The Inside Passage (Ted Higuera Series Book 1)

by Pendelton Wallace

  “My young friend, history is full of examples of bold men finding treasure where no one else thought to look.”

  “How long will you be here?” Meagan asked, delicately slicing her asparagus.

  “My business here is just about completed. I will be heading home soon. And you? How long will you remain on the Inside Passage?”

  “We have the whole summer,” Chris said. “We don’t need to be back in Seattle until September.”

  Chapter 51

  William and Mary Island, Canada

  “We’re ready,” Mohammed said as he and Kalil finished setting up the digital camcorder on the tripod.

  Ahmad watched them stretch a large white tarp between two trees. He walked behind the camera and peered in the view finder. It would be impossible to determine their location from the videos.

  Why did he care? This was a last will and testament. They might not survive the mission anyway.

  “All right,” He heard Yasim say from behind him. “Let us begin.”

  A lump filled Ahmad’s throat. His pulse quickened. They were really going to do it. What about those poor people? He had to not think of them. Think of them as the enemy.

  Ahmad was dressed like the others, in green combat fatigues with a dark shimage over his head. He ran his hand over his new growth of beard. It was the first time Ahmad had ever grown a beard.

  Each man clung to an assault rifle as they crowded around the camera.

  Am I doing the right thing? Father would be heart-broken. Damn him anyway. He’s too cowed to stand up for his rights. Somebody has to do this.

  “I’ll go first,” Ahmad could feel his heart beating in his throat. If he didn’t go now, he’d never be able to.

  After months of planning, this was the final step. By tomorrow they would be in combat with the enemy.

  “I am Ahmad, the son of Mahmoud Shareef Fazul.” Ahmad stared straight into the camera, his voice low and breathy. “This I believe: that the prophet Mohammed is Allah's messenger here on earth and that the time will come that Allah will resurrect people who are in their graves. I want my family and everyone who sees this to fear Allah, to not be deceived by the West’s false gods and to follow Allah and his prophet Mohammed. I want to do what Ibrahim told his son to do, to die as a good Muslim.”

  ****

  Port McNeil, Canada

  Madame Trufaunt cleared away the main course. Ted felt he was being robbed as she removed his plate. He looked longingly at the cart as Etienne wheeled it out of the room.

  “And now, a petit salat to cleanse the palate,” Yves said.

  “Salad after the main course?” Ted thought they must be out of their minds.

  “Oui, mon ami, it clears the taste buds for what is to follow.”

  Madame Trufaunt slid a plate of rabbit food in front of Ted.

  “If there’s oil here,” Meagan returned to their previous topic, “how come no one has looked for it before?”

  “When the price of oil was twenty dollars a barrel, it did not make sense to try to extract oil from under the ocean, unless it was in very large quantities.” Yves sat back in his chair. “But with the price of oil now? Soon it will top one hundred dollars a barrel. Who knows, maybe they make a killing, no?”

  “Wouldn’t Exxon or BP be looking if there was big money in it?” Chris asked.

  “I cannot answer for Exxon, mon ami. I only know that my clients, they are sure that they will find their target here.”

  Once again, the steward swept in like an avenging tornado and removed the salad plates. Something about her kept Ted’s spider sense tingling.

  “Now, for le fromage,” Yves said.

  Madame Trufaunt poured a port into delicate crystal wine glasses without a word and left the room with the red wine glasses. She returned with a glass dome-covered cheeseboard. Ted had never seen such a variety of cheeses along with fruits, nuts and thinly sliced baguettes.

  “This is beautiful,” Meagan exclaimed. “It’s a work of art.”

  “Etienne, he gets carried away sometimes,” Yves plucked a grape from the plate. “Please, eat. Help yourselves.”

  Ted watched Chris for a clue on how to proceed. Chris reached across the table and took a slice of brie from the board. He put the brie onto his plate, then spread a little unto his baguette. Ted followed suit, spearing an apple and pear slice in the process.

  “Mmmm.” Meagan closed her eyes. “This is wonderful. Tell us some more about your ship.”

  She’s really sucking up to this baboso.

