The Raft

by Christopher Blankley

  #

  It took them less than forty-five minutes to maneuver across the last expanse of the Sound into the water of Shilshole Bay.

  The evening was beginning as Maggie weighed anchor and began to lower her small launch down from the stern of the Soft Cell. The air was warm, scented with the flowers of summer. Everything about the weather spoke to Rachael of an evening ripe for lazing on the back deck of the house, talking over her day with Peter and watching Margaret play in the yard. But the anticipation knotting up her stomach reminded her no quiet even at home awaited her onshore.

  When Maggie had the fiberglass dinghy in the water, she installed the tiny, electric outboard. Soon, she and Rachael were motoring towards a sun-soaked strip of sand, dotted by beachcombers and playing children. They plowed through the water towards the small lighthouse that sat at the beach's western tip.

  “You have to promise me that you're going to behave,” Rachael began as the dinghy bobbed on the tide.

  Maggie feigned disgust. “Rachael, what you must think of me to say such a thing.”

  “I mean it, Maggie. I know how offensive you must find the Senator's very existence. Trust me, I can't stand the son of a bitch, either. And you're not exactly his idea of a great American, the female, homosexual, secular, racially-mixed, liberal tax dodger that you are. But you have to behave. How we act in front of the Senator will reflect on the paper, and the Times has no interest in alienating itself from such a powerful figure.”

  “You mean I shouldn't accuse him of murdering his crack-whore mistress?”

  Rachael shuddered. “Yes, Maggie, that's exactly what I mean.”

  Maggie's launch ran aground softly, scraping up against the wet sand of low tide. Maggie sprang from the craft, quickly dragging it up and out of the licking waves of the Puget Sound. She uncoiled the mooring rope, letting it unravel on the sand, as she walked backwards up the beach towards the high tide line. There, she hammered in a stake and tied off the rope.

  Rachael threw her feet over the gunwale and began to put her boots back on.

  “Ah,” Maggie had a revelation as Rachael climbed nimbly out of the small boat.

  “What?” Rachael asked, tucking her pant legs into her boots.

  “I forgot... I mean, I don't actually own...” Maggie looked at her toes, letting them curl in the sand.

  “You don't have any shoes?” Rachael asked in surprise.

  “Nope.”

  “Not even heels? For a special occasion?”

  “Nope, no need...”

  Rachael shook her head. “Well then, just watch where you step.”

  There was a black SUV up beyond the tall grass that backed the beach. A man in a suit stood beside it, his hands held up to shade his eyes against the evening sun. When Rachael and Maggie turned their attention to the car, the man raised an arm and waved.

  “That must be our ride,” Rachael said, starting up the beach. Maggie followed, looking down at her feet. She wobbled as she walked, unsure of her footing on the soft sand. The wobble didn't abate when they cleared the beach and began along the short length of blacktop between the lighthouse and the SUV. After a few steps, she stumbled.

  “Are you okay?” Rachael asked, holding out a hand to help Maggie back to her feet.

  “I don't think I have my land legs yet,” she said, taking Rachael's hand.

  “Ms. Straight? Ms. Bigallo?” The man in the suit had stepped away from the SUV. He was a short, athletic Asian man with a good-looking, genial face. “I'm Detective Sargent Yi, I work with your husband, Ms. Bigallo. Are you all right, Ms. Straight?” he asked.

  “Fine, fine.” Maggie dusted off her jeans.

  When Rachael had Maggie back on her feet, she offered the free hand to the young man. “Thank you, Detective Sargent.” They shook.

  “If I understand the situation,” Yi smiled. “You first have an appointment with Senator Hadian at his home.” The Detective Sargent turned back to the SUV and opened one of the large passenger doors. “Those Agents from the FBI: Galahad, Rolph, and Chesterton, I'm told they'll meet you there. Then I'm to take you to County.”

  Yi held the door open as the ladies climbed into the backseat. When they were inside, he swung the door closed softly and circled around the car.

  To Maggie, the SUV was enormous, an American-made behemoth. She only vaguely remembered that vehicles on land were made in such grandiose proportions. And luxurious, too. The soft leather seats were a sensory pleasure. Maggie took a moment to enjoy the interior as Yi climbed into the driver's seat. The lights faded and the console softly illuminated as he turned on the ignition. Beautiful.

  Detective Sargent Yi brought the SUV around in a wide arc, and pulled away from the beach with enough torque to push Maggie back gently into the plush comfort of her seat. Thrust, Maggie remembered, the power of a gasoline engine. So many sensations were returning to her after a five-year absence. She smiled.

  Soon they were climbing up the hillside away from the beach, a long, straight hill climb that made the engine of the truck strain. The Detective Sargent was speaking but Maggie was distracted at the sight of trees passing outside her window. She rolled it down, letting the scent of the pines waft in her face.

  “So forgive me if I put my foot in my mouth,” Yi chuckled. He was talking and driving, glancing up into the rearview mirror to look back at his passengers. “But I was told to extend Ms. Straight all diplomatic courtesy. Is that on the level? I mean, are you some sort of Raft ambassador?”

  Maggie was oblivious. As the park gave way and the buildings of Magnolia appeared beside the road, Maggie looked on in enthralled wonder.

