Black Star Bay

by T C Miller

  Nobody spoke up, so Onkst put on his eighty pound backpack and the others followed suit.

  “Okay, time check…1917 hours on my mark…Now.”

  The time check was a throwback to older missions. Each member of the team wore combat chronographs synchronized with atomic clock precision. Furthermore, the miniaturized communications computers they carried in their backpacks were coordinated with satellites in geosynchronous orbit. It was unlikely that any of their time keeping devices was more than a millisecond off.

  Onkst rose and motioned for the others to follow in single file for the mile hike on what looked a deer trail from satellite photos. Ten minutes later they entered a grove of redwoods that spilled over the ridge from the sea side.

  The transition to the darkened forest was startling. Late afternoon sunlight in the meadow had provided ample light, while the floor of the forest stood in stark contrast with near cave-like gloom. Even the faint sounds of their movement seemed to be absorbed by the omnipresent stillness around the massive trunks of the ancient trees.

  Progress was steady under the cathedral-like canopy and around ferns that grew in scattered clumps. They stepped gingerly over exposed tree roots bigger than a horses’ body that sometimes hid sharp drops on the other side. They moved with determination and purpose toward a showdown with the suspected smugglers.

  Meanwhile, TRT-2 faced challenges of their own as they made their way along the rocky shoreline around house-sized boulders and over rocky outcroppings. Rappelling thirty feet down from the helicopter onto a sand-spit in a cove two miles north of the cannery was easy. Wading through knee-deep water to the beach was not and made them appreciate their water-proof combat boots. The smell of salt water and tidal pools rose up from the biologic stew that was the source of much of the life on the planet.

  Team Leader Tom Owens assembled his team on a flat outcropping of rock and did a final briefing over their helmet radios, since the roar of the surf drowned out the spoken word. He gave them the same information that Onkst offered to his team—with some additional data that pertained to them.

  “Customs is supposed to secure the parking area that’s being used as an LZ for the choppers. Same plan as before. Team One and the hostages will depart first, while the second chopper is in a standoff position, due to the small size of the LZ. Team Two will exit on the second chopper, and Customs will depart last on their chopper…Now, move in a little closer.”

  Owens used a slender piece of driftwood to draw a rough diagram in the sand. “Kuhn…you’ll take a sniper position on the bluff overlooking the bay, right about here…Telford takes point as we move around the bay…Not much cover…Mostly small boulders and part of an old sea-wall…D and C with five seconds between movement.

  “Hopefully, the perps won’t have anybody watching this side of the bay…If they do, Kuhn, as Sniper 2, picks off hostiles who fire on us. Everybody comes back in one piece…No John Wayne charges. Understood?”

  Heads nodded and Kuhn spoke, “Do I cover just our team, or Team One as well?”

  “Team One is supposed to have Belk as Sniper 1 on a hill on the other side of the bay covering their team…but I don’t have a problem with you helping…Especially if we start trading fire with the perps. Just don’t let one of us get caught in the cross-fire…Hate to explain why we shot one of our own…Everybody nod.”

  All heads on the small, but experienced team complied.

  “Good, let’s work our way around the bay…We’re short on time reaching the wharf, but be careful…Don’t get hurt by rushing…or you’ll have me to answer to.”

  Kuhn began working his way up the slope to the top of the bluff while the rest of the team picked their way over treacherous rocks that were slippery with dead seaweed and occasional tidal pools. The shallow-looking pools often turned out to be knee deep and could easily trap a combat boot in narrow crevasses. Even shallow pools presented challenges, since they were a favored home for sea anemones that could dislodge when stepped on and result in a fall.

  It wasn’t long before they were all drenched in sea spray from incoming waves that crashed against rocks only yards from them. They wiped salt water from their faces with gloved hands and fought to keep their goggles clear enough to see. It was uncomfortable, but the knowledge that two of their own were being held kept them moving steadfastly on toward the cannery. They would get there on time—or die trying.

  ***

  CHAPTER 24

  SEAWIND CANNERY “Can’t just stay here and sit on my hands…Need to do something.” Joanna jumped up and began frenetically pacing around the supply closet of the abandoned ladies rest room.