  “Le Pegasus, she was built in Holland for me by Millennium Yachts. She is built to go very fast in great luxury. We can do seventy-five knots in calm weather.”

  “How much gas does it take?” Technical details always interested Ted.

  “We carry fifteen thousand gallons of fuel. Both diesel and Jet A-1.”

  “Jet A-1?” Why does he need jet fuel on a boat?

  “Yes, jet A-1. We have two jet turbine engines that drive water jets for running at high speed. At those speeds, the propellers, they become very inefficient.”

  “The first time we met you,” Meagan said picking at a tangerine slice, “I noticed you with two Arab looking men.”

  “Those are my customers. They are exploring the coast for oil deposits.”

  “Aren’t they a long way from home?” Meagan nibbled at the tangerine.

  She’s so slick at this, Ted grudgingly admitted.

  “Oui,” Yves looked through his wine glass at the sky light. “But where in the world is there more expertise in the oil industry than the Middle East?”

  “I don’t know about that,” Chris said. “My dad has a friend who grew up in Arabia. Her father worked for a big oil company over there. They brought all sorts of Americans and Brits over there to help them with the oil business because they didn’t know that much about it.”

  “Yes, but they learn fast, these Arabs.” Yves waved Chris’ comment off dismissively. “In a few short years, they have become the masters of the oil industry.”

  “Don’t their politics worry you?” Ted’s fork, poised over a pear slice, stopped in mid-air. “After all, they’re the people who brought us 9/11.”

  “First of all, I am not political. I am a business man. I do business with clients who can pay. I don’t concern myself with what they do with my products. Secondly, you are painting a whole people with broad strokes. I could just as easily say that Americans are the people who kept Africans enslaved for three hundred years.”

  “Yeah, but that’s different.” Ted felt the heat in his face. “We realized we were wrong and fixed it. Besides, those people are all long dead. I’m talkin’ about people who are alive and causin’ us trouble right now.”

  “Who is to say how history will look back on this little episode? It may be that two hundred years from now, the Islamic radicals will be seen as great prophets.”

  “Yeah,” Ted could barely contain his anger. “Like maybe they’ll think that Hitler was too?”

  ****

  Etienne wheeled in his cart again, breaking the tension.

  “Ah, le entremets, the dessert. Etienne always goes, ah, out of head?”

  “I think you mean, ‘he goes crazy,’” Meagan corrected.

  “Oui, he goes crazy.” Yves pronounced “crazy” as “cray-zee.”

  Etienne removed the silver domes. Ted jumped as the little chef flamed a chocolate soufflé and apple tart.

  “You have your choice.” Yves said.

  “Can I have a little of each?” Ted asked.

  “But of course, Etienne?” Yves signaled to the chef to cut slices for Ted.

  Ted watched hungrily as Madame Trufaunt served coffee from a silver filigreed pot on an outrageous looking stem. The four began their desserts. This was the most amazing chocolate Ted had ever tasted.

  “So, you went up to Nelson Inlet after all,” Yves said. “Did you go all the way up?”

  “No,” Chris said. “We were kind a shook u
p after the whirlpool. We decided to come back to civilization.”

  “That was probably wise, mon ami.” Yves paused for a minute. “There is nothing up there to see. It is much more fun down here.”

  “What was your boat doing up there?” Chris stirred sugar into his coffee.

  “While I was away, Captain Evans, he was kind enough to take Etienne up there in search of baby octopus. I understand the octopus in the inlet are among the best in the world.” Yves nodded to Etienne who cut a tiny sliver of the tart and topped it with fresh whipped cream.

  “You’d take this huge ship up there to look for octopus?” Chris sounded skeptical. “It must cost a fortune. Besides, can’t you just buy them in a fish market?”

  “Etienne, he is a perfectionist. He must have his seafood fresh. The boat wasn’t doing anything while I was gone.” There was that candy-assed hand flip again. “It did no harm.”

  “It almost did us a lot of harm,” Ted slammed down his fork. “That whirlpool nearly sank us. The cabin was full of water. It’ll take us days to get it dried out. It still smells like mildew.”

