The Inside Passage (Ted Higuera Series Book 1)

by Pendelton Wallace

  Chris brought the Defiant closer to the wind as they ghosted past the anchored boat. Meagan sheeted in the sails without being told. They barely moved through the still water. The fog hung heavy on the sails and rigging, dripping a constant flow of moisture onto their heads.

  The low rumble they had been hearing became a roar.

  “There they are!” Ted pointed off the starboard bow. “On our right. Shit!” A ghostly shape blasted out of the fog. “It’s coming fast!”

  “Oh God, Chris!” Meagan grabbed Chris’ arm with both hands.

  An orange bow burst through the fog, throwing up a wall of white water.

  “It’s the Coast Guard,” Chris yelled. “They must’ve heard our call.”

  A sense of relief overwhelmed Ted. He dropped down to the deck, his knees too weak to support him. He hadn’t had time to think about how scared he was. Suddenly he was shaking all over.

  Sirens blared and blue lights flashed as the Coast Guard cutter raced across the Defiant’s bow.

  “Why aren’t they stopping?” Meagan wailed.

  “They aren’t here for us.” Disappointment filled Chris’ voice. “They’re here for that ferry that went aground.”

  The Coast Guard cutter disappeared into the fog. The sound of its engines receded, leaving the crew of the Defiant once again enveloped in a wet, silent world.

  A loud thumping overhead shattered the quiet.

  “It’s a helicopter!” Ted shouted.

  A bright orange bird swooped past them, low on their port bow.

  From out of nowhere a large orange inflatable, like the one they had seen at Seymour Narrows, charged past, lights flashing.

  “Well Dude, there’s one good thing about this.” Ted took a few steps back from his post at the bow to talk. “With all these sea-cops around, the terrorists aren’t going to try anything.”

  ****

  For two more hours, Chris piloted the Defiant through the fog, around obstacles, past shoals, keeping clear of rocks.

  The excitement of the chase left Ted. He felt drained, barely going through the motions while Chris kept the Defiant on course. With the depth sounder, compass, and GPS, Chris managed to avoid dangers and keep the boat moving around the island.

  Ted replayed the image of the terrorist shooting at them over and over in his mind. Jesus, that was close.

  “We should be at the north end of Malcolm Island any time now.” Chris’ voice intruded upon Ted’s thoughts. He sounded tired, played out. “As soon as you can see Malcolm Point, we need to tack.”

  “Dude, this is like makin’ love with a mask on” Ted shouted back to the cockpit, his last, futile attempt at humor. “You can’t see nothin’, you have to do it all by feel.”

  “Sometimes that’s the best way,” Meagan cooed, burying her head in Chris’ shoulder.

  As they rounded Malcolm Point and headed west, the fluky wind almost completely failed them. The sails hung like limp dish rags.

  ****

  For another grueling hour they crept along on a westward course, the fog so heavy that they barely noticed darkness descend. Ted’s stomach churned. He couldn’t remember the last time he had eaten, but couldn’t imagine holding anything down now.

  Could they really do this? Jack had told them stories about old salts navigating by wind and tide, working their way through treacherous passages by chart and compass alone. Was Chris up to it?

  Enough time had passed that they were no longer concerned about the terrorists hearing them. “There should be kelp off our port side, marking the rocks and shoals,” Chris yelled forward to Ted.

  God, I hope he knows what he’s doing.

  Ted flashed the beam of a powerful handheld search light back and forth across the black water.

  Somewhere behind him, Meagan slipped down into the galley. Soon Ted heard the slap, slap, slap of a knife on the cutting board, smelt the aroma of onions frying. How long had it been since they had last eaten? Was it twelve, fourteen hours since breakfast?

  He felt a knot constricting in his gut. Maybe food wasn’t such a bad idea after all. Suddenly his hunger made it hard to concentrate on the black water in front of him. After what seemed an eternity, Meagan emerged on deck again.

  “Here, you must be getting hungry by now.” She had a mug of steaming hamburger soup in each hand.

  She handed Chris his mug, then moved forward to Ted. He could taste the soup before he took the mug. Putting down the search light, he greedily wolfed down the hot food.