  “When it gets darker,” Nora replied. “In the meantime, calm down…Don’t want to go off halfcocked and get caught, do we?”

  Joanna smiled, “You sound like my mom.”

  ”Sorry, I wasn’t criticizing, it’s just that…”

  “Oh, don’t worry…Sounding like my mom’s a good

  thing…She’s been my strength through every bad time in my life. I’m glad you’re here…Like having my best friend with me.”

  “Thank you…Thought you were calling me old.” Both of them laughed and Joanna walked over to Nora to give her a hug.

  “Didn’t mean to say you’re old…Although, now that I think about it, mom’s not much older than you.”

  “And must’ve been a saint, to put up with you…So, now that we’ve managed to insult each other…How are we going to get out of this mess?”

  “Kind of hoping the guys would ride in on big white steeds…”

  “With the Easter Bunny and Santa leading the charge?”

  “Which means we need to rescue ourselves, right?”

  “Actually, I think we’ve done a pretty good job…at least up to now…Not tied to a bed in a locked room stuffed with drugs…That’s progress.”

  Joanna started pacing again. “We’re still trapped in this building and the bad guys’ve probably noticed by now we’re not in those beds.” She gave an involuntary shudder at the thought. “Wish we could create some sort of diversion and escape up to the road…Just not sure how to go about doing that.” A few minutes went by while Joanna paced and they both thought.

  Nora broke the silence, “What would Bart do?…My mind’s going in circles…Might help if we talked it out. Let’s see…we have a pistol, a knife, and a radio. Can we tune the radio to one of our frequencies?”

  “Tried…They’re on a fixed frequency…Probably the sideband of a marine channel.”

  “Don’t suppose there’s a way to reset…” Her question was interrupted by the familiar whoop-whoop sound of a very low-flying helicopter. They looked up at the faded old ceiling as if they might be able to see through it.

  “That our people?”

  “Doubt it…Wouldn’t come in that low and alert the bad guys. Could be the Coast Guard on a grid search…Although, that doesn’t seem likely…We’d have heard them over the rest of the grid…not all of a sudden.”

  Nora stood up, “Either way, could be the diversion we need. Let’s take a peek down the hall and see if we can make it outside. Starting to get dark…Might make it to the road without being seen.”

  “At least we wouldn’t be stuck in here.”

  They cleared the barricade away from the door and moved into the ladies rest room with Joanna in the lead. She pulled on the outer door until it surrendered enough for her to see the hallway. It seemed to be empty, so she opened it wider, poked her head out and saw only the outer door of the building—still partially open.

  A dozen steps into the hallway brought them even with a door on the same side as the rest room they just left. Joanna started to move past it, but froze in mid-step. Nora was looking further down the hallway and nearly bumped into her.

  “What?” she whispered in Joanna’s ear.

  Joanna whispered back, “Heard someone.”

  The faint voice sounded like it was talking on a radio. “Trap?”

  “Why?
They could just do a room-to-room search…Besides, don’t think they’d be on the radio if they were trying to surprise us.”

  They stood stock-still for what seemed like an eternity. Finally, Nora whispered, “Can’t stand here forever…and they’ll hear the exit door squeak if we push it open all the way. Going into the big room exposes us too much…Think we need to clear this room first, so they don’t catch us from behind…”

  She froze again, as the voice from the room stopped.

  HILLSIDE OVERLOOKING CANNERY BAY “Team Two leader, this is S-2…in position…Clear line-of-sight and ready to rock.”

  “Team One leader, this is S-1…Moving into position.”

  Belk crouched low as he neared the hilltop on the opposite side of the bay and settled into a prone position. The webbing of his gear made a faint creaking sound that only he could hear, but he moved cautiously anyway. The full-moon loomed large over the Pacific Ocean and dominated the view. It looked like he could reach out and touch one of the craters that were clearly visible on the face of the ivory disc.