  “Once again, you have my apologies. Would it help if I sent one of my crew over to help you clean up?”

  “No,” Chris said. “We’re fine.”

  “Let us retire to the sky lounge.” Yves pushed his chair away from the table. “I believe Madame has some sherry and chocolate truffles for us. What we French call le cefe”

  ****

  Ted was so full that his sides hurt, but he couldn’t ignore the awesome truffles. Did this cabrón eat like this every night? How come he didn’t weigh three hundred pounds?

  “So, you did not go up into Nelson Inlet at all?” Yves pried again.

  “Not after we had our run in with the whirlpool.” Chris rolled the sherry around in his glass.

  “That is strange.” Yves looked at his sherry, then turned and stared directly at Chris. “I heard that a blue sail boat was seen at William and Mary Island.”

  Chris and Ted exchanged glances. Neither spoke. Ted didn’t know what to say. They were caught in a lie.

  “It wasn’t us.” Meagan was so smooth at lying. “We’ve seen a couple of blue sailboats up here. It could have been anybody.”

  “Yes, you are probably right, Mon Cheri.” The intensity of Yves glare softened. “It could have been anyone.”

  He’s not buying this crap, Ted thought as Madame Trufaunt brought out a decanter of cognac and a humidor of cigars.

  “Cuban, of course.” Yves reached for a cigar. “It is my little thumb on the nose of your President Bush.”

  Ted felt like he had just eaten an elephant. The last thing he wanted was stinky cigar smoke.

  “I’ve always wanted to try a Cuban cigar.” Meagan reached for one.

  While Meagan swirled the cognac in her snifter, Jean-Paul returned to the sky lounge. He spoke briefly to Yves in French, then left.

  What the hell? Ted understood enough of what he was saying to be worried.

  “Chris, we gotta go.” Ted couldn’t get off of Yves’ yacht fast enough. “I’m sorry, dude, but it’s late. I think I’ve eaten too much. I don’t feel good.”

  “I am so sorry, my friend. Use one of the cabins on the lower deck.” Yves gestured toward the spiral staircase. “Would you like to lie down?”

  “No, I gotta go. RIGHT NOW.”

  ****

  “I don’t like him,” Ted led his friends away from the Pegasus. “I don’t trust him.”

  “What’s the rush?” Chris swayed slightly as he walked. “Why did we have to leave right then?”

  “I was having a good time.” Meagan giggled.

  “That John-Paul dude.” Ted looked back over his shoulder. “He said something to Yves. I don’t speak French, but it’s close enough to Spanish that I understood a few words. He said something like ‘Ha hecho. Se va el barco.’”

  “So, what’s that mean?” Meagan slightly slurred her words.

  “He said ‘I did it. The boat’s gone.”

  “I don’t get it, what boat?” A puzzled look crossed Chris’ face.

  He is obviously not playing with a full deck. “That’s what I want to find out.” Ted increased his pace. “My spider sense is tingling, dude. I want to get back to the boat.”

  “Why’s he so interested in us anyway?” Meagan staggered back and forth across the dock as she walked. “We’re certainly not in his class. He . . . he . . .”

  “He seems mostly interested in you.” Chris glared at her. “He could care less if Ted or I are alive.”

  “Do I sense the green-eyed monster?” Meagan slapped at Chris’ shoulder.

  “You certainly didn’t have to throw yourself at him. . .” Chris swatted her hand away.

  “Give me a break. You don’t think I’d be interested in a creeper like that, do you? I was trying to get him to open up.”

  “He sure spent a lot of time asking about Nelson Inlet.” Ted was less interested in Meagan’s flirting than he was in Yves’ connection to William and Mary Island. “For someone who tried to talk us out of going up there, why was he so interested in what we saw? Does he know what’s going on up there?”

  “He knew we were lying.” Meagan stumbled slightly as they walked. “You and Ted are such amateurs.” She swiped her hand at Chris and missed.

