by Noah Waters
“Not yet, sir.”
“Have we received her 96-hour advanced notification form?”
“We have, sir, but we received a late notice from the first mate advising there had been a change.
“Have we run that change?”
“The fax should be arriving any minute.”
“They had better make that happen soon or I have no problem turning her around and sending her back home.” Baker’s fist now rested upon his jawbone. “Make a notation to the log entry.”
“Go ahead, sir.”
“D-11 will be boarding and escorting this vessel from territorial entry all the way to Sacramento. We will be standing by in case any issues develop.”
“Entry made, sir.”
The captain knew that all he could do now was wait. Waiting was always the hardest part—the entire country’s security could be at risk. The matter was now out of his hands. Whatever the Calla Lily had picked up, whether it was truly a person or an object, remained to be seen. In the darkness of the watch floor, the captain retreated to his chair, wishing there was more he could do as he listened to every sound the watch floor made.
The continuous beeping would turn to ringing as Noah’s mother picked up on the other end. “Momma.”
Noah’s voice was stern, confident, and comforting when she talked to her mother.
“Hey, is everything OK?”
“Yes, we’re fine. I’m fixing a large pitcher of sweet tea. We wish you were here. We’re having one of your favorite suppers. We’ve got fried chicken, mustard greens, mashed potatoes with gravy, and home made blueberry pie—it won’t be the same without you.”
Noah’s mother, through the years, had learned to accept her life. Noah was the only one of her children who went to college and decided to lead a riskier life—through adventurous career challenges. She knew that Noah would come home when she could; Noah knew her mother’s love was always there.
“Is Miranda busy, Momma?”
“She’s in there on the computer. Would you like to talk to her?”
“Absolutely.”
Noah’s mother had a deep Southern drawl from a lifetime in the South. Miranda, however, was born in Montana and had traveled to various countries with Noah in a backpack as child. She somehow had missed acquiring a Southern accent.
“Hey, Momma.”
“Hi, sweety, how’s it going?”
“Are you coming home any time soon, Momma?”
“I don’t know.”
Miranda had got used to her mother’s way of life although she deeply despised their separation. Noah was aware of her disappointment. Her only hope was that as Miranda grew older she would somehow understand and realize how much she truly loved her.
“Is something up, Momma?” Miranda questioned.
“No, I just wanted to say I love you and to see what Momma was cooking for supper.” Noah knew that Miranda worried constantly—she saw no use in making it worse.
“You’ll let us know when you’re coming home?”
“Yes, absolutely, Miranda. I love you with all my heart.”
“I love you too, Momma.”
“I’ll talk to you all later.”
“OK.” The dead phone line left Noah feeling empty.
Chapter XXVI
THE THUMPING GREW LOUDER. POUNDING! POUNDING! POUNDING! MARCEL’S heart was racing inside his chest and head. The accomplishment of retrieving a mariner’s license had come at the cost of a life. An extremely small sacrifice to pay to complete the mission of Allah. Marcel’s speed down the staircase threw all caution to the wind. He had little time to waste.
The arrival into the American port would be occurring soon. All things important must be in their appropriate place. Arriving at Abdi’s door, his quick repetitive tap echoed throughout the vessel’s hallway. Abdi slowly opened the door fully dressed in his everyday attire. Marcel could see no signs of the rash. The only indication of a problem—Abdi seemed weak and looked slightly pale—not his usual olive tone.
“Here is your ticket,” Marcel pushed the wallet with the mariner’s license through the door. “The Americans will only be concerned with the date. If they ask for it, try to distract them with casual conversation. Your mission is at hand. Allah depends on you. All of the world could be at risk and shall be subject to Allah’s wrath should we fail.”
Abdi’s hands begun to tremble as his fever intensified. His voice was weak and his lips quivered. “Blessed is Allah,” he managed to whisper.