  He turned his attention to the bay that was not much more than an inlet. Moonlight reflected from the choppy water and created the illusion of a million sparkling diamonds. The result was a juxtaposition of water and sky, where an equal number of stars twinkled in the deepening twilight.

  A pier thrust out into the small bay and a hundred-foot long fishing trawler was securely moored to it, with room on the other side for another vessel of the same length. There was only a faint light on in the wheel house and another at the head of the gangplank that allowed easy access to the ship.

  A figure stood at the railing of the vessel and the glow of a cigarette could be seen over the four-hundred yard distance from the top of the hill. The faint light from the windows of the wheel house danced on the slicker-covered shoulders of the crewman as he enjoyed his smoke-break.

  The cannery anchored the other end of the pier, with old factory-style metal-framed windows that tilted out to provide ventilation. It was a two-story brick structure that had seen more than its share of frenzied activity over the past sixty years.

  The arrival of trawlers laden with sardines, salmon, and red snapper fifty years ago would have launched dozens of workers into an intricate choreography to remove the marine cargo from ice-filled holds and transport it on conveyor belts to the inside of the building. The processing line gulped thousands of tons of seafood in its heyday, cleaning, preparing, and packing it in cans for shipment around the world.

  Fortunes changed as markets shifted over time and ocean currents moved sardines and other valuable catches further away. The once-bustling enterprise now sat nearly deserted. A rusty and warped railroad spur running alongside the building held waist-high weeds growing unencumbered between the rails.

  The loading dock next to the tracks led to overhead doors that were permanently shut by time and neglect. The overhang that once protected workers from frequent storms during the rainy season sagged and looked like it might surrender to age and gravity at any time.

  Belk slid a Remington Model 700-PBS-4 sniper rifle through the grass until the nose of the barrel cleared the crest of the hill and pointed at a spot between the cannery and the dock. The slight movement of a knob adjusted the AN/PVS night-vision scope for the clearest picture and he spoke into the throat mike of his radio, “S-1 in position…ready.”

  A calm voice filled his earpiece, “Roger that, S-1. Standby.” “S-1 standing by.” He reached into his equipment vest, pulled out a piece of venison jerky and tore off a good-sized chunk with his teeth. The wait could be a few minutes or a few hours—depending on how mission parameters fell into place. He alternated between watching the bay and the cannery approach.

  At almost the same time, TRT-2’s sniper reached into his vest, pulled out a king-sized candy bar and took a big bite—he was ready for the op to start.

  “S-2, status report.” The query came from the Command helicopter moving up the coast and out of sight. “S-2, standing by,” he spoke the words through peanuts and nougat and slowly chewed. Anything could happen in the next hour or two and he was ready.

  ABOARD NSA COMMAND HELICOPTER “DEA aircraft, identify yourself. I repeat, DEA aircraft operating near Seawind Bay, identify yourself immediately.” “Don’t get your knickers in a twist, you know who this is.”

  John Banner let out an exasperated sigh. “I assume the person in charge of the aircraft is Agent Morgan, am I correct?”

  “Well, now, Johnny boy, that may be the first time you’ve been right in a long time.”

  “Listen, Morgan, we had an understanding…You were supposed to stay away…This is a rescue op.”

  “Don’t remember that…What rescue op?”

  “Two of my people and a civilian are being held down there.”

  “Typical…you send in a couple of amateurs and they get caught…Maybe it’s true…maybe it’s not…How do I know for sure? I should just drop in and check it out myself. How’s that sound to you, desk-jockey?”

  “Not good, Morgan…You’ll get in the way of teams that are already on the ground.”

  “On the ground? What the hell you trying to pull? Your clowns are gonna screw up my op. Got my own guy down there…They might kill him by mistake…Or get him killed with your rinky-dink little play. You wanna explain that to his family?”

  “All right, Morgan, let’s dial this down a notch. I don’t want your guy to get hurt…But this is a dangerous situation…Looks like the perps are getting ready to rabbit with hostages and some cargo that cannot and will not leave this country…Hear what I’m saying? It’s a matter of national security…”

  “Oh, bullshit! Don’t pull that ‘national security’ crap on me…I’ve had it right up to here with you stuffing that down my throat every chance you get…My stuff’s also a matter of national security…So just deal with it.”