  “Hey, chica,” he said, “when did you learn to cook?”

  “I’ve always known how to cook, dummy. I just haven’t felt like it.”

  “This is the tricky part,” Chris put his mug down on the helmsman’s seat, his voice strained. “The chart shows kelp beds on both sides. We’re going to try to thread the deep water between two shoals.”

  “Are you sure about that?” Meagan returned to the cockpit. “You’re not even looking at the chart.”

  “It’s all in here.” Chris tapped his forehead.

  “Hey, dude,” Ted shouted back to the cockpit, “I can’t see anything in this pea soup.”

  “I’m watching the depth sounder. We have ninety-six feet right now.”

  The depth sounder returned ninety-six, then forty-eight feet. They entered the treacherous area. Thirty-six feet. Forty. Twenty-eight.

  “You see anything yet?”

  “Negative. Only water and fog.”

  Twenty-six. The Defiant drew just under seven feet of water. The depth sounder’s transducer was located under the water line. Ted guessed that they could still float if the depth sounder showed six feet.

  Eighteen.

  There was a stirring in the sails. “The breeze is picking up,” Chris shouted. “Were doing, three, no four knots.”

  The quicker we get through this pass, the better.

  Eighteen feet, twelve.

  What was that up ahead?

  “Look out!” Ted pointed straight ahead.

  “What? Where?”

  “Right ahead of us! A kelp bed.”

  Too late. There was a loud crunching sound. The Defiant tipped violently forward, her bow dipped under water. Ted felt rather than heard a second loud crunch.

  Chapter 45

  Malcolm Island, Canada

  “Wake up man. Let’s get the anchor up. We’ve gotta catch the tide.” Josh, a tire store manager in Port McNeil, shook his friend Toby.

  “Wha? What time is it?”

  “Three a.m.” Josh returned to the galley and poured two cups of coffee. “We’ve got to get up to my secret spot by slack water if we’re going to do any good.”

  “Damn, man.” Toby rolled over and looked at his wristwatch. “You didn’t tell me that fishin’ meant getting up at three in the morning.”

  Josh poked his head out of the Bayliner cruiser’s hatch and scanned the fog enveloped world. He had hired Toby almost six months ago. A close friendship had developed. Toby, a refugee from the big cities back east, knew nothing about salmon fishing.

  Growing up on northern Vancouver Island, salmon fishing came as naturally to Josh as breathing. He bought the rundown old Bayliner Victoria three years ago, meticulously rebuilt the engine, and restored her to sea worthiness. She didn’t look like much, but she was a great fishing platform.

  After coffee and a hearty breakfast, the two weighed anchor and started out across the Queen Charlotte Strait in the dark. In a few minutes they emerged from the fog bank.

  Josh had made this trip countless times before. He wasn’t careless, but he did push the Bayliner at twenty knots to make his rendezvous with the slack tide.

  “Did you see that sailboat go by?” Josh asked over the roar of the engine.

  “No, what sailboat?”

  “Right before sunset, they went sailing by in the fog. They musta been out of their minds, sailing in weather like this. It’s a miracle they didn’t ram us. I wonder if that’s what all the sirens were about.”


  ****

  Malcolm Island, Canada

  Ted felt more than heard the collision. The impact catapulted him over the bow. He held onto the forestay by one hand, his feet dangling over the icy black water. He grabbed madly for the forestay with his other hand. The thermo mug and flood light went clattering over the side. Then the boat righted herself and he regained his footing.

  The moment flashed by in a series of snap shots. Ted saw Chris sanding at the wheel. The bow tipped forward and dug into the water. Chris was thrown forward, the wheel catching him in the chest.

  Chris gasped for breath. For an instant, Ted thought Chris was dying. He couldn’t get any air. He let go of the wheel and grabbed his throat. He gulped, wheezed, gasped. Then he seemed to catch his breath. Air filled his lungs. Chris stood and shook his head.

  Ted saw Meagan, caught totally unprepared, thrown forward in the cockpit. Her head smashed into the coach roof. She crumpled to the cockpit floor.

  Chris spun the wheel all the way to starboard. Ted heard another crunch, then the Defiant was in clear water.