The lightning flash of the camera bulb provided Rachel with the necessary lighting requirements for her early dawn photo shoot. What had been the clapping of distant thunder was now almost over her head. Looking upward, she could see the skies were divided. It seemed as though the sun was attempting to shine, yet a great battle for a large black cloud attempted to dominate the heavens.
“I hope I can get this done before you break loose,” she mumbled.
Leaning over to unzip her pack, the gravel road echoed the sound of tires approaching over the hill. Rachel turned to see a black Lincoln Town Car slowly coming to a halt.
“Looks like it’s showtime,” she said out loud. She placed her hands on her hips and drew a deep breath.
The appearance of Casey and Noah stepping out of the vehicle gave her a warm, comfortable feeling.
“Good morning, Tall-cake. I see you’re ready to take photos.”
“That is what I do, you know,” she quipped.
“Then let’s hope you do it right,” Casey’s voice rumbled through the air.
“So what is our mission today?” Rachel said with a great deal of curiosity.
“The Calla Lily,” Noah responded. “We are going to crawl with her all the way to Sacramento.” Noah’s response resembled that of a discussion of an inchworm in a race.
“Let’s hope she throw us off,” Casey chimed in as he looked upward to the ever-darkening clouds.
“This is history,” Rachel’s voice had now taken on a serious tone.
“Get in close together,” Rachel leaned forward taking a variety of shots at different angles of Casey and Noah. “You two can get closer, you know.”
The grumbling from Casey and Noah could not be made out, yet they complied for PR purposes.
“So what’s the photos for?” Noah asked.
“All I know is the admiral wants them and the admiral always gets what he wants.”
“I bet he does,” Casey replied.
A distant rumbling was now growing closer. Rachel placed her camera back inside her zipped pouch for protection against the steady rain.
“I don’t think we’re going to make it,” Noah said. “At least not before she cuts loose.”
“If this is all we get,” Casey responded, “we’ll be fine.”
A quick hug from Rachel was the equivalent of a good luck wish from an old friend. The rumbling was now directly over Noah and Casey.
“Looks like our ride’s here,” Casey tapped Noah on the shoulder.
A small transport vessel had arrived from the Pilots Association. This baby would carry them to the pilot boat where they would meet the jump master. Noah and Casey quickly hopped aboard with all gear in place. Noah reached down to zip up her float coat to keep her pistol and ammo from getting wet. The transport vessel made a quick turn and revved up its engine as they waved good-bye. The rumbling grew louder as they approached the pilot boat.
The rain stinging Noah’s skin now contained a harsh chill. Within moments, the pilot boat was in view.
“There she is.” Noah leaned over to view the white caps on the water growing stronger by the minute. “Looks like the winds are picking up.”
“Indeed,” Casey replied as he looked over the side.
“Welcome aboard. My name is Peter Cap. I’ll be taking you out to the Calla Lily. If you need anything just let me know. I can promise that the ride will be short, but not necessarily sweet today. The radio is predicting a quick increase in wind speeds and rain, which w
ill provide rougher seas.”
“Just what I live for,” Noah replied sarcastically. She was already feeling a bit queasy. “Thanks for the ride,” Casey waved off the smaller vessel as it returned to its pier.
“Gotta get back in before it gets any rougher out here. Catch you later,” the pilot replied. The vessel disappeared behind an alarmingly high sea wall.
A few streams of sunlight and warmth could be felt on Noah’s skin as the boat sped forward. The pilot boat continuously rocked as the winds picked up. Casey could hear the intensity of the voice from the local weatherman on the radio as he cautioned mariners of the approaching storm. He knew that he would have to remain strong and calm. He could never show his fear of the water—his trust in Noah was great. She, too, must be able to depend upon him for courage. The pilot boat headed directly toward the potato patch. Casey could not see the Calla Lily, but knew that she must be close by. As he leaned over for a pair of binoculars, a large clap of thunder caused a chill to go up his spine. A quick glance over his shoulder showed Noah hanging on tightly.