  Rachael, however, was polite. “Ms. Straight is...” Rachael searched for the words. “She's not really here, if you know what I mean, Detective Sargent. This visit is all unofficial. The Raft doesn't know she's here and the Feds have agreed to turn a blind eye. As you can imagine, for tax reasons...”

  “I get it, I get it,” Yi nodded at his rear view. “I saw nothing, I drove no one nowhere.”

  “Exactly,” Rachael smiled.

  A right, then another right, and then the SUV was on a more major thoroughfare. The sight of Salmon Bay was to their left with the Ballard Bridge crossing it, glistening in the sun. Maggie watched it all with a childlike wonder.

  At Dravus they took a left. There, they met with their first significant traffic. A light turned red and the SUV rolled to a halt.

  “Ooo, ice cream, let's get ice cream,” Maggie said, spotting a 7-Eleven beside the road.

  “Maybe later,” Rachael replied.

  “I can't tell you the last time I had ice cream.” The light turned green and the SUV again began to roll. Maggie watch the 7-Eleven pass by with disappointment.

  “We'll get ice cream,” Rachael assured. “But later.”

  Across 15th, Dravus began its climb up the side of Queen Anne Hill. The SUV roared, its engine revving, as it climbed up the switchbacks. At the summit of the hill, the afternoon sun vanished behind the canopy of leafy, tree-lined streets. Left and right the SUV maneuvered until Maggie was hopelessly lost. Even Rachael was unsure of their exact whereabouts until the SUV rolled out onto Highland Drive and began to pass the grand mansions that faced out over Elliot Bay.

  “Here we are,” Yi said as he brought the truck to a halt before one of the larger homes. There were two other SUVs like Yi's already parked in front of the house, along with a police cruiser. A uniformed officer stood in the drive way of the home, holding a rifle. As Yi stepped out of the SUV, the officer acknowledged him with a wave. “This way,” Yi said to the ladies.

  Maggie and Rachael followed the Detective Sargent up the driveway. It was a long gravel path that Maggie navigated gingerly in her bare feet, uttering a long series of 'eeks' and 'ouches'. They walked to an ornate porte-cochère, under which the familiar faces of Kid Galahad, Rolph, and Chesterton waited.

  “The Honorable Ambassador from the sovereign state of the Raft, as ordered,”
Yi joked, stepped up to the FBI Agents. No one found him humorous and he was promptly ignored.

  “You have no idea how many asses are on the line here, Ms. Straight,” Galahad snapped at Maggie in place of a pleasantry.

  Maggie was still dancing on the sharp rocks of the gravel drive. “Ms. Bigallo here has already spelled that out, Special Agent.”

  “Good, because if you think you're going to go in there and accuse a sitting Senator -”

  “Don't worry, I promise I'll be on my best behavior.” Maggie held up a palm.

  “And only five minutes, the Senator is a busy man.” Galahad turned towards the steps leading up to the house.

  “I won't keep him a minute longer.” Maggie followed, breathing a sigh of relief as she stepped off the rough gravel.

  Up four steps and through the grand double doors, Maggie and Rachael stepped into the warm Old World comfort of the Hadian home. Persian rugs were below their feet and the walls were hung with portraits and panoramic landscape paintings.

  At the precipice, Agent Galahad kicked off his shoes and proceeded into the home in stockinged feet. Rachael followed Galahad's example, pulling off her knee-high rubber boots. Maggie simply meandered on, her bare feet happily freed of the sharp gravel of the drive.

  Galahad led them to a doorway nestled next to a large, ornate piece of oak furniture. He pulled open a heavy, paneled wooden door and stepped into a book-lined office. A large desk sat before a stained glass bay window and a green velvet settee sat across the room. Galahad pointed at the couch and took a seat for himself in a lone high-backed chair by the door.

  Maggie and Rachael lowered themselves onto the green couch.

  The room smelled like money, there was no other way to describe it. The collection of books was vast and guaranteed all to be first editions, Rachael knew. A small fireplace sat in one wall, unlit, but showing every sign of much use. The laptop on the desk was the only sign of the twenty-first century. The titanium sort, almost as thin as paper.

  Galahad, Maggie, and Rachael waited in silence, the ticking of a wall clock counting off the seconds. Beyond the bay window, the police officer with the rifle passed, apparently patrolling. There was a long, silent moment, and the officer passed again, heading back towards the front of the house.

  Rachael took out her phone and looked at the time. She looked up at the wall clock and realized it was three minutes fast. It was five o'clock exactly by her phone. She turned off the ringer and returned it to her purse. She looked over at Galahad, he was fiddling with the end of his tie. She turned to look at Maggie sitting next to her. Maggie looked pale.

  “Are you okay?” Rachael asked.

  “Landsick,” Maggie said, burping.

  “Landsick? Is that really a thing?”

  “It must be,” Maggie said, sweat beginning to bead on her brow. “'Cause I sure feel it.”

  “Maybe it's nerves,” Rachael offered.

  “I don't think so.”

  “Well, if you need to go outside and get some air...”

  “I'll be okay,” Maggie assured.

  “What's wrong?” Galahad spoke up, rising in his seat.

  “Nothing,” Rachael said to him. She dug a handkerchief out of her purse and gave it to Maggie. “It's just warm in here.”

  “You know, if you two don't want to do this -” Galahad began, but he came up short, interrupted as the knob of the door began to rattle.