saw his eyes go wide.
“She’s telling us to back away.”
“What the hell?”
Maggie scooted along the side of the cabin as far as her seat belt would allow. She craned her neck and she could see Bailey leaning over the railing. Her right arm was raised with an open palm like she was waving at them but instead she pumped her hand back and forth.
Just as suddenly as the downpour began, it lightened. Even the helicopter steadied to a sway. Bailey could be seen more clearly and there was no mistaking her meticulous, slow but persistent hand signals.
“Do you see anyone else?” Wilson asked.
Kesnick shifted and twisted. So did Maggie.
“Could be someone inside. But I don’t see anybody.”
And Bailey didn’t give anything away. If someone was threatening her and telling her to send her flight crew away, she wasn’t looking to him.
“Maybe there’s something on board,” Kesnick said. “Explosives?”
“Then she needs to get her ass back up here. Now. Pull her up.”
Maggie noticed a new hand signal just as Kesnick grabbed at cable. He noticed, too, and stopped.
“Wait. There’s more.”
Bailey was grasping her clenched fist then pulling and separating.
“She’s disconnecting from the hoist hook,” Kesnick said, and Maggie heard the panic in his voice.
“Son of a bitch!” Wilson yelled. “Don’t let her do it, Kesnick. Pull her ass up. Get her the hell out of there.”
Kesnick scrambled to get his feet set. Then he double-fisted the cable, but Maggie could see it was too late. Bailey had already disconnected and the cable spun free.
Kesnick fell backwards. “Damn it!”
Wilson and Ellis both twisted around in their seats, but they wouldn’t be able to see out the cabin window or door from their seats at the controls. Still, Maggie saw the stunned looks on their faces.
Kesnick scooted back into position.
“She’s pushing us off again,” he told the others.
Then Maggie saw Bailey raise her arm straight up, open palm facing forward.
“She’s signaling that she’s alright,” Kesnick translated.
Bailey’s arm stayed up.
“Maybe she just wants us to get out of the weather,” Tommy Ellis said.
Maggie didn’t think he sounded convincing though the storm was beginning to intensify again.
&nb
sp; The wind gusted and sent the helicopter rocking. Another layer of dark clouds rolled in over them, this time flickering with streaks of lightning. Thunder rumbled and Maggie could feel its vibration against her back
“Yeah, we’ve got to head back before we get knocked out of the sky.”
“You can’t just leave her,” Maggie said.
The men went quiet. It was her first sentence since they had left the beach. Kesnick concentrated on Bailey, whose arm was still raised.
“You know the rules, O’Dell. None of us are allowed to deploy except the rescue swimmer.”
Yes, she did remember Wilson telling her that the last time.
“My job is to make sure the family on that houseboat returns safely to shore,” she told them.
“A cutter’s on its way,” Ellis repeated.
“Something’s wrong.” It was Kesnick.
Maggie turned to look back down at Bailey. Her right arm was still raised but now she was waving it from side to side, a brisk, forceful wave.
“What is she telling us?” Maggie demanded when Kesnick failed to relay the message. “What does that mean?”
“Emergency,” Kesnick said. “Needs assistance.” He turned to Wilson. “She’s in trouble.”
“I’m going down.” Maggie had already unhooked her seat belt and was sliding over to Kesnick.
“Like hell you are.” But Wilson was struggling to keep the helicopter steady. Rain lashed at the sides.
Kesnick started preparing the cable. Maggie had done this before but somehow that didn’t make it easier. She relied on adrenaline to push her toward the cabin door.
“You have no authority, O’Dell. This is my aircraft.”
“You have no authority over me, Commander Wilson. That boat down there is the only reason I’m here. And something’s going on whether we can see it or not.”
“No one deploys except the rescue swimmer. Those are the rules, O’Dell.”
“I’ve never been very good at following rules.”
Storm Season Page 6