Fiddling with the knob as the clarity seemed to blend in with the thunder, Gramps attempted to locate the weather station nearest the Operation Center.
“Any news yet?” Dewey asked as he sat down in a chair next to Gramps.
“The carrier reported they were picked up by the pilot’s boat. I suspect they should be at the potato patch within the next few minutes—give or take.”
“Any updates from D.C. on the Calla Lily?”
“No, nothing more than we already have.”
Gramps appeared to be nervous and Dewey understood why. Gramps always got nervous when his so-called children were in harm’s way.
“There’s nothing more we can do,” Dewey’s voice was calm and reassuring.
“I know that, and that’s what scares me,” Gramps replied. “Both Mother Nature and whatever the issue is with that vessel are out of our control.”
Dewey also suddenly felt a lump in his throat for Gramps’s statement had broad consequences for the country and his team.
Three large screens illuminated the satellite imagery of vessel locations—intelligence concerns. Baker leaned forward, eyes squinting while viewing all monitors for any signs of danger. The tiny bell that continued to ring from the fax machine was a result of intelligence reports from around the world. The captain, however, relied solely upon the watch floor personnel to streamline the material for issues of concern.
“No updates?” Baker’s voice was strong yet full of uncertainty. Before asking, he knew the answer.
“Looks like the weather is going to be an issue for the D-11 crew this morning, sir.”
“I’m sure the locals are well aware of the weather,” was his short response.
The crew knew he meant no harm—Captain Baker was always concerned about boarding personnel. He considered his watch floor to be the last line of defense for the nation. If the enemy could get past him, they would be lost until they themselves wanted to be found. Ninety-nine percent of the time that would be far too late for the country.
A high-risk jump had come into full view. The sea swells were growing stronger—obvious to the team from the tossing of the small pilot vessel.
“You should come inside,” Peter instructed Noah. She didn’t respond. The rain was starting to turn into sleet.
“I see our target,” Peter stated. The Calla Lily could be seen just over the horizon.
The crackling of the radio continued with interruptions of warnings about extreme weather conditions—seafaring vessels were advised to moor. Peter called into the Pilots Association’s headquarters to advise of his arrival near the potato patch location.
“Now what?” Casey questioned nervously.
“We will start to ease up alongside of her, like a new mom pulling her infant in slowly to her breast. Boarding her at this point for a search will probably be a surprise for normally she would pull into port for inspection. These conditions will no doubt provide a challenge for the jump. If we get too close, we will bang into her hull. If we can’t get close enough, the jump will be impossible.”
Casey clearly saw the concern on Peter’s face. A quick glance over his shoulder revealed that Noah, herself, had her doubts. They were moments away from boarding the Calla Lily. The rain combined with sleet was now thrashing Noah’s fingers. She held on to the side rails of the pilot boat with a mighty grip. The pilot boat tilted vigorously. The sea swells were well more 20 feet high. The thunder roared as the lightning lit the pilot vessel through the dark clouds. Noah came to grips with the risk of the jump as the commander’s voice repeated in her head, This is a high-risk jump that’s critical to our safety.
The storm grew worse rapidly, the swells grew higher, and the lightning intensified.
“It is imperative,” the commander stated, “that we board this vessel.” Noah could still hear his voice. The thunder broke her concentration.
The pilot boat approached the Calla Lily quietly—no crew could be seen. Casey tapped Noah on the shoulder. “Come in from the rain,” he said. “We will be boarding soon enough.”
“I can’t,” she said. “I may not have the courage to come back out.”
The door on the pilot boat swept open and a rather large man stepped out in full gear with safety equipment and security tie-downs.
“Looks like the jump master is ready,” Noah advised Casey.
The jump master announced, “Two minutes to jump.”
The quick tilting of the pilot boat shifted the footing of both Noah and Casey leaving them to grasp the small thin pole along the master ladder.