  “I’m not trying to trivialize what you do, but we’re talking about bigger issues than some potheads toking up…Like the destruction of whole cities…Understand?”

  “Yeah, yeah, yeah…Just not sure how much of your bullshit to believe.”

  “Then I’ll make this simple…Get your ass out of here before I have you arrested for interfering with a law enforcement operation.”

  “Law enforcement? You’re kidding me, right? That’s laughable coming from a nerdy desk-jock like you…I have underwear with more LE experience than all of your teams combined.”

  “Whatever…Just stay away. Let us do our job.”

  Their conversation was interrupted by another voice, “Agent Banner, this is Agent Snell, from Customs One. Would you ask whoever’s in the DEA bird to watch what he’s doing? He’s almost clipped us twice now.”

  Morgan replied before John could, “Oh, what do we have here…More wannabe cops? Customs…What a joke. You spend most of your time hunting down counterfeit CDs and DVDs…Prob’bly have a counterfeit pilot flying that counterfeit bird…So get outta here and let me do my job.”

  “Can’t do that…We’re covering the bay.”

  “All righty, then…It’s your funeral. Like I said…Stay clear…or suffer the consequences.”

  SUPPLY ROOM INSIDE THE CANNERY Bart put his finger to his lips in a gesture of silence. He pointed toward the door to the hallway and mouthed the words, “You hear something?”

  Jake nodded, and they listened—heard nothing, but still stayed cautiously quiet. Bart waited a few minutes and moved silently toward the door. Jake positioned himself to the side to cover the hallway to the left. Bart reached for the doorknob and gently turned it until the latch released. He looked at Jake, nodded, and slowly opened the door.

  It moved about a foot when a boot kicked it in the middle from the other side. The accelerated movement caught Bart off-guard and he hurriedly moved back to avoid being hit in the face. Jake stepped back and lowered his rifle into the ready position.

  First one and then another figure moved into the semi-darkened room in a blur
. His finger tightened on the trigger until he recognized the first attacker. He lowered his weapon and let out a whoosh of air.

  “Damn it! I was this close to shooting you.” A startled Joanna released the grip on Bart’s throat. “And I was this close to ripping his throat out. Sorry, sir…thought you were a Russian.”

  Bart eased his hold on the pistol at her waist. “Guess we’re even…was ready to pump three rounds into you.”

  He moved past her and threw his arms around Nora.

  “Oh, Baby, it’s so good to see your sweet face. Thought I’d lost Brian…and now you.” They hugged each other while Joanna and Jake did the same.

  Jake paused long enough to gently close the door and went back to hugging Joanna. It felt good and she returned it with passion and relief.

  “Thought I’d never see you again,” she whispered in his ear and leaned back as her eyes glistened with a hint of tears.

  Bart held Nora’s face in his hands. “You okay? Was worried we got here too late…They do anything to you?”

  Nora whispered just loudly enough to be heard by all of them, “No, thankfully, not. Kept us tied to beds in another room…”

  Bart interrupted, “We found a dead guard in a padlocked room.” He looked at Joanna. “Your handiwork?”

  She grinned. “Uh, uh, Boss…teamwork.” She put her arm around Nora’s shoulders. “Take me captive anytime with this woman…Brains of a rocket scientist…heart of a warrior.”

  “Thank you kindly, and right back atcha.”

  “Wait, you said ‘dead’…We only roughed him up…”

  “Guess y’all don’t know your own strength…He bought the farm. One less hombre to deal with. Hate to interrupt this little love fest, but we’re not in the clear and have a mission to complete…Before I forget, though…Great job.”

  “So what’s next? Where are Benson and Johanson?”

  “Doin’ a little recon work at a storage facility south of here, and what the two of you don’t know, since you were forced to take an unplanned nap, is that Licia, the motel owner’s daughter’s been kidnapped…Our Russian friends brought her here and we followed them through a hidden tunnel…Searched most of the building with no luck…May be on the trawler.”