  “Meagan, take the wheel!” Chris didn’t pause to see if she responded to his command.

  Meagan staggered to her feet and reached for the wheel to steady herself, wiping blood from her eyes. She eased the boat to starboard.

  “I’ve got to check the bilges!”

  Chris leapt down the companionway ladder in a single bound. Ted dashed back to the cockpit. He couldn’t decide whether to help Chris or Meagan.

  In the cabin, Chris ripped up the floor boards next to the cabin table looking for the flood of water rushing in. About two inches of water sloshed around in the bilge. Dirty water. It wasn’t fresh sea water pouring in.

  Chris reached up and flipped on the bilge pump.

  He pulled the cover off the engine and the floor boards up all over the cabin. No new water rushed in. In less than two minutes the bilge pump was sucking air.

  He obviously had the situation under control. Ted turned his attention to Meagan. “Hey, chica, you’re bleedin’. Here.” Ted reached in his hip pocket and pulled out a handkerchief which he gently applied to Meagan’s forehead. “Hold the pressure on it. I’ll get the first aid kit.”

  “Props to you. I’m glad someone’s worried about my well-being.” Meagan smiled at Ted. “Chris is only worried about his boat.”

  “That’s another lesson my father taught me.” Chris resumed the helm. “Take care of the boat first. If the boat sinks, it won’t matter if we stop your bleeding or not, we’ll all be dead.”

  Ted returned with the first aid kit, sprayed antiseptic on her forehead, tore open a sterile gauze pad and taped it over the cut. “It looks like you’re gonna need stitches, chica. Maybe they can give you a sexy scar.”

  “Sick. That’s just what I need. Now I’ll have to wear bangs for the rest of my life.”

  “I need you back on the bow, Ted. By the way, how are you?”

  Ted held up his hands. Large red welts covered the palms of both hands.

  “Nothin’ that won’t heal.” He touched the welts. “Yow! Man, that’s my taco eatin’ hand.”

  The Defiant continued on around Poultney Point and entered the half-mile wide Broughton Strait between Malcolm and Vancouver Islands. The tidal current grabbed her keel and the GPS showed them cruising along at nearly six knots.

  “The fog’s liftin’” Ted shouted back to the cockpit.

  “It’s been hours since the terrorists shot at us,” Meagan said. “They’ve got to be far away by now.”

  “I think we’re safe,” Chris agreed. “They wouldn’t try anything with all the people in Port McNeil.”

  “Man, look at them stars.” As the Defiant slipped free of the fog bank Ted glanced up at the night sky ablaze with stars. The Milky Way formed a white dome over their heads. Far from city lights, he could see every star in the sky.

  ****

  “Harbor lights.” Meagan sat slumped in the cockpit. They had been up for nearly twenty-four hours and she looked it. Ted had never seen her without perfect makeup and hair before. The crude bandage tied around her head gave her a vaguely piratical look. The wind mussed her hair and tear stains ran down her cheeks.

  She’s a mess, Ted thought.

  “That should be Port McNeil,” Chris said.

  Ted noticed the hard set to Chris’ jaw and the bags under his eyes.

  Fatigue overwhelmed Ted.

  “It’s time to take down the sails.” Chris’ voice showed the strain of the past day.

  Ted helped Meagan douse the jib and lower the main while Chris fired up the engine and slipped behind the breakwater. Ted scanned up and down the docks, looking for an open slip.

  He spotted an empty float at the end of the dock, but bright orange saw horses marked it off as “reserved.” A huddle of boats anchored outside the breakwater.

  “They’re full. I guess we have to anchor out.” Ted was beyond caring.

  “That’s a good idea. NOT!” Meagan said. “If we’re out there the terrorists can spot us. Maybe come aboard in the dark. How about if we tie up at the fuel dock?”

  “Yeah, I guess that’s okay.” Chris eased the boat into the fuel dock and Meagan and Ted took the dock lines ashore.

  “You guys grab some shut-eye.” Ted stifled a yawn as they descended to the cabin. “Ted’ll keep watch just in case those hombres come back.”

  Chris and Meagan retired to the forepeak.