“It is going to be a tough jump,” the jump master announced, attempting to raise his voice above the pouring rain and loud thunder. He quickly proceeded to climb to the top of the platform.
The pilot boat slowly came to a crawl stopping within several feet of the Jacob’s ladder.
“Who is going first?” cried the jump master.
“I will,” Casey replied. He knew it would take all of his strength to make this particular jump. At 6′4″ and 250 pounds, he would need to summon his inner strength to jump in this type of weather.
He turned to Noah and winked. “I will be waiting for you at the top, kiddo.”
“Let’s go,” cried the jump master, “up to the platform.”
Casey turned from Noah, took a deep breath, and climbed to the platform alongside the jump master. The sea continued to rage—no light except from the lightning itself for the first minute on the platform. Within seconds, Casey could hear the large propeller churn—pulling a 40-foot draft on each side of the vessel.
The Calla Lily continued to move forward.
“You know what happens Casey if you don’t make this jump?” exclaimed the jump master. Casey replied looking straight forward at the Jacob’s ladder, “Slice and dice, sir.”
“You got it son,” he replied.
“Ready, set,” the jump master’s hand slid down to the small switch that turned on the 1,000 candlelight about 100 feet in front of the jump.
“Jump!” he cried with a voice as bold as the lightning that streaked across the sky.
Casey threw all his energy forward to grasp the Jacob’s ladder with both hands.
“To the left,” cried the jump master.
Casey’s foot dangled until he could find a sure foothold; he could then continue the climb.
Noah steadily felt the sting of the ice and sleet in her face as she watched with breathless anticipation Casey’s climb to the top. Suddenly, he was out of sight. The silence was deafening. The crew stood silent when Casey leaned over the vessel and gave the “thumbs-up.” The first jump was complete.
“Are you ready kid?”
“Yes” Noah replied half-assuredly.
Within the last 10 minutes, the winds had grown stronger while the rain slanted at an angry angle. It was as if the Pacific was furious that all these actions had to be taken upon her waters. Noah’s small hands sli
pped on her gloves as she pulled the string to tighten them with her teeth—her footing shaken by the ever-plunging unsteadiness of the vessel’s motion. Her stomach tightened—her breathing increased as she took the first step toward the top of the platform.
“We only have a few seconds left. The weather has gotten worse,” explained the jump master.
The captain of the pilot boat sounded shrill and high-pitched as he attempted to raise his voice above the high winds. “We have to have to pull away. The winds are pushing us into the her hull.”
“We are not leaving Casey,” Noah demanded. “Let’s go, hurry up.”
Noah scrambled to the top of the platform. The jump master gripped her safety harness and held on to her for a split second. “Give it all you have and then some, kid.”
Noah leaned forward in the driving rain and watched as the sea began to swell. The pilot boat rose in height in perfect timing. She could feel the stinging in her calves as the thunder echoed and mixed with the jump master’s call.
“Jump! Jump! Jump!”
Noah felt the rope in her hand burning from her tight grip. The rope began to unravel from the top down. Noah could hear Casey’s voice in between thunderclaps calling out orders for her to hang on. Noah, attempting to find a foothold on the Calla Lily, felt the boat beginning to sway with the rough seas. Noah and the Jacob’s ladder began to bang to and fro into the side of the ship.
One step at a time, Noah thought to herself.
Finding a small wooden plank still connected, she managed to grip the Jacob’s ladder from a single-sided rope to continue her struggling climb. Noah knew there would only be seconds before the ladder broke entirely.
“You can make it.” The fear in Casey’s voice was intense.
She proceeded with the climb going four more rungs when the second rope gave way. The lightning lit the sky just as she heard the pilot boat pulling away—returning to safer shores. As she looked down, the pitching sea caused her to feel dizzy and sick. She could only go up.
Noah’s death seemed certain as her trembling hand reached the next rung. The rain blurred her vision as she saw an extended hand in front of her.
