The Raft

by Christopher Blankley

  Chapter 21

  Rachael found a table in the Salmon Bay Cafe and ordered coffee. Black and lots of it. She shook out her umbrella and stowed it under the table. Looking over the menu of omelets and fried breakfasts, her stomach did a flip. Just coffee for now, she told herself, and sipped it hesitantly when it arrived.

  Rachael was no good at drinking and she knew it. Whatever tolerance to alcohol she'd gained through experience had been lost since the birth of Margaret. She'd needed neither the second glass of wine nor the tenth. Or any of the glasses in between.

  But, against all common sense, she felt great. The emotional roller coaster of the day before was behind her, and it'd had a horrible dip at the end. But the cathartic punch of one last kiss with Maggie had knocked a whole head full of sense back into Rachael. When she'd awoken groggy and lost in Peter's arms in the middle of the night, she'd hated herself for her momentary infidelity. But in the cold, hard, vomiting light of the morning, she'd had time to reflect on the events of the day before.

  From hating Maggie to loving her again, then back to despising her and again back to loving her, the single day had been a compressed replay of their relationship. Up and down, up and down, up and down, it'd always been that way with Maggie. You never knew what you were going to get.

  And then to have her, one day, gone... but this time, in front of DiJulio's, it had been Rachael's opportunity to do the leaving. That felt good. That was cathartic. That, perhaps, had always been what she'd needed: to leave Maggie standing in the night while Rachael ran away – ran towards something else. Back to Peter and Margaret and her life. She'd turned tail and run, perhaps a few minutes too late, but she had done it. She'd stepped up to the line, but not over it.

  Of course, any sensible person would have seen the line a mile before she'd crossed it. But Rachael wasn't about to beat herself up about that. She'd tested herself and found herself fit. She was trying very hard to keep this morning a 'glass is half full' kind of morning. There'd be time to review her mistakes later. Much later.

  And perhaps, as Maggie had said, this time they'd finally have a chance to say goodbye. That kiss... it'd been a step back, but perhaps you have to take a few steps back to realize there's no going back at all. Goodbye would be nice, goodbye would mean... goodbye.

  Rachael drank her coffee.

  She took her notebook out of her purse and flipped it open to her notes from the County Jail. The waitress came by for her order, but Rachael sent her away. The door opened and in walked Special Agent Galahad. The whole restaurant turned to watch him enter as the doorbell tinkled and the door swung closed behind him. He'd exchanged his drab, FBI-tailored dark suit for a set of BDUs. Blue and white camouflage, if that was actually a real thing. He sported a large handgun on his belt and a heavy bulletproof vest with “FBI” in large yellow lettering. His armor was glistening wet from the short walk across the parking lot to the front door. Crossing the room, he took the chair opposite Rachael, pulled a bluetooth out of his ear and placed it on the table in front of him.

  “Thanks for coming,” he said. He turned over his mug and the waitress arrived to fill it with coffee.

  “No problem,” Rachael replied, snapping the cap off her pen.

  “Er... I was hoping this could be... off the record?” Galahad held up a hand.

  Rachael shrugged, snapped the cap back on her pen and returned it and her notebook to her purse.

  “I wanted to speak to you in person, vis-à-vis the whole Senator Hadian and the Seattle Times situation.”

  “Vis-à-vis?” Rachael raised an eyebrow.

  “What sort of article are you planning to write?” Galahad stated flatly.

  “Ah.” Rachael bought herself a moment sipping coffee.

  “There's nothing floating around but the innuendo of known felons...” Galahad began.

  “No, I know,” Rachael agreed. She had nothing. She knew it, and very likely Galahad knew it, too. But she wasn't emotionally prepared to admit defeat. “Myself and Ms. Straight are continuing our investigations.”

  “Now, Ms. Bigallo...”

  “What can I tell you, Special Agent?”

  “You can tell me you don't even have enough evidence to post a classified ad.”

  “You're not trying to interfere with the free expression of the press, are you, Special Agent?”

  “I'm trying to protect a prominent man from baseless attacks, Ms. Bigallo. Call it what you will.”

  Rachael sighed. She really had nothing. Not a stitch. Not even enough for an article on the Raft if she left out all the libel against the Senator. She shook her head. “I'm sorry, Agent, as much as I'd like to make your life difficult...”

  “Then the Times is going to sit on the story?”

  “Story? What story? I haven't even mentioned it to my editor.” Rachael shrugged in despair.

  “Excellent.” Galahad slapped the table with his palm. He picked up his cup and drank a large mouthful of coffee. “Well, Ms. Bigallo. It's been a pleasure.” He began to climb to his feet.

  “What's with the combat gear?” Rachael asked.

  Galahad hesitated, then dropped back into his chair. “We're back out on the Raft this morning,” he said with some relish.

  “Serving warrants? Dressed like that?” Rachael asked with alarm. “It'll mean war.”

  “No, no more warrants.”

  “Then what?”

  “Safety checks.” Galahad stifled a smile.

  “What?”

  “Coast Guard regulations. And the Revised Code of Washington. They're quite explicit, even vessels carrying foreign registration are required to have certain safety equipment to navigate inland waters. Life vests and so on. And then there are regulations regarding the safe and proper disposal of waste. Coast Guard certification is required for all sanitation devices used aboard ship. Those certifications need to be checked, regardless of the home port of a vessel, or you can't sail in US waters. It is well within the powers of the Coast Guard to board a ship and check for the presence of the required equipment. It's not an intrusion on foreign sovereignty.”

  “You're going to write Rafters tickets?” Rachael could hardly believe her ears.

  Special Agent Galahad beamed with pleasure. “As you might be aware, the Kon-Tiki Races begin today. It's quite a significant draw for both Rafter and mainland boaters. There's a significant migration of vessels. North. The Coast Guard will be policing those races, issuing citations to any and all vessels that are found to be out of compliance with regulations.”

  “But -” Rachael bit her lip. “You don't seriously think the Rafters will sit still for any of this, do you?”

  “Frankly, we don't really care.” Galahad seemed distracted, in a hurry to leave. “The law is the law and it is our job to enforce it. It's been a free-for-all out there aboard the Raft for too long, and the consequences have been deadly. The time has come for a little law and order aboard the Raft. And there's no time like the present.”

  Rachael scowled. “Hadian's tax vote passed then?” she said.

  Galahad hesitated. “I -”

  “It didn't!” Rachael pounced. She reached back into her purse and came up with her notebook.

  “It was sent back to committee,” Galahad admitted. “The Anarchists and the Dixie Separatists threatened a filibuster. Nothing to do with the language relevant to the Raft, you understand, but...”

  “The Raft has gotten a reprieve.” Rachael scribbled. “So you're going to lawyer them to death instead. Counting life jackets.”

  “Ms. Bigallo...”

  “You must know how the Rafters are going to react – of course you do, look at how you're dressed. Are you that stupid?”

  “Only an idiot would sail out there unarmed.” Galahad climbed to his feet.

  “But you just had to stop by and make sure the Senator's reputation was in tact, that none of this was going to blow back in his fat face,” Rachael said, loud enough for the whole restaurant to hear.


  “As far as we're concerned, the murderer of Joanna Church is still at large aboard the Raft.”

  “But no one named Joanna Church has been murdered, the identity of the body has come back. I saw the coroner's report his morning. Meerkat's real name was Rebbecca Oldrich.”

  Special Agent Galahad paused for an instant, concerned. Was it confusion or irritation? Rachael couldn't quite tell. Then he turned on his heels and marched for the exit, his heavy boots echoing off the restaurant's wooden floor.

  Curious, Rachael thought as she closed her notebook and searched in her purse for her phone.