  This may be the first night of this trip that they’ve just gone straight to sleep.

  Ted poured himself another cup of coffee.

  He took his coffee on deck and sat in the cockpit watching the stillness of the night. When his limbs began to ache with the cold, he got up and wandered the docks, looking for the big green fishing boat. It wasn’t in Port McNeil.

  As the sun teased the hills of Malcolm Island to the east, Chris popped his head above the companionway hatch. “Some lookout you are.” His loud voice nearly startled Ted to death.

  Damned morning person. Ted had been dozing off in the cockpit.

  “Why don’t you climb into your bunk if you’re going to sleep?”

  I hate him. Not only is he perky this early, but he’s generous. “Yeah, sure. I’m beat. Call me when breakfast’s ready.” Ted climbed down the hatch and crawled into this bunk without even removing his clothes.

  Chapter 46

  Port McNeil, Canada

  “Hey handsome, get up. Bacon and eggs.” Meagan waved a spatula above Ted’s head. He slowly opened his eyes.

  The seductive aroma of coffee and bacon teased his nose. Mixed with the smell of propane burning and the salt air, Ted had come to associate the fragrance with home.

  The bottom of the cockpit was only about a foot and a half from his face. To the right a shelf, stocked with his personal belongings, ran the length of the berth. To the left was the engine box. This must be what a coffin’s like, he thought every time he slithered into his little hole.

  “Hey, what’s with your cat?” Oscar curled up in a ball on his chest.

  “He’s a little whore” Meagan answered. “He doesn’t care who he sleeps with.”

  The sun, pouring in through the hatches and windows, assaulted Ted’s eyes. He felt the long day and his stint on watch in the cockpit. Every muscle in his body ached.

  “Let’s get a bite in us, then see if we can find the Coast Guard station in this town.” Chris, much too perky for this early in the morning, sat at the navigation station, separated from Ted’s quarter berth by three quarters of an inch of teak veneered paneling.

  “Ted thinks we should take Meagan to see a doctor first.” Ted crawled out of his bunk and pulled on a pair of sneakers. “She needs stitches for that cut.”

  After breakfast, they walked up the dock to the harbor master’s office. Row upon row of boats crowded the city’s floats. Ted noticed a decided lack of sailboats. Sailboats were slow. Unless you had a six or eight weeks to spend on a cruise, you couldn’t g
et this far from Seattle.

  Large powerboats costing quarter of a million dollars and up covered the floats. The few small boats must belong to locals, little boats didn’t come this far north either.

  He also noticed the crews. They were all old people. Retirees. Young people couldn’t afford boats that would take them this far from civilization and middle aged people all had jobs. They couldn’t take a summer off to go cruising. I’m lucky to get to make this trip. I may never have this kind of opportunity again.

  Seagulls cried and a hint of creosote assaulted Ted’s nostrils. Early morning sun warmed his bones. There was no trace of the fog and clouds of the previous day.

  “Is there a Coast Guard station in town?” Chris asked the young man behind the counter at the marina office.

  “Yes, sir. At the south end of the marina.”

  “How about a hospital?” Ted indicated Meagan’s bandage. “Where can we get her cut looked at?”

  “About three blocks up, on the right, there’s a walk-in clinic.”

  ****

  Meagan combed her bangs forward to cover the small bandage applied at the clinic. “You know these stitches are going to leave a scar, don’t you.”

  Ted looked at her for a minute. “If that’s the worst we got out of yesterday, we can count ourselves lucky.”

  “It’ll give our kids something to ask you about.” Chris smiled a crooked grin at Meagan

  Ted didn’t miss the reference to kids. This was the first sign he had seen that Chris was getting serious. Maybe that wasn’t really a bad thing after all.

  After the stop at the clinic, the three made their way to the Coast Guard station. It could have been any office in any town in Canada. A Formica-topped counter separated them from four desks and a table full of electronic equipment.

  The tall, dark-haired woman in uniform behind the counter focused on the computer screen on her desktop. She ignored them as they entered the office.

  “Excuse me; we need to report some suspicious activity.” Chris raised his voice to get her attention. “Who can we talk to?”