  Chris stopped walking. Ted and Meagan gathered around him, “When we first met him, he told us that there was nothing to see in Nelson Inlet and said we should go somewhere else. Then, when we head up the inlet, his ship forces us into the whirlpool. Do you think he was trying to keep us from finding the missiles?”

  “Duh!” Ted resumed walking down the dock. “He knows about the terrorists. He’s trying to protect them. But why? Why would anyone try to protect people like that?”

  “He’s in business with them,” Meagan said. “Remember he said he bought and sold used industrial equipment. What if that equipment is missiles and stuff? I saw him meeting with a couple of Arabs. He says they’re exploring for oil, but what if he’s an arms dealer?”

  “But no one would sell anti-ship missiles to a bunch of rabid terrorists.” Ted struggled to wrap his mind around the facts. “It doesn’t make sense.”

  “Ted!” Meagan stamped her foot. “Don’t you remember what he said about not caring who he sold his equipment to? He was talking about the missiles! He doesn’t care what they do with them as long as they pay for them.”

  “These guys have to get their arms from somewhere.” Chris turned onto the float where they left the Defiant. “Someone is selling them guns and explosives. It’s all about money. They don’t care who they kill with the stuff as long as they make a profit.”

  “Holy shit!” Ted shouted. “Where’s the Defiant?”

  Chapter 52

  William and Mary Island, Canada

  “To my family I say this:” Ahmad stood before the white tarp. A cathedral of tall firs surrounded him. He looked directly into the video camera’s lens. “You must return to the way of Mohammed. You have allowed the lure of money and possessions to turn you from the true path. It is not Allah’s course. Follow his will.”

  For several minutes Ahmad went on. He detailed how his body should be handled and how to dispose of his few possessions. Then he returned his attention to his family. He pleaded with them to go back to fundamental values. Finally, it was done. He stood silent for a moment, the camera still running.

  “Turn it off. I’m done.”

  He put down his rifle and walked away from the group. He was committed. The die was cast. His stomach crawled within him, bile rose to his throat. His heart beat quickly, his breathing, fast and shallow. Had he made the right choices? Was this really Allah’s will?

  Mohammed set a different tone. Full of bravado, Mohammed railed against the West. He told them of the virgins waiting for them in paradise if they sacrificed themselves for Allah. He called for true believers to take up the Jihad, to resist the temptations of the West.

  Ho
w long ago it seemed since Mohammed had convinced him that it was time to rise up, to join together and form the perfect caliphate that would soon rule the world.

  One by one, each of the men stepped in front of the camera. Ahmad noticed that they said much the same thing. It was almost as if they had rehearsed together. Are we really such sheep?

  Mohammed said something to Qayyum in Arabic.

  “What did you say?” Ahmad asked.

  “I asked Qayyum if he was going to make a will.” Mohammed answered. “He said he has long since made his will. That Allah knows what’s in his heart.”

  Qayyum spoke to Mohammed again.

  “He says to bring the captives.”

  Hani and Kalil went to the tool shed and returned with the two prisoners.

  Ahmad had begun to think of them as “prisoners” now. What did that mean? Had he crossed over to thinking like a soldier?

  Qayyum spoke and Mohammed translated.

  “He says to put them in front of the screen. To tell the dogs to get on their knees.”

  “W-w-wait a minute,” the older prisoner stammered. “We didn’t do anything.”

  Ahmad could see the beads of sweat on his brow. He saw their pale faces, their hands tied behind their backs. Their shoulders trembled in fear. Kalil shoved them to the ground.

  Qayyum spoke again and Yasim answered, then handed a black hood with eye holes to each of the Jihadists. Yasim put black hoods without eye holes over the fishermen’s heads.

  “Wait, you can’t do this,” the younger one yelled.

  “Put on your hoods, grab your rifles and stand behind the kaffirs.” Mohammed translated Qayyum’s words for Ahmad and Kalil.

  One of the prisoners tried to rise to his feet. Kalil slammed the butt of his rifle into his back. Ahmad gasped at the violence. The man stumbled and fell. Kalil reached down and jerked him back to his knees.

  At Qayyum’s command, Yasim started the camera, then joined the others.